The ride back to U.A. was shrouded in a heavy, suffocating silence.
The bus was a stark contrast to the cheerful noise of that morning.
Now, it was filled with the scent of ozone, dust, and blood, and the sounds of quiet sobs and ragged breathing.
Kaito sat by a window, staring blankly at his reflection.
His body ached from the strain of using the Tentacle quirk, a deep muscular soreness that felt like he'd been pulled apart.
But it was nothing compared to the mental fatigue.
His mind, usually a whirlwind of analysis and strategy, felt hollowed out, replaying the same moments on a loop: the warp gate opening, Aizawa's arm breaking, the Nomu's blank eyes, the feeling of utter helplessness.
He looked at his hands. The hands that had copied a villain's power to survive.
Was that what a hero did? He'd used a weapon of evil for a noble cause, but it still felt… dirty.
Across the aisle, Midoriya was similarly shell-shocked, his own bandaged hands clasped tightly together.
Their eyes met for a second, a flash of shared, horrific understanding, before both looked away.
They were met at the campus by a throng of police, reporters, and a deeply concerned Principal Nezu.
Debriefings were a blur of questions and statements.
Kaito gave a clinical, detached account of his actions, focusing on the facts: the villains' Quirks, their numbers, the warper's central role.
He mentioned copying the tentacle quirk without flinching, filing it away as a tactical report.
When he was finally released, he didn't go home.
He found himself on the U.A. grounds, walking aimlessly until he reached a quiet training field. He needed to move. To think.
"Your form is sloppy. You're favoring your right side. Compensating for the muscular strain."
Kaito froze. The voice came from the shadows near the equipment shed.
Aizawa stepped out, his right arm in a complex suspension cast, his face a mosaic of bruises and bandages.
He looked like he'd been through a woodchipper.
"Aizawa-sensei! You should be in the hospital!"
"I'm fine," Aizawa grunted, though he clearly was not. "The nurses are… overbearing. I needed air. And I saw you wandering. Your mind is louder than your footsteps."
Kaito looked down, chastised.
"I… was just thinking."
"About the villain's Quirk you used," Aizawa stated, not asked.
Kaito nodded.
"It felt wrong. To have that… thing inside me. Even for a minute."
"It was smart," Aizawa said, his voice flat. "You assessed your available resources, acquired a new tool, and used it to protect your classmates and facilitate an escape. That is the job. Your Quirk does not discriminate between 'hero' and 'villain' Quirks. It only recognizes utility. You cannot afford to, either."
"But it's not mine," Kaito argued, the frustration bubbling up. "It's all borrowed. Stolen, even. What happens when there's no one around to copy? When I'm empty? I'm just… a guy. I watched that thing break your arm, and I couldn't do a thing. All I had was a stupid tentacle."
For a long moment, Aizawa was silent. Then, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual.
"I have a Quirk that can level the playing field against almost anyone. And I still got taken apart. Power isn't everything. What you did in the shipwreck zone was true hero work. You led. You made a plan under pressure. You used what you had to save others. That is more 'hero' than any flashy Quirk."
He took a pained step closer.
"Stop thinking of your power as 'borrowed.' Think of it as 'curated.' You are building an arsenal. Your strength isn't in any one Quirk; it's in your ability to choose the right one for the right moment. That is a powerful, rare skill. Don't waste it on self-pity."
The words hit Kaito like a physical blow.
'Curated. An arsenal.'
It reframed everything. His power wasn't about being a cheap copy; it was about being a master tactician with the widest possible toolkit.
"The Sports Festival is in two weeks," Aizawa continued, turning to leave. "Every pro hero in the country will be watching. They'll see a boy who can use any Quirk. The question is, what will you show them? A kid who's ashamed of his power? Or a hero who has mastered it?"
He disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Kaito alone with his thoughts, which were now whirring with a new, focused energy.