Sherlock stood in the quiet hallway of the Sheets manor, the weight of the new tactical gloves in his hand a physical reminder of the stakes ahead. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen illuminating his face in the dim corridor.
Momo: Sherlock-kun, I hope your morning is going well. I remembered our conversation after the final exams about that new bakery that opened in the district. If you are free this afternoon, I would be honored if you joined me.
Sherlock stared at the text. His mind, usually a whirlwind of vectors and chemical compositions, slowed to a singular point.
He typed a quick reply: I will meet you at 2:00 PM. The coordination is set.
In the Yaoyorozu estate, Momo sat at her vanity, her breath coming in short, uneven hitches. She looked at her reflection, checking her hair for the fifth time.
Why is my heart racing like this? she wondered, pressing a cool hand to her cheek. It's just Sherlock-kun. We've gone to different bookstores and cafe together. We've studied in the library for hours. We've even visited three different tea shops this semester.
But this felt different. The invitation to the bakery hadn't been about "strategy" or "remedial planning." It had been a choice made in the quiet aftermath of their victory against Aizawa. She remembered the way he had looked at her in the urban district—not as a teammate, but as a person he truly believed in.
She chose a simple, elegant cream-colored dress with a light blue ribbon, something that felt breezy for the mid-summer heat. As she stepped out to her waiting car, she felt a flutter in her stomach that no textbook on human biology could adequately explain. It was a variable that defied her own internal architecture.
• TEA, FLOUR, AND HIDDEN THOUGHTS
The bakery was tucked away in a quiet corner of the Musutafu shopping district, a mahogany-fronted storefront that seemed to exist in a different century altogether. Its gold-leaf lettering—The Victorian Crumb—glinted under the afternoon sun. Inside, the air was a thick, heady perfume of toasted wheat, fermented yeast, and the delicate, floral top-notes of Earl Grey tea.
Sherlock was already standing by the entrance. He had discarded his school uniform for a crisp, charcoal-grey button-down with the sleeves rolled precisely twice to his mid-forearm. He was staring at a display of sourdough loaves as if he were analyzing the structural integrity of a fortress.
When the bell above the door chimed, he turned.
Momo stepped inside, the light catching the cream-colored fabric of her dress. She felt a sudden, sharp intake of breath as his emerald eyes settled on her. For a moment, the bustling sounds of the bakery—the clinking of porcelain and the low murmur of patrons—faded into a muffled hum.
"You're punctual, Momo," Sherlock said, his voice level but carrying a resonance that made her heart skip. He took a step toward her, his gaze sweeping over her attire with a slow, deliberate focus that wasn't purely analytical. "That specific shade of cream... it harmonizes with your skin's undertones. It's an aesthetically superior choice."
Momo felt the heat flare in her cheeks, a pink hue blooming across her porcelain skin. "Thank you, Sherlock-kun. I thought... well, I thought it was appropriate for the weather."
Sherlock-kun. You look very... sharp as well. Momo said.
They were shown to a small, circular table draped in heavy white lace. Sherlock sat with a disciplined posture, while Momo found herself fussing with her napkin, her usual regal composure feeling slightly frayed at the edges.
"I've ordered the house blend," Sherlock noted as a waitress placed a steaming pot and a tiered tray of scones between them. "The oxidation level of these leaves is purportedly higher than standard Darjeeling. It should provide a more sustained cognitive boost."
Momo poured the tea, her movements practiced and elegant. "You're always thinking about 'boosts' and 'output,' Sherlock-kun. Even at a bakery."
She watched him take a sip, but she noticed the way his eyes drifted toward the window. His left hand was resting on the table, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, complex sequence—three fast, two slow, one sharp.
"The forest," Momo said softly, leaning forward. "That's what's behind your eyes right now, isn't it?"
Sherlock's fingers stilled. He looked at her, the mask of the Paper Magician slipping for just a fraction of a second. "The variables are unsettled, Momo. The secrecy of the location, the league's recent activity, and my own biological limitations... I was calculating the probability of a mid-camp incursion. It currently sits at 34%, which is 34% too high for my comfort."
Momo reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from his hand before she pulled back, clutching her teacup instead. "Sherlock-kun, I understand. I feel the weight of it too. But if you spend every quiet moment preparing for the storm, you'll forget how to breathe when the air is clear. We are here to celebrate our victory over Aizawa-sensei. For the next thirty minutes, I want the Magician to stay in his pouch. I just want to talk to my friend."
Sherlock looked at her—really looked at her. He saw the genuine warmth in her eyes and the way she was trying to anchor him to the present. He realized, with a start, that he had been viewing this outing as a "recovery variable," when it was actually something much simpler: a human connection.
"I apologize," Sherlock said, his voice softening. "My mind is a difficult horse to rein in. You are right. Tell me... how is the progress on the insulated tracking devices you were designing?"
Momo laughed, a bright, melodic sound. "That's still technical, Sherlock-kun! But... it's a start."
As they spoke, the tension in Sherlock's shoulders began to dissolve. For the first time in weeks, the math in his head didn't feel like a burden. He found himself noticing the way the sunlight caught the stray strands of her hair and the way she lit up when talking about molecular structures.
"Momo," he said as they finished the last of the scones. "Tomorrow. There is an amusement park nearby with a high-velocity roller coaster. I've read that the G-force can act as a physical reset for the nervous system. We should go."
Momo felt a surge of joy so intense it almost made her dizzy. He's asking to spend more time together. And he used my name again. "I would love to go, Sherlock-kun. Let's make it a day to remember."
