Thursday Night
The dorms were quiet.
Most students had finally retreated to their rooms after falling asleep in the common room, exhaustion from festival preparation catching up with them. But sleep didn't come easily for everyone.
...
Ochaco's Room
Ochaco sat at her desk, pen hovering over her journal.
She'd been staring at the blank page for fifteen minutes now, trying to figure out how to put her thoughts into words. Outside her window, the moon hung bright and full, casting silver light across the completed festival grounds.
Today was fun, she finally wrote. Working with everyone, seeing it all come together. Mom would be proud of how efficiently we organized the food booth.
She paused, chewing on the end of her pen.
Ryuu helped a lot. He's good at that—helping. Not just with his quirk, but just... being there. Listening.
Her hand moved across the page almost without conscious thought now.
I've always been focused on money. On saving enough to help Mom and Dad retire comfortably. That's why I became a hero—to lift my family out of struggling. But lately I've been thinking... is it selfish to want something for myself too?
She stopped writing, staring at the words.
When I'm with Ryuu, I don't think about money. I think about how he makes me laugh. How he understands what it's like to worry about parents working too hard. How he looked at me today when I was talking about Mom's cooking philosophy.
Is it wrong to want both? To save my family AND have someone who makes me feel like I'm worth something beyond what I can provide?
Ochaco set down her pen and leaned back in her chair, looking out at the moonlit campus.
Tomorrow was the festival. Hundreds of people would come, and if everything went well, the food booth would make decent money for the school fund. She'd work hard, smile at customers, make her parents proud.
But maybe, if there was time after everything wound down, she'd tell Ryuu how she felt.
Just maybe.
She closed her journal and headed to bed, her heart feeling lighter and heavier at the same time.
...
Tsuyu's Room
"So when do we get to meet him?"
Tsuyu's younger sister's face filled her laptop screen, eyes bright with curiosity. Behind her, their brother was making exaggerated kissing noises until their sister elbowed him.
"There's nothing to meet," Tsuyu said matter-of-factly, though her cheeks felt warm. "Ryuu is a classmate. A friend."
"A friend you talk about a lot," her sister pointed out. "A friend who 'understands responsibility' and 'listens without judgment' and 'helped you with the accessibility ramps even though he didn't have to.'"
"Ribbit. Those are all factual statements."
"Tsuyu likes someone!" her brother sang in the background. "Tsuyu likes someone!"
"I'm ending this call," Tsuyu warned.
"Wait, wait!" Her sister leaned closer to the camera. "But seriously, sis. Do you like him?"
Tsuyu considered the question with her usual directness. Ryuu was kind. Thoughtful. He carried weight the same way she did—family responsibilities that most teenagers didn't have to think about. When she'd told him about her siblings' mobility aids, he hadn't pitied her or changed the subject. He'd just... understood.
And yes, when she'd touched his arm yesterday, there had been something. A warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.
"...Possibly," she admitted finally. "Ribbit."
Her sister squealed. Her brother made more kissing noises.
"But he's already with two girls from our class," Tsuyu continued calmly. "Mina and Momo. They're very close."
Her sister's enthusiasm dimmed. "Oh. That's... complicated."
"Ribbit. Very." Tsuyu looked out her window at the moonlit festival grounds. "But that's alright. Friendship is enough. He makes a good friend."
They said their goodbyes and ended the call, but Tsuyu sat at her desk for a long time afterward, staring at nothing.
She'd meant what she said. Friendship was enough.
But sometimes, late at night when she was being completely honest with herself, she wondered what it might be like if there was room for something more.
Tomorrow was the festival. She'd work the accessibility stations, help people navigate the grounds, make sure everyone could participate comfortably.
And if Ryuu smiled at her the way he had today when she'd quoted her mother's definition of heroism?
Well.
That would be enough too.
...
Jirou's Room
Crumpled paper littered Jirou's floor.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, guitar in her lap, glaring at yet another failed attempt at lyrics. Every single one came out sounding like a love song.
Every. Single. One.
"This is stupid," she muttered, crumpling the latest sheet and throwing it at her trash can. It bounced off the rim. "He's with Mina and Momo. I'm just... me."
Her guitar sat silent in her hands. Usually music came easy—feelings translated into melodies without conscious thought. But lately everything felt tangled up, confused.
She'd been fine before. Focused on her music, her hero training, becoming a pro who could inspire people the way her favorite artists inspired her.
Then Ryuu had noticed the harmonics in her song.
Such a small thing. Most people just said her music sounded "nice" and moved on. But he'd actually listened. Actually heard what she was trying to say beneath the notes.
And when his quirk had accidentally amplified her hearing, just for that brief moment...
The world had opened up. Every sound crystal clear, every layer of music visible like colors she'd never seen before. It had been beautiful and terrifying and she wanted to feel it again so badly it hurt.
Jirou picked up her guitar and started playing. Angry at first, aggressive chords that matched her frustration.
But slowly, inevitably, the melody softened. Became tender. Became the truth she didn't want to admit.
