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Izuku grit his teeth as the wind tore through his hair, shoving his hood back and exposing him to the cold winter air.
A headache was beginning to bloom behind his eyes, but he ignored it, weaving around the vents and pipes jutting from the rooftop as he ran. He focused on the next roof as he approached it, gauging the distance, he picked up speed and leapt. Landing lightly, he continued his sprint, lungs burning as they took in the frigid night air.
He was bracing for the next jump when a sharp sting in his right palm made him slow. He glanced down, realizing only then how tightly he’d been clenching his fist. The pen he’d been holding was snapped clean in half, one jagged piece buried in his skin.
Izuku sighed heavily and came to a stop, dropping the ruined pen onto the roof. The headache pulsed harder as he plucked the remaining plastic shards from his hand.
City lights flickered brightly around him. He sighed again, staring at the broken pen at his feet. The little pink bunnies printed along the side seemed to wink up at him, catching the moonlight behind him.
He tore his gaze away and looked out at the surrounding buildings. He’d been running so long he didn’t know what part of the city he was in, nothing looked familiar.
“Dumb,” he muttered to himself as he edged toward the roof’s ledge, carefully stepping around the scattered pieces of the pen.
“That was dumb,” Izuku muttered as he took in the sight around him. He hadn’t meant to run this far, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. Running kept him from thinking—kept the constant, racing thoughts at bay. In all his years, it was the only thing he’d found that could quiet his mind. Probably not the healthiest solution, but better than drugs. At least, Izuku thought so. Some of his friends might disagree.
A flashing light in his peripheral caught his attention. He turned, squinting. The hospital, washed in bright red emergency lights, glowed a few miles to his left.
“Okay, so that means I must be close to Cole’s place,” he muttered, scanning the area for the familiar dump of a burger place he always hit when patrols dragged him this far out. Nice enough to be mostly rat-free, sketchy enough not to question why a kid was grabbing food at four a.m. on a Tuesday. Shinsou refused to step foot in it again after finding a bug in his milkshake. Which, fair. But they were only a dollar so what can you really expect?
The thought of Shinsou dragged his mind somewhere darker. Anxiety and anger flared in his chest and he tore his gaze away from the hospital lights, heading back toward the center of the rooftop.
“Now I remember why I ran for so long.” Izuku said, rubbing his fingers on his forehead in a futile attempt to ease the headache that was starting to throb from the cold. A small crunch under his foot made him stop and look down.
“Oh, great,” he muttered, lifting his foot off the now-shattered bunny pen. He felt a sharp pang in his chest as he crouched and picked up one of the larger pieces. He could picture perfectly, the bright smile on Eri’s face as she gave it to him months ago. It had been a really good pen, too.
He slipped the piece into his pocket and drew in a long breath. All the thoughts he’d been trying to outrun came flooding back.
Along with the anger.
In the darkness around him, he could almost see the creatures again– grotesque shapes lurking at the edges of his vision, ready to strike. But it was their faces that haunted him most, forcing his eyes shut just to make the images fade. They looked like they were in pain. Like they were afraid.
Maybe he was projecting. Maybe he was just seeing his own emotions reflected back at him. But he couldn’t stop thinking about them, couldn’t erase their faces from his mind. The urge to run rose again, desperate and familiar.
Izuku was angry. Bitterly, painfully angry.
How could Eraserhead—Eraserhead—be part of this?
How could Shinsou?
Shinsou.
The guy who couldn’t walk past a stray cat without trying to coax it home. Who once spent two hours walking an old woman through the rain so she wouldn’t fall. Who always brought snacks to patrol because he knew Izuku never ate enough beforehand. The first person who ever saw Izuku as more than a quirkless nobody.
He started running again—toward the hospital, away from the thoughts clawing at him..
How could they do this?
Izuku recognized the heavy feeling settling in his chest and let out a dark laugh. It was the same feeling he’d had watching a drunk man beat a kid for a couple dollars. The same feeling when he found a teenager’s body outside a school. The same feeling he’d had when he’d been too late to save the woman. The one with the beautiful hair that looked like water. The one who bled out in his arms because he’d been too slow. Too sloppy.
He grit his teeth as he readied himself for the next jump, the impact rattling through his jaw when he landed. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the next roof, and then the next, trying—and failing—to force his mind back into that familiar, empty headspace.
