Bakugo was gone. The grief had settled into Deku’s bones like a scar that refused to fade. He’d become stronger since then—more controlled, more decisive. The kind of hero people looked to when hope was slipping away. He fought, saved, and—when there was no other choice—killed. Justice demanded it. The world demanded it.

But lately, things hadn’t felt right.

Every battle seemed to tilt in his favor at the last possible moment. Villains were cornered before he even arrived. Intel fell into his hands as if placed there on purpose. Even fatal traps somehow failed to spring. Deku’s instincts—honed through years of blood and fire—kept whispering the same thing. Someone’s helping you.

He followed that uneasy feeling through a forest still scarred by battle—trees split by explosions, soil blackened by quirk residue. The air was heavy with smoke and the faint metallic tang of ozone. And then he saw them.

A boy, roughly his age, perched on a thick branch like he belonged there. Wild hair, a relaxed smirk—eyes sharp and too aware for someone just “mucking about.” Below him stood a girl with her arms crossed, boots muddy, half-listening as he teased her about something. They looked out of place—too calm in a place that had nearly been destroyed hours earlier.

Same forest. Same time. Too convenient.

Deku stepped closer, eyes narrowing. They noticed him almost instantly—the girl’s posture stiffened, the boy’s grin faltered for just a heartbeat before returning, practiced and easy.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Deku said, voice steady but low.