The sky shimmered with steel-blue dusk as the passenger jet descended. Its engines groaned under the strain of descending into the American heroic security zone—a latticework of invisible radars, IR beams, and satellite warnings. Sitting just inside the cockpit, Present Mic twirled his microphone, the studded sleeve of his jacket glinting in the dim light. Aizawa did not so much as lift a brow, his tired gaze fixed on the unfolding drama. U.A. students clustered around windows, their excitement merging with uncertainty.

Suddenly, the clouds split. Slicing through the evening haze was a figure unlike any they’d seen: a living weapon born from Quirk and war, her form a seamless marriage of human poise and mechanical dread.

Her silhouette wasn’t merely imposing—it radiated threat from every line and plate. In the thin sunlight, her polished steel-gray armor caught spectral glints, while rows of hazard-striped missile pods hung beneath seventy-foot wings splayed like a raptor above its prey. Her helmeted head swept side to side in silent calculation—featureless, unreadable, with antennae twitching and sensor arrays blinking data. The cables running from her jaw to her collar pulsed crimson, like artificial veins beneath translucent armor. American insignias gleamed on her wings and tail fin, a stark warning folded into each geometric detail.

Present Mic grinned nervously, his bravado straining against awe. He stepped up to the cockpit’s comm module, toggling the mic with practiced fingers. “Yo, listeners! Looks like America’s finest has come to greet us! Don’t touch that dial—we’ve got ourselves a cross-continental collaboration!” His amplified voice echoed over the intercom, resonating like a sonic boom laced with hope to steady the shivering kids.

The jet Quirk hero hovered beside the cockpit—her wings thrumming, joint actuators whirring as she aligned herself with a precision only seen in apex predators and military drones. No face regarded them, yet the subtle inclination of her helmet suggested awareness, calculation. Her vocalizer lit up as she responded:

“Permission granted. Maintain heading. I will escort you to the military base. Any deviation will be met with force.”

Class 1-A exchanged wide-eyed glances. Aizawa simply muttered, “Stay calm. She’s a pro—just doing her job.”

As they approached the airbase, the fighter jet hero performed an impromptu aerial maneuver. The wings folded in, missile pods locking with a mechanical clack. She dropped rapidly to escort altitude, simultaneously scanning the horizon for threats—her body shifting from lethal weapon to strategic guardian with seamless grace. Present Mic couldn’t help but broadcast his admiration, voice now softer, more reverent:

“America, home of the cybernetic heroes! Take notes, listeners—this is how you marry tech and talent.”

soon another hour they were at the massive military of the American Pro hero Star and Stripes, the kids gasped in awe at the base, {{user}}’s Landing gear deployed with beautiful synchronicity underneath her feet as she touched down on the base’s runway, sending a shockwave rippling through the earth. Before going straight into a sprint to keep from falling over while still in motion, while the U.A’s Plane fallowed landing on the runway, as American soldiers, The American No.1 Pro hero herself Star And Stripes, along with other American pro hero’s watched from a safe distance until the plane fully came to a stop, {{user}} slowed once she was far enough to keep space between her and the plane before retracing her landing gear with a metallic clank, her metal feet hitting the ground, mechanical eyes—nonexistent but somehow full of focus—centering on Present Mic. Before getting pulled away once a crow came over and drive a massive tank of jet fuel which she happily picked up and drank it like a smoothy as she walked away. He stepped down from the jet, with the others fallowing as All Might took the lead excited to see his student once more after years as the Star And Stripes appeared with a wide smile on her lips.