Three days after the catastrophic battles had rocked Japan, the hospital corridors hummed with the subdued rhythms of recovery.
In one quiet room, Midoriya lay on a pale blue hospital bed, his body battered yet gradually mending under the steady care of medical staff.
His eyes opened slowly, and as the ambient light filtered through partially drawn curtains, he became painfully aware of every bruise, every scar, every searing memory of the battle he had fought for his future.
Across the room, unconscious but stable, Bakugo rested—his fiery spirit quieted by the weight of injuries that would, in time, mend into lessons only survival could teach.
The door creaked open, and in stepped All Might. No longer the invincible, gleaming figure of legend, no longer the Symbol of peace, he now bore the marks of true sacrifice.
His presence, however, remained a beacon of hope. With measured steps, he approached Midoriya's bedside. The hero's warm gaze fell upon his favourite student, and every ache seemed to recede in the face of reassurance.
"All Might-sensei-" Midoriya whispered, his voice brittle like shattered glass. His eyes, wide with lingering fear and an overwhelming sense of loss, glistened with unshed tears.
All Might's voice, gentle yet resonant with quiet pride, filled the silence between them.
"Midoriya, you did your best. We all did. And——we won."
Those words, spoken with such sincere conviction, broke something in Midoriya. In an instant, the dam of pent-up gratitude and sorrow burst, and tears streamed freely down his cheeks. His sobs were not just for the pain, but for the weight of the struggles endured, for every sacrifice made by heroes who stood against the darkness.
"All Might… we… we won?" Midoriya choked out between tears, his voice raw and tremulous.
All Might knelt beside him, wrapping a sturdy yet gentle arm around his shoulders.
"Yes, Midoriya," he said softly, his eyes reflecting both relief and lingering sorrow.
"It's all over now. All For One—he's gone. The terror that once gripped our hearts has been silenced."
At that moment, the world outside seemed to pause in muted reverence. The scattered shouts of victory and the quiet murmurs of hope from the evacuated city felt like distant echoes compared to the intimate solace shared in that hospital room.
All Might continued, his tone a blend of comfort and command,
"Remember this feeling, Midoriya-Shounen. Remember that even in the deepest darkest moments, we rose—together. Every hero, every ordinary person—each of you gave everything to protect this world."
Midoriya's trembling sobs gradually subsided as he clutched the promise in All Might's words.
As the room filled with a bittersweet calm, the legacy of all that they'd fought for etched itself deeper into his heart.
Elsewhere in the hospital, Endeavor sat silently, eyes fixed on the window where a soft light hinted at a new dawn. Fully wrapped in bandages and bearing the evidence of his own fierce battles, he stirred as the news reverberated through the halls. The radio crackled with an urgent broadcast—reporting that, miraculously, his son Toya was alive, though held captive by a figure shrouded in mystery and known as Hoshigami Enrai. The revelation brought a turmoil of conflicting emotions: hope intertwined with a bitter taste of vengeance and responsibility.
His gaze lingered on the television screen mounted on the wall. The broadcast had just finished airing All Might's message to the world—his finger pointed squarely at the camera, his voice resolute as he announced his retirement.
"I'll leave everything up to you now."
The words hit Endeavor like a blunt blade. He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing—not out of pride, but frustration. So that was it. The symbol had stepped down. The title of Number One had been passed not through triumph, but by attrition. Not by earning it—by taking it.
He let out a quiet scoff, eyes burning with a different fire.
'No. This isn't how I wanted it.'
He had trained, fought, bled, and clawed his way through the hero rankings not to be handed a crown, but to seize it—by proving himself, by surpassing the man called All Might. Now, he sat atop the pedestal, alone, the burden of Number One crashing onto his shoulders like a cursed mantle. He was the top hero now… but there was no joy in it.
No satisfaction. Just scorched earth, battered allies, and a son he thought long dead now in prison.
"…Dammit-" he muttered under his breath, the sunset casting long shadows across his room.
In a separate wing of the hospital, a confined meeting between Enrai and Nezu began. Nezu's gaze was sharp, his voice tinged with both admonishment and pity.
"You can't hide anymore, Enrai. What are you going to do?"
Enrai, who had reverted to his original form—no longer the gentle and composed UA Teacher--- his current form is not of the corrupted monster but the man with the memories of his past intertwined with the grace of Miquella—met Nezu's stare with unyielding resolve. His voice was low and determined:
"I will do what I must-"
Nezu's eyes shimmered with confusion and concern.
Elsewhere still, at Hero Headquarters, the atmosphere was charged with a storm of revelations. Watanabe, with a furrowed brow and a fiery determination, assembled the agency's top agents. After days of meticulous research scattered across chaotic battle reports, he finally connected the scattered dots.
"We now know who Radahn truly is-" he announced, his voice rising in anger and urgency.
"He is none other than Hoshigami Enrai—a teacher at U.A."
"Sir , Please watch this footage as well-"
Watanabe stood in the center of the Hero Commission's war room, drenched in cold sweat despite the silence that had overtaken the space.
The broadcast had just ended.Cheers echoed on every street. News anchors were hailing him as a saviour.Hoshigami Enrai.No…Radahn.
The thing that tore open the skies. The one who defeated the heroes like they were nothing but a fly. The thing who hold secrets beyond of this world.
The one who appeared from nowhere. Too powerful. Too unknown.
And now… they were calling him a hero?
Watanabe's lips trembled, his clenched fists digging into the conference table.
"Are they all blind?!" he muttered.
