The fluorescent light in the small interrogation room buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow on the metal table and two folding chairs. All Might sat in his deflated form, Toshinori Yagi, thin and hollow-cheeked, his elbows resting on the table, fingers steepled. The door clicked open, and Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi stepped in, a thin manila folder tucked under his arm. He closed the door softly behind him, the click echoing louder than it should have.
"Found what you asked for," Tsukauchi said, sliding the folder across the table as he took the opposite seat. His voice was measured, careful.
"It wasn't easy. Records on minors are sealed tight, and anything involving psych wards is even tighter. But I pulled some strings."
All Might opened the folder with long, bony fingers. A grainy school photo stared back at him: a boy around thirteen, warm brown skin, tight braids, eyes that even in the picture looked distant. Beneath it, the name: Yoshi Abara.
Tsukauchi leaned forward slightly.
"Yoshi Abara and his older sister, Hana Abara. Nigerian-Japanese descent, father immigrated, mother was Japanese. Parents died in a villain attack when Yoshi was around five. Hana was eighteen by the time she gained legal guardianship, fought the system tooth and nail to keep him out of foster care. They lived quietly in a small apartment in Yokohama. She worked multiple jobs to keep them afloat."
All Might's eyes traced the lines of text. Orphaned. Guardian sister. It sounded almost familiar, like a dozen other tragic backstories he'd encountered in his long career.
Tsukauchi's voice dropped. "Two years ago, Hana Abara was believed to be dead. Reports say that during a heavy storm that warnings were issued in her severed arm was found in a creek, the rest of her body is believed to be lost at sea. But Yoshi... he lost it. Screamed in the street that a hero did it. Named the hero outright. Kept repeating it to police, to paramedics, to anyone who would listen."
All Might's brow furrowed, his blue eyes narrowing. "A hero?"
Tsukauchi nodded. "That's when things got messy. No evidence supported his claim. Witnesses placed him at the scene after the fact. He was deemed unstable, possible quirk-induced delusion or trauma response. Court ordered psychiatric evaluation. He was committed to Seaside Serenity Institute, a private facility in Kanagawa specializing in quirk-related mental health cases."
All Might's fingers tightened on the folder. "And where is he now?"
"Still listed as a patient," Tsukauchi said slowly, "but he escaped about three months ago. No trace since. Security footage shows him walking out the front gate in broad daylight. No violence, no forced exit, guards swear they never saw him leave. Just... gone."
All Might leaned back, exhaling through his nose. Confusion etched deep lines into his skeletal face. "Three months ago. And now he's... inside my successor."
Tsukauchi rubbed his temple. "Could be a quirk we don't understand yet. Some kind of projection or possession-type ability manifesting under stress."
All Might shook his head. "I've seen a lot of quirks, Detective. Nothing like this. Not even close. One For All is transferable because it was designed that way, stockpiled power passed willingly. This feels... invasive. Foreign." He paused, voice dropping. "Do you think All For One could be involved?"
Tsukauchi's expression darkened. "Anything's possible with him. But we have no evidence. No sightings, no whispers." He met All Might's gaze steadily. "Right now, your boy's been through hell. Focus on him. Comfort him. We'll keep digging on our end."
All Might rose slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. He was almost at the door when he stopped, hand on the knob. Without turning, he asked quietly,
"Who was the hero Yoshi accused?" Tsukauchi hesitated, then answered.
"Pro Hero Stinger. Real name Kenji Hoshino. Big name in Yokohama, needle-projection quirk, precision strikes. They call him the 'New-Port Hero' for how often he patrols the docks. Clean record, high public approval. You've worked joint ops with him, haven't you?"
All Might's shoulders tensed. He had. Stinger was professional, efficient, always arrived early, stayed late, took down villains with surgical accuracy. A hero through and through. The idea of him murdering a civilian... it didn't fit.
