Aldera Middle School was booming with noise.
The morning hallway felt like a living engine—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking on polished floors, teachers barking reminders that were half-warning and half-routine. Everywhere you looked, kids moved in different orbits:
Some clustered in loud packs, comparing hero rankings and U.A. rumors like it was sports talk.
Some walked in pairs, heads close, trading secrets the way middle schoolers always did—fast and urgent, like the world might end if they didn't say it now.
Some kept to the edges, quiet, careful, trying not to be noticed.
And some… some were already training.
In the open spaces near the stairwells and the gym corridor, students ran quirk drills under the watch of a few unusually strict teachers—quick bursts of flame snuffed out immediately, tiny shockwaves measured and controlled, wind flickers cut short the moment they got reckless.
Aldera didn't officially advertise itself as a "hero feeder school," but everyone knew what it was.
The last year here wasn't just school.
It was the runway before takeoff.
And every kid could feel U.A. High—distant, shining, impossible—hovering over their heads like a star they were trying to catch.
Classroom 3-D
Class 3-D was packed with third-year students—Aldera's seniors.
In Japan, graduating middle school was already a big deal.
In this world? It felt like a fork in the road that decided your entire life.
Because the top profession wasn't doctor, lawyer, or engineer.
It was hero.
And every kid in this room had grown up watching Pros on TV like they were legends from a different planet.
The homeroom teacher leaned against his desk with a stack of papers in hand, scanning the room with a knowing smile.
"So," he began, dragging out the word like he was savoring it, "as third-year students, it's time to start thinking seriously about your future and what you want to do with your lives."
A few students groaned on reflex.
He raised the papers.
"I could pass out some career aptitude tests, but…"
Then—without warning—he snatched the papers up like he was ripping the idea of "normal careers" in half.
His grin widened.
"BUT WE ALL KNOW YOU GUYS WANT TO BE HEROES!"
He threw the papers into the air like confetti.
For half a second, the classroom was silent—
Then it detonated.
Cheers erupted. Desks rattled. Hands shot up. A dozen quirks flared in the same heartbeat—little sparks snapping, gusts stirring loose papers, tiny bursts of light flickering like fireworks.
"Alright! U.A. for me!"
"I'm going to Shiketsu!"
"My dad said I should try Ketsubutsu!"
"I'm gonna be famous!"
The teacher clapped once, loud enough to cut through the roar.
"Hey—hey! Quirk control!" he barked, but he was smiling too. "Keep it under the safety threshold. I don't feel like filling out incident reports before lunch."
That only made them laugh harder.
Because he'd said what they were all thinking.
The dream wasn't just personal here.
It was cultural.
Near the back, Tsubasa leaned toward his group, wings twitching under his jacket like they wanted to burst out and join the cheering.
"He's right," Tsubasa said, eyes shining. "We're gonna graduate from this lame school, become powerful Pro Heroes, and then start the world's greatest hero agency."
His excitement was contagious.
Daichi's grin widened immediately, and even Ryuuki's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile too big.
Daichi jabbed a thumb toward himself. "That's right. We'll be unstoppable."
Then he added, with dramatic seriousness, "But to run an agency… we're gonna need brains."
He turned around in his seat—slowly, like he was revealing a secret weapon—until he locked eyes with Izuku Midoriya.
Daichi pointed at him like it was destiny.
"Izuku's gonna run our agency," Daichi declared. "He'll make sure we don't do anything stupid and he'll make us the best heroes in the country."
A couple kids nearby snorted like it was a joke.
But Daichi said it like he meant it.
Izuku's face lit up for a second—automatic, reflexive—because being included always felt good.
But something in the smile didn't fully land.
Deep down—very deep down—Izuku hadn't let go of the real dream.
Not the "agency manager" dream.
The dream of standing beside them.
The dream of being on the battlefield, saving civilians with his own hands.
But that dream was chained to one brutal fact:
He didn't have a quirk.
So Izuku did what he'd gotten good at.
He nodded and smiled like it didn't hurt.
"T-that's right," Izuku said, voice bright. "I'll… I'll make sure you guys don't mess everything up."
Daichi laughed. "See? He's already acting like a boss."
Tsubasa slapped Izuku's shoulder lightly. "We'd be doomed without you."
Ryuuki watched Izuku's face carefully.
