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The city of Hosu was on fire.
Three monstrous creatures, Nomus, carved a path of destruction through the downtown area. Heroes scrambled to respond, but the sheer, unthinking power of the beasts was overwhelming. In a dark alley, Tomura Shigaraki watched the chaos with a frustrated scowl, scratching furiously at his neck.
"He's not here," Shigaraki rasped, his voice a low, angry hiss. "The big-shot Hero Killer was supposed to make his move in this city. He was supposed to cause chaos, draw out the fakes. Where is he?"
Kurogiri materialized beside him, his yellow eyes scanning the burning cityscape. "It is… strange. All of our intelligence pointed to him being active in this area. For him to simply vanish without a trace is highly unusual."
"Tch. Whatever," Shigaraki grumbled, his attention turning back to the destruction. "Forget him. Let the Nomus have their fun. Let them show this city what real terror looks like."
Their musings were cut short by a colossal blast of fire that engulfed one of the Nomus, incinerating it in an instant. Endeavor, the Number Two Hero, descended from the sky like a wrathful god, his entire body wreathed in flame.
"So, you're the ones causing all this trouble," he boomed, his eyes burning with intensity. He and the other pros on the scene, including the old hero Gran Torino, quickly moved to engage the remaining creatures, their combined efforts eventually quelling the sudden, violent attack. Shigaraki and Kurogiri, seeing their pawns defeated, warped away into the shadows, leaving behind a city in flames and a lingering, unanswered question: Where was Stain?(Dead, lol)
While Hosu burned and recovered, the rest of Class 1-A were scattered across the country, deep into their own trials.
For Izuku Midoriya, his internship was a baffling and painful experience. He had chosen to intern with Gran Torino, the hero who had once trained All Might himself. He had expected a wise, disciplined mentor. Instead, he got a tiny, senile old man who seemed more interested in microwaving taiyaki and repeatedly forgetting his name. Yet, beneath the senile facade was a master of his craft. Through a series of bizarre and seemingly random "games," Gran Torino was forcing Midoriya to rethink everything he knew about One For All.
"You're too stiff!" the old hero yelled, zipping around the room like a pinball, his Quirk, Jet, propelling him off the walls and ceiling. "You think of your power as a special move, a switch you flip for one big punch! It's not a tool, you idiot! It's a part of you! Let it flow through your entire body, constantly!"
The lesson was driven home with a series of sharp kicks and taunts. It was frustrating, humiliating, but slowly, a breakthrough was forming in Midoriya's mind. A new way to control his power, a path to becoming the hero he was meant to be.
Meanwhile, Katsuki Bakugo was enduring his own personal hell. He had been chosen by the Number Four Hero, Best Jeanist, a man whose entire philosophy revolved around discipline, control, and perfectly coiffed hair.
"You are a talented individual, Bakugo," Best Jeanist said, his voice calm and smooth as he used his Fiber Master quirk to forcibly style Bakugo's explosive hair into a neat side-part. "But you are a wild animal. A true hero must inspire confidence and security. They must be… restrained."
For a week, Bakugo wasn't allowed to fight villains. He was forced on patrols where his only job was to walk calmly and interact politely with civilians. He was lectured on public image, brand management, and the importance of a professional demeanor. Every fiber of his being screamed in rebellion. It was torture, but it was also a lesson. A lesson he was too stubborn to admit he was learning.
Elsewhere, others faced different challenges. Uraraka was at Gunhead's agency, learning hand-to-hand combat that went far beyond what she'd learned at U.A. Kirishima was with the gruff but fair Fourth Kind, learning the ropes of street-level heroics.
Tsuyu Asui found herself on the seas, interning with the Pro Hero Selkie and his crew. The work was a far cry from the urban brawls she had imagined. It involved scrubbing decks, learning navigation, and dealing with the nauseating sway of the ocean. Yet, it was perfectly suited to her. Her frog-like abilities made her a natural in the water, and her calm, observant nature was a perfect fit for the long, quiet hours of patrol. It was during one such patrol that they were alerted to stowaways on a cargo ship. A group of villains smuggling illegal support items. In the following fight on the slippery, chaotic deck of the ship, Froppy proved invaluable, her long tongue and wall-clinging abilities allowing her to outmaneuver the villains in the cramped environment. It was a different kind of heroism, one of patience and environment rather than pure power.
