[Days after the Hero Name Class – Intense training at U.A.]
The routine at U.A. is relentless. But somehow, I like that.
Every morning starts with our 6 a.m. run. Mirio seems to float between steps, always smiling. Nejire flies in spirals around us, as if dancing with the wind. Tamaki… well, Tamaki runs in silence, like he's trying to escape his own thoughts. And me ? I run ahead — not to lead, but to clear my mind. Speed gives me focus. Reminds me who I am.
Then comes individual training. We're all learning to take our Quirks beyond the obvious.
Mirio has been trying to phase upwards even while solid. "If I can float out of a building, I'll save more people," he says.
Nejire is testing frequency variations in her energy waves. We discovered that, with the right vibration, she can destabilize force fields and neutralize explosions.
Tamaki created a new ingestion protocol to combine forms — squid + horse + chili pepper ? Sounds absurd, but he managed to run along walls, spit burning ink, and kick midair.
And me… I'm studying microcontrol. Being strong isn't enough. I want to learn how to stop a heart with a needle-sized thermal beam — and restart it a second later. I want to use my freezing breath to sculpt, not just destroy.
Control. Clarity. Responsibility.
It was after one of those training sessions that I heard it for the first time:
"There they go… the Big 4."
I caught it as a whisper from the second floor, from two students in Class 1-C. They didn't know my hearing caught everything.
The next day, it was a group from 1-B. Then, teachers. Soon, it became routine. The name stuck.
Big 4.
It wasn't our idea. But no one denied it.
[U.A. rooftop – sunset]
The four of us sat together. One of those rare moments of calm.
Mirio munched an apple, laughing at something only he found funny. Nejire drew hearts in the air with light blue energy. Tamaki blew bubbles from his nose after drinking algae juice. And me… I watched the sky.
"Do you think we'll really change the world ?" I asked, without taking my eyes off the orange horizon.
Mirio didn't hesitate.
"We already are."
Nejire added,
"Everyone calls us the Big 4. But it's not just because we're strong. It's because we're together."
Tamaki whispered,"And because no one can hold us back…"
[U.A. cafeteria – 11:47 a.m.]
It was one of those normal days — or as close to normal as U.A. gets. The cafeteria was full, with the constant sound of conversations, laughter, food being served, and trays being dragged. The scent of curry, rice, and honey bread filled the air.
I sat with the crew. Mirio, as always, piled meat buns on his tray like he was feeding an army. Nejire stirred her juice with a spoon while loudly narrating a ridiculous dream about dancing sharks. Tamaki was just trying to disappear behind the menu, muttering about how he'd rather eat in a darker corner.
"Did you guys hear what the 1-B students said today?" Nejire asked excitedly. "They said if we were a collectible card group, we'd be the ultra-rare legendaries."
"It's because of the name…" I said, elbow on the table. "'Big 4.' Like we're some mythical threat."
Mirio laughed, almost choking on a bun.
"Well, if we're cards, Revan would be like a secret fusion of two god cards! Imagine it — golden shine, broken effects, infinite attack."
I smiled. But before I could answer, the cafeteria television changed tone.
"We interrupt this broadcast with urgent news."
Silence slowly spread as the students turned to the screen.
"A research submarine with 18 crew members is in critical condition off the coast of Korea. Apparently, it suffered severe hull damage and lost propulsion at around 5,000 meters depth. Communication is unstable, and according to the Korean government, no maritime heroes are close enough for an immediate rescue operation."
The images showed a model of the submarine, location maps, and then the tense faces of officials and specialists saying things like "no time" and "no immediate protocol is viable."
I didn't think. I felt.
I stood up in silence.
Nejire noticed first.
"Revan…?"
Tamaki looked at me. Mirio leaned over the table.
"Where are you going…?"
I looked at the three of them.
"To take a walk."
And then I vanished.
[In the sky – seconds later]
The wind cut across my face like ice blades, but my body adjusted automatically to the pressure, the cold, the absurd acceleration. My field uniform — reinforced with alloys my mother developed — molded to my body, absorbing the heat beginning to build up.
'5,000 meters. The pressure down there can crush anything. I need to calculate carefully. Enter slowly. Help. Get them all out.'