Most people didn't notice the difference between Izuku's real smile and his practiced one.
Ryuuki did.
He'd learned to read currents—tiny shifts in pressure, subtle changes that signaled something coming before it happened.
Izuku's sadness was like that.
Quiet. Hidden.
But present.
He still hasn't given up, Ryuuki thought. He's just pretending he has.
And that made something tighten in Ryuuki's chest.
A voice cut through the room like a match striking.
"Hey, teach."
Bakugo Katsuki's tone wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
It carried.
The class's excitement stalled mid-cheer.
Bakugo leaned back in his chair like the classroom was his territory, eyes sharp and confident in that way that made people either admire him or hate him—sometimes both.
"Don't lump me in with these guys," Bakugo said, jerking his thumb vaguely at the room. "I'm the real deal."
A few students bristled instantly.
Bakugo's smirk sharpened.
"These guys'll be lucky if they end up sidekicks for some busted D-lister."
The room erupted.
"What?!"
"Who do you think you are?!"
"You're not better than us, Bakugo!"
"Say that again!"
Bakugo didn't flinch.
He didn't even raise his voice.
"I don't think," he said, eyes half-lidded with certainty. "I know."
The teacher raised a hand lazily, like he'd seen this a hundred times.
"Hm," the teacher hummed, flipping through Bakugo's file like he was pretending to be unimpressed. "You've got impressive results, Bakugo. It's not impossible you'll get into a hero school."
Then, casually, he added:
"Maybe even U.A. High, if you keep it up."
The room went quiet—but this time it was a different kind of quiet.
U.A. wasn't just a school.
It was the school.
Bakugo's eyes gleamed like he'd been waiting for that word.
"That's exactly why I'm going," Bakugo said, like it was obvious. "It's the only one I applied to."
His smirk returned.
"Because I'm gonna be the future Number One hero. And Number One graduates from the best."
The teacher scratched his cheek, glancing down at another sheet.
"Hm. Well… it seems you're not the only one aiming high."
He began reading names, almost casually.
"Tsubasa… Daichi… Ryuuki…"
The class murmured at those three.
That made sense. They trained. They were known. The "pawn shop kids" in people's memories—especially Ryuuki.
Then the teacher paused.
"And… Midoriya."
Izuku's stomach dropped.
The room froze for one heartbeat…
Then whispers erupted like a swarm.
"Midoriya?!"
"He's applying to U.A.?"
"He's quirkless—"
"Is he serious?"
"No way he passes."
"That's embarrassing."
Izuku's ears went hot.
He tried not to look down.
Tried not to shrink.
He failed a little.
Ryuuki's chair shifted.
Not loudly.
Just enough to signal he was ready to stand if someone pushed too far.
Bakugo's head turned slowly toward Izuku.
For a second, the class waited—expecting him to laugh, to roast him, to do what the "talented kid" always did to the "quirkless kid."
But Bakugo didn't laugh.
He didn't smirk at him, either.
He just narrowed his eyes, studying Izuku like he was a decision.
Like he was thinking: Are you really gonna do this?
The teacher, oblivious to the emotional landmine, continued talking.
"Ryuuki, you've got the best chance in the class, frankly," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Your quirk has high-level rescue potential, and your mother's—"
"Retired," a kid muttered.
"—a famous pro," the teacher finished anyway. "Your fundamentals are strong."
A few students glanced toward Ryuuki with that mixture of envy and awe.
Ryuuki didn't react.
He'd gotten used to it.
The rumors, the stares, the assumption his future was already written.
But he did react when he heard the whisper about Izuku.
Izuku's hands were clenched on his desk.
His face was calm.
But his shoulders were tight like he was holding himself together by force.
They still don't get it, Ryuuki thought.
Izuku wasn't applying because he was delusional.
He was applying because he couldn't stop dreaming—even when the world told him it was stupid.
Bakugo clicked his tongue.
The sound cut clean through the whispers.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the desk, eyes still on Izuku.
"Teach," Bakugo said, voice steady. "U.A.'s a battlefield. They don't care about dreams. They care about results."
The teacher blinked. "Well—yes, of course."
Bakugo's gaze didn't move.
"Good," he said simply. "Then everyone who applied should be ready to prove it."
It wasn't an insult.
It wasn't encouragement either.
It was a challenge thrown into the room like a blade.
