Sorry for the wait I was working on this chapter and am still working on the next chapter for tomorrow they feed into each other so I needed time for both i think yall will like both.
Chapter 3 — Reflections at Dusk and invitations
The city always feels different at the edge of day, like it's a different world before the lights come on. I followed the river path with my hands in my pockets, watching the water turn the color of old gold. Every few steps, the lampposts woke one by one, halos blooming against the evening.
I'd told Mom I needed some air. That wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
Statistics are easy to catalog in a notebook. Vectors, forces, points of contact—you can plot all of that. Feelings inside your own ribs are messier. You can't diagram the moment when Momo's voice goes soft because she's explaining something she knows I'll love. You can't label the way Nerissa's laughter makes me feel brave and ridiculous at the same time. You can't quantify how Shōko standing shoulder to shoulder with me makes me feel complete.
So what do you do when the warmth you have isn't just friendship anymore—when it's brighter, heavier? And what do you do when you feel it pulling you three ways at once, and none of those ways are wrong?
I tried to imagine a perfect answer and found none. I tried to imagine doing nothing and felt a slow, cold wrongness settle in my stomach. The other option also felt wrong choosing one to the exclusion of the others just because that's what stories usually do, but being honest. What I wanted most was just us like it's always been just different as more than friends and when I think that it feels….. selfish. so i kept walking, kept rolling ideas around in my mind for a while.
A scooter zipped past, its tail light smearing red across the river. I touched the scar at my collar, then let my hand fall. My shadow kept pace at my feet disciplined, attentive, like the loyal soldier it had become. It didn't judge. It didn't advise. If it had a face, it might have been patient.
"I'll figure it out," I said, which is a funny thing to tell yourself.
I cut right, away from the river and into streets that narrowed into alleys with laundry lines strung like flags between buildings. This part of town was older—family restaurants with hand-painted signs, convenience stores where the clerks recognized you, balconies with potted plants and wind chimes. Somewhere a radio played a hero talk show low enough to be a rumor.
I was still turning over words in my head that didn't sound like books or lies—I care about you. I care about all of you. Can we take this slow and careful and true?—when the sound reached me. Not a scream. That would've been easier. A choked, high sob that a kid makes when they're trying not to cry because crying makes adults upset.
Then all of a sudden there are people yelling and a child's cry that hooked something deep. My feet were moving before my head caught up. Two turns, then another, and the street opened into a small plaza bracketed by shops. A crowd had formed hard and fast. Police tape fluttered in a diagonal and a pair of pros—local agency jackets—held the line while they tried to calm a situation that didn't want calming.
Center stage: a villain with a corrosive quirk, slick and black around his forearms like gloves made of oil and acid. He wasn't posturing; he was mean and twitchy and riding the edge of losing control. He had a little girl by the wrist, his other hand ready to fling a sheet of burning sludge. The kid's shoes had melted into the street just enough that she couldn't take a step without leaving rubber behind.
"Stay back!" he barked, flicking a sizzling arc that splattered the pros' barrier. Steam boiled up. The smell was awful—like melted plastic and battery acid.
The lead pro cut his eyes to the perimeter, assessing possible routes. He needed someone to get low and fast to the girl without giving the villain a clear shot at a civilian. Most people don't volunteer for that job. I don't remember making the decision. My legs were moving before my mind.
I slid under the tape with a quick dashing forward The lead pro swore, but he didn't waste time arguing; he shifted his stance to bait the villain's focus left.
Shadows gathered where the curb dropped. I breathed once, long and level, and brought them up clean.
I raised a shield that met the first wild spray of acid it hit the sheet and held, hissing, as the corrosive stuff slid off and dissolved the ground.
I sent a shadow that kissed along the asphalt to the girl's ankles, hard as a ramp and slick as ice.
Next a narrow shade to slap the villain's wrist away to break aim.
That was the plan so I made my move.
I sprinted in that pocket of cover, dropped to one knee, and let the shadow take the girl's weight. "hold still" I told her—calm, low, the way you talk to someone on thin ice. "Don't move. I've got you."
The villain barked another noise and threw a fast, mean lance of acid. The shield caught it at an angle with a crack like a bat striking a metal shield. I felt that impact in my teeth. I didn't give it a second thought. The shadow tilted; the kid slid toward me; I scooped her under the arms and lifted and sprinted away. As I ran I tried to calm the kid.
