Small Time Skip
*Tone Somber*
The cavernous space near the entrance of the USJ facility now resembled a battlefield triage zone. Smoke clung to the cracked tiles, broken scaffolding hung precariously from the walls, and the artificial lighting flickered as if reacting to the chaos. Moans of pain echoed off the concrete, mingling with panicked breaths and distant snarls from deeper within the structure.
Several injured students had been dragged or carried to a central location behind partial cover—beneath the broken remnants of a catwalk and behind a collapsed steel column. Tenya Iida knelt beside one of the more seriously hurt classmates, his brow tight with worry. Tsuyu was applying pressure to a bleeding arm wound, Ochako was pale but alert, and even Mineta, for all his cowardice, had helped carry someone to safety.
Shouta Aizawa sat propped against a slab of rubble, his face drawn and blood still dripping from deep gashes across his arms and temple. His visor hung off one side of his face, one eye squinting open to keep watch. Thirteen lay unconscious beside him, their suit half-destroyed by the earlier blast, fingers twitching faintly.
Momo worked quickly, her quirk humming as she created gauze and antiseptic, hands shaking but focused. She kept stealing glances at Izuku, who stood guard at the edge of their makeshift camp—fingers faintly glowing, tension riding his shoulders like armor. His body trembled, not from fear but from the mounting drain of his magic.
"Iida," Aizawa rasped, coughing slightly. "You have to go. You're the fastest among us."
Tenya's head shot up, eyes wide behind his glasses. "But—Sensei, you're—"
"You're wasting time," Aizawa growled through clenched teeth. "Get to U.A. Send reinforcements. Now."
"I'll go," Iida said, nodding as he stood, clenching his fists with conviction.
Izuku turned briefly, his voice low. "Take the west path. There's less interference that way. We'll hold here."
Iida gave a quick bow. "I'm counting on you, Midoriya!" Then, with a blast of engine-like fire, he was gone—dashing through smoke and debris at top speed.
The group exhaled collectively, and the weight of the situation settled.
Then—
"Damn it! Move!" Bakugo's voice cracked through the heavy air like a whip.
He stormed out from the shadows, his face twisted in unfiltered rage. Dust clung to his arms, and there was a gash above his right brow, bleeding down one side of his face. His palms crackled and popped with sparking explosions as he stormed past the others.
"They think they can just waltz in here and crush us?" Bakugo growled. "I'm gonna blow that freak sky-high."
"Bakugo, wait—!" Momo called, but he was already leaping over broken walls and heading toward the echoing roars of the Nomu deeper inside.
Tsuyu looked after him, her tone dry but concerned. "He's gonna get himself killed…"
"We can't chase him," Momo murmured. "We don't have the strength."
That was when the earth itself seemed to shudder. A monstrous BOOM resounded through the air—a shockwave from a brutal impact. Debris clattered around them, and screams rang out as another wave of destruction rippled toward the students.
Izuku stepped forward instinctively. His breath caught in his throat, and his fingers sparked again—green and red weaving through each other like fireflies caught in a storm. He dropped to one knee, slamming his palm into the ground.
A circular rune exploded into light beneath his feet, encircling the students and teachers. The spell pulled energy from him like water from a cracked dam.
"Stay—behind me!" he gasped, voice tight.
A translucent magical barrier flickered into existence just as another blast wave struck. Shrapnel and broken tiles slammed against it, but the runic shield held—crackling and whining with effort. The force nearly knocked Izuku back, but he gritted his teeth and focused harder, sweat dripping from his chin.
Momo rushed to his side, eyes wide. "Izuku, that's too much—"
"I have to," he rasped. "I can't let them get hurt."
Behind him, Aizawa stirred, one hand twitching. His breathing was labored, his wounds deep—but his eyes locked on Izuku's glowing form, something between surprise and silent recognition blooming in his gaze.
Without thinking, Izuku reached back with his free hand and pressed two fingers to Aizawa's chest, directly above his heart. A faint pulse of green light radiated from his fingertips, and a breath of healing magic flowed into the wounded pro hero. It wasn't enough to close the wounds—but Aizawa's breathing steadied, and his eyelids lifted.
"You—what—?" the man croaked.
"I can't explain," Izuku said, eyes wide with strain. "But just hold on a little longer. Help is coming."
Aizawa managed a faint nod, his vision hazy—but even through the pain, he could sense it.
There was something strange about Midoriya.
Something powerful.