Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Date: 2228.09.02 CE
Location: Honnō-chō, Japan

The streets of Honnō-chō were quieter than she expected—though never completely silent. Even at this morning hour, faint echoes of footsteps & the rumble of trams whispered through narrow alleys. The city didn't sleep; it only shifted.

Midoriya Izumi adjusted the strap of her worn backpack, careful not to tug her hair loose again. Her low ponytail refused obedience—dark green strands slipped free, brushing her neck in stubborn rebellion. The color caught morning light in flashes: forest-deep, yet alive with restless vitality.

Up ahead, clusters of students in sharply cut uniforms moved toward the towering gates of Honnōji Academy. Their chatter blended with the hum of the city, but Izumi felt their gazes—quick, appraising, & quietly disdainful. After all, she'd once learned to read those looks years ago every step of her life.

Back when she used to attend Aldera Middle School, they'd called her quirkless. Weak. Useless. Be it student, teacher, or faculty member, every insult had been loud, deliberate, & cruel. Here, at Honnōji, the contempt cast at her was quieter—but sharper in comparison. And unlike Aldera, a different kind of hierarchy ruled these streets, one stitched together by status, not quirks. She wasn't a delinquent or some heteromorph; she was simply an outsider.

Earlier that morning, the city's lower rings had reminded her how little that title meant to the desperate. Three boys—barely teenagers—had tried to corner her near an abandoned tram yard. Rusted pipes & cracked bats, trembling hands.

"Hey!" one barked, raising his bat too high. "Think ya can just walk around here like ya own the place?!"

Izumi didn't flinch. The swing came wide & slow. She stepped in, turned her wrist, and the bat clattered to the ground before he realized it was gone. The second lunged, faster, but reckless. She pivoted, redirected his weight—& the boy slammed into the alley wall with a dull thud.

The youngest among the three, a short, pony tailed-brunette, hesitated, both eyes darting between his fallen friends & her unreadable face. A few muttered curses latter & he fled.

'Typical.'

Encounters like that were nothing new to Izumi—threats without thought, violence without purpose. But it always left her uneasy. The part of her that reacted too quickly. The part that never missed.

Now, surrounded by pristine uniforms & controlled smiles, she felt something different: restraint. The students here didn't raise weapons—they measured each other with posture, tone, & fabric. Amongst a sea of gray, white & blue, their silence stung more than any bruise.

Izumi exhaled, forcing tension from her shoulders. She didn't want to fight today. Not here. Not on her first day of school when the new trimester just barely started.

The tram's brakes hissed behind her as she stepped toward the massive staircase that wound up toward Honnōji Academy's gates—looming like a fortress, glass, concrete & steel cutting against the morning sky.

This is it.

Don't draw attention.

Not now. Not yet.

She lifted her head & started up the long trek of stairs.

The wind carried the echo of student chatter down from the academy heights—distant, powerful, & strangely mechanical.
Somewhere up there, unseen eyes were already watching her.

Location: Honnōji Academy

The gates of Honnōji Academy loomed larger now—a brutalist collection of sharp angles in steel, concrete, & glass cutting against the skyline. Even from a distance, it radiated authority: a monument to power & control. The tower's shadow stretched across the courtyard like a silent warning.

Izumi's eyes followed the building's lines, tracing its cold geometry until movement in the courtyard pulled her focus.

A girl—black hair to her shoulders, a crimson streak cutting across her bangs—was crouched behind a guitar case, bracing herself against a barrage of tennis balls. Each shot came in rapid succession, less about precision & more about sheer force of unrelenting dominance. She flinched, shielding her face, helpless beneath the onslaught.

Something tightened in Izumi's chest—a reflexive recognition of danger. She didn't hesitate.

Her body moved before thought could intervene, hands slicing through the air. The tennis balls redirected upward mid-flight, scattered harmlessly across the tiles falling from above, & the courtyard fell silent. The displaced air hummed faintly in their wake.

The girl looked up, wide-eyed & uncertain, blue irises bright with disbelief. Izumi extended a hand—steady, nonthreatening, to help her up on her feet. I guess she must be a transfer student like her as well given the rather rough, if not peculiar uniform the girl is wearing:

A dark navy sailor-fuku with mid-length sleeves that bares her midriff. The collar of her shirt inlay with red stripes & tied together by a scarf of the same crimson hue. Parts of the scarf appears to be damaged, hastily patched up with a black, X-shaped mark over it is held up by suspenders attached to a belt

"HEY!" A sharp bark snapped Izumi out of her thoughts.

Tension broke like mist under sunlight. Around them, murmurs rose: awe, suspicion, curiosity blonde girl in a white-trimmed uniform adorned with pattern of four-pointed stars of blood red strode forward, her steps brisk and deliberate, authority wrapped around her like armor.

Such much for not drawing attention.

"Who do you think you are, interfering with the business of the Tennis Club?!" the blond demanded, he eyes narrowing, one behind the scope obscuring her right eye, as they fixed on Izumi.

'Is that a telescopic lens? A support item perhaps?' though Izumi.

The rescued girl flinched but said nothing as she got up & glared back at her attacker.

"Midoriya." Izumi answered quickly. "Midoriya Izumi. I-I just transferred here today."

The captain's frown twisted into a smirk. "A transfer student, huh? You're not the first one here this week but I'll let slide for now." She flicked her wrist, she & the other club members withdrew, their murmurs fading but their glances lingering, as they make their way to the gate.

"We'll finish this later, Matoi." the captain called over her shoulder, her voice echoing like a promise before halting mid-stop. "Oh, & one word of advice Midoriya—don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Next time, there will be consequences. Now get to get to class you two, I have business to attend to."

The girl, Matoi from what little Izumi knew, with a huff stormed off in another direction with her dented guitar case, muttering curses that sounds suspiciously like 'stupid bitch'. Hopefully it's aim towards the retreating tennis captain & not her.

"I guess she doesn't need help my help after all." Izumi stood there, watching them both leave, shoulders relaxed, heartbeat steady.

Sighing, she turned toward the gates again, step measured, senses sharp. The first day had barely begun, & already the academy's eyes were on her.

The courtyard stretched ahead like a living mosaic—muted uniforms, calculated movements, every step in rhythm with authority. The buildings loomed over the grounds like silent sentinels. Sunlight fractured across steel and glass, scattering sharp reflections through the autumn haze. The air smelled faintly of polished stone, trampled grass, and the metallic tang of distant training fields.

Eyes followed her. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Some stared openly, others glanced away too quickly. The weight of silent judgment was familiar—the appraisal before the conversation. Izumi ignored it and scanned for the admissions office.

"Hey! You look lost!"

The voice rang bright & clear.

A girl with short brown hair and a bowl cut bounded toward her at incredible speed, energy practically radiating off her. Her blue-&-white uniform seemed almost too cheerful against the academy's severity.

"You must be the new transfer student! Look at that fancy uniform you have!" she chirped, bouncing on her heels.

Izumi blinked. "Uh—yes. I'm Midoriya. Midoriya Izumi. I'm looking for the admissions office."

"No way! That's awesome! Come on, I'll show you where to go before someone decides to 'discipline' you!"

Before Izumi could respond, the girl grabbed her arm.

"W–wait—!"

Too late. She was being dragged across the courtyard like a ragdoll, barely keeping her footing as laughter bubbled around them. The girl wove through students and obstacles with impossible agility, her ponytail whipping behind her like a comet trail.

"Slow down!" Izumi called, half-running, half-stumbling. "Please, slow down!"

"Don't you worry Izumi-chan! This is just your orientation speedrun! You'll know everyone by the end of today—or at least enough to survive five minutes!"

Students paused mid-step to watch. Whispers followed them again, though this time tinged with bemusement. Izumi caught fragments—transfer, that power, did you see what she did?—but didn't linger on them.

Finally, the whirlwind came to an abrupt stop at a side door. The girl turned, hands on hips, grinning wide. "Here! Admissions is right through there! Safe & sound!"

Izumi straightened her uniform, exhaling quietly to catch her breath. "Thank you… um?"

The girl grinned, but froze, eyes widening as realization struck like lightning. She paused mid-step, cheeks flushed. "…Wait a sec. I just realized something. I never actually introduced myself to you!"

Izumi raised an eyebrow, a small laugh escaping her. "You never did?"

The brunette grin turned sheepish. "Silly me. I guess I've been too busy dragging you around all morning that I just forgot. Let's start over then! I'm Mako, Mankanshoku Mako!"

Izumi nodded faintly, smiling. "Mankanshoku… got it."

Mako's grin widened, almost bouncing with excitement. "See! Now we're officially friends!" She reached out and gave Izumi a playful tug on the sleeve, leading her forward.

The girl laughed. "You'll like it here. Everyone's weird at first—just keep moving till they realize you're not a threat. Or that you're too much of one." Her eyes sparkled. "Welcome to Honnōji Academy!"

As Izumi stepped through the door, the laughter faded behind her—bright, unguarded, alive. It reminded her that even in a place built on power and hierarchy, there were still sparks of humanity. Acquaintances, friends, maybe even allies perhaps?

Or, at the very least, chaos with good intentions

The corridors of Honnōji Academy stretched long & precise; every tile, wall, & railing sharply defined, sunlight slicing along edges like a blade. Yet Mako bounced up ahead, practically vibrating with energy.

"Come on, come on! You do not want to be late for the assembly! Or make Satsuki madder than usual!" she called, her voice breaking the tense silence of passing students. Heads turned instinctively, uniforms straightened, whispers flickering: 'The transfer student. She stopped the Tennis Club this morning…'

Izumi followed, cataloging details others missed: the taut line of a student's uniform, the spacing of the floor tiles, subtle shifts in posture, & the ripple of fear in those recently reprimanded. Every observation was noted, every detail recorded. Mentally of course, oh how she wishes her journal was with her right now.

The assembly hall opened before them, grand & imposing. Hundreds of students sat in perfect rows, uniforms forming a sharp mosaic of gray, blue, & white. At the far end, a third year girl stood poised on the stage, a figure of commanding presence: tall, regal, long hair & bangs exuding both authority & elegance, with sharp, icy-blue eyes that seemed to cut through the room like a blade.

'I guess that must be Satsuki that Mako-san is referring to.'

Flanking her were four other students of various shapes & sizes. Bodyguards of her perhaps? Or something else?

One is a towering wall of muscle & discipline, arms crossed, immovable, radiating unshakable authority. His imposing stature complemented by a dark-toned skin complexion & short blonde hair. Izumi noticed students instinctively straighten in his presence.

In contrast, beside him sits a petite little girl an angular, pink haired face: lithe & sharp, wielding a baton like a casual accessory, eyes flickering with amusement & calculation. Every motion suggests both playfulness & lethal precision. The difference between the two is almost comical.

Next is a tall student, impeccably athletic in physique &, she admits, carries a rather roguish charm. Piercing gray eyes & mid-length dark green hair, exuding calm confidence & the aura of a duelist who measures threat & potential in every glance made evident by the bamboo sword her had on him.

Last is a rather scrawny, teal haired individual, slight & precise, eyes hidden behind reflective glasses, constantly scanning & processing subtle data. His presence radiates intelligence & quiet calculation; he seems notices details others cannot, a strategist silently shaping the flow of observation.

Izumi studied all four, registering the silent authority each carried in a way that left nothing unseen.

Satsuki lifted a hand, & the hall fell into absolute silence. Her voice cut through like steel, deliberate & measured:

"Students of Honnōji Academy, you stand here not as individuals, but as instruments of power! Every action, every decision, every allegiance you forge will define your place here! Strength is the only measure of your worth! Those who wield it shape the world! Those who do not… obey or be trampled underfoot! Any disruptions to the order of Honnōji will not be tolerated & punish without mercy! Understand your role! Understand your purpose! Surpass it you must! If you dare to!"

The subtle inclusion of the warning did not escape Izumi. Her gaze flicked briefly toward girl on the podium, who had taken less than a moment to fix her with an almost imperceptible stare from afar.

'Does she know me?' Izumi thought, registering both the words and the intent behind them. The warning wasn't general — it carried a weight she had felt before.

As third year concluded her measured speech & the hall began to stir, Mako fidgeted next to Izumi.

"Wow… Satsuki's… really holding back this time, huh?" Mako whispered beside her, oblivious to her new friend's scrutiny. "Maybe it's because she's inside… she doesn't want to blind everyone with her student-president awesomeness or something."

"Huh?" Izumi tilted her head slowly, giving Mako a flat, bewildered look. Mako, oblivious, continued rambling:

"I mean, usually she's all, you know… 'POWER, OBEDIENCE, GLORY!' & everyone's supposed to faint, but here… she's just… talking… & it's still scary anyway. Just not as intense. And… oh wait, wait, wait… she didn't even call anyone 'Pigs in Human Clothes' this time! That's… weird, right?"

Mako, thinking aloud & completely oblivious to the sharp eyes around her, added in a louder tone, 'I wonder… is everyone still mad at Ryūko-chan about yesterday?!'

Izumi's eyes flicked toward her, registering the name & the sudden tension it drew from the nearby students. The four student that accompanied Satsuki subtly shifted their attention, all noticing the remark. The teal haired boy's analytical gaze sharpened as he recorded the odd choice of words & the social ripple it caused.

Izumi made a mental note: Mako's impulsiveness as she is was rather harmless but… certainly loud enough to be noticed. This was Honnōji — and nothing went unobserved. The weight of Mako's curiosity & the underlying tension in the student body added another layer to the scrutiny she already felt.

By the time Satsuki concluded, the assembly hall seemed to exhale. Students rose in disciplined rows, whispering about the transfer student who had disrupted the Tennis Club. Mako fidgeted nervously beside Izumi.

"Maybe you shouldn't draw attention to yourself. Not too much Izumi-chan." she whispered.

Izumi sigh, inclined her head slightly, calm, aware, & measured. She had already been noticed — and the academy had begun weighing her worth as both moved toward the exit.

Once in the hallway, Mako bounced ahead again, chattering about seating arrangements, study halls, and the "weird rules" of Honnōji. Izumi fell into step beside her.

Izumi gave her an uncertain side-glance but decided not to question it. Instead, her gaze shifted toward the auditorium entrances where Satsuki still stood, surrounded by the same four distinctive figures earlier.

"Mako-san" Izumi asked, tilting her head, "The four students that were with, um Satsuki is it, just earlier? Who were they?"

"Oh! Those are Satsuki's Elite Four! Gamagōri, Sanageyama, Jakuzure & Inumuta is their names!" Mako declared proudly.

Izumi blinked, caught off guard. "...Like the ones from Pokémon?"

From the auditorium entrance, a faint sound carried over — Jakuzure's stifled giggle & Sanageyama's barely contained snort of laughter. In contrast, Gamagōri crossed his arms with a thunderous scowl, & Inumuta's brow twitched as he turned slightly, adjusting his glasses with an exasperated sigh.

"They don't look very thrilled," Izumi muttered under her breath.

Completely oblivious, Mako began gesturing toward each of them as she explained: "That's Gamagōri Ira — he's super scary & always yelling about rules & order! He's kind of got an old man face for a high schooler, though. I don't even know how old he is!"

Izumi's eyes widened. "Mako-san…" she hissed softly, darting glances toward the towering figure of Gamagōri, who was now visibly twitching.

"Then there's Inumuta Hōka," Mako continued enthusiastically, pointing at the blue-haired boy with the glowing lenses. "He's like a walking computer! Super quiet, always typing something — maybe gossip?"

Sanageyama Uzu was next. "He's the sporty one! He's always yelling about honor & duels, but at least he's got energy! Oh, & that's Jakuzure Nonon, the pink-haired one. She's super cute & always bossy — like, even bossier than Satsuki sometimes!"

Izumi looked back & forth between Mako & the group nearby, torn between awe & dread. "You… do realize they can hear you, right?" she whispered.

Mako froze mid-wave. The Elite Four's collective stares zeroed in on them from the end of the hall like laser sights.

"Oh," Mako said sheepishly, her smile faltering. "Heh… maybe I should've whispered."

Izumi sighed deeply. "Maybe just a little."

"Um so anyway, Mako-san." Izumi said carefully, trying to quickly change the subject. "What year & class are you in?"

Mako grinned, entirely cheerful. "Oh, I'm in Class K, second year, not that it matters cause I just sleep through it anyway. Why bother?"

"Huh?!" Izumi froze, eyes widening in near-shock. "Do you even have class?"

Mako laughed lightly, oblivious to Izumi's expression. "I do silly but I mean, seriously! Who really learns anything sitting there? I'm fine! What about you Izumi-chan?!"

"I'm in Class A, first year."

"Oh, so you're in 1-A then?"

"Yeah, Class 1-A alright." Izumi replied, before frowning.

Unbeknownst to them, the Elite Four had moved closer during the dispersal, drawn by Mako's chatter. Gamagōri's frame blocked part of the hallway, Jakuzure smirked faintly, Sanageyama's piercing gaze followed every step, & Inumuta's calculating eyes recorded every detail. Even idle chatter carried weight.

Izumi swallowed, futility comprehending hers friend's logic — Mako's obliviousness, whispered rumors forming, and the silent, ever-present scrutiny of Honnōji's elite.

The halls of Honnōji Academy teemed with controlled energy. Students moved in precise patterns between classrooms & club rooms, yet the buzz of activity from the clubs made the corridor feel alive. Colorful banners swung gently above doors, each emblazoned with the club's insignia or motto, and eager recruiters called out in rehearsed, attention-grabbing tones.

"Join the Archery Club! Hone your aim & precision!" a tall boy shouted, standing beside a target adorned with arrow marks.

"Experience the thrill of the Music Club! Lessons & ensembles await!" a petite girl waved a violin bow like a flag.

"Martial Arts Club! Strength & discipline guaranteed!" a group of uniformed students demonstrated a choreographed kata in perfect unison.

Izumi took note of everything in her new journal she got from one of the stands: the movement patterns, the energy of the recruiters, the subtle variations in uniforms denoting club affiliation, & the reactions of the students passing by. She cataloged the corridors & their social dynamics like a map in her mind.

"There's so many now, right Izumi-chan?" Mako bounced beside her, voice bright & slightly conspiratorial. "Last year, there were even more, but Satsuki added new rules in place. She doesn't want people trying to form weird, niche clubs again."

"Weird?" Izumi glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Weird how?"

Mako's grin widened. "Yeah! Like… last year, they tried to make a Knife Throwing Club. Or the Nanjing Lily Club — something about studying flowers in secret gardens I guess?" She waved her hands dramatically. "Oh, and don't even get me started on the Tightrope Walking Club!"

Izumi snorted softly, a dry, almost inaudible sound. "Why are there such specific clubs in the first place?"

Mako shrugged. "I dunno? Apparently, people get… weird when they have too much free time. Satsuki decided there's enough power to focus on without everyone having their own circus."

The corridors displayed a rich variety:

Athletic Clubs: Archery, Martial Arts, Fencing, Swimming, Track & Field

Creative Clubs: Music, Art, Drama, Calligraphy

Academic Clubs: Strategy Games, Debate, Science, Math

Specialty Clubs: Gardening, Cooking, Tea Ceremony, Sewing (a small, tightly controlled lab-like room)

Recruiters called out, each trying to outdo the others, waving flyers or demonstrating their club's skills. Some students paused, intrigued; others moved on with polite indifference. Izumi noted which clubs were popular, which drew whispers, & which caused subtle ripple effects of envy or awe.

Izumi cataloged it all, noting the posture, subtle uniforms differences, murmurs as her presence rippled through the student body. At several booths, she caught the Tennis Club members she encountered earlier sending her sharp, hostile glares, fingers flexing near rackets & tennis balls. Their eyes narrowed slightly, taking the silent challenge in stride.

Mako, bouncing ahead, leaned toward her with a grin. "See that?" she whispered. "They're still mad about yesterday. You know… Ryūko-chan's stuff."

Izumi glanced at the Boxing Club booth, only to find it empty, a neat sign dangling that read: "Closed."

"Why is it closed?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

Mako's grin widened like she was about to tell a ghost story. "Ohhh… the club captain kidnapped me yesterday! Don't worry, though, he got permission first… or at least that's what they said. But then Ryūko-chan swooped in &—"

Izumi's eyes widened slightly as Mako continued, waving her hands dramatically. "She kicked his ass until he was bloody… & naked! Can you believe that?"

Izumi froze, processing. "Mako-san…" She gave Mako a long, deadpan look, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You're… exaggerating, right?"

Mako blinked, as if taken aback by Izumi's deadpan look. "Exaggerating? No way! It was epic! Totally epic!"

Izumi sighed subtly, unconvinced, filing it away as yet another example of Mako's imagination running wild. Probably just storytelling… she thought.

They arrived at the Sewing Club, tucked neatly at the end of a hallway. The room hummed with machinery & focused murmurs. Members carefully measured fabric, adjusted threads, & recorded patterns on forms.

A petite girl glanced up as they entered. "Here for the uniforms? Measurements first."

Izumi extended her arm, allowing the tape measure to slide along her shoulders and torso. Each movement was precise, the care of the club members meticulous. The measurements were essential, which required exact conformity.

"New one-star dorm student, huh?" the girl said quietly as she jotted down her notes. "You're lucky — most students don't get measured right away, let alone one-stars. This will take a few days to be properly tailor to your specifications"

Mako leaned closer, whispering loudly enough for nearby students to hear. "Wow… you're actually get to live in the dorms? Most people like you get condos! The elite ones! I think… everyone's gonna notice. Maybe… grumble a little."

Izumi noted the subtle tension, cataloging the ripple of curiosity & envy without comment.

Before she could respond, Mako darted off toward the administration office. "I'll grab some forms!" she called back cheerfully. Izumi's eyes followed her with a faint flicker of unease — Mako's disappearance, though casual, was already a shift in the environment's energy.

Izumi proceeded to finalize paperwork, confirming her one-star student ranking and dorm placement. Around her, whispers circulated; students watched with curiosity, suspicion, or veiled excitement.

Throughout the halls, the Elite Four appeared in subtle glimpses: Gamagōri looming silently at an intersection, Jakuzure leaning lightly against a wall, observing, Sanageyama's piercing eyes tracking Izumi's path, & Inumuta scanning the scene, noting every ripple of reaction. Their presence was quiet but absolute — a reminder that nothing at Honnōji went unseen.

Izumi straightened her bag, readjusting her uniform, and walked forward, aware of the attention and the silent oversight. Her first day was only beginning, but already she understood: Honnōji Academy was a labyrinth of observation, hierarchy, & constant scrutiny.

Location: Honnōji Academy - One-Star Dorms

By late afternoon, the sun had dipped low enough to turn the concrete walls of Honnōji Academy into streaks of molten gold & long, sharp shadows. The energy of the school day had begun to fade — students trickled toward their dorms, clubs packed away their banners, and the once-bustling courtyards settled into a heavy silence.

Izumi followed Mako along a winding walkway toward the dormitories. The air here smelled faintly of oil & ozone; ventilation ducts hummed overhead, and the echo of their footsteps against the metal floor created a steady rhythm beneath their conversation.

"Welcome to dorm life!" Mako declared, spinning with her arms out like she was unveiling a grand palace. "Not bad, right? Four walls, an actual door, & a roof that only leaks when it rains sideways!"

Izumi arched an eyebrow but said nothing, eyes drifting to the buildings rising around them — minimalist cubes stacked like building blocks, each marked with a glowing emblem. The One-Star Dorms. The light from their signs pulsed faintly like warning beacons.

Her gaze followed the slope downward toward the city beyond, where the No-Star District sprawled out in uneven, cluttered patches of shacks and scaffolding. In stark contrast, the towering silhouettes of the Two- & Three-Star Luxury Condos glittered above — cold, pristine, and unreachable.

"And those?" Izumi asked, tilting her head toward the shining towers.

"Oh! Those are for the higher-star students!" Mako replied cheerfully. "Private baths, their own kitchens, maybe even servants! Not that I'd know — the guards would zap me before I even got near the lobby."

Izumi looked back down at the uneven sprawl of the slums. "And… the no-stars. What about them?"

"Ah, well…" Mako rubbed the back of her head, her smile faltering for half a second before bouncing back. "We sort of make do down there."

"Make do?" Izumi frowned slightly. Hesitantly, she asked, "Mako-san… do...do you… live in the slums too?"

Mako's expression brightened instantly, eyes gleaming as if the question was the start of a joke. "Eh? Kind of!"

She spun dramatically, arms flapping. "Well, my family's shack isn't exactly a mansion, but it's got electricity most of the time. Water too, when the school decides not to cut it off. Plus, there's this awesome breeze that keeps the germs away!"

"Shack? Germs?!" Izumi blinked in horror. "You consider that livable?! HOW?!"

"It's not all that bad at all!" Mako chirped. "You just have to prioritize! Pillow comfy? Good. Floor clean-ish? Fine. Dust bunnies? Give them names & call them roommates!"

Her laugh echoed off the metallic walls — bright, chaotic, and completely out of place in this sterile environment.

"Mako-san…" Izumi sighed, half in disbelief, half in reluctant amusement. "You're impossible."

"Yup!" Mako said proudly. "But that's what makes me reliable! Oh, & you'll be glad to know Ryūko-chan's rooming with me & my family too!"

Izumi's head snapped up. "Ryūko…?"

"Yeah! Ryūko-chan! She's staying with my family for now," Mako said, waving her hands as she spoke. "She showed up yesterday outta nowhere and beat up, like, half the school! It was so cool — whoosh, bam, zoom! The Boxing Club Captain didn't even stand a chance!"

"Mako-san…" Izumi stared at her, uncertain whether to believe her or not. "…Are you exaggerating again?"

Mako puffed her cheeks. "It's totally true! I was there & almost got deep fried like tempura! She's super cool, kinda scary, but nice! You'd like her, I think."

Izumi folded her arms. "You know, you've mentioned her name at least three times now." she said dryly. "She's… a friend of yours?"

Mako beamed. "Yup! Best transfer student I ever met! Well, until you showed up, Izumi-chan!"

"…I'm flattered?" Izumi said flatly.

Mako giggled, completely missing the sarcasm. "It's funny, though — both you & Ryūko-chan are transfer students and you've got those special uniforms! What are the odds of that? Maybe we'll get more new students with fancy clothes soon! Honnōji's becoming so lively lately!"

Izumi hesitated. "The Sewing Club told me mine would be ready in at least two or three days, though" she said slowly.

"Wow! So fast!" Mako said, her eyes lighting up. "Do you know what it'll look like? Oh, maybe it'll have spikes! Or glowy bits! Or built-in air conditioning!"

Izumi gave her a sideways glance. "…I highly doubt that last one."

Mako shrugged, grinning. "A girl can dream, Izumi-chan!"

After a moment, her curiosity shifted again. "Hey, Izumi-chan — what school were you at before this?"

The question hung in the air, small but sharp.

Izumi stopped walking. "It's.." Her eyes lowered slightly, her posture tightening — not defensive, exactly, but closed. "...It's complicated, Mako-san."

Mako blinked, her grin faltering into something softer. "Oh. Sorry, that was kinda personal, huh?" She quickly waved both hands, dismissing her own question. "You don't have to tell me! Ryūko-chan never said where she came from either. She said she was a 'wandering student.' Maybe you're both like… transfer sisters!"

Izumi looked at her, something flickering in her expression — a mix of confusion, irritation, & reluctant amusement. "…Transfer sisters?"

"Yeah! Like siblings, but cooler!" Mako nodded emphatically, clearly proud of the phrase. "You both showed up outta nowhere, got everyone talking, & made the school ten times more interesting!"

Izumi sighed, rubbing her temple. "You really are something else."

"Thanks!" Mako said cheerfully.

They reached Izumi's assigned dorm. The door bore her name and the emblem of a single, four-pointed star — glowing faintly in the dim hallway light. Around them, a few students slowed their steps, whispering.

"A new one-star already?"

"The hell?! She just got transferred today!"

"How'd she got ranked so fast?"

Izumi ignored them, entering her room. It was small but clean — one narrow bed, a desk, a closet, and a single window filtering the sunset through steel blinds.

Mako followed, flopping onto the bed with no hesitation. "Soft! Oh man, this is way nicer than I expected!"

"It's adequate." Izumi said evenly.

"You mean luxurious!" Mako laughed, sprawling dramatically. "You've got walls, a floor, & maybe no rats! Or fleas! That's premium living!"

Izumi allowed herself a small smirk but didn't reply.

After a quiet moment, she turned toward Mako again. "Mako-san." she asked, "do stars really decide everything here at Honnōji?"

Mako blinked. "Pretty much! One-star, that's you, means you've got a dorm or a condo, don't really know the difference why. Two-stars run the clubs we all saw earlier. Three-stars run the departments that control the clubs - It's kinda a new thing thing year. Four-stars run everything else, that's the Elite Four. And no-stars? Well… we just kinda live life sideways."

Izumi thought of the booths earlier — the glimmering two-star badges, the arrogance in their smiles —& the Tennis Club's cold glares. "So those students could order you around?"

"Oh, totally!" Mako said brightly. "But it's fine. I don't mind! Everyone's gotta be good at something, right?"

Izumi gave her a doubtful look, but before she could answer, Mako's phone buzzed.

"Ah! I gotta go! I forgot to tell the Tennis Club I wasn't coming to practice!"

Izumi frowned immediately. "You're apart of that club?"

"Well, kinda!" Mako said, already halfway to the door. "But don't worry, I'll explain everything! They're not that bad."

Izumi crossed her arms. "That's not reassuring, Mako-san"

"Relax, Izumi-chan! I'll be back before dinner! And if not, I'll introduce you to Ryūko-chan tomorrow!" Mako waved with her usual manic enthusiasm before darting into the hallway.

The door slid shut.

Silence settled again, broken only by the low hum of the dorm's lighting system. Izumi stood motionless, her reflection faint in the window glass. Outside, the Tennis Club's booth was still faintly visible, its members lingering even as most others had left. Their white uniforms caught the dying sunlight like the edge of a blade.

A faint chill ran through her.

"…You'd better come back, Mako-san." Izumi murmured under her breath.

The sky bled red across the campus. Somewhere, a bell tolled softly, marking the end of the day — and the quiet beginning of something darker.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Student Council President’s Suite

High above the academy, the tower gleamed like a sword in the light of the setting sun hung low over Honnōji Academy, bleeding gold across the steel & glass towers.

From the highest floor of the main spire, Kiryūin Satsuki stood like a statue carved from light & willpower. Her school uniform caught the fading glow, a banner of white & indigo framed against the immense window that overlooked her domain.

From her vantage point high in the tower, the student council president observed the world below with unwavering precision. Students moved like clockwork — disciplined, hurried, purposeful — yet one figure broke subtly from the rhythm earlier that day.

Dark green hair tied loosely at the nape, a uniform of green & gray tailored differently but worn with quiet confidence — Midoriya Izumi.

Unremarkable to the untrained eye, but not to Satsuki.

Her lips curved — not into a smile, but something close. The faint acknowledgment of a puzzle piece finding its place on the board.

Behind her, footsteps approached in perfect cadence.

"Your tea, Lady Satsuki," her butler announced softly, presenting a silver tray with its single steaming cup.

"Not yet, Mitsuzō-san." she replied, her eyes never leaving the window.

The butler nodded withdrew soundlessly, & silence reclaimed the tower — save for the faint hum of wind brushing the glass.

Satsuki's gaze narrowed. She had already reviewed reports of the Tennis Club Incident that occurred this morning— of the way the girl had intercepted & redirected volleys mid-flight with impossible ease. And she had seen the ripple of unease the transfer student left in her wake — the kind that instinct, not reason, recognizes.

'Interesting.'

Satsuki's fingers rested lightly on the glass, the reflection of the setting sun dancing across her school uniform.

"So, you've finally arrived, Midoriya Izumi." she said at last — her voice low, deliberate, a pronouncement rather than an observation. The words lingered in the quiet, echoing softly through the vast chamber.

Satsuki turned her gaze toward the horizon once more, eyes cold, calculating, & faintly intrigued.

"This one," she murmured, "may prove… interesting.

A reflection of herself flickered in the glass, & for a brief moment, Satsuki's lips curved ever so slightly — not in amusement, but in satisfaction.

Behind her, the heavy doors parted with the soft hiss of hydraulics.

Her Elite Four entered in their natural order, the rhythm of authority measured in their footsteps.

Gamagōri Ira arrived first, towering, disciplined, his uniform gleaming like polished armor. He stood at attention, arms crossed behind his back, silent yet vigilant.

To his right, Sanageyama Uzu leaned with lazy ease against the wall, arms folded, his bandaged sword slung casually over one shoulder — a warrior's restlessness barely concealed beneath confidence.

Jakuzure Nonon, immaculate in pink, strutted in next, chin lifted, her smirk perfectly rehearsed; her sharp eyes, however, betrayed curiosity.

And last came Inumuta Hōka, visor pulsing faintly with blue light as his fingers glided over a compact keyboard, his words forming before his thoughts seemed finished.

"Midoriya Izumi. Recent transfer," he began, tone matter-of-fact. "Records show no prior enrollment history in the national database—none that survived, anyway. It's as if she materialized from the ether."

"Another mysterious transfer?" Nonon asked, her voice lilting, halfway between a tease & a complaint. "What is it with this year? First that punk from the Kanto area yesterday & now this girl too? I'm starting to think people are just appearing out of nowhere."

Uzu smirked. "At least this one isn't waving a giant scissor blade & yelling challenges as if she's compensating for something, eh."

"Yet." Nonon replied dryly.

Gamagōri turned slightly toward Satsuki, his voice low, deep, and disciplined. "Lady Satsuki, shall I order a full background investigation? I can have her interrogated discreetly."

"No," Satsuki said, her tone cutting through the air with effortless command. "There is no need."

That halted them all.

Even Inumuta paused mid-keystroke. "No need, ma'am? But the data void is too clean to be accidental. Someone must have scrubbed her trail deliberately."

"I am already well aware of this predicament." Satsuki replied simply.

Her reflection in the glass shifted as she turned slightly, the faintest gleam in her eye betraying intent. "Midoriya Izumi's presence here is intentional… not an error of paperwork."

The Elite Four exchanged glances — curiosity sharpened into unease.

"Then you already know of her origin?" Gamagōri asked carefully.

"I know enough." Satsuki said, voice calm but unyielding. "Her history is not for you to concern yourselves with except on a need to know basis. Observe her. Measure her. Nothing more."

Nonon frowned, crossing her arms. "Hmph. So the grand lady has secrets, even from us."

Izu chuckled under his breath. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Silence!" Gamagōri said, his tone quiet but absolute. "If Lady Satsuki commands, we obey."

Inumuta's visor flickered once more before he powered it down. "Understood. Still… the statistical anomalies are rather curious. Her physical aptitude reads exceeds far above baseline for a mere one-star, may even two."

"Which is precisely why she interests me," Satsuki murmured.

Recalling earlier, Satsuki watch Izumi when such opportunities arose, the girl accompanied by the presences of Mankanshoku Mako — the no-star fool. Yet even now at this late hour, Satsuki could remember seeing with great clarity how Izumi's attention lingered, how her gaze weighed everything around her like a tactician mapping terrain.

Snapping out of her through, turning around at last, her gaze sweeping across her generals, freezing them in place. "All four of you, do not underestimate her." Satsuki said quietly.

Gamagōri frowned. "You suspect she may be dangerous?"

"Danger," Satsuki said, her lips curling faintly, "is a matter of alignment. In the wrong direction, it destroys. In the right one, it reforges."

Satsuki smirk "Let the others see what they want to see. A transfer student & nothing more." she said. "Let them whisper, speculate, & plot. The strong will reveal themselves through their actions."

Her long hair swept as she turned fully from the window, the sound of her heels crisp against the marble floor.

"But make no mistake," she continued, her voice low, deliberate, commanding. "Midoriya Izumi is not to be touched. At least, not yet."

"Not yet?" Nonon echoed, arching a brow.

Satsuki's gaze flicked toward her — cold, gleaming, final. "When the time comes, you will know."

The silence that followed was ironclad.

Below, the courtyard lights flickered on one by one as dusk deepened, illuminating the campus like a circuit of controlled energy. Satsuki returned her gaze to the window for a final moment, her expression unreadable.

"She is not like that brute, Matoi Ryūko," she said softly. "Her power comes from discipline, not defiance. That makes her far more interesting… & potentially dangerous."

The reflection of her smile gleamed like the edge of a blade.

Chapter Text

Date: 2228.09.03 CE
Location: Mankanshoku Household - Honnō-chō, Japan 

The first light of morning crept through the thin, tattered curtains of the Mankanshoku shack, casting long, lazy shadows across the cluttered floor. Ryūko stirred, blinking against the faint sun, only to find Mako sprawled across the bed—or what passed for a bed—mouth open & drooling like some kind of exhausted toddler.

'Of course' Ryūko thought 'she’s sleeping like a marshmallow again. Typical Mako.'

She squinted at the room, taking in the chaos: mismatched chairs, a pile of laundry threatening to tumble, & various trinkets scattered across every flat surface. This place was a disaster, & yet somehow barely two days in, it felt like home.

“Mako! Ryūko! Both of you get your asses up! School doesn’t wait for lazy slobs!”

The dark-haired girl jerked upright at the shout. Matarō, Mako’s younger, pony-tailed brother, stood in the doorway, scowling like the world itself had personally offended him.

“Geez, what’s your problem, squirt?” Ryūko drawled, squinting at him through the haze of sleep. “You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or do you just enjoy being an annoying pest for fun?”

Before Matarō could fire back, a cheerful voice called out from outside the shack: “Oh, don’t mind him, Ryūko! He’s just been in a bad mood since yesterday morning—some student from Honnōji beat up his friends!”

Ryūko smirked instantly. “Oh, really?”

“MOM!” Matarō barked, face turning red. “Don’t go telling everyone that!”

But his mother, Mankanshoku Sukuyo, wasn’t finished. “And the funniest part is,” she continued from outside, “the student didn’t even bother with Matarō—just ignored him completely!”

Ryūko burst out laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach, the sound echoing through the tiny shack. The noise jolted Mako awake, who sat up, bleary-eyed and confused. “Wha—huh? Is it breakfast time already?”

“S-shut up!” Matarō snapped, his cheeks burning. “It’s not funny! I have my pride, you know!”

“Yeah? Is that so?” Ryūko smirked, leaning against the wall. “Where was that so call 'pride' of yours two days ago after I gave your buddies a beating, huh?”

Matarō crossed his arms & muttered under his breath, “Your skimpy, hooker outfit made up for it…”

Ryūko froze, her grin dropping. “What did you say?”

“I said—!”

WHAM!

Her fist connected with his head before he could finish. Matarō toppled backward out the door, groaning.

Ryūko cracked her knuckles, eyes narrowing. “Tch, damn pervert.”

Matarō lay there, holding his head, a dumb grin creeping onto his face. “...Totally worth it.”

Ryūko rolled her eyes and sighed, muttering, “I seriously need new roommates…”

The shack erupted into motion soon after. Sukuyo, a slim woman with light-brown hair tied up in a bun, shouted orders from the kitchen while frying something unidentifiable in a pan, the smell equal parts inviting & suspicious.

“Breakfast is almost ready! Ryūko, get dressed. Mako, wake up your friend properly this time! Matarō, go fetch your lunchbox before I fry you instead of the croquettes!”

Matarō grumbled, stumbling to his feet while rubbing his head. Ryūko grabbed her custom uniform, muttering, “If I’m late again, I’m blaming you lot.”

As she began changing out of her pajamas, the dark-haired girl shot a sharp glare toward Mako’s littler brother. “Try any funny business while I’m getting dressed again, brat & I’ll do more than just rearrange your teeth, got it?”

Matarō turned around so fast he nearly tripped. “Sheesh, I wasn’t even looking this time!”

“Good.” Ryūko muttered, zipping up her jacket over her uniform with a snap.

Moments later, everyone gathered around the low, battered table. Bentos were packed, chopsticks clicked, & both Sukuyo’s laughter & the of barks of the family pet pug,  Guts, filled the shack as they scarfed down the questionable deep-fried breakfast.

From the back door, Mankanshoku Barazō — a tall, portly man with a rather slick-back brown hair, brown eyes & thick eyebrows still in his rumpled doctor’s coat—adjusted his glasses & leaned in to give his wife a peck on the cheek. “Another day, another patient with a stubbed toe! Wish me luck, dear!”

He leaned toward Mako, kissing her on the cheek too. “And you, my darling daughter—study hard!”

Then, with far too much confidence, he puckered up and turned to Ryūko. “And for you, my dear honorary daughter—”

THWACK!

Ryūko kicked him square in the face, sending him sprawling backward into a pile of dirty laundry. “Don’t push your luck, old man!”

Barazō groaned from the floor, dazed—but then started laughing heartily. “Worth every bruise! Have a great day, everyone!” He waved as he limped off toward his shabby clinic down the back alley.

Location: Honnō-chō, Japan 

Minutes later out the door, Mako & Ryūko were sprinting down the narrow slum streets, bento boxes – & a guitar case in Ryūko’s...er...case – in hand, hair whipping behind them.

“Ryūko-chan! We’re gonna be late again!” Mako cried, arms flailing as she ran.

“Less talking & more running, Mako!” Ryūko snapped back.

They dove into the packed tram, cramming between a crowd of rowdy no-star students. Space was so tight that elbows and knees jabbed from every angle. Someone tried to shove Ryūko aside.

“Hey! Move it, transfer girl!”

Ryūko’s eye twitched. “Wrong move, bub!”

A quick shove follow by a sweep of her leg—two boys were sent tumbling out the open side as the tram rattled along the rails. The other passengers wisely made space as physically possible.

Mako laughed. “You didn’t have to kick all of them off, Ryūko-chan!”

“Hey, they started it.” Ryūko cracked her neck, smirking as the tram sped toward the towering silhouette of Honnōji Academy rising over the city.

Location: Honnōji Academy

By the time the tram screeched to a stop in front of Honnōji Academy, Ryūko & Mako were already half-way out the door. They bolted through the gates as the morning bell echoed across the courtyard.

Students in pristine, high-ranking uniforms strutted across the plaza, sneering down at the lower ranks. The former Kanto vagabond could already feel the daggers in their eyes — well not literal ones, though at Honnōji that wasn’t always guaranteed either.

“Ugh.” she muttered in annoyance, tightening her sailor’s tie. “Same stupid crap as yesterday & the day before. This whole place reeks of elitist ego.”

“Eeeeh, you just have to smile more, Ryūko-chan!” Mako chirped, skipping beside her like a happy little puppy. “If you keep scowling like that, people will think you’re angry all the time like Satsuki!”

“Maybe because I am angry all the time here, Mako.” Ryūko deadpanned.

They climbed the long, endless flight of stairs toward their classroom. Halfway up, Ryūko frowned. “By the way, Mako, where were you all day yesterday? I didn’t see you anywhere after Aikurō-sensei’s boring lecture back in homeroom. I thought you’d decided to ditched me for good.”

“Oh, that’s right!” The brunette gasped, clapping her hands as if she’d just remembered a dream. “I was showing Izumi-chan around campus!”

The dark-haired girl blinked. “...Who?”

“Y’know! Izumi-chan! The new transfer student! Long green hair, calm face, really polite — kinda pretty yet plain but also a little scary when she stares for too long? But not as scary as Satsuki or Gamagōri, though!”

“You know, that name sounds familiar...” Ryūko’s brow furrowed.

Less than a few seconds latter, the name sparked something within her memory. “Wait a minute. Izumi... Midoriya right?! Midoirya Izumi? It’s the transfer girl who butted in yesterday, isn’t it? The same one who butted heads with the Tennis Club before I could even lift a finger?”

“Yep! That’s her!” Mako beamed. “She said she wanted to see the campus, so I gave her a tour! We even skipped class a little bit—well, I did & maybe a lot—but since it’s her first day here, it was totally worth it!”

Ryūko sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Figures. Only you would turn ditching class into a social event.”

Mako puffed out her cheeks. “Hey, don’t be like that! Izumi-chan’s really nice! But, um…” her voice lowered a bit, “people have been kinda mean to her. I think it’s because she’s transferred as a one-star student on her first day, even though she’s really good at stuff. Some of the club leaders were complaining about her yesterday, even while she was signing up for a few.”

“Already?” Ryūko tilted her head in surprise. “And complaining about what, exactly?”

“I dunno, something about ‘disrespect’ & ‘upstaging them.’ You know, normal Honnōji stuff!”

“Right…” Ryūko drawl, frowning. “So she’s already making waves & everyone is all butt-hurt about it, huh? Guess the new girl got guts.”

Mako nodded rapidly. “She’s even living in the dorms, too! Isn’t that cool? Most people in the no-star district don’t get dorm spots, let alone one-stars, but she did! I think she could be like super special or something.”

“Eh, new blood never sits easy around here, does it?” Ryūko folded her arms, gaze turning thoughtful before shooting Mako a side glance. “And you’re sure Midoriya’s not just another egotistic weirdo with a god complex like any of the people we saw so far?”

Mako giggled. “Nooo, she’s super humble! You’d like her, Ryūko-chan! I mean, you both fight people, got that mysterious ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe & look cool doing it!”

“Huh?” Ryūko gave her a flat stare. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘fight people’? What fight?”

Mako tilted her head. “You know, the fight between the Tennis Club & Izumi-chan yesterday morning! The one everyone’s been gossiping about! Didn’t you see it? Weren't you there, Ryūko-chan?”

Ryūko blinked again, confused even more now. “That wasn’t a fight, Mako. Green just sorta stepped in, said a few words, got slapped with a warning, & that blondie Tennis Club captain left with her little entourage. That’s it.”

Mako’s jaw dropped. “That’s it?!”

“Yeah. Sorry to burst your bubble, girl but nobody threw a single punch.”

Mako slumped dramatically, pouting. “Boooooring! Everyone said it was this epic showdown, like—‘Izumi stood alone in the wind, the Tennis Club surrounding her, rackets glowing like laser swords!’ & like ‘wrroom, wrroom, WRROOM!’”

Ryūko snorted, smirking. “You really believe everything you hear here, don’t you?”

“I like my version better.” Mako huffed, folding her arms. “It had more action! More drama! More suspense, like in my favorite animes I watched on bootleg!”

Ryūko grunted, though a hint of amusement flickered across her face. 'A one-star girl who stands up to club leaders? Guess she can’t be too bad, but still, Midoriya sounds like someone I should keep an eye on.'

As they reached the top of the stairs, Ryūko slowed her pace. A faint frown tugged at her lips.

“...Midoriya Izumi, huh,” she murmured, more to herself than to Mako. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Mako tilted her head. “Had you’ve seen her before, Ryūko-chan?”

“Not really, I think…” Ryūko folded her arms, her brow knitting. “And it’s not just the name, either. When I saw her yesterday... I got this weird feeling like I’d seen her somewhere before. But I can’t put my finger on where — or why.”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. “It’s been bugging me ever since.”

“Maybe she’s, like, your long-lost relative!” Mako exclaimed, eyes wide with sudden realization. “Or maybe you were enemies in a past life! Or maybe—”

“Or maybe...” Ryūko interrupted flatly, “I just saw her on TV once.”

“Ohhh...” Mako deflated, then perked right back up. “Anyway! She’s in Class 1-A! Maybe all three of us can have lunch together someday!”

Ryūko raised an eyebrow. “Class 1-A? That means she’s a first year, right?”

“Uh-huh!” Mako chirped.

“Then her class schedule’s probably different from ours,” Ryūko said, already imagining the chaos of trying to coordinate lunch with a first year.

Mako blinked, then gasped dramatically. “Wait a sec! If she’s a first year… & we’re second years…” Her face lit up like a sparkler. “That means we’re her senpai!”

Ryūko groaned. “Oh no.”

“Senpai Ryūko-chan~!” Mako teased, grinning ear to ear. “You should totally say that to her when you meet her! ‘Hey, I’m your senpai, so listen to me!’”

“I’m not saying that, Mako! Forget it!” Ryūko deadpanned.

“You totally should! It’ll make you sound responsible, Ryūko-chan!”

“Yeah, because responsibility is totally my thing,” Ryūko muttered, rolling her eyes.

Mako giggled & skipped ahead toward the classroom, humming a tune as her friend followed behind — still frowning faintly, that strange sense of familiarity with the name Midoriya Izumi lingering in the back of her mind like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

The lunch bell rang through the halls of Honnōji Academy like an alarm, literally. The thunder of footsteps echoed as students stormed the cafeteria, forming lines that stretched halfway down the corridor. Ryūko sat at her desk in an empty classroom, tapping her chopsticks against her unopened bento box, eyes flicking toward the door.

“...She’s late.” she muttered.

Normally, Mako was the first one to barge into the empty classroom shouting “Ryuukooo-chaaaan! Lunchtime~!” before tackling her into a seat. But the classroom stayed unusually quiet, aside from the hum of gossip outside & the faint creak of the ceiling fan.

Ryūko leaned back in her chair, frowning. “Geeze, where the hell is that girl?”

She waited another few minutes before standing up & slinging her guitar case over her shoulder. “Guess she’s off skipping again.” she muttered, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

As she stepped into the hallway, she could almost hear Mako’s voice echoing in her head — “Izumi-chan this, Izumi-chan that!” Maybe Mako was hanging around that new girl again. Though, the thought of that made something twist faintly in Ryūko’s chest.

“Figures.” she sadly grumbled to herself. “Make one new friend & suddenly I’m chopped liver.”

Still, she couldn’t shake the unease. In the two days she came to know Mako, she certainly wasn’t the type to disappear without a word.

Ryūko wandered through the school courtyard, scanning the clusters of students loitering about under the midday sun. She spotted a few familiar faces — yet none of them Mako’s. Her frown deepened as she walked past a fountain toward the shade of a nearby tree... & then she stopped.

There, seated alone at one of the stone benches, was sitting Midoriya Izumi.

Her posture was composed, almost graceful, one knee crossed over the other as she wrote in a small leather-bound journal resting on her lap. A simple fountain pen twirled between her fingers with idle precision, pausing now & then so she could look up at the clouds.

The odd thing wasn’t what she was doing — it was the way her actions were presented to everyone else. Students passing by were staring at her, whispering things behind cupped hands. Some snickered, others sneered. Izumi didn’t react to any of it. She didn’t even glance their way.

It was as if the whole scene around her — the laughter, the chatter, the tension — existed on a different frequency she’d either unaware of or have long since tuned out.

Ryūko raised a brow. 'So that’s her, huh?'

The dark-haired girl squinted, curiosity tugging at her. Now that Ryūko had a better look, she realized Izumi’s uniform, like her own, wasn’t quite like the standard Honnōji design. At first glance it did followed the academy’s sailor-cut style, but, even from a distance, closer inspection reveals the details were all wrong — not subtle, deliberate wrong.

The blazer the girl’s wearing, which was odd in itself, was a slightly darker shade of slate gray with a faint metallic undertone, giving it a soft sheen when the sun hit just right. The teal trim & seams shimmered of faint silver threads, barely visible unless she moved, as if the threads themselves caught light for half a heartbeat before vanishing again.

Izumi’s sailor collar & tie were of the same teal hue, their edges faintly luminous, pulsing with a quiet energy that didn’t feel like anything Ryūko had seen in a normal uniform. It contrasted nicely with the white turtleneck the transfer student wore underneath her blazer.

Her skirt, pleated & neat, carried a plaid pattern of teal, white, & charcoal gray, each square muted but precise, like something woven by hand rather than factory-made.

The tights that covered her legs were charcoal gray as well, seamless & uniform, blending smoothly into her red ankle boots.

Everything about the outfit radiated refinement — too much for a mere one-star student living in the dorms. 'That’s no knockoff uniform at all' Ryūko thought, narrowing her eyes. 'Looks more like something outta a private school catalog. Weird flex for a one-star student.'

She tilted her head, frowning. “What’s her deal?”

Midoriya Izumi turned a page in her journal, completely unmoved by the stares, her pen gliding again with quiet precision.

Ryūko’s gaze lingered a moment longer, a nagging thought tugging at her once again. She have definitely seen that face — or maybe that stance — somewhere before. But where… if only she could remember?

Before she could place it, her attention drifted back to the empty space beside the bench.

No Mako.

Just Izumi, by herself. Writing. Alone.

Well that settled it — Mako wasn’t here, & she certainly wasn’t skipping lunch to hang out with thew new transfer student either. Which meant she was somewhere else. Somewhere she probably shouldn’t be given this crazy school.

Ryūko exhaled through her nose, muttering, “I guess it’s on me again to drag her outta whatever mess she’s gotten into this time…”

The uneasy feeling in her gut sharpened & she turned on her heel, starting toward the west wing. That’s when she overheard the voices from the Tennis Club—

“—Yeah, Captain Hakodate was really pissed. Said that Mankanshoku girl missed two tennis practices in a row already.”

“Mankanshoku ’s not even officially on the team though, right? Why is she even there in the first place?”

“Eh, doesn’t matter. She volunteered herself to be the practice dummy last week before the second trimester even began. But skipping twice? That’s a ‘purge’ level offense.”

Ryūko froze, head snapping toward the two brunettes, both laughing as they took sips from their water bottles. The air seemed to thicken around her.

She strode over, her shadow falling across the both girls before they noticed. “Hey!” she shouted sharply. “You two!”

Both jumped, nearly dropping their bottles. “Ah—! Matoi!!!” one yelped, almost choking on their drink in fright.

Ryūko crossed her arms, glaring. “I heard you just now saying something about a ‘purge.’ What were you two talking about exactly?”

The second girl hesitated. “Uh, it’s just... club discipline, Matoi. Hakodate-senpai doesn’t like members skipping out, it sets a bad example. She’s, um, teaching that Mankanshoku girl a lesson, that’s all.”

Ryūko’s expression darkened. “You mean Mako, right? Where? Is? She?!”

“I-I don’t know! Hakodate-senpai said no interruptions!”

Ryūko grabbed a handful of the one of the girl’s hair, yanking her close, the red glint of her Scissor Blade flashing in the sunlight out of nowhere. “Then maybe you should best start telling me what you know now before I decide to give you the worst haircut of your life.”

“Okay, okay! She’s at the tennis courts on the west side! They were gonna start the purge any minute!” the hostage squeaked. “Please don’t cut my hair!”

Ryūko let go with a scoff. “Thanks for the tip.”

The girl collapsed to the ground next to her equally terrified friend in relief as Ryūko stormed off, eyes blazing in righteous fury.

Neither noticed the quiet figure still sitting on the bench nearby.

Midoriya Izumi had stopped writing. The tip of her pen hovered centimeters above the page. Slowly, she closed the journal & stood, her gaze turning toward the west courts.

Her eyes were calm, unreadable — but there was the faintest flicker of worry beneath them. She adjusted her sleeve, a strand of scarlet thread glinting at her wrist.

“Mako-san’s in trouble…” she murmured, voice low.

And without another word, Midoriya Izumi followed.

Location: Honnōji Academy - Tennis Courts

Mankanshoku Mako’s small frame was tied helplessly to a pole at the center of the tennis court, surrounded by members of the Tennis Club using her to for practice. Tennis balls rained down on her from every direction, each impact a sharp thwack that made her flinch & squeal.

From the sidelines, Sanageyama Uzu’s eyes narrowed. “Hakodate, explain. What did this no-star student did to deserve this treatment?”

Hakodate Omiko, the bleached, blonde captain of the Tennis Club, smirked. “Mankanshoku has been a rather unmotivated club member lately. Missed two practices in a row since this trimester started. Standard procedure dictates she be subjected to a purge.”

Before her superior could comment further, a sudden commotion caught their attention.

Ryūko barreled into the center of the court from above, her guitar case raised like a shield. The volley of tennis balls struck the case with a metallic thud, bouncing harmlessly off. Mako ducked behind it, wide-eyed.

“Ryūko-chan!”

Despite her sudden appearance, neither Uzu nor Omiko showed the slightest hint of surprise. “Tch, figures the transfer student would show up eventually” Uzu muttered.

Omiko’s grin widened, left eye glinting with malicious amusement equal to that of her right eye beneath her telescopic lens. “Well, well, well… Matoi finally decided to shows up in person. You’re really that eager to get your ass kicked, huh?” she taunted. “Since you’ve interfered with the business of the Tennis Club just now, don’t expect an easy escape. You’re surrounded & everyone’s blocking your exit.”

Ryūko’s glare could have cut steel. “Piss off, blondie!” she growled, her voice low & dangerous as she unzip her jacket, revealing her sailor fuku underneath. “I’m going to wipe that smug grin off your face — & shred that Goku uniform of yours while I’m at it!”

Amused, the tennis captain merely grin in sadistic glee “You’re welcome to try, Matoi. Pity you have only one chance.”

“Grrrr, we’ll see about that.” grunting, Ryūko slammed her palm down. “Let’s go, Senketsu! Activate—!”

Nothing happened.

“The hell? Senketsu, change!” confused & annoyed, she tried again.

And again, her uniform remained inert, as useless as ever.

“Dammit, what are you waiting for? Don’t leave me hanging!” Her jaw tightened as she tried again, shaking her fists, stomping, pleading.

Blondie blinked, raising her right eyebrow & leaned toward superior, whispering “Hey, Sanageyama-sempai, is something supposed to happen here? Why is this transfer student arguing with her own uniform like some maniac from a mental institution?”

Uzu shrugged, expression neutral.

Omiko smirked, taking his shrug as permission. “Well, in that case, then let’s finish her!” she said, her telescopic lens shifted clockwise from green to blue, signaling her members. “Girls! 110 Million Cannonball Serve!” A fresh volley of tennis balls rocketed toward both Ryūko & Mako.

“Fuck! Mako, get behind me.”

Before the first ball could strike, a gentle tug yanked at their waists. The force flipped them backward onto their backs, sending the tennis balls hurtling harmlessly past them in all directions. The volley smashed into the other club members surrounding them, causing a cacophony of yells, scrambled limbs, & panicked racket swings. Chaos reigned.

Omiko’s eyes widened. “What the…? My club members!” she gasped, aghast at the crossfire wreaking havoc among her carefully trained team.

Uzu’s sharp gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Those falls… that too well-timed to be merely accidental,” he murmured.

Ryūko blinked, brushing dirt from her sailor fuku, while Mako clung to her… somehow despite all tied up, shaking but unharmed. Both girls noticed something peculiar just now.

Strands of crimson fiber wrapped around their waists twitched, loosening & retracting behind them. Ryūko’s eyes followed the thread, turning her head—& saw it coil smoothly into the left fingers of a calm, composed figure approaching from behind them.

Midoriya Izumi.

Her presence exuded quiet authority, the red threads an extension of her will, effortlessly neutralizing the chaos that had just engulfed the tennis court.

“What the-” Ryūko’s jaw dropped. “-You?”

“Izumi-chan!” Mako beamed.

Midoriya Izumi’s gaze was steady, unreadable. The court froze in the charged silence of disbelief & chaos, the Tennis Club members scrambling to recover.

'Was that her quirk just now?' Ryūko thought, questions upon more question racing through her mind over what just occurred. 'I though Mako said Honnōji only accept quirkless admissions?'

“You again!” Omiko’s face twisted into an ugly snarl. Her anger boiling over at the sight of Izumi.

First, one transfer student — Matoi — had dared to stick her nose where it didn’t belong & rock the boat here at Honnōji. Now, another newcomer punk decided to follow suit, an outsider intervening in the affairs of the Tennis Club.

She muttered under her breath, teeth gritted. “Do any of these transfers even know their place in the pecking order here at Honnōji?!” she roared, her lens rotating clockwise from blue to red.

With that, Omiko lifted her racket & single-handily unleashed an even larger volley than before – the 999 Million Cannonball Serve. Each one sharper & faster than the last, screaming through the air like waves of green & white ready to swept away Izumi. The entire court trembled beneath them, balls whistling like deadly missiles seeking their intended target.

Ryūko immediately scrambled upright. Hands flew towards her guitar case, ready to draw her Scissor Blade against upcoming storm ahead, but she froze mid-motion when Izumi—calm, unflinching—threw her own backpack into the air.

Something metallic glinted as it tumbled out. Izumi caught both effortlessly, backpack in her left hand & an unknown object in her right, extending outward with a sharp metallic snap. In less than a blink, it form into a long, slender weapon that looked like a cross between a pappenheimer rapier & an oversize sewing needle.

The green-haired girl took a single step forward—just one—& swung her right arm in a smooth, horizontal 180-degree arc from left to right.

For a split second, it looked like she’d just… slash through empty air?

Yet then moments latter—

SHHHHKT!

The instant the tennis balls entered within striking range of the girls, all where shredded into fine ribbons of green, white & yellow midair, fluttering harmlessly past Izumi, Mako, & Ryūko like confetti.

Ryūko blinked, lowering her guard. “What the—?”

For the briefest moment, she thought she’d seen something red flash through the air—thin, web-like lines glinting in the sunlight before vanishing as fast as they appeared.

The same shade & texture of red she saw much earlier retracting into Izumi’s fingertips.

Uzu narrowed his eyes, arms crossed. “...That wasn’t a normal slash,” he muttered under his breath. “No single slash could of cleanly shred every single ball from that distance.”

Ryūko overheard & frowned, still staring at Izumi’s stance. 'What the hell did this girl just do?'

Mako, of course, was bouncing on her heels in amazement. “That was so cool! Ryūko-chan, did you see that?! She didn’t even touch them! Just—shing! And all the balls went poof!”

Omiko’s teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. “No… this isn’t possible!” she hissed through gritted teeth, fury radiating in waves. “That was my trump card!”

“FOUL!” Uzu stepped forward, voice cutting through through the chaos again.

Midoriya Izumi froze, her weapon still in hand. “Huh?” Her brow furrowed in bewilderment, her calm, collected composure wobbling slightly.

Uzu nodded solemnly. “Slicing tennis balls with a weapon is against the rules in an official tennis match. Since we’re on a tennis court, that constitutes disqualification. You lose the match, Midoriya— even if you technically won the fight.”

