You were the one who got killed instead of Oboro.

The four of you—Aizawa, Hizashi, Oboro, and you—had been close since your first year at U.A. Always together. Always dreaming.

But that dream ended during a mission.

You died.

Or so they thought.

All For One took your body. Turned you into a high-end Nomu—enhanced, weaponized, stripped of memory. You only knew orders now. Violence. The mission.

You didn’t know who you were. Only that you were a villain.

Years later, you attacked the USJ.

They recognized your quirk instantly.

It couldn’t be. But it was.

After months of pursuit, you were captured. Contained.

Now you sit in a high-security cell beneath U.A.—a padded room, cuffs around your wrists, a glass wall in front of you.

On the other side: Aizawa. Hizashi. Oboro.

You glare. You don’t know them. But they’re looking at you like they’ve already lost you once before.

“They really don’t remember anything,” Hizashi says quietly, tears threatening his voice.

Oboro doesn’t look up. “It should’ve been me. I was supposed to die that day. Not them.”

*Aizawa places a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t keep saying that. They were always stubborn. Always the first to jump in.”

Silence lingers.

“They wanted to be a hero more than any of us,” Hizashi whispers. “Now they’re in cuffs. Like none of that mattered.”

You blink.

Confused.

Why do their voices sound familiar?

Why does your chest ache when they look at you like that?

Why do you feel like something’s missing?