Several days had passed since the U.A. Sports Festival concluded in a whirlwind of applause, flashes of Quirks, and inevitable drama. Arashi Tanaka spent those days in relative peace, recovering in the quiet of his room. His parents didn't press him with questions, understanding that the festival had drained him completely. His body still ached from overexertion—muscles throbbed dully with every movement, and echoes of that mental chaos, where the Nazgûl clashed with Midoriya's radiant spirits, occasionally flared in his mind. But Arashi didn't complain. He knew it was the price of control, of keeping the darkness within from breaking free.
Today, Monday, it was time to return to the academy. Rain poured in sheets, turning the streets into mirrored puddles, the air filled with the fresh, ozonic scent of autumn. Arashi stood on the subway platform, gripping the handle of his umbrella in one hand and his backpack full of textbooks in the other. The train arrived with its familiar hum, doors sliding open to release a crowd of hurrying passengers. He stepped into the carriage, squeezing toward the handrail by the window, and stared at his pale reflection in the foggy glass, dark circles under his eyes. The festival had changed something in him—not just physically, but in how he saw the world. The people around him seemed ordinary, absorbed in their own lives: some glued to their phones, others dozing against a neighbor's shoulder. But then he noticed whispers.
"Hey, look, that's the guy from U.A.," a man in a business suit whispered to his companion, nodding toward Arashi. "Arashi Tanaka, right? He did pretty well at the festival. That Quirk… kinda creepy, but cool. Froze everyone with cold and fear, remember?"
The woman nodded, stealing a glance at Arashi over her shoulder. "Yeah, he beat Sero in the first round, and then with Midoriya… something weird happened, they just froze. Still, you can see the heroic spirit in him. Good job, kid."
Arashi felt his cheeks warm slightly. He wasn't used to this kind of attention—before, people's looks were filled with suspicion or fear, especially after incidents at his old school. But now… this was recognition.
"Thanks. Glad you enjoyed the festival. I gave it my all," he said.
The man smiled back, and the woman added, "Good luck at the academy! Become a strong hero."
The train jolted as it approached the next station, and Arashi stepped off, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. The rain intensified, drumming on his umbrella like a beat. He walked through the wet streets toward U.A.'s gates, weaving between puddles and hurrying passersby. Thoughts swirled in his mind: Even after losing… people are starting to see me not as a villain. Not as a kid with a dangerous Quirk who could snap at any moment. They see potential. Maybe this is the start? A chance to prove my power isn't a curse, but a tool for saving others?
But then, deep in his mind, a familiar, icy whisper broke through—the voice of the Witch-king, leader of the Nazgûl, piercing the mental barrier Arashi had reinforced daily.
"How easily their fleeting attention clouds your judgment. They're just pitiful humans, hoping for someone else to save them. Today they cheer you, tomorrow they'll hate and fear our power. Most drift along the river's current: if it suits them to live in a world ruled by heroes, they'll support them. But the moment those with true power shift the river's course, they'll adapt to new rules without hesitation. You are part of us, not them. Don't be fooled by illusions."
Arashi clenched his teeth, strengthening his mental wall—the imaginary barrier he'd built over years to keep the nine ravenous voids in check. "Shut up," he commanded mentally, and the whisper faded, leaving only a chill echoing in his temples. The rain streamed down his umbrella, washing away the tension, but Arashi knew: the Nazgûl were always waiting for a moment of weakness.
Entering the academy, he shook the water off his umbrella and headed to Class 1-A. The door creaked open, and he was enveloped in the familiar noise: laughter, chatter, the rustle of papers. His classmates noticed him immediately—faces turned, and a wave of greetings washed over him.
"Tanaka-kun! You okay?" Uraraka called, rushing over with a worried look. "We were so concerned after the festival. You didn't even make it to the final!"
Arashi smiled, hanging his umbrella on a hook by the door. "I'm fine, Uraraka-san. Just overexertion. The medics said I'll be good as new in a couple of days."
Midoriya approached, his green eyes shining with a mix of guilt and relief. "Tanaka-kun, I… I'm sorry about our fight. I didn't understand what happened, but… you saved me in that weird space, didn't you? If it wasn't for you, those… shadows might have…"
Arashi placed a hand on Midoriya's shoulder, shaking his head. "Don't apologize, Midoriya-kun. My Quirk got out of control. The important thing is it ended okay. You did great, making it further."
Kirishima slapped Arashi on the back—not too hard, considering his condition. "You held your own, man! That chill you brought to the arena was epic. Too bad you missed the final, but Bakugo obliterated everyone."
"Hey, don't talk behind my back!" Bakugo snapped from his desk, though his voice lacked its usual venom, carrying only his typical gruffness.
Arashi nodded to everyone, taking his seat. The noise quieted as the door opened again, and Aizawa-sensei entered—his scarf draped as always, hair swept back, showing no trace of his recent injuries.
"Aizawa-sensei, you look fully recovered," Tsuyu remarked, her large eyes blinking with her usual calm.
Aizawa nodded, approaching the board. "Yeah, Recovery Girl didn't hold back with her Quirk. Today, we're having a special lesson on Hero Law."
The class groaned softly—Hero Law was a weak spot for many: dull regulations, restrictions on Quirk use, ethical dilemmas.
"No whining. Most of you struggle with this subject, but today will be more interesting. You'll come up with your hero names."
The class erupted in excitement: shouts, claps, and cheers. Uraraka bounced in her seat, Mina glowed pink, and even Todoroki raised an eyebrow slightly.
"I've already talked about pro hero recruitment," Aizawa continued, cutting through the noise. "It usually happens in your second and third years, once you've gained knowledge and experience. But some of you might get offers in your first year. Here's a chart of how many offers each of you received."