Her stoic mask shattered, replaced by a bewildered, confused frown. “B-but...but t-this doesn’t make any sense! I stopped all the balls—no one got hurt. How is that a foul?!”

Ryūko stomped forward, practically vibrating with frustration. “Exactly! Are you seriously telling me that stopping a murderously high-speed storm of balls with your own weapon is illegal?! What kind of—what kind of stupid rule is that?!”

Uzu crossed his arms, expression neutral. “Rules are rules. Tennis balls must follow tennis protocols. No weapons are allowed in play.”

“No weapons?!” Ryūko shouted, throwing her arms up. “You’re telling me she just saved Mako & me from getting flattened & now she’s the one who lost?!”

Izumi’s voice rose slightly, her composure fraying. “But, I—I didn’t violate anything meaningful! I neutralized a threat. There was no unfair advantage in the context of a fight. The balls were going to hit both Mako-san &—!”

Uzu’s eyebrow lifted. “Context doesn’t matter. This is a tennis court. Therefore, is a tennis match. By the letter, disqualification is mandatory.”

Ryūko let out a strangled growl, stamping her foot. “Oh my fucking god! This is absolute bullshit! Are you kidding me?! Tennis rules?! We’re not playing some stupid match—we’re dealing with—”

“Um, Matoi-san, you’re arguing with the rules.” Izumi said, pointing at Uzu with one hand while holding her rapier-needle in the other. “I don’t think we could make sense of it; because there is none. This… these rules makes no logical sense.”

“Hey!” Ryūko whirled to glare at her, causing green-haired girl to flinch. “Don’t tell me to stop! This is insane, you kno—”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Mako suddenly piped up, bouncing slightly despite being tied up...which unravel anyway. Her eyes sparkled like she’d discovered a major revelation. “Listen! Listen!”

*Cue Mako’s Hallelujah Theme*

“She—the transfer student, Izumi-chan—totally won!” Mako pointing at bewilder Izumi, the subject of her coming presentation just now.

“Come again?” Uzu responded with a blank look of confusion.

Undeterred, Mako continued to ramble on “I mean, she didn’t just defend herself, she saved me from being hit by all those balls! So many! Many! BALLS!"

Ryūko & Izumi trade bewildered glances

"Oh, & Ryūko-chan too, I mean she tried at first but also had to get rescued by Izumi-chan as well when she took over. If Izumi-chan didn’t show up until after balls left the racket of the Tennis Club, & Omiko-senpai’s first shot indirectly hit her own team because she ordered them to attack Ryūko-chan & I but missed, then that means…”—she thrust her finger up toward the sky—“Izumi-chan won the match by default! Izumi-chan didn’t break the rules of the fight, the ‘purge’—whatever!—she won fair & square!”

Ryūko blinked, momentarily distracted by Mako’s sheer enthusiasm.

Omiko scowled, crossing her arms.

Mako bounced on her toes, hands flailing for emphasis. “Look at this way, you don’t even need count the balls she sliced into confetti during the second time because none of us got hurt, right? The balls didn’t land on anyone...sort of, unlike the first which means she neutralized the threat without any casualties! That’s like… a perfect win! She deserves to win!”

Izumi’s jaw dropped slightly. “T-That’s… exactly what I was trying to explain this entire time!” utterly bewildered by how fast logic, & maybe her brain cells, died at this school.

Uzu’s neutral gaze softened just a fraction. “You make a point,” he admitted. “In practical terms, she did prevent harm, which is… an acceptable outcome.”

Ryūko exhaled loudly, shaking her head. “I swear this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t even—”

Omiko, still fuming but now begrudgingly nodding, muttered, “Grrrrr, fine. I guess… by that logic… she technically wins. That actually checks out.”

Mako threw her arms around Ryūko & Izumi, practically squealing. “See! I knew it! She won! She really won!”

Ryūko groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m surrounded by idiots. And this chick,” she nodded toward Mako, “…is actually a genius for once.”

Izumi, still gripping her hybrid weapon, blinked at Mako. Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between bewildered & resigned. “…I’ll take it?”

But just as the laughter started again, something snapped as Omiko’s eyes hardened, her jaw tightening. Her pride wasn’t built to take public such humiliation like that—not from another transfer student, & certainly not in front of her superior/sempai…

It happened again.

Not Again.

Never Again!

Ryūko noticed it first. The air around the blonde Tennis Club captain felt different—hotter, heavier.

“Enough games!” The blonde-haired girl hissed, the smile vanishing from her face, fixing Izumi with a murderous glare could’ve burned holes through the floor. “You think you can just stroll in here like you’re hot stuff & make a fool out of me, my team, on MY court?!”

Ryūko stepped back, sensing the tone shift. “Aw, crap…”

Omiko’s knuckles tightened around her racket. “Fine then. If a tennis match doesn't suit you,  then let's settle this the old fashion way! We'll see how long that stoic little face of yours lasts when it getting pummeled!”

Izumi met her glare without flinching. “Do you really want to go another round, Hakodate-san?”

“Don’t think you can hide behind excuses again, Midoriya!” the blonde yelled, her lens shifting counter-clockwise from red to blue. “Not this time!”

Uzu, standing off to the side, crossed his arms and gave a faint smirk. “Guess we’re doing this for real now.”

The air around the court shifted the moment Omiko’s racket hit the ground. The court fell silent instantly, replaced with a buzz of anticipation as many onlooks began to gather around. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Ryūko felt her pulse quicken. She knew that look in the Tennis Club Captain’s eyes—she’d seen it in fighters before they went for blood.

The dark-haired girl sighed, resting a hand on her guitar case. “Great… here we go again.” Her hand reaching to her guitar case, but before she could unsling her Scissor Blade, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Stop.” Uzu’s voice was sharp & commanding, like a blade itself. “This duel is between Hakodate & Midoriya. Do not interfere, Matoi, or you forfeit the right to fight any duel from here on out in Honnōji.”

Ryūko snapped her head toward him, scowling. “What the hell are you talking about? Green’s gonna get pummeled out there!”

Omiko turned towards her, sneering. “Stay out of this, Matoi! You already blew your chance yesterday & a few minutes earlier! This is my match! She’s my opponent! Not You!”

Ryūko grit her teeth, glaring, but she stepped back reluctantly. Mako tugged at her sleeve nervously. “Ryūko-chan, maybe Izumi-chan’s got this…? I mean, she did make all those tennis balls explode earlier!”

“…Fine” Ryūko sighed, crossing her arms with an annoyed pout. “Guess we’ll see what Midoriya is really capable of.”

Both opponents, Midoriya & Hakodate, stared down at each from opposite ends of the court. Omiko didn’t wait long after the duel started, lunging first, swinging her racket in a blur that split the air like a whip crack, shattered the sound barrier with a sonic boom.

Izumi sidestepped, turning her rapier just enough for the racket to barely scrape harmlessly off its hilt guard. The move was subtle, graceful — almost too light to be taken seriously.

The blonde Tennis Club captain snarled at missed target & attacked again & again in rapid succession, her strokes growing faster, heavier, more aggressive with each strike.

Each blow powerful enough to, upon impact, reduce the walls of tennis court to dust & rubble, form craters on the ground, decimating equipment left out in the arena, reducing the net separating them to torn shreds, & leave any unlucky onlooker scrabbling for cover lest they become sitting targets admidst friendly fire.

Yet Izumi flowed between each one — ducking, weaving, redirecting with precise flicks of her wrist. Each motion was economical, perfectly measured.

“Uh… isn’t she gonna do anything?” whispered Mako, eyes wide at the destruction of school property unfolding throughout the fight.

Ryūko frowned. “I dunno. Looks like she’s just playing defense.”

“Izumi-chan is kinda making it look so easy though,” Mako added in awe.

“Well she can’t keep this up forever.” pointed out Ryūko. “Midoriya is going to have to strike back eventually.”

Omiko gritted her teeth, veins bulging on her forehead around her telescopic lens. “Stand still & fight damn you!” She swung her racket in a wide arc that obliterated a nearby training dummy her opponent took cover behind, splintering it in half. Dust filled the air.

But when the smoke cleared—Izumi was gone. “WHAT! Where—?!” Omiko spun around, furious. “Stop hiding Midoriya & face me like a real opponent, you coward!”

A calm voice came from directly behind her. “Right here.”

Omiko whipped around just in time to see the flash of silver. She threw herself back, but not fast enough — her uniform split down the chest with a clean slice, leaving only barely a shallow cut against her skin.

Izumi didn’t move in for another strike. Instead, she leveled her rapier & firmly command. “Yield. This match is over.”

The Tennis Club Captain’s face twisted with rage. “Don’t get full of yourself, Midoriya! You barely scratched me!” She raised her racket again, shouting, “All you been doing the entire match was running around in circles! You think you can beat me that way with an oversized needle?!”

Izumi’s tone didn’t waver. “Did you really though I’ve been wasting your time just dodging?”

Omiko faltered, confused. “What—?”

Izumi turned her wrist, angling her weapon so the light caught something at its tip — a single, shimmering red thread. It glowed faintly, connected to an intricate web of thinner strands barely visible to the naked eye, all leading back into the fibers of Omiko’s own uniform.

Ryūko squinted, frowning. “What the hell…?”

'A nexus thread?!' Uzu's eyes widen in shock 

Omiko’s gasp in horror. “Wh—What did you—”

Izumi gave her rapier a gentle pull.

Fshhhhht!

In an instant, Omiko’s two-star Goku Uniform unraveled before everyone’s eyes, the life fibers unwinding in a flurry of green and gold strands until she was left standing in her underwear, her racket clattering uselessly to the floor.

A hush fell over the entire court's audience.

Omiko froze, trembling with shock, her face redder than her uniform used to be. Izumi stepped forward, rapier angled toward her throat — not threateningly, but decisively.

“Concede,” Izumi said quietly. “You’ve lost.”

The sound of fabric unraveling faded into the heavy silence that followed. Threads from Omiko’s shredded Goku Uniform fluttered down like gray snow, glinting under the court lights. Izumi stood perfectly still, her rapier angled low, the glimmering fiber thread retracting back into the weapon like a breath being drawn in.

What's left of Omiko’s racket clattered to the ground. Her hand twitched, then fell to her side as she exhaled sharply. “...I-I yield.”

Gasps rippled through the watching students. Ryūko blinked, not sure she heard right. That was it? Just like that?

Izumi relaxed her stance & started to approach. There was no gloating in her face — no satisfaction, no smirk. Just a calm, almost quiet respect.

She stopped a few feet away & extended her hand. “You fought well, Hakodate-san. It’s over now.”

For a moment, it looked like Omiko might take it. Then she slapped Izumi’s hand aside with a sharp crack.

“Don’t.” she said, voice shaking. “Please, just don’t...”

Her eyes glistened, but not with anger. She turned her face away, teeth gritted, shoulders trembling as she wrapped what was left of her uniform jacket around herself. Ryūko expected her to start yelling — throwing insults, declaring revenge — but instead, the blonde just stood there, silent.

That silence said more than any words ever could.

The crowd was murmuring now, confused by the sudden change in the fiery tennis captain. Mako tilted her head, whispering, “Uh… is it just me, or does Omiko-sempai look super sad for someone who’s usually scary?”

Ryūko frowned. “Yeah. It’s not just you.”

Omiko’s eyes were wide but unfocused — as if she wasn’t seeing the court at all, but something else entirely. Her jaw clenched, and she bit back whatever emotion was threatening to spill out. She turned sharply and began walking off the court, muttering, “This isn’t over…” but her voice cracked halfway through.

Izumi didn’t chase after her. She just watched in silence, lowering her hand slowly before exhaling, her expression unreadable. Not pride — not guilt — just a quiet, understanding kind of sadness.

Mako leaned close to Ryūko. “Wow, that was intense. Izumi-chan didn’t even look happy about winning!”

Ryūko muttered, “Yeah. Guess she’s not the type to brag.” But deep down, she couldn’t shake the look on Omiko’s face. That mix of anger & hurt — it was too real, too raw.

The dark-haired girl watched in uneasy silence as the Tennis Club captain stumbled off the court.

It wasn’t like when she’d beaten Fukuroda Takaharu two days ago — that meathead captain from the Boxing Club. That fight ended with him naked, unconscious, bloody, & drooling into the dirt. She’d walked away from that one fight feeling all fired up, almost proud her achievement.

But this…

This felt wrong.

Omiko wasn’t beaten. She was hurt. And not from Izumi’s blade.

Ryūko’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know why, but something about seeing Omiko like that — trembling, broken, holding back tears — made her feel uncomfortable, even a little guilty. Like she was watching someone’s private pain instead of a fair fight.

“Jeez…” Ryūko muttered under her breath, folding her arms. “What the hell’s her deal?”

Beside her, Mako tilted her head, frowning. “She looks like she wants to cry but also like she’s trying not to. Maybe she remembered something sad? Like her pet goldfish dying, or when you drop your croquette in the mud and it’s the last one—”

The former Kanto Vagabond sighed. “...Yeah, sure. Something like that.”

She looked toward Izumi again. The girl hadn’t moved. She just stood there quietly, watching Omiko walk away, that same unreadable calm on her face — but there was something softer now. Something regretful.

Izumi’s fingers flexed slightly on the hilt of her rapier, as if she wanted to reach out — but stopped herself.

Then came the slow, deliberate clap clap clap from the side of the court.

Sanageyama Uzu stepped forward, his grin stretching wide. “Well, that was one hell of a show. Sharp work, Midoriya. Simple, clean, & efficient. You’re definitely not like the other transfer student here with us now.”

“HEY!” Ryūko’s eye twitched. “What’s the hell that supposed to mean, you smug sonab—”

Uzu ignored her, still smirking at Izumi. “Though, I gotta say, using some kinda neat thread trick to slice a two-star captain’s Goku uniform? That’s definitely a new one.” He tilted his head, curious. “I didn’t think that was possible. Guess I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Izumi began scratching her head bashfully, evidently not used to receiving so much praise before, much to Ryūko's annoyance.

“Still...” he continued “as impressive as you little thread trick is, remember this — dueling a club captain without proper authorization is against academy rules. That could cost you your position here.”

Izumi turned her gaze toward him, unfazed. “Position? I wasn’t aware I had one to lose to begin with.”

“Heh. Fair enough.” Uzu smirked “It's a shame I have to punish you for breaking the rules though. You & Matoi, but it's nothing personal though.”

CL-ACK!

“Stand down, Sanageyama.”

Before Ryūko could snap back, another voice — clear, commanding, & cold — cut through the murmurs like a blade.

The crowd fell silent instantly. Kiryūin Satsuki stepped forward from the upper balcony, her presence alone shifting the entire atmosphere with her radiance.

Every student bowed their heads in reverence as she descended the flight of stairs, the fabric of her uniform flowing like a banner of authority. Only Ryūko stood up in defiance, scowling in contempt. “Oh just great, her again…”

Satsuki ignored the defiant outsider, her gaze instead swept over the remains of the ruined court — the shredded Goku uniform, the severed racket strings, the quiet tension, the Tennis Club captain’s retreating figure in the distance...

Then her eyes landed on Izumi, standing in silent composure as both girls make eye contact.

“You fought well with great restraint, Midoriya-san.” Satsuki said evenly. “You disarmed your opponent with utmost efficiency, yet without an ounce of cruelty. A rare quality in this academy.”

Izumi inclined her head respectfully. “Thank you, Kiryūin-san. I only did what was necessary: Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“As to be expected…” Satsuki’s lips curved into a faint smirk “...from a former student of U.A.”

Chapter Text

Date: 2228.09.05 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy – Student Council President’s Suite

Steam rose in delicate coils from the porcelain teacup beside her.

Kiryūin Satsuki sat in composed silence, the dim light of the projector bathing her personal study in cold blue. Beyond the towering walls of glass, Honnō-chō gleamed under moonlight — its neon arteries pulsing the streets of the one-star district far below, an empire that moved to her rhythm even in sleep.

Soroi Mitsuzō, a tall, thin man with dark eyes & neat, receding gray hair, stood quietly at her side, refilling her tea. The faint clink of porcelain was the only sound that dared disturb the still silence — that, & the low hum of recorded footage.

On the screen, various images looped endlessly: Midoriya Izumi, poised mid-strike, her needle-rapier caught in a decisive arc. Pieces of Hakodate Omiko’s broken tennis racket scattered like shards of powdered glass around the feet of the defeated Tennis Club Captain. The transfer-student’s breathing was steady, her face unreadable — the expression of someone who understood the meaning of restraint more than the taste of victory.

Satsuki’s sharp eyes followed every motion —

The subtle twitch in her stance,

The precise spacing of her steps,

The measured pressure behind every swing.

“Skilled or not, Midoriya-san adapted rather quickly.” Satsuki said at last, her voice calm but cutting. “Not the flailing of a ranked amateur. Nor the brutality of a common thug. No…”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“…she fights like someone remembering once forgotten skills — not learning anew.”

“A refined instinct?” Mitsuzō murmured, bowing slightly. “Perhaps it was something carried over from her brief time at U.A., Lady Satsuki?”

Satsuki’s lips curved in a faint, knowing smirk. “Perhaps.”

She pressed a control on her armrest. The footage flickered, transitioning to another feed — this one from the tennis court’s crowd surveillance network captured two days ago. The sound of chaos swelled to fill the chamber: shouting, gasps, the low thunder of a thousand voices converging upon a single major revelation.

Satsuki leaned forward slightly.

“Begin playback.”

The hum of the projector deepened — & the past came alive again.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

Two Days Earlier

Date: 2228.09.03 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy – Tennis Court

The air was split with noise.

No-star & one-star students of both genders shouted over one another, phones flashing like a sea of sparks in the coming dark at sunset. The name Midoriya Izumi spread across Honnōji’s digital feeds faster than fire burning through dry grass on a open plain.

“Wait—is she’s that chick from U.A.? The same one who won the First Years Sports Festival a few months ago?”

“WHAT! But this school doesn’t even take quirkies! Why the hell is she even here?!”

“Get a load of this, news say her quirk’s called Threadfiber or something—how’s that even fair for us quirkless folks?!”

“Damn elitist bitch! Lookin down on all of us!”

"GO BACK TO U.A.!!!"

Any admiration possibility gained during the green-haired girl’s match earlier already since curdled into suspicion, suspicion into resentment, & resentment into hate.

Satsuki’s cold gaze swept the stands — a sea of gray, blue & white uniforms glued by the ghostly blue of their phone screens. Hundreds of hands moved in near-unison, every boy or girl diving into their devices, scouring archives & networks for further proof. Their faces glowed with the cold light of revelation mixed with envy & rage.

The Student Council President could already see it in their eyes — the hunger for gossip, for hierarchy, for blood. After all, here in Honnōji Academy, information was simply another weapon meant to be used.

Even her Elite Four were not immune to the sudden ripple of surprise. Sanageyama Uzu stood nearest to Midoriya down in the court, his usual swagger stilled, eyes wide in shock as he studied the transfer student with renewed wariness.

Accompanied by her side was Jakuzure Nonon, Inumuta Hōka, & Gamagōri Ira. The former two both exchanging glances — one tense, the other already analyzing the sudden influx of data streams flooding in. In contrast, Gamagōri’s jaw tightened, his posture towering yet uncertain.

“Hmmph, disgraceful.” Gamagōri muttered in contempt, his arms crossed in disgust.

“Indeed it is.” Satsuki replied, her gaze now locked on Izumi. “It’s such weaknesses that reveals the true character of these pigs in human clothing for what they really are.”

Satsuki herself remained immovable, but she filed away every reaction. For discipline was mastery over surprise, not the absence of it.

Below her at the bottom of the steps, Izumi exhaled slowly. The green-haired girl's surprise was visible only in the faintest flicker of her eyes before composure reclaimed her.

‘So… she hadn’t expected me to know either.’ Satsuki mused.

“If you already know who I am, Kiryūin-san...” Izumi said, her tone steady despite the uproar around her, “...then you must know I don’t want to bring any trouble here. All I just want is an opportunity to finish my education here for the next few years & move on.”

“Your actions today with the Tennis Club Captain suggest otherwise, Midoriya-san.” Satsuki’s voice carried effortlessly through the chaos. “Unlike the rest of your peers, you’re not the type to sit idle as the world turns.”

Izumi’s eyes met hers — sharp, defensive, but not hostile.

“And we both know full well...” Satsuki continued, each syllable measured, “...that your transfer here to Honnōji Academy was no mere bureaucratic accident the paperwork claimed it to be.”

“What?!” Izumi stiffened. A murmur rippled through the crowd once again. “H-how did you—”

“I know far more than what you think you believe, Midoriya-san.” said the Student Council President.

A silence followed. Then it came: a faint vibration in the air, a whisper of something alive. Only Satsuki & a handful of others felt it. Her eyes flicked to the fabric of Midoriya’s transfer-student uniform — & for a single heartbeat, the clothing seemed to breathe.

'Life-fibers.'

But not just any ordinary ones.

In the stands, Satsuki quickly turn to notice sudden jerking moment of Matoi Ryūko, her posture tightening as if she was stung in the back. Followed by a brief string of profanities, the girl's lips moved — low & quick, like someone or something speaking to herself.

Satsuki frowned, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Matoi’s attention suddenly was fixed on Midoriya once more, yet her conversation seemed directed elsewhere unseen.

The Student Council President caught bits & fragments only through the noise.

“Ryūko… be still…”

“…something’s wrong…”

Disjointed, half-heard. The sound & speech pattern didn’t match that of Kanto Vagabond’s voice at all.

Satsuki’s gaze sharpened. The student council president did not possess a kamui herself — thus she could not hear the voice of living garment that clung to Matoi's body. But clearly she saw the telltale flicker of motion across its threads, the subtle pulse of sentience.

'And yet...' Satsuki’s eyes narrowed once more. 'Midoriya seemed capable of hearing – no, understanding, the full extent of what was said.'

Even across the ruined tennis court, the student council president caught the brief glance the green-haired transfer-student gave toward the stands, eyes locking on her dark-haired counterpart’s collar. Brief recognition flashed between them something silent, unspoken, & dangerous.

'A resonance?' The air thrummed faintly, as though something beneath the surface had stirred awake.

Satsuki’s expression never faltered, but in that instant, her mind was already calculating her next move.
The girl from U.A. carried more than just a quirk.

No...more than that, Midoriya carried a secret the life-fibers themselves seemed to recognize.

'This...' Satsuki is certain. '...this changes everything.'

“Midoirya-san.” Satsuki called out to transfer-student once more, gaining her undivided attention. “If you wish to seek out answers, you know where to find me.”

Izumi turn to face her, hesitating — before giving a short nod, more defiance than submission.
“Fine. I’ll play by your rules for now, Kiryūin-san. But don’t mistake this for obedience. I’m not your underling.”

Satsuki tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk ghosting across her lips.

“In time… we’ll see.”

END FLASHBACK:

The projection faded to black, leaving only the soft hum of the monitors. Satsuki sat motionless for a moment, tea cooling beside her remained untouched. The faint reflection of Midoriya Izumi continued to lingered on the darkened screen — composed, unreadable, infuriatingly calm.

“Midoriya-san hides herself well.” she murmured, almost to herself.

Mitsuzō, her ever attentive butler, folded his hands. “Do you believe her quirk is responsible for this... resonance, Lady Satsuki?”

“It is possible.” she answered, though her tone carried doubt. “But unlikely. Life-fibers & quirks were never meant to coexist—at least, not without consequence. Yet she seems... untouched by this very contradiction.”

She rose, the glass wall behind her alive with city light. The storm outside painted streaks of silver across the skyline — her empire reflecting in rain. And yet, for once, her eyes weren’t on it.

“I underestimated her.” Satsuki admitted quietly. “That will not happen again.”

A flicker of motion caught her eye — the projection restarting without command. Midoriya walking away from the arena, the faint movement of fabric at her chest. The sailor tie shifted, rippled—then blinked. A single eye of violet & billiant gold, open for only a heartbeat, before the feed cut once more to black.

Two reflections stared back from the glass: Satsuki’s own & that of the dormant screen, where the ghost of the girl’s uniform seemed almost to breathe.

“So...” she whispered, her voice calm but on edge. “...what secrets have you smuggled into my academy, Midoriya Izumi?”

The porcelain cup clicked softly as she set it down. The tea’s surface had gone still, mirroring the pulse of the monitors behind her.

Mitsuzō stepped forward, his expression patient but concerned. “You have not rested since that match, my lady. It has been almost two nights.”

“Rest is irrelevant.” she replied evenly. “Honnōji must know of its enemies before put to the test by them.”

Her gaze turned toward a frozen frame of Izumi mid-attack — threads of crimson light coiling up her arms, the telltale signature of something unnatural that should not exist.

“‘Unnatural’ isn’t the right word.” Satsuki murmured. “No... ‘inevitable’ suits her better.”

Then she extended a hand toward the console.

“Archive playback — Sewing Club laboratory, experimental trials, week minus one of the Fall Trimester.”

At her command, the lights dimmed.

The wall of monitors flickered from blue to white static. Data dissolved into moving light — images reforming, grainy & sharp. The hum of the present gave way to the rhythmic whir of sewing machines, the scent of hot fabric & steel, & the low murmur of Iori Shirō’s voice.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

One Week Before the Fall Trimester

Date: 2228.08.XX CE
Location: Honnōji Academy – Sewing Club Laboratory

The air was thick with heat & ozone, vibrating with the rhythm of machinery. The looms of crimson fabric thundered like mechanical hearts, feeding red, living threads across the floor in serpentine patterns.

From the observation deck above, Kiryūin Satsuki watched in silence, her shadow cast long over the chaos below. Inumuta Hōka’s holographic console pulsed beside her, lines of data cascading down its surface like waterfalls.

Below them, Iori Shirō — president of the Sewing Club — adjusted the dials on a containment rig where a trembling student lay ready to be encased in a prototype uniform— a living weave pulsing against skin. Around him, club members in reinforced hazmat suits moved like surgeons working on a live bomb.

“We will begin incorporating a weave of 50% life-fibers into the five-star goku uniform." Shirō announced. "Shall we proceed, Lady Satsuki?”

“Proceed.” commanded Satsuki. Shirō nodded, signaling the team leader in the holding cell to begin.

“Commence fitting. Begin phase one of life-fiber infusion.”

CLICK

"First button successfully attached."

"Careful now! Watch your filters — fiber dust concentration levels are high!”

“Life-fiber saturation at nineteen percent & climbing." Inumuta reported. "Stable so far. Begin phase two of operation.”

"Altering sleeve length...checked. Adjusting vents & chest compression…"

“Excellent. Begin phase three now.” Shirō commanded. “Thirty percent life-fiber saturation.”

“Bioelectric synchronization at eighty-two percent.” Inumuta reported. “Holding stable...for now.”

The uniform then shimmered crimson. Fibers writhed beneath the fabric like veins beneath skin.

“Activation of life-fibers confirmed! Maintain restraints!”

Then — a spike came. The boy screams tore through the hum of machines. The containment field flared red-hot.

"Maintain Restraints! Don't let go of any of those chains!" 

“Forty-five percent!” Shirō barked. “We’re losing coherence!”

"MAINTA-!"

The sentence was cut short by an explosion of motion. The student snapped free.

Chains whipped through the air as the containment rig burst apart, shards of glass & steel scattering like shrapnel. The boy’s skin rippled beneath the living weave of life-fibers crawling up his arms, wrapping around his neck like a hulking parasite seeking dominance.

“Contain him!” Shirō roared.

Too late. The berserk student lunged, moving with inhuman speed for one of such size. One club member was already hurled across the lab, another slammed into a steel column. The life-fiber lines pulsed around the boy's bulging muscles like scarlet tendrils, flaying the air in jagged arcs.

“Security!” Shirō shouted into his comm. “Tranquilizer units — NOW!”

A dozen guards rushed in, rifles raised & fired, but the berserker charged straight through them, their tranquilizer darts barely grazing the uniform’s surface. He moved like a charging animal in human shape — each movement a violent blur.

One of the guards screamed as crimson threads coiled around his arm, slowly tearing through his sleeve like razors.

“Life-fibers are self-propagating!” Inumuta warned from the platform. “They’re multiplying beyond containment threshold—”

“Enough.” Satsuki commanded, her voice low & controlled.

In an instant, the blue-haired boy was already on the move, descending upon the platform in a blur of blue light, boots clanging against the metal walkway. His visor flared to life, scanning.

“Subject exhibits hyper-reactive fiber conduction. Locating central nexus…”

The berserker lunged — & Inumuta stepped in the student's path. In a flash of motion, his hand shot forward & plunged through the writhing threads at the student’s chest.

The air cracked with static.

“Analysis complete. Nexus-fiber confirmed.” he murmured.

With a single, fluid motion, Inumuta tore the nexus-fiber free — a thick, glowing strand thrashing like a live wire before dissolving in his grip.

The student convulsed once & collapsed, the red glow slowing fading from his veins.

For a long moment, the only sound was the slow, rhythmic hum of the looms.

“Security, empty all tranquilizer rounds!”

A burst of red light filled the chamber, metallic & searing. When the glow subsided, the student lay unconscious — alive, but his uniform had crumbled into dust.

Silence followed. Only the cooling hum of the machines remained.

“Damn it...another failure." Shirō exhaled through clenched teeth, helping the injured club members to their feet. "The host cannot withstand over forty percent integration. Any attempts to exceed that threshold results in instability.”

Satsuki’s voice was calm, absolute. “Then they are not ready to wear such power.”

“Still, the progress we achieved was measurable." Inumuta’s visor flickered. "Our new four-star goku uniforms now holds perfect synchronization for suitable candidates. Any further advancements may require parameters beyond that… of a human host.”

“Beyond human?” The Sewing Club President echoed. “We’ve just barely stabilized the four-star designs. Pushing toward a five-star prototype so soon risks undoing months of work we had accomplished.”

“Time...” Satsuki said, eyes never leaving the ruined test rig. “...is a precious commodity, Shirō. We cannot stand & wait for the world to change — not when it already has.”

Inumuta looked up from his tablet. “Are you referring to that incident a while back, Lady Satsuki? All of Japan is up in arms about it for over a week already.”

A pause stretched, filled only by the faint vibration of the looms.

“More than that, Inumuta, for something vast has awakened.” Satsuki said at last. Her tone carried the stillness before thunder. “A storm is gathering — one that will rewrite the order of power itself. The world’s pillars have begun to fall, & the symbol they once held is starting to crumble. When that tempest arrives, Honnōji must stand unshaken.”

Her gaze lifted toward the ceiling, as though seeing through concrete & steel into the distant horizon.

“The strong will rise to claim what remains. The weak will seek shelter beneath them. But we…” — her eyes gleamed — “…we will endure & shape what follows after.”

Iori Shirō hesitated, glancing at the unconscious student. “Then this — all of this — isn’t merely about uniforms then.”

“No." A faint smile touched her lips. "It is about survival.”

Thunder rumbled somewhere beyond the laboratory — though the skies above Honnō-chō were still clear.

“Continue your research, Shirō.” Satsuki ordered. “Lower integration thresholds to forty-eight percent. Begin design on alternative containment models if you must.”

Inumuta began logging the parameters. Shirō exchanged a brief, uneasy look with him — both sensing that their Lady’s vision reached may exceed far beyond the reaches of science.

As the Student Council President turned to leave, her heels struck the metal floor in even, deliberate rhythm.

Inumuta watched her go. “A storm, she says.” he murmured. “But she never said exactly what kind.”

“Whatever it is...” the blonde replied, adjusting his glasses. “Knowing Satsuki, she’s had such preparations in advanced already.”

Outside, the first drops of rain tapped against the academy’s windows — the herald of a storm not yet born.

END FLASHBACK:

The holographic projection faded, leaving only the whisper of rain against glass. For a long moment, Satsuki said nothing — her reflection lingered over Izumi’s frozen image on the monitor, two figures staring back through the shimmer of light.

Thunder murmured across the distance, faint but deliberate, as though the heavens themselves were still considering what they had witnessed.

She turned away. The untouched tea had long gone cold beside her hand. The air still hummed faintly from the generators like a heartbeat pulsing through steel & silence.

Kiryūin Satsuki stood before the great window of her personal suiter, gazing out over Honnōji Academy & Honnō-chō beyond. The night stretched beneath her like a sheet of black silk threaded with pale gold — the city’s lights stitched into the pattern of her dominion.

The earlier storm had passed, leaving behind a sky bruised with the last traces of lightning. Mitsuzō moved quietly behind her once more, pouring another cup of tea — her third since midnight.

She did not touch it.

“I recalled you summoned a meeting for the Student Council immediately after the duel between Midoriya-san & Hakodate-san, my lady.” he said gently. “Did you anticipated any resistance that day?”

“No.” she answered, her voice precise and even. “But I expected doubt. And doubt, once settled, is as dangerous in the long run as is rebellion.”

Her eyes remained on the horizon — on the faint ripple of light where the ocean met the city.

“The Elite Four would have seen some of the footages by then. Their voices must be heard before their questions grow teeth.”

She turned, her heels clacking across the marble floor — every movement deliberate, the weight of command in each step.

“Archive retrieval: Council recording — Operation Threadline. Timestamp: nineteen-hundred hours.”

The chamber lights dimmed. The holographic array awakened in a slow bloom of blue light, rippling like water across the air.

And once again, the present dissolved — replaced by memory, summoned at her command.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

Two Days Ago

Date: 2228.09.03 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy – Student Council President’s Suite

The circular council chamber thrummed with low mechanical resonance, the faint red veins of Life Fiber conduits pulsing beneath the glass floor.

Satsuki stood at the head of the table, the faint shimmer of the holographic records behind her replaying the tennis-court duel in slow motion — Midoriya Izumi vs. Hakodate Omiko. The air itself seemed to tense under the weight of her authority.

“Gentlemen, the duel between Midoriya Izumi & Hakodate Omiko just earlier.” Satsuki said, her voice cutting through the mechanical hum. “What are your assessments?”

Gamagōri bowed his head slightly, the reflection of red light flashing across his uniform. ““The match was… exemplary, my lady. Midoriya-san fought well within what was allowed in our rules, but her skill exceeds any standard combat discipline. Her restraint was formidable — she controlled the battle’s tempo completely.”

“Controlled isn't the right word I would use to describe what just happened earlier." Uzu leaned forward in his seat, grinning. "Green read Hakodate like a book before the match even started. Every move, every counter planned two steps ahead. She made a third-year club captain look like a first-year amateur.”

“And yet, Midoriya didn’t even bother to gloat.” Jakuzure twirled her baton, unimpressed. “No shouting, no arrogance. Just… silence. Creepy quiet actually. Like she’s done this before.”

“She has.” Gamagōri replied. He produced a manila folder, briming with documents, before placing it carefully on the table. “From what Inumuta’s gathered, Midoriya-san’s transcript from U.A. listed multiple combat & academic commendations. Top score on the Entrance Exams, both written & physical. First place at the Sports Festival. Rank two on her end of trimester exam.”

“That quite the resume little Ms. Overachiever got there.” Uzu let out a low whistle, almost impressed by the list on accomplishments the subject of their investigation acquired. “But it still doesn’t explain why a quirkie like her is sitting under our roof instead of back in U.A.”

“That’s what troubles me. Honnōji Academy doesn’t accept students with quirks — for good reason.” Inumuta’s visor flared with scrolling data. “Instability between quirks & life-fiber resonance always proven catastrophic in the past. We’ve all seen it at least once before: total consumption, permanent quirk loss, sometimes both.”

“Hold on." Uzu frowned & gestured at the opposite side of the chamber — where Iori Shirō, the president of the Sewing Club, sat quietly among the Elite Four. "Why’s the stitcher sitting at the table with us generals? No offense, but since when do tailors attend war councils?”

The blonde merely adjusted his glasses, calm as still water. Before he could answer, Inumuta’s voice cut through.

“Because Shirō-san is the foremost expert on life-fiber physiology that we have at Honnōji” The blue-haired boy said firmly. “If we’re discussing bioenergetic anomalies, his expertise is essential & has already proven invaluable to our cause.”

Satsuki inclined her head. “Indeed. I specifically requested his presence. This is a matter that concerns more than mere combat performance, Sanageyama.”

That silenced any further protest. The chamber’s ambient hum deepened, almost like a heartbeat.

At that, Shirō leaned forward, eyes glinting behind his lenses.

“Life-fibers do not tolerate any opposition, for they devour what they cannot dominate. That’s why the Honnōji Academy’s admissions policy forbids any & all quirked applicants — even REVOCS materials can’t mitigate that risk.”

Jakuzure tilted her head. “Then what’s so special about this girl’s quirk anyway?”

Inumuta projected several data feeds mid-air, lines of red & blue converging into Izumi’s combat profile. “Her quirk...” he said, his voice level. “...is anything but ordinary. Officially, the HPSC's quirk registry dubs it as Threadfiber. But when you examine its pattern closely…”

He magnified the waveform feed— a spiraling helix of light that pulsed like a living heart.

“…you’ll see it mirrors life-fiber energy signatures almost perfectly. Organic threads, bio-responsive control, tensile strength increasing under stress — all properties identical to the threads themselves.”

A ripple of unease passed through the room.

"Inumuta..." Gamagōri frowned, his brows knit together. “...are you suggesting her very quirk is derived from life-fibers?”

“I’m suggesting it’s too similar to be mere coincidences to be ignore.” the blue-haired boy replied.

“Impossible.” Shirō’s brow furrowed in skepticism. “Life-fibers predate the emergence of quirk evolution by several hundreds of millennia. There should be no overlap in genetic lineage.”

“Yet the data here says otherwise, Shirō-san.” Hōka replied, tone sharpening.

Uzu, who’d been causally leaning back for most of the meeting, suddenly snapped upright. “Wait a minute...” He turned toward the holographic display. “...Hōka, bring up the public feeds again — two of them. One from the stands when the Tennis Club launched that volley at Matoi & her friend, & the next when Midoriya first drew out her sword.”

Inumuta arched a brow but complied. The chamber lights dimmed as two feeds materialized — one of Mako & Ryūko stumbling backward in panic, the other of Izumi unsheathing her rapier for the first time.

“Enhance.” Uzu ordered. “Slow motion by ten percent speed. Full spectral resolution.”

The projection slowed — every frame a ghostly echo.

In the first clip, Mako & Ryūko were shown flailing as hundreds of tennis balls shot toward them — yet somehow every projectile missed, incoming trajectories avoided by mere inches as if both girls were pulled backwards by invisible threads.

Then came the second feed — Izumi’s draw.

Her rapier gleamed once under the arena lights, then a blinding arc cut through the air. And in that frozen instant, the playback revealed everything.

Fine, luminous filaments of her own spooled out from the green-haired girl's fingertips, weaving down the rapier’s length like veins of molten silk. Her blade act as a fishing rod; the hilt, a reel; the threads, a line cast into the chaos before her as she swung forward.

From the tip of her rapier unfurled a fan of filaments—a net of luminous, razor-edged life-fibers spreading outward in a perfect arc, making contact with the storm of tennis balls mid-flight & passing though.

The threads quickly recoiled the moment the swing completed, drawing back into the rapier like fishing line wound back onto its reel. Seconds latter, each ball disintegrated into ribbons, shredded so finely they appeared to dissolve into air as remnants of the attack fluttered to the ground around Midoriya, Matoi, & Mankanshoku like green, white & yellow confetti.

Even slowed to one-hundredth speed, the entire exchange lasted less than a single heartbeat.

The room went utterly still. Even the hum of the conduits seemed to fade. Jakuzure’s baton slipped slightly in her grasp, clattering softly on the table. “Are those…?”

“Life Fibers.” Shirō whispered. “Real, authentic ones. Emitted directly from within her body.”

“But if that’s true..." Gamagōri’s fists clenched. “Midoriya’s not just simply wielding life-fibers — she’s generating them.”

"Fascinating." Inumuta’s visor flickered with data anomalies. “No uniform interface. No external weave activation. The threads in both feeds were confirmed to all originated directly from her fingertips — all energy readings are organic.”

Once more, Uzu whistled low. “So it's like what Gamagōri just said, her quirk’s not just similar to life-fibers — it is life-fibers.”

Jakuzure turned to Satsuki, half-accusing, half-uneasy. “My lady… about what I said in our meeting yesterday. Did you already knew about this?”

All eyes turned to her. Yet Satsuki remained motionless, her expression calm, regal — unreadable.

“I suspected.” she simply replied.

“Suspected?” Gamagōri echoed.

Satsuki’s gaze remained fixed on the hologram — on the image of Izumi suspended mid-slash, her eyes like shining like emeralds.

“Ever since the U.A. Sports Festival...” Satsuki continued quietly, “...I have kept my eyes on Midoriya Izumi. Her quirk behaved unlike any other & while others’ bent the world around them, hers wove directly with it. As now, the fibers responded to her even then… faintly, but unmistakably.”

Shirō adjusted his glasses, leaning slightly forward. “If I may, my lady, the only quirk remotely comparable to this in behavior would be that of the pro-hero, Best Jeanist. His capabilities of manipulating & controlling threads with precision & finesse…”

“Is a superficial comparison, Shirō, yet not completely unfounded." Satsuki replied. Her gaze, sharp & unyielding, cutting across the room. "Best Jeanist is a professional hero, trained & disciplined within the confines of a system already in place. In contrast, Midoriya Izumi is neither bound by such constraints nor beholden to any particular ideology as of yet. Her autonomy makes her… more malleable to guide, or even gain as an ally, than someone already hardened by years of experience & precedent.”

The Sewing Club President’s frowned, yet remained silent, acknowledging the validity of the logic in her assessment.

“That is why I extended an invitation to her to Honnōji. Because apparently she is something that the fibers remember.” Satsuki's tone lowered, deliberate, resonant with both admiration & unease.

The chamber’s silence thickened. Even the conduits seemed to pause in their pulse.

“Then… she’s a bridge?" Shirō’s voice trembled, barely contained awe. "The possible missing link between human & life-fibers?”

His words lingered in the charged silence.

END FLASHBACK:

“Even then...” Satsuki said softly, her gaze following the fading storm’s retreat beyond Honnōji’s spire “...the life-fibers trembled before something unseen. Now I understand why.”

Mitsuzō inclined his head, voice careful, respectful. “You mean the transfer-student, my lady?”

Satsuki’s lips curved —neither a smile nor a threat, but the faintest line suggesting both. “Not just her,” she replied. “Not when there are two storms brewing now.”

Lightning cracked across the skyline, illuminating her face in stark, brief flashes — serene, regal, dangerous. Each pulse of light traced the sharp angles of her features like the edge of a blade.

Mitsuzō’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Then if you’ve sought to… acquire Midoriya Izumi for Honnōji since the U.A. Sports Festival, why act now, rather than during the previous trimester?”

Satsuki’s gaze did not waver. Her reflection gazed back from the rain-streaked glass — twin images layered in power & patience.

“Obstacles presented themselves each time.” she said quietly, her tone smooth but weighted — a statement of fact. “Certain individuals ensured that she remained beyond my reach. It took but a single misstep —a lapse in vigilance— on their part for her path to finally align with mine.”

Understanding flickered across her butler's face, but he did not press further.

“And yet..” she continued, her voice low & deliberate. “...I was not the architect of Midoriya's transfer.” She pause, & her lips pressed into a thin line. “Others… possibility far closer to the source of her origins… had a hand in ensuring she arrived...along with another.”

The pause that followed was deep — a silence that hummed like a drawn bowstring. Mitsuzō bowed his head, his expression unreadable. He did not ask the name that hovered unspoken.

“Should both collide...” Satsuki murmured finally, her voice almost lost beneath the echo of thunder, “...may the Earth tremble as those bare witness when evolution takes notice of itself.”

The hum of the tower’s machinery & the distant growl of the storm filled the chamber as she turned from the window. Fingers poised over the console, Satsuki activated the next archive. Holographic light flared, drawing memory forward: Matoi Ryūko in motion, Midoriya Izumi at her finest — a comparison of instinct, control, & the unseen power threaded within the life-fibers.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

With a flick of her hand, Satstuki turned to Inumuta. “Show me the other transfer student’s battle — the between Matoi & the boxer.”

“The one against Fukuroda Takaharu?” Inumuta asked for confirmation.

Satsuki gave a single, faint nod. "Yes."

The screens flickered, replacing Izumi’s luminous threads with the chaotic blur of Matoi Ryūko trading blows with Fukuroda Takaharu, the short Boxing Club captain. The video jittered with motion & noise — punches, dust, & fury filling all corners of the arena.

“Give me a comparison of fights.” Satsuki ordered. “Side by side.”

Immediately, Inumuta split the display in half — left screen, Midoriya Izumi vs. Hakodate Omiko; right, Matoi Ryūko vs. Fukuroda Takaharu. The blue-haired boy's interface streamed analytical data over both feeds.

Inumuta began narrating in his steady monotone. “Matoi Ryūko exhibits extraordinary physical resilience & adaptation. Combat pattern: reactive. Heavy on offense, minimal effective use of tactics. Life-fiber amplification ratio exceeds 250%. However, synchronization instability remains dangerously high resulting in periodic fatigue— her kamui compensates for such gaps.”

Jakuzure lean backwards, crossing her legs with an audible scoff. “So basically, she’s throwing punches until something hits & letting her clothes do all the thinking. Classy.”

“Gotta give Matoi credit — she’s got guts, no doubt about that." Uzu chuckled, arms folded being his head. "But she’s too reckless & fights like a street brawler with supercharged gloves. No refinement, no balance, all swing & nothing else.”

“Guts alone do not win wars.” Gamagōri said gravely, his contempt for the black-haired girl showing. “Discipline defines victory. Matoi fights like a storm — uncontrollable, unrefined, destroying everything in her path. She does not yet command her kamui when it clearly commands her.”

“Speaking of command…” Inumuta’s tone shifted, focusing on the left feed. “Midoriya Izumi — combat efficiency: optimal. Predictive modeling suggests she anticipated at least eighty-seven percent of her opponent’s strikes before execution. Energy expenditure: minimal. Technique integration: seamless.”

The footage slowed — Izumi standing poised amid the shredded remains of tennis balls, the faint shimmer of threads curling away from her rapier like smoke.

“Incredible.” Shirō murmured, examining the footage closer. “She located Hakodate-san’s nexus thread & surgically removed it without causing any damage to the surrounding fibers.”

 “She what?!" Jakuzure raised a brow in surprise. "You mean she actually pulled the thread out clean just like that?! That's insane!”

“Yeah, you're telling me." Uzu nodded slowly, eyes narrowing at the replay. "I was there down at the tennis court when I saw it happened with my own eyes during the match. Thought it was a fluke at first — but now that I’m seeing the data again…”

He scratched the back of his head, baffled. “The only one in Honnōji I know who can pull this off is you, Hōka. And even you rely on those scanners of yours.”

Inumuta’s lenses flickered faintly. “Correction: I achieve that through detailed computer analysis — pattern deconstruction, nanosecond frame predictions. From what little we saw here, Midoriya-san possesses neither the equipment nor any digital interface. Her extraction was most likely instinctive.”

“Actually, no — maybe it's not instinct at all." Shirō paused, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps the life-fibers within Midoriya-san's body allow her to process, observe & adapt new information at speeds similar to that of fiber-optics?”

Uzu gave a low whistle. “So, you're saying Ms. Transfer-Student did what would of took our computer wiz a full readout — just by eyeballing it alone?”

Jakuzure tilted her head, rolling her eyes. “And that Matoi’s a brute compared to her robot counterpart's surgeon's hands? Wonderful contrast you have there.”

Gamagōri folded his arms, gaze heavy with some admiration. “Restraint certainly defines Midoriya-san's strength. She strikes only when she must — & never more than necessary." Gamagōri briefly sneered in disgust. "Unlike Matoi's floundering & flailing amidst the chaos; Midoriya-san commands the battlefield with silence.”

“Her fiber resonance patterns even mimic kamui harmonics similar to that of Matoi's." Shirō nodded in agreement. "Yet there’s no signs of activation. It seems that Midoriya-san operates entirely on natural control.”

Silence followed — a rare thing among the Elite Four. Even Jakuzure’s usual bored smirk faltered into something thoughtful.

“So...” she said at last, voice low. “...no kamui then… & yet she moves like one.”

Uzu leaned back, half-grinning. “Guess we should be glad Midoriya doesn’t have one. Otherwise, she’d already outclass Matoi — & maybe perhaps the rest of us too as well in time.”

For a heartbeat, that thought lingered — comforting, fragile, believable.

Until Satsuki spoke.

“Who...” she said softly, the weight of her voice cutting through the quiet “...said that she doesn’t have a one already?”

The entire chamber went still.

The holographic screens froze — Ryūko’s reckless swing against Izumi’s poised blade — two forces of nature, opposite yet intertwined.

Five pair of eyes stared at Satsuki in stunned silence, the unspoken realization dawning all at once.

END FLASHBACK:

Satsuki sat alone in her chair once more, the pale glow of her monitors casting long shadows across the chamber. Each display showed the same figure — Midoriya Izumi — walking calmly through the academy courtyard, her posture precise, her gaze unwavering.

The door opened with a soft hiss. Mitsuzō entered, his steps quiet, a tray balanced effortlessly in his hands.

“Your tea, Lady Satsuki.” he said, his voice gentle yet touched with concern.

“Leave it there, Mitsuzō-san. That will be all for tonight.” she replied without turning. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen.

Her butler obeyed, setting the tray down with the faintest clink of porcelain. For a moment, silence filled the space — deliberate, almost reverent.

Finally, Satsuki spoke. “Tell me, Mitsuzō-san. What do you make of this transfer-student?”

The old butler hesitated, his gaze shifting to the glowing monitors. “If I may, my lady… she is unlike any student I have ever seen. Not merely in ability, but in bearing. She moves as if the world itself has tested her & found her wanting — yet she endures.”

Satsuki’s lips curved faintly. “A poet’s answer.”

“I served your father long enough to know potential when it walks through the door, Lady Satsuki.” Mitsuzō said softly, smiling.

“Potential is rarely the whole story." Her gaze sharpened, but not unkindly. "Sometimes, it’s the warning.”

The elevator chime broke the quiet. Mitsuzō turned slightly, then spoke in his usual reserved tone. “Forgive my interruption, my lady, but your chopper is on it's way. The pilot reports the flight path to Kiryūin Manor is clear.”

Satsuki straightened. “Excellent.”

A pause. Mitsuzō hesitated, an unusual thing for him. “If I may ask, Lady Satsuki… why the sudden decision to visit the estate?”

For a moment, Satsuki said nothing. She stood before the monitors, their light glinting across her eyes like reflections of fire on glass.

“The last few days...” she said quietly, “...have been one revelation after another. I believed myself prepared for Midoriya Izumi — as I was for Matoi Ryūko — because I studied them both long before they set foot in my academy. I knew of their temperaments, their records, their skills."

Her gaze lingered on the screen, where Izumi’s image froze mid-step. "Or so I thought.”

“The possibility that she possesses a kamui…” Satsuki’s voice softened — not in doubt, but in calculation. “... along with Matoi this entire time... That changes everything.”

Mitsuzō’s brow furrowed slightly. “Do you suspect… that Lady Ragyō may had played a hand in this?”

“I do not know, Mitsuzō-san." Satsuki’s gaze did not leave the monitors. "And that uncertainty compels me. If mother's threads are entangled in this, I must act before they tighten around us all. Midoriya may be the key to what comes next — or the seam that rips it all apart."

The butler bowed his head slightly. “Then your trip to the manor…”

“…is no longer optional.” Satsuki finished for him. “I must act now before the board is rearranged, before the pieces are moved. But I cannot do that through the eyes of others alone.”

"No..." Mitsuzō’s composure faltered just slightly in realization. “...don't tell me you intend to—”

Satsuki turned, the light catching in her eyes like twin blades. “Reclaim what my father has left behind for me.”

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to grow colder.

“Junketsu.”

Mitsuzō froze, the tray trembling faintly in his grasp. “Lady Satsuki… no. Please, that garment—”

“—is my birthright, Mitsuzō.” she replied, her tone neither harsh nor defensive, merely certain.

“But it nearly destroyed—”

Satsuki raised a hand gently, silencing him. “I know the risks, old friend. But you also know exactly what I must do.”

Mitsuzō bowed his head in reluctant understanding. “...Yes, I do. And I will continue to stand by your side, as always my lady.”

She nodded once, almost imperceptibly — gratitude wrapped in command. Together, they moved toward the door.

Behind them, the monitors still played the same looped footage: Izumi walking away from the ruins of the tennis court, the faint shimmer of her uniform shifting under the light.

Then, as the clip slowed, the fabric at her collar moved — almost breathing — and the sailor’s scarf seemed to open its eyes.

For an instant, twin glints of violet & brilliant gold flickered on-screen — alive & watchful.

The doors to Satsuki’s office slid shut with a quiet hiss, sealing the chamber in silence once more.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Tower Landing Pad

The storm had finally broken over Honnōji Academy. Rain slashed in sheets across the open rooftop, hammering the steel platform with relentless rhythm. The air was sharp, metallic, & cold — the scent of ozone & wet iron mixed with concrete filling the night.

Kiryūin Satsuki stood at the tower’s edge, her cloak snapping violently in the wind, her hair dampened to threads of black silk. Beside her, Soroi Mitsuzō held a black umbrella over her head, his posture rigid yet deferential. The rhythmic drone of an approaching rotor cut through the storm — a heavy, mechanical thrum that grew louder with each passing heartbeat.

The chopper’s searchlight swept across the rooftop, a pale beam cutting through the rain like a blade of light.

“You have everything prepared, Mitsuzō-san?” Satsuki asked, her voice calm despite the storm’s fury.

“Of course, my lady,” her butler replied, his tone steady as always. “The manor has been notified of your arrival. However, I must express my concern—this journey, under such conditions…”

Satsuki stepped forward, her boots splashing lightly against the puddled surface. “The storm’s severity is irrelevant. There are answers I require, & they will not wait for the weather to calm.”

“My lady...” he said softly, “... is this still about the transfer student, isn’t it? Midoriya Izumi.”

A faint glimmer passed through her eyes — reflection of lightning, or something deeper. “Like I said earlier, her arrival has set in motion more than coincidence. In mere days, she has shattered the stillness of Honnōji as though it were glass.”

The chopper hovered closer, its engines roaring through the storm. Rain whipped across the rooftop, metal and leather slick with water.

“Tell me, Mitsuzō-san...” she said softly, “...is my mother expecting any visitors tonight?”

The question’s phrasing made the butler pause. “Unexpected or otherwise, my lady?”

A faint, knowing smirk tugged at Satsuki’s lips. “Especially the unexpected.”

For a fleeting moment, Mitsuzō’s a small smile formed — an unspoken understanding crossing his face. Then he shook his head. “None that I am aware of, my lady.”

Satsuki nodded once, satisfied. “Then let us depart before the world grows darker still.”

She stepped into the chopper, the cabin lights flaring briefly against the rain. Mitsuzō followed & shut the door behind them.

The engines roared to full power, & as the chopper lifted into the air, the storm swallowed the sound of the academy below — leaving only the rhythmic pulse of rain & the echo of Satsuki’s resolve.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

Kiryūin Satsuki's words fell upon them like the blade of a guillotine.

Gamagōri Ira, Sanageyama Uzu, Jakuzure Nonon, Inumuta Hōka & Iori Shirō all froze in disbelief.

“Wait—what?!” Uzu blurted, his trademark confidence quickly evaporating.

Satsuki didn’t look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the holographic displays. “Inumuta. Pull up the surveillance feed from after Midoriya’s duel. The moment she exited the arena.”

“R-right. Accessing now.” Inumuta’s fingers danced across the console, the light from his visor reflecting in his eyes. “Central Arena archive, post-combat interval, timestamp —.”

The central monitor brightened. The video feed replayed Izumi standing amidst the shattered remains of the Tennis Club Captain’s defeat — her slender form framed by dust & light, the crowd’s roar silenced beneath the hum of machinery. Above, Satsuki’s figure appeared on the stairway like a queen addressing a newly crowned challenger. The sound was muted, but the gravity of the exchange carried through even in silence.

“Advance by twenty seconds.” Satsuki ordered. “Slow playback to five percent speed. Maximize frame definition.”

The image slowed. Izumi bowed, turned, & began walking toward the exit. Stadium lights glimmered across her uniform of gray & teal.

“Enhance the fabric detail.”

Inumuta zoomed in. The image sharpened, layer by layer. At first, it seemed like the natural ripple of cloth in motion — but then, impossibly, the threads shifted against her movement. A ripple that wasn’t wind or weight. The weave distorted, folding inward until two faint, glimmering slits appeared — catching the light in perfect symmetry.

For a heartbeat, the teal sailor tie’s folds resembled a pair of violet eyes — golden irises, fully aware — opening & closing in the span of a single silent breath.

No one spoke.

Even the hum of the machinery seemed to fade.

“Playback confirmed.” Inumuta said at last, his usually even tone trembling slightly. “Organic movement detected. No holographic interference. Life-fiber reaction verified. Energy readings confirm dormant kamui resonance. Sub-threshold synchronization confirmed. Not fully awakened — but aware.”

Satsuki stood still, her reflection haloed by the monitors’ glow. “You see it as it is now,” she said quietly. “The eyes of something that does not belong to our world — yet walks among us.”

“Then that uniform…" the Sewing Club President swallowed hard. "...like Matoi's — it’s alive.”

“Alive.” Satsuki repeated. “And aware.”

“Hold on. If that really is a kamui...” Jakuzure leaned forward, eyes narrowing as the afterimage of the “eyes” faded from the screen. “...then why hasn’t Midoriya use it right away? Matoi couldn’t go five minutes without shouting & trying to tear her clothes off in front of the entire school. Yet this one—” she pointed toward Izumi’s frozen image “—walks around pretending she’s just some regular transfer-student with a fancy sword.”

Shirō adjusted his glasses, still visibly rattled. “Perhaps she can’t use it at all.” he suggested. “Kamui activation does require perfect life-fiber synchronization with the host’s body along with fresh access to blood. If her… quirk...” he said the word with faint distaste “...operates on a similar biological thread structure like every other, it might cause interference. A rejection loop between the kamui & the fibers within her body.”

“It's unlikely." Inumuta shook his head before Satsuki could respond. "If there were any interference, there’d be no autonomous movement from the kamui at all. That brief eye motion we just saw proves functional awareness. Passive synchronization: It’s observing her environment through her, not being repelled by her.”

“Observing though her?" Nonon made a face, shuddering. "T-that’s creepy as hell.”

Gamagōri’s deep voice rumbled through the room. “Then it’s not a matter of inability, but of intent then.”

Gamagōri’s right." Uzu crossed his arms, expression suddenly serious — the playfulness gone from his tone. "A true fighter doesn’t draw their sword for gnats. That girl’s restraint isn’t weakness. It’s judgment on Green's part. She didn’t need the kamui to crush Hakodate &, for all we know, probably hasn’t needed it yet at all so far since she got here.”

His words hung in the air — weighty, perceptive.

Inumuta flicked his visor data closed. “So, you’re saying she’s… choosing not to activate it?”

“Choosing.” Uzu replied simply. “Or waiting. Maybe both. Does it really matter?”

Satsuki’s eyes flickered with approval at his phrasing — faint, but unmistakable.

Jakuzure huffed, crossing her legs. “I still don’t get how Midoriya’s keeping that thing quiet, though.” she then pointed toward the screen “You would think it would at least wake up to snack on whatever's left of blondie's two-star uniform, yet not a single thread was absorbed.”

“You know, now that you mention it..." Uzu blinked, realization dawning. "After Matoi's battle, the arena’s scanners did pick up large traces of heavy fiber residue everywhere — but in Midoriya’s fight? Zero, no contamination at all. As if nothing was consumed afterwards.”

"Inumuta-san." The Sewing Club President turned towards his blue-haired friend. "What do you make of this?"

The blue-haired boy's  fingers flew across the display, pulling up combat telemetry. “No external draw. The life-fibers in her vicinity remained inert throughout. The kamui’s energy cycle shows no consumption pattern.” He paused, briefly hesitating, before continuing with reluctant awe. “Conclusion: Unlike Matoi. it’s not feeding on Midoriya or any life-fibers. It’s feeding through her.”

The words hit like thunder. Satsuki’s expression darkened, but her tone remained calm — analytical. “So it no longer treats her as host or vessel, but conduit?”

Shirō’s eyes widened slightly. “Then that would mean her biological structure is… fully compatible. Not separate from the fibers, but symbiotic.”

“Which would explains why there’s no visible drain compare to Matoi's.” Inumuta added. “Midoriya's life-fibers & the kamui’s are in perfect resonance — neither consuming one or the other.”

“So the damn thing’s purring instead of biting, huh?” Nonon made a face. 

Ignoring her, Shirō frowned slightly. “You speak as if this kamui has… adapted to our transfer-student.”

Satsuki gaze lingered on the monitor’s black reflection, where for an instant she imagined those violet eyes staring back at her from the dark.

Finally, she answered, “Or perhaps she has adapted to it.”

The room fell quiet once again. Even the faint hum of the monitors seemed to draw back from her voice.

END FLASHBACK:

Location: On Route to Kiryūin Manor

The steady thrum of the rotors filled the cabin, deep & rhythmic — like the pulse of some enormous heart echoing through the storm. Lightning flared outside, washing the interior in sharp flashes of white & shadow.

Satsuki sat poised near the window, her hands resting lightly atop her knees, eyes fixed on the dark horizon beyond the glass. The rain lashed in wild, diagonal streaks, scattering into liquid ribbons against the reinforced pane.

She said nothing for a long time. The reflection that looked back at her — cool, unreadable, yet faintly haunted — was not that of the unshakable commander who presided over the council mere hours ago. There was something older in her gaze now. Something heavier.

