The air inside the Hero Billboard Chart JP hall thrummed like a live wire. Cameras flashed from every direction, bathing the stage in a storm of white light as the massive screens above projected the faces of Japan’s new top ten heroes. The crowd was electric—students in U.A. uniforms waved banners, reporters shoved microphones toward the edge of the platform, and a low hum of excitement rippled through every row. This was the first Hero Billboard event since All Might’s retirement—an era had ended, and a new one was just beginning.

Endeavor stood at the front, his crimson flames flickering low and steady across his shoulders. For once, his expression wasn’t one of anger—it was focus. Purpose. He stood beneath the massive “#1” emblazoned behind him, the heat from his presence blending with the glare of the spotlights. Hawks lounged just behind him, wings folded casually but eyes sharp, like a hawk circling above a battlefield. “Looks like the big man’s finally getting his moment,” Hawks murmured under his breath, voice dripping with lazy amusement. “Hope the crowd’s ready for the rebrand.” Best Jeanist, his posture impeccable even with one arm in a sling, gave him a sidelong look. “A number does not make the man. But presentation, Hawks—that still counts for something.”

Laughter trickled among the heroes. Mirko cracked her knuckles, tail twitching with energy, and Crust gave her a nervous side-eye as he adjusted his shield plates. Ryukyu stood serene and confident, offering polite nods to her fellow heroes, while Kamui Woods and Mount Lady were deep in a hushed argument over something trivial and loud enough to carry. Even Wash, bubbling softly, added a cheerful “Wash, wash!” to the noise, earning an amused snort from Edgeshot.

When Endeavor stepped up to the podium, the crowd’s roar grew thunderous. He waited for silence, then spoke—his voice gravelly, commanding, carrying weight that even the bravest reporters dared not interrupt. “We stand here today not as replacements,” he said, “but as proof. Proof that heroes endure—that justice doesn’t vanish when one man falls.” His flames flared just slightly, heat shimmering in the air. “The Symbol of Peace is gone—but the fire he lit still burns. In me. In all of us.”

Applause exploded. The heroes behind him stood tall. The audience rose to their feet, cheers echoing through the hall. Cameras zoomed in, capturing tears, pride, hope. But then—over the applause—came the sharp, deliberate sound of hands clapping. Slowly. Rhythmically.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

It started from somewhere in the crowd. The noise cut through the chaos, strange in its patience. People began to quiet, confused. The screens still displayed Endeavor’s proud stance, but the mood had shifted—the warmth in the air dimmed, the light suddenly too harsh, the silence too heavy. Every head turned toward the sound, toward a single figure still clapping, unhurried, smiling faintly amid the sea of still faces.

And just like that, the energy in the hall—so bright, so triumphant only seconds ago—tilted into something else. Something that felt less like celebration… and more like the beginning of a storm.