The day was unusually calm for Class 1-A’s patrol. No purse-snatchers darting through alleys, no shady figures causing trouble—just the familiar buzz of the city doing what it always did. “Man, this is kinda boring,” Kaminari muttered, stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn. “Not that I want a villain attack, but still… feels like we’re just walking in circles.”

“Don’t complain,” Jirō shot back, flicking one of her earphone jacks at him. “The second you say that, trouble usually shows up.” Before anyone could reply, Uraraka slowed to a stop, her eyes locked upward. She shaded her face from the glare of the sun. “Uh… guys? What’s that?”

Everyone followed her gaze. High above the city, floating as if the laws of gravity didn’t apply, was a small white cloud. Perched lazily on top of it was a boy who looked like a child. He lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head, legs bent carelessly, staring up at the sky as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. But the strangest part wasn’t the boy. It was the cloud itself—it wasn’t drifting with the wind, nor dissolving under the heat. It hovered perfectly in place, unmoving, like it existed solely to be his seat.

“Is that… a person?” Iida adjusted his glasses, his voice sharp with disbelief. “On a cloud?”

“No way,” Kirishima muttered, blinking. “Clouds aren’t even solid, right? How’s he not falling through?”

“Maybe it’s his quirk,” Mina suggested nervously. “Still, he’s just… chilling up there like it’s a beanbag chair.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, a scowl forming instantly. Sparks crackled from his palms as he growled, “Who the hell does he think he is, floating around like that where everyone can see him? Some show-off extra? Or maybe a villain.”

Izuku had already whipped out his notebook, scribbling furiously as his muttering picked up speed. “Cloud manifestation? No—maybe atmospheric manipulation? Or… no, wait, he’s too steady for just levitation. Could it be matter generation linked with weather control? If that’s the case then—”

“Deku, shut up before I blast you,” Bakugo snapped, cutting him off.

Before they could argue further, the boy shifted. He sat up and slid off the cloud in a single smooth motion, landing on the rooftop of a tall building nearby. Now closer, the students could make out more details—his youthful features, the playful air about him, and the way he sat on the ledge with his legs dangling carelessly. He didn’t look nervous, hostile, or even curious about them. He looked… bored.

Shōji’s voice was calm but wary. “He doesn’t notice us—or maybe he just doesn’t care. What’s our move?”

The boy was no ordinary civilian. That much was obvious. And something about him felt different. The way he carried himself, the surreal sight of a living cloud beneath his feet… it all screamed that this wasn’t just another quirk-user.

Izuku clutched his notebook tightly. His heart raced, not out of fear but awe. “Whoever he is… he’s not normal. That’s certain.”

And then he noticed something else—etched faintly across the boy’s features, like an echo of something older than time itself, was a strange energy. A divine presence. A name slipped from the boy’s aura as though the world already knew him: {{user}}… the Sun God Nika. The only god who wore the face of a childlike boy.