"Eyes on me," I said. "Breathe. You're okay." She made a hiccup sound, then latched onto my neck with both hands. I pivoted out on the live angle, my shadow coming with me in a black fold that kept my back covered.
"Secure the child!" the lead pro shouted. A junior flooded in with a fire blanket, already moving before the words finished. I transferred the girl and snapped back around to make sure we weren't being followed.
The villain lunged. He'd decided that if he couldn't keep a hostage, he'd take a piece of me instead.
Fine.
I stepped into the attack, dropped a rod of shadow at ankle height, and let him trip himself. His shin hit hard,his knee buckled, his center of gravity went somewhere dumb. My right hand came up and I hammered a short, clean strike to the side of his head—nothing flashy, exactly what Endeavor drilled into me, decisive, controlled,to end the threat as fast as possible. He went down on his back, knocked all the way out and stayed there out cold.
The pros were on him in a heartbeat—insulated cuffs, suppressant foam. I backed off to let them do their job.
:Sorry for jumping the line—I acted on instinct." I said sheepishly rubbing the back of my head while grinning apologetically
The lead pro turned—a scowl halfway to a reprimand—then paused. His visor hid his eyes, but the tilt of his head changed. "Hold up." He looked me up and down like a puzzle he almost had. "You, one of the kids, Endeavor is training?"
"Yes sir, I train at his facility pretty often," I said, bowing once. "Midoriya Izuku."
Someone in the crowd muttered, "Oh, that's why—" and a handful of heads dipped to their phones. Great.
"Right." The pro's mouth twitched like he'd remembered a memo about not chewing out gifted teenagers in public. He jabbed a thumb toward the ambulance. "Next time, let us set the play. But… good extraction. Clean work."
"Understood," I said. "Yes, sir." That was the truth. Respecting the line matters. So does moving when a kid is one breath away from getting hurt.
The girl was already wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the back bumper of an ambulance with a medic doing that gentle check that's half physical, half magic trick: "See? All ten fingers. You're brave." She spotted me and raised a shaky hand. She gave a small shaken "Thank you" before I walked away as I gave her a small wave
I stepped back to the edge of the tape as the scene settled into procedure. My shoulders loosened. My shadow, which had been standing tall and hard as plate steel, softened—no longer a wall, just the ordinary echo at my feet.
That's when the air changed.
It wasn't a sound. Not light either. More like the way a room feels a split-second before a thunderclap—pressure turning, a presence solving for X. My chest answered with a quiet, impossible recognition. My shadow drew itself up for a breath and stilled.
In the second row of onlookers, half behind a man in a suit, stood a frail shape in a hoodie and a cap pulled low. Most would just call him lanky.our eyes meet for a brief second but It passed in a heartbeat.
He dipped his head a fraction—not acknowledgment, not quite—and the crowd swallowed him when a police van edged closer and people shuffled to make room. The pressure went with him. The plaza was just a plaza again.
The lead pro waved me over, handed me a clipboard—digital, of course—and asked for a statement. I gave it: short, precise, just facts. When it was done, he grunted, "Tell Endeavor his kids are causing more paperwork," which was the closest thing to a compliment some agencies can manage.
"I'll pass it along," I said, trying not to smile.
They didn't need me after that. I slipped back through the tape the way I'd come and let the plaza's noise fade into ordinary city sound. My heart settled into its normal pace one street over. The sunset had shifted into that deepening blue that makes the first stars shine beautifully. I put my hands back in my pockets and started walking again, the same direction as earlier going right back to the previous subject.
What do you do with three honest feelings? You tell the truth and move carefully. What do you do when the world brushes you with the edge of something that feels like destiny? You keep training. You keep showing up. You stay the person you've been making one decision at a time.
-alt pov-
The crowd dissolved as the last police van rolled away. All Might remained where he was, hood drawn low, blending with the shadows at the mouth of a side alley. For the first time in a long while, he hadn't been the one to save the day.
He had watched.
And One for All had stirred.
The pulse had been faint but unmistakable—an echo of the power that lived inside him, like a ripple in still water responding to another drop. He pressed a gloved hand to his chest now, feeling the fading thrum beneath the disguise. "Impossible," he whispered, voice buried under the hum of the city. "Unless…"
He replayed the rescue in perfect detail:
The boy—no, young man—moving before thought, clean technique, no ego.
