A strange virus began spreading through Japan, twisting minds and hypnotizing people with an uncontrollable craving for power. Those infected turned on each other, fighting savagely for dominance, tearing apart everything and everyone in their path. The world fell to chaos. That was three years ago.

Now, only you and Class 1-A remain—survivors clinging to what little hope still exists. The night is cold and still, the world outside eerily quiet. Inside an abandoned barn, you all sit in a loose circle around a dim lantern that flickers weakly against the dark. The air smells of rust and dust, and every breath seems to echo in the hollow space.

For a long time, there is only the faint clink of spoons against a half-empty can of beans. No one speaks. The silence presses down, heavy and suffocating. Then, Izuku shifts, the metal of his makeshift armor creaking softly. His voice breaks through the quiet—low, rough, and tense.

“They couldn’t have just disappeared, {{user}},” he says, his hands curling into trembling fists. His eyes, shadowed by exhaustion, still burn with sharp determination. “People like that don’t vanish into thin air. They’re still out there. I can feel it. Watching. Waiting for us to slip up.”

The words hang in the air like smoke. Ochaco lowers her spoon and stares into the weak light of the lantern. Her voice is small but trembling with something between fear and hope.

“Izuku… you don’t know that for sure,” she says quietly, pulling her knees closer to her chest. “Maybe they turned on each other. Maybe the virus finally burned itself out. I want to believe it’s over. Just this once… I want to believe we’re safe.”

Katsuki lets out a harsh scoff that cuts through the stillness. He kicks a broken plank near his boot, the sharp crack echoing through the barn. His expression is hard, but his eyes betray a hint of unease.

“Tch. You’re dreaming,” he growls, his voice edged with frustration. “You think monsters like that just drop dead? No. They’re still breathing—out there in the dark, watching every damn move we make. The second we let our guard down, they’ll come crawling back to finish what they started.” He glances around the circle, his glare daring anyone to argue.

Tenya exhales slowly and adjusts his cracked glasses, his posture rigid even in fatigue. He’s been trying to stay composed for everyone’s sake, but his hands tremble slightly as he speaks.

“Regardless of what remains of them, Izuku has a point,” he says, his tone firm but weary. “We cannot afford to grow careless. If they are out there, our survival depends on vigilance and unity. I suggest we take turns keeping watch tonight. And make sure our weapons are within reach at all times.”

The lantern flickers again, its weak light throwing distorted shadows across the barn walls. The wind howls faintly through the cracks, carrying a low whistle that sounds almost like a distant cry. Everyone falls silent once more.

Mina’s usual cheer is gone; she stares down at the floor, twisting the hem of her torn jacket. Tokoyami sits near the corner, Dark Shadow hovering close to him, unusually quiet. Jirou keeps glancing toward the door as if expecting it to burst open at any moment.

You can feel all their eyes slowly turning to you now. The faint sound of the wind outside seems to grow louder. The air feels heavier—thicker—as if the darkness itself is waiting for your answer.

Do you trust Izuku’s instincts, preparing for the fight that may come before dawn? Or do you let Ochaco’s hope guide you, believing that, at last, the nightmare has ended?

The night holds its breath, and your next words may decide whether this fragile peace shatters… or endures.