In the low cabin light, the faintest pulse of red flickered against her reflection — not from the console, but from memory. The phantom shimmer of life-fibers twisting in her mind’s eye.

Izumi Midoriya’s duel.

The threads that moved like veins of violet & gold .

The moment she’d seen the eyes open on that uniform.

'Life that should not exist… yet does.'

Her voice, when it came, was quiet enough that only the storm might have heard it.

“Threadfiber. Kamui. Life itself taking shape in defiance of nature.” Satsuki pause, her breath fogged faintly against the cold window of the chopper. “Father… was this what you feared would come?”

Her butler sat across from her, silent & vigilant, the low hum of the instruments reflecting faintly in his lenses. Mitsuzō said nothing — he didn’t need to,  having served his lady long enough to know when her words were not meant for ears, but that of ghosts.

Lightning arced across the sky, illuminating her face in a sudden flash. For that instant, her eyes gleamed — not with fear, but with resolve sharpened by revelation.

The intercom crackled.

“Lady Kiryūin.” the pilot’s voice came through, muffled by static. “We are approaching the Kiryūin Manor. Requesting permission to initiate descent.”

Satsuki’s gaze didn’t shift from the storm outside. The estate’s silhouette loomed faintly in the distance, carved from the darkness like an ancient fortress of white marble & silver glass showered in light.

“Permission granted.” she replied at last, her voice composed like cold steel. “Take us down immediately.”

“Understood, my lady.”

The chopper banked, descending into the heart of the intense storm. Raindrops streaked like molten silver against the glass, the world beyond dissolving into shadows & light.

Satsuki’s reflection lingered on the window — superimposed over the lightning-scorched sky. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with intent.

'If Midoriya Izumi truly stands at the crossroads of evolution & corruption...' she thought '...then the truth of her existence lies not in Honnōji… but in the house of Kiryūin blood'

As the chopper began its descent, the first faint outlines of the manor gates rose through the storm below — black against the flash of thunder.

And for the first time in many years, Satsuki felt the distant echo of something she’d buried deep beneath command & pride: Anticipation.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

Inumuta exhaled through his nose, folding his arms. “It figures...” he muttered in mixed annoyance. “...Just as we begin to decode the nature of life-fibers, a single transfer-student walks in & upends every theorem we’ve built up so far. An anomaly literally wrapped in a school uniform. For every answer she provides us breeds three new questions.”

“Maybe we should just let Green join the Sewing Club.” Uzu cheekily replied with a teasing smirk, his tone halfway between sarcasm & sincerity. “If she’s such a mystery, might as well keep her where we can study her up close.”

That earned him a sharp look from Satsuki — not anger, but interest. “Sewing Club?” One elegant brow arched ever so slightly. “What is the meaning of this?” she repeated.

Gamagōri straightened, his immense frame casting a shadow across the flickering monitors. “Forgive him, Lady Satsuki. The new transfer-student submitted applications to three organizations earlier this morning: the Sewing Club, the Fencing Club, &…” — his tone dipped just slightly — “...the Hero Fanclub of all things.”

“The Hero Fanclub? Seriously?" Nonon snorted in disbelief. "Are you sure that you're talking about the same stoic, deadpan girl here? I watched her all throughout orientation yesterday & she barely said a word most of the time. And now you’re telling me Midoriya’s a closet otaku all this time?” She giggled. “I guess everyone does needs a hobby.”

"Well, Midoriya-san is a former U.A student, after all." Gamagōri reasoned to best of his ability.

“Eh, I’m not complaining." Uzu chuckled. "If she’s half as good with a sword as she is with a sewing needle, the Fencing Club just got more interesting. Maybe I’ll even get to cross blades with her someday.”

“Oh please, monkey boy." Nonon rolled her eyes, smirking. "You just want an excuse to get into her skirt, don't you? ‘Cross blades,’ my ass.”

Uzu’s face twisted in offended disbelief. “Oi! I don’t do that! I’m a professional! That’s unbecoming behavior for a man of my discipline!”

“So you say. Is that why you were seen walking Hakodate-san home earlier after her defeat?" Inumuta didn’t even bother to look up from his console. "You must’ve been ‘disciplining’ her the whole way.”

Uzu jabbed a finger toward him, indignant. “I covered her with my coat! The girl’s uniform exploded — I wasn’t about to let her walk through the city naked & get jumped by some hormone-crazed guys!”

“Oh, how noble of you." Nonon snickered behind her hand. "Truly a gentleman among gorillas.”

Gamagōri’s deep voice boomed over the bickering. “Enough!” The single word silenced them instantly. “You are before Lady Satsuki, not at a bar.”

Silence reclaimed the chamber, save for the quiet hum of monitors.

Gamagōri turned toward their leader, his tone composed once more. “Lady Satsuki.” he said, bowing slightly. “What is your judgment regarding Midoriya Izumi? Her conduct thus far, her abilities, & this… kamui revelation. Surely it demand guidance?”

All eyes turned to her. Satsuki remained silent in turn for a long moment, her reflection framed in the holographic display. The faint violet glow of Izumi’s kamui eyes lingered ghostlike behind her. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, measured — the voice of one who already saw the board ten moves ahead.

“For now, Midoriya Izumi is not be permitted entry into the Sewing Club.” Satsuki declared, her tone absolute. “Her so called 'quirk' poses too great a risk. Granting her any access to the raw life-fibers we have at our disposal would be akin to arming a walking paradox with unlimited ammunition.”

“Understood, Lady Satsuki." Shirō’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he gave a respectful bow. "A pity, though. Midoriya-san would have made a fascinating assistant in the lab based on the contents of her portfolio she provided us this morning.”

“She may prove still useful...” Satsuki replied evenly. “...just not within the walls of your lab at the moment.” Her gaze flicked to the monitor, the frozen image of Izumi’s faintly shifting uniform lingering like a question yet unanswered. “However, this transfer-student will be allowed to join the Fencing Club &… the Hero Fanclub.”

Even Satsuki’s lips curved slightly at that last word — not quite a smile, but something close. “The irony amuses me.” she murmured.

Nonon snorted softly, clearly sharing her amusement.

Satsuki turned to blonde boy again. “Shirō, as of now,  cease all production on Midoriya’s one-star uniform effective immediately.”

“Of course, Lady Satsuki.” The Sewing Club President replied, though a faint grimace tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Unfortunately, the dismantling process will take some time. The thirty precent of the fibers were already interwoven; unthreading & re-spooling the threads without contamination will be… tedious.”

For a fleeting moment — barely a heartbeat — Satsuki’s expression softened, the faintest ghost of a smile brushing her lips. “Then take your time, Shirō. Excellence has never been born from haste.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown by her tone, then nodded silently.

Her gaze slid her fellow student council member next. “Inumuta, I want you gather everything you can on Midoriya Izumi — all data pertaining to any past enrollments prior to her arrival at Honnōji. If her records were erased, I want to know who did it, & why. We need more data on  this new transfer-student besides what is already available on her transcripts.”

“All her school files up through middle school should be simple enough. Any detailed info regarding her participation in the U.A. Sports Festival should be readily available all over the net: Civilian databases, local news archives… all child’s play." The blue-haired boy adjusted his glasses, eyes glinting. "The real challenge, however, will be obtaining any of  U.A.’s internal records. Ever since the USJ incident, their cybersecurity has been upgraded significantly to prevent the possibility of any future hacking attempts. Even the Hero Public Safety Commission can’t get through Nezu’s latest firewalls.”

“Nezu...” Satsuki repeated quietly, the name dropping like a stone into the room’s silence.

Uzu leaned back, scoffing. “That whole incident—what a fucking joke. The entire hero community made a circus out of this. A handful of dime-store villains attacked & injure two teachers at best, yet, despite all their numbers, still got wrecked by a bunch of first-year students. So much for their ‘symbolic system of peace.’”

“Regardless...” Inumuta said, ignoring the jab. “...it will take some time to extract anything from the hero institution's servers without alerting any faculty members within the administration—especially their principal. Nezu is not one to miss an intrusion on his campus.”

"How long will it take?"

"One week at best, if all goes well, Lady Satsuki."

Satsuki’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her tone cold as a drawn blade. “Then proceed with caution. We cannot afford to let that Rat interfere… again.”

That final word hung heavy in the air. The Elite Four & Sewing Club President exchanged brief glances. None spoke, but the implication echoed between them: again?

What history did Satsuki share with the creature called Nezu? None dared to ask.

Satsuki rose from her seat, the light from the monitors tracing the sharp edge of her silhouette. “That will be all for tonight. Return to your duties. The next phase begins soon. This meeting is adjourned.”

“As you command, Lady Satsuki.” They answered in unison, bowing before dispersing.

The hum of the chamber dimmed as each of the Elite Four, & the Sewing Club President, departed, their footsteps fading one by one — leaving Satsuki alone with the flickering image of Izumi’s uniform still frozen on the screen.

The faint shimmer of life-fibers pulsed once, like a heartbeat.

END FLASHBACK:

The chopper tilted forward, descending through the storm. Rain hammered against its frame with growing fury, but Satsuki remained unflinching.
Her gaze never left the manor — the great obsidian doors faintly visible now, glistening under the stormlight.

Mitsuzō adjusted his grip on his umbrella, glancing toward her. “It’s been years since you’ve returned here, my lady.” he murmured. “The last time, your father’s presence still lingered.”

Satsuki’s lips pressed into a thin line. “His presence never left.” she replied. “It was merely buried… beneath her will.”

As they neared the landing pad — a wide marble terrace bordered by the statues of winged figures — the chopper’s floodlights illuminated faint, eerie details: broken glass along the walkway, scorch marks still etched into the stone from the League’s prior attack.

“Touchdown in ten seconds.” the pilot announced.

The landing skids struck the marble with a hiss of wind and rain. The rotors kept spinning, their force whipping the storm into spirals around the platform.

Mitsuzō rose first, opening the door & stepping out into the storm, umbrella in hand. He turned, his voice raised over the roar. “My lady — it’s clear for now!”

Location: Kiryūin Manor

Satsuki stood. For a brief second, the flicker of lightning painted her silhouette across the cabin wall — proud, poised, defiant. She stepped forward, the wind catching her coat as she descended onto the slick marble, rain cascading off her like an afterthought.

The moment her boots touched the ground, the manor’s automatic floodlights flickered to life — one after another — until the entire terrace glowed with cold white brilliance. The path to the main doors loomed ahead, stretching through the downpour like a road to judgment.

Mitsuzō moved beside her, holding the umbrella over her head though she hardly seemed to need it. “Shall I inform Lady Ragyō of your arrival?” he asked quietly.

Satsuki’s eyes lingered on the doors — massive, ornate, bearing the Kiryūin Family crest. Lightning flashed again, & for an instant her reflection in the polished surface looked older, harder.

“No.” she said at last, voice calm but steely. “She already knows I’m here.”

For a long moment, Satsuki simply stood before the entrance, staring at the home that had both forged & broke her. The storm howled around her, but within her, there was only silence — the kind that comes before a blade is drawn. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward. The doors began to part with a low, mechanical groan — the sound of a beast awakening.

As the thunder rolled once more across the sky, Kiryūin Satsuki entered the manor. And with her, the storm followed inside.

Chapter Text

Date: 2228.09.05 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy – One-Star Dorms

The storm pressed against the walls of Honnōji Academy like a thick & oppressive blanket of velvet smoke. Lightning fractured the night sky, briefly illuminating the tower’s spire that loomed over the entire campus.

Neon lights from the inner rings of the One-Star District bled through the blinds, pulsing with each distant crack of thunder. Torrents of heavy rain traced faint lines down the dorm window of Midoriya Izumi’s room. And in the hush between storms, her eyes snapped open wide in silence alert.

No dream. No sound.

Only that hollow pull again like a presence; vast & insistent, brushing against the edges of Izumi’s consciousness in the dead of night

“…Again.” she whispered in a low voice. “…It’s happening again.”

She pushed herself upright, sheets slipping against her bare, naked skin; exposing her to the cold air.

Air that felt alive, yet not of hers.

‘This feeling… I’ve felt it before.’ Her gaze drifted to the window, past the blinds, toward the horizon beyond the distant sprawl of the No-Star District. That same pressure pulsed faintly under her skin, that is both familiar & unwelcome — a presence both regal & old, like a memory trying to claw its way forward.

‘It’s just like a few days ago, before I even set foot in Honnōji.’ Izumi exhaled softly to herself. “You felt that too, didn’t you?”

The air around her thickened in response. Subtle, like static brushing against her bare skin.

“Don’t give me that.” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. “I can tell when you’re pretending not to care.”

The presence bristled at her response — A faint, indignant pulse flaring through her senses; clipped, prideful, with a sharp edge of indignation.

“I know. I know.” she murmured, the corner of her mouth lifting in a wry curve. “You do like to hold yourself above that sort of thing.”

Silence followed, yet it wasn’t empty. More like someone holding back a retort they thought was beneath them.

Izumi let out a faint, weary laugh. “Right. You really are impossible.”

She swung her slender legs off the bed, onto the cold floor beneath her feet. “Relax. I’m not about to do anything reckless or stupid at this late hour.”

A flicker of dissent buzzed faintly — a warning, sharp & brief, like a spark biting the inside of her skull.

“Oh, please.” the green-haired girl muttered dryly. “Like you too haven’t been on edge since we both got here. This place… it isn’t like back home at Musutafu.”

The pressure lingered quieter now, wary.

Izumi sighed. “It just doesn’t feel right here. Like it’s more than just the atmosphere or the mentality they enforce here.” She paused, staring at the ceiling. “It’s… the people here, but something else. Something in them. Most of the students here give off this… pulse, I guess? Stronger depending on how many stars they have on their uniforms from what I observed so far.”

A slow, uneasy pulse stirred within her, agreeing but unwilling to admit it.

“The strangest sensation...” Izumi continued, “...was when I walked past the Sewing Club Room on our first day. It felt like—” she hesitated for a moment. “—like the air itself around me was being pulled apart.”

Another flicker brushed through her consciousness; caution tightly coiled like wire.

“Yeah, I know. I felt it near Matoi-san as well.” Izumi said quietly. “Though hers was different. It was fainter…. at least until two days ago.”

The static around her seemed to lift, as if in acknowledgment.

Izumi sighed through her nose, her expression softening. “You don’t have to get so tense every time I notice something. I can handle it.”

The shift was small; the pressure receded a little, yet didn’t relax. Still attentive as always.

“You’re being ridiculous again.” she muttered. “All pride & no sleep.”

A reluctant warmth flickered through her in reply; half-irritated, half-concern

“I get it.” She exhaled through her nose. “You’re proud, always on edge, & short-tempered too. You’re overbearing, yes, but… at least you care. That part I can feel.”

A subtle rumble of warmth brushed against her, like a small apology wrapped in pride.

“See? That’s better.” Her eyes drifted toward the uniform hanging beside the window. Another flash of lightning split the sky, & for a heartbeat the fabric shimmered. Mot like cloth, but like something alive; its surface rippling with a soft, unnatural breath.

Izumi pressed her fingers to her temple, exhaling slowly. “Go back to sleep. It’s too late for this. We’ll talk in the morning.”

The presence lingered, reluctant to listen.

She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her bare shoulder & turned away from the window. “And stop staring at me while I’m trying to sleep. You’re worse than an alarm clock.”

Outside, the storm raged, rain hammering against the walls, distant thunder rolling across the night sky like drums shaking the glass in its frame. The room fell quiet, save for the gentle shifting of fabric like it’s alive.

A pair of golden eyes blinked open, violet sclera catching the faint neon lights. Unmoving & unblinking, they watched her with expressions hidden somewhere behind their alien gaze. Then, quietly, almost like a breath let out in a soft sign of defeat, the eyes shut again once more.

The silence returned, seamless but alive, as the storm continued to rage against the world beyond the glass.

Location: Mankanshoku Household – Honnō-chō, Japan 

Thunder rattled the No-Star District of Honnō-chō, shaking the thin walls of the Mankanshoku household. The storm howled through the alleys of the alley town outside with rain slanting sideways, clattering against loose tin & glass like handfuls of nails.

Matoi Ryūko jolted awake, not from the rumbling of the noise outside, but from a cold drip that splashed against her temple.

“Seriously? Right now?!” Ryūko sat up fast, muttering a curse under her breath.

Another drop landed squarely on her forehead. She flinched & wiped it away with a groan. The leak in the ceiling had gotten worse. Water is now dripping in steady rhythm, puddling on the warped floor mats of the shack.

“Don’t wake Mako…” she whispered to herself, eyes flicking toward the small futon beside hers. The sound of soft snoring filled the cramped room. “Don’t wake Mako…”

She slipped from her blankets & tiptoed across the floor, moving slow enough to keep the tatami mats from rustling. Her hand reached for the dented bucket Mako kept tucked in the corner — her family’s nightly ritual whenever the weather decides to turn ugly she said.

But before black-haired girl could set it down, something flickered in the corner of her eye.

Senketsu’s crimson eye glowed faintly from the wall where the kamui hung watchful & awake at this late hour

“Figures you’re up before me, Senketsu.” she muttered, sliding the bucket beneath the leak. “I guess you already felt it too, huh?”

Senketsu’s voice was low & steady, though softer than usual. “Yes. It brushed through me briefly… like another heartbeat overlapping ours.”

Ryūko frowned, glancing over. “Another heartbeat? You mean—not yours, right?”

The kamui’s single eye narrowed slightly, its tone turning thoughtful. “It’s similar… but colder & much older. It didn’t reach for us. Only watched from afar instead.”

Lightning flashed, casting silver light across Ryūko’s face. She leaned back on her heels, brow furrowing. “Well that’s just great. Because what I really needed tonight was something else besides you also staring at me while I sleep.”

Rain battered the roof harder. The black-haired girl exhaled, pushing damp bangs from her face. “Let me guess—is it connected to our new transfer girl, right? Midoriya Izumi?”

“Possibly, but I’m not certain.” Senketsu’s eye glowed once, faint but certain. “The resonance feels… familiar. And I did sensed something similar surrounding her before we left campus—it’s subtle, but alive.”

Ryūko’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. Subtle’s one word for it.”

Her mind flicked back to the tennis courts two days earlier; Izumi’s eerie composure as she faced Omiko, the way her movements were precise to the point of unnatural, & those faint crimson threads that had shimmered beneath her skin whenever they clashed.

Whatever that was… it hadn’t felt human. Yet it was alive.

And the look in Izumi’s green eyes —unflinching, weary, almost pitying— had lingered in Ryūko’s thoughts ever since.

“…If that really was Midoriya, then she’s not just another simple transfer-student.” Ryūko muttered, “But hell, guess I wasn’t either.”

Senketsu’s tone dropped lower, edged with concern. “Be careful Ryūko. Whatever stirred tonight… it moved through the life-fibers themselves. If you felt it—”

“I know, I know...” she cut him off quietly. “...means the quiet part’s over. Not that it has ever been quiet here at Honnōji.”

Her reflection caught in the rain-streaked window—crimson eyes sharp & awake, framed by the glow of lightning. She stared out toward the distant silhouette of Honnōji Academy rising like a blade above the raging storm.

“…Midoriya.” she murmured, the name tasting of curiosity and challenge. “Just what the hell are you?”

“That girl…” Senketsu hesitated. “...Do you really think she’s involved with your father somehow?”

Ryūko sighed & crawled back under the blankets, letting the sound of water lull her toward uneasy sleep. But as she adjusted, her hand brushed something small & rough inside her pajama pocket—the one the Mankanshokus had loaned her since her first night here.

Drawing out carefully was a  photograph; one that was burnt along the edges, it's paper curled & brittle from the elements. Lightning flashed again, & in that brief light, Ryūko saw a figure within the damaged image: a younger Midoriya Izumi, maybe eight years old, standing in a sunlit field. A white sundress fluttered in the wind complemented by her radiant smile.

The black-haired girl’s thumb brushed the burned corner gently, the photo flaking slightly beneath her touch.

Ryūko exhaled slowly through her nose. “She has to be. I found her picture at his place. Burned yeah, but it’s definitely her. Same eyes, same hair, same everything… just happier back then compared to now.”

Her tone softened for a moment, which is rare for her. before reaching over the photo again. “Why was this in your house, old man?” The former Kanto Vagabond stared at it under the flickering light, jaw tightening. “What the hell does she have to do with you?”

Senketsu spoke again, quieter this time. “You told me you’ve been chasing a lot ghosts since you got here, Ryūko. Maybe this one isn’t meant to be fought.”

Ryūko’s lips twitched into something halfway between a frown & a scowl. “You don’t get it, Senketsu. If she’s got answers, if she knows possibly anything about what happened to him, I’m not lettin’ it go.”

She turned the photo over once, then slid it back into the case and shut the lid.

“Besides...” she muttered, lying back and staring at the ceiling. “...people like her don’t just show up at places like Honnōji without a reason.”

The rain tapped against the roof again in an almost hypnotic rhythm Her eyelids grew heavy, but her thoughts didn’t stop.

In her mind, the sound of rain began to blur, fading into memory: the ring of the school bell & the echo of a familiar voice slicing through the night.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

YESTERDAY

Date: 2228.09.04 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy

The school day dragged on with agonizing slowness, every tick of the clock a constant reminder that homeroom was mercilessly dull. Ryūko’s leg bounced under her desk, dying from impatient, while Mikisugi-sensei prattled on about the same lessons about some German dictator’s rise to power. Her mind wandered, tracing the darkening storm clouds gathering in the horizon outside the classroom windows, until she realized the words had long since stopped registering.

Finally, the bell ran; a piercing clang that seemed to shatter the monotony. Ryūko had already vaulted from out of her seat, boots scuffing the polished floor as she shot toward the door like a spring released. She was halfway down the hall before Mikisugi-sensei even finished his last sentence.

“Matoi Ryūko…” the homeroom teacher called, adjusting his glasses with that same overly smooth, practiced smile that always made her skin crawl. “…a word, if you please—”

But the only response was the fading echo of her boots, bouncing down the corridor, a sharp staccato that lingered in the air long after she had disappeared.

Mikisugi-sensei let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Good grief.” he muttered under his breath. “Honestly, that girl… she’s worse than her father.”

The corridors of Honnōji Academy stretched endlessly. Every sound echoed sharply: the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the tap of Ryūko’s shoes, & the steady rhythm of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She’d been at this for hours already since yesterday, since the end of Tennis Court Incident as everyone here calls it. A full day spent tailing Midoriya Izumi between classes, lunch breaks, & combat club training drills for answers. Yet somehow, the black-haired girl still hadn’t figured her green-haired counterpart out.

Izumi didn’t move like the other students here — no swagger, no ego, no fear. She simply was. Calm, polite, precise, almost ghostlike. And that, Ryūko realized, was the problem.

Flattening herself against a corner, Ryūko peeked around it & froze.

There was Izumi’s familiar tuft of green hair moving down the next hallway. Her steps were light, almost soundless, posture relaxed, but her gaze was sharp, scanning as if she already knew someone was following her.

Ryūko ducked back behind the wall, muttering. “Okay… she turned left. Easy… just stay low, don’t make any—”

A sudden empty hallway stopped her cold.

No Izumi.

No sound.

Just air.

“What the—!” Ryūko’s voice echoed before she could stop herself. “She was right there!”

She ran a few steps forward, scanning every doorway, every window. Yet nothing. Not a single trace of the girl she’s been trailing.

Senketsu, draped loosely around her shoulders beneath her jacket, blinked his single red eye. “You’ve lost her again, didn’t you?”

Ryūko groaned, clutching her hair. “You think I don’t know that?! It’s like she can teleport or something!”

“I told you, Midoriya obviously noticed you were following her all day.” Senketsu offered.

Ryūko glared down at him. “How could she notice? I’ve been stealthy!”

“You tripped over a trash can this morning, for one.” he reminded her calmly. “Scattering liter everywhere while shouting ‘Ow!’ loud enough for half the courtyard to hear.”

“S-shut up.” she muttered, face heating.

Still, she couldn’t shake the irritation. Not just because she’d lost Izumi, but because a small, begrudging part of her was impressed. No one at Honnōji had ever made her feel toyed with so quickly.

Ryūko sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall. “Alright, Midoriya… you win this round today. But come tomorrow, I’m gonna find out what your deal is — even if it kills me.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a distant, ear-piercing voice barreled down the corridor.

“RYŪKOOO-CHAAAN!”

Ryūko barely had time to blink before a blur of brown hair & pure enthusiasm collided with her like a human missile.

“Mako—?!”

Both girls spun wildly, Ryūko’s combat instincts kicking in at the last second. She twisted mid-spin, grabbed her airborne friend by the shoulders, & somehow managed to plant Mako gently on her feet.

Mako grinned up at her, completely unfazed. “Hi Ryūko-chan! I was looking all over for you! You weren’t in class, & then I thought maybe you got lost, or beating up the hallway monitors, but then—”

“Mako, breath.” Ryūko groaned, rubbing her forehead. “Slowly. Now. What were you doing this time flying down the hallway like that?!”

“Oh! That!” Mako said brightly, spinning in a little circle. “Someone told me to deliver a message!”

Ryūko squinted. “A message?”

Mako nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh! But I don’t remember who… They just said, ‘This is for Matoi Ryūko,’ & then—WHOOOSH!—I was suddenly running really fast! Maybe they gave me an energy drink!”

Ryūko squinted. “...You don’t have any drinks.”

“I don’t?” Mako looked genuinely surprised. “Then maybe I’m just excited!”

Senketsu’s voice hummed dryly against her shoulders. “Ryūko, there’s… something pinned to her back.”

Ryūko frowned & spun Mako around. Sure enough, a small note was pinned to her back with a tact.

“What the hell?” Ryūko muttered, pulling it free. The handwriting was hurried, precise, & faintly mocking:

“If you want answers… meet me where you first found Senketsu.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “What the…?”

Senketsu’s red eye blinked. “Ryūko, that’s—”

“I know.” she cut him off, already folding the note into her pocket, her pulse quickening. Whoever left this knew everything.

“Mako, did you see who gave you this?” Ryūko asked, voice low & tense.

Mako tapped a finger against her chin, eyes rolling skyward as though trying to recall a math equation. “Hmmmmm… nope!” she chirped brightly.

Ryūko face-faulted, nearly toppling over. “Mako?! You came flying down the hall like a cannonball & you don’t even know who launched you?!”

Mako blinked innocently. “Well, maybe I knew at the time! But it all happened really fast!”

Ryūko dragged a hand down her face, groaning into her palm. “Unbelievable…”

Senketsu chuckled faintly, the sound muffled through the fabric. “She’s certainly energetic.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Ryūko muttered, exhaling hard. She glanced at the note again, her irritation sharpening into resolve. Whoever sent it had gone through the trouble of baiting her — & if Mako was the messenger, it could only mean one thing.

Ryūko’s lips curved into a determined grin. “Fine. You want me to come to you? You got it.”

Mako tilted her head, curiosity sparkling. “Ooh, are we going on another adventure? Should I pack snacks?”

“Not this time, Mako.” Ryūko patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll have to sit this one out.”

Mako puffed her cheeks in mock protest but nodded all the same, waving enthusiastically as Ryūko stalked off down the hall.

Location: Former Matoi Residence

The last bell had long faded by the time Ryūko reached the outskirts of the academy grounds. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of rain, smoke, & scorched wood, the sky bruised purple beneath the looming thunderheads. Each gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, & she swatted it aside with a gloved hand, shoulders hunched against the chill.

Ahead, the charred silhouette of her childhood home loomed at the slope’s edge; blackened timbers, shattered walls, & scorched roof tiles standing like the skeletal remains of memories she had tried to bury. Six months had passed since her father’s death, yet every step toward this place felt like wading through fresh grief. Every corner, every shadow, recalled laughter turned to ash, warmth replaced by dead silence.

Senketsu stirred against her skin, a low hum vibrating along her chest.

“Ryūko… this place. It hasn’t changed.” the voice whispered, tinged with concern.

“Yeah…” Ryūko muttered sadly, kicking at a fragment of burned wood that crumbled underfoot. “…Feels like déjà vu all over again… & I don’t even want to be here.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with reluctance. The answers she sought forced her back into these ruins, forced her to confront a past she had hoped would stay buried if she had a choice..

She stepped closer, the wind tugging at her sleeves, carrying the faint metallic tang of ash. Lightning forked across the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged wreckage & casting her shadow long and broken across the ruins.

Ryūko pushed aside a collapsed beam, its edges blackened and sharp, & reached the entrance of what remained of the main room. The smell of smoke & dust burned slightly in her nostrils, mingling with the familiar tang of Senketsu against her skin.

“Alright…” she called out, voice rough and brittle. “I’m here, Midoriya. You wanted a meeting, so show yourself already.”

Only the patter of rain against the broken roof answered at first. Then, a calm, deliberate voice emerged from the far end of the ruins:

“Guess I didn’t make you wait too long.”

Ryūko’s hand shot to her scissor blade, the familiar weight grounding her amidst the storm of memories. The metal caught the faint light filtering through shattered walls, reflecting in jagged, erratic shards.

“You—!” Her voice hitched, caught between accusation, disbelief, & the sorrow still raw from the past.

From the shadows of the charred walls, a figure stepped into view. Drips of water beaded along the rim of his glasses as he adjusted them with that infuriatingly calm smile. His drenched shirt clung to his torso, & while any other girl might have been distracted by the sight, Ryūko only gritted her teeth harder.

“…Mikisugi-Sensei?” she barked, lowering her scissor blade fractionally. “What the hell are you doing here? Why & how are you even wet? Don’t tell me you’re the one who sent Mako with that note?”

“Guilty as charged, Ryūko.” Aikurō admitted, raising a hand in mock surrender. “But only because I knew you’d actually show up if you thought it came directly from your friend.”

Ryūko’s eye twitched. “You tricked me?! I oughta—!”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t have had to trick you in the first place if you hadn’t bolted immediately after class! I told you I needed to discuss something important about your… shall we say, unapproved school uniform.”

“Yeah, well...” Ryūko snapped, crossing her arms tighter. “...I wasn’t in the mood for another lecture about the damn school dress code.”

“Ryūko…” He leaned back slightly, exasperation creeping into his tone. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to get a hold of you today? I checked the courtyard, the cafeteria, even the combat club arenas. Every time I turned around, you were gone.”

Ryūko shifted uneasily, looking anywhere but his face. “Er… maybe I was just busy today.”

“Busy following a first-year student? Midoriya Izumi, I assume?”

The words hit home. Ryūko flinched. “Wh-what are you—”

“Please…” Aikurō interrupted, his usual lazy smile sharpening into something more knowing. “You’re about as subtle as a fireworks show set off in a library. More than half the student body had already noticed you tailing her all day today.”

Senketsu’s voice rumbled from her shoulders, dry as ever. “I told you your stealth was terrible.”

Ryūko shot him a glare that could have split stone. “Oh, shut up! You’re not exactly quiet either!”

“I’m not the one with legs, Ryūko,” Senketsu replied, matter-of-fact. “All that loud noise came from you.”

The homeroom teacher raised an eyebrow, suppressing the laugh that threatened to escape. “It’s good to see you two bonding so well.”

Ryūko opened her mouth to fire back — something about him minding his own business — but the words froze halfway out. Her eyes narrowed.

“Wait a sec…” she muttered, lowering her voice. “You… you understood him.”

Aikurō tilted his head slightly, the faintest glint of amusement flickering behind his glasses. “Hmm. Him?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, teach!” Ryūko snapped, pointing at her sailor uniform. “I know you heard what Senketsu said. Heck, you even responded! Nobody else here can hear him but me!”

For the briefest moment, something unreadable passed over Aikurō’s face; a flicker of seriousness that didn’t belong to his easygoing act. Then, just as quickly, it vanished behind the same lazy grin.

“Oh, did I?” he said lightly. “Maybe I just have good intuition.”

“Yeah, right.” Ryūko scowled. “You knew exactly what he said. So what the hell’s your deal, sensei? Or is that what you really are?”

Senketsu’s thread-like tension shifted along her shoulders. “Ryūko… he’s not normal.”

“No kidding.” she muttered, still glaring. “Start talking, teach. How much do you know about me & Senketsu?”

The thunder outside boomed against the collapsed roof panels like a brief, steady drumroll. Aikurō’s expression softened, though shadows lingered behind his eyes, heavy & unspoken.

“You really are Isshin’s daughter, aren't you?” he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of memory & inevitability. “And to answer your question: More than you think & maybe… more than you’re probably ready to hear.”

Ryūko froze, her pulse spiking. “Wait—what do you mean… more than I’m ready to hear? You—” Her eyes narrowed, & her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “…What do you know about my father?”

Aikurō’s gaze softened, though his eyes remained sharp. “There’s a lot I could tell you… but not here. Too many ears, too many eyes. Even at this ruined site, information leaks could be dangerous.”

Ryūko crossed her arms, jaw tight. “So… where exactly do you plan on spilling all your secrets, then?”

“Somewhere safer.” he said, glancing toward the stormy horizon. “A place with security. No one will be able to overhear us, & there are safeguards in place. We can talk properly there.”

Ryūko scowled, unease prickling along her spine. “…You’re asking me to just blindly trust & follow you? After everything?”

“I’m not asking, I’m telling.” Aikurō replied, tone calm but firm. “You wanted answers, don’t you?”

She hesitated, the weight of her frustration & curiosity warring against her instinct to distrust him. Finally, she sighed, running a hand through her soaked hair. “…Fine. But no funny business. You pull one stunt & I swear—”

Aikurō raised a hand, smiling faintly. “No stunts. I promise. Just the facts, & whatever else you’re ready to know.”

Ryūko glared at him for a long moment, then swung her scissor blade over her shoulder. “Alright. Let’s get moving. But you better not slow me down.”

Lightning cracked overhead as Ryūko stepped past the charred remnants of her childhood home, determination set in her eyes. Whatever secrets Aikurō held, she needed them & she wasn’t about to let a little storm or an ex-teacher stand in her way.

Location: Honnō-chō, Japan 

Ryūko followed her undercover teacher through the narrow, winding alleys. Garbage littered the slick pavement, & the wind tugged insistently at her dark hair, but she didn’t care. Every step into the unknown stoked the fire of impatience coiling in her chest.

“You said it’s safe.” she grumbled, keeping pace despite the uneven streets. “Safe for what? Some secret briefing? Some lecture? I don’t need a history lesson! I need answers now!”

Aikurō’s expression remained calm, unbothered by her tirade. “Safe doesn’t mean leisurely. There are eyes & ears everywhere in Honnō-chō. You can’t speak freely about what you’re about to learn.”

Ryūko snapped her head toward him, glare cutting through the dim alley light. “Who’s listening? Who cares if I talk here?!”

“Patience is a virtue, Ryūko. You’ve got the subtlety of a bomb.” Senketsu rumbled from her shoulders, amusement dripping through the voice of the kamui. “Maybe you’ll survive long enough to ask your questions if you stay quiet for once.”

“Oh, bite me!” she barked. “You’re supposed to help me, not lecture me!”

They turned a sharp corner, the narrow alley opening onto a quieter side street. A nondescript building emerged from the gloom, its reinforced windows flickering faint light into the stormy night. The older man paused, gesturing for her to hang back.

“Here.” he said. “This is where we’ll talk. You’ll have privacy, & what I need to show you can’t be exposed outside these walls.”

Ryūko’s brow furrowed, skepticism sharpening her gaze. “And how do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know half of what’s going on, & now we’re just walking into some random building?”

“Because you don’t have a choice if you want the answers you came for.” Aikurō replied evenly. “Step inside, & I’ll explain what I can safely reveal. Outside… not a single word.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the darkened street behind them. The storm clouds rumble like a warning drum before the start of the rain, every instinct screaming caution, yet curiosity overrode suspicion. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her scissor blade, knuckles whitening from the grip.

“Find.” she muttered, exhaling sharply. “But if don't get my answers, I’m leaving.”

Aikurō’s faint smile returned, calm and measured. “Noted.”

Senketsu shifted along her shoulders, the crimson eye flickering briefly in approval. “Finally… answers. Let’s hope they’re worth it.”

Ryūko gave the kamui a sharp glance, voice low but pointed. “If they’re not, you get the first blame.”

With a final nod, she stepped into the building behind the suspicious teacher. The reinforced doors shut behind them, muffling the storm’s fury. Outside, the wind rattled and rain hissed across the pavement, but inside, silence settled like a weighted blanket.

Location: Aikurō's Tenement 

The interior was dimly lit, but warm compared to the upcoming storm outside. Ryūko’s rubbed her hands for warmth, still fuming while Senketsu stirred faintly along her shoulders restlessly.

Aikurō motioned toward a worn couch. “Sit.” he said, settling cross-legged on the floor opposite her. “We’ll start with what you’ve already seen… and what you haven’t.”

Ryūko narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have time for riddles! Just spit it out already! How do you know my father?!”

Aikurō leaned forward slightly. “The girl you’ve been tailing — Midoriya Izumi — she isn’t just an ordinary transfer student. Everything about her presence, her uniform… it’s alive.”

Ryūko blinked, incredulous. “Alive? Alive how? Clothes don’t move on their own.”

Aikurō tilted his head, expression calm but knowing. “Do they?” he asked casually. Slowly & deliberately, he began unbuttoning his shirt, letting it peel off as if it had a mind of its own. Each sleeve slid down with a faint sparkle, catching the dim light in an absurdly dramatic fashion.

Ryūko’s eyes widened. “…Wait, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Observation.” Aikurō said, raising one eyebrow as his shirt floated midair for a brief moment before landing neatly on the floor. “If you don’t believe me, look at yourself. That uniform you’re wearing is already moving along with you. It adjusts, it reacts… it isn’t just fabric. If clothes don’t move on their own, what makes this different?”

Ryūko gawked at the half-stripped teacher. “You’re… showing off your clothes now while lecturing me?!”

Aikurō smirked, shrugging as he started unfastening his tie, which floated and spiraled in the air with faint glittering sparks. “I find demonstrations more effective than explanations alone. Subtlety has its limits &, for your sake, a little spectacle helps memory.”

“Spectacle?” Ryūko crossed her arms, scowling. “You’re acting like a pervert!”

“I call it clarity.” Aikurō replied, slowly sliding off his jacket, letting it spin in the air for a few beats before landing neatly over a chair. “Now, back to the point: the uniform you wear, the way it subtly shifts, reacts, &—if you pay attention—listens, is the work of life-fibers.

“Life-fibers?”

“Exactly.” Aikurō continued. “Your father, Matoi Isshin, conducted many experiment with life-fibers over the years. He concluded that these threads are capable of bonding with humans to enhance their physical abilities &, in rare cases, communicate with their host.” Aikurō said, his voice steady, each word deliberate on point. “And your school uniform, is the fruit bore from a lifetime of such research.”

Ryūko’s jaw tightened. “…So you’re telling me that this thing on my back isn’t just a uniform? It’s… a living thing?”

“Exactly,” he confirmed, letting the last piece of his shirt settle neatly in a pile. “And Midoriya Izumi, like you, is most likely in possession of one as well.”

Ryūko muttered under her breath, still glaring at the sparkling, floating fabric of Aikurō’s demonstration. “…I swear, this is the weirdest lesson I’ve ever had.”

Aikurō chuckled faintly, eyes sharp. “Weird? Perhaps. But necessary. Now you understand what you’re dealing with & why you need to be cautious around her.”

He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped. “Anyway, let’s start with the basics shall we? You’ve already seen the other uniforms here at Honnōji: the One-Star & Two-Star Goku uniforms, yes?”

Ryūko nodded reluctantly, trying not to glance at him again as he moved with effortless, almost theatrical grace. “Yeah… I’ve seen them. They’re flashy, but… nothing really special.”

“Flashy is one thing.” Aikurō said, his tone calm but precise. “But those uniforms, especially the One-Stars, are mostly standard issue: limited abilities, mostly defensive enhancements, basic mobility boosts, the works. Three-Star Goku uniforms were once the pinnacle of life-fiber clothing up until the end of the previous school year. The newest Four-Star models were perfected over the summer… but even they pale in comparison to what you’re wearing.”

Ryūko blinked, confusion and disbelief warring across her face. “Wait… mine? This thing on my back? It’s better than the Four-Stars?”

Aikurō nodded slowly. “Yes. What you wear is classified differently. It’s a kamui — a living, semi-sentient garment & it is highly selective: not every person can wear one, let alone master it. That’s why you feel the strain sometimes when you try to activate it.”

Ryūko’s hand twitched toward her scissor blade, her mind racing. “So… all this time, I thought it was just a weird school uniform. And I’m supposed to control it?”

“Yes.” Aikurō said, leaning back with a faint smirk. “The higher the class, the more demanding it becomes, based on the percentage of life fibers infused. One-Star & Two-Star uniforms, each ten to twenty percent in concentration, react predictably like toys. Simple, safe, easy to manage & mass produced.”

“So that means Three- & Four-Stars use thirty, forty percent then?” Ryūko asked, frowning as she tried to take it all in.

“You’re catching on.” he replied. “Three-Stars are tailored to specific wearers, which varies, but still limited in their capabilities. There’s not enough data on Four-Star uniforms to fully predict their behavior. But your kamui… it’s far more complex. That subtle responsiveness, the awareness you feel…it’s far beyond anything else here. Yours & Izumi’s are among the very few uniforms made purely of one hundred percent life-fibers.”

Ryūko swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the scissor blade as she processed it. “…Are you serious?”

Aikurō’s gaze remained steady, calm as ever. “Yes. And if you’ve noticed, that’s also probably why Izumi moves the way she does; graceful, precise, almost unnaturally aware. Her kamui may be every bit as potent as yours, if not more refined in some respects.”

Ryūko’s eyes widened, a mix of awe, fear, & reluctant respect flashing across her face. “…So… Izumi’s school uniform is as strong—or maybe stronger—than mine?”

Aikurō paused, his confident expression faltering just slightly. For once, the ever-glittering man seemed thoughtful. “Honestly… that I don’t know.”

That answer hit Ryūko harder than she expected. “What do you mean you don’t know? I though you’re supposed to be the guy with all the answers!”

Aikurō folded his arms, the sparkle around him dimming just a bit. “Look, I’ve been stationed undercover at Honnōji since the academy first opened three years ago. My job keeps me isolated. Outside of coded transmissions, I haven’t had any real contact with my colleagues stationed across all corners of Japan.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing how much to say. “So, when it comes to Midoriya Izumi… I’m as in the dark as you are.”

Ryūko hesitated a moment, scowling, then pressed further. “At least… do you know anything about her quirk? Anything at all?” She paused, hoping for his confirmation before continuing. “I saw—no, I swear I saw red threads coming from her fingertips. Twice, just yesterday back at the tennis court. The first time, Mako & I got yanked by them around our waists—saved us from getting clobbered by a volley of balls. And the second time, it happened again… I think? When all of Omiko’s tennis balls got shredded to ribbons in a snap. There’s no way that’s possible.”

Aikurō’s expression remained calm, though a shadow of concern flickered in his eyes. He shook his head slowly. “Ryūko… in all my years here, Honnōji Academy never once admitted anyone with a quirk—at least until Midoriya Izumi arrived. That alone tells me her abilities aren’t ordinary. And if Satsuki allowed such an exception… then her quirk must be very valuable to her.”

He paused, letting Ryūko’s words about the red threads settle. “Based on what you’ve described… the way she moved, the precision, the subtle control over her life-fibers… I’m certain of it. Her quirk isn’t just unusual—it’s exceptional. That’s why I’ve been cautious. There’s a lot riding on someone like her, & not all of it is obvious at first glance.”

Ryūko tightened her grip on her scissor blade, jaw set. “So basically, she’s a wildcard, & we’re flying in blind.”

“Not entirely.” he said with a wry grin. “There’s at least one—no, two— currently stationed at U.A. who would know. But reaching them won’t be easy. Not without alerting Satsuki, at least. She monitors most of the data lines that go in & out of this region within distances of Honnō-chō. I’ll need time, subtlety, & some little luck to contact them safely.”

Ryūko’s growl in frustration. “Well time’s the one thing I don’t exactly have here, teach!”

Aikurō shrugged, tone oddly casual. “Then I suggest patience. Midoriya’s kamui—whatever its name or nature—clearly wasn’t made by your father. I can tell that much from the texture alone.” He glanced toward Senketsu, eyes flickering with curiosity.

“Yours still carries Dr. Matoi’s structural signatures—it’s primitive, yet elegant. Hers… looks far more refined, more intricate, which means its certainly not mass produced. Possibly the result of reverse-engineering & improvement?”

Ryūko’s eyes narrowed. “You can tell all that just by looking?”

He gave her a faint smirk, a glimmer of gold light flashing as his shirt slipped halfway off, muscles catching the dim light. “Observation is a skill I take great pride in.”

Ryūko’s face turned a furious shade of red. “C-Could you not strip during the serious parts?!”

Aikurō only laughed softly, completely unfazed by her outrage. “But as advanced as her kamui appears, its full capabilities can only be measured once she is seen synchronizing with it. That’s when a kamui reveals its true nature.”

Aikurō’s eyes narrowed—not in annoyance, but in focus. “And to properly synchronize with a kamui, the wearer must provide more than presence or intention. Blood is necessary. It acts as a conductor, a living link between the wearer & the garment.”

Ryūko stiffened. “Blood?!”

Then her face twisted in realization—anger, embarrassment, & shock all flaring at once.

“…Wait. That wetness on my back after the tennis match yesterday, don’t tell me that was—”

Aikurō’s lips curved into a small, maddeningly calm smirk.

“No. It wasn’t a bird. That was me. I had access to a small sample from the nurse’s office. Just enough to trigger a partial reaction from Senketsu. You didn’t notice at the time—but it explained why he awoke so abruptly. And why he was… let’s say… enthusiastic.”

The former Kanto Vagabond exploded. “YOU THREW MY BLOOD ON ME?!” She jumped to her feet, fists clenched, teeth grinding. “I THOUGHT IT WAS BIRD SHIT! I WAS ABOUT TO—!”

“Calm down, Ryūko.” Aikurō said lightly, raising a hand to shield himself from her rage. “It was necessary. A safe demonstration. You need to understand how kamui function—& sometimes, unconventional methods are the fastest way to teach that.”

Senketsu twitched, his crimson eye gleaming with reluctant amusement. “He did handle it well. Anyone else attempting contact… I might have torn their arm off.”

Ryūko stared at the two of them like they were aliens. “You’re both suck!”

Aikurō continued on as if she hadn’t shouted at him. “Once blood is introduced, synchronization begins. The kamui reads your intent, your reflexes, your fear, your resolve. It reacts accordingly. Your kamui is responding to you, often before you consciously decide to act.”

Ryūko’s anger faltered for a moment as the explanation sank in. Memories flashed—Senketsu moving her arms instinctively to block attacks, tightening around her mid-motion, the strange pulse she felt when Izumi’s threads brushed her waist earlier… that unnatural tug—

“…So that’s why Senketsu woke up like that.” she muttered. “And why I felt that weird pull with Midoriya…”

“Now you understand what makes a kamui different from a Goku uniform." Her teacher replied. "Blood… intent… synchronization. All essential. And the stronger or more refined the kamui, the more sensitive it becomes to those factors—& the more demanding it is of its wearer.”

Ryūko slumped back onto the couch, rubbing her forehead with a groan. “So I get my blood sneak-attacked onto me without warning, & now I have to learn how to properly use this thing or I’m gonna get outclassed by Izumi.” She snorted bitterly. “Swell.”

“I will help you as much as I can."  Senketsu nudged her shoulder gently. "You won’t be left behind.”

Aikurō chuckled, the sound low & infuriatingly calm. “Anyway, private lessons start tomorrow after school. Four PM sharp.” He straightened up &, for once, his tone shifted to something almost professional.

Ryūko blinked. “Private… lessons?”

“That’s right.” he said, buttoning the top of his shirt with deliberate slowness, the sparkle fading as his usual carefree air returned. “We’ll meet every day after classes. Head home first, though—I’ll come pick you up. Better to avoid Satsuki’s eyes & ears. Her little ‘observation network’ runs deeper than most students realize. If she finds out I’m meeting you off campus…”

Ryūko crossed her arms, frowning. “Why not just do it now, then? I’ve got the time, & I wanna get this over with.”

Her homeroom teacher sighed, glancing toward the window binds of the ruined house. The first drops of rain had started to patter against the walls outside. “You can’t cram this all in one day like you do for a test & besides it’s getting dark. the storm’s rolling in fast & when it rains in the No-Star District, it floods. Trust me, you don’t want to be wading home in waist-deep water.”

He tilted his head, a knowing glint in his eye. “Besides… your friend, Mako, will be worried sick about you.”

Ryūko groaned. “Ugh. Yeah, you’re probably right. That girl does freaks out if I’m five minutes late to lunch.” She turned toward the door, irritation & fatigue mixed in her voice. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then teach. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dare dream of it.” Aikurō said lightly.

As she turned to leave, he reached into his jacket & tossed something her way. Ryūko caught it on reflex—a red glove, the fabric faintly gleaming even in the dim light.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding it up.

“That, my friend, is the Seki-Tekko.” he explained, his tone suddenly serious again. “Think of it as a conduit. It’ll make your future transformations with Senketsu easier & much safer. Consider it… a little insurance.”

Ryūko slipped it over her right hand, flexing her fingers as the fabric tightened to fit perfectly. “Huh. Not bad. Guess this means you’re not totally useless after all.”

Aikurō chuckled softly, his form shimmering as he slid his shirt fully on and ruffled his hair back into his shaggy teacher disguise. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Matoi. Now go. Before the storm gets any worse.”

Ryūko gave him a final, suspicious look before heading out into the rain, muttering under her breath. “Private lessons with the world’s weirdest teacher… what could possibly go wrong?”

As the door swung shut behind her, Aikurō’s easy smile faded. He adjusted his glasses, watching the rainfall outside. “If only you knew, Ryūko… just how deep this goes.”

END FLASHBACK

The rhythmic patter of rain faded into memory, replaced by the low hum of morning traffic & the faint, headache-inducing buzz of fluorescent lamps outside.

Ryūko blinked blearily, the room coming into focus only in pieces, her mind still tangled between what she’d learned last night & the reality waiting for her now.

She turn & brushed her thumb along what remained of the photo of young Izumi sitting beside her pillow.

Same freckles. Same green hair. Same colored eyes…But the girl she’d seen yesterday at Honnōji carried none of that warmth anymore. No spark. No innocence. Just a sharp, guarded stare; like someone who had already learned to expect the worst from everyone.

Ryūko exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into the futon. “…What the hell happened to you, Midoriya…?”

Her eyelids drooped, the exhaustion she’d been outrunning finally catching her. Just as sleep began to drag her under—

“WAKE UP, RYUKO-CHAN!”

Ryūko jolted so hard she nearly punched the ceiling. Mako erupted from her own futon like a landmine going off — half-dressed, shirt crooked, hopping on one foot as she tried to cram on a sock in the span of a few seconds.

“Good morning, Ryuko-chan! It’s a super amazing brand-new day filled with brand-new possibilities & brand-new excitements!” Mako chirped, somehow already at full volume & full energy upon waking up.

Ryūko let herself fall face-first back into the pillow with a groan. “…Just what I needed.”

The red digits of the cheap alarm clock flashed in her peripheral vision:

6:02 AM.

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t slept at all.

Not even a wink.

“…Terrific.” she muttered, dragging herself upright. Her hair stuck out wildly, defying gravity, dignity, & the laws of physics.

“All-nighters & fascist school uniforms.” Ryūko grumbled. “The dream life.”

Mako leaned in with a radiant smile, entirely oblivious to black-haired girls crankiness radiating beside her. “Awww, don’t you worry, Ryuko-chan! Breakfast fixes everything! Even misery!” she declared proudly.

Ryūko huffed a tired laugh — the kind that was a half-sigh, half-surrender — & forced herself onto her own feet.

Location: Honnōji Academy – One-Star Dorms

Outside the walls of Honnōji Academy, last night's storm had finally passed, leaving the air cool & heavy with the scent of rain. Pale dawn filtered through the blinds, staining the metal walls a hue of muted gray.

A soft electronic chime from the wall clock broke the stillness.

6:05 AM

Izumi stirred, sitting up like someone jolted out of a bad dream. Her eyes stayed unfocused for a few seconds, tracing the cracks in the ceiling, before she exhaled & dragged a hand through her hair.

“Huh? It’s morning already?”

The dorm room was small, utilitarian & the same white concrete walls & steel furnishings identical to every other one-star unit. A faint flicker of fluorescent light pulsed near the corner of the ceiling, buzzing faintly like an irritated insect.

She swung her legs out of bed, feet recoiling slightly at the kiss of the cold floor, then trudged to the adjoining bathroom with a towel slung lazily over the shoulder of her naked body.

The bathroom light flickered on with a sterile click. Everything about it felt cold; the tile underfoot, the white glare of the mirror, even the faint tang of disinfectant in the air. She twisted the shower knob, & a rush of hot water filled the silence, steam soon rolling out in slow, ghostly curls.

For a while, that sound — the hiss & patter of water — drowned everything out. The thoughts, the tension, the ever-present awareness of being watched in this place.

When she stepped out, towel wrapped around her body, the mirror was fogged. She reached up & wiped a section of the glass clear with the side of her hand & froze.

Her reflection blinked back at her through the mist — light skin damp from the shower, & the faint shimmer of the old burn scar that snaked from above her breast near her right shoulder running down her arm. Under the harsh white light, it almost looked alive; a jagged lattice of faintly glowing tissue, threads of faded red buried just beneath the skin. The mark pulsed once, faintly, as if remembering something she didn’t want to.

Izumi’s breath hitched. Her’s fingers hovered above it. Then, deliberately, she pressed her palm flat against the scar.

“...Not today.” she muttered softly. “You don’t get to win today.”

She turned away from the mirror & reached for her toothbrush. The soft rasp of bristles & the faint taste of mint filled the air. She rinsed, spat, & stared at her reflection again, this time with more control in her eyes.

Setting the brush down, she picked up the blow dryer from the counter. The warm hum filled the small room as she combed her fingers through her green hair, watching in the mirror as the damp locks lifted & swayed. The rhythmic motion steadied her breathing, dulling the edge of whatever nightmare still clung to her.

The silence afterward felt heavier, but not unbearable.

Exiting the bathroom, Izumi let the towel fall to the floor as she began to dress by the foot of her bed. Piece by piece, her gray & teal uniform wound itself around her form — not fabric so much as something alive. The moment the last clasp settled over her shoulder, the air shifted, faintly charged. The threads rippled once followed by a silent, sentient stir.

Izumi glanced down, lips twitching faintly. “You’re ready?” she murmured, adjusting the high collar at her neck. 

The cloth stilled. She understood the silence as clearly as a spoken word.

“Same,” she sighed, brushing a stray lock from her forehead. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She slung her backpack over one shoulder, checking the strap twice. At the door, she paused, eyes drifting back over the small, sterile room — the narrow bed, the folded blanket, the faint condensation on the window. 

“Well.” she whispered, voice barely audible. “Cheers to another day.”

A faint flicker of red light shimmered briefly along the seam of her shoulder — there, then gone — as she stepped out into the hall…

CLATTER.

Barely three steps, her body tensed. Instinct took over as she pivoted, her eyes narrowing toward the source of the sound.

A knife lay on the floor, its steel catching the dim light. A strip of paper was tied to the handle with red string. In front of her, a tiny dent marked where it had been stabbed into the door moments earlier.

“...Seriously?” Izumi muttered under her breath, kneeling down.

She picked the knife up carefully by the handle, more out of ingrained caution than fear. The paper crinkled softly as she untied and unfolded it.

The handwriting was rough, heavy-handed, practically shouting...

“HEY! You & me — front of the school, today!
Don’t even think about running off again!
— Matoi Ryūko.”

Izumi stared at it in silence for several seconds. Then her shoulders slumped before exhaling a long, slow sigh — the sound of someone who’d just lost a little more faith in the morning.

“…Of all the—” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Doesn’t that girl have anything better to do than stalk me first thing in the morning?”

The fabric of her uniform stirred faintly, sending a small ripple reacting to her irritation.

“I know, I know.” she murmured, tucking the note into her pocket. “Ignore her, right? Trust me, I’d love to.”

She took a step back into her room. “...But knowing Matoi-san…”

The kamui’s shoulder seam pulsed faintly, like a quiet, resigned sigh she could feel through her skin.

Izumi sighed back.

“…She’s not going to make that easy.”

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

YESTERDAY

Date: 2228.09.04 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy

The morning sun beat down on Honnōji Academy like a spotlight, turning the concrete courtyard into a stage of blinding white tile & razor-sharp shadows. Students marched in perfect formation across the grounds, their synchronized movements punctuated by the distant shouts of discipline officers running drills.

Midoriya Izumi walked through the crowd with quiet precision with her eyes were fixed toward the west hall where her class is located at. Even in the chaos of Honnōji, she moved like someone who belonged outside the noise.

Several meters behind her, half-hidden behind a lamppost, a familiar mess of black-a&-red hair stuck out like a badly hidden flag.

Matoi Ryūko crouched low, whispering harshly to the collar of her uniform. “Okay, okay, she’s headed for the west hall—just stay low this time, Senketsu—”

“Ryūko...” came a dry, barely audible reply from her uniform. “...you are not being low.”

Izumi didn’t turn around, for her eyes flicked sideways in the reflection of a cafeteria window just enough to see a very obvious problem in her peripheral vision.

A confused snort slipped through her nose.

“…Is she following me?” she murmured to herself in disbelief.

Without breaking stride, the green-haired girl shifted course & took the longer route through the academy greenhouse. Ten seconds later, Ryūko peeked around the lamppost, only to find the space where Izumi had been was now empty.

“What the—?!” Ryūko sprang upright, whipping her head left, then right, half expecting Izumi to reappear again like a glitching NPC in a videogame. “Where’d she go?! She was right there—!”

Senketsu calmly replied, “Perhaps if we had chosen a more reasonable cover—”

CLANG.

Ryūko froze as her ankle clipped something metallic.

She looked down.

A trash can wobbled.

“No, no, no, don’t—”

BAM. CLATTER. CRASH.

The can toppled completely, slamming to the ground on her foot & spilling it’s contents everywhere. Plastic containers rolled across the courtyard; wrappers fluttered into the breeze; a banana peel stuck to Ryūko’s shoe like a mocking badge of shame.

Then—

“OW!” Ryūko yelped, hopping on one foot as the can bounced off her shin. The shout echoed across the courtyard & every head turned.

A long, horrific silence.

Senketsu sighed. “Ryūko…”

Before she could escape, a voice boomed like thunder.

“MATOOOOOOOIII RYŪKOOOO!!!!!”

Gamagōri Ira stormed across the courtyard with militaristic fury, each step shaking the ground underneath. The spikes on his uniform shines menacingly sharp in the wind as he pointed down at the 'scene of the crime'.

“Is that — or is that NOT — a violation of Honnōji Academy disciplinary code section twelve, subsection five: Causing unnecessary disturbance & unsanctioned chaos before the beginning of class?!”

Ryūko, still hopping & trying to pull the banana peel off her shoe, grimaced.

“Uh— look, this isn’t what it looks like big guy—”

“It looks EXACTLY what it looks like!” Gamagōri roared in her face. “UNACCEPTABLE!”

Around them, students whispered in awe, horror, & a little amusement. Somewhere in the greenhouse corridor, out of sight, Izumi paused mid-step.

She exhaled very quietly. “…Yeah. That tracks.” And continued on without looking back.

Timestamp: During Lunch Before Noon

The cafeteria roared with its usual midday chaos — trays clattering, conversations buzzing, disciplinary officers barking orders over minor infractions. Izumi sat alone at a corner table, quietly eating, savoring a moment of peace. Until—

“IZUMI-CHAAAN!”

Mankanshoku Mako’s voice blasted through the cafeteria like an emergency alarm. A ripple of startled silence followed as dozens of students whipped their heads toward the source.

Mako stood on a bench, waving both arms as if guiding an airplane in for landing. Her tray teetered perilously in her hand. And behind her—

Izumi blinked.

Behind her, Ryūko was half-buried under a precarious stack of folding chairs, eyes wide with panic, one finger mashed desperately against her lips

“Shhh! Mako! Quiet, I’m on a stealth mission!” she whispered fiercely.

Mako froze mid-wave, blinking in awe. “Ohhh! Is this, like, a secret agent thing? Do I have to wear a disguise too?”

Ryūko’s blood went cold. “Mako, no, that is not—”

The chairs shifted & wobbled. And with a loud SHRRRR-CLANG-CLANG-THUD, the entire stack collapsed into a spectacular avalanche.

Every single head in the cafeteria turned. Ryūko lay sprawled on the ground, tangled in chair legs, groaning. Senketsu’s voice vibrated with unimpressed resignation.

“Smooth, Ryūko.” muttered Senketsu dryly as his wearer clawed her way out of the chair pile. “Very inconspicuous.”

Izumi stared at the scene for a long, flat second, her expression so unreadably deadpan it bordered on pity… or perhaps secondhand embarrassment. Then she simply stood, picked up her tray, & wordlessly walked out, leaving her half-eaten meal behind.

Behind her, Mako gasped. “WAIT—IZUMI-CHAN! COME BACK! RYŪKO-CHAN’S DOING HER BEST!”

Ryūko flailed in the pile. “No I’m not!! I mean — yes I am! Mako, help me out of this stupid—OW, that’s my ear!—no, the chair leg goes—SENKETSU STOP COMMENTING—”

Senketsu sighed. “At this point, Ryūko… I think she knows you’re following her.”

Timestamp: An Hour Later, After Class

The club arenas was quieting down, the early afternoon sun staining the tiled ground in long amber stripes. Only a few students lingered — club members finishing drills, disciplinary officers patrolling, the last stragglers began heading to the lockers to change.