For Momo Yaoyorozu, paired with Kendo from Class 1-B, her internship under the tutelage of the model-hero Uwabami was a test of a different kind of patience. Instead of fighting villains, they were fighting for screen time in a new commercial. Instead of strategic planning, they were planning their poses for a photo shoot. Momo, with her brilliant, analytical mind, felt stifled and useless. She created props for the set, but it felt hollow. She understood the importance of a hero's public image, but this felt like all image and no substance. It was a frustrating, demoralizing experience, a lesson in the less glamorous, public-facing side of the profession that she struggled to accept.
Even Iida, on his grim mission in Hosu, found his purpose tested. He had chosen Manual's agency for its location, his heart set on finding Stain and avenging his brother. But the day-to-day work was ordinary. Patrols, paperwork, following the rules to the letter. Every moment he spent on a routine traffic stop felt like a moment wasted, the burning desire for vengeance a constant, bitter taste in his mouth.
But perhaps the most volatile internship was taking place in Endeavor's agency. From the moment she arrived, Rumi Usagiyama was a force of pure, unfiltered chaos in a world of rigid order.
"These are your patrol routes for the day," Endeavor barked on the first morning, pointing to a meticulously detailed map. "You and Shoto will observe and report. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. You follow my lead. Understood?"
"Yeah, yeah, got it, old man," Rumi said, not even looking at the map. She was too busy stretching her legs.
The patrol was a disaster. Endeavor moved with a focused, intimidating presence. Rumi, on the other hand, moved like a pinball. She'd dart into an alley to pet a stray cat, buy a crepe from a street vendor mid-patrol, and challenge local kids in silly games. Every action was a blatant disregard for his strict protocols, and it was driving Endeavor to his absolute limit.
"Your job is to be a symbol of order!" he roared after she stopped a purse-snatcher not by apprehending him, but by kicking the purse out of his hand, sending it flying back to its owner, and then letting the thief trip into a fountain.
"But I recovered the purse, didn't I?" she shot back, taking a large bite of her crepe. "Problem solved. Lighten up, old man."
Shoto watched these exchanges with a strange, detached amusement. He also watched his father. Since the Sports Festival, something had shifted. The usual roaring inferno of his father's anger was still there, but it was… different. There was less rage and more pure frustration. He was trying, in his own clumsy way, to connect. He'd ask Shoto about his day, a question he hadn't asked in over a decade. He'd made a point to call Fuyumi, a strained but clear effort.
Shoto found himself thinking of Akaza's words. Sometimes, even a family like yours deserves a second chance. He wasn't sure if he could forgive, not yet. But for the first time, he was starting to wonder if his father was capable of change. Maybe… just maybe… there was a path forward that didn't involve complete rejection.
His thoughts were interrupted by the office door slamming open. Rumi stood there, her hero costume on, a rebellious look in her eyes. Endeavor was behind his desk, a vein throbbing in his temple.
"We have a high-speed chase in the south district. You two will provide backup. You will follow my instructions to the letter," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
"Nah, I'm good," Rumi said with a shrug. "Sounds boring. A car chase is just a glorified traffic jam. I'm gonna go stop that robbery we got a tip about two blocks over. More hands-on, you know?"
Before Endeavor could even form a response, she flashed him a cheerful middle finger. "Catch ya later, Big Flamey!"
And with that, she used Soru and vanished from the office in a gust of wind, leaving behind a stunned silence.
Endeavor's entire body burst into flames, his frustration finally reaching its boiling point. He let out a roar of pure, unfiltered rage that shook the entire building.
And in the midst of that inferno, Shoto Todoroki did something he hadn't done in years. He laughed. It wasn't a loud laugh, just a soft chuckle that escaped his lips before he could stop it.
The sound cut through Endeavor's rage like a knife. The flames receded slightly. He turned, his fiery gaze landing on his son. He saw the faint smile, the genuine amusement in his eyes. It was a sight he never thought he'd see again. And in that moment, the anger vanished, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar warmth. The frustration Rumi had caused him didn't matter. His son was laughing. It was a small thing, a tiny crack in the glacier that had separated them for a decade, but it felt like a monumental victory. His attempts to change… they were working.
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