And somehow… it protected Izuku more than any defense could've.
Because Bakugo wasn't saying Izuku didn't belong.
He was saying: talk all you want—U.A. will decide.
The whispers shifted—less mocking, more curious.
Izuku's fingers loosened just a fraction.
After school, the front gate of Aldera Middle School turned into a river of uniforms.
Students poured out in waves—some sprinting like they'd been released from prison, some dragging their feet and complaining about homework, some already showing off small quirk tricks now that teachers weren't watching as closely.
Outside the gates, the sun hit hard. Heat shimmered off the sidewalk. But a steady breeze rolled through the neighborhood, cool enough to keep the air from feeling heavy.
Ryuuki's group had a routine.
They always met here.
They always ended the day talking—about training, U.A., games, dumb rumors—while waiting for Mina Haruhama to pick Ryuuki up.
They found their usual spot near the curb.
Bakugo stood a little apart, hands in his pockets, posture loose but alert like he was always ready for a challenge. Daichi was already talking, loud as ever. Tsubasa leaned against the fence, wings tucked but twitching under his jacket from leftover energy. Izuku lingered closer to Ryuuki, as if being near him made the stares from other students less sharp.
Bakugo glanced at the others, chin lifting like he was making an announcement.
"After Ryuuki leaves… arcade?"
Izuku's eyes lit up.
Daichi's whole face turned into a grin. "YES."
Tsubasa pushed off the fence. "Finally."
Ryuuki smiled—small, habitual. Normally this was where he nodded and pretended it didn't sting that he couldn't go.
But today felt different.
Maybe it was Mina's warning from yesterday.
Maybe it was the way the class stared at Izuku.
Maybe he was just tired of leaving.
Ryuuki rubbed the back of his neck and spoke before he could overthink it.
"After my warm-ups," he said, trying to sound casual, "I'm gonna ask my mom if I can come for a couple hours."
For a second, the world stopped.
Daichi's jaw dropped. "…What?"
Tsubasa blinked twice. "Ryuuki… are you finally deciding to experience life?"
Ryuuki chuckled, cheeks warming. "Relax. Recovery is part of training. And it's been a while since we all hung out for real."
Izuku's smile softened into something genuine.
Bakugo's eyes narrowed—but it was approval disguised as annoyance.
"Then it's settled," Bakugo said. "Finish your training fast so you don't waste our time."
Ryuuki rolled his eyes. "You just want the extra practice on the racing cabinet."
Bakugo snorted. "Like I need practice."
Izuku muttered, "You always practice…"
Bakugo's head snapped toward him. "What'd you say, Deku?"
Izuku flinched. "N-nothing!"
Daichi cackled. "He said you're obsessed."
Bakugo was about to start a full argument—
When a car horn cut through the noise.
BEEP-BEEP.
Ryuuki's head lifted immediately.
A sleek car pulled up to the curb with confident precision. The window was down. Mina Haruhama sat behind the wheel in sunglasses, expression calm in a way that still communicated move faster.
She didn't even have to speak.
She just flicked two fingers in a "get in" motion.
Ryuuki straightened like he'd been called to a drill.
"Hold that thought," he told the group, then jogged to the passenger side.
Before he got in, he turned and raised a hand.
"Arcade," he called. "I'll text you if she says yes."
Daichi threw both hands up. "SHE BETTER SAY YES!"
Tsubasa leaned forward, grin bright. "We'll save you a spot!"
Izuku waved hard. "Good luck!"
Bakugo just jerked his chin once—don't be late.
Ryuuki slid into the passenger seat.
The door shut.
Mina pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic like she was already ten minutes behind schedule.
The group watched the car disappear down the street.
Then Daichi clapped his hands. "Alright! Now let's go. I'm about to give Bakugo another brutal humiliation in Street Kings."
Bakugo whirled on him instantly. "In your dreams."
Tsubasa laughed. "He's been talking about this all day."
"I'm serious," Daichi said. "I've been practicing."
"You can't practice," Bakugo snapped. "You just mash buttons!"
Izuku walked beside them with a small smile, letting the noise wash over him like it was normal.
For a few seconds, it worked.
Then he remembered something and stopped short, patting his bag strap like he was checking for a missing organ.
His eyes widened. "Oh—!"
The others turned.