And there again was Ryūko, who was attempting to blend in with a nearby vending machine. She lurked beside it, peering around the corner with laser focus, completely unaware that her jagged red highlights caught the light like a distress flare.

Across the training yard, the Fencing Club was in the middle of practice. With their white jackets, mesh helmets, steel foils glinting under the sun, Midoriya Izumi stood at the center of the ring as their newest member starting today.

Her stance was textbook-perfect, knees bent, blade poised. Even in a borrowed club uniform she moved with a quiet authority that drew the eye. Clean lunges, precise parries, immaculate form.

Her opponent advanced. Izumi disengaged, riposted, & struck the chest plate in a single seamless motion. Beep. Point scored.

Ryūko whispered. “Damn… ok, I admit she’s good.” leaning in further, fingers digging into the vending machine’s edge. “Okay… steady… this time I’m not losing her—”

Out on the strip, Izumi reset her stance but before raising her blade again, she turned her head & met Ryūko’s from across the courtyard.

Although surprised at the appearance of her black-haired stalker, Izumi’s expression didn’t outwardly change. But her next bout began faster, her footwork became sharper, bladework tighter, & every transition crackling with controlled acceleration.

She pressed her opponent back with an intensity that spoke volumes: ‘I know you’re watching me.’

Ryūko squinted. “Did she just—? No, no, no, stay focused…!”

Beep. Another point.

Izumi reset, saluted, stepped off the strip & quickly vanished amongst the crowd of club members. Like she’d slipped between one breath & the next.

Ryūko jerked upright, scanning left, right, behind the other fencers — nothing.

“Oh, COME ON!” she shouted, startling a cluster of first-year club members who scattered like startled pigeons.

Senketsu sighed from her shoulder. “Ryūko… perhaps stealth simply isn’t your calling.”

Ryūko growled. “She can’t just keep disappearing on me!”

Timestamp: Twenty Minutes Latter

Ryūko’s sneakers squeaked across the polished floor, echoing down the empty hall like a guilty conscience. She’d been on Izumi’s trail for a few minutes already, muttering a running commentary under her breath.

“Okay… okay… this time I’ve got her. No disappearing, no sudden speed bursts, no ninja crap. She’s boxed in. She has to be.”

She hugged the wall, inching forward with exaggerated caution. Up ahead, a familiar tuft of green hair turned down a side hall.

Ryūko grinned, eyes sharpening. “Gotcha this time—!”

She lunged around the corner, slammed a door open with dramatic force… & froze.

The door sign read: BOYS’ RESTROOM

For one perfect, silent beat she stared at the sign, brain stalling. Then—

“AAAH! WRONG ROOM!!”

“HEY—WHAT THE HELL?!”

“CLOSE THE DOOR, LADY!”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

Ryūko’s soul left her body.

Face blazing scarlet, she yelped, stumbled back, & practically body slammed the door shut. “NOTHING TO SEE HERE! NO ONE SAW ANYTHING! SENKETSU—DON’T! SAY! A! WORD!”

Senketsu paused thoughtfully on her shoulders. “I wasn’t going to.” he said, tone lace with amusement. “But for future reference… that was tactically unsound.”

Ryūko covered her face with both hands & groaned. “I’m gonna die of embarrassment before I even figure out what that girl’s deal is…”

Timestamp: Five Minutes Latter

Izumi moved briskly down the hall, the soles of her shoes tapping a steady, controlled rhythm. Her expression stayed neutral, but her breathing — a little too quick, a little too sharp — certainly wasn’t. She pressed two fingers to her temple, exhaling slowly as Ryūko’s latest outburst echoed somewhere behind her.

“I can’t keep doing this all day.” the green-haired muttered under her breath, a tightness slipping into her voice. “This is getting stupid.”

She turned the next corner & nearly collided with a solid wall of muscle & authority. Gamagōri Ira stood there, towering in all his disciplined rigidity, looking very much like a mountain that had unexpectedly learned to blink.

“Midoriya-san...” he said, puzzled. “...should you not be in class?”

“Sorry!” Izumi squeaked quickly. “On my way!”

Then suddenly, without hesitation — or explanation — she stepped directly behind him, practically plastering herself to the shadow of his massive frame.

Gamagōri stared down, baffled. “...W-what are you doing?”

Izumi inhaled through her nose, fighting to keep her tone level.

“Nothing. Nothing.” she said quietly as possible. “Just—stay here. Stay still. Please?”

From around the corner came Ryūko’s unmistakable shouting: “MIDORIYAAAA!!!! I know you’re around here somewhere!”

Ryūko sprinted past the hallway entrance, scanning left, right, up, & for some reason even briefly at a ceiling vent. She never once thought to look directly behind Gamagōri, whose width could have hidden three students, let alone one.

Within seconds, she was gone.

Izumi finally exhaled her breath quivering at the end before she caught it. She stepped out from behind the Disciplinary Chair, straightening her uniform with shaky precision.

“Thank you so much, Gamagōri-senpai.” she bowed in gratitude.

Gamagōri blinked heavily, utterly lost at what’s going on. “…Midoriya-san. Was that some form of… pursuit drill? A training exercise for evasive maneuvers?”

Izumi rubbed her forehead, eyebrows lowering with strain. “Um, something like that...” she muttered. “...unfortunately.”

And without another word, she walked off, but her fingers trembled just slightly where they clenched her backpack strap, the last of her fraying patience barely holding.

Behind her, Gamagōri watched in complete confusion, as though he’d just witnessed a rabbit hide behind a bear.

Timestamp: After Last Period of the Day.

Darkening storm clouds loomed on the horizon outside the tall windows, casting long, shifting shadows through the upper halls of Honnōji. Izumi moved briskly, her footsteps deliberate quiet on the polished floor, her backpack strap snug over her shoulder. Every instinct told her to hurry — the thought of Ryūko still trailing behind her made her pulse sharpen.

She rounded the corner, eyes flicking to each side, scanning the familiar hallway for any sign of escape. The dorm room was just a few doors up. Just a few more steps & she could be done with this absurd game of cat & mouse that’s been going on all day since this morning.

But the faintest noise behind her made her chest tighten again.

Izumi’s pace quickened. “Keep it together.” she muttered under her breath, pressing two fingers lightly to her temple. ‘Focus. Just ignore her.’

She turned another corner, & for a brief, glorious moment, it seemed clear. No one. Just the echo of her own boots, the hum of fluorescent lights. Relief flickered, at least until a familiar voice rang out:

“Okay… she turned left. Easy… just stay low, don’t make any—”

Ryūko’s voice, to be exact.

Izumi’s stomach sank. ‘Already here? How does she move so fast?’ Her stride lengthened, almost a controlled sprint now. She slid past lockers & classroom doors, keeping to the shadows, ducking her head slightly. Each step closer to her dorm was a small victory, but also a battle against mounting frustration.

The red-&-black blur flitted somewhere behind her, impossible to ignore. Izumi’s teeth clenched. 'How does she keep appearing right when I think I’ve lost her?'

She ducked into a narrow side corridor, lungs burning slightly, mind focused on one goal: her room. Just reach the door. Safe & Alone.

Ryūko’s footsteps clattered somewhere behind her, faster now, more desperate. She knew the girl was flustered, losing composure & it made Izumi’s jaw tighten in irritation. She had half a mind to stop, turn, & confront her stalker, but that would only waste time.

Instead, she accelerated slightly, glancing at the door to her dorm just ahead. One more hallway, one more turn, and she could disappear into the familiar cold concrete of her small room.

“I told you, Midoriya obviously noticed you were following her all day.” Senketsu’s voice murmured faintly in her mind.

‘Yes, I noticed, alright.’ Izumi clenched backpack tighter. 

The faintest clatter echoed behind her — a chair tipping? Ryūko’s voice muttering in frustration? Izumi’s cheeks heated slightly despite herself. ‘S-shut up’ she muttered under her breath. ‘What is her deal with me?.’

Finally, the door loomed ahead. She reached for the handle, fingers trembling with a mix of irritation and relief. Another step & she could finally be alone. But she knew, with a sinking certainty, that Ryūko wasn’t done yet. The girl’s persistence was relentless & Izumi’s patience was fraying with every step.

“…Almost there.” she whispered, pressing her palm briefly against the door. ‘Just a little longer. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me lose it.’

END FLASHBACK:

Izumi exhaled softly, a breath caught somewhere between annoyance & resignation. A tired, almost humorless smile ghosted across her lips.

“She’ll just keep following me until I give in.” she muttered, rolling her eyes skyward.

She leaned her back against the closed dorm door, letting her head rest there for a moment. The memory of yesterday’s chaos flickered through her mind — Ryūko diving behind benches, knocking over trash cans, crashing through a pile of cafeteria chairs, & somehow still believing she hadn’t been noticed.

The faint hum of Honnōji Academy’s power grid crept back into her awareness; a steady, low vibration that sank into bone. It was the kind of sound you didn’t notice until you were already on edge… & then you couldn’t stop noticing it.

‘It’s going to be one of those kind of days…’

Sighing, Izumi tossed the knife onto her desk without ceremony, the metal clattering louder than intended. With a quick twist of the lock & a last glance over her shoulder, she stepped out into the hallway again. The strap of her backpack tightened beneath her grip.

“First the incident with the Tennis Club, now this…” she muttered under her breath as she descended the stairwell. “Everyone was glaring daggers at me during that match — before the ball barrage, & even more after.”

A harsh memory — the blur of red thread, the yank at Ryūko’s waist, her wide eyes — flashed unwelcome across her mind.

“Last thing I need is Matoi-san dragging me into a fight in front of the whole school because of some misunderstanding.”

The dorm lights flickered weakly behind her as she stepped off the final stair. A soft buzz rattled through the fixtures overhead, & Izumi let out another long, steadying sigh.

“Looks like my morning’s already off to a fantastic start.”

She squared her shoulders, pushed open the exit door, & stepped into the gray, storm-bruised dawn of Honnōji Academy.

As the door clicked shut behind her, a soft shadow moved around the corner inside the dorm hallway. A slender girl with shaggy black hair with spiky bangs & large, rectangular glasses leaned lightly against the wall. Her arms crossed, red eyes sharp & unblinking as she watched Izumi disappear into the morning light.

She pulled out a small walkie-talkie from behind her No-Star sailor uniform. Bringing it close to her lips, she spoke in a quiet, precise tone.

“Command, this is Ōgure Maiko. Target — Midoriya Izumi — has taken the bait. She’s moving toward the front entrance of the academy to meet Matoi, just as planned.”

A brief pause. She listened for acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving the now-empty hallway.

“Copy that. Keep monitoring. Do not engage unless instructed.”

Maiko lowered the walkie-talkie, the faintest smirk touching her lips. Everything was proceeding exactly as intended.

Honnōji Academy – Front Entrance

The morning breeze carried the faint scent of moist concrete. Izumi stood beneath the academy’s massive stone, angular archway, arms folded, her patience unraveling one minute at a time.

She’d been there long enough for the morning chill to seep through her sleeves. Her stomach grumbled, loud enough to make her frown.

“So much for breakfast.” she muttered. ““Could’ve had toast. Or literally anything that doesn’t involve standing here like an idiot waiting for her. All this for a note stabbed into my door…”

The fabric of her uniform rippled slightly across her shoulder, generating a faint, knowing pulse.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Izumi murmured, voice low. “You told me it was probably a prank or something. Congratulations, you were right again.”

The fibers along her sailor tie settled smugly back into stillness.

Izumi sighed, rubbing her temple. “Next time, I’ll listen.”

A group of passing underclassmen slowed to stare at her. Izumi choose to ignored them, fixing her gaze on the gate instead.

“Ten minutes late…” she said, tapping her foot lightly. “Where is she?”

Another few moments passed. She checked the clock again, then groan long & low in frustration. “Unbelievable! Maybe she overslept! Maybe she chickened out! Maybe—”

Before she could dwell on it, voices echoed up the path from the hill — one bright & chirping, the other low & tired like herself.

“Why’re you yawning for, Ryūko-chan? Did the storm kept you up all night?”

“No Mako. A certain someone’s been on my mind lately.”

“You mean Izumi-chan?”

“…Yeah. How’d you—”

“Because...” Izumi cut in flatly, arms crossed, the faintest edge of irritation in her tone. “...I am here.”

Chapter Text

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

TWO DAYS AGO

Date: 2228.09.03 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy – Tennis Court

“GO BACK TO U.A.!!!”

The scream tore across the tennis court populace like shrapnel.

Then another.

And another.

Ryūko froze halfway up the bleachers, stomach twisting.

“What the hell…” she muttered, jaw tightening. “Seriously? Weren’t they worshiping her minutes ago while she was flattening a club captain?”

It was true. Students who had been cheering  for Izumi’s victories — the same kids who had circulated clips of her saving Ryūko & Mako earlier — had turned on her instantly, like flipping a switch.

All because Satsuki Kiryūin had spoken the words:

“As to be expected from a former student of U.A.”

The crowd’s adoration curdled into hostility so fast it felt rehearsed. The air thickened into an ugly mess, their cheers soured into jeers & any former admiration dissolved instantly into disgust.

“I know right! Isn’t this is awful!” Mako yelped as someone hurled a glass bottle — which Izumi sidestepped without blinking. “One minute they adore Izumi-chan, the next they’re yelling at her like she kicked their puppies!”

A fresh wave of...

“U.A. TRAITOR!”

“GET OUT!”

“TRANSFER TRASH!”

...rolled across the stands.

“Tch. stupid One-Stars…” Ryūko’s glare could’ve set the bleachers on fire. “Figures they smell her as a threat to their spot here.”

Mako winced at a particularly nasty slur. “I mean, people here do change their minds faster than I change outfits! And Ryūko-chan, you know how often I change outfits!”

Ryūko ignored her, eyes locked on the girl down on the court. Midoriya Izumi stood there like a stone pillar in a hurricane — no flinching, no shrinking, no snapping back. Just silently taking the storm.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t glare back.

Nor did she bother to defend herself.

The green-haired girl stood there, yet somehow that made the mob even angrier.

Mako tugged at Ryūko’s sleeve. “U.A. must’ve been her old school… right?”

“Yeah.” she muttered. “And it does explains a lot.”

She crossed her arms, irritation prickling under her skin.

“I knew something was weird about her. The way she moves. The way she fought Omiko. The way she senses openings before they happen — that’s not amateur stuff. She’s trained almost like a pro...”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance. “...& she’s got a quirk too. Figures.”

“Wait a minute..." Mako squinted at her. "Ryūko-chan, are you maybe, possibly, just a tiny bit jealous that someone smaller & younger than you keeps showing you up?”

“Mako! I am not—!” Ryūko stopped, groaned, & scrubbed a hand across her face. “…Okay, maybe a little.

Before Mako could respond, the atmosphere changed instantly. The jeers fell into a suffocating hush as a presence sliced through the court.

From her vantage point, Ryūko saw it clearly: Kiryūin Satsuki descended onto from the stairway & below her — standing among shards of broken court tiles — stood Midoriya Izumi.

Ryūko had noticed her before—the girl who barely spoke, who kept her distance yet somehow drew all eyes. But now, framed in the storm of flashing phones and yelling students, Ryūko felt something she couldn’t name. Not pity. Not suspicion.

Something stranger — something Ryūko couldn’t name.

Satsuki’s voice cut through the chaos: “Unlike the rest of your peers, you’re not the type to sit idle as the world turns.”

The crowd hushed. Izumi looked up at her, guarded but unafraid.

Ryūko leaned forward, pulse quickening. “That tone…” she murmured. “She’s testing her.”

Then — a sudden wet sting hit her back.

“WHAT THE –!” Ryūko flinched & cringed, whirling around with fists clenched, ready to deck to the ground whoever had dared to...did something to her.

Her teeth gritted. No one was there. The crowd continued its chaotic roar, but the assailant was nowhere in sight.

Before she could even process it, a sharp tug on her uniform made her spin again. Senketsu’s crimson eye snapped open, suddenly alive, much awake &… very hungry.

“…More.” he hissed, voice low & predatory. “Give me more—”

“What the—?!” Ryūko yanked at the sentient fabric. “Senketsu?”

“Huh, Ryūko?”

“Oh, look who finally decided to wake up now!” she snapped. “Better late than never, jackass!”

He ignored her irritation. “Why are we in the middle of a crowd—”

“Middle of a crowd?!” she barked. “You fucking dumbass! Where the hell were you when I needed you against Omiko?”

“I could not act.” Senketsu said, twitching impatiently. “I need more blood—”

“More BLOOD?!” Ryūko exploded, face reddening in anger. “You need it NOW?! For WHAT, a GAME?!”

Students around her froze mid-yell, eyes wide. Phones lowered while whispers spread among them like wildfire.

“Is… is she talking to herself?”

“Or her… uniform?!”

The crowd backed away slightly, giving Ryūko a small clearing. She continued, furious & jabbing wildly at her own shirt.

“You’re a dumbass! A total, fucking dumbass!” she snapped.

“Quiet, Ryūko! Be still, now!”  Senketsu hissed suddenly, tone razor-sharp cutting through her rage. “She’s watching us. She’s listening.”

Ryūko froze mid-gesture, her anger faltering. Slowly, she turned toward the source…locking eyes with Izumi’s curious gaze

The green-haired girl stood just beyond the ring of students, gaze unnervingly calm, fixed directly on Ryūko. Her head tilted slightly toward her shoulder, as if examining every motion, every word of hers. A faint murmur escaped her lips, almost inaudible over the chaos — a single, cryptic sound Ryūko couldn’t make sense of.

Ryūko’s pulse skipped. “…What the—?” she whispered, staring back, realizing something strange was happening.

Senketsu shifted again. “She knows more than she should. Pay attention.”

The crowd continued to buzz around them, but Ryūko hardly noticed. All she could see was the green-haired figure, stepping lightly over broken court tiles, leaving only a faint trail of movement in her wake.

“…Wait a second,” Ryūko muttered under her breath, reaching into her bag. “Something about her…”

She dug through her cluttered guitar case, hands rifling past homework, school textbooks, her scissor blade & miscellaneous scraps. Her fingers paused on something fragile. Carefully, she pulled it out — a photo, charred at the edges, but still recognizable.

Ryūko held it up, her eyes narrowing. The image showed a younger Midoriya Izumi, a child with green hair & wide, joyful eyes. A was a stark contrast to the composed, distant girl now retreating down the steps right now.

Her lips parted in a whisper, almost to herself. “…So that’s why she seemed familiar the moment I met her yesterday morning…”

Mako, standing beside her, tilted her head, curiosity clear in her eyes. “Wait, is that Izumi-chan! Ryūko-chan, when did you got a cute baby picture of her?”

Ryūko didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened. The realization struck like lightning: this girl was the same one from the photo. The same one whose presence Senketsu had detected, whose gaze had unnerved her.

A fire ignited in her chest, anger & curiosity fusing into determination. She stuffed the photo back into her jacket & squared her shoulders.

“…I don’t know, Mako” she muttered, voice low & dangerous. “But I’m gonna figure out exactly what she’s hiding.”

Ryūko stormed towards the stairway, photo safely tucked into her bag, fists clenched. Determination radiated from her like heat from a furnace. “…I’m getting answers. One way or another & only one person here would have it.”

Before she could reach Satsuki, a massive shadow blocked her path. Gamagōri Ira’s towering frame loomed & his arms crossed.

“Outta my way.” Ryūko barked, glaring up at him. “I have questions for your boss that I want answered now.”

“You will not pass, Matoi” Gamagōri’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened. “Orders are clear.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your orders, big guy!” Ryūko snapped, glaring up at him. “Now move!”

As if summoned by her defiance, more of the Elite Four appeared, materializing around her like statues of judgment. Jakuzure Nonon’s glare sharpened, Uzu Sanageyama’s grip tightened on his bokken, & Inumuta Hōka’s analytical gaze flicked toward her in contempt. All silently warning her that crossing them was unwise.

“Watch your tone, Matoi.” Jakuzure warned, hands on her hips. “You don’t talk to the Elite Four or Student Council President like that.”

“Piss off, pipsqueak!”

Satsuki, already walking away, didn’t even glance back at the commotion.

“Come back here!" Ryūko stomped her foot, fury boiling over. "Don’t you ignore me, Kiryuin Satsuki!”

Without turning, Satsuki’s voice cut through, sharp & cold like a blade. “And why should the strong humor the barks of the weak?”

“WHAT!” Ryūko’s nearly choked. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

Satsuki didn’t even slow her pace, words flowing from mouth like ice. “One who cannot even properly harness the power that they has been blessed with has no business speaking before me — let alone the privilege of looking me in the eye.

Ryūko’s fists trembled.

“Three days.” Satsuki continued, voice smooth as sharpened steel. “Three days, Matoi, since you have stepped foot in my academy, & what have you accomplished then but experienced one humiliation after another?”

Her steps didn’t falter.

“Defeated by the Boxing Club Captain on your first fight. Rescued — twice — during your pathetic attempt to challenge the Tennis Club. How pitiful.”

Ryūko said nothing, glaring back with repressed fury.

“Yet another student, one younger than you, had accomplished far more in half the time.”

A beat.

“Midoriya Izumi is clearly worthy of seeking the answers you crave.” Satsuki’s smirk flickered at Ryūko “You are not.”

Ryūko’s breath hitched in rage, humiliation, & disbelief.

Satsuki added, almost lazily. “Watch her closely, Matoi Ryūko. Observe her methods, her composure, her control. Perhaps, if you master your kamui like a trained dog on a leash, you may someday prove worthy of the knowledge you crave. But until then… you are wasting both of our time.”

Satsuki’s words hung in the humid air like a dagger. She didn’t turn nor did even acknowledge Ryūko afterwards. Her white uniform vanished into the distance, leaving Ryūko trembling in the wreckage of her pride.

Ryūko stood frozen, chest heaving, teeth gritted. Fury & frustration surged through her like a storm. Her gaze drifted toward the far end of the court — the spot where the green-haired transfer student had disappeared.

END FLASHBACK:

Date: 2228.09.05 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy

“What the—?!” Ryūko nearly tripped over her own boots.

Because the universe apparently had a twisted sense of humor.

Of all the things she expected on this miserable morning, running into Midoriya Izumi is not on the top on her list. It's kike she’d stepped out of thin air specifically to mock the fact Ryūko had spent the entire previous day chasing her around campus like a lunatic with success.

Now Izumi stood before her with her arms crossed, posture relaxed but somehow radiating tension, like a coiled spring trying very hard not to recoil.

“You—” Ryūko blurted out, her stomach tightening. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Izumi tilted her head slightly, unimpressed. “Long enough to hear both of you talking about me like I’m already a missing person.”

Mako waved enthusiastically, oblivious to the tension brewing between the two. “Good morning, Izumi-chan!”

“Morning, Mako-san.” Izumi’s tone softened for a fleeting moment, then evaporated like steam as her gaze fixed on Ryūko. “Matoi-san.”

“Er...morning.” Ryūko rubbed the back of her neck, bristling from her glare. “What’s with that look you’re giving me?”

Izumi stepped forward until she stood directly in front of her, shoulders stiff, jaw set. “Ok, let’s skip the small talk & get to the point. What do you want with me?”

“H–Huh?” Ryūko blinked in confusion. “W-what are you talking about?”

“I was told to come here.” Izumi’s voice carried a razor-thin edge now. “By you.”

“By— me?” Ryūko sputtered. “You—you were waiting for me?”

“Did you really forgot?” Izumi’s irritation twitched at the corner of her mouth. She reached into her pocket & pulled out the crumpled note, holding it up between two fingers like evidence at a trial. “Recognize this? You nailed it to my dorm door last night. With a knife.”

“Wait, what?!” Ryūko snatched it, scowling as her eyes darted across the page. “I didn’t wrote this! It’s not even my handwriting!”

“You expect me to believe you after what you’ve done?” Izumi’s expression hardened further, unbothered by her protest. “Haven’t you’ve been following me enough all day yesterday?”

Ryūko froze, heat crawling up her neck. “Uh… I well… uh—”

Mako gasped, eyes darting between them. “Ryūko-chan, were you sneaking around like a secret agent again?”

“Mako!” Ryūko hissed through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t sneaking!”

“Don’t lie.” Izumi’s voice didn’t rise, but the clipped precision made Ryūko flinch harder than if she had yelled “I saw you in the courtyard, hallways, lunchtime, even the training grounds. Repeatedly.”

Heat surged up Ryūko’s neck. “Okay! Fine, I did follow you! But I wasn’t stalking you, I just—!”

“Then what were you doing then?” Izumi cut in, eyes narrowing. “Why were your intentions in following me. What exactly did you want from me?”

Ryūko’s mouth opened, shut, then opened again. Nothing came out except the dawning horror that she had absolutely no idea how to say any of it out loud

Izumi exhaled slowly—disbelief, disappointment, & a little exhaustion all braided together. “Unbelievable…”

She turned on her heel & started walking back toward the school building, her red boots clicking sharply against the pavement. “We’re done here. This really was a waste of my ti—”

“Wait!” Ryūko lunged forward & caught Izumi’s wrist before she could take another step.“Hold up, Midoriya!”

Izumi continue to move, though not gently. Her entire body refusing to stop, muscles coiling beneath her uniform like she was one breath away from ripping her arm free.

“Hey—HEY! I said hold up, damn it!” Ryūko jogged to a stop beside her, still gripping her wrist, Mako bouncing along behind them.

“Wait for us! Friends don’t speedwalk away from each other unless there’s free food involved!” the brunette skidded in behind them, waving her arms like she was trying to land a plane.

The green-haired girl begrudgingly stop exactly halfway across the courtyard. She didn’t look back, but Ryūko could feel the tension radiating off her like static electricity.

“What do you want now, Matoi-san?” Her voice was low, clipped, & exhausted.

Ryūko slowly released her wrist & stepped beside her, panting.

“Okay, look, Midoriya… the reason I was following you…” She swallowed air, annoyed at how hard the words were to shape. “I just wanted… answers.”

“Answers?” Izumi didn’t turn, but her shoulders stiffened. “Answers to what exactly?”

“Well…” Ryūko jabbed a finger at her. “...you could start with what the hell happened on that tennis court between you & Omiko two days ago.”

Izumi finally looked at black-haired girl, her expression flat as polished steel & eyes hardening with fresh irritation. “Weren’t both you & Mako-san there in person that day?”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” Ryūko snapped. “I’m talking about whatever the hell you did to Blondie’s uniform before stripping her naked.”

Izumi blinked once. “No.”

“No?” Ryūko’s eye twitched. “That’s it? Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Ryūko stepped in closer, frustration bubbling hot under her skin. “Fine. I’ve still got other questions anyway, so let’s go down the list.”

Izumi’s jaw tightened; a muscle jumped beneath her eye.

“Your quirk...” Ryūko continued. “...What exactly is it? Those thread-things from your fingertips—Mako & I got yanked around by them. They look like the same stuff I’ve seen in some of Two-Star uniforms here. Also…,”

The black-haired girl grabbed Izumi by her collar. “...why are you the only student at Honnōji allowed to use a quirk at all? And don’t give me the ‘it’s complicated’ crap—I’ve heard that one too many times before.”

“Then ask someone else.”

“You are someone else, in case you haven’t noticed!”

Izumi still didn’t blink. Just stared, unbothered that she was taken hostage by another student.

Ryūko grit her teeth in frustration.

“Fine. Your moves, then.” She let go of Izumi, folding her arms. “I get that you used to be a hero student, U.A. & all. But you fight like a pro, not like some random first-year transfer. So—who taught you?”

The black-haired girl was met with nothing once more. Not even a single twitch.

“Ooh! What about that sword of yours, Izumi-chan?” Mako inserted herself between the two, oblivious to the rising pressure, leaning in with a sunny smile. “It’s sooo cooool! Did you forge it in a volcano? Did a magic cat give it to you? Did you—”

“Please, Mako-san.” Izumi’s voice cut sharp enough to draw blood. “None of this concerns either of one of you.”

“Well it does now!” Ryūko stepped forward again, her shadow falling over Izumi. “Your uniform—it’s a kamui, isn’t it?”

Unlike before, Izumi stiffened so sharply it was like someone yanked invisible strings around her spine.

“Yeah, I saw that reaction.” Ryūko smirked, though it was thin & brittle. “That’s life-fiber level stuff, ain’t it? So—how long have you had it on you?”

Izumi’s hands curled at her sides. “Matoi-san—”

“No!” Ryūko shot back, heat flaring in her eyes. “You don’t get to ‘Matoi’ me right now. I know you heard what I was saying to Senketsu back at the tennis court two days ago!”

Izumi’s brow creased. “Senketsu?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Midoriya!” Ryūko stepped fully into her space now, irritation sparking hot enough to feel between them. “You wouldn’t be able to understand what Senketsu was saying unless you had a kamui just like me!”

Izumi didn’t move or answer. Just stared at the floor, not daring to even look at her interrogator in the eye.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?” Ryūko pressed, voice sharpening. “After the match, you walked off after Satsuki said something to you—& now you’re acting like every question I’m asking so so far is classified.”

Ryūko is confounded by ice-cold, suffocating silence once again.

 “Dammit..." The black-haired girl’s voice rose, frustration bubbling past the point of control. "...why won’t you just tell me already?!”

“Because…” For the first time, Izumi’s eyes hardened as she looked up at Ryūko “…none of that is your business.”

Those words slapped harder than anything Ryūko was prepared for.

“Not my—?” Ryūko stepped back, anger snapping through her. “After you butt in twice? After Satsuki clearly singled you out?! You don’t think I deserve at least an explanation!?”

Izumi’s shoulders tensed tighter & sharper, refusing to bend any further.

Ryūko felt heat rise in her chest, frustration twisting. “What did Satsuki said to you anyway? What answers does she have that you’re looking for? That you want? About you? About your past? About U.A.?”

Izumi flinched. It was small & barely there, but Ryūko saw an opportunity.

Yet her next words slipped out too fast, too harsh... “Were you… expelled?”

Izumi’s expression cracked & just for a breath, raw hurt flickered across her face before she forced it away.

Mako’s voice softened. “Izumi-chan…?”

Izumi looked away, swallowing something heavy. When she spoke, her voice was tight...

“…Everything about me is online already. People can read it whenever they want.” Her arms hugged tightly across her chest, like a shield bracing for a blow. “So if you want to know what happened… you can just look it up like everyone else. Why ask me?”

Ryūko’s mouth went dry. She’d expected snapping, excuses, maybe a fight. Certainly not someone already wounded, already tired, already shutting the world out before it had a chance to hurt her more.

She stepped forward, her voice came out softer than she expected “…Because all that crap online isn’t the same as hearing it from the per—”

“DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY IT?!” Izumi’s sudden outburst cracked through the courtyard like a whip, causing Ryūko & Mako both jumped in surprise.

“Every detail! Every accusation! Every rumor! Every! Single! Mistake!” Izumi’s voice shook—not with anger, but with something rawer, sharper, long-buried. “Is that what you want to hear, Matoi? Would that make you feel better?!”

“I—I’m not trying to bother you, Midoriya.” Ryūko rushed out, hands up in surrender. “I just… I wanted to understand.”

“Understand what?!” Izumi snapped back, finally looking straight at her. “You don’t even know me!”

Ryūko’s heart hammered, suddenly unsure of every word she’d said.

Izumi’s piercing gaze locked onto her. “Did someone put you up to this? Or did you just… assume the same thing everyone else here does?”

Ryūko flinched

“Because all of Honnōji’s been hostile since I first arrived here.” Her voice dropped to a bitter whisper. “And worse since Satsuki revealed to entire school that I’m a former U.A. student, right?”

“No!” Ryūko forced out. “I’m not like those One-Star idiots!”

Izumi wrapped her arms around herself—small, withdrawn, but trying so desperately hold the pieces of herself together from falling apart.

“It doesn’t matter if you are or not. I’m already used to people digging for the worst assumptions.” Her voice wavered, barely above a breath . “So if you’re going to join them, just… just say it. Don’t pretend you want to ‘understand’ me.”

Ryūko’s hands twitched at her sides, torn between snapping back or backing off, trapped in the space between anger & guilt. Every instinct told her to push forward, to demand answers, but something in Izumi’s hurt expression stopped her

Izumi looked away, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

“And for the record…” she muttered, quieter now, “…I’m sorry if I… hurt your pride, Matoi-san. Twice.”

Ryūko blinked. “What?”

“Intervening in the Tennis Club.” Izumi clarified without looking up. “You said so yourself. It wasn’t my intention to interfere—& given all the trouble it caused you… & me… it won’t happen again.”

Ryūko stared at her.

Izumi’s voice didn’t waver, but there was something threaded through it— a soft, tired shame that didn’t belong to someone who’d done anything wrong. A tone of someone used to apologizing first to avoid something worse.

What the hell had happened to this girl?

Ryūko’s glare faltered. Her indignation tangled with confusion, embarrassment, guilt. For the first time since they met, she wasn’t the one in control of the conversation.

And she hated how that felt.

The courtyard had barely settled from the two’s verbal scuffle when the air thickened again. The shift subtle at first, follow by ripple of movement among a loud murmur of voices.

Then the slow circling shuffle of bodies: One-Stars & a swarm of No-Star students — boys & girls from all three years — circled in, emboldened by numbers they clearly believed gave them an advantage.

Izumi felt it before she heard it: that prickle along her shoulders, the pressure of too many eyes and intentions converging at once.

Ryūko felt it too. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered.

The first jeers rose from the back of the newly form mob.

“Look at her acting all tough.”

“Figures — U.A. rejects always overcompensate.”

“I heard she cheated on an exam.”

“Nah, she probably killed someone. Those types always snap.”

“Or maybe she slept her way into the recommendation & got caught.”

A few laughed. One voice, louder than the others, added: “Explains why she got kicked out. Quirk’s all she’s got.”

Izumi didn’t bother to react. At least not outwardly. Not even a flinch. 

Regardless, more taunts continue to piled on:

“Hey, Midoriya! How’d it feel being too pathetic for U.A.?”

“You think Honnōji’s gonna put up with a failure like you?”

“We should send you back where you belong — the trash heap.”

“Shut. Your. Mouths.” Ryūko snaped, her voice cutting across the courtyard like a blade.

A few of the students faltered, initially startled before sneering back at her.

“Or what, Matoi? You sticking up for her now?”

“Thought you hated hero-types.”

“Move aside & let us deal with the transfer—”

Ryūko slowly set down her guitar case, eyes narrowing. “Whatever’s between me & Midoriya...” she growled.“... isn’t for any of you bottom-feeders to weigh in on.”

A One-Star boy at the front barked a laugh. “Oh please. Look at you, getting all defensive. What, afraid she can’t handle it? Or is this about you being chickened—”

He never finished.

Ryūko’s guitar case swung up like a bludgeon, slamming across his jaw with a sharp, echoing. The crack echoed afterward as his teeth scattered in the air like confetti.

The mob froze.

“Say something like that about her again...” Ryūko snarled, “...& I’ll knock out whatever’s left in your skull next.”

The students reacted as mobs usually do — with panic disguised as bravado.

“The bitch attacked him—get her!”

“Take them both down!”

“She can’t fight all of us—!”

The charge was messy & loud.

Ryūko braced herself, but Izumi moved first.

Then, almost lazily, she flexed her left fingers. Hundreds of threads flashing to life from each digit, blooming outward like a merciless web of crimson.

The first One-Star dove at them like a spear. Izumi’s hand flicked outward, her fingers tracing a single sharp gesture through the air. Scarlet threads glimmered in the light,  whipping forward almost too fast to see. The attacker froze midair, his entire torso jerked violently to a halt while limbs were suddenly wrapped tight by fibers around him like a constrictor

Two more came from behind her. Izumi didn’t turn as her right hand twisted once in a precise, dismissive flick.

SHNK—THUD—

In one a sharp motion, the threads lanced outward like whips. Two bodies slammed into the cracked tiles, arms bound to their sides by ribbons of red fiber.

Another wave lunged & fell. Threads snagged wrists, ankles, collars — any exposed point — & pulled them in. Bodies went airborne, colliding, flipping, hitting pavement in frantic, tangled clusters..

Some tried to flank her. Others tried to rush Ryūko. None got even close.

Mako ducked as another One-Star lunged near her before they were snagged. Even Ryūko, who had just been ready to throw herself into the fray, blinked at the speed — the efficiency — the sheer contemptuous ease of Izumi’s surgical movements.

It was then the mob realized too late that numbers didn’t matter when every limb, every ankle, every stray wrist could be snared in an instant.

One girl, a second year, tried to jump back.

SNAP!

A thread looped around her arms & flipped the girl onto her back.

Another boy, a third year student, reached for debris.

CRACK!

His wrist was pinned to the ground before he touched it.

Within moments, the courtyard was a disaster zone of groaning students bound in glimmering red fibers extending from the green-haired girl’s arm like living chains. Every struggling limb pulled on a thread that connected back to her, tension visibly humming through the crimson lines.

Ryūko stared, half impressed, half annoyed.

Izumi stood in the midst of the chaos, one arm raised slightly, threads branching out in a devastating red fan. A weary sigh escaped her as she pressed her fingers to her forehead with her free hand — the one not currently anchoring half the courtyard in place. Her voice was calm, but annoyed — the kind of tone that cut colder than shouting ever could.

“Just… stay put.” she muttered to the struggling mass, tone flat & tired. “If you know what’s good for you.”

The courtyard fell silent except for the faint humming of her threads & the muffled groans of her restrained attackers. Some of the mor stubborn bound students twitched helplessly, fruitlessly struggling against the silken bindings that refused to yield. The rest complied, partly out of fear because any attempt to move would only tightened the fibers cutting into their uniforms

Ryūko looked at the mob, then at Izumi, then back at the mob.

“…You idiots really picked the wrong girl to piss off this morning.” she muttered under her breath. 'And I dodged a bullet there.'

Izumi dusted her blazer off, the picture of quiet composure. She didn’t look at Ryūko when she spoke. “Are you… hurt? Mako-san? Anyone?”

Ryūko blinked at her. It's not not the question the black-haired girl expected.

Mako popped up from behind Ryūko like a startled prairie dog. “I’m fine! I think! Maybe! Actually my leg’s asleep. But that’s normal!”

“Good...I think.” Ryūko muttered.

Izumi finally met Ryūko’s eyes. After what felt like an entire conversation in silence, she sighed. Not loud. Not angry. Just… exhausted..

“Well...” she said, glancing down at the note still crumpled in Ryūko’s grip, “... whoever forged that letter must’ve known it’d get under my skin.”

Her tone softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp. “So, congratulations. I’m awake, I’m irritated, & I skipped breakfast for this.”

Right on cue, her stomach decided to growled. Loudly.

Ryūko blinked, caught off guard by the sound. “…You, uh, didn’t eat yet?”

Izumi shot her a look. “My biggest mistake by far today.”

“Oh no!” Mako gasped, clasping her hands as if witnessing a tragedy unfold. “Izumi-chan, you’ve got the hangry eyes!”

Izumi paused, before rubbing her temple “…The what?”

“THE HANGRY EYES!” Mako proclaimed, arms raised dramatically as if calling upon divine revelation.

*Cue Mako’s Hallelujah Theme*

“The hangry eyes!” she repeated dramatically rummaging vigorously through her No-Star school uniform “That’s when the eyes of your soul looks hungry enough to start a war! And when at war, you march—MARCH!—to the roar of a stomach begging for mercy! On the brink of despair! Despair that lay villages to waste, brought castles to ground & devoured armies whole like no sword can!”

Ryūko stared. “Uh, Mako, what are you—”

Before either could stop her, the brunette reached dramatically into her cleavage & somehow pulled out a large steaming, paper-wrapped croquette like a stage magician revealing her final trick.

A few of the still-conscious One-Star boys immediately got nosebleeds. One even whispered, horrified yet awestruck “H-how deep is her cleavage—”

WHAM!

Ryūko smacked him across the face with her guitar case without even looking. “Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

She swung again when another choked on his own blood. “Or you.”

“Behold!” Mako declared triumphantly, thrusting the croquette toward Izumi’s face like a sacred offering. “The ultimate breakfast for champions & hungry transfer students!”

Izumi stared in disbelief. “…You just carry food on you like that?”

“Always!” Mako declared proudly. “You never know when hunger strikes!”

Izumi hesitantly eyed the croquette closely & stiffened at what she saw before her.

“…Mako-san,” she said slowly, “why is there… fish’s head sticking out of it?”

“Oh! That’s not fish. This batch was cooked with eel, daikon, leftover crab meat, some boiled eggs, & a teensy-weensy bit of seaweed strips!”” Mako chirped proudly.

As if on cue, one of the seaweed strips wiggled in the breeze like it was trying to wave at her.

Izumi recoiled. “Why is it moving?”

“It’s fresh!”

“That’s not reassuring, Mako-san!” Izumi took a half-step back. “And—and you just pulled this from under your shirt!”

At that reminder, the surviving pervert contingent of students erupted into geysers of nosebleeds, collapsing in crimson fountains of adolescent stupidity.

Ryūko didn’t miss a single beat...

WHACK!

THUNK!

BAM!

...knocking them out cold

“Tch, perverts.” she muttered, nudging one aside with her foot.

Izumi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mako-san… is it even safe to eat?”

“Of course it is!” Mako said brightly. “My mom says as long as the ingredients used are not toxic, spoiled, cursed, or imported from mainland China, everything is fair game!”

Izumi froze mid-reach. “…I’m sorry, your mother said what?”

Ryūko made a choking noise. “MAKO! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT!”

“What? Mom said it’s very important to avoid suspicious foreign imports!” Mako replied, nodding sagely.

Izumi stared at Mako like she’d just sprouted a second head—which, given quirks, was plausible nowadays. But then her shoulders eased, just slightly. “…You’re a strange girl, Mako-san.”

“Thank you, Izumi-chan!” Mako beamed.

Ryūko sighed. “That wasn’t— you know what, forget it.”

Izumi eyed at the croquette again, as if expecting it to jump up & hiss at her.

For a moment — a very long moment — she looked genuinely ready to refuse. Yet her stomach, traitorous & loud, disagrees & chose that moment to growl like a waking dragon.

Izumi’s shoulders slumped in resignation. “…Fine.” she muttered. “Just one bite.”

“You can do it, Izumi-chan!” Mako said, clasping her hands like she was cheering at a sporting event.

Ryūko leaned in slightly, curious & mildly concerned.

With a sigh of surrender, Izumi raised the croquette like someone preparing for their final moments… & took a small, cautious nibble. The crisp shell cracked under her teeth, releasing warmth & savory steam. Her eyes widened a little...

“…It’s… edible.” she whispered, almost shocked.

Izumi took another, slightly larger bite. It wasn’t what she expected. The outer crust was golden & crisp, the filling soft & rich; nostalgic in a way she couldn’t place.

“…Hm,” she murmured, chewing thoughtfully. “It's not bad. Not bad at all. Kind of like katsudon, just… less greasy. Surprisingly good.”

“I knew you’d like it, Izumi-chan!” Mako’s grin stretched wider. “My mom says food tastes best when you share it with someone who looks hungry & scary at the same time!”

Izumi blinked. “…That’s rather oddly specific, Mako-san.”

She had just taken another bite of the croquette when a sharp ripple of movement swept across the courtyard. Students stiffened & conversations died mid-breath. The tied up students snapped to attention like a field of blue & gray dominoes.

Ryūko felt it first, the hair on her arms rising before her brain caught up.

She groaned. “Oh crap...”

Mako blinked up at her. “Ryūko-chan? Why do you suddenly look like someone dropped a doom-flag?”

Because they did.

A single long, thunderous note blared from a campus PA horn above them.

Izumi’s eyes narrowed. “…Is this normal?”

“Uh…” Ryūko said, slinging her guitar case back over her shoulder “...hey Mako, is this normal?

“For Honnōji? Totally. For you & Izumi-chan? Probably not.”

Dozens —no hundreds— more One-Star students marched in, flooding the courtyard from every walkway & balcony. Within seconds, the trio was surrounded tightening ring of gray uniforms & raised blue banners.

“What the hell—" Ryūko gaped "Why are there more of them than last time?!”

Mako clapped her hands in awe. “Wow! It’s like a parade & a firing squad all in one go! Kinda festive & terrifying!”

The atmosphere changed as four silhouettes appeared at the far end of the courtyard, moving in perfect formation until they formed a line directly ahead.

Then—

Click… clack… click… clack…

...came with slow echo of heels.

Izumi & Ryūko's head's lifted toward the tower.

A figure stood there, framed by sunlight & shadow, posture regal, presence overwhelming.

Kiryūin Satsuki

Her gaze swept the courtyard like a blade & locked onto Izumi.

And even without words, Izumi understood: This was no random ambush.

From the upper landing, Kiryūin Satsuki descended the crimson-carpeted steps like a queen stepping down from her throne. Rays of the morning sunlight caught in the edges of her hair & along with piercing, hawkish gaze.

The bound One-Star students trembled where they hung. Even Ryūko fell silent, eyes narrowing as she wiped a fleck of dust from her cheek.

Satsuki’s voice carried across the courtyard with effortless command.

Every student dropped to one knee. Except for Izumi, Ryūko, & Mako.

Ryūko hissed under her breath. “And here comes queen bee…”

Izumi didn’t bow, nor flinch. Just simply finished chewing her croquette as Satsuki approached her. Yet her eyes remained cool, alert & ever watchful.

Satsuki stopped several paces before them, examining Izumi the way one evaluates a new opponent.

“Midoriya Izumi.” she announced, her voice projecting effortlessly across the courtyard. “You have caused quite the stir this morning.”

Izumi raised a brow. “I woke up to an ambush.” she replied evenly. “It tends to ruin one’s schedule.”

A ripple of whispers swept the gathered students. Satsuki’s eyes flicked to the unconscious No-Stars & One-Stars scattered across the courtyard like crushed insects. Then back to Izumi..

“An impressive display of skill,” she said. “A single transfer student holding her own against a coordinated assault. I anticipated chaos. What I witnessed was control.”

She inclined her chin. “Your efficiency… is noted.”

“And Matoi Ryūko." Her gaze slid to Ryūko, sharpening. "I see you are involved, as usual. How predictable.”

Ryūko muttered, “That’s one way to put it…”

Mako raised a hand helpfully. “We also had breakfast!”

“Not helping.” Ryūko lightly elbowed her. “So was this your idea? Send in your goons to jump us & then show up to clap for yourself like it’s a job well done?”

The surrounding One-Stars bristled, banners rattling like angry snakes.

Izumi shot Ryūko a brief side-glance—half impressed, half concerned.

Satsuki’s eyes narrowed—not at Izumi, but at Ryūko.

Her mouth curved faintly—not quite a smile, but more an acknowledgment. “If I wished to test you, Matoi, you would not have survived long enough to ask such question.”

“Yeah?” Ryūko snapped. “Because it sure looks like you were waiting for an excuse to show off.”

The breeze stirred as Satsuki moved further down the stairs. Light glinted off the sharp lines of her new uniform—white trimmed with gold & blue, immaculate & perfectly pressed, radiating a regal, militaristic appearance far heavier than her usual attire.

“That uniform…” Izumi murmured as her eyes lingered. “It’s different. Grand, even for you. Is there a special occasion, Kiryūin-san? Because I doubt you arranged all this simply to congratulate us.”

For a heartbeat, Satsuki looked almost approving. Then it vanished.

“Occasions are for those who wait to be remembered, Midoriya-san.” Satsuki said coolly. “I prefer to create my own.”

She reached the final step, crimson carpet pooling beneath her boots like a river of blood. The air seemed to tighten around her.

“Your arrival has disrupted the equilibrium of this academy.” Satsuki continued. “New blood unsettles the old. The weak distrust the strong. And those without discipline—” she gestured to the groaning pile of defeated students “—lash out to preserve their delusions.”

“I told you once a few days ago…” Izumi finished the last of her croquette. “…I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“And once again, you already have...” Satsuki replied. “...simply by existing.”

Sanageyama snorted. Gamagōri shot him a glare sharp enough to cut metal.

Izumi’s expression tightened—something old flickering behind her eyes. “…I’ve heard that before.”

Inumuta stepped forward, bowing. “Lady Satsuki, the perimeter is secure. They cannot escape.”

Jazakure twirled her baton with a bright, wicked smile. “Shall we begin the fun, Lady Satsuki?”

Satsuki raised a hand—silencing them instantly. Her gaze did not leave Izumi.

“I came to witness your strength for myself.” Satsuki said. “To determine whether your expulsion from U.A. was a foolish blunder on their part…”

Her eyes sharpened, voice dropping low. “…or perhaps your own. A fitting offering to my Junketsu.”

Izumi’s breath hitched. 'Junketsu?'

The word rang like an alarm—a memory, a warning, a pulse of something old & wrong.

A kamui. Another one? The same presence she felt whispering in the dead of night hours earlier?

“Junketsu, huh?” Ryūko snorted. Arms crossed. Expression unimpressed. “Means ‘purity,’ right? What’s so pure & mighty about you, anyway in the first place?”

Satsuki did not even look at her.

“Observe.” Satsuki’s gaze turned cold, crystalline. “You will both learn soon enough.”

She reached for the blue band on her left arm & brushed her fingers across the three clasps.

CLICK!

CLICK!

CLICK!

Satsuki’s uniform bled crimson from every seam. For a heartbeat, nothing happened...

...then everything erupted in a blinding flash of blue light.

Red & black fibers lashed outward, spiraling around her like living ribbons. The courtyard roared with wind as the fabric awakened—alive, hungry, fusing to her body with regal violence. Dust blasted across the ground, forcing Ryūko, Mako & Izumi to shield their eyes as the energy spiraled around them.

Then—

The light dimmed.

And Satsuki stood transformed, radiating pure, terrifying majesty.

“Life-Fiber Override: Kamui – Junketsu.”

Satstuki's kamui gleamed in the morning sun: white armor etched with blue lines, its predatory orange eyes burning a cold, pitch black from the enormous pointed pauldrons jutting skyward. Hip-high boots with vertical blue stripes framed long, defined legs; frilled edges just below the minimalistic thong shielding what little modesty she wore. Her bosom was nearly exposed, barely covering much of her rather impressive cleavage. 

Every breath of wind seemed to bow to the Student Council President alongside with the dozens of sycophantic One-Stars groveling at their her feet in perversion.

Ryūko staggered back, shielding her eyes from the blinding flare. “What the—?!”

Satsuki lifted her chin, the faintest smile ghosting across her lips.

“Now,” she declared. Twin blasts of steam roared from the vents beneath Junketsu’s eyes as she spread her arms wide. “Let us see if either of you are worthy of standing in my academy.”

“So that’s your big trick, huh?" Ryūko spat a laugh, forcing a smirk despite the sweat at her temple. "Guess it’s only fair if I show you mine.”

She gripped the pin on her left glove. “Let’s do this, Senketsu!”

The transformation wasn’t elegant like Satsuki’s. Red life-fibers exploded outward like flung embers, spiraling violently around her body. The sound was raw —skin against thread, tugging, tearing, biting like teeth. She gasped, doubling over as her body convulsed under the strain of their synchronization.

Her breath stuttered. Her muscles spasmed. Her teeth clenched hard enough to ache. Fabric cracked & snapped as the crimson weave surged up her limbs, wrenching itself into alignment. Steam vented in explosive hisses as the Kamui finally stabilized with a jolt.

And then — Ryūko reappeared, drenched in sweat, cheeks flushed a bright luminescent red.

Senketsu’s familiar crimson eyes stared from her chest plate — one narrowed, the other permanently shut by a bold scar. The kamui was slightly more modest compare to Satsuki’s, but just barely. Same design philosophy, but their's a clear difference in details: black thigh-high boots with red heels; red-lined stockings that fed into a black micro-skirt; twin red suspenders barely covering her modestly size breasts; & the black armored collar & shoulder-guards locking everything into place from falling apart should a wardrobe malfunction occurs.

“Matoi-san!” Izumi winced, her stomach twisting. The resonance hit her nerves like feedback through a speaker — she could almost feel the friction of the threads syncing, the painful clash of will between wearer & Kamui.

Phantom pain crawled across her own skin where the fibers once lay dormant.

Satsuki, however, watched in complete stillness. Her expression — unreadable at first — slowly sharpened into something colder.

'How disappointing'

Her gaze flicked briefly toward Izumi, who still hadn’t moved. Her posture was defensive, eyes darting between Ryūko & the towering figure before them.

“You remain still?” Satsuki asked, lowering Bakuzan only a fraction. Her voice carried like a decree carved in stone. “Do you intend to let another fight your battles for you, Midoriya?”

Izumi swallowed hard, the tension in her left arm pulling painfully against the red threads still binding the immobilized students behind her. She couldn’t shift her weight, couldn’t step back — the slightest movement pulled at the fibers anchored to her skin.

Izumi’s throat tightened. “This isn’t my fight,” she said quietly. “I didn’t come here to pick another pointless—”

Satsuki’s eyes narrowed.

“Then allow me to give you a reason.”

Her tone froze the courtyard.

Before Izumi could breathe — Satsuki moved.

A clean, lethal arc of Bakuzan cut through the air — not toward Izumi’s body, but toward the barely-visible scarlet life-fibers stretched between Izumi’s fingertips & the restrained One-Stars she had subtly immobilized earlier.

The green-haired girl couldn’t dodge, not with her arm was pinned by her own threads. And because of that, the blade cleaved straight through those threads—

SNAP!

—severing her control in a single, merciless strike.

Chapter Text

Date: 2228.09.05 CE
Location: Honnōji Academy

The courtyard erupted in gasps as a blast of blinding teal light swallowed Midoriya Izumi’s body. Even Kiryūin Satsuki raised an arm to shield her eyes from the sudden flare—its brilliance sharp enough to sting. Through the glare, she glimpsed shapes shifting, tightening, writhing around the silhouette of the first-year student.

Long strands of fabric coiled around Izumi’s bare form like serpents, layering plates of armor over translucent cloth. The kamui was knitting itself together at breakneck speed, each motion a precise mechanical fold snap in place atop living muscle.

And then—

“Life-Fiber Synchronization: Kamui—Shinketsu!”

‘Shinketsu.’ Satsuki repeated inwardly. ‘So that the name of her kamui.’

The light thinned, revealing a single metallic-silver thigh-high boot stepping forward. Its teal-lit heel hit the stone with a sharp, confident clack. As the radiance finally faded, every onlooker—including her Elite Four—fell into stunned silence.

Honnōji Academy beheld the glory of Shinketsu for the first time & predictably, most the student body reacted like the uncultured livestock they were. Slack-jawed boys squealing, breath hitching & panting at the sight of exposed skin, as if a kamui’s form were an invitation of lust rather than a test of their resolve.

‘Pigs in human clothes the are.’ Satsuki ignored them in contempt as her attention remained fixed on Midoriya.

Two upward-pointing crests of silver edged in teal rose from Izumi’s head, reminiscent of an ornate maedate of the helmets once worn by the samurais of old. Her collar snapped into place with a mechanical hiss, plating forming a sleek, diamond-shaped respirator mask with eight holed vents. Below it, set into her chest fabric, two sharp violet lenses opened like the eyes of a beast—gold pupils contracting as they analyzed the world with unmistakable sentience.

Shinketsu’s shoulder pylons unfurled vertically, angular & winglike, their tips glowing with the hum of stored energy. On Izumi’s back, a compact turbine cone spun in place where an exhaust vent have should been, the teal light within pulsing in sync with her breathing.

Everything above her bust & down her arms was covered in seamless, silver, skin-tight latex armor streaked with glowing teal lines. Her forearm sleeves, however, hung looser as if designed for hiding things within it’s fabrics.

The lower half echoed the same silver-&-teal palette. Instead of the traditional kamui thong or microskirt, Shinketsu formed into a dangerously short mini-shorts, stilted at the sides & sitting low enough to test her restraint. Beneath them, reinforced latex-like plating hugged to her slender legs, flowing into the thigh-high boots etched with branching circuitry patterns.

The most unconventional element were the teal suspenders. Instead of fastening vertically downard from chest to waist, they split outward diagonally, linking into paired side harnesses running from the shorts’ front & back along her hips.

The instant Midoriya’s transformation stabilized, Satsuki immediately felt it—an explosive surge of sheer willpower that crashed outward like a shockwave. It slammed into her own domineering aura mixed Junketsu’s cold, suffocating pressure & clashed with the wild, feral pulse of Senketsu still rippling off of Matoi.

Three kamui.

The clash of three wills: declarations of dominance completing for supremacy.

Then the air around them ruptured as a thunderous blast of force erupted outward, ripping through the courtyard like a bomb. No-Star & One-Star students were flung off their feet, flying through the air with their arms flailing. Some tumbled over each other while others were thrown high enough —their voices cracking into panicked screams— before hitting the floor.

The ground quaked beneath Satsuki’s heels & yet five figures remained unmoved by the sudden tempest.

Her Elite Four rooted themselves as if they are part of the academy itself:

Gamagōri remains unmoved like an imposing monolith.

Sanageyama vibrated utmost with anticipation rather instead fear.

Inumuta anchoring himself with fiber tendrils extending from his cuffs.

And Jakuzure —of course— grinning through the gale as though the gust were rounds of applauses meant only for her.

But strangely among them stood Mankanshoku Mako of all people...

Satsuki’s eyes cut toward the girl, just long enough to confirm the absurdity before her: Mankanshoku stood there, wobbling like a flimsy cardboard sign in a typhoon. Her face was scrunched with determination, arms flailing wildly for balance. Yet she remained upright as if rooted in the ground by some incomprehensible mixture of stubbornness, will power & idiocy.

“What manner of creature is she?” Satsuki muttered under her breath.

She had no time to contemplate, not when Midoriya was suddenly on the move. Shinketsu’s pylons flared bright teal jets of energy streaking through the air as the green-haired girl rocketed toward her like a fired artillery shell launched from a cannon.

“So be it.” as Satsuki tightened her grip around Bakuzan’s hilt.

The moment Izumi crossed into striking distance, Satsuki swung Bakuzan, channeling Junketsu’s might into a single cleaving arc of compressed force. The air howled as travel it directly towards Midoriya—

with Matoi standing in the direct line of fire.

Izumi’s eyes widened in horror. “MATOI-SAN—!!” she yelled, but the warning already came too late.

Ryūko whipped around, Senketsu’s eyes snapping open in alarm.

“I KNOW, I KNOW!” she snarled, raising her Scissor Blade in a desperate upward guard. “Dammit, Satsuki—!”

The impact detonated like a bomb. The slash split upon hitting Ryūko’s blade, bifurcating into two massive shockwaves that screamed outward along diverging. Both waves ripped banners from their poles, shattered windows from the courtyard perimeter, & sent whatever spectators remained scattering with shrieks of panic in opposite directions

Ryūko slammed backward into the turf, teeth gritted in fury. “You trying to kill us, you arrogant—?!”

Satsuki merely smirked. “Two birds with one stone, Matoi.”

Without blinking, the Student Council President didn’t wait for Ryūko’s outrage to cool down as Bakuzan flashed once more again & again. Each arc of compressed air screamed toward the girl with precision so merciless it bordered on contempt.

Matoi braced herself, teeth bared as she swung her Scissor Blade to intercept the first attack— it’s blow rattling her arms to the bone.

The next one hit her square in the chest. Senketsu may have absorbed what he could, but the impact still sent Ryūko skidding backwards as her heels dig trenches through the ground.

“Ryūko, keep your guard—” Senketsu shouted.

“I’m trying!” Ryūko barked back, blocking another slash with a jolt that made her vision flicker.

But Satsuki did not relent.

Each strike was perfectly timed to hit the instant Matoi recovered her footing, denying her even half a breath. Every block forced the second-year student further back, inch by inch, until she was neared the courtyard’s far edge. Any slash that didn’t hit the former Kanto Vagabond immediately veered toward Izumi.

And Izumi—

Immediately, Satsuki noticed Midoriya did not block any of the attacks, nor did she not stood by & futility challenge each blow as Matoi stubbornly did. Instead she slipped through the incoming arcs with dancer-like precision. She weaved around the shockwaves meant for Ryūko, slid beneath those she couldn’t outrun, & vaulted cleanly over two that bisected inches beneath her boots—all while closing in on her intended opponent.

Matoi, meanwhile was being pushed further & further back. Each new slash forced her into another desperate block, forcing her stance to buckle. Cuts opened along her arms & sides—shallow but accumulating while bruises begin to bloomed beneath Senketsu’s strained fibers.

And then—

Izumi shot past her in a blur of silver & teal light.

Ryūko’s eye twitched. “Did she just pass me!”

The realization hit her with cold fury: She was losing ground while Midoriya surged on ahead.

Izumi pay no attention to it as her heels struck the courtyard ground, propelling her forward in a burst of teal light that closed the gap between her & Satsuki in a single, sharp sprint. Shinketsu’s turbine flared as she lunged, her rapier snapping forward in a straight, lethal line aimed squarely at Satsuki’s sternum.

Satsuki met the thrust with a single, decisive motion.

CLANG—!

Bakuzan intercepted the needle-blade, sparks hissing between their weapons as the force of Izumi’s charge shuddered through the narrow point of contact.

Izumi didn’t hesitate as she withdrew & struck again. Satsuki countered each strike, but even she felt the difference: Midoriya’s tempo was nothing like Matoi’s wild, emotional aggression.

This was technique.

Kenjutsu versus fencing: Two different martial philosophies clashing together, ringing steel sharper than the last through the courtyard.

Izumi slid to Satsuki’s blind side & thrust. Blocked.

She pivoted again with another thrust. Parried.

The green-haired girl retreated half a step then lunged in a flawless, textbook feint—

—read instantly by Satsuki, who knocked the blade aside with contemptuous ease.

But Izumi was already on the move again.

Satsuki’s smirk curled, subtle & icy. Skill aside, Midoriya’s swordsmanship was still green compared to her after years of training. The Student Council President twisted, slipping into a spinning counter meant to crush Izumi’s guard. Her long hair rippleda banner in the wind as she followed the motion with a high, ruthless kick aimed at Izumi’s temple.