Shadow constructs forming and collapsing with surgical precision.
A hostage freed without collateral.
No grandstanding. No wasted motion.
Just purpose.
It wasn't raw power that had caught All Might's attention; it was skill and heart. The same quiet certainty Nana Shimura had carried when she faced chaos and smiled through it.
He stepped out of the alley and made his way towards his car. But All Might's mind was already racing. "That control… that heart."
He scrolled his phone absently, half to steady his hands. The feed was already blooming with short clips from the rescue: Endeavor trainee saves hostage, Shadow hero-in-training, Who's the kid in green? The algorithms would eat it alive by morning.
"Endeavor's trainee?" he murmured. He'd known Enji was training a handful of promising youths alongside his daughter, but not much else. It wasn't like Enji to brag.
He thumbed open his contacts and tapped a name he hadn't used in weeks.
---
U.A. – Principal's Office, later that night
The office smelled faintly of tea and ozone, like always. Nezu sat behind his desk, tail flicking, smile unreadable. "Toshinori, it's been a while. How's retirement—oh, pardon me, your semi-retirement—treating you?"
All Might gave a small, embarrassed cough. In his true form, gaunt and pale under the oversized coat, he looked more scholar than symbol. "im not retired yet and Still busy like always," he said. " But on another note I witnessed something today I think you'll find interesting."
Nezu's ears perked. "Do tell."
"A boy. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Quirk—some manner of shadow manipulation. Precision that rivals seasoned pros. He rescued a hostage cleanly, without panic. But that's not what caught my attention." His gaze drifted to the window, where moonlight sliced the dark into lines. "One for All it responded to him. I could feel it."
Nezu didn't laugh or scoff, which is why All Might trusted him. The principal folded his paws. "Responded… as in resonance?"
"Exactly. Like the power recognized something."
Nezu tapped a claw against the desk. "Name?"
"Midoriya Izuku. I confirmed it through the agency feed. Apparently he trains under Endeavor."
"Ah," Nezu said, nodding once. "That explains the precision. I've seen his test data. High cognitive index, exceptional situational judgment. His classmates include Yaoyorozu Momo, Ravencroft Nerissa, and Todoroki Shōko, correct?"
All Might blinked. "You already know of him?"
"I make it a habit to monitor promising youth, Toshinori," Nezu said lightly. "Endeavor has been quietly building an impressive little cohort." He leaned back. "What are you thinking?"
"That we may have found someone who understands power the right way," All Might said softly. "Someone who doesn't chase glory for its own sake."
Nezu poured tea for both of them, the ritual helping the air settle. "So," he said at last, "shall I request official training footage under the guise of U.A. early scouting? It's about that time of year."
All Might smiled—a tired, genuine thing. "If you would. I'd like to see more before I act on instinct."
Nezu raised a brow. "When have you ever not acted on instinct?"
All Might chuckled, a sound that cracked but didn't break. "Touché."
---
Hours later, long after the tea cooled, All Might stood alone on a rooftop overlooking the city. The lights below blurred into rivers of color. He drew a breath, feeling the faintest echo again—a whisper of gold in the marrow.
"One for All," he murmured, voice soft enough that only the wind could hear. "You feel it too, don't you?"
The air didn't answer, but the warmth that brushed his ribs was enough.
Somewhere out there, a boy who commanded shadows had stepped into the light. And the power of generations had taken notice.
---
The Endeavor Agency was quieter than usual tonight. The hum of the city below was muffled by the thick glass walls of his office. Screens along the far wall cycled through mission reports, arrest footage, and surveillance replays. But one clip had been looping since he sat down—a phone video from the street, timestamped just hours ago.
It showed a familiar green-haired boy moving through chaos like he'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Shadows coiled around him in disciplined arcs, catching and redirecting a villain's corrosive sludge. The hostage—a child—came free. No wasted motion. No hesitation. The crowd cheered, and Izuku Midoriya simply bowed, apologizing for "acting on instinct."
Endeavor watched it for the fourth time. He didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched—his version of approval.
The intercom on his desk buzzed.
"Sir," his assistant said, voice crisp, "a call from U.A.'s Principal Nezu. He says it's regarding one of your trainees."