He leapt onto the next rooftop and took only a few steps before his foot hit a slick patch. He went down hard, knees slamming against the concrete. A frustrated grunt tore out of him as he pushed himself upright, edging toward the drier parts of the rooftop.
A rustle behind him pricked his ears. He spun around just in time to see a familiar shadow drop onto the opposite side of the roof.
They stood there for a few moments in silence, looking at each other but unable to see the other's face.
Izuku looked away first. His fists clenched, legs tensing—ready to bolt for the next building. He’d always been the faster runner than Shinsou. And if he pushed himself, he could lose him in minutes.
But Shinsou knew that too.
“Stop–” Shinsou said, taking a few steps toward him. Izuku waited for him to continue. After a long stretch of silence, Shinsou added quietly, “...I’ve been trying to find you for hours. Do you know how far we are from the school right now?”
Izuku felt a pang of irritation at these words and turned away.
“Wait, sorry! Please don’t make me run anymore.” Shinsou yelled before Izuku could move, taking a few steps toward him.
Izuku turned back, expression hard. “Why did you follow me?”
Shinsou hesitated before answering. “Why did you run away?”
Izuku’s glare darkened. “You know why I ran.”
Shinsou looked away, something unreadable flickering across his face before he met Izuku’s eyes again. “I know how you feel, Izuku. But you—more than anyone—should understand why this has to be done.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Izuku’s voice sharpened. “I should understand more than anyone?”
Shinsou matched his glare. “You know what’s out there,” he said, gesturing toward the sprawling city. “Monsters roaming the streets, ruining lives every single day. We’ve both seen it—together. People torn apart on a whim. Children sold for their quirks.”
He stepped closer. “You’ve seen worse than I have. Of course you should understand better than anyone.”
A cold wind cut across the rooftop, nearly drowning out Izuku’s low response. “Then you’re sick in the head.”
The line between Shinsou’s brows deepened. He let out a frustrated sigh—the one he usually reserved for Izuku. “Izuku, this is the only way to stop them and you know it. The League is hitting us from every direction, and it’s taking everything we have just to keep them back. Any day now, they’re going to launch a full-force assault, and then what? We’re screwed!”
He paused, choosing his words carefully. “We’re screwed if we don’t have a way to fight back.”
“We do have a way to fight back,” Izuku shot back. “We already do.”
“No, we don’t!” Shinsou snapped, “What we’ve been doing—that’s not fighting back.”
“But it is, Shinsou!” Izuku yelled, “And it’s working. Just a little longer and we’ll have all the information we need to take the League down at their base—when they’re completely unprepared. I’ve been working toward this for months, Shin, and I’m so close.”
“And you honestly think you—a random vigilante—are going to take down the League? You?" Shinsou shouted.
That hurt.
Izuku’s glare faltered. He turned away, jaw tight. They were closer to the hospital now; its red lights spilled across the rooftop, casting both of them in a harsh, ominous glow.
Shinsou stepped closer—only a few feet away now. “Izuku, what are you doing?” he asked quietly, almost gently..
Izuku didn’t answer. Shinsou waited for a moment for a response before continuing.
“You need to go apologize– don’t look at me like that, you need to.” Shinsou said, giving Izuku an unimpressed glare.
“I’m not doing that,” Izuku said flatly.
Shinsou threw his hands up in exasperation,“I’m trying to help you, Izuku! You really want to throw away everything for this?” His voice was tight, and Izuku could tell he was holding himself back from pacing. “Everything we’ve been dreaming of, working towards, all these years? Your chances of being a hero… just down the drain?”
Izuku struggled to keep his face blank, though he could feel tears prickling behind his eyes.
“Just go back and apologize to Eraserhead,” Shinsou pressed, his voice calmer now. “You don’t even need to say anything to Nedzu or the other heroes. Eraserhead will fix it, and we can go back to training for our hero licenses. You can still have your dream—it’s not too late.”
“I don’t want it.” Izuku mumbled quietly, shocked at his own words but unable to take them back.
“What?” Shinsou asked, hoping he’d misheard over the wind whipping past them.
“I don’t want it,” Izuku repeated, louder this time. “If this is what it is to be a real hero… then I don’t want it.”
Shinsou stared, stunned, but Izuku barreled on before he could respond.