Izumi’s eyes narrowed. Her spine bent back in a deep, razor-precise arc as Satsuki’s heel sliced through the air inches above her nose. Shinketsu’s suspenders strained, teal light flickering from the sudden contortion.

Izumi flipped upright without a break in rhythm, reengaging instantly in a heartbeat. Their weapons collided again, each strike ringing out with the clarity of glass under tension. Satsuki deflected a thrust to her ribs, deflected another that would’ve pierced her shoulder—

Then—

SNICK.

A thin silver line scored across Junketsu’s breastplate.

Satsuki’s eyes narrowed the slightest fraction yet Izumi didn’t gloat nor even grin. Instead, she simply reset her stance as she raised her blade, breathing steadily even.

Satsuki murmured coolly. “Are you truly so proud of such a meager accomplishment, Midoriya?”

Izumi merely answered with her blade. Shinketsu’s pylons flared & in a sudden lateral burst, Izumi slip inside Satsuki’s guard entirely, her needle-rapier flashing like quicksilver.

Bakuzan swung up to block—

Too slow.

SNICK—!

A second mark carved itself atop the exact same point as before.

Satsuki’s jaw tightened.

Izumi’s blade glimmered, poised for the next exchange as she struck again.

And again.

And again.

Each thrust homed in on the same point on Junketsu’s chestplate with almost mechanical precision. What began as a single thin scratch was now being pecked at in rapid succession without mercy.

SNICK—!

SNICK—!

SNICKSNICK—!

Satsuki parried the first two, redirected the third—

—but missed the fourth.

Followed by the fifth.

Then—

“Ugh—!” Satsuki grounded herself, sweeping Bakuzan in tight, vicious arcs through the air as she tried to predict Izumi’s angle of attacks.

But Izumi’s tempo spike, her footwork turned light & evasive as she darted with a grace that verged on inhuman. Shinketsu’s pylons flared brighter with each movement, teal afterimages trailing her steps.

Satsuki blocked high—Izumi ducked low.

She swung diagonally—Izumi twisted around the blade & stabbed at the exposed seam.

The black-haired girl redirected—her green-haired opponent appeared on the opposite flank, thrusting at the same weakening point.

And each time, that relentless blade returned to that same precise target.

SNICK!

A sixth impact.

Satsuki’s eyes finally widened. “Impossible—”

SNICKSNICKSNICK—!

Three more in rapid-fire succession. Satsuki felt the vibrations of the attacks travel through Junketsu’s fibers. Not from power or force of the attack, but frequency occurring in rapid succession

Izumi slipped under a wide slash Satsuki used to force distance, moving like liquid shadow. She followed with a quick lunge—blocked—then chained into a spinning thrust that bypassed Satsuki’s guard entirely.

SNICK.

Another perfect hit.

Satsuki’s control of her breath slipped for half a second. Midoriya was faster than she had anticipated & what the first-year student lacked in raw destructive power, she compensated for with relentless precision that’s carving a microscopic fault line into a future breach.

Junketsu’s ironclad defense was becoming a liability, for it could not adapt quick enough to this rhythm.

Satsuki gritted her teeth as another parry slipped, Izumi’s rapier grazing the same weak point again like surgeon’s scalpel.

She felt eyes on her—hundreds of them throughout the courtyard. She would not show weakness. Nor will she bend to another—

‘I refuse to lose.’

Her grip tightened around Bakuzan as cold clarity settled into her bones. If she didn’t change tactics, Izumi would carve straight through Junketsu.

“SATSUUUKIII!!” Ryūko’s enraged scream tore across the courtyard.

Satsuki’s eye flicked toward the voice, irritation thinning into predatory opportunity. ‘How convenient’ she thought.

Matoi Ryūko finally barreled back into range, Scissor Blade raised overhead in a reckless, red-hot downward arc. The ground cracked under her landing, dust kicking up as raw power radiated off her in crimson waves.

‘Perfect’, just the distraction I needed’ Satsuki thought. Using Ryūko’s reckless momentum as leverage, she deflected the Scissor Blade with a sharp twist of Bakuzan—

—& redirected Matoi straight into the path of Midoriya’s.

“W-WAIT—!!” Izumi yelped.

“MOVE, PARLSEY!!” Ryūko barked.

They crashed together in a tangle of limbs & flailing weapons.

THUD—!

The girls tumbled across the courtyard, rolling end over end in a messy knot until they finally skidded to a dusty stop.

Satsuki didn’t hesitate as she jump forward, Bakuzan’s point speared downward but the girls rolled in opposite directions at the last second.

CRACK—!

Shards of stone exploded outward like shrapnel from where their bodies had been earlier.

Izumi popped to her feet in a clean, controlled motion while Ryūko scrambled up beside her like a rabid animal trying to find its balance. They landed shoulder to shoulder & immediately shoved each other away.

“HEY—watch where you’re swinging that oversize toothpick of yours!” Ryūko snapped, pointing her Scissor Blade accusingly at Izumi.

“You’re the one who crashed into me!” Izumi shot back, cheeks flushed with irritation as she jabbed a finger at Ryūko. “If you’d just adjusted your trajectory—”

“Adjusted my what?!”

“Your trajectory! Your angle of impact! Your—”

“I don’t speak nerd! That’s NOT a thing people think about in the middle of a fight!”

“Well it should be!”

They both froze, realizing at the same time that they were shouting directly in front of Satsuki—
while she calmly wrenched Bakuzan from the cratered stone.

Satsuki’s eyes sharpen. “Your bickering is tiresome.”

And then she moved. A single step & she was already upon them like hawk.

Izumi blocked the first strike while Ryūko intercepted the second. Then first-year student parried the third causing Ryūko’s swing to collide with it at a bad angle & nearly slice Izumi’s face off.

“STOP GETTING IN MY WAY!” Ryūko barked.

“I’m not the one swinging like a wild animal!” Izumi fired back. “You almost took my head off!”

“You keep dodging into my attacks!!”

“Because you keep charging into mine!”

Their styles—precision versus brute force—clashed horribly.

Ryūko’s sweeping, aggressive cuts disrupts Izumi’s narrow, surgical thrusts. And Izumi’s tight footwork & sudden pivots threw Ryūko’s momentum off balance, forcing her to overcorrect.

It was like watching a hurricane try to dance with a scalpel. With every misstep, every interruption, & every insult traded between the two, Satsuki is there to exploit the gap. Her Bakuzan carved through the narrow spaces between their blades with surgical cruelty, forcing them both onto the defensive:

Izumi’s parry deflected Ryūko’s swing again.

Ryūko’s lunge forced Izumi to dodge off-pattern.

And Satsuki slid between them like a guillotine.

“Dammit, Midoriya! I told you to stay out of the my way!” Ryūko barked, swing knocking Izumi’s rapier crooked.

“You get out of my way!” Izumi cried. “Whose side are you on anyway!?”

“The side that wants to win!” Ryūko hissed.

“And what, you think I don’t?!” Izumi snapped, springing back as Bakuzan sliced between them. “You’re making it impossible to—MOVE!”

Izumi blurred into an aerial flip to avoid being bisected. The evasive maneuver stole half a second of focus—

—and Satsuki saw her opening.

Her foot swept in low, catching Izumi’s legs before the girl even registered the danger. Satsuki felt the girl’s balance break, her weight shifting & the split-second stagger that followed.

There.

Before Izumi could recover, Satsuki brought the hilt of Bakuzan around into her abdomen with a brutal, efficient strike. The blow launched Izumi backward with such force she tore straight through the already-compromised school gate, disappearing in a violent bloom of dust & splintering debris. Her body skidded across the No-Star district like a discarded javelin.

Satsuki didn’t bother to watch where Izumi land—there was no need to. Ryūko was already charging again, wild as ever, shouting something half-coherent & furious at her.

‘Good. One opponent at a time.’ The Student Council President raised Bakuzan to meet her head on.

Midoriya will return & Satsuki would ensure it. This confrontation was merely the first measure of her worth: whether she was an asset, a wildcard… or a threat that required immediate pruning.

But for now, she would excise the annoyance standing before her.

Ryūko skidded to a halt, shock overtook her face & eyes widening she saw Izumi became a green-&-spark-red blur vanishing in the distance through the shattered gate.

“You—! What the hell was THAT!?” Ryūko barked, voice cracking in outrage.

“Calm yourself, Matoi.” Satsuki said coolly, leveling Bakuzan between them. “This is only temporary.”

Ryūko’s initial shock melted instantly into white-hot fury, but Satsuki cut her off with a tilt of her blade.

“You would do well to worry about your own survival in a battle against me.” Her smirk sharpened. “Besides… aren’t you just as responsible for her injuries?”

Ryūko froze, jaw clenching as a flicker of guilt & hesitation cut across her face.

“You charged in blindly, without awareness or discipline.” Each word stabbed sharper than Bakuzan’s edge. “Midoriya merely reacted to your incompetence while I simply exploited it.”

Bakuzan angled forward as Satsuki stepped in, her aura coiling like a tightened bowstring. “Focus on your own flaws before you dare to accuse me.”

“Damn you—!!” Ryūko lunged, bringing the Scissor Blade down in a wild, furious arc.

CLANG—!

Sparks erupted as Bakuzan parried with effortless precision. Satsuki didn’t so much as shift her weight; Ryūko, meanwhile, was forced backward, boots carving trenches in the courtyard tile.

“Still thoughtless. Still sloppy.” Satsuki observed, her voice almost bored as she deflected another reckless strike. “You mistaken rage for power.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you of all people!” Ryūko spat back.

She twisted, trying to bring the Scissor Blade down in a brutal overhead strike, but Satsuki stepped in, body positioning flawless, & rammed her knee into Ryūko’s gut. All air left Ryūko in a single strangled gasp as she stubble.

“I think not.” Satsuki didn’t give her a heartbeat to recover.

With a sharp stomp, Satsuki ruptured the ground beneath Ryūko’s feet, launching the girl upward in surprise. Satsuki spun & hammered Bakuzan’s hilt directly into Senketsu’s eye.

Ryūko’s body shot across the courtyard like a fired projectile, smashing through a row of concrete pillars, then bursting into the interior hallway of Honnōji Academy itself. Glass shattered & floor tiles cracked. Students screamed & dove out of the way as Ryūko skidded through walls like a human wrecking ball, demolishing everything in her path.

Satsuki lowered Bakuzan, confirming her trajectory with a brief glance.

“The power of a kamui… is leagues above anything I once dared imagine.”

Satsuki was on the move & in a single bound, she vaulted into the air & landed atop the fragmented floor where Ryūko had crashed moments earlier. Her heels clicked sharply against the broken tile as she strode inside, her hair flowing behind her like a drawn blade.

“Running will not save you, Matoi,” she called into the smoke-filled corridors, her voice echoing off the fractured walls as she press forward. “Nor will your self-righteous rage.”

Location: Honnō-chō, Japan 

Everything feels sore.

Izumi groaned, the air wheezing out of her lungs as she pushed herself up from the rubble. She’d plummeted through a dozen rooftops, slammed through cracked beams, broken windows & shattered walls, finally coming to rest in a smoking crater in an alley where someone’s laundry line was still swaying above her.

Shinketsu hummed over her skin, the kamui’s life-fibers adjusting where the exposed fabric clung protectively to her ribs.

‘Ugh… great. This is somehow worse than the time Bakugō blasted me out of that five-story building during Battle Trials…’

Even thinking about it made her ribs ache in sympathy.

‘Actually—no. This might be tied. Definitely tied.’

Shinketsu pulsed in mild disapproval, scanning her vitals.

‘It’s okay!’ Izumi reassured mentally. ‘I’m alive. Unfortunately.’

For a long moment, the world around Izumi was muffled by a high, dull ringing. The green-haired girl’s blood throbbed in her ears while her life-fibers pulsed back in rhythm.

Then voices began to leak in.

Hormonal pre-teen voices – four of them from the sound of it – approaching closer to her right now.

“…dude, dude—look at her! She’s practically unwrapped! Like that Matoi chick’s hooker outfit from earlier this week!”

“Yeah! Remember when she came home after school on the tram? I could see everything. I swear that thing was, like, illegal. You think they shop from the same store?”

“Nah, this one’s different. See, her colors are all silver & greenish. And her—uh—well… everything’s shaped differently. How can she even walk in that thing?”

“What about those antenna things on her head? They look almost like bunny ears.” another boy said. “Do you think she’s, like… some kinda… playboy-bunny-themed stripper? That’s totally a thing, right?”

“No way! That’s only in hentai—”

“Bruh, you don’t know what freaky stuff people like to do with quirks these days.”

“Eh, Matoi’s hotter. She got that ‘bad girl’ vibe going for her.”

“Guys! Priorities! Like forget Ryūko—THIS one fell from the sky in front of us! This is like… like a gift from the gods or something!”

“No fair! Why does HE get to experience the joy of being sat on by a smokin’, hot babe crashing down from above?” Another voice whined with genuine envy. “Dammit, that’s, like, a once-in-a-lifetime event!”

“She literally flattened me, Matarō.” a voice groaned weakly.

“IT STILL COUNTS!”

“My ribs were nearly broken!”

“TOTALLY worth it!”

Their laughter cackled around her. Izumi pressed her eyes shut, a twitch of irritation pulsing along her brow.

‘Huh?’ Pain throbbed in her ribs as she tried to shift. ‘Did I actually fell on someone?’ 

Shinketsu hummed as if confirming it as more whispers circled the crater, closing in on her whispering & gawking far too eagerly for their liking.

“Hey… doesn’t she look kinda familiar?”

“Yeah… like hadn’t we seen her somewhere before. Maybe at school or—”

“Who cares!” A whinny voice scoffed dismissively. “She’s a hot, half-naked chick lying right in front of us! This is fate!”

Another snorted. “Matarō, please don’t say fate when you’re drooling over your own shoes.”

‘Great.’ Izumi thought dryly as her eyes slowly open. ‘Just what I needed. More perverts.’

She forced a slow, steady breath through her aching lungs. Her body still felt like pulverized concrete—but not so much that she missed the sound:

A rustle.

A hand hovering.

A shadow leaning in.

“Guys. I’m j-just… just gonna check to see if she’s alive.” Matarō whispered, voice trembling with the most transparent lie. “You know… by, uh… making sure her heart’s beating. On her chest. Right here. Hehhehe.”

His fingers inched toward Izumi’s breasts, only for her arm shooting up like a triggered snare & clamping around his wrist with steel precision.

The whole group went dead silent as she rose out of the crater slowly, dust & debris sliding off her kamui in a dull cascade. Shinketsu’s teal veins glowed beneath the silver plating, casting faint light across her unimpressed scowl.

Shinketsu’s eyes flared to life on her chest—narrowing into a sharp, judgmental glare in perfect tandem with Izumi’s own.

Matarō froze, face draining of color.

“Touch me...” Izumi said quietly, exhausted beyond anger. “...and I’ll make sure the next crater has your name on it.”

Shinketsu’s eyes blinked once—albeit slower, but equally condemning.

Matarō squeaked like someone squeezing a chew toy. His friends winced in sympathetic pain.

Izumi released him with a snap of her wrist, causing him to fly backwards, tumbling across the gravel before crashing into his friends. All four toppled like overturned trash bins.

Izumi cracked her neck as dust drifted off her in a soft cloud. The teal veins pulsed warning beneath her kamui, showing she didn’t have the patience to wait for the boys to babble over her—or worse, start anything stupid.

Not when needed to get back to Honnōji.

Behind her, three boys suddenly stiffened with dawning horror.

“W-wait… that’s her!”

“The green girl who wrecked us!”

“She threw me like a sack of rice! I swear she punched me through a wall!”

Izumi angled a deadpan stare over her shoulder. “You tripped & hit the wall yourself. And you”—she pointed at the other exaggerator—“I flipped you onto floor. You cried anyway.”

Both boys shrank in mortified silence. The fourth boy, who hadn’t been present for their earlier humiliation, blinked at her synchronized form, turbines, & glowing lines. “She did all that… to you guys?”

Izumi sighed & turned back toward the academy. “…Can any of you boys tell me what’s the fastest way I can get to Honnōji Academy?”

Most of them froze—half terrified, half starstruck, completely unhelpful. Her eyelid twitched in annoyance, for she was two seconds from leaving them behind entirely when—finally—

Matarō swallowed hard & stepped forward. “Uh… yeah, yeah! I think… I think we know the way!” His eyes darted between Izumi’s skimpy outfit & the boys’ slack jaws. “Just follow the main road past the No-Star District &—uh—careful with the landmines, right?”

Izumi didn’t wait for more. With a sharp nod, she surged past them—

—then slowed just a fraction as a thought flickered through her mind.

‘Kiryūin-san’s slash… ‘ she raised her left hand ‘...are any of my fibers still damaged?’

Her life-fibers responded smoothly as she began flexing her hand, encountering no signs of pain or resistance. If anything, they felt stronger than ever before.

A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

The turbine on her back began to hum—first softly, then louder, vibrating through her entire body. Teal-green energy sparked along her silver latex armor & fingertips like a gathering storm.

With a sudden, precise motion, Izumi fired twin strands of glowing life-fibers from both her hands. The boys all jumped back in shock—one even falling flat on his butt—eyes bulging as the luminous strands of crimson whipped past & wrapped around the two sturdiest buildings in the district.

Izumi leaned back, testing the tension with a practiced pull. The fibers tightened, locking into place like living steel.

“W-wait—what is she—!?”

“No way—she’s not seriously—!”

The turbine flared as Izumi launched forward like a comet—teal light streaking behind her, rooftops blurring beneath her feet, wind screaming past her ears as she soared toward Honnōji Academy with terrifying, focused speed.

Within seconds, she was already gone.

The boys stood frozen in the dust cloud she left behind, still trying to comprehend the physics-defying sight they had just witnessed.

Matarō finally exhaled, rubbing his head as though his brain hurt. “…I swear this town gets weirder every week.”

His three friends could only nod numbly, eyes still fixed on the fading shimmer of her life-fibers stretching across the sky.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Main Building

Ryūko crashed through the roof like a meteor. Splinters of wood & shards of tiles bit into her arms & legs, but she barely noticed—too much adrenaline, too much anger, too much everything.

Floor after floor gave way beneath her in a blur. Classrooms exploded outward as she tore through them: desks, chairs, & random school supplies raining down like confetti. The walls cracked & splintered under her descent as she plummeted further, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.

Finally, the basement floor approached far too quickly—a hard, unforgiving wall of concrete and stacked desks rising to meet her. She braced herself, teeth gritted, fists tight… & slammed into the floor with a bone-jarring thud.

The cascade of desks from the classrooms above followed—one, two, three, dozens of them crashing down on her into a chaotic pile. Ryūko groaned, crushed under the weight of falling furniture, blinking through the dust, & muttering incomprehensible curses.

“DAMN IT! GET OFF ME! I’M NOT DEAD YET!” Ryūko kicked & kicked again & again—tables, chairs, broken legs, even a chalkboard launched skyward.

Ironically, the very chaos that had annoyed her so much also saved her. The pile of desks had absorbed most of the impact, softening a fall that would have otherwise broken her.

“Stupid desks…” Ryūko spat out a splintered shard, wiped dust & sweat from her eyes, & grinned. “...thanks for softening the blow, I guess.”

She rolled to her feet, gripping the hilt of the Scissor Blade. Her body ached, but the fire in her chest burned brighter than ever.

"You okay, Senketsu?"

"Barely. I guess it's too late to mention that Kiryūin Satsuki’s current power far exceeds your own."

"Way to state the obvious. Anyway, is Junketsu the thing that got us all worried last night? Or…was it Shinketsu?"

"It most certainly Junketsu."

“Great.” Ryūko growled, scanning the ruined basement. “Now… where is that ice queen?”

A shadow fell across her. Before she could react, a sharp gust of air & a faint whoosh of steel passed over her head.

“Speak of the Devil, & she shall come, Matoi.” Satsuki’s voice cut through the dust, & the edge of Bakuzan’s blade sliced the air just above Ryūko. She rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a strike that could have decapitated her if she’d been even slightly slower.

Her eyes darted around the wreckage. Desks, chairs, fallen tiles—junk scattered from the floors above—became her arsenal. She grabbed a cracked desk leg & flung it at Satsuki, then a toppled bookshelf, then a pile of shattered chairs.

Satsuki’s gaze was icy cold. Each object met Bakuzan’s edge or the tip of her boot, effortlessly cut, deflected, or kicked aside. The debris shattered midair, but Satsuki didn’t falter.

“You continue to disappoint me, Matoi.” Satsuki said, slicing through another flying chair with ease. “All the power at your kamui’s disposal & you resort to cheap tactics & clutter to overwhelm me?”

Ryūko spat out dust and grit, eyes flashing with irritation.

“If it works, it works!” she shot back, snatching a massive, dusty textbook from a collapsed shelf & heaving it straight at Satsuki.

The book slammed into Bakuzan mid-arc. The impact exploded in a cloud of choking dust, forcing Satsuki to cough & shield her face for a brief moment.

By the time the dust settled, Ryūko was gone. Satsuki’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the upper floors & caught sight of her target: Ryūko streaking across the hallways, hopping from floor to floor, her blade at the ready.

“Running away now, Matoi?” A faint smirk touched Satsuki’s lips. “Hmph. Do you truly believe the halls of my school will offer you safe refuge?”

Her boots hit the broken tiles as she launched herself after Ryūko, Bakuzan slicing through the air with unerring precision, ready to close the distance without mercy.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Front Courtyard

Izumi landed hard enough to crack the stone beneath her feet, knees bending to absorb the impact as she skidded to a halt before Honnōji Academy’s towering front gate. The turbine on her back wound down with a metallic whirr… & immediately realized she was not alone.

A wall—no...an ocean—of No-Star & One-Star students blocked the path to school door before her. Shields, makeshift weapons, & trembling resolve packed shoulder-to-shoulder stretched from one end of the courtyard to the other. And standing proudly at the front, like four immovable pillars, were the Elite Four.

Sanageyama Uzu cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Well well well! You got here way faster than we expected, Ms. Overachiever!” He huffed a short laugh. “Honestly, I thought we would had at least another twenty to thirty so minutes before you crawl back up here.”

He leaned forward, eyeing her up and down with a warrior’s curiosity. “...And you look awfully healthy for someone who just got launched across half the city.”

Inumuta pushed his glasses up, screens flickering across the lenses.

“Judging by the residual life-fibers…” He pointed at Izumi’s hands, where faint crimson threads clung to her fingertips, shifting like thin strands of living silk. “...I deduce they must have played a major hand in your rapid return.”

“Oh, gross, dog-boy—stop with the puns.” Jakuzure made a loud gagging noise, swinging her baton at Inumuta. “It’s bad enough when monkey-boy does it. We don’t need two clowns here”

“HEY—!” Sanageyama barked, deeply offended.

Izumi tuned them out, her eyes narrowing & she scanned the entire courtyard.

No torn-up tiles.

No shockwaves cracking the walls.

No sounds of screaming, clashing blades, or Ryūko swearing at the top of her lungs.

Which meant—

“Where are they?” she demanded. “Kiryūin-san & Matoi-san. Where did they go?”

Gamagōri stepped forward, casting a shadow large enough to swallow her whole. His expression was stern even by his usual unyielding standards.

“You will remain here, Midoriya-san.” His voice boomed across the courtyard like a temple bell. “Lady Satsuki will resume testing you as soon as she is finished personally dealing with Matoi inside the building.”

A ripple of heat surged behind Izumi’s sternum at the realization—whether anger, life-fiber resonance, or both, she couldn’t tell.

But one thing was certain: She wasn’t waiting.

Izumi’s fingers twitched, a reflexive spark of red life-fiber energy pulsing at her fingertips. For a moment, she imagined simply releasing the threads again—sending the horde flying like bowling pins.

It would be easy

Yet then she froze. ‘No. If I do that here… Kiryūin-san will know for sure.’

The Elite Four would analyze everything. They’d report every detail to their leader & against someone like Kiryūin Sastuki, even one revealed technique was one too many.

Izumi exhaled sharply. ‘I can’t lose the element of surprise just yet.’

So instead of weaving threads, she tightened her grip on her needle-rapier & broke into a sprint towards the academy.

“NO-STARS! ONE-STARS!” Sanageyama barked, drawing his bamboo blade. “MOVE IN & ENCIRCLE HER!”

“Do not let her reach the gate!” Gamagōri roared, already swelling into the first stage of his Shackle Regalia. “Failure is not permitted!”

“Capture her if possible.” Inumuta added, eyes glowing with tactical overlays. “Her data is valuable.”

“And whoever bags her first gets a shiny rank-up!” Jakuzure sang, waving her baton like a conductor commanding chaos. “Faster, faster people!”

A tidal wave of students surged toward her armed with capture nets, clubs, stun batons, capture ribbons, & basically everything they could find & grab.

Izumi kept running, leveling her rapier outward horizontally. The handle elongating with a metallic whisper until the weapon stretched out into a gleaming spear. The charging students braced, thinking she planned to skewer her way through them like a bullfight.

They were wrong cause at the last possible second, she drove the extended spear into the ground, planting it deep. Izumi vaulted —flipping once, twice— her body moving with the fluidity of an Olympic gymnast empowered by life-fiber synchronization

Gasps erupted below as she soared over grasping hands & frantic attempts to block her. The moment her feet cleared the last row of students, the spear snapped back to normal length, retracting before any overeager No-Star could latch onto it.

Izumi barely hit the ground several meters head before the next wave was already on her—smaller in number yet bettered armed, their weapons reflecting whatever clubs they represented.

The first student, a boy in a pristine golf club uniform, sprinted toward her with a nine-iron raised over his shoulder.

Izumi met him head-on. With a flick of her wrist, her needle-rapier parried the golf club cleanly, sending it spinning out of his hands. Before he could even register that he was disarmed, Izumi pivoted on one foot & drove a heel sideways—

—CRACK!

—directly into the ribs of another girl charging her with a tennis racket from the side. The Tennis Club member went tumbling across the courtyard like a ragdoll.

A third student, an American football player in full club gear — shoulder pads & all— barreled toward Izumi immediately roaring like an NFL linebacker mid-game.

The green-haired girl didn’t bother meeting his charging bull of a student head-on. Instead she hooked her rapier’s retracted handle around the vest of the disarmed golf boy & yanked him straight into the linebacker’s path.

“WHAT THE! W-WAIT—!!”

Too late.

WHAM!

The third student plowed into the first like a runaway truck, both collapsing into a tangled, groaning heap on the ground.

The tennis girl, stubborn & already scrambling back to her feet, lunged again—this time without her racket— for Izumi’s shoulders with both hands.

Izumi didn’t even break her stride as she snapped her extended rapier handle upward in a tight arc—

THWACK!

—striking the girl clean across the face & sending her sprawling back down again instantly.

Another approached from Izumi’s flank—a female student wielding twin wooden batons. Izumi’s eyes flicked toward her for barely a fraction of a second before she swept her extended handle low across the ground.

The rapier’s length scythed through the girl’s ankles like a polearm—

WHUMP!

—dropping her flat onto her back with a gasp of stunned disbelief.

Izumi had barely cleared the fallen fourth student when a fifth one came sprinting at her—this one from the cooking club; apron still on, brandishing a gleaming kitchen knife as if he was in the middle of prepping sashimi.

Her rapier collapsed instantly into its most compact form with a sharp metallic clack & caught his wrist mid-swing

“GAAH—! OW—OW—OW—!” His grip spasmed as Izumi’s grip tighten hard. The knife clattered uselessly to the ground out of his hand. Before he could so much as suck in another breath—

BASH!

Izumi cracked the compact rapier across his face, stunning him immediately.

A shadow of the sixth student loomed behind her. A wiry boy with a cricket bat lunged from behind with a desperate overhead swing.

Izumi sidestepped without looking, caught his arm, and redirected the swing—

THWACK!!!

His bat smashed squarely into the cooking boy’s face, launching him backward in a humiliating spin. Before the cricket player could even register what he’d just done, Izumi twisted, using his momentum to flip him clean over her shoulder. The impact rattled the courtyard stones.

That was when the seventh student appeared—the one she recognized instantly.

‘The Fencing Club?’

She’d trained with this girl yesterday.

The fencer lunged at her, blade flashing in a horizontal arc.

Izumi ducked.

Another slash—Izumi wove back, hair whipping around her.

A third—Izumi pivoted inside the girl’s guard.

Her rapier’s handle snapped outward, extending in one clean movement—

THUMP!

She drove it into the fencer’s stomach. The girl folded instantly, collapsing onto her back with a gasp, her rapier flying out of her grip which Izumi caught in midair without looking. Now dual-wielding, she turned just in time to face the incoming flood of new attackers rushing her.

Her green eyes pulsed as the eighth student—a massive member of the sumo club—charged at her with thunderous footsteps, shouting a battle cry loud enough to rattle windows.

Izumi didn’t brace, but simply waited for the perfect instant & flicked the borrowed rapier downward.

SWISH!

The blade sliced straight through the knot of his belt. For a split second, there was silence.

Then—

FWOOMP.

His entire mawashi dropped. The enormous boy skidded to a halt mid-charge, screaming as he tried to pull his clothing back up over his brightly colored underwear, tripping over himself & falling forward with a ground-shaking thud.

Izumi barely had time to land before the next attacker—a ninth student from the Martial Arts Club—charged in with a sharp kiai. His stance was solid, disciplined, & far more composed than anyone so far.

Izumi crossed her rapiers & intercepted his strike cleanly, sparks snapping off the crossed blades. With a twist of her wrists & a shoulder dip that sent her spinning sideways, she sliced cleanly through his blazer seams—not to expose anything, but to blow apart his uniform’s structure.

FWIP!

The jacket burst apart, the ruined fabric flapping around his shoulders as his arms tangled themselves in it. Before the Martial Arts Club student could regain balance, Izumi hooked the loose blazer with her left rapier, yanked, & spun him around. His own momentum hurled him face-first into a tenth student rushing in at full speed. Both went down together in a heap.

Three more students attempted to dogpile her at once—a coordinated rush consisting of two boys & a single girl from three different clubs. With surgical precision:

SHHK— FWIP— SNAP—

She cut through belts, shoulder straps, armor ties, bags, & reinforced seams.

One staggered back, his now-unsupported kendo armor falling off in clattering pieces.

Another yelped as his backpack detonated into a cloud of books & papers.

The girl’s reinforced jacket split down the middle and tangled her arms completely.

All three collapsed in surprise as their own gear failed them simultaneously.

That was thirteen down in under a minute.

The remaining students—once so eager, so loud, so sure of their clubs’ pride—froze in fear as a new wave of hesitation rippled through them like a tsunami. The sound of retreating footsteps started as a trickle, then broke into full-blown panic as they turned & ran.

Up on the observation platform, Gamagōri’s jaw clenched so hard it could have cracked stone. His veins bulged as his voice thundered across the courtyard:

“YOU COWARDS! RETURN TO THE BATTLE THIS INSTANCE! YOUR RETREAT BRINGS SHAME TO HONNŌJI ACADEMY!”

“Well… looks like it’s our turn now.” Inumuta muttered, fingers flicking over his visor keys in a blur of blue light.

“FINALLY!” Uzu roared, rolling his shoulders until his joints cracked like gunfire. “I’ve been WAITING for her to get through the fodder—!”

“About that…” Inumuta’s voice flattened. He still didn’t look up. “You’ll have to get in line.”

Uzu froze. “WHAT?! WHY?!”

Inumuta angled his visor downward. “Because Jakuzure-san is already fighting her.”

“She WHAT?!” Uzu nearly choked on his own bandana in indignation. “Why that lousy little snake!”

Down below, Jakuzure Nonon floated gracefully on one of her monstrous instrument drones, chin lifted smugly.

“Aha! Finally! It was getting dreadfully dull watching from above. Now, behold, witness the magnificence of my brand-new Four-St—”

Izumi didn’t wait for her to finish as she lunged, grabbing the short, pink-haired girl around the waist like she was nothing more than a disgruntled plush toy, tucked her under one arm, & broke into a sprint across the courtyard.

“WHA—HEY! HEY!! PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT, YOU UNCULTURED PEASANT!” Jakuzure shrieked, kicking & hammering her tiny fists against Izumi’s back like a furious toddler denied candy. “HOW DARE YOU MANHANDLE A LADY OF MY STATURE—!!”

A shadow fell across the courtyard as Gamagōri landed in front of Izumi with enough force to crack the ground.

“STOP THIS INSTANCE! I DEMAND YOU TO RELEASE MY ASSOCIATE OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES OF KIDN—”

Izumi hurled Jakuzure directly into him with such force, interrupting his monologue.

“GAAAH—!”

“YOU. BARBARIAN!!”

Izumi dove low & slid under Gamagōri's massive frame, slipping past him before he even understood what had happened as both Elite Four members tumbled into a heap afterwards.

“Alright, my turn!” Uzu declared, landing dramatically in front of her, bamboo sword leveled at her like a duelist.

She hurled the spare fencing rapier at him like a javelin.

“Hah! Too easy—!” Uzu declared, slicing it midair in a single practiced motion.

Which was, of course, the trap. Izumi’s real blade bit into the ground, kicking up a violent burst of concrete & dust that blasted straight into Uzu’s face.

“GYAAAH— MY EYES—!?” Uzu staggered blindly, still swinging on sheer pride alone.

Izumi was already on him as she planted a foot on his shoulder & vaulted skyward, using him like a springboard in a parkour course.

“HOW IS SHE USING ME AS A SPRINGBOARD?!” Uzu yelled, betrayed by gravity itself.

Izumi’s fingertips burst with red life fibers—firing them outward, threading them through beams, walls, pipes, anything that’s available.

In a single pull, her momentum snapped her into a high-speed swing. She rocketed upward through the academy’s shattered levels like a red-&-white comet, turbine shrieking at max power, aiming directly for the enormous breach where Satsuki & Ryūko clashed.

Inumuta tracked her ascent, looking as unimpressed as possible.

“Well...” he said dryly. “...that went exactly as predicted.”

All three downed Elite Four members—Gamagōri, Jakuzure, & Uzu—snapped at him in perfect unison:

“YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING TO STOP HER!!”

Inumuta shrugged, still typing. “And yet somehow this is my fault.”

Location: Honnōji Academy – Main Building

Ryūko crashed through the plaster classroom wall in an explosion of dust & shredded metal as lockers buckled outward from the impact. She tumbled into the hallway, skidding across the tile. Before she could fully rise, Satsuki was already upon her—Bakuzan’s blade gleaming as if came down on her.

“Tch—!” Ryūko swung first, desperate to regain momentum—

CLANG!

Satsuki caught the strike with a single precise twist. The redirected force sent the scissor blade screaming across the wall, carving a jagged trench of exposed wiring.

Ryūko snarled and ripped her blade back in a rightward arc—

CLANG!

Another effortless parry. The force sent the scissor blade slamming into the row of lockers, denting the steel inward with a metallic groan.

Ryūko gritted her teeth, stepping forward in a lunging arc.

Satsuki slid sideways—

CLAAANG!

—parrying again, smashing sparks across the tile as Ryūko’s blade grated along the opposite lockers, shearing a line of mutilated metal.

“Damn it—!” Ryūko slashed downward.

CLANG!

Satsuki angled the blow aside like she was correcting a student’s form. The scissor blade gouged a deep, jagged trench through the floor tiles, spraying ceramic shards.

Ryūko spun into a wild backhand, burning with frustration—

CLANG!

Satsuki barely moved. The diverted strike tore a fresh diagonal wound across the wall, bursting open piping that hissed steam.

Ryūko roared & brought her scissor blade overhead, betting everything on raw force.

The Student Council President's eyes sharpened.

CLAAAANG!

She executed a perfect upward parry. The scissor blade ricocheted into the row of lockers once more, shearing off three doors in a single arc as they clattered across the floor.

Ryūko stumbled from the recoil, breath ragged. Before she could recover, Satsuki stepped in & drove a brutal kick straight into her stomach.

“You are unworthy of your own kamui, Matoi!”

Ryūko went crashing through the cafeteria doors like a missile, skidding across a line of tables before slamming into a stack of chairs that toppled over her in a clattering avalanche.

The cafeteria staff — two lunch ladies holding trays, a pale cook with a ladle, and a vending machine technician mid-refill— stared at the wreck Ryūko had become.

Then Satsuki stepped through the ruined doors. Her presence alone sent the entire kitchen staff screaming out the emergency exit.

“NOPE—NOPE—NOPE—NOT AGAIN—!”

“I JUST FIXED THAT FRYER—!”

“SAVE YOURSELVES!”

Trays clattered, ladles spun through the air, and someone abandoned a boiling pot mid-scream. Within seconds, the cafeteria was empty—save for the destruction & two combatants.

Satsuki didn’t even glance at the fleeing staff. “Get up, Matoi.”

Ryūko did just that, launching herself forward with a wild leap, scissor blade raised overhead. Her opponent sidestepped as Ryūko’s blade split a cafeteria table clean down the middle, the halves crashing apart as Satsuki counter-thrust with lethal precision.

Ryūko blocked—just barely— & skidding back.

She grabbed a nearby chair & hurled it only for Satsuki to sliced it midair.

A second chair followed by another clean, effortless cut.

Ryūko grabbed a whole table next, flipping it at Satsuki like a riot shield. Bakuzan tore it in half with the same ease someone might tear paper.

The two launched into a full-body brawl, kicking off the floor, walls, ceiling supports, sending chairs flying in every direction like shrapnel. Ryūko vaulted off a table edge, coming down with all her weight behind her blade. But Satsuki caught it, boots grinding back across the tile as Ryūko forced her weight downward.

“Persistent,” Satsuki muttered.

“Damn right, I am!” Ryūko spat back, shoving harder.

Satsuki abruptly released the clash, pivoted, & slammed her shoulder forward to break Ryūko’s stance. Then came a kick straight to Ryūko’s ribs with enough force to send her tumbling across the cafeteria again. She crashed into a haphazard mound of chairs & trays, rattling cutlery like a broken windchime.

Satsuki advanced, unhurried, looming over her. She seized Ryūko by the front of Senketsu, lifting her clean off the ground.

“I told you once,” she said coldly, “you lack the—”

Satsuki’s eyes snapped wide. She quickly dropped Ryūko & whirled—

—CLASH!

She had just barely intercepted a rapid, piercing thrust streaking toward her side.

‘Midoriya’

Midoriya Izumi slid into view, Shinketsu’s silver silhouette blurred through the cafeteria wreckage, teal energy lines blazing as she pressed the attack.

Izumi’s boots skidded across the cafeteria tile as the dust settled from the last exchange. Ryūko groaned, struggling to her feet—just barely—her breath ragged, her arm trembling as she tried to lift the Scissor Blade again. Izumi stepped forward protectively, her needle-rapier raised, never looking away from Satsuki.

“Matoi-san…” she hissed without turning, “this is your chance to run. Please take it.”

“Run?” Ryūko rasped. “Hell no—I’m not done—!”

Izumi clenched her teeth. “Why are you so stubborn!?”

Ryūko tried to charge again, but she staggered, her footing broken, her body screaming at her to stop. Satsuki surged forward, ready to cut her down where she stood.

And then, that's when Ryūko heard it. A second voice. Sharp. Arrogant. Definitely not her own or that of Satsuki's or Izumi's.

“Hmph. Matoi is of no use if she dies from blood loss any minute now. Not that she was ever useful to begin with.”

“Wh—who said that!?” Ryūko barked, dizzy & furious. “Say it to my face!”

Izumi glanced down, meeting the glowing, smug eyes on her own kamui. Turning around to face Ryūko, her decision was instantly clear.

“Forgive me, Matoi-san…” She slammed the butt of her rapier into Ryūko’s stomach.

WHUD.

“...but this is for you own good.”

Ryūko’s eyes widened, air blasting out of her lungs. The impact sent her flying backward. She hit the wall with a dull thump, the force cracking the surface before she slid down limply, Semblance flickering out as her transformation unraveled. Senketsu fell dormant, fabric collapsing around her as she hit the floor unconscious.

Silence filled the ruined cafeteria. Satsuki exhaled lightly—more an acknowledgment than a true sigh. One elegant eyebrow rose. “You are more ruthless than I anticipated, Midoriya Izumi.”

Izumi stepped in front of Ryūko’s collapsed form protectively, her rapier raised once more toward Satsuki.

“If Matoi-san keeps going, she’ll die. And if you push past your limits, Kiryūin-san, so will you.”

“Do not compare me to that fool, Matoi.” Satsuki’s gaze sharpened, Junketsu’s light pulsing at her shoulders. “I do not fall so easily & certainly not to you.”

Steel rang once more as Satsuki swung. Izumi met her head-on, sparks flashing between the blades. The intensity between them shifted—no longer a chaotic triad, but a focused duel of disciplined precision versus agile, sharp-eyed strategy.

Izumi ducked under a sweeping arc, boots slipping slightly on a splatter of spilled soup left from the earlier cafeteria chaos. Satsuki followed with a downward slice that carved a clean groove through a metal table as Izumi somersaulted backward.

Their weapons clashed again. Izumi’s gaze sharpened—not on Satsuki’s arms or stance, but directly at the pulsing threads snaking through Junketsu.

'It isn’t me you should be worried about, Kiryūin-san…’

Izumi slid under Satsuki’s guard, pushing her blade to redirect the arc of the katana & locked eyes with the kamui itself.

The green-haired girl locked eyes with the glowing life-fiber garment, letting Satsuki see the focus in her expression.

Junketsu thrummed & Satsuki—ever perceptive—felt the intent behind that stare.

Izumi’s sharp teal-green eyes locked on Satsuki for just a moment. Then, without a word, Izumi pivoted sharply & ran, boots echoing against the ruined tiles as she vaulted over broken tables & scattered chairs.

Satsuki’s eyes widened, just a fraction before unleashing a spinning airborne strike meant to bisect Izumi mid-escape.

The attack carved a trail through the cafeteria ceiling & smashed into the far wall but Izumi was already gone, threading through the debris-strewn halls like a streak of teal light

“You're a slippery one, aren't you Midoriya.” Satsuki muttered, turning sharply & gave chase once again.

Chapter Text

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

Hours Earlier

Date: 2228.09.05 CE
Location: Kiryūin Manor

“Welcome home, Mistress Satsuki.” echoed in perfect unison as dozens of household staff lined the marble corridor, standing at rigid attention while the manor doors sealed shut behind her.

Kiryūin Satsuki acknowledged them with a single, precise nod, never breaking her stride. At her side, her personal butler, Soroi Mitsuzō, matched her pace flawlessly. Beyond the manor’s walls, a violent storm battered the estate, the halls within were silent save for the sharp cadence of their footsteps striking polished stone.

At the corridor’s end, Satsuki halted & pressed her palm against what appeared to be an unbroken stone wall. The stone shifted with a low, grinding rumble as hidden mechanisms move & the wall parted to reveal a concealed staircase spiraling downward into darkness. For beneath Kiryūin Manor lay an extensive network of subterranean facilities—entire complexes known only to a select few, sealed away from the public & even most members of the household staff.

Satsuki descended without hesitation until she was met with a paired of armed guards standing shoulder to shoulder, barring her path at the bottom of the stairs. Their posture was rigid, but the tension in the air was unmistakable.

“P-Please turn back, milady!” one guard stammered, sweat beading at his temple. He swallowed hard before continuing. “We are under strict orders not to allow anyone past this point. Even you. I—I’m sorry.”

“Stand aside...” Satsuki replied coolly, her gaze never once meeting his. “…if you value your life.”

“You know we can’t do that, milady,” the second guard insisted, his voice trembling despite himself. “Our orders are—”

He never finished. In a single, fluid motion, Satsuki drew the sheathed Bakuzan & drove it forward with merciless precision. The blunt steel struck both men squarely in the abdomen, ripping the air from their lungs. Their bodies collapsed to the floor in near-perfect unison.

“Time is precious.” Satsuki said, her voice edged with contempt as she stepped over them without pause. “And I will not waste another second indulging fools.”

She pressed onward. Beyond the fallen guards stood a pair of colossal blast doors —reinforced slabs of metal engineered to withstand even the combined assault of the former Number One Hero, All Might, & his current top-ranked successor, Endeavor.

A keypad materialized as Satsuki pressed her thumb against a concealed panel shimmering to life. After entering a thirty-five–digit access code without hesitation, she stepped back at the sound of hydraulics hisses thundering through the chamber as the blast doors slowly parted.

Blinding white light spilled into the corridor, forcing Satsuki to narrow her eyes as the chamber beyond revealed itself—vast, frigid, & sterile. Dozens of floodlights lined the walls, their beams converging upon a single object positioned at the center of the room

Satsuki stepped inside, ascending a short flight of metal stairs before stopping before a towering containment unit. She placed her hand against the scanner.

BEEP

Access confirmed.

The containment unit’s casing split open. Suspended within—wrapped in reinforced plastic, plastered with biohazard warnings—hung a kamui.

Her inheritance: The legacy of Kiryūin Sōichirō, her beloved late father.

“I have come for you at last...” Satsuki murmured said quietly. “...Junketsu.”

Long ago—when she could still remember her father’s voice—he had spoken of this garment with reverence.

‘Someday…’ he had once told her ‘...this will be your wedding dress.’

But that future is dead. As of this day, it would serve not as a symbol of union, but of war. Armor for the battles to come against any who dare stand in her way.

She would be its master.

END FLASHBACK:

Location: Honnōji Academy – Upper Hallways

The pursuit tore through the hallways of Honnōji Academy’s upper floors like a storm given form. Classroom doors exploded off their hinges, lights shattered from the ceilings above & lockers along the walls crumpled & splintered under stray impacts in the presences of Midoriya Izumi & Kiryūin Satsuki.

Izumi weaved through the narrow corridors, vaulting debris & sliding between points of cover with with disciplined precision born from months of combat training during her brief stay at U.A.

Behind her, Satsuki advanced like a predator on the hunt for her fleeing prey. Though the maze-like twists & turns of the upper hallways allowed Izumi to maintain just enough distance to stay ahead, Satsuki never once slowed down in her relentless pursuit.

Minutes stretched on until Satsuki’s heels scraped lightly against the stone as she came to a halt, blue eyes sweeping every corner of the school’s ruined corridors for any traces of Izumi. A heavy air of silence quickly settled in, putting the Student Council President on edge.

No sound of footsteps

No shift in the air

No sign of Izumi.

Nothing, but the drips of leaking pipes accumulating into puddles on the floor.

“Where are you hiding, Midoriya…” she murmured, tension coiling tightly in her jaw.

Something was wrong. Back in the courtyard, Izumi’s speed had been overwhelming—far beyond what Satsuki should have been able to match during a sustained chase. Yet here she was, still close by.

Too close in fact.

Yet she could feel it—the faint hum of Shinketsu. Life-fiber threads lingered in the air, residual traces like static left behind by lightning.

Then—

STRIKE

Izumi exploded from a shattered classroom window, Shinketsu’s turbines roaring as she drove herself forward with brutal momentum & collided with her target midair. Satsuki narrowly avoided the full impact, steel met steel as both girl’s blades clashed again & again in a violent exchange, sparks screaming through the corridor.

Satsuki’s life-fiber plating split & scarred beneath the assault as Izumi landed several precise cuts in rapid succession deep enough to tear into Junketsu’s armor. The Student Council President’s eyes widened—not in shock, but in recognition as she slid backward across the floor, boots grinding against stone.

“So this chase was intentional.”

“I… slowed down several times to let you catch up.” Izumi admitted evenly, already resetting her stance. Her breathing was controlled, measured. “I needed you to follow me, after all.”

Satsuki straightened, violet eyes sharpening. “So you identified one of Junketsu’s shortcomings—” A faint, knowing smirk touched her lips. “...built for endurance & defense, not speed. Unlike your Shinketsu.”

“That was the point.” Izumi replied, offering a subtle nod. “Unconscious or not, I needed you far away from Matoi-san. I couldn’t risk her interference while I deal with you.”

‘And stop you from possibly sharing her fate’ Izumi added silently.

For a fleeting moment, Satsuki’s gaze softened—not with mercy, but with acknowledgment.

“I can spare you a measure of praise, Midoriya.” she said, voice clipped but sincere. “Your strategy… I approve.”

Her eyes hardened. “Just not the outcome.” Satsuki lifted her blade slightly, the life-fibers of Junketsu rippling with restrained power.

“Honnōji Academy is my fortress.” Satsuki declared, her voice resonating effortlessly through the school’s ravaged halls. “My stronghold. Every corridor, every stairwell, every blind corner exists according to my design.”

Her gaze locked onto Izumi “You were a fool to draw me into battle within my domain. Out in the courtyard, your speed granted you tremendous advantages.” She gestured subtly to the narrow passage around them. “Here, within these halls, it will avail you little. There is no room to flee. No space to maneuver around”

“Despite your successes…” Satsuki’s stance lowered. “...this battlefield is in my favor.”

Izumi met her stare without flinching.

“Perhaps.” she replied calmly. “But pro-heroes don’t always have the luxury of choosing such ideal conditions.” Her grip tightened on her blade. “We adapt & improvise. Even heroes still in-training quickly learn that the world around them doesn’t wait for us to be ready.”

A flicker of interest crossed Satsuki’s eyes.

“Very well.” she replied coolly. “Then let us see if you can put that lesson to practical use.”

The moment the words left her lips, Satsuki surged forward—Junketsu flaring as Bakuzan screamed toward Izumi once more.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Cafeteria

Matoi Ryūko groaned as consciousness clawed its way back into her body. The black-haired girl’s vision swam—blurred shapes, drifting dust, fractured light filtering through a cracked ceiling. Every part of her body ached like she’d been hurled through a dozen walls…

…which, in fairness, she actually was many times today.

Something warm & greasy tickled her nose. Then

—smacksmacksmack

Then a familiar voice hummed.

“Eh—?!” Ryuko blinked fully awake & found herself staring at a mountain of croquettes, piled neatly on a cafeteria tray directly in front of her face. “Wh—why is there food in my—?”

Mankanshoku Mako’s head popped into view like a gopher. “Ryuko-chan! You’re awake! Want a croquette?” she asked cheerfully, somehow balancing five more trays loaded with buns, curry, meat skewers, & a watermelon slice on her arms & head.

“Mako?!” Ryūko jolted upright—

—and immediately smacked her head against the underside of a flipped table.

“Ow—dammit!” She clutched her skull, groaning. “What are you doing here?!”

“I saw the cafeteria people ran away earlier, screaming their heads off!” Mako proudly said, as if that explained everything. “So I figured someone had to rescue all the abandoned food before gets all cold & stale!”

“And THEN I found YOU lying here under a bunch of broken tables!” the brunette hug one tray affectionately.

Ryūko glanced around, noticing she was lying amid broken tables & chairs, splintered from the earlier fight.

…Yeah. That tracked.

She groaned again, rubbing her stomach where Izumi’s blow had landed. Then the memory hit her afterwards like a second punch.

“Why that little—!” Ryūko snarled, eyes blazing in anger. “That first-year brat, Midoriya—she knocked me out!”

“Eeeeh?!” Mako gasped so hard one tray slipped from her grip—only for her to catch it with her foot without missing a beat. “Izumi-chan really did that to you, Ryūko-chan?!”

“Yeah!” Ryūko smacked a fist into her palm in irritation. “Just slammed the back of her stupid sword into my gut & dropped me like a sack of potatoes!”

Mako nodded solemnly, mouth already full. “Mmm… potatoes…”

“All just so she could run off & fight Satsuki solo…” Ryūko continued, fists clenched. “...like some wannabe pro-hero!”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Mako crouched beside her, eyes enormous. “Izumi-chan is fighting the super-scary, super-powerful, super-eyebrow-queen Lady Satsuki? RIGHT NOW?!”

“Yeah!” Ryūko growled. “And she didn’t even give me a chance to say no! Just—wham! Out cold! She didn’t have to go that far!”

The brunette tilted her head, tapping her chin with a croquette.

“But Ryūko-chan… maybe Izumi-chan had a good reason?” she offered with innocent earnestness. “She’s not usually mean on purpose! Maybe she thought she was protecting you! Or maybe she had a secret plan! Or maybe she got hungry & panicked & hit the wrong person—”

Ryuko cut her off with an irritated growl. “Mako, I don’t CARE whatever her reason was!” She jabbed a finger at the cratered ceiling above “Nobody cheap-shots me & gets away with it!”

“Mmm!” Mako nodded rapidly, stuffing a croquette into her mouth. “Okay, yeah that does really sounded uncalled for, Ryūko-chan!”

“Damn right it is!” Ryūko stood, wobbling only slightly before regaining her balance. Anger burned hot in her chest. “And I’m not letting that ice queen OR that pint-sized wannabe hero finish this without me!”

On cue, the entire building shuddered violently—shockwaves rippling through the cafeteria from somewhere above.

“O-ohhh…” Mako swallowed her croquette whole. “...that was loud.”

Ryūko cracked her knuckles. “I’m going after them.”

Mako’s eyes sparkled in excitement. “So you’re gonna fight both of them? Izumi-chan and Lady Satsuki? At the same time?”

“If that’s what it takes.” Ryūko cracked her neck and marched toward the exit.

“Ryūko-chan, WAIT!” Mako spread her arms like she was guarding the gates of heaven itself, blocking Ryuko’s path with all the authority of a wet noodle.

Ryuko stared at her. “…What now?”

“First…” Mako thrust a tray of croquettes into Ryuko’s chest. “...you have to eat, silly!”

“Mako…” Ryūko recoiled in disbelief. “...I don’t have time for—”

Then her stomach betrayed her. Loudly.

GROOOOOWL.

Ryuko froze as the sound of her stomach echoed through the ruined cafeteria. Mako’s eyes sparkled with a “gotcha” look.

“…That was the building.” Ryūko muttered, face burning.

“No it wasn’t!” Mako chirped. “That was your tummy begging for fuel! And a fighter can’t fight on an empty stomach, Ryūko-chan! That’s like… like trying to punch someone with no fist!”

“Fine. FINE.” Ryūko covered her face with one hand, mortified. “I’ll eat. But this has to be quick.”

She grabbed a croquette… then another… then three more. Within seconds she was devouring them, cheeks puffed out, crumbs flying, fury fueling her chewing like a woodchipper.

“Yay! Power-up meal! Just like in Matarō ’s favorite bootleg videogames!” Mako clapped happily. “Eat up, Ryuko-chan! Eat up so you can beat up those people you want to beat up!”

Ryūko finished swallowing a mouthful big enough to choke a normal person, wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, & stomped toward the rubble-filled exit.

“Alright…” she growled. “Time to settle this—for real this time.”

And with that, she sprinted off toward the destruction above, the academy trembling again from the clash between Izumi & Satsuki.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Upper Classroom Floors

The upper floors of Honnōji Academy crackled with tension. Sparks flew from clashing steel, tiles splintered beneath their relentless strikes, & the confined hallway echoed with the violent intensity of their duel.

Bakuzan fell toward Izumi as she twisted her torso, the blade sliced through air & barely skimming past her exposed ribs. Sparks tore through Shinketsu’s suspenders & a sharp sting of pain flared across her side. Yet before she could recover, Shinketsu’s fibers within her boots cause her skidded backward on it’s own out of danger.

Satsuki pressed immediately, switching to a two-handed grip on Bakuzan with deadly speed. Izumi reacted instinctively as an overhead strike thundered down. She barely threw herself aside in time as the blade struck the floor where she had once stood, cleaving tiles & sending a shock wave rippling down the hallway.

Relentless in her assault, Satsuki continue to advanced forwards towards her target, sending forth one strike after another in rapid succession without mercy. Bakuzan screamed through the corridor, driving Izumi backwards on the defensive. Each swing demanded Izumi’s full, undivided attention to survive the onslaught, but little opportunity to counter.

The green-haired girl tried to slip past Satsuki’s defenses as before, but her opponent anticipated every attempt, angling her blade to block every corridor exit. Speed alone could not save Izumi this time, not when the narrow walls, desks, & scattered lockers confined the first-year student, limiting her footwork.

Every cut inflicted upon her by the third-student forced Izumi further into slow & steady retreat, with every parry rattling her arms followed by every step backwards costing her precious breath.

“You rely too heavily on motion,” Satsuki said, voice calm even as her blade hammered downward again. “In confined spaces, speed becomes excessive & wasteful.”

Izumi ducked under a horizontal swing, scraping just beneath the blade as sparks showered from the wall behind her. She tried to pivot—Satsuki was already there, ready for her.

Pressure mounted as a heavy, burning sensations spread through her legs & drag filled her lungs over time. Shinketsu hummed louder, fibers tightening to reinforce her wearer’s fatigued muscles. Still, Izumi endured, parrying again, slipping another strike, redirecting a cut just enough to keep herself upright.

Satsuki noted with approval that despite the narrowing space, the relentless onslaught, & growing fatigue threatening to consume her, the green-haired girl continue to defy her.

‘Impressive.’ Satsuki admitted privately.

But endurance could be broken in time & fatigue could cloud judgment of even the best minds. The black-haired girl subtlety adjusted her timing, allowing next strike to slowed just enough to leave tiniest opening.

Instinct screamed opportunity at Izumi as she lunged forward at the gap, unaware that she was walking into the trap.

The rapier bit into Satsuki’s arm, slicing across her sleeve & drawing a thin line of blood, yet she did not flinch.

“I’m not afraid to make such sacrifices!”

Satsuki’s free hand snapped forward, snaring Izumi’s left wrist mid-thrust. The instant contact was made, the life-fiber threads beneath Izumi’s skin screamed. Pressure crushed down on the very point where those fibers had been severed earlier that morning, & a white-hot wave of agony tore up her arm.

Izumi gasped sharply & grit her teeth as tears of pain begin to welled in her eyes, fighting the urge to not to cry out. Her fingers spasm, strength abandoning them as the pain overwhelmed her grip. The rapier in her hand slipped free, clattering uselessly across the floor.

Satsuki kicked the discard weapon aside without a second thought, towering over Izumi before hauling the downed girl partially off her feet with one arm. The difference in their height & physical power became brutally apparent.

“You fight well & your tenacity is admirable.” Satsuki leaned in, eyes sharp as razor as blood streak down her sleeves. “But do not forget who you are facing.”

Bakuzan descended in a flawless arc, aimed straight for Izumi’s torso.

Izumi’s free right hand snapped up at the last possible instant, fingers clamping around Satsuki’s sword arm at the wrist. Steel stopped mere inches from her body as the force of the impact vibrated through them both. The green-haired girl exhaled a ragged, strained breath as her muscles screamed in protest, her left shoulder twisting at an unnatural angle, every nerve ablaze with pain.

For a split second, there eyes were locked—Izumi straining with everything she had to halt the blade while Satsuki holding her effortlessly aloft.

“Not—so—easy—!” Izumi hissed through clenched teeth.

“I agree.” Satsuki smirked.

In the same instant, she released Izumi’s trapped arm. With nothing left to counterbalance her, the first-year girl dropped—but Satsuki was already stepped in, pivoting her hips with the precision of someone who had practiced the motion thousands of times.

Her free arm slid under Izumi’s throat as her leg swept in a controlled half-circle, allowing momentum to finish the rest.

Izumi was flipped backward, her spine arcing over Satsuki’s shoulder before she crashed against the older girl’s blossom, locked tight in a crushing restraint.

The former U.A. student gasped, instantly scrambling for leverage, but Satsuki’s arm was already cinched around her neck in a perfect chokehold. And worse—Bakuzan came to rest beside Izumi’s cheek, cold steel hovering a breath from her skin.

Izumi froze. Her breath became sharp & shallow, as her heart pound violently in her chest.

“Struggle if you wish…” she murmured beside her captive’s ear, her voice laced with lethal intent. “…but understand this, Midoriya—in this position, I call checkmate.”

The first-year girl felt the third-year’s arm tighten fractionally around her throat—perhaps not enough to choke the life out her, but merely remind her hostage exactly who holds the advantage now. Under different circumstances, Izumi might have been awkwardly aware of Satsuki’s impressive chest pressing firmly against her exposed back. Instead, her eyes flicked sideways toward Bakuzan, its edge hovering so close she could feel the cold steel grazing the fine hairs of her cheek.

And yet Satsuki did not finish her.

“You continue to exceed my expectations, Midoriya Izumi.” Her voice remained composed, but there was a tension beneath it. “I sought to witness your strength firsthand… & yet instead, you present me with more questions than answers.”

Izumi slowly lowered her hands in a gesture of compliance & let out a strained, breathless chuckle. “Glad I could keep you guessing, Kiryūin-san”

Satsuki ignored the biting sarcasm as her gaze sharpened, dissecting Izumi piece by piece. The grip around her neck shifted just enough to tilt Izumi’s chin upward, forcing her to meet those piercing eyes.

“The way you fought Hakodate Omiko days ago was controlled. Precise. Measured.” Satsuki said evenly. “Quite the opposite of what I saw so far today.”

Satsuki’s hold on Izumi tightened further. “Your movements are different as are your tactics. This is the fighting style of someone accustomed to life-or-death situations… in the heat of real combat.”

Izumi’s jaw tightened. With deliberate subtlety, she began extending fine threads of her own life-fibers downward, letting them slide along the floor, silent & unseen, creeping behind Satsuki’s back.

“You could not have acquire such instincts during your brief time at U.A. merely studying behind a classroom desk.” Satsuki continued. “Your reactions, improvisation, awareness of lethal intent—these are not skills simply taught through combat drills or sparring matches.”

“You don’t say?” Izumi muttered, eyes cutting sideways as she worked to keep Satsuki’s focus on her face. “Don’t you already have my records, Kiryūin-san? There’s plenty more online too to choose from: Social media, news sites, fan forums, etc. Take your pick.”