"Stupid," she whispered, but kept playing.
The song was about connection. About finding someone who understood your language when everyone else just heard noise. About the space between notes where feelings lived.
It was about him.
"Fuck," she said to her empty room.
Tomorrow was the festival. She'd perform with the class, show off their musical showcase, make UA proud.
And she'd watch Ryuu with Mina and Momo and smile and pretend her chest didn't ache.
Because that's what you did when you fell for someone you couldn't have.
You wrote songs about it and moved on.
...
Midoriya's Room
"Analysis log, day fourteen post-incident."
Midoriya's voice-to-text software captured his words as he paced his small room, arms still in light casts that prevented him from writing manually.
"Subject: Kazama Ryuu, quirk designation Resonance. Amplification-type support ability with emotional connection component."
He paused at his window, looking out at the moonlit campus. Somewhere out there, Ryuu was probably sleeping. Or maybe lying awake thinking about the festival tomorrow.
"During the research facility attack, subject demonstrated tactical coordination abilities far beyond standard support hero applications. Managing multiple combatants simultaneously, adjusting strategy in real-time based on emotional feedback, identifying optimal quirk combinations under extreme stress."
Midoriya pulled up his hero analysis notebook—the digital version he'd started keeping when his arms made handwriting impossible.
"Theory: Resonance functions similarly to One For All in conceptual framework. Both quirks designed to be shared, to strengthen others, to create connections that transcend individual power levels."
He scrolled through his notes, connections forming faster than he could articulate them.
"If Resonance truly grants temporary evolution as Recovery Girl suggested, implications are enormous. Not just power multiplication, but actualizing theoretical maximum potential of any quirk. The stronger the emotional bond, the more complete the evolution."
All Might had said something similar about One For All—that it grew stronger with each successor because it carried the hopes and dreams of everyone who'd held it before.
What if Ryuu's quirk worked the same way? What if every connection he formed, every bond he strengthened, made him capable of even greater amplification?
"Potential concern," Midoriya continued, voice growing more serious. "Subject has experienced severe quirk burnout once already. Multiple romantic relationships forming simultaneously. Each connection deepening his amplification capabilities but also increasing potential strain."
He thought about the way Ryuu looked at Mina and Momo—like they were his entire world. The way Ochaco smiled when Ryuu listened to her talk about her family. How Tsuyu's usual stoic expression softened around him. The blush on Jirou's face when he'd complimented her music.
"Additional note: Subject is making friends faster than I did during first year. Good for him. He deserves happiness after everything with his father."
Midoriya ended the recording and sat on his bed, staring at his notes.
Tomorrow was the festival. They'd all work together, create something beautiful, show the world what UA students could accomplish.
And Midoriya would watch his friend carefully. Because if Ryuu's quirk was anything like One For All, then the stronger his connections became, the more dangerous his power could be.
Not to others.
To himself.
...
Bakugo's Training Room
The training room was supposed to be closed this late.
Bakugo didn't care.
His fists slammed into the reinforced punching bag with controlled fury, each impact perfectly calculated despite his healing ribs. Sweat dripped down his face. His breath came hard and steady.
Weak.
That's what he'd been during the research facility attack. Weak enough to get hurt. Weak enough to need rescuing by Deku's nerd squad. Weak enough that The Collector had barely acknowledged him as a threat.
"Tch."
Another combination. Hook, cross, uppercut. The bag swung wildly.
He'd been training since he was five years old. Honing his quirk, building his strength, preparing to be number one. But the research facility had shown him something he didn't want to admit.
Individual power wasn't enough.
Not against coordinated villain groups. Not against someone like The Collector who could copy and counter any quirk he encountered.
Bakugo's mind drifted to Resonance despite his best efforts to stay focused.
Kazama Ryuu. Amplification quirk. Support hero who fought like a battlefield commander.
During the chaos, while everyone else had been panicking, Ryuu had been calling plays. Adjusting strategy. Coordinating multiple people simultaneously with nothing but his quirk's emotional feedback and tactical instinct.
It had been... impressive.
Bakugo would never say that out loud, obviously. But watching someone turn a group of panicked students into an effective combat unit? That took skill most pro heroes didn't have.
"If I'm gonna be number one," Bakugo muttered between punches, "I need to be strong enough to win even when amplified quirks are involved."
Not because he planned to rely on Ryuu's amplification. But because understanding how to fight alongside amplified allies made him more versatile. More complete.
More worthy of being number one.
Another combination. The bag swung harder.
Tomorrow was the festival. He'd cook food that would make those extras cry with joy. Show everyone that Bakugo Katsuki excelled at everything he attempted, not just combat.
And maybe, if that amplifier kept getting stronger, Bakugo would have to push himself even harder to stay ahead.
"Tch. At least he's not completely useless."
He hit the bag one more time, then headed to the showers.
Tomorrow would be perfect.
Or he'd blow up whoever made it anything less.
...
Author's Note: sorry again guys...I need to pass this exams...my practical exam is on Thursday...wish me good luck with studies.