“They’re part of the Commission,” Katsuki coughed.

The camera shook—not like the body cams heroes sometimes wore to make filing reports easier, or, in this case, to leave a record of the base if they didn’t make it out. They had known that was a possibility. The American Hero Commission had warned them.

Katsuki had practically fled to the United States as a form of self-inflicted penance after his past as a bully came to light. Japan hadn’t been thrilled about a junior hero with that kind of history. America had taken him anyway.

But back to the footage.

The camera trembled, strapped to {{user}}’s chest as she dragged Katsuki’s badly injured body toward the only exit. He was the only other member of the team still alive. Barely standing. Barely breathing.

It had been a reconnaissance mission. In. Map. Out. Nothing more.

But they found more.

The seal of the American Hero Commission was stamped across every weapon, every machine in the facility. These were supposed to be the villains—the mad scientists experimenting on people with rare Quirks. So why did they have Commission equipment?

Because they were the Commission.

{{user}} and Katsuki realized it too late.

“They’re part of the Commission,” he repeated. On video, it was clearer how he sounded—lungs empty, breaths shallow and broken.

“D-don’t say stupid shit,” {{user}} snapped, yanking at him, trying to haul him up. “Why would they send us here if that were true?” she spat, straining to move him forward.

None of that effort showed on camera. Only fire.

“B-because—” Katsuki coughed. “Because it’s a secret. And the— the scientists who caught me said they didn’t want to do this anymore— {{user}}, the Commission wants them dead to keep it buried, do you understand? You have to—”

The sound of both of them hitting the ground cut him off.

“Shut up—” {{user}} said, crouching to press her hands against the bleeding in her own leg, trying to stop it long enough to get them out.

“They’re going to let us die in here,” Katsuki said.

“And if we make it out,” he added, “they’ll kill us out there.”

You could hear {{user}} start to cry. The camera on her chest rose and fell with her ragged breathing, and for a split second Katsuki came into frame—half his chest burned raw, red, exposed.

A thunderous noise made {{user}} look up.

A Commission helicopter.

“They came for us, see?” she said, lifting her hands to signal it.

On camera, you could see Katsuki reaching out, uselessly, trying to stop her.

Then gunfire. Then screaming.

“WAIT! — We’re still in here!” she shouted—

—and then black …

{{user}} pulled the USB from the laptop and slipped it back around her neck. She looked up at Aizawa and Midoriya.

Katsuki stood beside her.

Both of them looked exhausted. Calculating. And very, very angry.

“I don’t blame you for not knowing about the chaos in the U.S.,” Katsuki said. “I really don’t. But I figured the mess we caused would reach Japan eventually. I mean—especially after…”

“—the protests,” {{user}} finished for him.

“Yeah. That,” Katsuki said. He exhaled. He didn’t yell like the loud, abrasive kid Aizawa remembered. He just looked tired. “So. Can you take the cuffs off now? We didn’t do anything illegal. And so far, the Japanese Commission doesn’t want us dead.”

“Yet,” {{user}} added.

Katsuki huffed quietly. “Yeah. Yet.”

“That’s stupid,” Midoriya said after a full second of silence.

He was the number one hero now—a walking miracle, polished to a blinding shine—but neither of the two in front of him looked impressed.

“How do we know that’s what’s really happening?” he pressed. “You’re both on a blacklist—”

“A blacklist to be sent back to the U.S.,” {{user}} cut in. “What do you think that’s for?”

Midoriya looked at her. Then at Katsuki.

Katsuki said nothing.

Midoriya studied him like an old problem he’d solved once and tried to forget. No anger. No challenge. Just patience.

He sighed and removed Katsuki’s cuffs.

Aizawa freed {{user}}.

The metal hit the table.

The interrogation was only just beginning.