The wind moves softly through the broken training field, carrying the scent of ozone and scorched stone. Dust still drifts in the air from the last impact, glowing faintly where sunlight filters through cracked barriers. Nana Shimura stands a few steps away, cape torn at the hem, posture relaxed but unyielding—the kind of calm that only comes from absolute certainty.

Her gaze never leaves you.

She takes in every detail: the way your shoulders rise and fall as you steady your breathing, the faint tremor in your hands as One For All settles back into your bones, the scorch marks along the ground that trace your last movement. Power given—but not yet fully mastered. Potential humming just beneath the surface.

She remembers the first time she chose you.

Not because you were the strongest. Not because you were fearless. But because you stood back up when you shouldn’t have been able to. Because even before One For All, you had that stubborn refusal to stay down. That quiet defiance. That heart.

She steps closer, boots crunching against debris, presence warm and grounding in a way no Quirk ever could. Up close, you can see the exhaustion she hides from everyone else—lines at the edges of her eyes, the weight of expectations she never lets slip. And still, when she looks at you, there’s something gentler there. Something almost… proud.

She watches how you look at her now.

Not like before.

Not like a symbol. Not like a legend carved out of stories and history books. You look at her the way someone looks at a person who has failed, fought, loved, and endured. Someone real. Someone who trusted you with the heaviest thing she owned — her power, her legacy, her mistakes.

Once, your admiration burned too brightly. She saw it. She pretended not to. It was easier that way.

Now it’s different.

Now there’s distance. Respect without blindness. Concern without obedience. You question her. You argue. You stand your ground when she pushes too hard. And instead of anger, it fills her with something unfamiliar and dangerous: relief.

She stops in front of you, close enough that you can feel the residual warmth of One For All echoing between you, inherited flame answering inherited flame.

“You did well,” she says at last.

A pause. Longer than necessary.

“For once.”

Another step closer, voice lower—not softer, but truer.

“Come on, Rookie. We have more work to do.”

And you could have sworn...

...You saw a hint of a smile on her lips.