Endeavor straightened. "Patch it through."
A few seconds later, the speaker crackled to life. "Ah, Enji Todoroki," Nezu's cheerful voice greeted, smooth and polite as always. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."
"Make it quick," Endeavor replied, not unkindly but without pretense. "I've got three sidekicks still filing reports."
"I'll be brief." A sip of tea, audible even through the static. "I wanted to discuss a particular student of yours. Midoriya Izuku."
Endeavor's brow twitched. "What about him?"
"We've been observing potential candidates for U.A.'s advanced hero program," Nezu said, tone careful but deliberate. "Midoriya's recent field performance caught our attention. His command over a high-complexity quirk type is—impressive. We'd like to review his training records and progress logs, if you're willing to share."
Endeavor leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking under the motion. "You're telling me U.A. 's scouting my trainee?" he asked, half skeptical, half intrigued. "You've got eyes everywhere, don't you?"
"I try to stay informed," Nezu said with that amused, knowing lilt. "Of course, this is entirely optional. But if your student's goal is to attend U.A., we'd like to… understand the level of his preparation."
"He's not ready for showboating," Endeavor muttered, rubbing a calloused thumb against his jawline. "Midoriya's a disciplined one. Works hard. Follows orders. But U.A. was probably his goal anyway " He stared at the frozen frame of Izuku on the screen—kneeling to comfort the rescued girl, expression calm, no trace of fear.
"Precisely why he might belong there," Nezu replied smoothly. "You've taught him rigor. We can teach him reach."
That line made Endeavor's lips press into a flat line. He didn't like people talking about his students like assets. Still, this was U.A.—and the way Nezu phrased it… there was weight under the civility. Someone had noticed Midoriya beyond a simple talent report.
He turned back to the screen and watched the clip again, silent. Shadows rising like a living thing. The kid's eyes—steady, calm, focused.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "You'll get your footage and logs. Training evaluations for the past year. He's shown adaptability and restraint. He's nowhere near his ceiling yet."
"Excellent," Nezu said. "I appreciate your cooperation. U.A. will treat the data confidentially, of course."
"I expect nothing less," Endeavor said. "You're not the type to waste potential."
There was a smile in Nezu's next breath. "Neither are you."
The line clicked off. Endeavor sat in the quiet, the hum of the city returning under the silence. He turned off the screen and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
Midoriya Izuku.
When the boy had first shown up, he'd been raw—driven, yes, but with that hesitant politeness that rubbed Endeavor the wrong way. Too soft. Too unsure.
Now? He moved with determination, control and a heart that didn't waver.
And U.A. had taken notice.
He opened the digital archive and queued the training footage Nezu requested—combat drills, quirk control evaluations, sparring sessions with his sidekicks and the girls. Watching them in fast-forward, he could see Midoriya's steady climb—each movement sharper, cleaner, stronger.
When the upload finished, Endeavor shut the console down and sat there in the dim light for a moment longer. His reflection in the window stared back: a man who'd chased perfection so hard he'd forgotten to slow down and almost lost everything. Midoriya had reminded him what real progress looked like—not raw power, but heart under pressure.
He muttered under his breath, "You've come a long way, kid. Don't make me regret sending that footage."
Then, quieter, something almost like a father's thought slipped through:
Maybe you'll do what I couldn't—reach the top without losing yourself.
---
Three days later, the training room smelled faintly of ozone and scorched metal — always the sign that Shōko and Nerissa had started warm-ups without waiting. The targets on the far wall were half melted, the dummies still smoking faintly.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to ignore the ache in my arms. We'd been pushing harder lately — Endeavor's schedule didn't leave much room for rest.
"Midoriya," he called from the observation deck above, voice booming even through the glass. "Up here. Now."
Nerissa tilted her head, her long black-and-blue hair sticking to her neck with sweat. "Oof, that's the 'serious talk' tone."
"Try not to explode this time," Momo teased gently, wiping her forehead.
I gave them a mock glare before jogging toward the stairs. The moment I stepped into Endeavor's office, I knew something was different. His massive frame was turned toward the monitor wall, and the screen behind him showed the U.A. crest.
My stomach flipped.
He didn't look up right away. "Midoriya," he said finally, folding his arms. "U.A. requested your training footage. They want a closer look at your performance and progress."