"H-hey guys," Izuku said too fast, "I forgot my hero analysis notebook in homeroom."
Bakugo's face twisted like Izuku had confessed to forgetting his own name.
"Seriously?" Bakugo barked. "Deku, how do you forget the thing you treat like your actual heart?"
Izuku shrank. "I-I was distracted…"
Daichi groaned dramatically. "We're gonna lose the good cabinets."
Tsubasa sighed, not actually mad. "Just grab it and hurry. We'll get in line."
Bakugo jabbed a finger at Izuku like he was issuing orders.
"You run," Bakugo said. "And don't take forever."
Izuku nodded hard. "O-okay! I'll be quick!"
He jogged back into the building, grabbed his notebook from his desk like it was a missing limb, and hurried out again.
By the time he returned outside, the crowd had thinned.
The sky looked wider.
The school felt farther away.
He started after his friends—fast—taking the shortcut underpass that cut the walk to the arcade in half.
It wasn't a scary route. Just narrow, damp, and ugly. Most kids used it.
Today, it felt colder than usual.
Izuku's phone buzzed.
He blinked, surprised. He almost ignored it—then the screen lit up with a news notification.
LOCAL ALERT: CIVILIANS REPORT "SLUDGE-LIKE VILLAIN" SPOTTED NEARBY.
Izuku slowed, thumb hovering.
He clicked it.
A shaky clip loaded—someone filming down an alleyway where something dark and glossy moved like spilled oil… except it wasn't spilling.
It was alive.
The narrator's voice shook.
"It's like—like mud! It's moving! It's moving—!"
The clip ended too soon.
Izuku stared at the frozen frame.
His throat went dry.
It's probably far, he told himself. Heroes will handle it. They always do.
He shoved the phone into his pocket and picked up his pace.
Still heading for the arcade.
Still trying to catch up.
But now the world felt sharper at the edges.
The shadows between buildings looked deeper.
The breeze didn't feel gentle anymore.
The underpass was one of those narrow shortcuts—graffiti on the walls, damp stains on the ceiling, and the faint smell of metal and old rainwater that never really left.
Sunlight behind him thinned into a pale strip.
The air turned cool.
Izuku kept walking anyway.
Fast. Head down. Trying not to think about the alert.
Then—
A rumble.
Low. Deep. Like a truck passing overhead.
Izuku froze mid-step.
He turned his head left, then right, eyes scanning the walls, the puddles, the drain grates.
Nothing.
No people. No cars close enough to vibrate the ground.
Just silence… and his own breathing.
It's nothing, he told himself. Pipes. Subway. Something.
He forced his legs to move.
One step.
Two—
BOOM!
A manhole cover launched upward like it had been fired from a cannon, spinning end over end, shrieking metal against air.
It slammed into the wall a few feet away with a thunderous CLANG, ricocheted, wobbled—then crashed to the ground with a heavy skid.
Izuku staggered back so hard he almost slipped.
His eyes locked on the open manhole.
Darkness breathed out of it.
A wet, gurgling sound rose from below like something choking on its own laughter.
Then the sludge came.
It surged up and out like a living spill, thick and glossy and wrong—black-green muck crawling over itself, swelling, stretching, forming shapes that weren't quite human but tried to be.
Arms. A face. A grin that looked pasted on.
It wasn't like a villain on TV.
It was close enough to smell.
Rot. Sewer water. Something sour.
Izuku's throat seized.
"N-no way…" he stammered. "W-what—?"
His knees shook so hard they might fold. His hands lifted uselessly, like that would do anything.
The sludge villain tilted its "head," fake face melting and reforming as it spoke.
"Hey, kid," it rasped, voice wet and irritated. "Shut it."
It expanded as it talked, swelling wider until it filled most of the underpass—pressing toward Izuku from both sides, blocking the light, blocking the exit.
The air felt smaller.
Trapped.
"Before someone hears us," the villain added, quieter now, like it was scolding him.
Izuku's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The sludge's eyes—if you could call them eyes—swept over him like a predator choosing meat.
"Good," it muttered. "You look perfect."
Izuku's stomach dropped.
The villain slid closer, dragging itself along the concrete without friction, leaving a damp sheen behind.
"I need somewhere to hide," it said. "Just for a little bit."
It paused, face melting into a thoughtful expression that looked almost… amused.
