Evening before the U.A. Entrance Exam
Mustafu's skyline glowed beneath the haze of a deep amber dusk. The rooftops shimmered in fading warmth, and below, the city buzzed with calm, confident motion — thanks in part to two vigilantes who had spent the last few months quietly changing everything.
Izuku Midoriya sat cross-legged atop a reinforced, rune-etched rooftop near Tatemachi Ward. His green hoodie fluttered in the breeze, damp with sweat, soot, and wild energy. Beneath him, glowing spirals of red and silver light spun softly: purification runes, carved over weeks with quiet, focused dedication. He'd learned their sequences, their resistance, their hunger. Magic didn't obey like a quirk did. It negotiated.
A single rune flared brighter than the rest — reacting to something. He placed his hand on it gently, muttering in Old Magyar, and felt it calm.
Another test complete.
Behind him, soft footsteps padded across the rooftop. Momo.
"Your levitation's smoother," she said, holding out a canteen and a cloth. Her own face was smudged with carbon dust and oil — her training that evening had involved smoke bombs and tactical stealth drills from a rooftop shadow network she'd designed.
He smiled, taking the cloth. "And your entry was silent."
She flushed slightly. "I tripped once."
He chuckled, wiping his brow. "Still counts."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn't awkward anymore — just… charged. They'd spent months like this, side-by-side but slightly out of step. Always thinking about the future. Always training. Always keeping just one secret from the other.
"I'm… nervous," Izuku admitted. "Not because of the test. But because everything's going to change after tomorrow."
"It already has," she said gently. "We just haven't seen the full shape of it yet."
He glanced at her. "How do you always sound like you're quoting something ancient?"
"Habit," she said with a small smile. "And maybe some poetic tension. I am the heir to a multimillion credit empire, after all."
He winced. "Right. Speaking of which — you really okay balancing all that and this?"
Her face darkened with fatigue for a brief second, then steadied. "I have no choice. I owe it to my family. But I also owe it to myself to become someone who can change the world."
They looked at each other. No fire between them. Not yet. Just a storm in the distance — and the two of them building ships to meet it.
(3rd Person POV — Mustafu Locals)
They called them the pair. Never by name.
"Did you hear about that mugging down by the trainyard?" an elderly flower vendor murmured to her neighbor, sipping steaming tea. "Gone in a blink. Left a tag made of glowing ivy on the wall. It's them again."
A street cleaner found sigils etched into a trash-filled alley: within three days, no one loitered there anymore.
A group of children playing at dusk reported seeing a woman dressed in black drop from a fire escape, press a glowing wand to a kid's scraped knee, and vanish before the parents could even react.
The older folks didn't report them. The bakers and the clerks and the tired taxi drivers didn't tell the heroes. Why would they? The crime rate had dropped. The air felt cleaner. The kids smiled more.
"They're students," one bus driver muttered under his breath. "Gonna be heroes someday. Let 'em train their way."
The people of Mustafu protected what mattered.
"…He's stretched too thin," a gruff voice growled across a low-lit room. "All Might can't protect everywhere at once. Even Mustafu."
"We've noticed," came the calm response of a seated figure — a pro hero whose name wasn't known, only his tie. "But so far, no signs of villain escalation. If anything… the region's improving."
"And those vigilante rumors?"
"Unconfirmed."
They both sipped their tea.
(Momo POV)
Momo sat at her family estate's study, the scroll unrolled before her. Her hands trembled slightly as she tried once again to replicate the diagram Izuku had shared — a stabilized spark glyph combined with a containment rune.
She focused.
Visualized the flow.
Channeled her energy.
A flicker — just a flicker — of red light curled around her fingers, and then fizzled into smoke.
"Again," she muttered to herself. "I'll try again tomorrow."
She rubbed her eyes. She had to oversee a business meeting with the family's legal department in the morning. Then review her recommendation exam prep. Then field five calls from international clients. Her life was fractured across multiple planes — and she was still determined to carry them all with elegance.
She glanced at her notebook. Tucked within its pages was a page Izuku had marked:
"Black Widow isn't just an assassin. She's a survivor. Everything about her power is in her ability to hide what she's capable of until the exact moment it matters."
Momo closed her eyes and let the weight of the words settle into her bones.
Izuku's final rooftop runes were stable. He stood in the wind, letting it coil through his hair. The moonlight played along the spell circle etched around the old radio tower.
Suddenly — presence.
He turned, eyes narrowing.
A figure stood across the roof's edge — cloaked in dark burgundy, their face obscured by a low cowl and geometric shadows.
"Who—"
"You're not ready yet," the figure said quietly. "But you're further along than I expected."
Izuku tensed, hand drifting toward a fire glyph in his pocket. "Are you here to threaten me?"
"No. To observe." A pause. "The Order knows of you now. And her. When the time comes, you will be offered a choice. Until then… be cautious who you show the truth to."
The figure stepped back into shadow — and vanished.
Izuku stood still. His heart beat hard. But not with fear. Not entirely.
A flat-toned news anchor read off the final story of the evening as the image of a smoking correctional facility flickered behind her.
"Authorities still have no explanation for the mass breakout at the Rinka Industrial Detention Facility. Reports of a strange light and hallucinatory phenomena remain unconfirmed. Officials suspect it may be the work of a new villain organization — though none have claimed responsibility."
Static.
Change of tone.
"On a lighter note, the annual U.A. Entrance Exams begin tomorrow—"
They met one last time, atop the same roof where it had all started.
No suits.
No runes.
Just two kids watching the lights of Mustafu.
"You ready?" he asked her.
She nodded slowly. "I think so."
He hesitated. "We won't be the same after tomorrow."
"No," she agreed, glancing at him. "But we've already changed, haven't we?"
The wind picked up. Beneath them, the spellwork in the streets pulsed once — faintly.
It wasn't the end of something.
It was the edge of something enormous.
And they weren't afraid anymore.