My mouth went dry. "U-U.A.? As in—?"
"Yes," he interrupted, tone steady but not unkind. "Nezu himself called. Said you've attracted attention."
I blinked. "Because of the rescue?"
"That, and because you've been outpacing my sidekicks in control drills," he said, the faintest edge of pride in his voice. "Don't let it go to your head."
For a second I forgot how to breathe. U.A. —the top hero academy in the country. It was the dream school of everyone who wanted to do heroics. And now they were looking at me.
Endeavor sighed and gestured toward the screen. "I sent them everything they asked for—footage, reports, evaluations. If they like what they see, they'll contact us again."
"Th-thank you," I managed.
"Don't thank me yet." His voice softened just enough to be human. "You earned this attention. I just answered the phone."
The door behind me slid open, and all three girls nearly tripped over each other trying to fit through.
Momo was the first to speak. "Did we hear that right? U.A. wants to review Izuku's record?"
Endeavor gave a low grunt that counted as confirmation.
Nerissa squealed outright. "That's incredible! The top school in Japan! Izuku, that's amazing!"
Shōko crossed her arms but her smile was quiet and proud. "You've worked for it."
I rubbed the back of my neck, heat crawling up my face. "I mean, it's not official or anything, they just—"
"—noticed you," Momo finished for me, her eyes bright. "That's a big deal."
Endeavor cleared his throat, and all three snapped to attention. "You've all improved, but Midoriya's discipline has set the bar. If U.A. contacts us again, it will be because of consistency. Remember that."
"Yes, sir," we chorused automatically.
He turned away, the conversation dismissed, but before I left, he said, "Midoriya."
I paused at the door.
"Keep training," he said, tone gruff but sincere. "You've got potential. Don't waste it trying to impress anyone. Earn your own standard."
I bowed, more grateful than I could say. "I will."
---
That night, I couldn't sleep. The city outside my window glowed like a slow heartbeat. I sat at my desk, the scar on my neck catching the light from my lamp, and stared at my reflection in the dark glass.
U.A. The place where legends were made.
I didn't know why they wanted my files, or what they'd decide after watching them. But somewhere deep inside, my shadow pulsed—steady, patient, ready.
"Guess we'd better make sure we're ready for whatever comes next," I murmured.
The dark shape on the floor shifted slightly, as if agreeing.
---
U.A.'s training area wasn't designed for comfort. It was built to withstand fights from rather destructive students. The reinforced walls gleamed, the floor a grid of polished alloy.
All Might stood in the center of it, arms folded. The overhead lights caught the gold of his hair and cast his shadow long behind him.
Nezu sipped tea beside the observation glass, his tone chipper as always. "I must admit, Toshinori, I'm intrigued. Endeavor's trainee has drawn quite a bit of attention lately."
"Attention's earned," All Might said. "I've watched the footage — calm under pressure, decisive, controlled. Rare qualities for someone that young."
Nezu's whiskers twitched. "Careful. You're starting to sound impressed."
"I am," All Might admitted. "It's been a long time since I've seen a quirk used like that. No waste, no ego."
He rolled a shoulder, the motion cracking like distant thunder. "You've got the paperwork ready?"
Nezu held up a paw. "Of course. I told Endeavor it was a 'control evaluation.'"
All Might grinned. "Then let's see what kind of control this boy really has."
Even from the hallway, I could feel it — the weight of U.A.'s air. It didn't hum like Endeavor's training floors or echo like the city gym.
I walked beside Endeavor, the girls following behind. None of us knew exactly why U.A. wanted this evaluation, only that it was "important."
The door opened with a hiss And there he was.
All Might. The Symbol of Peace himself — larger than life, literally. posture straight, eyes bright as sunlight.
My brain short-circuited. Every speech I'd ever memorized, every poster I'd ever stared at as a kid, every time I'd thought If I could just be like him—all of it collided into one impossible moment.
Endeavor grunted beside me. "Midoriya. Don't gawk."
Right. Right. I bowed so fast I nearly smacked my forehead on the floor. "A-All Might, sir! It's an honor, sir!"
He laughed — not mocking, but warm. "At ease, young man. I've heard impressive things. You must be Midoriya Izuku."
"I—yes! That's—me."