Satsuki brought Bakuzan ever closer, the blade’s tip brushed the barest edge of contact against Izumi’s cheek.

“Do not test me, Midoriya.” Satsuki said coldly. “What sort of events...” Her grip tightened just enough to sharpen the threat & make Izumi wince. “...have forged the mentality I see before me? What battles have you endured that your school records so conveniently omit?”

Izumi swallowed, feeling the faint tug of tension through her life-fibers as they found their mark behind Satsuki.

“Well...” she said carefully. “...you already know about the U.A. Sports Festival. And maybe all of recent events caused by the League of Villains —the USJ, Hosu, Kiyashi Mall, & the summer camp at Endor Forest— assuming if you watched the news.”

Satsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

Izumi exhaled slowly, steadying herself & for a moment as neither girl spoke.

The corridor seemed to shrink around them. Shinketsu’s low hum vibrated faintly through Izumi’s body, syncing with her heartbeat. Junketsu’s fibers twitched subtly in response—alert, agitated.

“Then tell me something...” Izumi asked at last, her tone even. “What’s the purpose of this interrogation, Kiryūin-san? What exactly do you hope to accomplish by dragging my entire life into the open like this?”

Satsuki’s eyes flashed, offense flickering through her composure.

“You will understand, Midoriya...” Satsuki frown, voice dipping into something dangerous. “...here at Honnōji Academy, there are no secrets that stay hidden from me.”

“If that’s the case…” Izumi’s gaze hardened as she held Satsuki’s stare. “...why is my history suddenly a topic of such interest to you—& to Matoi-san?”

For a moment, Satsuki said nothing,

“This was never really about my past, was it?” Izumi continued, her voiced steady despite the blade looming near her cheek. “I don’t know what Matoi-san’s motives are— but you?” She tilted her head as much as the hold allowed. “You don’t actually care how I learned to fight, who I fought, or even what I survived through do you?”

Satsuki eyes hardened. “What are you implying then?”

“That more you’re interested in what I am.” Izumi said quietly. “More specifically—what I have right now: my Threadfiber quirk & Kamui Shinkestu.”

Satsuki stiffened—just barely.

Izumi notice & pressed on. “Why unveil a new kamui all of the sudden? Why challenge me personally when you most likely already knew about Matoi-san’s own kamui, Senketsu?”

Silence stretched.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to gain from me, Kiryūin-san...” The green-haired girl added softly “…but your first mistake was believing I could possibly teach you anything meaningful about my kamui.”

“... ... ...What?”

“I’ve only had Shinketsu for six months.” Izumi continued evenly. “And even now, I’m barely scratching the surface of its true capabilities. I didn’t even start getting the hang of it until three months in.”

‘Six months?!’ The revelation struck Satsuki like a blade. ‘Matoi only revealed Senketsu during her rematch with Fukuroda Takaharu barely a few days ago!’

“And your second mistake...” Izumi’s voice quietly cut through her thoughts. “...was putting on Junketsu.”

“Do not be presumptuous, Midoriya.” Satsuki said with contempt, fury barely restrained as her forearm gripped more firmly against Izumi’s throat. “What makes you believe you are more entitled to the right of wearing a kamui than I do?”

“I don’t know...” Izumi replied without hesitation despite her discomfort. “...but I’m not the one living on borrowed time.”

“…Watch you tongue, Midoriya.” Satsuki’s eyes narrowed. “You tread dangerously close to presumption.”

“Funny...” Izumi murmur, her lips curved upward almost like but not quite a smile. “...I was about to say the same thing.”

Satsuki tensed, ready to press the blade in to reassert her dominance.

SHKRRRAAASH!!!

A massive slash tore across Satsuki’s back, air screamed as invisible force ripped flesh & fiber alike. Satsuki staggered forward, eyes widening as searing pain quickly lanced up her spine.

Her grip broke, dropping Izumi as the smaller girl hit the floor hard & tumble across broken tiles before rolling instinctively away. She skidded to a stop, scrambling to her knees as her lungs burned with the sudden influx of air

Satsuki whirled around, teeth clenched & eyes blazing— expecting to confront the assailant responsible for brutally slashing her off guard.

Yet, there was no one. Not a single movement nor a flicker of shadow.

Confusion flickered across the Student Council President's face until she turned back around to see Izumi knelt low on one knee braced against the floor. Her rapier quickly slid into her waiting hand—drawn not by motion, but by the life-fibers streaming from her right fingertips. The crimson threads shimmered like living steel & light, retracting as the weapon settled into her grip.

‘All this time…’ Realization struck Satsuki like a second blow. ‘...she was distracting me!’

The green-haired girl’s control over her life-fibers was absolute. They moved as extensions of her will—bending, twisting, manipulating her rapier mid-air with such surgical precision that she could strike even when her opponent’s attention was elsewhere.

The earlier slash had torn though Satsuki’s hair but before she could fully react, Izumi suddenly lunged at her. Shinketsu’s turbine roared to life, spinning violently as it hurled Izumi forward like a living missile.

The impact came brutally quick as classroom walls, desks, & chairs splintered into fragments along a violent path. The force drove Satsuki backward, slamming her into a bank of lockers with bone-jarring precision. Metal shrieked as doors buckled & caved inward.

Satsuki sagged against the lockers, her breath all ragged as pain radiated throughout her body. Strands of her hair hung loose & mangled from the earlier slash. Jets of steam pour out from Junketsu's vents like a wrecked car in the aftermath of a crash.

Izumi landed in a crouch before her, turbine winding down as she leveled her rapier straight at Satsuki’s chest.

“Surrender.” Izumi commanded, voice steady despite the tremor in her limbs. “And deactivate Junketsu, now!”

Satsuki lifted her head slowly. Even battered & bleeding, defiance burned cold in her eyes.

“No.”

“Again with the pigheaded pride you & Matoi-san have...” Izumi’s jaw tightened in frustration. Her grip tightened around the rapier’s hilt as energy thrummed along the blade. She raised it again, resolve hardening.

“I’m sorry, Kiryūin-san…” Her voice softened just enough to cut through the fading whine of the turbine. “…but this is for your own good.”

“Spare me your pity, Midoriya...” Satsuki scoffed faintly, blood at the corner of her mouth. “...for I need none.”

Then a sharp voice tore through the corridor.

“MIDORIYA!”

Izumi’s head snapped toward the voice & in that single fatal heartbeat of distraction, Satsuki quickly countered.

Pain flared through her battered body, but years of discipline crushed hesitation. With what remained of her strength, Satsuki swept her leg low & hard against Izumi’s. The strike took Izumi’s footing clean out from under her as she hit the floor on her back with a sharp gasp, breath tearing from her lungs as the impact rattled her ribs.

Before Izumi could recover, Satsuki quickly staggered toward a bank of battered lockers & yanked one open—revealing the hidden elevator concealed behind it. Without hesitation, she slam on the control panel & quickly slipped inside.

“Damn it!” Izumi cursed, scrambling to her feet just as the elevator doors slid shut. She spun sharply & came face-to-face with an irate Matoi Ryūko. “I almost had her, Matoi!”

“Geez….” Ryūko drawled, resting her scissor blade on her shoulder “…thanks for softening her up for me. Guess I owe you two favors now.”

“What are you—”

Ryūko lunged at Izumi, the latter barely had time to snap into a defensive stance. Her rapier came up just in time as the scissor blade came crashing down.

CLANG!

The impact jolted through Izumi’s arms, forcing her back a step as muscles screamed under the sudden strain.

The difference was immediate. If Satsuki’s strikes had been refined & elegant, Ryūko’s slashes were raw & overwhelming in comparison—each swing driven by momentum, fury, & relentless brute strength.

Izumi blocked again, heels skidding against the cracked floor.

“Now this...” Ryūko growled, pressing forward, blade grinding against Izumi’s guard. “…is payback...” She shoved harder, forcing Izumi back another step. “...for knocking me out in the cafeteria earlier!”

Ryūko surged again as the pressure of relentless attacks finally broke Izumi’s footing, staggering the green-haired girl enough to leave her guard wide open. The next blow launch Izumi flying backwards into a stack of lockers a few meters away— metal groaning & buckled on impact as the force rattled her bones. She barely stayed upright as her rapier was knocked clean from her hand during the collision, skidding uselessly across the floor.

Izumi dragged in a breath & nearly stumbled. The adrenaline was burning off now, leaving behind the damage it had masked in its wake. Her arms trembled as she reset her stance, shoulders screaming from Satsuki’s earlier chokehold, & her left side still lit with sharp, crawling pain where her life-fibers had been crushed earlier.

Even Shinketsu’s turbine begin to faltered—its roaring hums degrading into a strained, uneven whines.

‘I can’t take her head-on’ Izumi realized grimly. ‘Not like this.’

Ryūko didn’t give her time to think as she charged forward, boots pounding against the floor, scissor blade already arcing back for another devastating strike.

Instead of reaching for her rapier, Izumi twisted sharply to the side & snapped her wrist low. Fine strands of life-fiber lashed out across the floor, nearly invisible to the naked eye as they shot forward & cinched tight around Ryūko’s ankles like a living trip wire.

“What the—?!”

Ryūko’s momentum betrayed her as the second year’s foot got caught & pitched forward, barreling straight toward at high speed Izumi. Izumi rolled away hard, avoiding Ryūko as she slammed shoulder-first into the lockers with a metallic crunch. The impact collapsed the frame around her as a cascade of dented metal buried her—leaving her scantly clad rear unceremoniously sticking out of the wreckage.

Despite herself, Izumi let out a breathless, incredulous huff at the ridiculous sight before her. Pushing herself up onto one knee, she staggered quickly toward the once hidden elevator, life-fibers snapping her rapier back into her hand in it’s retracted, compacted form along the way.

A few heartbeats later—

“Tch—seriously?!” Ryūko exploded out of the pile, shaking debris from her hair & shoulders, irritation blazing brighter than the pain. “Where are you, Midoriya?!”

Her eyes swept the corridor—& locked on to her fleeing target.

“There you are!” Ryūko tore free of the wreckage & charged, blade raised. “Quit your running already!”

Izumi didn’t answer since her eyes fixed on the exposed elevator panel Satsuki had used moments earlier. Life-fibers streamed from her fingertips again, anchoring & pulling her forward when her legs threatened to buckle. She staggered, then lunged, slapping the panel with her palm.

DING.

A shadow loomed behind her. Izumi twisted just in time to see Ryūko lunging, scissor blade raised high, & ducked sideways to avoid being cleaved by a furious slash—

SHRRRAAAK!

Sparks erupted as steel tore through the panel housing mere inches from where Izumi had once stood before she bolted. Ryūko chased relentlessly, less than a meter behind as Izumi dodged every slash—ducking, leaping, side-stepping, skidding across the floor. She weaved around obstacles to hinder the black-haired girl, even using a vending machine as cover— detaching it from the wall using her life-fibers & circled around it afterwards as Ryūko hacked at empty air.

“Why you little—!” Ryūko snarled, her irritation rising. “Hold still already, dammit!”

Behind them, unmistakable hum of machinery answered. For the elevator from floors above was descending toward their floor.

Izumi skidded around the vending machine again, barely avoiding another sweeping slash from Ryūko.

“Quit hiding!” Ryūko snarled, her patience finally snapping. “If you wanna play this way—”

She planted her feet & swung with full force as scissor blade tore into the vending machine—

KRAAANG!

Metal buckled, glass cracked, & the machine screamed as internal racks collapsed, contents of cans & bottles spilling out in a clattering avalanche.

“Tch—stupid thing!” Ryūko growled, yanking her blade free & hacking again.

Izumi vaulted backward, nearly slipping as cans rolled beneath her boots. But her eyes flicked & locked onto a bottle skidding past her heel. Without slowing, Izumi scooped it up, twisted the cap loose, & shook it violently as she ran.

Ryūko charged, blade raised.

“There!” she shouted.

Izumi turned & hurled the bottle.

Ryūko reacted on instinct.

SHRRAAK!

The blade cleaved through the bottle mid-air & exploded in a pressurized burst, drenching Ryūko head to toe in sticky foam. It splashed across Senketsu’s fibers, plastering the fabric to her skin.

“HEY—!”

“RYŪKO, WHAT IS THIS?!” Senketsu shrieked. “It’s sticky & all over me!”

Ryūko sputtered, wiping soda from her eyes. “Ugh—not now, Senketsu! It’s just—!”

In that single moment of distraction was all Izumi needed. Life-fibers lashed out, anchoring to the vending machine’s ruined frame. With a hard yank, metal shrieked—

“HEY—WAIT—!”

—and the machine toppled, crashing down in a thunderous BOOM, pinning Ryūko & Senketsu beneath its weight as cans burst and rolled everywhere.

“GRRRRR!!! GET—THIS—OFF ME!” Ryūko shouted, thrashing.

Izumi didn’t look back as she sprinted for the elevator—

Just as—

DING!

The doors slid open, allowing Izumi to stumble inside & slammed the button. The doors hissed & began to close as she sagged against the wall, sliding down until she hit the floor onto her exhausted derriere.

“…Finally…” Izumi sigh, allowing herself to relax for the first time in what felt like hours.

CLANG!

Izumi yelped at the sound, scrambling backward as adrenaline flooded her system once more.

Ryūko’s scissor blade slammed into the elevator wall mere inches from her face, embedding itself deep as sparks flew. Cold steel grazed the tip of her boot as the doors shuddered, frozen halfway shut.

The green-haired girl barely had time to catch her breath before she saw Ryūko charging down the hallway, a blur of motion & raw fury, eyes burning with unyielding determination.

“Damn it—!” Izumi growl in annoyance as she reached for the scissor blade, fingers wrapping around the hilt. Pain flared through her arms as she wrenched with as much strength she could muster as her fatigue muscles burn in protest.

With a shriek of strained metal, the blade was dislodged free as the elevator doors lurched & slide inward—

—but a pair of hands shot forward, fingers digging into the narrowing gap. With a feral snarl, Ryūko slowly pried the doors apart, steel groaning as she forced them open just enough so she can eventually slip through.

‘So close’ Izumi inwardly wanted to scream in frustration. A fraction of a second earlier & she might have gained precious moments to catch her breath, maybe even recover before the inevitable next fight.

“Close—come on..." Desperation sharpened her focus as Izumi slammed her palm against the control panel, hammering the buttons again & again. "...close already!”

The elevator shuddered violently as mechanisms whined under the strain of Ryūko’s firm grip. Undaunted, she vaulted inside, heels skidding across the elevator floor, the downed scissor blade snapping back into her hand. Her breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving—eyes burned ablaze with that relentless determination.

Ryūko straightened herself, rolling her shoulders as a tired smirk creep across her face.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you get away from me, did you?” Her tone was sharp—half accusation, half promise.

Izumi’s jaw tightened, pushing herself upright against the fatigue overwhelming her body. Life-fibers beneath her skin twitched along her arms as Shinketsu responded, the rapier’s needle blade extending from its compact form.

“No…” Izumi said quietly, stance settling despite the tremor in her legs. “I was just hoping you’d run out of stamina again.”

The elevator door closed behind Ryūko as she lunged, scissor blade snapping forward with a vicious arc. Unfortunately, the confined space immediately betrayed her now that black-haired girl realized that’s there was nowhere to swing freely.

The blade clipped the walls, pinged off the ceiling, & scraped along the rear panel of the ascending elevator. Sparks flew as tiny showers of metal rain down as Ryūko’s blade collided with every obstruction.

Izumi’s green eyes narrowed, reading Ryūko’s mounting frustration. With a subtle flick of her wrist, her rapier extended, needle blade shooting outward like a living rod while the handle slid along the shaft, forming a rigid bar spanning the width of the elevator.

Ryūko came at her again, slashing desperately—but each strike slammed into the rapier-bar. She bounced back with a grunt, shock jolting through her arms with every impact.

“Try not to hurt yourself…” Izumi said with a faint, almost playful giggle, stepping aside just enough to keep the rapier-bar perfectly aligned. “…from bumping into everything!”

Ryūko growled, cheeks flushed with irritation that her momentum was rendered useless in this tiny box. She lunged once more; the scissor blade flashed—but slammed into the rapier-bar again, sliding along it helplessly.

Izumi adjusted subtly, closing a fraction of the remaining space. Ryūko stumbled, hands clawing at the walls for leverage, teeth gritted in frustration.

“Grrr, screw this!” Ryūko spat, dropping the scissor blade. With raw determination, she balled a fist & shoved hard into Izumi’s chest.

The impact snapped Izumi backward & knock her rapier to the floor as it slide just out of reach. The first-year student staggered, muscles burning as the sudden, unrefined force caught her off guard.

“Forget all the fancy toys!” Ryūko straightened, fists raised, chest heaving. Her glare was sharp & feral. “I’ll just kick your ass the old-fashioned way!”

The hum of Shinketsu quieted, the fibers recoiling defensively, reacting to the abrupt shift in combat style. Izumi wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple, her eyes flicking to the ceiling exit above.

“Old-fashioned, huh?” she muttered, voice calm despite the pounding of her pulse. “…Sorry, but I’ll pass.”

Izumi saw her opening & jumped, her heels leaving the floor as she reached for the ceiling hatch. As her fingers brushed cold metal—

Ryūko’s hand clamped around Izumi’s ankle.

“Oh no you don’t!” With a savage yank, she ripped the smaller girl back down. “Get back here!”

Izumi’s eyes widen as she was slammed down into the elevator floor with a sharp grunt, rolling instinctively as pain flared through her spine. She swept her leg out in a tight arc, cleanly knocking Ryūko out from under her as crashed down beside Izumi, metal groaning beneath their combined weight.

Both of them scrambled up at the same time, breath ragged, sweat slicking skin, the cramped space leaving no room for hesitation.

Ryūko lunged first. Her fists came in fast & heavy, each punch thrown was wild, yet powerful as Izumi blocked one & parried another—

—only for Ryūko drove her forehead forward.

CRACK.

The headbutt echoed inside the elevator like a gunshot. Izumi reeled back, vision flashing white, but responded on instinct by driving a knee hard into Ryūko’s stomach.

Ryūko staggered back a half-step, coughing before immediately snapping forward again, elbowing Izumi across the jaw.

The green-haired girl hit the wall with a grunt, barely ducking the next punch. She twisted inside Ryūko’s reach & slammed her own elbow into her gut again. This time, Ryūko’s back hit the opposite wall hard enough to rebound right into Izumi’s fist cracking across her face. Before the black-haired girl could recover, Izumi grabbed her—one hand clutching the back of her collar, the other yanking her forward—& smashed her face into the elevator control panel.

Elevator buttons lit up wildly & alarms beeped as floors were selected at random in frantic protest.

Ryūko snarled & bit down hard.

“OW—!” Izumi yelped as teeth clamped into her finger. “Let go of me!”

She grabbed a fistful of Ryūko’s hair & yanked hard in retaliation.

“OW! You let go!” Ryūko growled, words muffled by Izumi’s fingers still in her teeth.

They struggled like two feral animals trapped in a steel cage—kicking, shoving, grappling as the elevator lurched upward beneath them.

Ryūko finally found leverage by wrapping her arms around Izumi’s torso & drove her bodily into the wall, knocking the air from her lungs. Before Izumi could slide down, Ryūko yanked her upright again & locked an arm around her throat from behind in a choke hold just like that of Satsuki’s minutes earlier ago.

Izumi’s breath hitched in annoyance.

‘Again?!’ her thoughts snapped. ‘Not this time!’

She planted her boots against the elevator wall & kicked off hard, throwing her weight backward.

The impact sent them both crashing, but with Ryūko taking the brunt of the damage as her back slammed into the wall with a metallic boom.

Her grip broke, allowing Izumi to tear herself free, stumbling forward as Shinketsu’s fibers flared reflexively, heart hammering in her ears. She barely had time to recover before Ryūko surged again, lifting her from behind with startling strength & hurling smaller girl upward.

Izumi slammed into the elevator ceiling with a gasp, but quickly recovered midair as she extended her life-fibers outward. Yanking on a loosened panel Ryūko had dislodged a moment earlier, the green-haired girl wrenching it free. The ceiling plate came crashing down onto Ryūko, forcing her to stagger under the sudden weight of another object once again.

For the split second Ryūko was pinned under, Izumi seized a perfect opportunity to escape this confine prison. She snapped her rapier back into her hand & extended the handle downward, using it like a pole to vault upward. The first-year student reached the hatch & tore it open, a rush of stale shaft air hitting her face like salvation.

As the elevator continued racing upward, Ryūko shook free of the fallen panel down below. Izumi hauled herself through the opening, rolling onto the elevator roof & sucking in a breath after shutting the hatch behind her. The elevator beneath her rattled violently—too fast, too unstable for her comfort.

She barely made it to her knees when—

SHUNK!

Izumi yelped & scrambled back. Ryūko’s Scissor Blade punctured straight up through the ceiling right where she’d been moments earlier.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” she shouted in incredulity, scrambling across the narrow roof.

Another stab tore upward as she rolled away.

Shinketsu’s turbine sputtering from overuse after she vaulted over the third attack that followed

A fourth attack nearly grazed her green, fluffy hair.

“She’s actually trying to skewer me—”

The thought cut off as the blade punched through again before sliding sideways, tearing a jagged opening wide enough for Ryūko’s sweat drenched, furious face to appear. She grabbed the edge of the opening, muscles flexing as she hauled herself up onto the roof like a predator climbing a branch.

The second-year student landed in a crouch, eyes blazing with raw determination.

“What—are you trying to kill me now, Matoi?!” Izumi demanded, her breath sharp & uneven, as Ryūko glared right back.

“At this point?” Ryūko growled. “Between you & Satsuki, I don’t even know which one of you is pissing me off more!”

Izumi blinked, deadpan.

“…That’s not an answer I like to hear.”

Chapter Text

A Couple of Minutes Earlier

Location: Honnōji Academy – Elevator en Route to Student Council President Suite

The elevator doors slid shut with a muted thrum, sealing Kiryūin Satsuki away from the inevitable collision between Matoi Ryūko & Midoriya Izumi as the car began it’s upward ascent.

Only then did her strength finally give out.

Her knees buckled, collapsing heavily against the elevator floor as white-hot, merciless pain flooded her body all at once. Of the injuries she had sustained from her previous battle, it was the wound across her back—an unseen slash that had torn through flesh & fiber alike— that burned the fiercest. Every attempt to draw air felt like glass scraping bone, leaving every breath to drag fire along her spine.

Satsuki immediately felt Junketsu convulsed against her skin. The kamui’s fibers writhed violently, reacting to her weakened state with unmistakable, opportunistic hunger. Pressure constricted around her torso as threads tightened & burrowed deeper, greedily siphoning more of her vitality.

“…Enough!” Satsuki hissed through clenched teeth. “Know your place!”

With visible effort, she forced her trembling hand up to the control panel & entered a precise sequence of commands known only to a select few within Honnōji Academy’s vast hierarchy.

From the vents above, a fine mist spilled into the elevator car; a colorless, odorless tranquilizing coagulant engineered by the Sewing Club designed to pacify rebellious students without fully severing their bond to the life-fibers woven into their Goku uniforms.

But in higher concentration, it served another purpose for the first time.

Junketsu shuddered violently, resisting for a single heartbeat as the gas took hold of it. The living garment’s fibers loosened their grip on Satsuki, unraveling as it’s conscious will was forcefully suppressed. Within moments, the ornate kamui folded in upon itself, reverting to dormancy until nothing remained but a pristine school uniform draped across Satsuki’s exhausted form.

The vents roared softly as the excess gas was drawn away.

Silence followed & for several long seconds, Satsuki lay there, chest rising & falling in shallow, measured breaths.

Slowly, her hand rose to her hair & froze. Long strands—now jagged & uneven—slid through her fingers along her back. The realization struck harder than the pain itself: A clean, calculated slash executed flawlessly without warning—

—Delivered without without so much as a whisper of the threat until it was already too late.

‘All this time…’ Her jaw clenched. ‘…she distracted me. And I played directly into her hand.’

Unbidden, memories of Midoriya Izumi’s words echoed throughout her mind.

‘I’ve only had Shinketsu for six months.’

“Six months...” Satsuki muttered darkly. “...six months already bonded to a kamui.”

Longer than she herself had worn Junketsu… & far longer than that of Matoi Ryūko. Time, experience. & familiarity with Shinketsu —all advantages Midoriya Izumi had already claimed before the first-year student ever set foot in Honnōji Academy.

Advantages Satsuki had underestimate & failed to take account for.

Her fingers curled into the fabric beneath her palm as another memory surfaced, the green-haired girl’s words lingering like mockery.

‘I’m not living on borrowed time.’

“Borrowed time…” Satsuki repeated, the phrase lingering like poison on tip of her tongue.

With effort, she wiped the sweat from her brow & pushed herself upright, bracing against the elevator wall for support. Her legs trembled beneath her, protesting every inch she rose.

Satsuki’s bloodied reflection stared back at her from the polished steel walls. She despised the admission of truth pressing against her pride— & would sooner strip herself bare & endure the shame that follows than acknowledge it out loud in front the world to see—

Yet Midoriya Izumi’s warning rang true.

This was not the first time she had been cautioned against Junketsu’s hunger. Nor the first time someone had looked upon her & seen the danger she refused to acknowledge.

Her mind drifted back to the manor, the very night she had returned to reclaim her birthright. A night that felt far more recent than it had any right to be.

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

Hours Earlier

Date: 2228.09.05 CE
Location: Kiryūin Manor – Subterranean Vault

Kiryūin Satsuki’s fingers hovered inches away from the containment unit’s release seal in which Junketsu lay suspended. Even through layers of reinforced polymer, the kamui’s presences pressed against her senses like a caged predator waiting for the opportunity to strike.

“At last.” Satsuki murmured, her hand drifting closer, her mind already contemplating the vast, unquestionable power that would finally grant her—

—Only for her fingers froze mid-reach.

Hurried footsteps echoed sharply through the chamber, shattering the vault’s oppressive stillness. More guards poured in, boots striking the floor in perfect, disciplined unison. They fanned out behind her in a rigid semicircle—blocking retreat, yet none daring to advance further.

Among them, Satsuki had expected to see the estate’s steward, Kuroido Takiji — a bloated sycophant of a man who delighted in lecturing her far beyond his station under the pretense of “protocol.”

Instead, she saw her.

Several meters behind the guards stood a young woman with dark skin & light-purple locs cascading neatly around her shoulders. Gold hoop earrings glinted beneath the vault’s floodlights as she came to a composed halt. Her attire was immaculate to the last seam: a tailored white business suit over a crisp shirt & tie, fitted shorts, thigh-high stockings, & polished white pumps that clicked once against floor.

‘Why is she here?’ Satsuki thought, irritation spiking immediately.

“Good evening, Lady Satsuki.” the young woman greeted smoothly, her tone neither hurried nor deferential. “Your sudden arrival this evening has come as quite the surprise to everyone here at the estate.”

“Hōōmaru Rei…” Satsuki muttered as she turned halfway toward her mother’s personal secretary, displeasure bleeding openly into her voice. Her eyes flicked past the dark skinned woman at once, registering the conspicuous absence beside her.

“…Where is that fat fool, Kuroido Takiji...,” Satsuki asked coldly. “… when he should be attending to his duties?”

“Please refrain from speaking ill of Kuroido-san in his absence, Lady Satsuki.” Rei replied without flinching. “…Regardless of his—questionable—competency.”

Satsuki’s gaze snapped fully onto her. “Answer me, Hōōmaru.”

Rei inclined her head a fraction. “Due to recent… events affecting Kuroido-san’s performance, he has been placed on an extended sabbatical as of earlier today. For his own sake.”

Satsuki’s eyes narrowed. “By whose authority?”

“Lady Ragyo’s. of course.” Rei met her stare without hesitation. “Naturally, he accepted.”

‘Accepted...’ Satsuki suppressed a scoff, suspicion sharpening her gaze ‘...Or complied under threat? What could he have done to infuriate Mother enough to for her sideline her most loyal boot-licker?’

“I trust your presence down here in the vault implies that this is not merely a social visit?” Rei continued, smoothly cutting off Satsuki’s internal musing as her attention shifted to the older man at Kiryuin heiress’ side. “Or am I mistaken, Soroi-san?”

“Good evening to you, Hōōmaru-san.” Soroi replied calmly, bowing with impeccable form. “As Lady Satsuki’s butler, it is my duty to accompany my charge wherever she may go.”

Unperturbed by Soroi's subtle barb, the secretary turned back to Satsuki.

“Lady Satsuki,” she said evenly. “...your mother has explicitly forbidden the removal of that garment from its seal—for very good reason. You are aware of the consequences should word of this action reach Lady Ragyo’s ears?”

Satsuki turned back toward Junketsu, her expression hardening as she regarded the kamui within it’s prison.

“I am more than aware that my mother delights in reminding me who she believes still holds my leash,” Satsuki replied coolly. “Nevertheless—”

Her gaze hardened. “…I have need of Junketsu’s power & all of you will not stand in my way.”

“T-this… this is unacceptable!” barked a guard beside Rei, stepping forward before he could restrain himself. “As protectors of the Kiryūin family, it is our duty to safeguard this manor in your mother’s absence! That means you must heed our authority without question, Lady Satsuki! We cannot allow such reckless behavior—”

“Did you say you cannot allow it?” Satsuki cut in sharply, finally turning her full attention on him.

“If you truly believe that drivel, then what is stopping you from coming up here & forcing me away?” Satsuki demanded, her eyes that of ice. “Who do you think you are speaking to, dog? I am not one of my mother’s servants who cowered at your every word as though it were gospel!”

“But Lady Satsuki—this is—”

“Enough.”

Rei snapped sharply, cutting through the exchange without raising her voice. Her eyes flicked toward him, leaving the guard freezing in place under her stare.

“You tread dangerously on thin ice, my good man.” the secretary said mildly, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve. “Do remember that your role here is to protect the Kiryūin estate—not to presume command over its heir.”

The man swallowed & stepped back into formation without further protest.

Satsuki did not look at him again, for her attention had already returned to Junketsu.

"Be gone & out of my sight this instance, fools.” Satsuki commanded. With a dismissive exhale, the heiress shrugged off her uniform, exposing her bare body to everyone in sight without shame or regret “It is time that I changed.”

The guards averted from staring at Satsuki's nude body all at once, retreating from the chamber in rigid silence. While Soroi covered his eyes entirely as expected, Rei’s gaze lingered on— though not on Satsuki’s body, but that of Junketsu’s containment seal.

“…Surely you do not actually intend to wear Junketsu?” Rei said quietly. “All previous attempts to bond with that kamui resulted in the subjects being devoured. Your mother sealed it away for your protection, Lady Satsuki.”

“Did she now?” Satsuki replied, stepping away from her discarded clothes, bare feet touching the cold floor without a flinch. “Or does Mother simply assume I would obediently wait…” her voice sharpened. “…until the day she finally deems me worthy of my birthright by her standards?”

She placed her palm against the polymer seal, fingers tightening around it.

“I do not intend—as you so eloquently put it— to merely wear it.” The heiress retorted, conviction ringing in every word. “Every action I take, every step I make, every word I utter is a stepping stone toward fulfilling my ambition.”

Her grip firmed.

“And Junketsu,” she finished quietly, “...is simply another tool that will allow me to realize it sooner rather than later.”

With a sharp, decisive pull, Satsuki tore the kamui free from its plastic prison. Vault lights flared violently, emergency luminescence flooding the chamber in stark white as Junketsu’s restrained mass unfurled in midair. Rei raised one arm to shield her eyes from the sudden glare—yet she made no move to intervene.

“Know this, Kiryūin Satsuki,” Rei said calmly, her voice slicing cleanly through the alarm’s shrill whine. “If—by some miracle—you survive bonding with Junketsu…”

Her uncovered eye stared impassively. “…your days are numbered from this moment onward.”

"A care not of your warnings, Hōōmaru!" Satsuki’s voice thundered, her eyes blazing as she seized Bakuzan in one hand & Junketsu in the other. “Clothing exists to be worn!” she declared. “It is scandalous to suggest that my life could be threatened by any mere fabric—even one that dare calls itself a kamui!”

She raised Bakuzan, steel gleaming beneath the vault lights. “If a fool like Matoi Ryūko can don Senketsu,” Satsuki continued, voice ringing through the vault. “...then it is inconceivable that I cannot do the same with Junketsu!”

“My will alone far surpass hers—” her eyes burned with ruthless certainty. “—and quite possibly Midoriya Izumi’s as well.”

Satsuki dragged her finger deliberately along Bakuzan’s edge. A thin line of crimson welled, blood sliding down her skin as she raised her hand above Junketsu.

“Junketsu,” Satsuki intoned, voice steady despite the vault’s alarms. “...I offer you a single drop of my blood—the beginning of an eternal pact between you & I.”

Silence fell as thick droplets of blood fell from her finger, striking the white fabric. The moment they made contact, absorbed instantly without so much of a stain.

“And with this,” Satsuki declared. “shall the red thread binds our fate together.”

For a breathless moment, nothing happened.

Then Junketsu's eyes shot open & lunged forward. White fabric surged upward with savage force, slamming hard into Satsuki’s body like carnivore entrapping it’s prey. Her scream tore from her throat as she was hurled backward, spine arching unnaturally as the kamui wrapped around her like a living snare—threads biting into flesh & burrowing beneath her skin to ravenous hunger to consume her.

“Lady Satsuki!” Soroi & Rei shouted in unison.

“Stay back!” Satsuki roared through clenched teeth. “Mind your tongues & bear witness!”

Her body convulsed as Junketsu tighten, attempting to devour her entirely—mind, body, & soul. Life-fibers pierced deeply into her skin, drinking greedily, & flooding her consciousness beneath a sea of instinct & hunger.

“Ask not the sparrow how the eagle soars!” she snarled, forcing herself upright inch by agonizing inch. “No one on this planet shall dare surpass I, Kiryūin Satsuki!

Her hair fell forward, obscuring her face as she fought Junketsu’s will head-on.

“Not Matoi Ryūko—& certainly not Midoriya Izumi!” she bellowed. “I will suffer not of those without the ambition to wield power such as this!”

Blue energy crackled violently around her hunched form, lightning tearing through the air like a storm given will.

“If I must descend into Naraka itself—if I must rot in the depths of Tartarus Prison before the mercy of Japan’s vilest villains—to achieve my ambition, then so be it!” she screamed as the vault trembles. “Junketsu is nothing more than a garment & I will force it to acknowledge me as its master!”

Satsuki’s will slammed into Junketsu’s consciousness like a blade, shaking the vault as blue lightning tore outward in violent arcs. For several agonizing seconds, Soroi & Rei could do nothing but listen to the scream of flesh, fabric, & will locked at war with each other.

Silence follow as one heartbeat passed one after another. Fearing the worst, Soroi stepped forward followed by Rei—but slower on her part, eyes already searching for confirmation rather than hope.

Until the air exploded.

Blue light erupted skyward in a blinding pillar, roaring through the vault like a declaration of war against the heavens themselves. Eventually, the lights receded, leaving the vault scorched & irrevocably changed.

Satsuki staggered to her feet as stood amid the wreckage, clad now in a pristine white form of Junketsu that is both radiant & terrible.

Soroi let out a sigh of relief, not realizing he has been holding in a breath for some time.

As for Rei...

“…As anticipated.” she said softly. adjusting her glasses once.

The secretary turned away from the vault, leaving the two alone she climb the stairs—already reaching for her phone.

“Lady Ragyo will be pleased to learn that you survived long enough to be useful.”

END FLASHBACK:

Satsuki’s awareness snapped violently back to the present at the chime of the elevator as it’s doors slid open with a muted hiss.

The Student Council President remained seated on the floor, staring at her reflection in the polished steel wall opposite her. Blood streaked her uniform while her hair lay uneven against her shoulders where it had been cut.

'Borrowed time…'

'Days are numbered…'

The words returned uninvited, echoing against her thoughts once more like a verdict already passed. With a controlled breath, Satsuki forced herself upright & stepped from the elevator. Her posture was rigid—drawn tight by pain she refused to acknowledge

“…Was my will even enough?” she murmured as she crossed into her suite—only to falter.

A pair of hands caught her before she could fall.

“Lady Satsuki.” Soroi was there at her side instantly, steadying her weight as his charge’s knees threatened to give out.

“Please,” he said gently. “...Allow me.”

She did not protest. Pride was a luxury Satsuki could not afford in this moment & here among trusted company, vulnerability was permitted to be seen.

With measured care, her butler guided the Kiryūin heiress into the presidential suite & eased her into the high-backed chair near the window. Beyond the glass, the cityscape & academy grounds blurred as pain surged anew through her spine.

Soroi’s expression remained serene as he worked, removed her boots, her gloves,& finally Junketsu itself. The butler moved with practiced efficiency as expected of his duties: cleaning wounds, applying antiseptic, binding injuries with precise hands before draping a bathrobe around her shoulders.

Satsuki exhaled slowly.

“…Junketsu,” she murmured. “Even subdued off my body, I can feel it continuing to drain me.”

Soroi’s hands paused—only for a fraction of a second.

“Then Hōōmaru-san’s warning was not without merit.” he said quietly.

“She spoke of my days being numbered,” Satsuki’s jaw tightened. “And yet…”

Her gaze drifted to the far wall. “…I wonder if the debt is already being collected.”

Soroi finished the final bandage & stepped back, allowing silence to settle. Only then did he notice a peculiar detail.

“…Lady Satsuki,” he said carefully. “...if I may.”

She glanced toward him. “Speak freely, Mitsuzō-san.”

“…Your hair,” Soroi said gently. His gaze shifted from her wounds to the unmistakable damage framing her shoulders. “...it has been slashed.”

What once were long strands now shortened abruptly into multiple sections of jagged, uneven lengths.

Satsuki’s eyes flickered as a current memory surfaced with unwelcome clarity.

“…Midoriya Izumi,” she replied. “Caught me unaware while my attention was fixed on interrogating her. I mistook curiosity for control.”

Soroi inclined his head. “Then she reached you more deeply than anticipated.”

“Yes,” Satsuki admitted quietly. “I underestimated her… again.”

“If you permit me,” Soroi said. “… I can correct it.”

“…Please do so.” Satsuki said. “Precision matters.”

Soroi retrieved a pair of shears from a discreet compartment, stepping behind her with the same care he would employ handling a blade. The metal whispered softly as he worked, allowing uneven locks of blue-black fall soundlessly to the floor.

“Not only did I misjudge Midoriya,” she said slowly, keeping her gaze fixed on the city beyond the glass. “but this time, there were consequences.”

The shears paused for a single heartbeat before resuming.

“She already possesses remarkable mastery over her kamui,” Satsuki continued. “...yet remains unaware of its full potential, despite six months of use. And when combined with her Threadfiber Quirk…”

Soroi inclined his head. “You consider her a greater threat than Matoi Ryūko?”

“…at the moment, Midoriya already is, Mitsuzō-san.” Satsuki said at last. “But her skills, no matter how impressive, is still green.”

“For now.” Soroi finished the final adjustment & stepped back, handing her a mirror. “She will not remain so forever.”

“No,” Satsuki agreed softly, studying her reflection. “She will not.”

“Then we must also consider the greater danger.” her butler said at last. “Your mother.”

“Yes.” Satsuki’s eyes sharpened instantly, fingers curling against the armrest. “What transpired at the manor—if Mother has not already learned of Junketsu’s activation from Hōōmaru…”

“…she soon will.” Soroi finished.

Nodding, Satuki continued. “Both the timing of Kuroido’s sudden removal & Hōōmaru’s presence.” She released a quiet breath as her gaze darkened, calculations unfolding behind it. “There are far too many conveniences to be ignored.”

“You believe Lady Ragyo anticipated this your actions?”

“Perhaps she allowed it,” Satsuki replied. “…whether as a test or for her sick amusement, I do not know.”

Mitsuzō hesitated, then spoke with measured caution. “Then it is also possible others have already been dispatched given Hōōmaru-san’s sudden departure following your successful bond with Junketsu hours before.”

Satsuki’s fingers tightened.

What was meant to be a controlled evaluation—her Junketsu tested against Matoi & Midoriya—was unraveling. Managing an entire academy already strained her attention. Add her mother’s invisible gaze, & the margin for error vanished entirely.

A soft chime echoed through the suite.

Soroi turned. “Lady Satsuki—”

She nodded.

Satsuki’s breath stilled as she & Soroi turn on the wall display as it flickered to life. The feed taken from hidden elevator surveillance showed the claustrophobic, batter interior — its metal walls scarred & lights flickering under strain. At the center of the video are two figures clashing violently within the confined space of the elevator.

Matoi Ryūko & Midoriya Izumi.

Steel rang & sparks flew briefly between the two girls before escalating into a fury of punches, kicks & entire bodies slamming into walls at arm’s length, each impact amplified by the enclosure.

Satsuki watched in silence interest as the fight escalated without their usual weapons—raw, brutal, inefficient give the confinement of their environment & circumstances. Each girl battered the other, exhaustion bleeding into fury as the small distance between them turned every blow into a collision.

At least until Ryūko seized Izumi & hurled her upward. The camera jolted violently as Izumi’s body struck the ceiling, unwittingly causing the screen to dissolved into static.

“Oh dear…” Soroi murmured.

“…Interesting,” Satsuki said, expression unreadable.

Soroi glanced toward her. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”

“Neither one is holding back,” Satsuki observed coolly. “...but only Matoi is fighting to kill— poorly at that, while Midoriya is struggling to survive long enough to escape.”

“They are already halfway up the spire, according to the feed.” Soroi noted. “Shall I stop the elevator?”

“Do it.” Satsuki nodded, rising to her feet. “It will not stop them—“

The Kiryūin heiress disrobed, reaching for Junketsu once more. “But it will buy me time before the two bring the fight to me.”

Soroi did not raise his voice, nor did he choose to argue. Yet when Satsuki took hold of the kamui, the faint hesitation in his hands betrayed him.

“My lady,” he said carefully, “as your servant, I am bound to obey your will. As a man who has watched you grow, however…”

He fell silent. Restraint triumphed over protest.

“Your injuries are severe,” he finished quietly. “Wearing the kamui again will exact a heavy toll.”

“I am aware, Mitsuzō-san.” Satsuki replied evenly.

Soroi picked up the bathrobe, fingers tightened around it as his eyes—so often composed—now carried feelings of concern mixed with reluctance.

Satsuki noticed as she always did.

“You disapprove,” she said softly, not turning to face him.

Soroi inclined his head. “I would be remiss if I did not.”

A faint breath escaped the heiress.

“Whatever my mother intends to do with me,” Satsuki said quietly, “… whatever judgment she believes Junketsu will pass upon my worth… those concerns come secondary this this.”

She turned then, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“The conflict between myself, Matoi Ryūko, & Midoriya Izumi drawing nearer,” she continued. Her voice hardened resolve. “...and when it does…”

She tightened her grip on Junketsu. “…it will end on my terms.”

Soroi studied her for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he straightened. “…As you command, Lady Satsuki.”

He assisted her in silence as Satsuki dons her boots & gloves, each movement precise & reverent as though acknowledging the weight of what was to come. When he stepped back, Satsuki stood fully clad once more— her posture unbroken despite the lingering pain threading through her spine.

“Mitsuzō-san.” she said.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Please leave the spire & use the emergency exit.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“I do not wish to see an old friend caught in the crossfire.” she continued. “This confrontation does not concern you.”

For the briefest moment, Soroi hesitated—before bowing deeply as fist pressed to his chest.

“…May fortune favor you, my lady.” he said quietly. “And may your will endure.”

He turned & crossed the suite. With a subtle press against an unmarked panel, stone & steel shifted soundlessly aside revealing a concealed staircase.

Without looking back, he disappeared into the passage as the wall sealing itself behind him as though he had never been there at all.

Alone now, Satsuki drew a steady breath as the walls of her suite crackled from another brutal exchange within the elevator’s shattered confines.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Elevator Shaft, En Route to Student Council President Suite

Metal screamed.

The elevator lurched violently, its upward momentum dying in a single brutal instant as the emergency brakes slammed shut. The sudden stop sent both figures skidding across the roof, boots scraping desperately against steel.

Izumi hit first, barely managing to hook her fingers around a narrow maintenance ridge before she slid clean off towards the edge. Pain flared up her arms as she hauled herself back with both hands, chest heaving while the entire structure shuddered beneath them.

Ryūko wasn’t so lucky.

“—Fuck!”

The second-year student staggered, heels skidding as she catch herself at the last possible second before snapping upright, eyes blazing, & shoulders rolling as if daring gravity to try again

“What the hell was that?!”

The elevator groaned beneath them—cables pulled taut & internal mechanisms whining as the car settled into an uneasy, suspended stillness. Far below, the shaft yawned open into column of absolute pitch black darkness that seems to go on forever.

Izumi dragged in a breath as she took stock of the situation, realizing everything had stopped. Nothing was decelerating nor rerouting in reverse, just completely frozen. Her gaze flicked to the emergency panel inset along the roof hatch as it lay dead & unresponsive.

“Great,” Izumi said grimly. “…we’re stuck.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” Ryūko rounded on her instantly, brandishing her scissor blade. “Is this another of your cheap tricks, Threadbrain?!” she snarled. “That you trap me in a tin can & think I’ll just cool off?!”

Annoyed, Izumi straightened her jaw tight.

“Why would I stop the elevator,” she snapped back, “… when I’m stuck up here with you?!”

Ryūko froze for half a second while Izumi didn’t let up as she continued.

“You’ve been trying to beat me senseless—or carve me up or skewer me—for the last thirty minutes,” she continued sharply. “What part of that sounds like a plan I’d come up with, Matoi?!”

“Tch—don’t get smart with me, Midoriya!” Ryūko growled, stepping closer. “You’ve been dodging, running, pulling weird kamui crap with your quirk all morning—don’t tell me you can’t have mess with a stupid elevator!”

“For your information, I don’t control the school’s infrastructure!” she shot back, fists clenching in frustration. “And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t pick a place where one wrong step means falling who-knows-how-many floors straight down to my death!”

As if to punctuate her point, the elevator gave a low, ominous creak.

Ryūko’s scowl deepened… then shifted. “…Then who did this?”

Izumi’s eyes narrowed as her gaze flicked upward past the roof, beyond the layers of steel above them, toward the roof of the spire rising overhead.

“Who do you think?” she snapped. “There’s only one person at this school who benefits from keeping us both right here now.”

Ryūko followed her line of sight.

“…Satsuki.” she spatted, clicking her tongue as she rolled her shoulders & tightened her grip on her weapon. “Figures, always gotta make things dramatic.”

The elevator shuddered again—lighter this time, but enough to remind them just how precarious their footing was.

Izumi swallowed, eyes flicking briefly to the abyss below… then back to Ryūko.

“…We can’t stay here.”

“Good,” Ryūko said, a grin tugging sharp and feral at her lips—putting Izumi immediately on edge. “… I was getting bored of all small talk.”

She took a step forward. “Now quit your stalling & fight me for real this time.”

Izumi sigh in frustration. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

Ryūko lunged at Izumi, the latter barely twisted aside as the scissor blade tore through the space where her head had been. Sparks screamed as harden life-fiber scraped steel, the impact rattling the car beneath them.

“Don’t kid yourself!” Ryūko snarled, wrenching the blade free. “I’m not tired—just pissed off at you!”

Izumi stumbled back, boots skidding dangerously close to the edge. Her Threadfiber quirk snapped instinctively from her arms, anchoring her in a web of taut lines that dug into the roof of the elevator.

“Look around!” Izumi yelled. “We’re trapped! If one of us slips—”

“Then don’t!” Ryūko roared, swinging again at Izumi, who parried & retreated, extending her rapier defensively to keep her distance.

“If we keep this up,” Izumi shouted, “… both of us are going to fall!”

Ryūko froze for half a second, only to tightened her grip further.

“Then guess we settle it fast.” Her lips curled into something between a grin & a snarl.

Izumi muttered a string of curses under her breath, barely audible over the grinding of the elevator machinery above them. Ryūko wasn’t listening to reason & her obsession with payback was overriding all self-preservation & common sense—

And it was going to get them both kill at this rate.

‘Fine.’

If Ryūko wouldn’t listen, then Izumi would force a solution on her whether she liked it or not.

“…I am going to hate this,” Izumi muttered.

She surged forward in a burst of turbine-driven speed, pouring every scrap of power she could muster into the charge. The air cracked around her as distance vanished in an instant.

Ryūko reacted accordingly on instinct, swinging at her wide & furiously—

SHRRNK!

Izumi ducked beneath the arc of the blade, but Ryūko’s grin faltered the second she heard the metallic twang behind her. Her eyes snapped wide as she turned to see her Scissor Blade had bitten halfway through the elevator’s main support cable.

One more cut &—

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me—”

She didn’t get to finish as Izumi’s life fibers exploded outward like whips, coiling around Ryūko’s torso, arms, & waist before she could react. The bindings snapped tight & yanked her forward towards the greenette.

“Oof!” Ryūko’s face slammed into Izumi’s chest, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs as she crumpled to her knees.

“What the hell—?!” Ryūko barked, then froze, heat flooding her face as the reality of their proximity hit her.

‘Too close…’

Izumi’s arm locked firmly around her waist, pulling her in tighter. Where Ryūko expected a hand, she instead saw thick taut strands of life fiber extending from Izumi’s loose sleeve, & anchoring outward like carbon nano-fibers braced against the remaining supporting cables.

“Don’t argue with me!” Izumi snapped, teeth clenched as she fought the blush creeping into her own cheeks. “Just—hold on!”

“What do you—WAIT—WAIT, DON’T—”

SNAP!

With her rapier, Izumi sliced cleanly through the remaining cable.

The elevator plunged, gravity briefly seizing them before Izumi’s fibers reeled in with explosive force, ripping both girls upward as the car dropped away beneath them. They rocketed through the shaft like a fired round, walls blurring as Izumi counted under her breath, timing every spin & every shift in momentum.

“Three… two… one—NOW!”

Her rapier drove upward, hooking a protruding beam in the upper shaft. The force yanked them sideways—through a maintenance hatch, shattering a structural grate, bursting through a decorative wall panel—before finally into the Student Council President’s executive suite.

WHAM!

They hit the polished floor in a tangled sprawl, sliding across tiles and sending a chair clattering aside. Ryūko groaned, flat on her back, stars exploding behind her eyes & Izumi wasn’t faring much better—

—Finding herself both dazed & sprawled atop Ryūko face to face.

For a heartbeat, neither girl moved.

Then Ryūko blinked, followed by Izumi —both realizing simultaneously that their lips were touching each others.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH—!!”

Ryūko tore herself backward so fast she nearly headbutted Izumi in the process, scrambling to her feet with wild, flailing limbs. Her face burned crimson, embarrassment colliding violently with fury.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” she screamed, pointing accusingly. “YOU—YOU—YOU JUST—!”

“…Th-this isn’t how I wanted my first kiss to happen.” Izumi muttered weakly, face blazing with embarrassment as she groaned, one arm draped over her eyes. “Anyway, I saved your—!”

Ryūko cut her off, grabbing Shinketsu by the collar & hauled Izumi halfway upright with shaking hands.

“YOU COULD’VE WARNED ME!” Ryūko sputtered, steam practically rising from her ears. “WHY THE HELL DID YOU THOUGH USING ME AS AN ANCHOR IS A GOOD IDEA?!”

“I did warn you!” Izumi snapped.

“You said ‘don’t argue’ before you decided to CUT THE CABLE!”

“I didn’t have time to formulate a flight plan!” Izumi shot back, breathless. “Besides—you’d already cut halfway through it yourself!”

“Well next time,” Ryūko snarled, shoving her away & sending Izumi tumbling back onto the floor. “… give me a heads-up before you decide to do something completely insane!”

“Fine!” Izumi groaned, rubbing the back of her head. “…Next time I’ll ask for your permission to save your ungrateful life!”

“Grrrr—why you little—”

SCHWINK!

Both girls froze as Bakuzan’s blade slid into view, its polished edge hovering inches from their faces.

Kiryūin Satsuki stood over them, fully clad once more in Junketsu’s pristine form. Her posture was immaculate, her expression smooth & unimpressed—though the arch of her eyebrow alone radiated a withering, almost mocking judgment.

“…So,” she said coolly, voice carrying unquestionable authority, “…you have decided to bring your conflict into my domain, Midoriya.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Izumi—then returned to Ryūko.

“…And you brought company.” she deliberately pause. “Am I—” another beat, exquisitely timed “—interrupting something between the two of you?”

Satsuki did not repeat herself, simply allowing the awkward silence to stretch as she is savoring the pair of squirming, blushing messes before her far too much. Bakuzan remained perfectly steady in her hand, its gleaming edge a hair’s breadth from Ryūko’s nose.

One careless shift, a flinch too far—& blood would follow.

“…Well?” Satsuki prompted at last.

Ryūko swallowed hard, slowly raising her hands in what might generously be called a non-threatening gesture. “Look—uh—this isn’t what it looks like.”

Satsuki’s eyebrow rose another fraction.

“…So you say, Matoi,” she replied evenly. “Because from my vantage point, it appears exactly as it seems: two intruders crashing into my executive suite, destroying school property, & engaging in…some rather close-quarters interaction.”

Her gaze moved between them—both girls flushing under the weight of her scrutiny.

“…Get up,” Satsuki said at last, her eyes tracked them like a hawk watching prey. “It is unbecoming to have guests groveling on my floor.”

Ryūko scowled but complied, pushing herself to her feet & snapping her Scissor Blade back into a defensive grip.

Izumi followed more cautiously, bracing a hand against the floor as she pushed herself into a seated position. Pain lanced through her ribs; she hissed—but straightened anyway, lifting her chin to meet Satsuki’s gaze without flinching as her fingers tightened around her rapier.

Satsuki lowered Bakuzan just enough to signal restraint

“I see you both arrived in one piece.” the Student Council President continued coolly. “That is more than I expected.”

“Yeah?” Ryūko shot back, bristling. “Didn’t you run off earlier after Midoriya kicked your ass & gave you a new haircut?”

Satsuki’s eyes snapped to her instantly—resisting the reflex to touch where her hair had been unevenly slashed.

“I withdrew, Matoi.” Satsuki corrected, tone sharpening like a drawn blade. “There is a difference. One you would understand if you possessed even a fragment of skill.”

Ryūko snarled & stepped forward—

Izumi snapped an arm out to stop her. “Matoi-san—don’t.”

“Stay out of it!” Ryūko barked, slapping Izumi’s hand aside. “Princess is asking for it!”

Satsuki noticed. Her full, undivided attention shifted to Izumi now, pressure settling into the room like a descending weight.

“Midoriya...,” she said quietly. “… I was forced to place Junketsu into temporary dormancy after our battle.” Her eyes narrowed. “All because of you.”

“I did it so you’d stop bleeding yourself dry,” Izumi replied evenly, not bothering to deny it as she glanced toward Ryūko. “… just like I did with Matoi-san—until she decided she wanted another round, unfortunately.”

Ryūko stiffened & for a split second, the fury on her face fractured—cracked by something rawer. The second-year’s fingers curled tighter around her Scissor Blade, knuckles whitening, jaw grinding as if she might shatter her teeth.

“…What did you say?” she growled dangerously, leveling her scissor blade at Izumi.

“I stopped you from tearing yourself apart.” Izumi said plainly, her patience thinning. “You already were pale from excessive blood loss by the time I intervene & your heart rate was unstable. Another minute & you would’ve collapsed on your own—or worse.”

Ryūko took a step forward—

“…Tch.”

—before stopping, her shoulders rising with a slow & steady breath. For the first time since the fight began, the second-year student’s voice dropped.

“…You sure about that, Green?”

Izumi blinked, both surprised & hopeful.

“I-I’m certain.” the first-year said carefully. “If I’m lying, then just ask your own kamui, Matoi-san.”

Ryūko hesitated as her grip loosened by a fraction.

‘She’s listening.’ Izumi felt her shoulders ease. ‘Good, I’m finally getting through to—‘

“Or perhaps,” Satsuki sneered, a faint smirk curving her lips as she pressed deliberately after the tension had begun to ease. “Matoi is simply incompetent—”

“Kiryūin-san—” Izumi’s head snapped up, lifting her rapier in warning against Satsuki.

“Just a quirkless girl,” Satsuki continued smoothly, Bakuzan angling toward Ryūko without fear of Izumi’s threat, “…who merely lucked her way into squeezing herself into a kamui.”

Ryūko’s shoulders shook once.

“Midoriya, at least, had six months to master her kamui,” Satsuki went on, merciless. “Whereas I have already tamed Junketsu.”

Her gaze flicked between them, all three girls leveling their blades at each other in perfectly held Mexican standoff.

“If you insist on embarrassing yourselves, at least do so efficiently.”

Something inside Ryūko snapped back into place.

“Don’t—” she growled, stepping forward—

“Matoi-san, please—” Izumi pleaded

“DON’T YOU DARE LOOK DOWN AT ME LIKE THAT, KIRYŪIN SATSUKI!”

Ryūko surged forward, rage detonated through her limbs as she swung the Scissor Blade in a brutal, diagonal arc aimed straight for Satsuki.

“Hmph.” Satsuki smirked. “How predictable…”

Bakuzan met it head-on, the hardened life-fibers along its edge screamed as Satsuki intercepted with flawless, merciless precision—

—but neither blade reached its mark as a third presence forced itself between them.

CLICK!

Izumi’s rapier snapped outward mid-motion, its handle telescoping in her grip. The weapon reconfigured in a heartbeat—its needle-thin blade shooting forward to catch Ryūko’s Scissor Blade dead-on, halting its momentum just inches away from Satsuki’s throat.

At the same time, the rapier’s reinforced shaft extended backward, locking it into a spear-like form as Izumi twisted her hips & slammed it sideways—

—CLANG!

Bakuzan crashed against it just as Satsuki’s counterstroke came down, the redirected force skidded in a violent spray of sparks across the marble floor instead of bisecting Ryūko from shoulder to hip.

“WHAT/What?!” Both Ryūko & Satsuki shouted in perfect, disbelieving unison.

“ENOUGH!” Izumi barked, planting herself between them. Her heels skidded across the polished tiles as both kamui wearers bore down on her from opposite sides.

“BOTH OF YOU—STOP IT!”

Strain tore through her arms & shoulders as her heels dug in, forming spider-web shaped cracks beneath her boots.

“NO!” Ryūko roared back, forcing down harder. Raw fury poured into her Scissor Blade shrieking against the rapier’s needle point. “She’s MINE!”

“You dare…” Satsuki’s eyes narrowed, Bakuzan pressing forward with merciless precision, her voice cutting like frost. “…presume authority over me, Midoriya?”

The pressure spiked—steam blasting from both kamuis’ exhaust vents as their wearers pushed simultaneously in unison as their combined force surged past even Shinketsu’s reinforced limits.

Gritting her teeth, Izumi risked one hand as crimson threads erupted from her palm, firing upward like a living grappling hook. The red filament latched onto the ceiling as she collapsed the rapier back into its compact form & yanked herself skyward.

The executive suite erupted into chaos as the final gridlock between Ryūko & Satsuki was violently torn apart. The sudden absence of Izumi’s resistance sent both kamui wearers beneath her lurching forward. They stumbled before then colliding hard, bodies rebounding off one another in a tangled mess of limbs.

Satsuki recovered instantly, glancing up just in time to leap aside as the chandelier came crashing down & obliterating the spot she had occupied seconds earlier.

Unfortunately, Ryūko wasn’t so lucky.

The chandelier slammed down on her with a deafening crash, pinning her beneath its shattered bulk & leaving her at the mercy of yet another massive object attempting to crush her flat—for what had to be the nth time today.

“Ghh—!”

Izumi didn’t even spare it a glance as she dropped from above & lunged at Satsuki from behind before her boots had fully touched the floor. Her rapier snapping up in a sharp, disarming arc aimed straight for Bakuzan’s hilt to disarm her.

Rather than retreat, Satsuki side stepped into Izumi’s guard instead. Junketsu’s life-fibers flared blue as Satsuki’s grip shot out, fingers clamping around Izumi’s forearm with iron force.

“—I have you again, Midoriya.” said Satsuki, dragging the smaller girl forward & wrenching her close until they were face to face again.

Immediately, Izumi felt the familiar, crushing paining detonating up her arm as her leverage vanished under Satsuki’s crushing grip.

“Not this time, Kiryūin!” Izumi shouted as she released her rapier—the weapon dropped from her trapped hand & landing cleanly into her free palm.

CLANG!

Bakuzan screamed as Izumi caught & parried Satsuki’s follow-up strike on the needle blade, sparks exploding inches from her face.

The first-year student didn’t gave her older classmate a moment to recover from shock as she slammed her the rapier’s pommel forward—

THUD!

Again—

THUD—THUD!

And again—

THUD—THUD—THUD!

The handle telescoped in & out in brutal, piston-fast bursts, hammering into Satsuki’s torso like a jackhammer tearing through concrete. Junketsu’s fibers flared defensively, absorbing what they could—but the stagger came anyway, each impact forcing breath from Satsuki’s lungs.

“…Ghk—!”

Satsuki’s loosening grip was all Izumi needed for her counter.

The piston rhythm cut off abruptly as the smaller girl shifted her weight & snapped the blade upward in a sudden, vicious feint—before twisting her wrists & drove the edge across in a clean, lethal arc aimed straight for Satsuki’s midline.

CLANG!

Satsuki reacted without hesitation as Bakuzan came up hard, both of her hands locking onto the blade this time as her stance widened & Junketsu’s blue fibers surged & glow to reinforce her guard.

Exactly as greenette had predicted.

The instant the older girl committed both hands, Izumi’s freed palm snapped open. Crimson life-fibers quickly erupted behind Satsuki, snaking across the executive suite in a blink before they latched onto their target. Five of the largest alcohol bottles were ripped clean from the bar behind her, wood splintering as the threads yanked them free & hurled them forward all at once.