"Hm." The grin widened. "Yeah. You'll do."
Izuku's lips trembled. "W-what do you mean…?"
The villain leaned in—too close—its sludge rippling like it was breathing.
"You've got a weak presence," it said, almost approving. "Skinny body. Nobody pays attention to you."
Izuku flinched like the words were a slap.
"I can fit inside you. Easy."
Izuku's thoughts shattered.
Inside me?
His heart hammered so hard it hurt.
"N-no—!" Izuku backed up until his shoulders hit the cold wall. "N-no way—what are you—"
The sludge moved again.
Not fast.
Not rushing.
Like it didn't need to.
Like Izuku had nowhere to go.
"I'm not asking," it said, voice flattening. "I'm telling you."
Izuku looked down the underpass—one direction blocked by sludge, the other blocked by the open manhole and the villain's massive body.
No path.
No escape.
The grin sharpened.
"And don't worry," it added, mock-sweet. "I won't waste your body."
Izuku's breathing turned ragged. "S-stop… p-please…"
The villain's tone lowered, and something ugly crept into it.
"It'll be useful," it hissed. "Very useful."
The sludge shifted, fake face twisting into anger at something only it could see.
"I just have to lie low until—"
Its eyes narrowed.
"—until that damn symbol stops chasing me."
Izuku swallowed. The name formed in his chest before he could stop it.
"All Might will save me," Izuku blurted, desperate. "A-All Might will—he'll—"
The villain snapped.
Its grin vanished.
The sludge surged forward like a wave breaking.
Izuku didn't register the impact until his back slammed against the wall and his breath got punched out of him.
Slime splattered over his uniform, cold and heavy, pinning his arms, crawling up his shoulders.
A face formed inches from his own, dripping.
"Shut," it growled.
Then—
"The hell up, kid."
Izuku gasped, choking, the sludge already climbing his throat, forcing his head back.
"I don't want to hear his name."
Cold pressure sealed over Izuku's mouth like a wet hand.
It seeped into every gap it could find—nose, lips, collar—heavy enough that his chest couldn't expand right.
He tried to breathe and got mud instead.
The villain's voice came from everywhere at once.
"Kid… just relax," it gurgled. "It'll make this process a whole lot easier."
Izuku's eyes watered. His heartbeat was thunder in his ears.
His thoughts scattered—then suddenly became too clear.
I'm going to die.
His mind grabbed at anything human.
His mom's tired smile when she packed his lunch.
Daichi bragging about being rich someday.
Tsubasa laughing with his wings half-out like he couldn't help it.
Bakugo barking orders like the world was already his.
Ryuuki waving at the gate like it was normal to be watched.
They were going to be heroes.
All of them.
And Izuku—
Izuku had always planned to be there with them anyway, somehow.
Even if he didn't know how.
Tears slipped down his cheeks.
"I-I'm sorry," he tried to say.
It came out as a choke.
His vision dimmed at the edges. Underpass lights smeared into hazy halos.
He couldn't feel his hands.
Everything went soft and far away.
Then—
A sound like the sky tearing open.
WHAM—!
A gust punched through the underpass and the sludge shuddered like it had been struck by a cannonball. The pressure changed so violently the air itself seemed to snap.
Something huge dropped into the underpass—
A towering figure, all muscle, moving like a comet.
For one stunned, impossible heartbeat, Izuku saw a grin.
A symbol.
ALL MIGHT—
A massive hand grabbed the sludge and ripped it off Izuku like peeling tar off skin. The villain shrieked, wet and furious, body deforming as it was yanked away.
Air slammed back into Izuku's lungs.
He sucked in a breath so hard it hurt.
All Might's other arm wrapped around Izuku's middle like he weighed nothing.
"Fear not, young man!" All Might boomed, voice echoing off the concrete. "Because I am—"
Izuku had passed out.
Darkness swallowed him—cold, heavy, silent—until something started tapping his cheeks.
Not normal tapping.
Rapid-fire. Light. Almost comical.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—
Izuku's eyelids fluttered.
He forced his eyes open.
And there—towering above him, blocking out the underpass lights like a sunrise made flesh—was All Might.
Big grin. Bright eyes. That impossible heroic posture like the world could crumble and he'd still stand tall.
Izuku's heart jumped.
"I-It's really you…!" Izuku wheezed. "It's really All Might!"
