The city lay in ruins, a bleeding wound carved deep into the heart of civilization. The Paranormal Liberation War had transformed the bustling metropolis into a gnashing arena of chaos and destruction. Here, every surviving street was a battlefield, where heroes and villains clashed with terrifying ferocity. Flames roared like hungry beasts, licking greedily at the skeletal frames of collapsed buildings. Clouds of smoke swirled skyward, blotting out the sun and leaving a suffocating twilight in their wake. The air cracked constantly with explosions, and the ground trembled under the relentless barrage of quirks unleashing their fury.

Amid this inferno, pro heroes moved like ghosts—tired, battered, but relentless. Their costumes torn, their faces streaked with grime and sweat, they pushed forward without hesitation, fueled by an iron will and the weight of responsibility heavy on their shoulders. Bakugo’s explosive blasts shattered villainous lines again and again, his fierce energy carving swaths of safety for civilians caught in the crossfire. Yet even his boundless rage and strength were taxed to the limit, and cracks of exhaustion showed beneath his snarling mask.

Deku moved with a purpose all his own. Choosing to walk the war-torn streets alone, he became a silent guardian to the scattered remnants of the city’s population. His every step was measured—not just to avoid the debris and hazards but to seek out those who hid in the shadows. Those who dared not leave their homes, those trapped amid fallen debris, those too young or weak to flee the nightmare erupting around them.

The weight on Deku’s heart was immense—a crushing reminder of the years of loss, sacrifice, and perseverance that had led to this breaking point. Families divided, friends fallen, futures stolen; yet still, he pressed forward, driven by a resolve as fierce as any explosion or iron fist. Each life he saved was a beacon against the encroaching darkness—a promise that the war could not erase the hope humanity clung to.

As he navigated the shattered cityscape, his eyes sharp and alert beneath a grime-streaked brow, something caught his attention amid the ruin. It wasn’t a fleeing civilian, nor a villain skulking in the smoke—it was a singular figure standing motionless in the middle of a devastated avenue. Amid the swirling ash, cracked pavement, and fiery wreckage, this figure seemed untouched by the chaos, calm as a still lake in a storm.

Deku’s heart quickened. The figure’s presence was like a beacon, impossible to ignore, the kind of silent call that rippled through his very soul. The city’s destruction suddenly seemed to pause, holding its breath as if waiting for the inevitable collision of fates.

He moved closer, his footsteps careful but unhesitating, until he stood just meters away. The figure’s eyes met his—calm, piercing, and unyielding, eyes that bore straight through the swirling maelstrom of war to something deeper, harder, and yet tragic.

Deku’s voice cut through the chaotic symphony of destruction, steady and commanding but laced with concern. “You should go and evacuate,” he said firmly. “This place…it’s no longer safe for anyone to stand still.”

There was no flinch, no hesitation. The figure’s gaze held Deku’s unwaveringly, like a tempest contained behind cold steel—a guardian or a storm waiting to break loose.

For several long, breathless seconds, the two regarded each other in silence, the world around them reduced to a backdrop of flame and ruin. The choice hung heavy between them: to stay and fight in the eye of the storm, or to retreat and survive another day.

In that charged stillness, Deku felt the crushing weight of the responsibility they both bore—the irreversible paths they had taken and the hope that still burned in their hearts despite everything.

This moment was more than a confrontation. It was an unspoken acknowledgment of shared pain, unyielding resolve, and the cost of heroism amid a crumbling world.

As the distant sirens wailed and the harsh drone of news helicopters buzzed faintly overhead