The scarf cracked like a whip, wrapping around another villain's arm. Aizawa twisted, pulled, slammed the man headfirst into the ground, then rolled his eyes to the next target. His gaze locked; the glow of a quirk fizzled out. The woman who'd been building ice up her arms blinked in confusion, just long enough for Aizawa's heel to clip her jaw and drop her.
He didn't pause. Couldn't. The fountain plaza was seething with bodies, more pouring in from every archway than he could count. His scarf danced and snapped, coiling around throats, tripping legs, yanking weapons aside. Every time he erased a quirk, another rushed him from the blind side. They weren't skilled, most of them, but they were relentless.
And his body…
His eyes were already burning, tears slipping unbidden down his cheeks from overuse. His shoulders ached where his scarf's momentum had wrenched them wrong, and bruises stacked under his hero costume like tally marks of inevitability. He was tired—far too tired for how early into the day it still was.
Stall them. Keep them back. Buy time for the kids. If All Might is late—if this is more than it looks—then these minutes matter.
Aizawa ducked under a swing, let his scarf coil around the attacker's wrist, and flipped him over. Another pounced. Aizawa barely managed to erase the quirk before a blast of flame could ignite. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat. He kept moving anyway.
From the corner of his eye, he caught flashes of students retreating from different disaster zones—wet, bruised, singed, but alive. Good. Stay alive. That's your only assignment right now.
Then the man with hands on his face finally moved.
The fountain spray glistened around him, harmless droplets kissing the edges of his fingers. The air changed, sharp as a wire pulled taut. And at his side, the mist that had scattered the children drifted steady, unshaken. They weren't done. Not close.
"Nomu," the hand-man said casually, like he was ordering tea.
The ground trembled.
It stepped out of the shadows, taller than any human ought to be. Muscles stacked like grotesque cords, skin translucent, brain exposed grotesquely at the top of its head. It didn't even snarl—it just looked, empty-eyed, waiting. And then it moved forward at Shigaraki's gesture.
Aizawa's instincts snapped. He erased it instantly. Nothing.
No flicker. No hesitation.
The Nomu's pace didn't change at all.
Not nullifying. Layered quirks. Multiples. Damn.
He leapt, scarf whipping to bind the arm. The Nomu didn't slow. The scarf went taut, strained—then tore through his grip like it was nothing, sending a shock up his arms that rattled his bones. Before he could regain balance, the Nomu seized the scarf and swung.
Aizawa hit the ground like a hammer. His ribs screamed. His vision blackened for a breath too long. He coughed and tasted copper.
Get up. You don't get to stay down, not here.
He pushed up. His elbows shook. Blood dripped from his temple, stung his already raw eyes. The Nomu blurred, suddenly in front of him. He tried to erase again, to think, to do something—
Impact. His skull rattled, the pavement cracking beneath his body as the Nomu slammed him down again. For a heartbeat, the world was only soundless light and pain. His chest struggled for air. His arms didn't want to answer.
So this is it. This thing isn't just muscle. It's built to counter All Might. Built to kill. And I'm—
The shadow loomed above him, ready to finish it. Aizawa couldn't move fast enough. Couldn't even lift his scarf.
A scream cut across the plaza. "STAY AWAY FROM HIM!"
Midoriya.
The boy barreled forward, green lightning snapping across his body. His eyes were wide with terror, but his fist clenched anyway, and he drove One for All at full force into the Nomu's chest.
The shockwave rattled the plaza. Air burst outward, kicking dust and debris. The Nomu staggered back three steps, stone cracking beneath its weight.
Midoriya's arm snapped like a twig. He crumpled instantly, clutching his shattered limb, but his body had at least bought the second.
Tsuyu's tongue lashed out, coiling around Aizawa's torso. She yanked with desperate strength, dragging him out of the Nomu's reach. His battered ribs protested every shift, but it was distance, and distance was life.
The Nomu straightened, unhurt. Not even marked.
Shock absorption. Of course. Designed to soak even All Might's hits. Midoriya—damn it, kid, you'll break yourself before you dent it.
Midoriya staggered upright on trembling legs, his broken arm dangling uselessly. His body couldn't answer, but his eyes… those eyes were still fixed, refusing to look away. The Nomu blurred forward again, faster than any human should see.
Aizawa's heart lurched. His voice tore out raw, useless. "MIDORIYA, MOVE!"
The Nomu's fist swung, fast, decisive. Midoriya was too slow, too hurt, too small.
And then—
A shimmer burst between them.
A translucent plane, humming faintly, took the blow. It fractured instantly under the impact, splintering like glass—but it held for one breath.
And in that breath, a repulsion force slammed into Midoriya's side, tossing him hard across the stone. He tumbled, scraping and gasping, but alive, not crushed.
The Nomu's strike shattered the barrier a second later, smashing a crater into the ground. Dust plumed.
Aizawa's bleary eyes darted. There—off to the side.
Harry Potter stood, scroll case clutched in one hand, arm outstretched. His chest heaved, but his eyes were steady, focused, not the wide panic of a child. The barrier's shimmer faded off his fingers as if the magic itself exhaled relief.
The Nomu straightened again, its gaze shifting now—not to Midoriya, not to him. But to Harry.
And the air in the plaza thickened with the promise of violence.