Nerissa whispered behind me, "He's huge."
Momo shushed her, but even Shōko's usual calm cracked into awe.
All Might's gaze softened. "I just want to see how you handle your power. A friendly spar, nothing serious. Think of it as a chance to show me what makes your quirk yours."
My stomach twisted somewhere between panic and pride. "Y-yes, sir."
---
The arena floor stretched wide and clean between us. All Might stood relaxed, one hand on his hip, the other extended. "Whenever you're ready, young Midoriya."
I breathed in, focused on the light above. My shadow spread out like ink spilling from my feet, dark and smooth. I guided it — a line, a wave, a wall — feeling its weight respond to my heartbeat.
Move with purpose, not emotion.
I lunged first. A shadow blade cut low across the floor, sliding like a ripple of night. All Might sidestepped effortlessly — his movement so fast it barely disturbed the air.
He countered with a flicker of motion. I felt the pressure before the wind hit — a single punch of displaced air that made my ribs vibrate. My shadow caught it, warping into a curved barrier that shuddered but held.
Not bad, I thought. For half a second.
He vanished again, appearing just to my right. I twisted, driving two pillars of shadow upward. They collided with his forearm, the impact sounding like a thunderclap. The recoil threw me back three steps.
"Excellent reflexes," All Might called, genuine admiration in his voice. "But you're thinking too linearly!"
He blurred forward — one instant twenty feet away, the next right in front of me. Instinct took over. My shadow surged upward, wrapping my arms, reinforcing muscle and bone. When his fist came down, I blocked with both forearms.
The world flashed white from the shockwave. My legs slid back through scorched lines on the floor, heat burning under my boots. But I didn't fall.
I gritted my teeth. "Not yet!"
The shadow under me surged like water — a wave I pushed outward in a semi-circle. It met All Might's stance, splashing upward like liquid night, blinding for half a heartbeat. I slipped through the water like surge of shadow, reappearing behind him, landing a kick at the back of his knee that barely made it bend downward but drew a surprised grin.
He turned, chuckling. "Creative! You use your quirk like a craftsman, not a weapon."
"I learned from someone who doesn't tolerate sloppiness," I said, panting.
All Might nodded once — approval, pure and proud. "Then you've learned well."
We continued on for about 20 more minutes before we eventually stopped.
He raised one hand, fingers spread. "That's enough. I've seen what I needed."
The tension in my body eased all at once. I released my focus, the shadows retracting into the floor like waves pulled back by the tide. My knees hit the ground. Sweat dripped down my chin, my heartbeat thundered — but I was smiling.
All Might walked over and offered his hand. "Splendid work young man. You've got heart — and you understand power's purpose."
I took his hand, still catching my breath. His grip was steady, warm, impossible to mistake.
Endeavor's voice echoed from the sideline. "He's been at this since he was a child."
All Might didn't look away from me. "Then the future's in good hands."
---
The air in the arena still buzzed with leftover energy.
My lungs burned, and my arms trembled from blocking blows that felt like thunder itself. The shadows at my feet had gone still again, as if even they were catching their breath.
All Might had already reverted to his relaxed stance, the smile still easy but the eyes sharper now. "Again Splendid work, young Midoriya," he said, his voice gentle instead of booming. "You fought with your head as much as your heart."
I bowed slightly, not trusting my knees. "Thank you, sir."
I wanted to ask a hundred questions—Did I disappoint him? Was I too slow?—but the words stayed trapped behind my teeth.
Nerissa was the first to reach me, waving a light across my bruised shoulder. "You're still standing. That's a win in my book."
Momo gave me a proud smile; Shōko simply nodded, the faintest hint of approval in her eyes. Even Endeavor's curt "Good control" felt like sunlight.
I glanced back once as we left the arena. All Might was still watching me, expression unreadable. The unease in my chest didn't fade—it deepened into curiosity.
---
All Might waited until the doors closed. The echo of footsteps faded, leaving only the low hum of the to a rest area.
Nezu's voice floated from the observation booth. "Did you feel it again?"
All Might didn't answer at first. His hand rested over his heart, where that faint resonance of power still tingled. "Yes," he said finally, softly. "I felt it. One For All reacted."
Nezu tilted his head. "Then our next move is clear?"
A small smile tugged at All Might's lips. "I think I've found the one."