He finally turned, offering a tired smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Stinger's one of the good ones. If Yoshi believed that... maybe he was hit with a quirk that twisted his perception. Trauma can break the mind in strange ways." He nodded to himself. "I'll check the institute. Speak to staff, see if anything unusual happened around his escape. But first... I need to see Young Midoriya."
Tsukauchi watched him go, the door closing softly behind the Symbol of Peace. All Might walked the empty corridor alone, the name echoing in his mind. Yoshi Abara.
A boy who had lost everything.
A boy who had vanished.
And now, somehow, a boy who lived inside his successor's body.
All Might's steps quickened. There were too many questions, and far too few answers.
But the first priority was clear, Izuku Midoriya needed him.
Everything else could wait.
____
The screen flickered to life in countless homes across Japan, the familiar jingle of the evening news cutting through the quiet hum of dinner preparations and family conversations. On the set of "Hero Watch Tonight," a glossy studio in Tokyo's bustling media district, three human anchors sat behind a sleek curved desk, holographic displays floating around them with dramatic headlines:
UA HIGH SCHOOL ATTACK: A STUDENT'S DEATH AND THE FALL OF HERO EDUCATION?
The backdrop pulsed with red alerts and looping footage of the USJ dome, cordoned off by police tape, heroes milling about in the aftermath.
The lead anchor, Hiroshi Tanaka, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp suit, and a voice honed by decades of broadcasting, leaned forward, his expression grave. He was the picture of polished professionalism, human through and through, with no quirk visible.
"Good evening, Japan. Tonight, we delve into the shocking tragedy at UA High School's Unforeseen Simulation Joint, where a villain group known as the League of Villains launched a brazen assault. One student, Koji Koda from Class 1-A, was confirmed dead at the scene, overwhelmed in the mountain zone before rescue could arrive. This marks the first student fatality in a hero academy attack in over a decade. Joining me to discuss this failure are political analyst Mika Sato and security expert Kenji Yamamoto. Mika, your thoughts on how this could happen at Japan's premier hero school?"
Mika Sato, a poised woman in her forties with perfectly coiffed black hair and subtle makeup accentuating her human features, no animalistic traits or visible mutations, nodded solemnly. She adjusted her notes, her voice measured but laced with underlying concern.
"Hiroshi, this is devastating. We've seen infiltration attempts at hero schools before, small-scale probes by low-level villains testing defences, but nothing has escalated to this level. No student harm, let alone a death. It raises serious questions about UA's independence and preparedness. Principal Nezu has always prided himself on his strategies, but today proves they're not infallible."
Kenji Yamamoto, a burly man in his fifties with a buzz cut, thick eyebrows, and a perpetual scowl that screamed ex-military, purely human, no quirk enhancements, slammed his fist lightly on the desk, his voice booming with barely contained fury.
"Infallible? That's a joke, Mika. This is a massive failure, plain and simple, and it starts at the top with that rodent Nezu. Everyone peddles him as this bastion of intellectual prowess, like he's some genius saviour because of his quirk. Let's call it what it is, he's just an animal, a rat or whatever, with a lucky quirk that bumped his brain up to human levels. At best, he's as smart as any clever person, but that's not enough to run a school like UA without oversight. They should've been under the Hero Public Safety Commission like Shiketsu or Ketsubutsu. Those schools benefit from real protection, real structure, because they know their place. His arrogance led to this, a kid dead because Nezu thought he was above it all."
Mika raised a hand, her tone conciliatory, eyes widening slightly at Yamamoto's venom.
"Kenji, that's a bit harsh. Nezu's track record..."
"Harsh?" Yamamoto interrupted, leaning forward aggressively, his face reddening as he jabbed a finger at the camera. "I'm not going far enough! The death of a student should never have happened. Period. Instead of pandering to this so-called 'genius,' we need to solve the issue. UA's system is a joke, a relic peddled as elite. I got a look at some of those student files, and let me tell you, standards are slipping. Some of these kids? They shouldn't even be in hero training. They're dragging down the whole program, making it weaker. We can't afford that anymore."