“Heroes are supposed to be better—better than the villains, better than anyone! They’re the good that fights against evil, the ones who rise to a higher standard. They don’t compromise their morals, not for anything. If they did… that would make them no better than the villains they fight! How… how could they—how could you ever think this is okay?”
He stumbled to a stop, chest heaving. “Sure, there are bad heroes out there—I’ve met a lot of them. But Eraserhead, the teachers… they’re supposed to be better. They’re supposed to be the real heroes!”
“They are real heroes!” Shinsou snapped, face flushing with anger.
“They’re no better than All for One!” Izuku yelled, and the words cut through him as he spoke them. He felt something break in his chest with the admission.
Tears finally pooled in Izuku’s eyes, blurring Shinsou's angry face in front of him. All his dreams, his ideals, his goals, crumbled in front of him. Was there really a battle between good and evil, each side clashing through the heroes and villains who represented them? Or was it all just gray?
He knew there was a cosmic good—he could feel it, see it. In the faces of the people he saved, in the thanks offered by strangers on patrol, in the hugs from little kids, in couples walking hand in hand down the street.
And he’d seen the cosmic bad, the kind that freezes your bones and makes you go stiff. He’d seen it in All For One’s labs. And now, he’d seen it in UA’s.
It had only been a few hours since Eraserhead brought him and Shinsou into Nezu’s office for an “important meeting,” yet it felt like a lifetime ago. Izuku knew the teachers had been planning something special—a way to strike back at the League of Villains and finally end them for good. Some kind of weapon, a means to gain the upper hand against the monstrous Nomu capable of killing hundreds in seconds. With All Might dead, killed in the final battle against All For One at Kamino, the heroes had struggled to keep the rest of the villains at bay.
For months, Izuku and Shinsou had been among the heroes’ main sources of information on the league. As vigilantes, the two had spied and followed them, trying to get any useful information they could to the heroes. Eraserhead had been their main contact. Izuku had memorized his usual hero patrol routes and left any information they found somewhere along them for him to find.
But he had overestimated his own skill–and underestimated the vigilance of the hero. Weeks later, he and Shinsou were caught and cornered by Eraserhead as they tried to leave information for him.
Izuku expected arrest– or worse. And nearly fell off the roof when instead of arresting them, Eraserhead offered them personal training and the opportunity to–in the future–earn their hero licenses. With the catch that they would continue to act as information gathers for the heroes’ fight against the league.
When Eraserhead later learned they were teenagers—the same age as his own students—he grew less enthusiastic about risking them for information. But the operation was managed by many desperate heroes, not just him, and the majority decided to keep them in the field. The intelligence they provided was too valuable to lose.
But after months of planning and fighting and spying, they were still nowhere closer to finishing off the league. But Izuku was so close. He could feel it. He knew he was onto something. He had identified Shigaraki’s main supplier; and if they were careful and waited patiently, it would lead them straight to the League’s hideout.
But during that wait… maybe the heroes had grown more desperate than he realized.
He could understand their desperation—the Nomu had already destroyed what must have been half of Musutafu, and the League still ran free underground.
But still…
Izuku’s stomach tightened painfully as he remembered following Nedzu down the long stairwell to a dark room that reeked of harsh chemicals. A faint green glow outlined what looked like massive figures. Then the lights switched on—and Izuku’s blood ran cold.
Nomu, floating in large green tanks, lined the edges of the room. They looked horrible, similar to All for One’s Nomu, but… different. More human.
“Nezu,” Izuku’s voice shook. “What is this?”
Nezu stared at him for a moment, dark, blank eyes fixed on Izuku. “Our weapon against the League,” he said evenly.
“What are they?” Izuku asked, turning to Eraserhead, who stood silently behind him and Shinsou, who had yet to speak. Eraserhead’s gaze mirrored Nezu’s. “They’re Nomu, Izuku,” he said plainly.
“And… how are they here?” Izuku’s throat was dry. He already knew the answer but needed to hear it from Eraserhead’s own mouth. It would make it real.
“They were made here,” Eraserhead replied.
Izuku’s vision swam as he looked at the Nomu floating around him. “Wha–why?” He stammered, thoughts racing faster than he could form words. Panic clawed at him—he needed to leave. No. He needed to understand.
His gaze shifted back to Nezu, who watched him with the same cold, calculating eyes. When their eyes met, Nezu spoke again. “These Nomu are not the same as All For One’s. We do not have the ability to give them more quirks than they were made with—” Izuku’s stomach sank at the words, “—however, in the nature of their creation, they are the same.”