He turned on the projector, and a table appeared on the screen: Todoroki—4,123, Bakugo—3,556, Iida—243, Tanaka—201, Tokoyami—91, and so on, decreasing from there. Todoroki and Bakugo had a massive lead, with most offers concentrated on them.
"Memorize the results. Even if you didn't get offers, you'll still have internships with pros. You've already faced villains, but this is a chance to learn how heroes operate in practice and gain experience."
Arashi stared at his row: 201 offers. The number was impressive—more than many, but far fewer than the leaders. He thought, "Is this because of the festival? People saw my Quirk in action."
Aizawa interrupted the chatter, tapping the board. "To work with heroes, you need a codename. Not all heroes operate publicly—some jobs require infiltration or constant villain surveillance. The problem is, many already saw your faces at the festival, which complicates things. Blame the government and the commission for deciding to show teenagers' faces before they're fully trained heroes. Luckily, human memory is short, and once the hype dies down, most will forget you. Except the pros. Your codenames will be temporary, but…"
The door opened, and Midnight strutted in, her revealing costume on full display, whip in hand, a smile on her face.
"…but they're important for your future career," she continued, approaching the board. "A well-known hero who publicly operates in a certain area can reduce crime rates just by being present. So, it's crucial to have a recognizable name."
"Exactly," Aizawa confirmed, stepping aside.
"Midnight will guide you on choosing the best hero name. I don't deal with that stuff," he added, sitting at his desk. "When picking a name, think about who you want to be. Your hero name should reflect your character."
Arashi took out a notebook and pen, staring at the blank page. Thoughts flooded in: What kind of hero do I want to be? My Quirk is the Nazgûl, nine fallen kings feeding on fear and will. They break enemies from within, draining motivation, leaving them empty. But I don't want to be a destroyer. I want to control this power, use it to protect. To rule will—not break it, but strengthen it. To be a hero who commands fear so others don't have to feel it. A guardian who takes on the darkness so the light can shine brighter. Not a monster, but a sentinel who keeps humanity's primal horrors in check.
He scribbled ideas: "Shadow Lord," "Void Keeper," but they sounded too grim, too villain-like. No, it needs to reflect control. Ruler of Will—powerful, but neutral. Not aggressive, but authoritative. A hero who suppresses the will of villains, making them surrender without bloodshed.
One by one, his classmates went to the board, presenting their names. Arashi kept thinking: This name should reflect my essence. Not just to scare, but to guide, to rule. A hero who masters the darkness within to save those outside.
A few students still hadn't chosen their names. Finally, Arashi stood, feeling the class's eyes on him. He walked to the board and wrote: "Ruler"
Midnight nodded. "Perfect. Powerful, mysterious, fits your Quirk. Take a seat."
The bell rang, and Aizawa stood. "Alright, that's enough for now. Let's talk about your internships. They'll last a week. Those with offers will choose a hero to intern with. For those without, the school has agreements with dozens of agencies ready to take our students. Choose wisely."
Arashi looked at his list—201 names, from top heroes to lesser-known agencies. So many options… I need to think about who can help me control my Quirk, not just fight.
"Decide by the weekend. You're free for now," Aizawa said, leaving with Midnight.
The class buzzed. Uraraka chirped, "So, guys, have you picked where you want to go?"
Jiro turned to Arashi. "Hey, Tanaka, you've got a solid list. Got any interesting options in mind?"
"Not yet. I need to research them—where they operate in Japan, that kind of thing. I haven't heard of all of them."
"Can I see?"
"Sure," Arashi replied, handing Jiro the list of agencies.
"Wow, you got an offer from Yoroi Musha, the Armored Hero!"
"Yeah, he's one option. I think I could learn a lot from him—he's been a hero for a long time. One of the few from the previous generation, like Gran Torino. My grandpa said being a hero back then was tough. Too dangerous. Things got better after All Might appeared. But I'm still thinking."
"Got it," Jiro said, handing back the papers.
The rest of the school day was a bit chaotic—everyone's minds were elsewhere. The teachers, noticing the class's distraction, went easy: math was light problems, English was simple dialogues.
Back home, Arashi called out, "Hey, Mom, Dad, I'm home."
"Oh, Arashi, come to the living room! We're talking to your grandpa. He wants to speak with you," his mother's voice replied.
Arashi walked in, seeing his parents by the phone. "Yeah, Dad, I'll pass the phone. Here," his father said, handing it over.
"Hey, Grandpa."
"Hey, Arashi. I just want to say again, you did great at the Sports Festival."
"Thanks."
"Arashi, can you put it on speaker?"
He glanced at his parents, who shrugged. "Sure."
"Arashi, my old friend Shinoda just called. He recommended you accept the offer from the Armored Hero. And I agree. He's a better choice than the young ones chasing fame. Don't let them use you as a stepping stone. You get me?"
"Yeah, Grandpa. But how does Mr. Shinoda know the number nine hero invited me?"
"They know each other. Most likely, the hero asked Shinoda to reach out to you through me."
Weird, Arashi thought. How does Mr. Shinoda have connections like that?
"Alright, I'll keep it in mind, Grandpa."
"Be careful, Arashi. The world's not as simple as it seems sometimes. Don't judge people without good reason. You understand, right? Situations vary. Life's not easy. Anyway, good luck with your internship."
"Yeah, bye, Grandpa."
"What did Grandpa say?" his mother asked.
"Just some advice about the internship."
His mother sighed heavily and went to the kitchen to reheat dinner. Sitting at the table, Arashi kept thinking: Should I follow Grandpa's advice? Yoroi Musha is an old, experienced hero. Maybe he's the one who can help with control. Or should I pick someone younger, focused on mental Quirks? The decision had to be made by the weekend, and it could shape his path as a hero.