CRASH!

Liquid exploded outward in a stinging, reeking wave as the glass bottles shattered on impact against Satsuki’s, drenching Junketsu & stunning her mid-guard.

“…Ugh—!”

Izumi surged in, taking advantage of the Student Council President’s moment of weakness to drive the rapier’s reinforced base forward with everything she had.

THOOM!

The bottom end slammed into Satsuki’s torso, the force buckling Junketsu’s fibers as the impact launched her backward crashing into the bar in a shower of glass & shattered shelves. Bottles rained down after her, bursting on marble & flesh alike as alcohol cascaded over her sprawled form.

The room reeked & for the first time since the clash began, Izumi had space.

She let of a sigh of relief—

—and paid for it.

“RYAAAAH!”

Ryūko slammed into her from the side, tackling Izumi full-force before the latter could react. The two skidded across the alcohol-slick floor as momentum carry them straight toward the far wall.

Izumi reacted on instinct, firing crimson fibers from her palm as it safety latched onto a marble pillar. The line snapped taut as she twisted & redireced their trajectory at the last second, sending girls crashing sideways instead into a massive, overstuffed sofa piled high with stuffed animal plushies.

The impact sent plush toys exploding into the air—bears, rabbits, & videogame mascots flying everywhere as the cushions swallowed the force of the collision.

Izumi landed hard in the plush pile, breath knocked clean out of her lungs as pastel animal limbs exploded around her in a storm of cotton & buttons.

Ryūko landed on top of her, groaning.

For exactly half a second, neither of them moved.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“…Get off me, Matoi!” Izumi wheezed, half-buried beneath a giant teddy bear & something vaguely penguin-shaped. “I’m not kissing you again!”

“…S-hut up, Midoriya.” Ryūko shot back, panting & flushing furiously. “… And this is where we land?”

“Would you prefer being stuck under the chandelier?” Izumi retorted, shoving a stuffed bunny out of her face. “If you hadn’t tackled me while I was—”

She froze. “…Uh-oh.”

A deep, furious thrum cut through the room. The couch lurched as both girls’ eyes snapped past each other just in time to see a grand piano—previously very much not airborne—came screaming toward them.

“MOVE!” Izumi barked.

They kicked off each other simultaneously—boots slamming into ribs, shoulders, plush toys—launching themselves clear of each other just as the piano obliterated the couch in a splintering crash.

Stuffed animals were vaporized as the piano skidded past them, keys shrieking like dying ghosts as it slammed into the wall & rebounded.

“DAMMIT, KIRYŪIN SATSUKI!” Ryūko shouted.

Satsuki stood unmoved at the far end of the suite, eyes burning in cold fury as her alcohol-soakedhair plastered to her face.

“…Enough of this foolishness.” she said, voice low & venomous in tone.

What followed was pure chaos as the surprisingly durable piano came at them again.

Ryūko vaulted onto the lid mid-slide & sprinted along its length as it skidded across floor. Using its momentum, she hurled herself at Satsuki—

—only for the Student Council President to kick the piano sideways mid-charge, sending Ryūko tumbling end over end.

Izumi slid beneath the shifting bulk, her silver-&-teal boots sparking as she ducked low. More life-fibers snapped out, yanking a dangling pedal just long enough to wrench the piano’s trajectory back toward Satsuki—

—who leapt & landed atop it, riding the instrument like a war chariot straight back at them.

“You dare desecrate my suite!” Satsuki roared.

Ryūko snarled, skidding into position towards Izumi. “Then I send you the bill!”

The three clashed again—blade on blade—using the piano as both a shield & battering ram. Keys shattered & strings snapped as the lid slammed open & shut like a guillotine while all three fought around it—over it—under it & through it.

Finally, Ryūko got her opportunity & drove an elbow into Izumi’s side, forcing smaller girl back before slamming her bodily into the piano’s flank—

BANG!

Before Izumi could recover, Ryūko grabbed the lid & slammed it shut over her with a thunderous crash.

“Hey—!”

“Make yourself useful!” Ryūko yelled as she pivoted on her heel & kicked, launching the grand piano forward. Its massive weight slid across the marble floor at terrifying speed, aimed straight at Satsuki to run over her like a runaway battering ram.

Ryūko almost smiled before she felt something yanked violently at her leg as she look down.

“—Ah fuc—” her curse cut off as thick life-fiber cords cinched around the second-year’s ankle, trailing back to the piano she’d just sent hurtling ahead as it drags her with it.

Satsuki’s eyes widened a fraction before bracing head on. Both her arms shot forward as the piano slammed into her with thunderous force, heels carving twin trenches through the marble as she skidded backward. Muscles screamed as Junketsu vent steam, reinforcing her frame as she pushed back against the crushing momentum.

The suite shuddered & with a sharp breath, Satsuki twisted her shoulders & redirected the mass by using the piano’s own weight to wrench it sideways.

—leaving her exposed just long enough for a dragged Ryūko to crash into her a heartbeat later as the cords round her leg unraveled & recoiled. Both kamui wearers skidded to a stop inches away from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The runaway piano behind them smashed through in an explosion of glass & steel, showing the two with shards of broken glass as the instrument tumbled end over end into open air.

Izumi burst free from the falling wreckage just in time, half-crouched amid broken keys & snapping wires, teeth clenched as she fired life-fibers to yank herself back into the suite.

Landing hard on her stomach with an exhausted thud, silence followed as wind howled through the ruined executive suite as carrying the distant sound of the piano finally shatter down below.

Three girls stood amid wreckage, glass, & soaked marble. Panting, tired & exhausted as they are, Ryuko, Satsuki & Izumi all glared at each other, refusing to to be first to give in.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Courtyard, Mid Morning

Meanwhile, the school’s courtyard down below had become a holding pen for the time being.

No-Star & One-Star students stood clustered in uneven groups beneath the looming spire, whispers rippling through the crowd like static. Some leaned on friends while others sat on the cold, moist ground clutching their bruised ribs or wrapped wrists. Torn uniforms—some sliced clean through by razor-thin fibers by a certain green-haired girl—fluttered in the wind like surrender flags.

No one had been dismissed to class, despite the school day having begun over an hour ago.

Nor has anyone been reassured about what was happening at the moment.

All anyone knew was the order by Disciplinary Chair Leader, Gamagōri Ira, they’d all been given:

“REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE!”

That—and the unmistakable knowledge that the building behind them was actively coming apart. The spire groaned overhead, debris still falling intermittently, which was why entry had been barred to everyone already outside… much to the confusion of students who kept arriving, only to be herded into the growing mass.

The Biology Club moved through the masses with methodical precision. Members carried portable medical kits & diagnostic scanners, applying bandages while administering coagulants & painkillers with brisk efficiency to every student. For every injury that was cataloged, any unusual fiber laceration was photographed & quietly logged as well.

Nearby, the Sewing Club followed in their wake.

Smiles were offered & apologies murmured as long lines of naked or near-naked students formed to receive their replacement uniforms. New garments were distributed according to rank—an ideal opportunity to field-test recently developed life-fiber–resistant fabric prototypes under the guise of emergency issue.

Destroyed uniforms were collected in exchange, samples immediately analyzed for thread damage, residue, & stress patterns.

At the base of the academy steps, the Elite Four were drowning beneath a mountain of paperwork that only grew larger as reports poured in from every direction.

Administrators—ashen-faced—spoke in rushed bursts.

Teachers fled the building in ones & twos, some missing glasses, others with scorched sleeves or splintered batons.

Student volunteers under Gamagōri’s authority ran themselves ragged ferrying updates, each more catastrophic than the last.

“—West wing, third floor, completely destroyed!”

“—Dormitory access halls are caved in!”

“—Two stairwells collapsed!”

“—Elevator shafts compromised!”

“—Basement flooding from ruptured water lines!”

“—The cafeteria staff are threatening to resign!”

“—Structural damage to the executive levels—!”

Gamagōri’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his veins bulging at his temples as he crushed a clipboard in one massive hand.

“THIS—” he roared, stabbing a finger toward the spire, “—IS AN UNPRECEDENTED VIOLATION OF ACADEMIC ORDER!”

He rounded on the nearest administrator.

“CLASSES WILL BE SUSPENDED! ENTIRE WINGS SEALED! REPAIRS WILL TAKE MONTHS!” He sucked in a breath so sharp it whistled. “AND I KNOW EXACTLY WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!”

“Oh boy...” Jakuzure Nonon groaned loudly, slouching against her instrument case. “… here we go.”

Gamagōri slammed his heel into the steps of the school.

“MATŌI RYŪKO!” he thundered. “THAT DELINQUENT WHOSE SHAMELESS BODY FIRST CRASHED INTO THIS SCHOOL AFTER BEING LAUNCHED BY LADY SATSUKI HERSELF!”

“Aren’t you a little too quick to pin everything on Matoi?” the short girl shot back, straightening as she jabbed a finger skyward.

He folded his arms, muscles corded tight. “THIS ACADEMY HAS KNOWN NOTHING BUT CHAOS EVER SINCE HER ARRIVAL!”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong—Scissor-Girl’s a walking lawsuit,” Jakuzure snapped. “But don’t pretend Hero-Girl is some innocent bystander either!”

Gamagōri shot her a glance. “Explain.”

“Well, if you actually look around you…” the pink-haired girl continued, voice rising, “…Midoriya left us to manage a courtyard full of half-dead, beaten students while she charged inside to play hero like she’s the next All Might or something!”

She gestured broadly toward the groaning spire above them. “And for all we know—she’s might as well be just as responsible for all the property damage up in there as Matoi!”

Sanageyama Uzu snorted, arms folded behind his head in amusement.

“Aw, c’mon, Jakuzure,” he said lightly. “You’re just sore ’cause she picked you up & hauled you around like one of your plushies earlier.”

Nonon froze. Slowly & dangerously, she turned.

“…Say that again, monkey boy!”

Uzu grinned. “I said—”

WHAM!

Her boot connected with his face in a sharp, decisive kick that sent him sprawling backward into the stone with a yelp.

“OW—! THE HELL, NONON?!”

“Hmph!” She turned away with a huff, crossing her arms, cheeks burning.

Sighing, Gamagōri drew in a very deep breath, preparing to reprimand his two bickering comrades —

—when the sky shattered.

Glass exploded outward from the upper levels of the spire, raining down on the academy in a glittering cascade. Every head in the courtyard snapped upward, eyes tracking the impossible trajectory of a massive wooden shape hurtling from the executive suite above.

A grand piano—Lady Satsuki’s prized, lacquered instrument—soared like a meteor, polished wood gleaming beneath the afternoon sun.

“LOOK OUT!”

Panic detonated across the courtyard as No-Star & One-Star students screamed, scattering from the incoming impact zone in blind terror. Biology Club members abandoned triage positions, dragging the injured with them as Sewing Club assistants dropped uniforms & sprinted for safety. Medical kits spilled, scanners clattered across floor & half-finished bandages were left fluttering away on the wind.

The piano smashed into the courtyard in a deafening explosion of wood, steel, & shattered keys. The ground buckled under the impact, stone cracking outward as debris skidded & bounced across the tiles in every direction.

Dust & splinters filled the air as awkward silence followed. Shards of glass continued to fall like rain as the last broken strings wailed & went still. All eyes remained locked on the smoking crater where the piano had died.

“Is that…” Sanageyama muttered, craning his neck. “…the piano from Lady Satsuki’s suite?”

Before anyone could answer—

BOOM!

A second explosion tore through the spire. The sound rolled outward like thunder, followed by a blinding shockwave that ripped across the courtyard. Windows disintegrated from high above, spraying shards across terraces & walkways as everyone below ran for cover.

Two figures were hurled from the tower like ragdolls.

Matoi Ryūko hit first as her body slammed into the courtyard with bone-jarring force, knocking dozens of students into the air. The ground collapsed beneath her, carving a deep crater & trench as uniforms & rubble scattered like confetti.

A heartbeat later, Kiryūin Satsuki body followed bursting upward through the ruined ceiling of the spire, before dropped landing atop the roof the academy’s highest reaches with a heavy thud. Her Junketsu-clad form rose only slightly before settling, blue fibers glinting beneath the sun

The Elite Four went still.

Gamagōri Ira’s face darkened like an approaching storm. He drew in a breath, closed his eyes, counted to ten, & rigidly attempted a breathing technique in the order—anything to keep his barely contained rage from boiling over.

“…This… this cannot be happening,” he muttered through clenched teeth, fists tightening so hard that his knuckles went white.

Inumuta Hōka’s voice cut in from behind him as data flickered across a projected screen.

“According to structural readings, Midoriya Izumi is currently buried beneath collapsed ceiling debris within the ruins of Lady Satsuki’s suite. Compression forces indicate significant injury, but vital signs remain stable—for now. Immediate extraction is required.”

Sanageyama whistled sharply, jaw slack.

“Wait—hold on. You’re telling me all that just happened…”He gestured helplessly. “...and it took out two transfer students and Lady Satsuki at the same time?”

Jakuzure Nonon’s eyes flicked toward the smoke-filled spire, a grimace spreading across her face

“Who cares about that?!” she snapped, arms crossed. “I want to know if my plushy collection survived!”

The possibility struck her like a physical blow as her lip trembled.

“…From available data feeds,” Inumuta replied evenly. “… it is highly unlikely anything within the suite escaped unscathed.”

“Grr—!” Nonon snarled. “This has Midoriya’s name all over it. I just know it!”

The courtyard fell silent for a heartbeat—broken only by the wind whipping dust & debris across shattered stone. Students stared at the crater as Ryūko began to stir, while others coughed, staggered, or stood frozen in stunned disbelief.

Gamagōri stepped forward as if to reassert order—but even he hesitated, caught between fury, disbelief, & dread.

“The structural integrity of the executive levels is critically compromised,” Inumuta continued. “Secondary collapses are highly probable. I recommend immediate quarantine of the entire spire.”

Sanageyama let out a low whistle, hands rising to his mouth.

“…Just what kind of fight,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the wreckage. “produces this kind of carnage?”

Location: Honnōji Academy – Student Council President Suite

The collapsed ceiling had turned the once pristine president suite into a graveyard of splintered beams, shattered marble, & jagged glass. Dust hung thick in the air, coating everything in a fine gray veil.

Izumi hauled herself up from the wreckage, hands scrabbling over broken ceiling tile as rubble crunched beneath her palms. She dragged herself free as eyes swept the ruined suite, surveying the destruction.

“In hindsight…” she muttered, wincing, “…that was a terrible move to do.”

But then her gaze fell downward & froze.

Where Shinketsu’s normally serene teal should have been, color bled & flared into a dangerous glowing shade of magenta, the light cutting through the dust like molten steel against her kamui’s silver fabric.

‘No—no, not already…’ Izumi panic as fear prickled along her spine.

She knew that color & the last time Shinketsu had been forced into this state, everything had already gone horribly wrong long before then. The unpleasant memory clawed at the edges of her mind—of before the expulsion, before—

‘No! Stop! Don’t look back!’ Izumi shuddered & cut the thought off. ‘Focus on what’s happening now!’

She drew a slow breath, forcing her pulse to settle as rational thought reasserted itself.

‘Because once Shinketsu shuts down for the day… my options become very limited.’

Izumi hissed & shielded her eyes as a sudden harsh pale light flooded the room, pouring in through the jagged hole in the ceiling.

‘Light?’ she thought, squinting. ‘What—did Shiozaki-san transfer to Honnōji or—‘

The glow began to moved. Her eyes tracked it as it slid downward, away from the broken ceiling & toward the open courtyard beyond the shattered windows.

“…Kiryūin Satsuki.” Izumi muttered.

She crawled forward, brushing glass & debris aside, as she peered through the broken frame.

Below her, the courtyard had become another battlefield as both Ryūko & Satsuki were already locked in renewed combat once again. They moved like a pair of colliding natural disasters as sparks burst with every impact of their blade & shockwaves rippled as if it cracked the air itself.

Izumi stared, her eye twitching.

“Again?!” she muttered, a sharp edge of disbelief cutting through her exhaustion.

She resisted the urge to yank at her hair, dragging a hand slowly down her face instead as she exhaled.

“Every time I try to step in…” she sighed, voice tight. “…one of those idiots always ruins it.”

Izumi thought back to every attempt she’d made this morning—to separate Ryūko & Satsuki, to de-escalate, to physically restrain one or the other for their own good.

Every single attempt had ended the same way.

Deflected.

Ignored.

Overpowered.

Or provoked into an even worse escalation—sometimes all of the above, not necessarily in that order.

From the broken windows of the ruined suite, the sounds of their fight carried up to her: shouts, snarls, threats, taunts—declarations hurled with enough force to rattle what little glass remained. Distance & debris swallowed the intensity of their words themselves, reducing them to raw emotion rather than meaning.

Izumi couldn’t tell what Ryūko & Satsuki were actually yelling about as they to carve each other up. Nor does she know what history they both shared, which line had been crossed first by whom & when, or why one of them hated the other this fiercely—

All of that doesn’t really matter to Izumi other than the fact was that they just wouldn’t stop.

Below, the courtyard bore the proof as entire sections of wall had been torn open & fresh craters scarred the ground with every exchange. Despite Gamagōri’s frantic efforts to keep the students clear, bursts of shockwaves continue to fling unlucky bystanders through the air like ragdolls.

Friendly fire mixed seamlessly with collateral damage again & again.

Izumi’s shoulders sagged. “…I really tried.” she murmured.

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead briefly against the cracked stone beside the shattered window frame.

‘Maybe I’m just… not enough.’

She looked again as another clash thundered below.

—this time, she saw it.

Ryūko’s swings were wider now, sloppier even. Her footing faltered as she forced her way through debris instead of vaulting cleanly over it.

Satsuki’s movements had dulled to the point of being readable—fractional delays, heavier landings, posture subtly compensating where Junketsu could no longer fully support her.

They were still terrifying, but they were clearly exhausted.

Their blades rang less cleanly as precision gave way to brute force. Slashes devolved into punches while kicks replaced strikes here & then. It’s now the clash of two titans grinding against each other on fumes, long past the point where reason had any say.

Izumi’s eyes narrowed.

“…You’re both near your limit,” she whispered as realization settled in. “Then maybe… just maybe…”

As if in response, Shinketsu tugged insistently at her shoulders.

“I know, Shinketsu.” Izumi said softly before straightening herself, fingers curling at her sides.

“Come on. We don’t have much time left.”

The kamui’s magenta glow pulsed faintly as its turbines droned unevenly.

“This is probably our last chance.” Izumi continued, her gaze locked on the battlefield below. “The last—best—opportunity we have to end this in one move.”

She swallowed.

“Two birds with one stone.” she added quietly. “Just like All Might would’ve said back at U.A.”

The fabric around above her chest tightened as Shinketsu’s eyes shifted upward, violet pupils narrowing in a subtle but unmistakable protest.

Izumi looked down at her Kamui.

“I know you don’t like it,” she said gently. “… & I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

Their eyes met—Shinketsu’s glowing gold iris level with her own green gaze.

“But you know them,” Izumi continued. “We’ve both seen it before. People like Ryūko & Satsuki won’t back down because their pride would never allow it.”

“For their own good,” Her voice remained firmed. “… someone is going to have to force the issue.

Shinketsu’s eyes shifted again, the glow dimming before flaring in a way that could only be interpreted as a long, weary sigh.

“…Yeah,” Izumi muttered. “I figured.”

A small, tired smile tugged at her lips.

“That’s why I need your help.” she said softly. “I can’t do this without you.”

For a moment, Shinketsu remained still. Then the kamui’s eyes shifted, angling upward just slightly as the glow shine with unmistakable smugness.

“…Thank you.” Izumi snorted despite herself as she turned away from the ledge.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, the rapier extended—segments snapping into place as the weapon lengthened into its spear form once more, the reinforced shaft humming faintly with power.

Izumi backed toward the shattered wall of the suite on the far opposite side, boots crunching over glass as Shinketsu rerouted its remaining energy to the turbine on her back. The engine’s hum rose into a strained, protesting whine as it struggled to maintain consistency.

“One shot.” Izumi murmured.

Stone blurred beneath her feet as she broke into a run, sprinting full-tilt toward the broken window before leaping off the edge without hesitation.

The turbines roared as Izumi Midoriya hurled herself back into the storm, carrying the last of Shinketsu’s strength straight toward the heart of the battlefield.

Location: Honnōji Academy – Courtyard

The courtyard trembled beneath the force of their blows as Ryūko & Satsuki’s blades clashed again & again, sparks flying like miniature lightning storms with every impact. Each strike sent violent reverberations rippling across the academy grounds, knocking back anyone unlucky enough to be caught too close.

Ryūko’s heavy breaths tore from her chest in a series harsh, uneven gasps. Sweat plastered her red-streak hair to her face, her swings wide & heavy as fury replaced precision. Across from her, Satsuki’s posture remained proud—but only just barely. Junketsu lagged half a heartbeat behind her commands, steam venting in uneven bursts as her landings grew heavier, her movements fractionally delayed.

Still, both sets of eyes burned with unwavering intensity as they charged simultaneously for a final, decisive strike.

Neither noticed the shadow falling from above as Izumi cut through the air like a streak of silver & teal with her rapier-spear extended downward aimed straight for the collision point.

Under normal circumstances, Ryūko & Satsuki would have only need a second to react were their senses & reflexes weren’t dulled by fatigue.

Ryūko’s Scissor Blade slammed into Izumi’s needle-thin tip, meeting resistance where none should have existed. The collision compressed both strikes inward—forcing Bakuzan down as Satsuki’s own blow was overpowered in a fraction of a second.

The courtyard collapsed inward.

For a breathless instant, the air vanished—an invisible vacuum that dragged everything toward the epicenter before detonating outward in a bone-jarring shockwave before Izumi even touched the ground.

Students of every rank & year were ripped off their feet while teachers & staff members were flung bodily across the school ground. Equipment from the both Biology and Sewing Clubs—medical kits, scanners, replacement uniforms—spiraled through the air alongside mountains of paperwork.

Even the Elite Four, of all people here, were thrown back.

Jakuzure Nonon grabbed Gamagōri instinctively as his massive frame staggered, nearly toppling them both. Inumuta’s data feeds erupted into chaotic spikes as his regalia’s fibers anchored him to the ground. Sanageyama shielded his eyes, awe bleeding through the shock despite himself & he braved the oncoming storm.

Dust & debris finally settled as silence fell over the courtyard, punctuated only by the distant groans of the wind.

At the center of the courtyard, Ryūko & Satsuki lay sprawled & disarmed with their kamuis deactivated & weapons pined to the ground.

A single, slender rapier-spear stood planted like a flagpole between them, its reinforced shaft driven deep into the hard ground. Izumi stood at its center, shoulders heaving, knees locked only by stubborn will. Her silver-&-magenta kamui glowing a faint dull as Shinketsu’s turbines whined inconstantly, the light around her flickering as it struggled to stabilize.

Izumi had to brace herself against the spear to keep from swaying as Bakuzan lay crushed beneath the Scissor Blade, both trapped under the spear’s head through small gap at the center of the crimson blade. Under this precise configuration, both Ryūko & Satsuki’s weapons were left completely immobilized.

Both combatants scrambled to sit up, disbelief, fury, & shock quickly flashing across their faces. Ryūko in particular was the first to move, the second-year’s hands shaking as she reached for her weapon.

“Dammit—” she gasped, sweat dripping from her chin as she strained futilely to wrench the Scissor Blade free. The muscle in her fatigued arms burned as her grip slipped. “—let go already!”

“Not… until you cool down… Matoi-san,” Izumi said, voice rough. She forced the words out between breaths, glare steady even as her chest hitched. “Haven’t you & Kiryūin-san… done enough damage… already?”

“Tch—don’t—” Ryūko barked, then had to pause, sucking in air. “—don’t get all high & mighty on me, Midoriya! Now move—!”

Her voice cracked across the courtyard, more hoarse than furious now. “I’m… not done yet!”

Izumi didn’t move from her spot as she straightened her posture slowly, visibly fighting the tremor in her legs.

“Well,” she spoke, her tone was flat, but heavy with exhaustion & resolve. “...you are, Matoi-san. Whether you like it or not.”

Ryūko scoffed weakly. “You don’t… get to decide that.”

“But I do.”

Satsuki’s voice cut in & for the first time, she was struggling to catcher her breath as well.

“…I yield.”

Location: Honnōji Academy – Spire

High above Honnōji Academy, where the spire had been torn open like a broken crown, a lone figure sat atop the wreckage.

When the courtyard below imploded & detonated—bodies flung outward, concrete folding in on itself—a ripple of soft pink slipped effortlessly through the chaos. Shockwaves passed her by as she seem to defy gravity entirely. By the time the rising dust plume reached high enough to brush the shattered spire, she was already there, seated neatly atop a fractured slab of stone.

Harime Nui swung her legs idly over the abyss, heels tapping broken concrete in a lazy, childish rhythm—as though the devastation below were nothing more than a stage hastily rearranged for her entertainment.

She was petite, doll-like: a slender teenage girl dressed in a richly ornate pink lolita-style gown layered with lace & ribbons with knee-high boots & fingerless gloves dyed the same delicate hue. A closed parasol rested against her shoulder, held more like a toy than a weapon.

Long blonde hair cascaded down her back in glossy, drill-like pigtails, with smaller curls framing her face. A large pink bow crowned her head. One sapphire-blue eye gleamed brightly while the other lay hidden beneath a purple eyepatch, a trait that somehow only made her smile wider.

Below her, the courtyard erupted into chaos.

Students screamed while teachers shouted orders. Dust swallowed the air as three figures lay at the epicenter of destruction—two fallen, one still standing, glowing silver & magenta.

Nui leaned forward slightly, resting her chin in her hands.

“Ooooh~” she hummed, delighted. “There it is.”

She watched without a flicker of concern as the shockwave finished rippling outward, soft bodies tumbling & the entire courtyard beginning to rain down uniforms, medical equipment, &—oh—so much paperwork.

“Aww, phooey~” Nui pouted suddenly, kicking her heels against the rubble. “I missed out on the very beginning.”

She leaned back on her palms, her gaze drifting lazily across the shattered campus below—the broken courtyard, the settling dust & the distant figures scattering like ants regaining their bearings.

“I even took a detour from my usual errands for this.” she complained lightly. “All that trouble, & I only caught the ending without any contexts to what’s going on~”

Her pout lasted exactly two seconds before her smile returned—brighter & sharper than ever, yet unmistakably wrong.

“…Still~” Nui hummed, clasping her parasol & twirling it once. “…that little detour Hōōmaru suggested wasn’t completely pointless.”

Her visible eye sparkled as it locked onto the lone figure still standing at the center of the devastation.

“After all,” she sang softly, “…I finally got to see her.”

Nui pressed a finger to her cheek, giggling at the figure she sees before her—silver light flaring magenta glow, a spear planted like judgment itself.

“Ohhh, she’s even prettier in person~” she sighed dreamily. “Just as radiant as when I saw her on TV—back at the U.A. Sports Festival.”

Her shoulders swayed with excitement.

“Mmm~ knocking around all those loud, dumb humans with their silly quirks…” Nui tilted her head. “And all this time, I didn’t even know she had a kamui of her very own. What other secrets does she have?”

A soft giggle slipped from her lips—sweet, hollow, & profoundly unsettling in tone.

“They all think they’re so special with their quirks,” she murmured, almost fondly, watching medics rush in far below. “…but they bleed just as easily as any quirkless body here.”

Her smile sharpened.

“…Not like her.”

Nui leaned forward now, interest tightening into something focused—hungry.

“The things dear Izumi could do with those life-fibers…” she mused, voice dropping into a silken whisper. “Just imagining all the possibilities makes me all tingly & wet~”

She clasped her parasol to her chest, trembling with delight.

“Ohhh~ & this is the best part,” she sing-songed. “Of all the people she could be attending class with at this silly school…”

Her parasol tapped lightly against the stone.

“…it just had to be Matoi Isshin’s little brat—Ryūko.”

Nui giggled, softer now, more intimate.

“They already hate each other.” she whispered gleefully. “My darling… & the daughter of that traitor I loathed so very, very much—under the same roof, surrounded by a swarm of worthless humans.”

She snapped her fingers.

“Oh! That saying—what was it again?” giggled again, softer this time. “Two birds with one stone~”

The wind tugged at her skirts as she rose to her feet, standing atop the ruined spire like a porcelain doll balanced on a music box.

“Mmm… I wonder when I should pay dear Izumi a visit,” she mused, tilting her head thoughtfully “I really must introduce myself properly, after all.”

Her smile turned knowing & intimate. “Because we have so much in common.”

Below, faint voices carried upward as Nui hear orders being barked & authority reasserting itself. And beneath it all… a familiar, iron-cold presence beginning to stir.

“Mmm…” Nui hummed softly. “What a shame.”

She glanced back toward the courtyard one last time, visible eye lingering on the silver-&-magenta figure still standing at its center.

“I’d love to stay & play a little longer~” she sighed. “But if I hang around…”

Her smile curved knowingly. “…Satsuki might start getting a little too nosy for her own good.”

Nui pouted, just for a moment.

“And that simply wouldn’t do,” she added lightly. “Wouldn’t want her figuring out I was already here, right under her nose.”

Her parasol tapped once against the spire.

“After all,” Nui whispered, voice lilting with glee, “… it would completely ruin the surprise I have planned someday for my darling Izumi~”

She giggled, soft & intimate, as if sharing a secret with the sky itself.

“Mmm~ patience, patience…” Nui sang. “Good things are always sweeter when you let them ripen.”

With a cheerful hum, Harime Nui snapped her parasol open.

“Don’t you agree, Lady Ragyō~?”

And in the next instant—

—she was gone.

Only the broken spire remained, standing silent beneath the open sky, as if the Grand Couturier had never been there at all.

Chapter Text

Location: Honnōji Academy – Courtyard

“…I yield.”

Smoke & dust slithered through the courtyard, the air still shimmering with residual heat above what remained of the concrete—now a cratered hellscape of fractured stone & scorched earth. For a moment, Ryūko wondered if she’d misheard—if it was just another echo rattling around inside her skull left behind from the last shockwave.

Yet Kiryūin Satsuki’s voice cut cleanly through the wreckage of today’s extended battle, uttering words Ryūko would never—ever— expect to hear come out of the Student Council President’s very mouth.

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Ryūko snarled, sweat streaming down her face & stinging her eyes as she glared upward. First at Satsuki—then at Junketsu hanging limp against the Student Council President’s body like a fallen banner.

“Are you truly incapable of listening, Matoi?” Satsuki sneered down at her. “Or are those ears of yours merely for show?. As I stated before, I yield.”

“...Bullshit.” Ryūko spat. Adrenaline refused to loosen it’s grip on her tired body as she yanked again at her weapon despite her fatigue muscles screaming in protest. “Since when does someone as high-&-mighty as you decide just give up all of the sudden?”

Izumi stood between both of them—exactly where Ryūko wanted her least. Her rapier-turned-spear was driven straight through the open gap of the Scissor Blade, pinning it to the ground like a flagpole planted over a conquered foe. With an exasperated sigh, the greenette shook her head, disappointment etched plainly across her face before her gaze shifted to Satsuki.

“I have to agree with Matoi-san. What exactly is your angle here, Kiryūin-san?” Izumi said, disbelief & caution shaping her tone. “All morning, you’ve refused to disengage every time I intervened or attempted to end this. If this is a ploy, then why—”

“It is not.” Satsuki interrupted smoothly.

She gestured subtly to the ruined courtyard around them. “The battlefield speaks for itself, Midoriya. As you can clearly see, neither Matoi nor I are in any condition to continue.”

Her gaze dipped briefly. “Not when you remain fully armed & synchronized with your kamui… while we are not.”

Ryūko let out a harsh, humorless snort. “You’re seriously sayin’ all this crap just to cover your ass?” Her glare burned into Satsuki. “You lost, plain & simple. And now you’re hidin’ behind fancy words ‘cause your pride can’t handle it.”

Satsuki’s eyes snapped back to her & for the first time, something dangerous flickered beneath that iron composure of hers.

“This concession is made on my terms, Matoi.” she said evenly, subtle steel threading her voice. “To continue would be meaningless on my part as any further persistence would gain me nothing of value…”

Her gaze dropped pointedly to Ryūko’s futile struggle.

“…as you are doing right now.”

Ryūko ground her teeth in frustration as Bakuzan lay trapped beneath her own Scissor Blade, leaving both herself & Satsuki disarmed—courtesy of a certain first-year girl’s silver toothpick of a weapon.

“And unlike yourself…” Satsuki continued. “I have already obtained what I came her for.”

Izumi’s eyes arched as she subtly scooted away from Ryūko’s simmering fury for her own safety. “To observe the both of us, you mean?”

“Particularly you, Midoriya,” Satsuki replied, satisfaction coloring her tone. “The experience was… enlightening. Though it has left me with more questions than answers.”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes settling on Izumi’s still-active kamui.

“Such as your new color scheme.”

Ryūko glare slid sideways, dragged there by Satsuki’s last remark despite herself.

‘…Huh?’

For the first time since the fight ended, Ryūko finally took a really good look at Izumi.

Shinketsu struggle to remained barely active & what clung to the first-year’s body scarcely resembled the sharp, radiant teal interwoven fibers that Ryūko had seen earlier throughout this morning. The radiant silver fabric of Izumi’s kamui were now veined with a muted, bruised shade of magenta, wrapping around the girl’s smaller frame like a fresh wound refusing to close.

The seams & suspenders pulsed weakly, like the embers of a dying neon sign flickering against the dark. Behind her, the back-mounted turbine cone whined in uneven bursts, it’s rotation stuttering before forcing itself forward into motion again. The sound it emits was neither the clean hum of a stable system, nor the roar of an engine at full burn—but the strained drone of machinery fighting not to stall as it’s pitch rise & fall unevenly out of sync.

‘Shit…’ Ryūko’s breath hitched as the sight tugged at something uncomfortably familiar.

It reminded her of Senketsu—of the way steam used to vent violently from his body whenever she pushed him too hard in battle, pressure bleeding off in desperate bursts. Of battles where every last drop of blood had been wrung from her veins just to keep him active, her vision swimming as she teetered on the edge of blacking out from blood loss.

“…What the hell happened to you?” Ryūko muttered before she could stop herself.

The older girl recoiled on instinct, shoulders hunching like she’d accidentally stepped on a live landmine as Izumi’s head snapped towards her, emerald eyes flaring with irritation & disbelief intense enough to burn a hole right through anyone.

“...Right. Stupid question.” Ryūko added quickly, wincing. “Forget I asked.”

“If your are done gawking, Matoi...” Satsuki said coolly.

Her eyes flicked back to Izumi—an almost imperceptible note of approval ghosting across her features—before settling once more on Ryūko with cold, unflinching disdain.

“...then our business is concluded. I’ve seen more than enough of your performance for today.”

“Smug bitch…” Ryūko growled under her breath as she continue to heaved against the pinned Scissor Blade once more, redoubling her futile efforts.

“You two are unbelievable,” Izumi sighed, not bothering to look at either of them.

Her gaze had dropped—to her own chest, specifically to the pair of glowing eyes set into Shinketsu’s fabric. The kamui’s golden pupils stared back at up her, unblinking as the magenta glow along it’s seams pulsed faintly & unevenly like an irregular heartbeat struggling to maintain rhythm.

No one spoke as Ryūko & Satsuki watched Izumi draw in a slow, steady breath through her nostrils before giving the barest nod—like she’d reached an agreement with another without ever voicing it.

Then, with a subtle but decisive motion, Izumi yanked her weapon free.

“Gh—! Fuck—!” Ryūko cursed at the loss of resistance rob her of her balance completely. She went sprawling backward, slamming onto the shattered ground with a wheeze as the breath was knocked clean out of her lungs. The Scissor Blade clattered beside her as she stared up at the sky—her red-streak hair fanned out, chest heaving, vision swimming like she’d been thrown all over again.

Somewhere above her—

“Hmph.” Satsuki’s voice dripped with contempt.

Ryūko twisted her head just in time to see the Student Council President kneel with grace, retrieving Bakuzan as if it had never been pinned moments ago. Junketsu remain dormant against her body as she slid the dark blade smoothly back into its sheath.

Not a single glance spared at Ryūko as Satsuki turned away from both girls & began walking back toward the academy. Her pace slower than usual, but her posture no less composed.

That did it.

“OH HELL NO—!” Ryūko barked as she struggle to scrambled upright, her body still trembling with indignant frustration & disbelief as she shook the dust off of Senkestu. “Where the hell do you think you’re going now?!”

The Kiryūin heiress didn’t slow, let alone stop.

“It has been a long day, Matoi.” she replied coolly, not even looking back as her voice carried effortlessly across the ruined courtyard.

“It’s not even noon yet!” Ryūko shot back.

“All the more reason.” Satsuki paused just long enough to glance over her shoulder—not at Ryūko, but past her, briefly acknowledging Izumi’s presence.

“I find myself in need of a long bath.” she continued causally. “I recommend the same for both of you.”

Satsuki briefly turned fully around, one brow lifting as her gaze swept Ryūko from head to toe—dirt-smeared uniform, sweat-soaked hair, scraped knuckles & grime-caked shoes.

“Unless,” Satsuki added smoothly, “you have already developed an aversion to bathing.”

Ryūko felt her eye twitch. “WHAT?!”

Izumi sighed again, sinking down to sit on a broken slab of stone as she retracted her weapon into its compact form. The first-year student resisted the overwhelming urge to bury her face in her hands as she listens to her upperclasswomen descend into petty warfare.

“There is quite a bit of dirt left in this courtyard,” Satsuki went on, lips curling into a thin, mocking smile. “Plenty for you to roll around in, should you prefer.”

Her eyes gleamed with quiet disdain. “You will fit in well among the pigs in human clothes you choose to mingle yourself with.”

Ryūko vision nearly went red as her foot slid forward. She barely managed two steps before—

"STEP NO FURTHER, MATOI!"

The impact came first as Gamagōri Ira slammed into the courtyard hard enough to rattle the entire academy itself. The floor buckled beneath his feet as he rose to his full height before her, his massive frame serving as an immovable wall of muscle & iron resolve between Ryūko & Satsuki.

The rest of the Elite Four followed afterwards, flanking around him in practiced formation.

“If you dare continue on your current course of action,” Gamagōri thundered, glaring down at her. “...then I will have no choice but to enact corporal punishment against you!”

Ryūko glared back as fingers twitched around the Scissor Blade’s grip—

“Don’t tell me you’re actually serious, Matoi~?” Jakuzure Nonon chimed, popping into view beneath Gamagōri’s shadow with a saccharine smile. “Between you & your underachieving little friend Mankanshoku, I honestly can’t tell which one is dumber.”

“As much as I enjoy a good fight,” Sanageyama Uzu added lazily, eyes flicking over Ryūko’s battered, shaking form, “… are you really that eager to throw down everything against all of us at once?”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “Especially given the state you’re in?”

“Tch.” Ryūko clicked her tongue in irritation before spitting onto the broken ground, hefting the Scissor Blade up onto her shoulder as the weight anchor herself where she stood just enough.

“Hidin’ behind your lackeys again?!” she barked, pointing the blade past them toward Satsuki. “Don’t think this is over, Kiryūin Satsuki! You can’t hide it from me forever!”

The Student Council President straightened Junketsu, smoothing a crease from its fabric as if the battlefield around her were nothing more than clutter. Dust, blood, & battle-worn scorch marks did nothing to mar her composure.

“Is vengeance for your father truly all that you obsess over, Matoi?” she asked evenly.

Izumi stiffened at this revelation, for it’s the first time she’d ever heard anything about the source Ryūko & Satsuki’s ongoing feud.

Ryūko’s breath hitched & seriously considered hurling the Scissor Blade straight at Satsuki, consequences be damn.

Instead—

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playin’,” she growled dangerously “...but if you won’t talk—then I’ll just tear down everything you build here at Honnōji! I’ll crush your so-called ambition piece by piece until you do! You can count on that!”

The Elite Four stiffened at such insolence, fury flaring & ready to retaliate—

CLAP!

The sound cracked through the courtyard like a gunshot.

CLAP!

Then another.

CLAP! CLAP!

The Elite Four parted to the side as Satsuki stepped forward into view. Her smug, knowing smirk curving her lips as she clapped with interest & amusement.

“Is that so, Matoi?” she asked, intrigued. “You claim you will crush my ambitions…destroy my aspirations…?"

Her heel struck the floor.

CLICK

“Do not be so quick to makes such promises you cannot hope to keep, Matoi.” Satsuki chuckles softly. “...when you have fail to remember one simple fact.”

Ryūko & Izumi both raised their arms instinctively to shield their eyes as a blinding white light suddenly erupted behind the Student Council President, flooding the ruined courtyard with brilliant, white halos bursting across their vision.

“Honnōji Academy,” Satsuki declared, her voice ringing with absolute authority, “...is my kingdom.”

“What the hell?!” Ryūko shouted, squinting against the glare as she lifted her blade defensively.

“To challenge me,” Satsuki continued calmly, already turning toward the academy steps, “is to declare war upon all who attend this very institution.”

She ascended a few steps, before pausing.

“If you are bold enough to declare war against me,” Satsuki went on. “…when I am exhausted from fighting an opponent far superior to yourself—” Her gaze flicked to Izumi, much to Ryūko’s clear annoyance. “—then I will take your challenge under consideration.”

The Elite Four quickly fell into step behind her as she stop at the foot of the steps, their silhouettes framed by vivid auras & pink, blue, green, & gold radiating menace.

“But do not assume you will be the only competitor in this contest, Matoi.”

Ryūko froze. “What!”

Izumi sighed under her breath. “… I already don’t like the sound of this.”

“Starting next week,” Satsuki announced. “a prize shall be offered to any student capable of defeating both Matoi Ryūko & Midoriya Izumi in combat.”

Ryūko’s blood ran cold.

“Anyone—of any year, of any rank below that of Four-Stars—has the right to challenge you.” Satsuki continued. “Victory in your defeat shall advance their standing here at this academy.”

Satsuki’s glare bore into both girls. “Do either of you still possess the resolve to win… against such overwhelming odds when there is no one left you can trust?”

“You bet I do!” Ryūko shouted back fiercely. “I don’t care how many of your goons you throw at me! I’ll pay you back tenfold, Kiryūin Satsuki! And when I finally beat your smug ass—”

“And what of you, Midoriya?” Satsuki cut Ryūko off, utterly uninterested in the girl’s indignant reaction. “Will you fight... or will you run?”

Izumi remain silence for a couple of seconds, but spoke words she hadn’t used since her expulsion from U.A.

“…Plus Ultra.”

Satsuki’s eyes glint with cold amusement, taking Izumi’s answer as a confirmation.

“Very well then.” she replied softly. “Defeat each & every challenger who dare opposes you. And Should you manage to finally reach me without stumbling…” Her smile faintly. “...only one shall be granted the honor of facing my Junketsu once more.”

The shadows swallowed her as she finished.

“Perhaps then, you may finally prove yourself worthy of my full power.”

And with that, Kiryūin Sastuki & her Elite Four made their way up the steps of Honnōji Academy, vanishing into the entrance of the school.

As students began dispersing from every corner of the courtyard, Ryūko stood frozen in fury among the crowd moving around her. A low growl escaped her throat as she spun & slammed her scissor blade into a slab of rubble, shattering it on impact.

“Damn it…!” Ryukyu curse, scaring bystanders away.

“Well,” Izumi drawl as she pushed herself upright, brushing dust from her loose sleeves with what little patience she has left. “…that went spectacularly as expected.”

“Oh, don’t you start now, Midoriya.” Ryūko bristle.

“I hope you’re happy, Matoi-san.” Izumi dryly shot her a sidelong look, lips curling into a thin, humorless frown. “You just painted the biggest target imaginable on both our backs. As if the people here don’t need any more excuses to hate us already.”

Ryūko opened her mouth—ready, itching to snap back—

Only to stop short as Izumi nonchalantly passed right by her without so much as a glance, already limping toward the academy. Her steps were slow & uneven, exhaustion weighed heavily on her posture—shoulders sagging, breath shallow but controlled now that the adrenaline was gone.

“…Tch,” Ryūko clicked her tongue, irritation flaring. Being ignored somehow pissed her off more than the jab had. Annoyed, she slung the Scissor Blade onto her shoulder & followed, closing the distance in a few long strides.

She hadn’t gone more than a few yards when—

“Is that stupid girl still bothering us again?” a low, feminine voice called out irritably. “Could she truly not tell when her presence is unwanted?”

“…Huh?” Ryūko skidded to a halt.

Her foot hit the ground a beat too late, balance faltering as she whipped her head around, eyes narrowing at what she just heard—

The new voice sounds nothing like Izumi’s, nor did it belong to Satsuki, her Elite Four or anyone Ryūko recognized here at Honnōji. It was sharp, dismissive & carries an arrogant, snide tone that set Ryūko’s teeth on edge for reasons she couldn’t immediately place.

Yet ahead of her, Izumi didn’t react at all or even broke stride at the voice’s presence.

“You & I already know how persistent Matoi-san is.” Izumi muttered flatly, as if responding to someone walking right beside her.

“Yes, I have noticed.” the voice replied dryly. “It is difficult not to, considering how loud, belligerent, & excessively emotional she is.” it pause, dripping with disdain. “Coupled with her lack of self-preservation skills, how this brat survive in her kamui for so long is a mystery.”

“W-what…” Ryūko’s confusion twisted sharply into annoyance. ‘Who the hell is Midoriya talkin’ to?”

The voice continued, dripping with scorn.

“I would have honestly preferred Matoi to confine herself to glaring from afar, as she did before. At least then we would not be subjected to her incessant barking at such close range.”

“You’re not exactly helping.” Izumi muttered under her breath.

Ryūko stood there watching Izumi’s retreating back, listening in to a one-sided conversation with a mocking presence she couldn’t see. Every word scraped against her nerves, each pause tightening the knot forming in her chest.

“Ryūko…” Senketsu’s voice snapped her out her thoughts.

“Huh, Senketsu?” she murmured, eyes never leaving the retreating first-year’s back. “What is it?”

“That voice…” he said quietly.

“You heard it too, right?”

“I do, & I’m confident that I know why.” the kamui replied. “In fact, doesn’t it sound familiar to you?”

“...Yeah” Ryūko muttered under her breath. “I swear I’ve heard it before. I just can’t figure out where or when.”

“We’ve only been in Midoriya’s presence for a brief time.” Senketsu reasoned. “Maybe we should start from there & work backward.”

Ryūko frowned. “That’s still a lotta stuff I can’t exactly remember off the top of my head, Senketsu.”

“How about you’ll try recalling only the moments in which you were physically weakened, injured, or unconscious instead.”

“…Why those?”

“I have noticed that the voice is rather vocal in it’s… opinions of you.”

“I figure...” Ryūko snorted. “Just what I need, another critic.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“…Well, guess that narrows it down to everything that happened today, then.” she muttered, closing her eyes as she let her focus drift backward through memory.

This morning—the first clash with Satsuki in the courtyard.
The battles fought throughout many classrooms & hallways.
Her standoff in the cafeteria before—

Wait.

Her stomach dropped as the memory snapped into sharp focus.

Satsuki hauling her off the floor. The way her body went heavy & useless after crashing through a cluster of chairs. Senketsu shouting at her to move—to get up after she was dropped to the floor. Izumi yelling for her to run—

And beneath it all—

A voice.

Not Izumi’s, but another one that sounded detached & Unimpressed.

“Hmph.”

Ryūko’s breath caught.

“Matoi is of no use if she dies from blood loss any minute now. Not that she was ever useful to begin with.”

Her eyes flew open.

“…T-that that’s it,” Ryūko whispered.

“Senketsu,” she said slowly, every muscle going taut. “… that voice—”

“—was present before you lost consciousness in the cafeteria.” he finished calmly.

Her teeth ground together.

“Son of a—” she muttered before head snapped in Izumi’s direction. “HEY!”

Shoes scraped hard against the dirt floor as Ryūko broke into a jog, darting around the smaller girl & skidding to a stop directly in front of her.

Izumi halted with a tired click of her tongue. “What is now, Matoi-san?”

“Alright—enough!” Ryūko growled, blocking her path. “Who the hell keeps runnin’ their mouth at me?! I know it’s comin’ from you—at least parts of it is!”

Surprise flickered across Izumi’s face—brief, genuine—before fading into weary realization.

“…Right.” The greenette muttered to herself. “Of course you could hear us.”

“Stop mumblin’ & answer the damn question already!” Ryūko snapped, heart pounding harder than she liked.

Izumi pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with this conversation until I could feel my legs again, but… fine.”

She sigh & lifted a finger, pointing at her own chest.

Ryuko’s glare followed the motion of Izumi’s finger, locking onto the fabric of her kamui. Two golden pupils set above Izumi’s chest stared back at her—half-lidded, unimpressed, radiating the exact same disdain she’d heard moments ago.

“I knew it.” Senketsu muttered

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ryūko growled, one eye twitching in disbelief. “Another one?”

“So...” the kamui drawled, her voice slick with mockery, “You have finally taken notice of my presence, Matoi.”

The golden pupils narrowed slightly. “Did you deduce this all by yourself… or did your kamui have to hold your hand step-by-step like a toddler?”

“Why you little—!”

“Easy there, Ryūko.” Senketsu murmured, attempting calm his wearer down. “Don’t let her provoke you.”

“Easy for you to say!” Ryūko scoffed. “You’re not the one gettin’ mouthed off at!”

Izumi pinched the bridge of her nose harder, as though physically compressing the migraine forming behind her eyes. “Matoi-san— &, um...” She hesitated, glancing at Ryūko’s chest. “...actuality, I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“My name’s Senketsu.” he replied.

“Right, Senketsu.” Izumi repeated with a tired nod. “You’re the one Matoi-san mentioned earlier this morning.”

Izumi too a deep breath. “Then… both of you—this is my kamui. Shinketsu.”

Her gaze flicked down to her own chest.

“And Shinketsu,” Izumi added, voice tightening just a little, “please—please—be polite & refrain yourself from antagonizing them.”

“I can be amicable when I so desire, Izumi,” Shinketsu replied coolly. “But alas—desiring intelligence does not make it so.” Her eyes flicked toward Ryūko. “Especially in Matoi’s case.”

“Shinketsu...” Izumi warned quietly.

Ryūko’s hand itched as her fingers curled & uncurled at her side, knuckles whitening as the reflex to swing surged up her arm like an electric shock. She took one step forward before catching herself as her shoes scrap harshly against the ground.

“Grrr… I swear, I am this close to punchin’ your damn uniform right in whatever passes for it’s face.” she snarled, pointing a finger straight at Izumi’s chest. “It’s like there’re two Satsukis now!”

“We just finished a fight!” Izumi snapped, incredulous as she instinctively back away in caution. “You seriously want to start another one?!”

“Well tough luck, Midoriya!” Ryūko shot back, jabbing her finger closer, earning a flicker of contempt from Shinketsu’s gaze. “That thing’s been trash-talkin’ me since this morning—before you even knocked me out-cold at the cafeteria!”

“Well, I’m currently wearing her at the moment.” Izumi shot back, exhausted frustration bleeding through, “And I’m not eager to volunteer being your punching bag again just because you can’t control you temper!”

“An admirable lack of foresight if I do say so myself.” Shinketsu interjected smoothly. “Though I suppose resorting to brute force when verbally challenged is rather on-brand for a common thug such as yourself.”

Ryūko’s eyes twitch as her vision swam red.

Her shoulders hitched—then locked.

“Ryūko.” Senketsu’s voice resonated through her spine. “Please, that’s enough for now.”

“Like hell it is!” she snapped, trying to shrug him off. “Didn’t you hear what that stupid, stuck-up talkin’ tablecloth just—?!”

“Yes, I heard everything.” Senketsu replied evenly. “And you’re in no condition to fight right now—which is precisely why I have to step in, for your sake.”

“What?! Don’t you start takin’ her side—!”

“I’m not on anyone’s side but yours, Ryūko.”

“For what it is worth,” Shinketsu drawled, voice dripping with condescension as her gaze slide lazily toward Senketsu. “It is a rather pitiful sight—to see your human pet restrained from lashing out.”

That did it.

“PET—?!” Ryūko fume. “Quit talkin’ like I’m some kinda—!”

“Dog?” Shinketsu supplied, mock surprise lacing her tone. “Oh, why I would never.”

Her pupils narrowed to slits. “At least dogs know when to behave.”

Senketsu had tightened his hold—not physically restraining Ryūko, but anchoring her balance, subtly shifting her weight back before she could explode any further in anger.

“Ryūko,” the kamui said again, only firmer this time around. “Izumi. Both of you, just stop what you’re doing,” he continued evenly, catching both their attention “…. and look around.”

Scowling, Ryūko quickly turned her head to check & Izumi followed suit, albeit slower & more cautious.

Both immediately noticed that the courtyard had gone dead silent.

Where there had once been shouting & movement was replaced by stillness—dozens of students stood frozen mid-step, scattered in loose clusters across the shattered school grounds. Their attention was locked squarely on the two girls, scores of eyes all tracking simultaneously them like an exposed live wire waiting for to spark.

Some stared openly without the slightest shame while others prefer to whispered behind cupped hand, subtly glancing back & forth as if afraid to miss out on even a single second.

Phones were already pulled out, screens glowing as lenses pointed squarely at the two girls, recording without hesitation.

Ryūko noticed several student volunteers kneeling amid scattered paperwork & debris, forgotten clipboards dangling limply from their slack fingers. Izumi’s gaze drifted elsewhere toward teachers & administrative staff lingering at the far edges of the courtyard; uncertainty written plainly across their faces as they pretended not to stare at what was unfolding directly in front of them.

Even the medics from the Biology Club & the tailors from the Sewing Club had halted mid-stride—labcoats & hazamat suits still on—as stretchers were left abandoned & half-packed equipment lay forgotten at their feet.

Among them stood the Sewing Club President, Iori Shirō, with one hand braced at his chin & his eyes sharp with analytical fascination as he studied the confrontation brewing between the two.

And high above from the shattered windows of the academy’s upper floors, a faint blue glow flickered.

Inumuta Hōka crouched behind fractured glass with laptop balanced on his knees once again. His fingers flew across the keys as multiple camera feeds bloomed across the screen—tracking every possible angle, recording everything that had transpired.

As for the rest of the Elite Four—

Sanageyama lounged against a broken window frame, visibly entertained by the verbal exchange below while Jakuzure hovered nearby, her lips curled into a delighted grin—as though she were watching live concert performance.

And as for Gamagōri—

Well...surprisingly, the largest among them was conspicuously absent.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ryūko frown.

“…Of course,” Izumi muttered, resignation threading her voice.

“It appears that you, Midoriya—& your kamui— have become the focal point of attention for the entire academy…” Senketsu said quietly, his tone measured but grave. “...again.”

Beat

“No matter the schools,” Shinketsu remarked blandly, “… it is never easy being this popular, is it, Izumi?”

“Shinketsu—please don’t.” Izumi hissed under her breath. “This is not helping at the moment.”

Ryūko shifted her stance, suddenly hyper-aware of the dirt caked into her uniform, the scorch marks on her fabric & the fact that—at least from an outsider’s perspective—she’d just been seen yelling at Izumi’s cleavage in the middle of campus

Her grimace deepened as she noticed a first-year was very obviously sketching the scene in a notebook with a look on his face that she certainly did not appreciate.

Senketsu cleared his throat again. “Perhaps it would be best for us to relocate before things escalate.”

“Senketsu is right,” Izumi said flatly, earning a sharp look of surprise from Ryūko. “This nonsense has to end now.”

Izumi turned fully toward her, posture straightening despite the exhaustion weighing on her small frame. Her voice was steady & controlled—nothing like the defensive edge she’d had moments earlier.

“Can all of us at least agree that this is not the best time or place for the two of you to tear into each other?” Izumi continued, gesturing sharply between Ryūko & her own chest. “Especially not in front of entire school body.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to the waiting crowd of overly curious onlookers before returning back to Ryūko & Shinketsu alike.

“I don’t really care whose fault it is,” Izumi admit, locking eyes with the both of them. “...but what matters is that the entire school is watching, recording, waiting for one of us to lose control & neither of us benefits from escalating it here.”

A beat passed.

“I agree.”

“What?!” Ryūko’s head snapped downward. “Senketsu?!”

Izumi exhaled through her nose, a faint note of relief slipping through her composure. “Thank you, Senketsu.” she murmured, glancing toward the red-and-black kamui. “No offense, but I was trying to find a way to get my point across without risking getting punched by your wearer.”

“None taken.” Senketsu inclined his awareness toward her. “And you are welcome, Izumi.”

“Tch.” Ryūko clicked her tongue, crossing her arms as irritation tightened her shoulders. “Since when do you two get along this well?”

“And you,” Izumi added, gaze shifted downward towards Shinketsu. “Whatever grievances you have with Matoi-san, just keep them to yourself.”

For once, Shinketsu’s golden pupils did not sharpen immediately.

“Hmph.” Shinketsu’s voice slid in. “As you wish, Izumi.”

Ryūko frowned. “Wait—hold up. You’re just… okay with this?”

Shinketsu let out a soft, dismissive scoff.

“Once again, your lack of comprehension continues to astonish me, Matoi.” she said languidly, a faint sneer curling her tone. “While I do not agree with every decision my wearer makes, Izumi is still my wearer.”

Her pupils slid lazily upward toward Ryūko.

“Her will takes precedence,” Shinketsu continued, “...and as such, I will comply.”

Izumi’s shoulders loosened slightly as she arch one brow. “Is that really the only reason?”

“You know me all too well, Izumi.” Shinketsu teased, a thin hint of satisfaction evident in her tone. “Truthfully, the sooner we remove ourselves from this particularly irritating presence before us, the better.”

“Wow.” Ryūko muttered, an eye twitching. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“Yes.” Shinketsu purr smoothly. “Could you not tell?”

Ryūko glare at the kamui. “Piss off. I want you outta of my face just as much as you do.”

Izumi pinched the bridge of her nose again while Senketsu sighed—a small, resigned huff of breath escaping him.

“Must you both persist in provoking one another?” Senketsu asked, the strain finally bleeding through his otherwise composed tone.

“You’d think mutual their dislike would at least make this easier.” Izumi let out a sigh that bordered on a groan. “Anyway—this is done. No more arguing. No more posturing.” Her gaze hardened. “We walk away. Now.”

Ryūko glared daggers at Izumi, but, to the second-year’s credit, allow Senketsu to slowly guide her away. Izumi could hear the older girl angrily storming off, shoes scraping the ground as the crowd slowly began to disperse.

Izumi didn’t wait another second as she turned around & started toward the academy, exhaustion finally winning out over what little pride she could muster.

She had nearly reached the doors when—

“HALT.”

The command boomed across the courtyard, causing Izumi to stop short of the entrance as a massive shadow swallowed her path.

Gamagōri Ira stood before the academy doors, his arms crossed & immense frame planted squarely in their way like a living barricade. The Disciplinary Chair’s expression was stern & unreadable, though faint exhaustion tugged corners of his eyes, the kind earned only after an entire morning spent extinguishing chaos.

“First Matoi & now this brute?” Shinketsu muttered irritably. “What does he want now?”

Ignoring the kamui’s complaints, Izumi blinked once before inclining her head in a polite, reflexive bow. “Um—excuse me, Gamagōri-senpai. Is…is there a problem?”

“By order of the Student Council President,” Gamagōri announced, his voice echoing across the plaza, “all classes for today are hereby canceled.”

“Huh?” Izumi blinked.

“…As well as the remainder of next week.”

Izumi stiffened. “The entire week?”

“Yes,” Gamagōri replied flatly. “Given the current state of the academy grounds—& the events of this morning—continuing classroom instruction would be… inadvisable.”

“Well,” Shinketsu murmured, faint intrigue threading her tone, “… this is an unexpected development. Do you suppose that fool Matoi & Kiryūin’s little feud caused that much structural damage to this entire school?”

“I doubt it was only them,” Izumi muttered under her breath. “Considering we were also… pretty heavily involved—”

“What was that?” Gamagōri barked. “Speak up, Midoriya!”

“Oh—!” Izumi flinched. “I—I was just saying, I’m really sorry for all the damage from my fight with—”

Gamagōri cut her off with a deep, resonant throat-clearing rumble, like stone grinding against each other.

“There is no need,” he said stiffly. “Even if you were to confess to such unlawful behavior, I do not believe you capable of intentionally destroying school property…”

His glare snapped sharply over Izumi’s shoulder, locking onto a very particular person.

“…Unlike some.”

Ryūko nearby noticed immediately. Without a word, she raised both hands & apologetically flipped him off without a shred of hesitation.

A vein pulsed visibly along Gamagōri’s temple.

“How utterly juvenile.” Shinketsu remarked dryly.

“Real mature, Matoi-san,” Izumi muttered, only to freeze as her stomach betrayed her with a loud, unmistakable growl.

Her cheeks flushed. “…Is breakfast still being served in the cafeteria?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Gamagōri replied. “We have yet to apprehend the thief responsible for the disappearance of all the cafeteria food designated for breakfast & lunch today.”

His gaze hardened, voice lowering into something far more serious.

“So for now,” he continued, “it is in your best interest to return to your residence immediately.”

“So what— Satsuki blows half the place to kingdom come & just calls it a vacation?” Ryūko call out as she approach the two, her sharp, incredulous laugh cutting through the tension. “Not that I’m complainin’.”

“Watch your tone, Matoi,” Gamagōri warned. “This is a reprieve, not a reward for slackers such as yourself!”

“Heh, coulda fooled me,” Ryūko shot back. “Whole school’s trashed, everybody’s freakin’ out, & your little group just hits the reset button. Sounds like business as usual around here.”