“But… the people who-” Izuku couldn’t finish the sentence aloud.
“The people weren’t random,” Eraserhead said. Izuku turned to him, watching Eraserhead’s mouth snap shut. He had intended to explain more but stopped when he saw Izuku’s face.
“They were criminals,” Nezu continued smoothly. “Prisoners who never did any good in their lives and never would. Now they can. They will help us fight against Shigaraki and end the League’s bloodshed for good.”
Izuku hated how Nedzu made it sound as if the prisoners were fighting with them against the league rather than puppets meant to be used and discarded.
That’s when Izuku felt it rise within him, the familiar anger, the suffocating betrayal. It clawed at him, made him want to run. Made him start running years ago—and keep running ever since.
He exploded at them. He knew he had, though he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said. It had been bad. Bad enough that when he finally turned his furious gaze toward Shinsou, he saw fear there. Not of him… but for him.
Ever since All Might died, something in everyone had shifted. It was like they’d all lost a piece of their humanity, their hope, and something colder and more vicious had taken root instead. Even the Heroes had grown less forgiving, more violent. Izuku saw it most in the good people—more than in the villains. And he knew Shinsou saw it too.
Maybe that was what finally made him run. He burst out of the room, ignoring the voices chasing him down the hallway, and fled UA as fast as his legs would carry him. He’d left around 8 pm, and by his best guess, it had to be nearing 2 am now.
The headache he’d been trying to ignore now throbbed at full force. The glare he gave Shinsou only made it worse.
“Izuku, you are making a big mistake right now.” Shinsou said, “You need to find Eraserhead and tell him you take it back—all of it. Everything you said about him and the UA teachers. He’s somewhere out here right now, looking for you too.”
Izuku couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said about the teachers. But there was no way he was apologizing. Whatever it was, it was probably true.
“Stop it. I know that face,” Shin said. “Izuku, seriously–of all the things to be stubborn about, you choose the one thing that could change your whole future.”
“Shinsou, this is about more than my future!” Izuku yelled. “You’re letting your future blind you to what’s happening right now. The ends don’t justify the means!”
“They do when the end is saving millions of lives!” Shinsou shot back.
“At the expense of lives, Shinsou!” Izuku shouted.
“Criminal lives, who “never did anything good in their lives and never will.’”
“I don’t care who they are, Shinsou, they’re people.” Izuku’s voice cracked. “People like you and me! No one should ever be used for their quirks and— and… mushed together with another human being like that!”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, closing his fingers around the sharp piece of plastic from Eri’s pen—a habit he’d carried ever since she had given it to him.
Shinsou continued to glare, studying him as if searching for something in his face. A moment later, he muttered, “There’s nothing I can say to you, is there?”
Izuku said nothing. Shinsou sighed heavily and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Then you give me no choice.”
“What?” Izuku asked, struggling to hear over the wind. Then, as if a familiar fog settled over his mind, everything went fuzzy and quiet. A voice whispered in his head: “Follow me, and don’t fall.”
His legs moved in sync with Shinsou’s, carrying him toward the edge where Shinsou had first landed.
Another burst of betrayal and hurt washed over Izuku, and tears stung his eyes. Shinsou promised never to use his quirk on him. He promised.
Izuku tried not to imagine the look that would be on Eraserhead’s face when Shinsou brought him back. Izuku didn’t want to see him, he never wanted to see him again. He couldn’t explain exactly why, but the feeling of betrayal was cutting deep, deeper than anything he’d ever felt. First betrayed by Eraserhead and UA, and now by Shinsou. What a wonderful night he was having.
As they moved over the slick roof, one of Izuku’s feet slipped. Shinsou didn’t notice or react. A few steps later, he slipped again—harder this time, forcing his body to jolt to keep from falling. The sharp piece of plastic in his hand cut his skin, and immediately the fog lifted.
Without a second thought, Izuku pushed off, sprinting away from Shinsou toward the other end of the roof.
“Izuku! Wait!” Shinsou shouted, but Izuku ignored him, leaping onto the next roof and running as fast as he could.
He would find a way to stop the League without using the Nomu. He would prove that real heroes didn’t need to stoop to the level of villains to defeat them.
And he would do it alone.