The Korean coast appeared on the horizon in seconds. Flying over the sea, I scanned with thermal and x-ray vision until I located the area. A metallic point in slow, steady descent. Energy leakage. Hull damage.
I dove.
[Ocean – abyssal zone – 4,980 meters deep]
The pressure down here felt like it wanted to crush the whole world. The sea was a wall of darkness and weight, and every movement had to be calculated to the millimeter. The submarine was tilted, already with visible cracks in the hull and signs of complete propulsion failure.
Through the reinforced fuselage, I saw their eyes. Terrified. No one screamed — at this depth, everything was silence and tension. But I could hear their hearts, their shaky breaths, the dying machine's motors gasping.
'Too much force and the hull implodes. If I hesitate, it sinks forever.'
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Placed my hands beneath the submarine. My legs touched the cold, muddy ocean floor, anchoring me.
'Slowly. Full control. Keep the thermal field around the structure. If I absorb the pressure impact… I can neutralize the hull's stress.'
I activated my biological force field. Like an invisible shield, it surrounded the submarine. A constant heat field, modulating the water pressure around it. It was like holding the world in my hands.
'Strength… with delicacy.'
I pushed.
The ground trembled beneath my feet. Mud shifted like a dense wave. The submarine groaned but didn't break. The cracks shuddered… then stabilized.
We ascended.
1,000 meters...2,000…3,500…
Light began to penetrate the water layers. The submarine's colossal shadow projected above me like a dead whale rising. Inside, people began to realize. Muffled cries. Some collapsed to the floor, others clung to inner structures.
In the cockpit, I saw a woman squeezing her eyes shut, holding a colleague's hand.
A man removed his helmet and made the sign of the cross.
They were praying.
4,700…4,950…And then, we broke the surface.
[Surface – Korean Sea – cloudy sky, rough waves]
The submarine emerged like a black metallic island, cutting through the sea violently. Water poured from its sides in waterfalls. Helicopters turned toward me. Military ships were miles away, powerless until now.
I maintained the thermal field around the structure, preventing the abrupt pressure shift from causing internal collapse. My muscles burned. My eyes throbbed. But I could keep going.
I floated with the entire submarine above me. Lifted into the air, dozens of meters above sea level, as if defying gravity.
Let's finish this. Fast. Safe.
I pointed to the nearest coast.
[Rocky beach – east coast of Korea – minutes later]
The sand trembled as the submarine landed. Carefully, I set it down on a flat area of beach, away from the water. The structure still hissed, hot, steaming. But it was intact. Every inch. Every bolt. Every human inside.
I placed my feet on the ground and deactivated the thermal field. The hull groaned one last time… then fell silent.
The front hatch opened from the inside.
The first person stumbled out, removing their oxygen mask. Fell to their knees on the sand and cried. The second emerged in shock. The third, a young scientist, ran to me with tears in her eyes.
"You… brought the entire submarine… from the abyssal zone…?"
I nodded, breathless."They were alive. I had to try."
"But… who are you…?"
"No one. Someone who was listening."
She smiled. Not from joy — from relief.
Behind her, the crew exited one by one. Stunned. Crying. Laughing. Kneeling on the sand. Korean medics and military personnel rushed toward us with stretchers and thermal blankets.
One officer looked at me and hesitated."Are you… a registered hero ? What's… what's your name ?"
I took a deep breath."Superman."
And before they could ask more questions… I flew away.
[A few hours later – U.A. principal's office]
The silence was strange. Not the kind that bothers me — the one that carries heartbeats, murmurs, and the sounds of the world — but a tense silence. Dense. The kind that comes before something important.
Sitting in front of Principal Nezu's desk, I felt more pressure than when I held up a submarine five thousand meters below sea level.
On the other side of the room, Aizawa stood with his arms crossed. He watched me with a neutral expression… but I could hear his heart beating faster.
Nezu took a sip of tea. Then looked at me with that diplomatic little smile of his.
"Revan. You know why you're here, right ?"
I nodded.
"I entered Korean airspace without authorization. Acted improperly as a licensed hero. Violated international Quirk-use protocols in foreign territory. Interfered in a military operation. And…"
"Saved eighteen lives," Aizawa finished, dryly.