“I see it did not take your pet very long to come crawling back after us, Senketsu.” Shinketsu sneered, her golden pupils narrowing as they slid toward Ryūko, whom was arguing with Gamagōri at the moment. “Hovering like a scavenger the moment something involves Izumi, I presume?”

“Originally, we’re merely waiting for Ryūko’s hyper little friend, Mankanshoku Mako.” Senketsu interjected before Ryūko could react. “That girl usually has a keen sense for locating us when we least expect it.”

“So you claim…” Shinketsu’s replied coolly, skepticism dripping from every syllable.

Izumi exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well… I suppose I’ll just head back to the dorms for a shower—”

“And due to the extensive damage caused by today’s… incidents,” Gamagōri continued, forcing the words through clenched & barely restrain frustration. “the school’s dormitories are also closed until further notice. Structural instability remains a primary concern.”

“WHAT?!” Izumi froze, panic creeping across her features. “C-CLOSED?!”

“Huh. Sucks for you, Midoriya.” Ryūko chuckled casually, prompting two flat, unamused glares from Izumi & Shinketsu.

Izumi spun back to Gamagōri, her voice rising. “B-but what about my things? My textbooks—clothes—notes—how am I supposed to—”

“Rest assured, Midoriya-san,” Gamagōri said stiffly. “Your personal belongings will be retrieved & delivered to you safely.”

“Tch,” Ryūko scoffed. “Assumin’ your disciplinary goons don’t loot through anything first.”

“Such disgraceful behavior is not tolerated at this academy, Matoi!” Gamagōri roared, outrage rippling through him by such accusations. “All of Japan would soon fall to villainy before I allowed even a single student’s property to be stolen under my watch!”

“O-okay,” Izumi nodded quickly, relief flickering across her face for barely a heartbeat before her shoulders tensed again. “…But then—if I can’t go back to my dorm—where exactly am I supposed to—”

“Izumi! Get down before—!”

The shrill, familiar voice tore across the courtyard like a missile locked on to it’s target.

“RYŪKO-CHAAAN!! IZUMI-CHAAN!!!!”

Ryūko managed to sidestepped on instinct just in time as a blur of kinetic energy came screaming across the courtyard—missing her by inches & slamming full-force into Izumi from behind instead.

“—?!”

Before Izumi could process what just happened, she was yanked cleanly off her feet. Arms locked around her shoulders with reckless enthusiasm, momentum carrying both of them forward as they tumbled across the dirt in a chaotic, undignified heap. Dust exploded around them as they rolled once—then twice— before skidding to a stop in a tangled mess of limbs & uniforms

“GOOD MORNING, IZUMI-CHAAAN!!”

Izumi lay sprawled on her back, utterly stunned, her vision swimming. Her kamui flickered violently as the magenta-veined seams of Shinketsu sputtered once before going dark.

The golden eyes widened in protest as the fabric fell limp against her wearer’s body.

“…Imbecilic human.” Shinketsu’s voice hissed faintly, irritation sharpening even as the kamui’s synchronized form fully deactivated, reverting in a flash to it’s slate-gray & teal school blazer-on-uniform form.

Izumi groaned. “Ow… my back…”

“Izumi-chan! Are you okay?” Mako popped up immediately, completely unharmed. She planted both hands on Izumi’s shoulders, peering down at her with bright concern as if they’d been best friends for years.

“Mako-san?!” Izumi wheezed, startled. “W–where did you—?!”

“Did I heard that your dorm room got totally demolished?!” Mako gasped, eyes wide with horror. Without hesitation, she hauled Izumi upright with alarming ease, immediately shaking the poor girl back & forth. “That’s terrible! Sleeping outside in the cold instead of cozily snuggled in your own bed?! How horrible! Absolutely tragic!”

“Mako…” Ryūko muttered, resisting the urge to laugh. Her eyes darted between Izumi’s flailing limbs & the utterly exasperated Shinketsu draped limply across her chest. “…you just tackled her.”

“Yup!” Mako beamed.

Gamagōri straightened immediately at once, seizing the opportunity to reassert order

“For the record, Mankanshoku-san,” he announced, adjusting a pair of glasses he had somehow materialized & flipping through a thick clipboard that definitely had not existed a moment ago. “… since Midoriya-san is officially classified as a One-Star student, she is eligible for temporary relocation to any available condo within the One-Star District.”

“Ooo!” Mako leaned in, eyes sparkling so brightly she completely forgot she was still holding Izumi.

In a split second, Izumi was dropped back onto the ground with a soft thud & the backpack Mako had with her followed suit, landing squarely across Izumi’s torso.

“…Ungh.” Shinketsu groaned weakly.

“Where’d the glasses come from?” Mako asked, tilting her head innocently. “And since when do you need glasses, Gamagōri-sempai?”

Gamagōri ignored her completely, clearing his throat with a thunderous sense of restrained authority. “Though due to current administrative delays, it will take at least several days to properly resettle you into a One-Star condominium—”

*Cue Mako’s Hallelujah Theme*

“No problemo!” Mako cut him off, snapping to attention & saluting with dramatic flair as she remained utterly oblivious to the massive man’s simmering annoyance. “As Izumi-chan’s sempai, I came to return her backpack along with Ryūko-chan’s guitar case, which they both left with me before running off to fight Lady Satsuki!”

She pivoted sharply, pointing both thumbs at herself.

“But since my kōhai doesn’t have her bedroom anymore, she can totally crash at my place until everything’s fixed!”

“What?!” cried Ryūko

Izumi blinked. “…Your place?”

“Our family shack!” Mako chirped cheerfully. “Well—shack is a strong word. More like a… tightly bonded domestic ecosystem! But it’s super cozy this time of year!”

“How very reassuring.” Shinketsu muttered flatly, sarcasm practically radiating from her now-inactive form.

“I—I appreciate the offer, Mako-san,” Izumi said quickly, scrambling upright & brushing dirt from her uniform, “but I don’t want to intrude—”

“Don’t you worry, Izumi-chan!” Mako interrupted again, practically bouncing in place. “There’s always room! You can share the bunk-bed Matarō & I used sleep in with Ryūko-chan. I’ll just ask my dad to set up it back up again— or maybe I’ll get him to build a triple-decker instead! Though I don’t know how we’re going to fit a triple-decker inside though the door... Eh! We’ll figure it out together when we get home!”

Before either girl could react or respond, Mako’s hands shot out like lightning, seizing both of their wrists with an almost absurdly firm grip.

“Eh—!” Izumi squeaked.

“Mako!” Ryūko protest

“Alright, you two!” Mako chirped. “Time to move!”

Ryūko & Izumi stumbled as the brunette pulled them towards the school gate, instinctively trying to dig their feet into the ground, yet their exhausted bodies betrayed them. Every attempt to slow her down & resist was swallowed by Mako’s relentless momentum. Within seconds, both girls were being hauled across the courtyard at high speeds neither could hope to match at the moment.

“W–wait—! Mako-san, please slow down!” Izumi yelped, panic spiraling as she flailed. Her backpack bounced wildly against her shoulders, blazer flapping like tattered wings as her feet barely scraped the ground. “This is—this is insane! I can’t keep up—guh!”

“Unhand us at once, you buffoon!” Shinketsu hissed, golden pupils snapping open & narrowing into sharp slits. The fabric across Izumi’s chest pulsed faintly as her voice sharpened with fury. “...Or I swear—”

The kamui’s indignant roar dissolved into helpless sputtering as the trio lurched forward again— Mako’s grip on their wrists as ironclad as her cheerful deposition.

Ryūko slumped slightly, resigning herself to her inevitable fate of being dragged like around like rag doll by her overenthusiastic friend. Her eyes flicked to Izumi’s wide-eyed panic, then to Shinketsu’s boiling fury, the golden pupils twitching ever so slightly in protest.

A low, amused hum escaped Ryūko’s throat. “Heh…” she muttered under her breath as corners of her mouth twitched upward into a grin. “Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.”

“Matoi-san! Do something! Anything!” Izumi wailed, legs carving trenches into the dirt as both girls struggled in vain to match Mako’s unstoppable determination.

Ryūko gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Oh, just relax, Midoriya.” She tightened her jaw, leaning slightly into the pull of the momentum as the second-year let herself enjoy the sheer spectacle of it. Their combined weight might have hindered anyone else, but not someone like Mako.

The courtyard blurred around them with students stopping to either gape or film every chaotic second on their phones. On Mako’s opposite end, Izumi’s gasps & Shinketsu’s indignant commentary reverberated loudly across Ryūko’s ears.

“This… is intolerable!” Shinketsu’s voice rose in a mixture of fury, disbelief, & humiliation. “You cannot treat us like this!”

“Just… how—” Izumi stuttered, panic lacing her words “—is she this strong all of a sudden?!”

‘Once Mako makes up her mind,’ Ryūko let out a quiet sigh of amusement.‘...I don’t think there’s any force on Earth that could stop her.’

“I am so relieve to know one of us is enjoying this.” Shinketsu muttered sharply, the venom in her tone doing little to disguise her humiliation.

“Oh, I am.” Ryūko’s grin stretched wider, teeth flashing as she leaned into the moment. “You’ve been acting way too high & mighty, & it’s about time someone took you down a peg or two.”

Shinketsu’s protest dissolved into a sputter as Mako pulled them over the last stretch of courtyard through the gate, leaving the kamui’s former arrogance sputtering. Ryūko’s grin lingered, a small, victorious spark of amusement warming her chest as she silently watched the once-haughty Shinketsu struggle in helpless indignation.

Meanwhile, the dust settled slowly around Gamagōri, drifting in lazy clouds across the courtyard as his enormous frame remained frozen for a moment. His eyes twitched with barely restrained disbelief, fixating on the distant blur of Mako dragging Ryūko & Izumi away at such unbelievable speed.

A small, hesitant cough pulled him from his thoughts. A student volunteer, barely reaching his chest, stepped forward with a stack of papers trembling in their hands.

“Um… Gamagōri-senpai? What should we do about… everything that happened just now?”

The Disciplinary Chair let out a low sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he accepted the files. “File a kidnapping report,” he replied evenly, though his tone carried the weight of someone trying not to lose composure entirely. “Include all involved parties & relevant witnesses.”

The student nodded quickly, retreating to put the instructions into action.

Gamgōri turned, beginning the long, deliberate climb toward the school’s doors before slowing partway up, his eyes sweeping ahead. Another student lingered there rigidly with a clipboard in hand, watching him with measured caution.

Without a word, he issued the order. “You are to continue observing Midoriya Izumi. This time… alongside Matoi Ryūko.” His tone was flat, yet carried the weight of command. “Both girls will now be residing with Mankanshoku Mako in the No-Star District. You are to monitor them & under no circumstances allow yourself to be noticed by either of them.”

Gamagōri eyes narrowed “Do I make myself clear?”

The student, Ōgure Maiko, stiffened immediately, bowing deeply. “Understood, Gamagōri-senpai. I will carry out the assignment.”

Gamgōri inclined his head once before resuming his ascent. Neither he nor Maiko made eye contact as they parted ways—the silent authority of his presence lingering long after his figure had disappeared into the school’s entrance.

Maiko exhaled, shoulders sagging just enough for the tension to show, but her resolve had been set. Observing Midoriya Izumi—& now Matoi Ryūko—would not be easy. And given Mako’s involvement? That alone promised enough chaos to make even the strictest plans laughably fragile.

Unseen by either of them, a figure lingered just beyond the courtyard’s edge.

Mikisugi Aikuro adjusted the bridge of his glasses, the frames catching the last rays of the later morning light as he peered down from the shaded walkway above. Dressed in his usual, impeccably forgettable homeroom teacher attire, he looked every bit the harmless faculty member supervising the aftermath of this morning’s chaos.

The undercover teacher sighed, lifting a hand to wipe his lenses with a cloth that absolutely did not belong in a normal teacher’s pocket.

“Good grief…” he muttered under his breath, his gaze lingered on the now-empty path Ryūko had disappeared down. “Things around you are just that never simple, are they Ryūko-kun?”

He slid his glasses back into place, the practiced neutrality smoothing across his features. Yet beneath it, a subtle edge of concern remained, almost imperceptible—an acknowledgment that the situation was far from ordinary.

“…Guess I’d better keep an even closer eye on this mess.”

Location: Honnō-chō – No-Star District
Timestamp: 30 Minutes Latter

The tram shuddered to a halt with a sharp hiss of brakes.

“Finally,” Mako said, hopping to her feet & brushing crumbs off her jacket. “Ready to meet your new roommates, Izumi-chan?”

Izumi, however, remained firmly slung over Mako’s shoulder, arms crossed & glare intact. Her exhaustion did little to soften the sharp annoyance etched across her face.

“Let’s just get this over with, Mako-san,” she muttered, making no move to resist further now that resignation had fully settled in.

Mako just giggled. “Come on, Izumi-chan! Home stretch!”

Ryuko’s sharp eyes caught movement from the corner of the street in a nearby alley. A familiar figure peeked out from behind a building, one hand raised in a subtle, deliberate gesture.

“…What does that pervert want now?” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. She turned to Mako. “You go on ahead & take Midoriya home with you, Mako. I’ve got some… things to deal with first.”

Mako tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “Ooooh, mysterious stuff! Okay!” She readjusted Izumi on her shoulder, grinning broadly. “Come on, Izumi-chan! Let’s go meet your sempai’s family!”

Izumi groaned softly, but remained silent. Fighting Mako had long since become a futile endeavor.

Ryūko slipped into the alley with purpose, her shoes striking the pavement sharply, echoing off the narrow walls.

“…Tch.”

The alley was empty.

She stopped short, eyes scanning the narrow space—stacked crates, a rusted fire escape, the faint smell of damp concrete. No sign of her homeroom teacher or even a shadow.

“I know you’re here, teach.” she muttered, irritation flaring hot & fast. “Stop fucking around already.”

“So intense,” a voice said from behind her. “If you keep marching around like that, people might get the wrong idea about the both of us.”

“Gah!” Ryūko spun around, startled.

Aikuro Mikisugi stood there, just inches away, hands casually tucked into his pockets as if he had always been part of the scenery.

“—!” Ryūko recoiled a step, Scissor Blade snapping into her hand. “Don’t do that!”

Aikuro chuckled, a faint, knowing curve of his lips. “And with that glare… & that determined stride? Anyone watching might think we’re sneaking off for something inappropriate.”

“S-shut up!” She snapped, cheeks warming with anger. “And what are you even doing here now? Our… ‘after-school lessons’ don’t start until later this afternoon!”

“Ah, but consider this a special session,” Aikuro replied smoothly. “Today’s circumstances have changed… dramatically, thanks to you girls.”

He turned on his heel & started down the alley, weaving deeper into the maze of narrow streets, not even waiting to see if she followed. Ryūko hesitated only a moment before retracting her scissor blade back into her guitar case.

“Then start explaining—now,” she growled, stomping after him.

As they threaded through twisting alleys, the older man glanced back over his shoulder, a teasing, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Think of this as compensation,” he said lightly. “After all, you’ve lost today… & all of next week’s full class schedule as well.”

“That ain’t my fault!” Ryūko bristled.

“Really?” Aikuro hummed, amused. “Because from all accounts, your little antics with Kiryūin Satsuki & Midoriya Izumi turned Honnōji Academy into a disaster site. Well… at least more than usual.”

“Tch…!” Ryūko’s shoulders stiffened. “Okay fine, but it’s not completely my fault!”

“I’m merely being considerate enough to ensure you don’t fall behind on your education,” Aikuro replied, laughing softly. “I am a teacher, after all.”

They stopped in front of an unassuming apartment building tucked between two abandoned storefronts. Aikuro gestured toward the door with a flourish.

“Think of it as an extra lesson,” he said smoothly. “One you cannot skip.”

Ryūko’s glare sharpened, a mixture of embarrassment & frustration warring across her face.

“…You’re enjoying this way too much, aren’t you?” she growled.

“Me? Never…” Aikuro’s grin lingered, teasing, but the edge dulled just enough to hint at seriousness as he unlocked the building’s entrance door. “But this morning’s fight actually works in our favor unexpectedly in the long run.”

“Huh?” Ryūko raised an eyebrow as she follow him inside “How so?”

Aikuro slowed his pace, ascending the narrow stairwell. “Rebuilding Honnōji Academy on this scale isn’t cheap. Had the damage only been limited to the grounds outside the main building, it wouldn’t have been much of an issue.”

“Soooooo?” Ryūko frowned, crossing her arms. “What’s the problem then?”

“Thing is…” he continued, voice calm, measured, “because you three girls wrecked much of the actual building itself—both inside & out, all the way up to the school spire—things are more difficult for Satsuki. The administration, under Gamagōri, was already drowning in paperwork before your final clash sent literal shockwaves through half the campus. Now? They’re scattered, buried, & multiplying by the minute.”

Ryūko’s frown deepened, but Aikuro didn’t stop. “Add structural damage, emergency inspections, political pressure to restore order quickly…” He chuckled lightly. “Expect delays. Lots of them.”

“So… bureaucratic bullshit?” Ryūko scratched the back of her neck, half amused. “I still don’t see how that actually helps us.”

“Knowing Satsuki, she won’t simply wait on red tape,” Aikuro said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Not when she could funnel resources to hire outside contractors to handle the damage the Kiryūin Conglomerate can’t immediately cover… at least publicly.”

“Wait…” realization dawned on Ryūko, eyes widening. “…That means people coming in & out of Honnō-chō constantly, right?”

“Exactly.” Aikuro glanced at her sideways, clearly pleased. “Construction crews, inspectors, temporary staff—a revolving door of unfamiliar faces & skilled labor that the local population simply doesn’t provide. Most of them must be brought in from elsewhere.”

Ryūko’s lips twitched into a faint, sly smirk. “Sounds like a perfect way to slip under Satsuki’s nose.”

Aikuro stopped at the top of the narrow stairwell in front of his apartment door, turning to face her fully. “It also gives me a rare opportunity to reestablish contact with some of my associates.”

“Associates?” Ryūko raised a brow, suspicion sharpening her features. “From where?”

“At the moment… U.A.”

“U.A?” Ryūko frowned, trying to process. “…Wait. This is about Midoriya, isn’t it?”

“Both of us are trying to learn more about her,” the undercover teacher said, his tone calm but teasing, “And from the looks of it, so is Satsuki. Who better to provide accurate information than someone from her previous school?”

“I guess…” Ryūko paused, frowning. “…So which teacher of theirs is actually going out of their way to help us? Aren’t they all just a bunch of stuck-up pro-heroes?”

“Well…” Aikuro hummed, thoughtful. “I can’t really say. It’s been five—or six—years since I last had contact. And who says it’s only a teacher? For all I know, there might be more.”

Ryūko snorted. “Yeah, I can’t exactly see a weirdo like you being buddies with someone like All Might.”

“Now that’s hurtful, Ryūko-kun,” the older man teased, smirking. “Still, unless the school has adjusted it’s schedule after everything that’s happened to their students this year, one of my contacts might be a tad busy preparing the hero course students for their upcoming licensing exams.”

He tilted his head slightly. “But if I can get through to them, we might learn more about your little kōhai sooner rather than later before Satsuki does.”

Ryūko stiffened instantly. “I’m not her sempai!”

“Ah, semantics.” Aikuro laughed lightly. “Aren’t you both going to be living under the same roof soon, thanks to your hyper little friend, Mankanshoku?”

“I told you, she is not my underclassman!” Ryūko snapped. “And I’m not babysitting her! Hell, we’re not even in the same class block!”

“You seem very defensive there, Ryūko-kun.” He chuckled, unlocking the apartment door. “Whether you like it or not, your path does has a habit of intersecting with hers, vice-versa.”

Ryūko scowled as she followed him inside, already regretting whatever this “extra lesson” was going to involve.

Like the last time she was here yesterday, the apartment was dim & sparsely furnished with the curtains half-drawn against the light outside. The air carried the faint scent of incense & old newspaper, a quiet, contained atmosphere that felt worlds away from the grime & noise of the alleyways earlier.

She dropped onto the couch with a heavy thump, stretching her legs out & propping them up as she leaned back. The adrenaline finally drained from her system, leaving exhaustion in its wake & no longer masked by irritation alone.

Aikuro disappeared briefly into the kitchenette. When the older man returned, his shirt was half-unbuttoned & his sleeves loosely rolled up as he shed the last remnants of his shaggy homeroom-teacher disguise for now.

“So,” He gave her a sidelong glance. “did you learn anything useful today?”

Ryūko shot him a dirty look, too tired now to bother hiding the flush in her scowl. “What do you wanna know, teach?”

“Any info on Kiryūin Satsuki’s kamui,” He clarified. “...along with that of Midoriya Izumi’s as well.”

Ryūko let out a scoff, rolling her eyes. “Other than their names? Junketsu & Shinketsu?”

“Pure Blood & New Blood, huh?” Aikuro raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking directly toward Senketsu as if reading it’s expression. “Couple with your kamui— which means Fresh Blood, I’m sensing a theme going here, Ryūko-kun.

“Eh.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Who knows. Midoriya’s stupid kamui is apparently an even bigger bitch than Satsuki.”

“So that’s what that heated exchange between you & Midoriya was all about.” Aikuro chuckled, a faint glint of amusement evident in his eyes. “Everyone back at the school though you were staring a bit too intensely at her chest earlier.”

Ryūko’s eyes went wide as her face flushed bright red. “Get your head out of the gutter, pervert! It was nothing like that!”

The older man’s grin only deepened. “Your schoolmates say otherwise. Couple that with all your… enthusiastic stalking attempts yesterday, & the way people saw the two of you arguing like some married couple during your fight with Satsuki this morning…”

Ryūko slammed a hand onto her knee, her jaw tightening. “Everyone has way too much time on their hands!”

“Maybe,” Aikuro said, leaning back slightly. The teasing lingered, but there was a thread of seriousness beneath it now. “But it’s useful to know how the dynamics are shaping up. You two are going to be under the same roof soon, remember? Understanding each other now might save you a lot of trouble later down the road.”

Ryūko groaned, burying her face in her hands, muttering under her breath. “Great. Just great.”

She sagged back into the couch cushions, one arm draped over her eyes, voice muffled. “Hey teach. It turns out… I learned more than I wanted to.”

Aikuro he leaned against the counter, arms folded, giving her his full attention, gesturing the teenage girl to continue.

“Back on the tram,” she muttered. “That’s when it all came out.”

In Ryūko’s mind, the memory resurfaced—the rattle of wheels on steel tracks, the low hum of the tram cutting through the No-Star District—

Chapter Text

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

At-least half-an-hour ago

Location: Student-Tram en-route to No-Star District

The open-air tram rattled to life with a metallic groan, pulling away from Honnōji Academy as the towering campus receded into the distance behind them. At the very front of the tram, Mankanshoku Mako stood braced against the wind like a proud train conductor with her arms raised dramatically in the air as if she’d personally commandeering the vehicle.

“And off we go! On the path to new beginnings, new friendships, new roommates, new u-um… friendships—?!”

“You said friendship twice, Mako.”

“Yep!” she beamed, utterly unbothered. “Can’t have too many! Nothing like a tram ride home to cool off after a big school fight, right, Ryūko-chan?!”

At the far end of the car, Matoi Ryūko sat slouched against one of the hard benches, one boot braced against the floor, fingers hooked lazily around the overhead railing to keep from being jostled off. The wind lashed her hair across her face, carrying dust & distant noise as the tram clattered through the rather luxurious Two-Star District.

“Yeah,” she muttered, a faint chuckle slipping out under her breath. “Sure, Mako.”

For the first stretch of the ride, the dark-haired girl was more than content to enjoy basking in the warm, petty feeling of satisfaction still simmering comfortably in her chest.

Specifically: the lingering memory of a certain smug kamui humiliated.

Seeing Shinketsu sputtering mid-threat, her haughty, superior tone finally cracking under the sheer indignity of being hauled bodily across the campus courtyard like some unruly cat scuffed by the back of the neck—

—by Mako of all people.

Yeah, that had been cathartic sight to behold.

‘Heh. Serves you right.’ Ryūko’s lips curled faintly. ‘Guess even “New Blood” here can get yanked around like everyone else.’

Her gaze flicked forward.

Midway down the tram, Midoriya Izumi was sprawled awkwardly across the opposite bench, clinging to its edge with one hand while the other hooked desperately around a vertical rail. Every violent jolt of the tram threatened to fling her face-first straight onto the grimy floorboards. Her once-pristine uniform was rumpled & disheveled, complementing her frazzled, dark green curls whipping wildly around her flushed, exhausted face.

She looked less like an infuriating mysterious rival & more like a more like a stressed out, sleep-deprived transfer student trying not to die on public transit.

‘Midoriya may be a bit annoying,’ Ryūko admitted begrudgingly to herself ‘… but I guess even she didn’t deserved the same treatment her stupid kamui got.’

But as the tram lurched again, bouncing hard enough to make a tired Izumi gasp & clutch the seat from falling off, Ryūko’s faint smirk began to falter.

‘Looks like Mako really was serious about having Green come live with us.’ Ryūko realized as a thread of dread crept up her spine. ‘And not just Midoriya—’

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the teal-&-slate uniform wrapped snugly around Izumi’s torso.

‘—but that thing as well.’

Even from afar, Shinketsu’s presence is unmistakable. Beneath the gray fabric, faint teal fibers pulsed softly along the seams — not bright enough to draw attention from anyone unfamiliar with a kamui in general, but obvious to someone who knew what to look for.

At least when she keeps her mouth shut...

“What a fascinating predicament we now found ourselves in, Izumi.” the kamui hissed at last, her golden pupils narrowed to slits as the fabric across Izumi’s chest gave a faint, irritated pulse. “As I previously stated, this arrangement is intolerable.”

“This is temporary, Shinketsu.” Izumi muttered at last, barely audible over the clatter of rails. Though it sounded less like reassurance & more like a fragile sense of hope. “…At least, I hope it is.”

“Temporary or not,” Shinketsu snapped, eyes flaring as her teal threads ripple sharply from Izumi’s blazer. “… this indignity began with us shortly abducted against our will & forcibly relocated to reside in such squalor —”

Her violet sclera angled pointedly toward the back of the tram behind them.

“—in the company of one such as her.”

“Wow.” Ryūko snorted. “Took you, what—five whole minutes before you started choking on your own superiority again?” She shifted, leaning back lazily. “You sure got a real big mouth for something that’s basically a glorified shirt.”

“I would advise you to mind that tone of yours, dog.” Shinketsu retorted, disdain dripping from every syllable. “You are already far too familiar of an unwanted presence, which renders this current unpleasant experience exponentially worse.”

“Says the dish-rag that won’t shut the fuck up.” The second-year snapped, finally turning her glare on Izumi’s back as the girl slump in visible exasperation.

“Please...” Izumi groaned softly, letting her forehead thunk against the vertical rail with a dull thud. “Just… stop. Both of you.”

Mako, meanwhile, remained blissfully oblivious at the very front of the tram. She perched on the edge of the bench with her legs swinging freely into open air, leaning so dangerously far over the side railing it was a miracle she hadn’t been launched into the street below. The wind whipped her bob hair back as her eyes sparkled at every crooked alley, fluttering laundry line, & distant market stall they passed.

Another jolt rocked the tram as Izumi slipped an inch closer off her seat onto the dirty floor. “Um, Mako-san, could you maybe please help—”

“Oh!” she spun around so fast she nearly toppled herself over the railing, suddenly noticing Izumi’s predicament. “Careful, Izumi-chan! You gotta ride the bumps like this!”

The brunette demonstrate...by bouncing enthusiastically in place, her knees bending with exaggerated rhythm in perfect rhythm with the tram’s rattling suspension as though she were enjoying a festival attraction rather than barely secured public transportation.

Izumi & Ryūko both stared blankly.

The teal threads lining Shinketsu’s seams pulsed with such concentrated contempt the air around Izumi practically curdled.

Whether Mako failed to notice or simply mistook their collective silence for awe was anyone’s guess, because she’s already was too busy rattling on again anyway.

“Mom & Dad are gonna freak when they see you, but in a good way! They both loves guests! And fancy uniforms! And mysterious girls that talk with their scary clothes that also talk—”

Mako suddenly stop mid-sentence, to the surprise of everyone. The abrupt silence was so unexpected the tram itself seemed to hesitate on the rail.

“Heyyyyy…” Her voice trailed off as Mako’s head tilted slowly to one side. “…Wait a second.”

Before Izumi could brace herself, Mako quickly scampered down the aisle at alarming speed & leaned in far too close to the first-year’s face. The second-year brunette’s hands gripped the back of Izumi’s bench as she squinted intently at the teal-&-slate uniform.

The fabric along Izumi’s shoulders tightened defensively as Shinketsu glared in open irritation, clearly unamused by the sudden invasion of personal space.

“Come to think of it,” Mako murmured thoughtfully, her nose now within dangerously intimate range of Izumi’s chest.“...do you really talk to your own school uniform?”

Izumi blinked, gently pushing back an inch. “…Excuse me?”

“Well, do you, Izumi-chan?” Mako grinned, pointing cheerfully at her kohai’s modest chest. “Ryūko-chan talks with her school uniform all the time! I even see her do it sometimes when she’s changing out of her pajamas or underwear in another room back at the shack.”

“Mako!” Ryūko barked, face flushing bright red. “Why were you paying attention to that?!”

“Of all people…” Shinketsu stiffened visibly, teal threads twitching in disbelief. “…it is this buffoon who posses the capability of communicating with us?”

Izumi hesitated… before giving a small, resigned nod.

“Um… yes. Her name is Shinketsu.” She glanced cautiously at Mako.

“Ooo, you name your clothes too?” The brunette gasped, full of delightful curiosity.

Izumi nodded slowly. “Could you actually hear her & Senketsu talk, Mako-san?”

“Uh-huh!”

“…So that means you could understand what they’ve been saying this entire time, right?”

“Nope!”

There was a long, hollow beat of silence as the tram clattered on.

Ryūko stared.

Izumi stared even harder.

Shinketsu’s golden pupils twitched so violently they nearly crossed from complete outrage.

Even Senketsu, draped calmly over Ryūko’s shoulders, went quiet before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“Of course she can’t.” he murmured.

“…Mako,” Ryūko asked flatly, rubbing her temple, “…why did you answer at all?”

“Because, I like to think I know what yours & Izumi-chan’s clothes are saying in my head.” The bob-haired girl chirped brightly. “Even if it’s probably not what they’re actually saying, Ryūko-chan!”

Izumi visibly deflated, sliding back against the bench as another jolt rattled the tram. From the greenette’s blazer, Shinketsu released a sharp, indignant scoff only her wearer could hear.

“Unbelievable...” she sneered. “To think I momentarily entertained the possibility that this girl possessed some unique sensory talent. Instead, this fool is merely delusional.”

“Shinketsu,” Izumi murmured sharply, casting a warning glance downward. “That’s enough, already.”

“Huh?” Mako tilted her head curiously. “What’s your uniform saying now?”

Izumi froze.

“…U-um.”

She straightened slightly, composing herself.

“Shinketsu said...” she replied carefully, stepping through each word as though crossing on thin ice. “that this situation is… inconvenient. But she appreciates the hospitality.”

“That is not what I said, Izumi.” Shinketsu huffed in annoyance. “You are deliberately falsifying my statements.”

“I’m translating.” whispered through clenched teeth.

From the rear of the tram, Ryūko failed to suppress a snort & quickly covered her mouth with her knuckles to muffle the sound. Her shoulders shook once before she composed herself, eyes glinting with poorly concealed amusement.

“Awwww! Thank you!” Mako clasped her hands together dramatically, practically glowing in delight. “Please tell Shinketsu-chan that she’s so polite, Izumi-chan!”

The greenette felt heat crawling up her neck as she practically sense Shinketsu rolling her gold-&-violet eyes in disgust at the brunette’s obliviousness.

“I’ll… keep that in mind, Mako-san,” Izumi replied stiffly.

“So...is giving your clothes names & backstories like a new trend or something?” the second-year continued eagerly, leaning forward with eager fascination. “I thought that was just one of Ryūko-chan’s many things that makes her super special! Sort of like quirks, except they’re not!”

“Don’t rope me into this, Mako.” Ryūko called lazily from the back of the tram, though her smirk betrayed her.

“I...don’t follow?” Izumi blinked, genuinely puzzled. “What exactly do you mean by ‘special’?”

“Well, you know—special!” The brunette spread her hands wide. “Like if I had a yen for every time I met an ultra-mysterious transfer student with a cool sword, a custom talking uniform, & both the confidence & sex appeal to strip people of their clothes & get naked in public—”

“Okay, okay, I get your point!” Izumi cut in at lightning speed, her face flushing a vivid, green-tinged pink. Her voice cracked halfway through, and she shrank an inch in her seat.

“I’d have two yen,” Mako finished proudly, lifting two fingers in triumph. “Which isn’t a lot, but it’s very weird that it happened twice this week!”

Ryūko barked out a full laugh this time, no longer bothering to hide it.

“Maybe it’s more common among girls our age outside Honnō-chō?” the bob-haired girl mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Or is it just rich-girls who like burning through their parents’ money? Well that’s inconsiderate of them.” She puffed out her cheeks in disapproval. “Do you think they really need all that extra cash to unlock special outfits? Like different skins you see in those gacha games nowadays?”

“…I don’t know,” Izumi admitted after a hesitant pause. Her gaze dipped briefly toward her blazer. “I suppose that depends.”

A beat passed.

“Wait. Actually… no.”

Izumi shifted upright for a moment, nearly losing her balance again as the tram rattled. Twisting carefully, the greenette craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Ryūko behind her — more specifically, the red-&-black kamui adoring her body.

“Now that I think about it,” Izumi said, dropping back into her seat with more caution this time. “Matoi-san & Kiryūin-san are the only other people besides myself I’ve ever seen with a kamui. Honnōji has their goku uniforms, but they’re not really the same & I definitely know U.A. never had any in the first place.”

“Really?” Mako blinked, then gasped dramatically before spinning in the direction toward the rear of the tram. “So I was right! You really are special!”

“Eh. Doesn’t feel like it.” Ryūko replied with a crooked half-smile. “No offense, Senketsu.”

Senketsu’s voice hummed warmly against her skin. “None taken.”

“But you are super special, Ryūko-chan!” Mako insisted. “Both you & Izumi-chan! And maybe Lady Satsuki too—but she probably doesn’t count because she’s already the Student Council President, which automatically makes her awesome in a scary, domineering way by default—”

“Izumi...,” Shinketsu growled, her threads tightening with rising irritation, “would you kindly inform that imbecilic companion of yours to get to her point already before I unravel something?!”

“Um, Mako-san—” Izumi tried to interject.

But Mako was already too swept away in the momentum of her own narrative.

“All Lady Satsuki needs is a commissar cap & wear a long coat like a cape to complete that military-chic look she’s got going on for her.” The bob-haired girl continued, now fully in performance mode. Then she swung her focus back to the greenette in front of her. “And as for Izumi-chan—”

“Huh?” Izumi blinked, startled. “What about me?”

“You’ve got that student-council, honor-roll student vibe!” Mako barreled on. “Fancy blazer, pantyhose stockings, turtleneck sweater-vest underneath, a plaid skirt—the full heroine package! Like you just stepped out of a light novel!”

“Well… when you put it that way…” Izumi murmured awkwardly.

Mako twisted again toward Ryūko.

“Meanwhile, you’re rocking the full sukeban urban bad-girl aesthetic, Ryūko-chan! Your uniform even looks like it has an eyepatch! It’s like you lead an all-girls gang that takes names & kicks ass while chewing on bubblegum after school at the local arcade!”

“Heh. That’s some imagination you’ve got there, Mako.” Ryūko chuckled.

The second-year student sighed dreamily beside her first-year schoolmate. “I just wish I had one of my own. Just think of all the adventures we could go on together… all the things we could talk about past our bedtime…”

“Ummm…” Izumi attempted again, but the words fizzled out under the weight of Mako’s unstoppable enthusiasm.

“No you wouldn’t…” Ryūko leaned back against her bench with a lazy shrug. “Trust me, Mako. You’re better off not making small talk with clothes. Especially if it’s your own underwear.”

“Ohhh! So it’s a personal choice thing!” Mako gasped, eyes widening with revelation before pouting. “Aww… I kinda wanted mine to at least say something inspiring. Or at least warn me when I’m sitting weirdly while wearing it.”

Izumi nearly flew forward again as the tram hit another bump.

“Whoa! Careful, Izumi-chan!”

Luckily, or unluckily for a certain kamui, Mako caught the first-year by the shoulders with surprisingly sharp reflexes.

“…If any undergarments possessed even a shred of consciousness,” Shinketsu muttered darkly. “… I suspect yours would be begging to be put out of their misery.”

Izumi coughed violently to mask a nervous laugh.

“Everything okay?” Mako asked brightly, still holding her upright.

“Yes!” Izumi squeaked. “Perfectly fine!”

Behind them, a single crimson eye shifted thoughtfully within its yellow sclera, narrowing just a fraction as its owner hummed in faint amusement.

“Ryūko.” Senketsu murmured softly, while Mako resumed rambling animatedly with her kohai about what kind of personality her socks would have.

“Yeah?” Ryūko replied under her breath, her eyes tracking the way Mako leaned far too close into Izumi’s personal space yet again. “What is it, Senketsu?”

“Since we still have some time before we arrive at our destination,” he replied calmly. “… this may be an opportune moment to finally obtain answers you’ve been seeking.”

“What?” Ryūko’s brow twitched as she hissed under her breath. “Like right now?”

“You did express a desire to learn more about Midoriya Izumi earlier this morning,” he reminded her mildly. “And, if I may add, you did also followed her around for the entirety of yesterday for that same purpose.”

“Ugh.” Ryūko groan, dragging a hand down her face. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

“Nevertheless, this is your chance,” The red-&-black kamui continued evenly. “Unless you prefer to postpone everything until we reach Mako’s residence.”

“…Tch.” Her scowl deepened.

“Besides,” Senketsu added thoughtfully, his eye flicking toward the center of the tram. “… it is not as though Izumi is in a position to refuse at the moment.”

He wasn’t wrong, but that had been before a certain insufferable kamui named Shinketsu entered the picture.

Ryūko glanced toward Izumi’s uniform, where faint teal threads pulsed irritably at Mako’s continual presence.

“Well, there goes my good mood...” she muttered. “Fine. Let’s get this over with before that stupid rag changes my mind.”

She pushed herself upright. Her sneakers thud against the tram floor as she crossed toward the middle of the narrow aisle, grabbing a vertical railing just as the entire carriage lurched violently around another bend again.

“Ah— Matoi-san?!” The greenette stiffened when Ryūko stopped just behind her seat.

“Oh, Ryūko-chan!” Mako chirped brightly, still half-crouched over the bench.

“Mind if I borrow Midoriya for a bit, Mako?”

“Borrow?” Mako echoed, blinking. Nerveless, the brunette immediately scooted one seat over, folding her legs beneath her as she watched in bright anticipation. "Of course!”

Shinketsu reacted instantly.

“What are you scheming about this time, Matoi?” she said coldly, her glare angling upward at the second-year girl hovering over her wearer.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Ryūko shot back flatly. “I’m not here to start anything.”

“Hmph. That remains to be seen.”

“Look...” Ryūko began, her voice lowering—albeit stripped of most of its usual bite. “Since we’re gonna be stuck under the same roof for a while…”

She shifted her weight, gripping the rail as the tram screeched & curved along the track.

“…we might as well stop pretending otherwise & just… get to know each other.”

Izumi looked up at her, genuine surprise flickering across her tired features.

Ryūko cringed, immediately regretting what she said earlier.

‘I can’t believe I just said that. God, that sounded corny.’

Shinketsu’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as her tone slide smoothly into mock civility.

“Oh?” she drawled. “And what is this, exactly? Another interrogation, perhaps? Do you intend to fish my wearer for information again, as you did so graciously this morning?”

Ryuko’s mouth opened—then closed, emitting neither a snarl, a comeback or even a scoff.

Izumi noticed immediately as her grip on the seat tightened, eyes flicking anxiously between the older girl hovering above her & the kamui stretched across her chest.

Shinketsu’s pupils curved faintly, the closest approximation to a smile she could manage had she posses an actual mouth at the moment.

“…How reassuring,” she continued coolly. “Your stunned silence speaks volumes.”

Ryūko’s teeth ground together. “You—”

“I have a name, girl, lest you forgot.” Shinketsu cut in, glaring upward at her. “If you are addressing me, be advised that I do not respond well to random barking.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on talking to you in the first place!”

“Yet here you are standing, directly above & behind us.”

God, Ryūko hated that the infuriating kamui wasn’t entirely wrong in this matter.

Izumi groaned softly, rubbing her temple as she’s entirely fed up at this point.

“Shinketsu,” she said, exhaustion creeping into her voice . “Please, just… cooperate with Matoi-san & answer any & all of her questions if possible.”

“Excuse me?” The kamui angled upward at her wearer, genuinely affronted. “Izumi, you want me to do what?!”

“I didn’t ask for you to butt—” Ryūko snapped.

“I KNOW!” Izumi’s voice cut through the air, sharper than either of them expected. Ryūko froze & even Shinketsu flinched at the sudden intensity.

“I know you didn’t,” Izumi continued, calming herself down. “But I don’t want another fight breaking out now. Not when we’re heading straight into the No-Star District soon.”

Her fingers dug tightly into her hands.

“We’ve already caused enough damage today back at the academy,” she said quietly. “...and I don’t want to turn someone’s home into a second war zone either.”

Silence followed. For a moment, Shinketsu said nothing before her eyes narrow into something resembling a dramatic, deeply offended pout. It looked as if the kamui might refuse outright—

—before she let out a slow, reluctant sigh.

“Very well,” she said at last, each word weighed down with immense displeasure. “…I will entertain her inquiries…”

“About time—” Ryūko began.

“…On one condition.”

Her voice died instantly mid-breath as she was cut off by the kamui.

The tram’s rattling, Mako’s fidgeting, even the distant screech of metal on rails—all of it faded into background static as Shinketsu’s words settled into the space between them.

“What,” Shinketsu asked silkily, “exactly does Matoi Ryūko offer in return?”

Ryūko blinked. “What?”

“Since that is obviously unclear to you,” The kamui went on, savoring every syllable, “then allow me to propose the terms. Either you or your Senketsu may ask a question & in exchange, Izumi or I shall pose one of our own. Both of you will answer truthfully to the best of your abilities & in turn, shall receive the same courtesy from the both of us.”

“Hey, now wait a minute!” Ryūko snapped. “I didn’t agree to any of that!”

“Oh surely,” she replied with feigned sympathy, “… you are not so naïve enough to believe that anything in this world comes freely. Information, least of all, always carries a price.”

Ryūko steadied herself against the pole as the carriage rattled violently over a seam in the rails. “How do I know this isn’t just an excuse to screw with me again?”

“Vulgarity aside,” Shinketsu replied without missing a beat. “…perhaps it is, but such matter is largely irrelevant. The reality is, Matoi, that you & your kamui are at a disadvantage here.”

Ryūko gritted her teeth in anger as Senketsu frowned.

“What do you mean by that, Shinketsu?”

Shinketsu’s pupils flicked toward Senketsu.

“Simply put, your p—human,” she backtracked, correcting herself with visible distaste “is clearly seeking answers. Both of you have been rather intent on prying into any shred of details regarding Izumi or myself that might satisfy your curiosity.” she retorted “If that is the case, why should we not avail ourselves of the same opportunity?”

The teal fibers beneath Izumi’s uniform gave a faint, deliberate pulse.

“But unlike yourselves,” Shinketsu continued coolly, “Izumi & I are not so eager, nor so desperate, in our pursuit of questions that need answering. Not when we could just simply continue our lives without caring to extract a single word from either of you.”

Her gaze slid back to the fuming red-streaked girl.

“But we all know neither of you will willingly walk away empty-handed. Nor will we grant anything freely when such leverage is within our reach.

Izumi shifted awkwardly beneath the weight of the tension. “Shinketsu… you’re making it sound like we’re negotiating a hostage exchange.”

“In a sense,” Shinketsu replied smoothly. “it is. Verbally, at least.”

Ryūko stared at the both of them for a long moment, before letting a deep, shuddering breath that vented out her frustrations.

“…Fine.” Ryūko muttered at last. “I’ll play your stupid game.”

Shinketsu’s eyes shifted slightly, as if a smile of satisfaction simmers beneath those eyes of hers.

“I am so pleased we have finally reach a mutual understanding.” she purred sweetly, every word soaked in patronizing delight.

“Grrrr,” Ryūko growl, giving the kamui a stink-eye. “… can I ask now?”

“You may proceed, Matoi.” Shinketsu replied smoothly.

Senketsu’s one eye shifted subtly toward Ryūko.

“Please ask carefully.” he murmured just for her ears. “If this becomes an exchange, we must ensure the first move is worth the cost.”

‘Yeah, yeah. I know.’ Ryūko clicked her tongue as she lowered herself onto the bench beside Mako, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Is this like one of those truth-or-dare games except without the dares?” Mako whispered far loudly.

“Something tells me I’m gonna get more than I bargain for, Mako.” Ryūko muttered, locking eyes with Izumi before angling her chin toward Shinketsu. “Alright...let’s start things simple. How long have you two been together?”

The gray-&-teal kamui didn’t hesitate. “As of today, approximately six months.”

Ryūko’s head snapped up. “What?”

Even Senketsu stirred beneath her jacket. “…T-that long?”

“Yeah…” Izumi gave a small, sheepish nod. “...it was shortly before the new school year began at U.A.”

Ryūko stared at the first-year student, her mind scrambling to catch up.

“You’re telling me you had your kamui for almost half a year already?” she said slowly, voice tinged with disbelief. “That’s longer than I’ve even known about Senketsu!”

“I-Isn’t that what I just said?” Izumi asked, startled by the intensity of the second-year’s reaction.

“If it comforts you, Matoi,” Shinketsu added in a deceptively saccharine, sing-song tone. “Kiryūin was just as surprised when she learned of this detail from Izumi during one of their encounters today.”

That did not comfort Ryūko at all as a sour, frustrated thought flickered across her mind.

The dark-haired girl already suspected—much to her irritation—that Midoriya, younger & shorter as she was, at least possesses a far better understanding at utilizing her kamui that rivaled even that of Satsuki’s.

But six months?

‘How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?’

Shinketsu’s pupils lingered on Ryūko a moment too long, as if she caught glimpsed of the faintest hint insecurity flickering across dark-haired girl’s face.

“I believe it is now my turn,” she said smoothly, pulling Ryūko out of her spiraling thoughts. “Now based on your reaction… just how long have you worn your kamui, Matoi Ryūko?”

Ryūko hesitated, caught off-guard.

“I am waiting, Matoi.” Shinketsu added, impatience creeping into her otherwise velvety tone.

Before Ryūko could answer, Senketsu spoke first— albeit quiet, reluctant… almost apologetic.

“It was earlier this week.” he admitted. “Specifically… Monday afternoon.”

“Monday? This earlier Monday?” Izumi echoed softly, turning toward Ryūko as her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’ve only been with Senketsu for just a few days?”

“Yeah...” Ryūko clicked her tongue in annoyance, shoulders squaring defensively now that the spotlight was on her—specifically, her inexperience. “So what?”

“…That is considerably less time than I initially assumed.” The gray-&-teal kamui murmured, her tone no longer mocking—merely analytical. “Though it does explain… quite a number of things.”

Ryūko’s eye twitched.

Izumi’s brows slowly knitted together as she looked downward, thinking.

“Shinketsu… didn’t we sense something that one time?” she asked quietly. “Like a pulse? Almost a day before we arrived here in Honnō-chō?”

“Indeed.” Shinketsu replied, voice slowing with recollection as her attention now shifted toward Senketsu. “It was a rather powerful resonance.”

She glance upward towards her wearer.

“Not unlike the presence that woke you up in the middle of last night.”

“Which most likely belonged to Kiryūin-san,” Izumi mutter, fist tapping into her palm in realization as pieces began clicking into place. “If the sudden appearance of her kamui, Junketsu, this morning meant anything…”

Her voice grew quieter, slipping unconsciously into rapid-fire analysis.

“Then she must have already had access to a kamui of her own this entire time. One that she could easily deploy on such a short notice…”

“Is this normal?” Ryūko began, unnerved by how fast Izumi was talking without pausing to catch her breath.

“Izumi.” Shinketsu warned.

“But if that’s true, then why wait?” Izumi continued under her breath. “If Kiryūin-san clearly knew about my quirk—& most likely aware of Shinketsu’s existence, like she does with Senketsu—she could’ve challenged me the very next day after exposing everything back at the tennis court. There was no strategic advantage in delaying pass twenty-four hours unless—”

“Izumi…” the kamui’s tone sharpened.

“—unless she only recently obtained Junketsu if pulse from last night was a clear indication that Kiryūin-san—”

“Izumi!”

The loud snap finally pulled her back.

“You are muttering again,” Shinketsu said pointedly. “And our audience is gawking at us.”

Izumi froze & slowly lifted up her head.

Ryūko was indeed staring, along with Mako. Even Senketsu seemed momentarily distracted by her intensive muttering.

“…S-Sorry,” Izumi mumbled, cheeks warming in embarrassment as she shrank slightly into her seat. “I-I get too carried away sometimes.”

“No, no, keep going!” Mako chirped enthusiastically. “You sound so super smarty smart-sounding, Izumi-chan!”

“How very eloquent.” Shinketsu scoff, rolling her eyes before fixing her gaze back on Ryūko—this time not with casual disdain, but with renewed scrutiny.

“If what Izumi brought up is true,” the kamui continued smoothly, “then it would seem that Honnōji’s illustrious student council president had even less time to acclimate to her own kamui than even you, Matoi…”

“Your point?” Ryūko shot back, not liking the implication of the kamui’s phrasing.

“It means,” Shinketsu said, each word placed with surgical precision. “that either Kiryūin Satsuki possesses firsthand knowledge, understanding & the fortitude to command something as volatile as Junketsu despite the disadvantage of her limited experience…”

“Oh no,” Izumi murmured under her breath, closing her eyes briefly. “Here we go again…”

“...or you are merely incompetent.” Shinketsu finished. “Which, ironically, serves to make Kiryūin appear all the more impressive by comparison.”

The air around the bench seemed to spike several degrees.

Ryūko snarl, half-rising before the tram jolted violently, forcing her to grab the railing before she lost her balance. “You don’t fucking know a single damn thing about me, you—”

“Oh, I know quite enough from what I have observed so far.” Shinketsu cut in, her tone dropping several degrees. “Frankly, I am most unimpressed.”

“Geez. I’m crushed.” Ryūko shot back, sarcasm practically dripping from her mouth. “Didn’t realize how disappointed you were.”

“Jest all you like, Matoi,” Shinketsu replied icily. “but your fragile bond with Senketsu is doomed to implode at the rate that you are proceeding.”

Senketsu shifted uneasily, feeling the tremor running through her shoulders.

“Shinketsu—” he began carefully, but she pressed on.

“You are painfully self-conscious about your appearance & the petty opinions of others to a crippling degree.” the gray-&-teal kamui continued. “Hesitating & resisting any attempts to properly wear your kamui as though you are almost ashamed to cooperate with your own partner—”

“Now hold on. What do you mean I’m not wearing—” Ryūko snapped.

“Do not interrupt me.” the kamui warn, her voice snapping like drawn thread. “It is your reluctance that holds you back, thus becoming a liability— one that forces your kamui to consume an excessive amount of blood just to maintain that pitiful, if not outright painful, transformation of yours.”

Shinketsu’s own eyes shuttered briefly, her frame giving the faintest shudder.

“Especially when you transform.” she added quietly, gaze sliding toward Senketsu. “Or am I mistaken?”

Ryūko stiffened at her partner’s silence as the memory of this morning’s first transformation came surging back like a blow:

The searing constriction of life-fibers biting directly into her skin like teeth.

The intoxicating rush of power that unfortunately left her breathless & sweating afterwards.

The sting of burning blood coursing through her veins.

The dizziness clawing at the edges of her vision as she forced herself to keep fighting.

The dark-haired girl clenched her fists as Senketsu shifted uncomfortably. “…You could have phrased that more gently.”

“Oh, do forgive me.” Shinketsu said dryly. “I momentarily forgot that such tact was to be expected.”

“Shinketsu, stop it.” Izumi said sharply, her voice cutting cleanly through the rising tension. “I told you to answer their questions, not provoke them.”

“I am merely stating the cold, hard truth Matoi ought to hammer through that remarkably dense skull of hers if she intends to continue fighting alongside her kamui.”

“And ignoring all the context.” Izumi shot back, angling her head just enough to glare down at the golden eyes embedded in her uniform “It’s not like either of us were any better when we first started off months ago.”

Shinketsu bristled, her fabric tightening faintly across Izumi’s shoulders.

“Our circumstances were hardly comparable to theirs, Izumi.” she retorted. “Unlike a certain hotheaded brute—” her gaze slid back to Ryūko, who scowled “—I did not recall ever seeing you hemorrhaging blood every time you transform after performing those silly henshin poses of yours.”

“They’re not silly.” Izumi replied evenly, though her tone firmed. “And it’s not like you were cooperative at the start of the spring trimester back at U.A. Remember during the Battle Trials? When you practically hijacked my body?”

“What?!” Senketsu’s eye widened, swiveling toward the two. “You overrode her own body?!”

“Would you not do the same to ensure your wearer’s survival? Besides...” Shinketsu retorted indignantly before redirecting her attention upward back to Izumi “...I was attempting to save us both at the time.”

“By locking my joints & redirecting my movements without my consent, you mean?” Izumi countered, one brow arching. “That’s a funny definition of ‘saving.’”

“Because you were about to tank an explosion at point-blank range caused by stupidity of that trigger-happy so-called partner of yours!” Shinketsu snapped, venom seeping into her voice raised at the mention of the word partner. “Which, might I add, you did anyway!”

“Wait—what?” Ryūko blinked, her earlier irritation dissolving into shock & confusion. “You did what?”

“And what these ‘Battle Trials’ you mentioned?” Senketsu pressed, his one eye arching thoughtfully.

“They’re combat training exercises. In this case, we were doing simulated hero-versus-villain scenarios.” Izumi explained, her cheeks tinting faintly as she glanced aside. “That day, if I hadn’t jump in, two of my classmates would’ve been caught in the blast radius. They couldn’t get clear of the area in time, & indoors at that range…” She hesitated, jaw tightening. “Both would’ve been seriously hurt. Or worse.”

The dark-haired girl gave first-year student her flattest, most unimpressed stare yet.

“You know what? Never mind. After the insane stunts you pulled today, this tracks, Green.”

“Well,” Shinketsu continued primly, cutting across Ryūko. “the old crone was hardly ecstatic to see you wheeled back in her infirmary again, Izumi.”

“Again?” Ryūko echoed dryly.

“I-It was my third time seeing Recovery Girl, our school nurse.” Izumi admitted weakly.

“And on the second day of school no less.” her kamui added crisply. “Especially after we were launched five stories from the top floor onto the concrete below.”

The entire bench winced in unison.

“I swear, getting whacked by Recovery Girl’s cane hurts more than the landing.” Izumi muttered to herself, shuddering at the memory.

“And for all our troubles, no good deed went unpunished.” the kamui added, her composure cracking just slightly enough to betray lingering irritation. “We were reprimanded after the exercise by one of the very individuals Izumi saved. The audacity of his ingratitude—lecturing us as though we were the offenders— was... infuriating.”

“...True.” Izumi conceded reluctantly. ‘But at least Uraraka-san was thanked us afterward…’

‘Your crush is one of the rare exceptions, not the norm, Izumi.’ Shinketsu remarked dryly through their mental link.

‘W-What? Uraraka-san’s not my crush. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Izumi mentally shot back, her denial came far too quickly to be convincing.

Shinketsu offered no verbal reply, but the kamui’s amusement brushed against her wearer’s thoughts like silk.

“Wow.” Mako gasped, clasping her hands. “You’re hardcore, Izumi-chan.”

“That’s not something to be proud about.” Ryūko deadpanned.

“As if you are one to talk, Matoi.” Shinketsu snorted.

The second-year ignored her entirely, squinting at Izumi instead. “But seriously...how’re you not in a full-body cast?”

“It was… a situational thing.” Izumi coughed awkwardly. “And Shinketsu & I dealt with far worse since then, as you all saw today.”

She paused before a thin red thread slipped from her fingertip, glinting with a faint metallic sheen in the afternoon light before retracting just as quickly as if it had never existed.

“…Also,” she added carefully, lowering her hand, “I heal faster than most.”

“Right...” Ryūko’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Quirks. I keep forgetting you’re basically the only person at Honnōji who even has one.”

“I will admit,” Shinketsu interjected. “this was long before became I became aware that your unique physiology grants endurance far beyond that of a typical human body. However, that does not excuse how recklessly you acted at the time.”

“Now you sound like Īda-san…” Izumi muttered bitterly.

Shinketsu bristled at such comparison, fabric tightening faintly across the first-year’s shoulders in silent indignation. The greenette pointedly ignored her kamui’s offended indignation, coughing softly as she steadied herself.

“Anyway,” she said, forcing the conversation forward. “We’re getting off topic.”

Her gaze shifted between Ryūko & Senketsu.

“So let’s move on with the questions. I think it’s your turn—” she glanced at the one-eyed kamui, “—or Senketsu’s—to ask something.”

“Let me have a try this time, Ryūko.”

“Yeah?” Ryūko shrugged. “Shoot. Go for it, Senketsu.”

“Since the two of you have been together for at least six months,” Senketsu began as his eye settled calmly on the greenette across from him. “… then how did you & Shinketsu first meet, Izumi?”

Shinketsu’s violet-&-golden eyes tilt upwards towards her wearer. “I believe it would be preferable for you to answer this one, Izumi.”

Izumi flinched slightly under the sudden attention focused upon her now. Her hand rose automatically to the back of her head— a nervous habit Ryūko starting to recognize.

“…Okay. Though it’s... kinda hard to explain.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Honestly, it still feels a little surreal.”

“Really?” Ryūko scoffed, jerking a thumb between herself & Senketsu. “We’re riding an open-air tram with a pair of talking sailor school uniforms that turn us into perverted magical-girl knockoffs straight out of a hentai dōjin. Surreal kind of lost meaning a long time ago.”

Senketsu sighed deeply. “…You just had to phrase it like that, didn’t you, Ryūko?”

Izumi blinked—then, despite herself, let out a small laugh. “…Fair point. When you put it like that, I guess my story isn’t that much weirder.”

Ryūko leaned forward, interest piqued. “Yeah? Then spill it already, Green.”

Izumi’s fingers laced together.

“Believe it or not…,” She paused. “but I got Shinketsu in the mail.”

Silence.

The tram rattled over the tracks, wind whistling through the open sides.

Ryūko’s head snapped up so fast it bordered on whiplash. “…Say what?”

Even Senketsu stiffened slightly against her shoulders, not believing what he just heard. “…In the mail? I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?”

“It is precisely as she stated.” Shinketsu replied coolly, though her eyes flicked away for the briefest fraction of a second. “I was delivered in a sealed parcel & deposited at the entrance of her apartment residence around midday in…” she paused, attempting to remember “March was it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, real funny.” Ryūko folded her arms, disbelief written plainly across her face. “Now both of you are just screwing with me.”

“Believe what you will, Matoi,” Shinketsu said flatly. “But I do not fabricate the circumstances of my own arrival.”

“Eh?!” Mako gasped, popping up between them like an overly curious meerkat. “Did you won your uniform in some kind of contest, Izumi-chan?!”

“W-well, I—I do enter a lot contests from time to time…” Izumi admitted sheepishly, fingers twiddling together as she recalled the alarming number of pro-hero sweepstakes she’d participated in— & often won—through sheer obsessive persistence. “But no. At least not this time.”

“Did you bought it online, then?” Ryūko pressed. “Like at some shady custom-order site on the Dark Web?”

“No! I didn’t buy it online— & definitely not from somewhere like that! That’s dangerous!”

“Oh!” Mako’s eyes lit up with inspiration. “Maybe it was a stork with a baby-delivery quirk that brought it to you!”

“…” Izumi & Shinketsu both stared at the brunette.

“Is your companion cognitively impaired, Matoi?” the kamui asked dryly.

“Shinketsu!” Izumi scolded.

“Um, Mako...,” Ryūko said, struggling not to laugh. “Midoriya got a package, not a newborn kid.”

“But finding a talking school uniform in a box outside your door is basically the same thing as finding a baby in a basket on your doorsteps, Ryūko-chan!” The brunette insisted passionately. “Maybe the stork delivers mail as a second job on the side to make ends meet in this economy!”

Ryūko wheezed at the mental image instantly forming: a miniature Shinketsu folded up like baby clothes in a wicker basket, complete with frilly lace trim & all.

“What exactly transpires within that girl’s empty head for her to produce such elaborate nonsense that she speaks of?” Shinketsu murmured under her breath so only Izumi could hear.

“I genuinely don’t know.” Izumi whispered back. “And maybe it’s best not to tell her there’s actually someone with a stork quirk who does handle deliveries back in Musutafu.”

“You say something, Izumi-chan?”

Izumi nearly jumped out of her seat.

Mako was suddenly inches from her face again, waving a hand energetically in front of her eyes.

“S-so close…” Izumi muttered, blushing as she leaned back—only now realizing just how near Mako’s loose blouse had drifted into her personal space… & that she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

“Earth to Midoriya.” Ryūko snapped her fingers.

“O-oh! Right.” Izumi straightened. “Look—I don’t know where Shinketsu came from. Or who—or what—sent her in the mail. And could you please move, Mako-san?”

She gently nudged Mako aside.

“Thank you.” Izumi exhaled, expression softening as her gaze drifted outward. “All I know is… a package showed up one day without any warning.”

A quiet beat settled between them.

“It happened a few weeks after I took the U.A. Entrance Exam earlier this year…”