Then, louder—more guttural:"He's a beast! A monster! He should be in a cage—buried, sealed away!"
He slammed his palm down, shaking the entire console.
"Not held up as the embodiment of heroism—That's absurd!"
In a sudden burst of conviction, Watanabe's tone turned harsh as he addressed Nezu in a low, emphatic shout:
"NEZU, YOU DAMN MOUSE! Code Cero—everyone, let's move out. We're heading to U.A. right now!"
The sharp command cut through the mounting tension, setting in motion the next critical phase of the rebuilding effort. The heroes, government officials, and emergency teams pivoted from mourning to action, as the true extent of the sacrifice and the hope for the future converged into one final rallying cry.
---------------------------------------
The wind was calm atop the U.A. tower where Nezu stood beside Radahn, the sky behind them blanketed in the soft blush of twilight. The war was over. The cost had been unfathomable, but for the first time in years, peace hung in the air—if only barely.
Radahn stood still, his immense, towering form cloaked in a silent resolve. His long coat drifted with the breeze.
His eyes closed.
Nezu tilted his head, cautiously observing."…Something wrong, Enrai-san?"
Radahn said nothing.
Then his head shifted—just slightly.
"…I'll be back-" he said in a low voice.
"Wait—" Nezu stepped forward,
"Back where—?"
But before he could finish, Radahn was gone. Vanished from the rooftop without a sound. The wind recoiled in his absence, a silent quake rumbling through the clouds.
------------------------------------------
Beneath the crust of Japan, hidden from even the most watchful satellites and heroes, a sprawling subterranean laboratory thrummed with the cadence of machines long forgotten by the world above.
The air was stale, thick with sterilizing chemicals and death. Lights flickered against blood-red walls laced with steel veins. This place wasn't just underground—it was buried beneath the corpse of a forgotten world.
Wires and tubes snaked across the ceiling like synthetic vines, pumping life—or something close to it—into containment tanks lined in rows, many shattered, others oozing quiet decay. Dried blood trailed along the cracked floor tiles, and the metal grates beneath echoed every footstep like a ghost sighing.
In the center of this medical mausoleum stood Dr. Kyudai Garaki.
The old man's back was more hunched than ever, his skin a sickly hue of parchment pulled taut across brittle bones.
A breathing apparatus wheezed quietly beside him, a soft psshh-kkhh keeping pace with his strained lungs. His hands trembled—not from fear or age, but from awe. Awe and triumph.
He leaned over a console, bathed in a cold blue glow, running final calculations. Graphs danced on the monitors, showcasing an upward surge in bio-rhythmic signals, brain activity—spiking, erratic. The suspended figure in the cylindrical tank before him was pulsing with energy.
There, within the great tank of stasis fluid, floated the culmination of All For One's will—the body of Tomura Shigaraki, now a vessel for something far greater. Long white hair fanned out like kelp around his face. His muscles were larger, hardened from experimental quirk fusion. But it was the aura, the presence around him, that made the machines groan and lights twitch.
Garaki's eyes glistened with fanatical devotion.
"Yes… yes… finally…! Countless preparation… the merging of core and consciousness… the God of this world will rise at last!"
He tottered closer, placing a frail hand against the thick glass of the chamber.The liquid inside shimmered purple, unnatural, corrupted with essence drawn from stolen quirks and failed Nomu.
"Master… your dream… the ideal society of order, of control… a world cleansed of weakness and chaos… it will all begin anew. You shall be the one to forge it with divine power."
He chuckled, a wheezing rasp of madness and reverence.
"I will bear witness to the birth of a God."
Then—
A low, thunderous voice pierced the silence.
"A God, you say…?"
The room seemed to exhale.
The lights dimmed.
The monitors glitched, flickering wildly. One even cracked.
Garaki spun, his bones screaming as he stumbled back.
"W-Who's there?!"
Then he saw them—
Two golden pupils.
No iris. No sclera. Just gold, burning through the blackness like twin suns behind a veil of shadow.
A massive figure began to emerge from the corridor—his form brushing the top of the doorway, dragging dust down from the ceiling as if the very lab recoiled from his presence. Each step was slow. Deliberate. Terrifying.
And then he saw it—no, him.
Hoshigami Enrai.
Radahn.
Not as the U.A. teacher, not even as the battlefield god who erased All For One with a single flick of gravitational force.
This was something older.
More terrible.
Clad in regal, cosmic remnants of an ancient warrior's attire, a cape made of star-silk fluttered behind him.
His body exuded mass, not just physical, but gravitational. The air was bending around him, trembling like it feared to be crushed.
Garaki's voice shrivelled into a whisper.
"Y-You… YOUUUU!!!"
Radahn stopped just feet from the containment tank.
His glowing eyes locked onto the figure inside—the vessel of Tomura Shigaraki, still unconscious, floating in liquid. But Radahn could sense it. That aura.
That soul didn't belong to the boy. It hosted something that was killed by his very hands-
He knew it from U.S.J.The boy.No… not a boy anymore.A grave. A throne. A time bomb.
Garaki, now trembling violently, gasped.
"What are you going to do…?! This… this is sacred! This is the birth of something greater than you, than ALL of us!"
Radahn didn't answer.
His eyes never left the chamber.
The gravity in the room grew heavier—so dense the glass began to creak and whine under pressure. The temperature dropped. Machines hissed out one final warning.
And then—
Inside the tank—
The eyes of the vessel shot open.
Deep. Black. Empty.And then they glowed red—a colour that wasn't just evil, but ancient.
All For One had awakened.