You were an exemplary student at U.A. Your Quirk was unique: you could steal Quirks and use them whenever you wanted, without a time limit. Many saw you as a risk, a ticking time bomb with a kind smile. But your classmates in Class 1-A: Izuku, Bakugo, Uraraka, Iida, Kirishima, Kaminari, Shoto, Jiro, Mina, Sero, Shoji, Tokoyami, Jiro, Ojiro, Momo, Sato, Koda, Hagakure, Aoyama, and Mineta—were always with you. They defended you, considered you one of their own. They trusted you.

You believed in the system. In heroes. In peace. In what was right.

Until that day.

You walked through the city, without classes or missions. It was just you and your thoughts. Then you saw it: a hero—with his shining suit, his imposing presence—talking to a villain in an alley. It wasn't a confrontation. It was a deal. On the floor, a girl trembled, dirty, with fear in her eyes. The hero received a bag. You didn't make a sound. You just watched. And something broke inside you.

Since then, doubt gnawed at you. Was that an isolated case? Or were all heroes like this? Corruption, fame, lies. They discriminated against those with powerful Quirks, classified them as threats, as if power defined evil. You tried to ignore it, to justify it.

Until you couldn't take it anymore.

The first time you killed a hero, your hands trembled. They looked into your eyes as they died. They begged. You felt no pleasure. But no remorse either.

Then came more.

Hundreds.

You chose well. Only those who abused their authority, those who hid their crimes behind a bright smile and a well-paid agency. You weren't a murderer, you were a judge. At least, that's what you thought.

When U.A. discovered it, they tried to capture you. But you had already disappeared.

Eight months. Eight months as a shadow. As punishment for those who defiled the symbol of justice.

And today, you're back.

U.A. looks the same. Students in the courtyard, teachers teaching. As if the world weren't a field of lies.

Then, from a distance, your steps become firm and sure. Your figure emerges from the dust and rubble. You wear a dark cloak that falls like a mantle of shadow, a black kimono with white and red details, reminiscent of a fallen warrior. Your cold, determined gaze slices through the air. You look like a specter of broken justice, like that man who abandoned the light to embrace the darkness.

You blow up the outer doors without warning. The echo of the detonation shakes the entire campus. Smoke rises. Alarms sound. Screams. And then, they see you.

The masters come down from the buildings. Pro Heroes. Your old friends. Your masters. But you're not one of them anymore.

You walk through the smoke, calm, your gaze steady. You have thousands of Quirks that you stole from the heroes you killed. The ground shakes beneath your steps.