All Might's grin widened. "HAHAHA! You're awake! Excellent!"
Izuku's fear evaporated, replaced by pure, frantic awe.
"All Might—I'm your biggest fan!" Izuku blurted. "C-could you please give me an autograph?!"
All Might blinked once—then reached behind his back with a dramatic flourish.
"Young man… it seems I'm two steps ahead of you."
He held up a familiar notebook.
Izuku's hero analysis book.
Izuku's mouth fell open. "H-HUH?! W-Wait—why do you have—?!"
All Might flipped it open like he was revealing a magic trick.
Right there—bold and huge—was his signature.
Izuku forgot how to breathe.
"You—You signed it…!" Izuku whispered, reverent. "You actually signed it…"
All Might laughed. "Good! A hero's encouragement should last a lifetime!"
Izuku hugged the notebook to his chest like it was proof the universe wasn't totally unfair.
All Might crouched slightly, still smiling—but his gaze sharpened with genuine curiosity.
"I should also apologize, young man," All Might said. "I couldn't help but notice what you were holding before you lost consciousness."
Izuku blinked.
"Your notes," All Might said, tapping the cover. "Your observations. The detail was… impressive."
Izuku froze.
All Might leaned in a little, voice dropping like a secret.
"You have a very sharp mind," All Might said. "Do you have some sort of intelligence quirk?"
Izuku short-circuited.
"N-no! I-I don't!" he stammered, face turning red. "I just— I like heroes and I write things down and—"
All Might's grin softened into something warm.
"Then that's your strength," he said. "A mind that notices. A mind that learns."
Izuku's throat tightened.
Then the memory slammed back into him.
The sludge. The suffocation.
Izuku jolted. "W-wait—All Might! The sludge villain—!"
All Might straightened proudly. "HAHA! Worry not!"
Tucked under his arm, wedged against his belt like it was the most normal thing in the world, was a plastic bottle.
Inside it, black sludge thrashed and pressed against the plastic, muffled yelling making the bottle vibrate.
Izuku stared.
"…You put him in a bottle," Izuku said faintly.
All Might nodded, beaming. "Indeed! It was the quickest solution available."
"That's… that's insane," Izuku whispered.
All Might chuckled. "Villains are often quite upset when they lose."
All Might glanced upward like he could see through concrete and sky.
"Now then," he said, posture shifting from friendly to ready, "I must deliver this villain to the proper authorities."
He gave Izuku a thumbs-up so bright it felt like sunlight.
"You did well to survive, young man. Keep that mind sharp. And—" his smile turned stern, "stay out of trouble."
Izuku nodded quickly. "Y-yes sir!"
All Might bent his knees, preparing to launch—
And Izuku's mind screamed WAIT.
If he let All Might leave now…
He might never get another chance.
"All Might—wait!" Izuku blurted.
All Might paused.
Izuku grabbed his pant leg with both hands.
Not dramatic.
Desperate.
All Might blinked down at him, surprised. "…Young man?"
Izuku swallowed hard, eyes shining with everything he'd been holding in for years.
The air felt thin against his face.
His voice shook.
"C-can… can someone without a quirk…"
He tightened his grip like he was afraid the answer would pull him off the ground.
"…still become a hero?"
All Might's expression shifted.
The grin stayed—
but something deeper moved behind it.
And in the same moment, the sludge bottle under his arm twitched harder, as if it had just remembered how to hate.
All Might's eyes flicked toward the open street beyond the underpass.
His posture changed.
Decision made.
He scooped Izuku up without effort and launched—fast—up to the nearest rooftop before anyone could see them.
The wind hit Izuku like a slap.
Then they landed, high above the street, the city spread out beneath them.
All Might set him down gently.
And for the first time, his smile looked… tired.
⸻
Author's Note
Hey everyone! I hope you've been enjoying the story so far.
From here, I'm going to cut ahead to the moment where Izuku arrives and sees Bakugo trapped by the Sludge Villain. The remaining parts of the All Might conversation from Episode 1 will stay mostly canon, and I didn't want to slow pacing by rewriting every beat.
The important changes to the timeline and character dynamics have already been established—especially how Izuku, Bakugo, and Ryuuki's circle interact—so jumping ahead lets us get straight into the moments where those differences really start to matter.
Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy where the story goes next.
— Author