I stayed quiet.
Nezu continued:
"South Korea is… divided. The public is on your side. The press is calling you 'The Son of the Sky.' The government, however, is furious. A minor with an Apex-class Quirk crossed the Pacific in seconds, dove to the ocean floor, and moved military equipment with absolute ease. They're scared, Revan. Too scared to say thank you."
"So they want to punish me."
"They want answers. The U.S. government has already been contacted. They're pretending they know nothing, of course. The Japanese embassy is trying to calm things down. But… yes. You've violated several international laws."
I remained silent. Because all of this… I already knew.
"They can't extradite me, right ?" I asked. "I'm a minor. A student. Legally accepted at U.A."
"Correct. And U.A. has jurisdiction over its students while they are under our care," said Aizawa. "But we're under pressure."
Nezu sighed.
"They want you to apologize publicly. To admit it was a mistake. That you acted without thinking. And that you'll never do it again."
I looked at him.
"And if I don't say that ?"
Aizawa answered first:
"You'll be labeled as unstable. Potentially dangerous. It'll set a bad precedent. Other countries will see you as a threat. And your future as a hero may be compromised."
"Even after saving eighteen lives ?"
"Especially because of it," he replied, and this time there was anger in his voice. Not toward me — toward the system. "You proved you could. That's what scares them."
I stood slowly.
"So they want me to apologize… for not letting people die?"
Nezu looked at me, firm but kind.
"They want you to apologize for showing the world they weren't ready. That bureaucracy wasn't fast enough. That a foreign boy was more efficient than their professional heroes. It's wounded pride, Revan."
I took a deep breath. Blood still pulsed with the weight of the choice.
"I won't apologize for what I did. But I can say that… I was driven by compassion, not politics. That I acted on impulse. That I understand rules exist… but that sometimes, they arrive too late."
Nezu nodded.
"That might work."
Aizawa remained silent, but as I left the room, I heard him say:
"You're the kind of hero the world needs. You just don't realize it yet."
[U.A. Auditorium – Three days after the rescue]
The lights were far too bright. I could hear the camera clicks even before they fired. People from all over the world. Journalists from Korea, the U.S., Japan. Some pro heroes were present. Others — government representatives — watched silently, arms crossed, waiting… for the mistake.
I stepped up to the podium.
I wasn't wearing my uniform.
I didn't want to look like a symbol. I wanted them to see me for who I really was.
Revan. A fifteen-year-old kid who decided not to wait.
I took the microphone calmly, breathed deeply, and spoke:
"Good afternoon."
My words echoed clearly. The auditorium went silent.
"My name is Revan Whitmore. I'm fifteen years old. I'm a student in Class 1-A at U.A. High School. And yes… I'm the one who rescued the research submarine that sank off the coast of South Korea."
I saw their expressions shift. Some hardened. Others softened.
"Before anything else, I need to say this: I was pressured to apologize. I was advised to say I acted on impulse, that I made a mistake, that I crossed borders without permission. And, in a way… all of that is true."
Some movement among the representatives at the back of the room.
"I understand that rules exist. That borders exist. That international laws exist for a reason. Order is important. Diplomacy is important. I'm not here to ignore any of that."
I paused.
"But I also understand something else: when those same rules prevent people from being saved, they stop being protection… and become barriers."
Some murmurs. But I continued.
"I didn't fly to that submarine to provoke an international incident. I didn't go as a hero. Not even as a U.A. student. I went as someone who heard the cry for help from eighteen human beings… and decided not to wait any longer."
I looked into the cameras.
"I didn't break rules out of defiance. I broke the silence… out of urgency. Because every second counted. Because if I had stood still, those people would be dead. And in that moment, what matters more ? The stamped paperwork ? Or the lives that are breathing today ?"
Several faces looked down.
"If the world wants to punish me for that, so be it. But understand this: I didn't do it for fame, or glory. I did it because I could. And if I can… then I must. I'm not sorry for saving lives. I only ask that you consider: if the rules keep us from saving those in need… maybe it's not just the one who acted that needs to change."
Absolute silence.
I lowered the microphone and stepped away slowly.
As I left the stage, I heard a journalist whisper:
"He didn't ask for forgiveness… he asked for awareness."