Hiroshi interjected smoothly, trying to steer the conversation. "Kenji, you're referring to the diverse quirk admissions? UA has always emphasized potential over..."
"Potential?" Yamamoto scoffed, his voice rising to a dramatic crescendo, the studio lights seeming to intensify with his passion. "In the last generation, we had a wave of peace because of All Might, the real deal, a human hero who stood tall and crushed villains without excuses. But now? Villains are gaining confidence back, slithering out of the shadows. All Might can't be everywhere at once, and he's only getting older. We need to raise the bar, not lower it for... inclusivity experiments. If we don't toughen up, weed out the weak ones, the odd ones that don't fit. Then the tragedy at UA is just the start. This could be the spark of a great war against villains, one where heroes fall because we let standards crumble."
The panel fell silent for a beat, the weight of Yamamoto's words hanging heavy. Mika opened her mouth to counter, her expression flustered, but Hiroshi cut in with a practiced segue.
"Strong words from Kenji Yamamoto. We'll continue this debate after the break, with viewer calls on UA's future. Stay tuned."
_____
The dim hideout hummed with the low whir of ventilation fans and the occasional crackle of static from old monitors. The air smelled of stale energy drinks and dust. Tomura Shigaraki slouched on a worn barstool, one leg bouncing irritably, fingers scratching at his neck hard enough to leave red welts.
Kurogiri hovered silently behind the counter, polishing a glass that didn't need polishing, his misty form the only calm presence in the room.
Shigaraki's voice came out low and venomous, aimed at no one in particular, as if the empty air had personally offended him.
"That thing cost us everything. Everything. And some snot-nosed UA brat just… ripped it apart." He let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "The kid with the green hair, freckles, looked like he was about to piss himself when Nomu hit him. Scared little hero wannabe, just like the rest. Then boom! he's on the ground, impaled, bleeding out, done. And the next second he's standing. No wound. Nothing. Like it never happened."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, red eyes narrowed to slits.
"Healed himself. Instantly. Then he moved like… superspeed, or maybe teleportation. One second he's there, next second he's in the air kicking Nomu like it's a soccer ball. Grabbed it, threw it, cut it clean in half before All Might even burst through the door. My Nomu. My perfect weapon. Gone."
Shigaraki's scratching intensified, flakes of dry skin drifting to the floor.
"How many buffs does one kid need? Seriously. Healing? Some kind of teleport or speed? Whatever that cutting thing was? Can someone even have more than one quirk naturally? That's not how it works. That's not... "
A soft electronic chime interrupted him. The large screen on the far wall flickered to life, grainy at first, then stabilizing into the familiar black background and calm, disembodied voice of his master.
Shigaraki froze mid-scratch, then let out a dry, raspy giggle. "Of course. Everyone except you, Master."
All For One's voice rolled out smooth and measured, like oil over glass. "Tell me more about this boy, Tomura."
Shigaraki straightened slightly, irritation giving way to eager malice. "Green hair. Class 1-A. Looked completely average at first, shaking, wide-eyed, the perfect symbol of everything I hate. Then he flipped. Cold. No hesitation. Killed Nomu without blinking. Moved wrong, like glitching. I've never seen anything like it."
A pause from the screen, thoughtful.
"We will keep a close watch on him," All For One said. "You did good work today, Tomura. The entire country is talking about us now. Many are calling out, some in fear, some in anger, and some… in intrigue. Attacking the nation's top hero school took guts. It sent a message."
Shigaraki's lips peeled back into a jagged grin beneath the hand on his face.
"As you keep moving forward," the voice continued, "more will be drawn to the team you are building. Recruits. Allies. True believers. Choose wisely this time. Not like the disposable pawns you brought today."
Shigaraki's grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, fingers twitching. The screen went dark.
He stayed seated in the silence that followed, red eyes glowing faintly in the gloom, the itch at his neck slowly returning.