•THE UNEXPECTED GATHERING
The gates of the Starlight Amusement Park loomed large under a brilliant, cloudless sky. Momo arrived fifteen minutes early, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. She had spent an hour choosing a casual yellow sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She had imagined the day clearly: walking side-by-side with Sherlock through the colorful crowds, perhaps sharing a single order of churros, and the quiet intimacy of a Ferris wheel ride at dusk.
She saw Sherlock standing by the ticket booth. He was wearing a simple white tee and dark jeans, looking more like a normal teenager than she had ever seen him.
"Sherlock-kun!" she called out, waving as she approached.
"Punctual as always," Sherlock said. But then, he stepped to the side, revealing a small army standing behind him.
"Hey, Yaomomo! Over here!" Mina Ashido screamed, her pink skin vibrant in the sunlight.
Momo froze. Her internal "Architect" suddenly had to redesign the entire day on the fly. Standing there was a significant portion of Class 1-A: Midoriya, Uraraka, Jiro, Todoroki, Shoji, and Tokoyami.
"I took the liberty of expanding the invitation," Sherlock explained, oblivious to the subtle crash of Momo's expectations. "I calculated that the social cohesion of the class would be a critical factor in the upcoming training camp. After contacting everyone, this group was the only one with synchronized free time. Bakugo, unsurprisingly, told me to 'die in a ditch,' and Iida had already committed to a pre-camp study marathon."
"It's a class bonding day!" Uraraka cheered, bumping her shoulder against Momo's. "Sheets-kun said it was a 'morale optimization event,' but we all know it's just an excuse to have fun!"
Momo swallowed her disappointment and replaced it with her practiced, elegant smile. "Of course. It's a wonderful idea, Sherlock-kun. The more, the merrier."
The day was far from the quiet date she had envisioned, but it was undeniably chaotic and joyful. Sherlock approached the park like a mission. When they reached the Nebula Drop, a tower that plummeted 200 feet, he spent the entire ascent explaining the physics of free-fall to a terrified Midoriya.
"Observe the weightlessness, Midoriya. Your organs are currently experiencing—"
"I CAN'T OBSERVE ANYTHING, SHEETS-KUN! I'M SEEING GOD!" Midoriya shrieked as they dropped.
By midday, the group had settled into a comfortable rhythm. They watched as Shoji and Tokoyami absolutely dominated the "Strength Test" hammer game, and Todoroki casually used a tiny bit of precision ice to win a massive plush cat for Jiro, who turned a shade of purple that matched her hair.
Sherlock, meanwhile, found himself standing with Momo near the fountain while the others went to buy ice cream.
"Are you enjoying the 'cohesion'?" Momo asked, her voice teasing.
Sherlock looked at the group—Ashido was trying to teach Midoriya a dance move, and Uraraka was accidentally floating a cup of soda. "The data is promising," Sherlock said. "But... I noticed you were quieter during the log flume ride. Was the water displacement calculation incorrect?"
Momo looked at him, realizing that for all his brilliance, he was still learning the language of the heart. "No, the calculation was fine. I just... I was thinking about what you said at the bakery. About looking at the flowers at our feet."
She reached out and lightly adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Today is a beautiful flower, Sherlock-kun. Thank you for inviting them. Even if it wasn't... exactly what I expected."
Sherlock paused, his eyes searching hers. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something—something that didn't involve percentages or variables. But then, Ashido came running back, shoving a blue-raspberry popsicle into Sherlock's hand.
"Eat up, Brainiac! We're going to the Haunted Mansion next, and I need you to tell me the ghosts aren't real so I don't scream!"
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the park in shades of amber and violet, the group gathered at the exit.
"Man, that was the best," Kirishima (who had joined late) said, wiping sweat from his brow. "We should do one more thing before the camp. Something to really cool off."
" I also don't want this to end," Ashido sighed, hugging her knees. "Once we hit that forest, it's going to be nothing but sweat and Aizawa-sensei yelling at us."
"The school pool!" Sherlock said . "I heard the school allows students to use it for 'endurance training' during the summer break!"
"A brilliant suggestion!" Iida—who had appeared at the very end of the day to check on everyone's safety—shouted. "Swimming is a full-body workout that builds cardiac resilience! I shall request permission from Aizawa-sensei immediately!"
"It's settled then!" Ashido cheered. "The day before the bus leaves! A pool party!"
Sherlock watched them all, then turned to Momo. "It seems our schedule has one more collective variable before the Null Zone. Are you prepared for the pool, Momo?"
They all agreed, bidding farewell as they headed to their respective homes.
•FUN AND CALM OF WATER
The sun beat down on the UA high school pool, turning the chlorine-scented air into a shimmering haze of heat. While the girls—Momo, Jiro, Ashido, Uraraka, and Tsuyu—relaxed in the shallow end wearing the standard school-issued navy swimsuits, the atmosphere on the boys' side was far from peaceful.
Kaminari and Mineta stood at the edge, their faces masks of tragic disappointment. They had spent the entire morning scheming for a glimpse of high-fashion bikinis, only to be met with the wall ofschool regulations.
"Standard school suits..." Mineta whimpered, his head hanging in defeat. "My summer is a wasteland. The cruelty of UA knows no bounds!"
"Give it a rest, Mineta," Jiro sighed from the water, splashing him with a bored flick of her wrist. "We're here to train, not put on a show."
Meanwhile, Iida was already in full "Class Rep" mode, blowing a whistle that echoed off the tile walls. "Listen up! We have been granted this time for endurance building! We shall engage in 50-meter freestyle heats to determine our current physical thresholds!"
Sherlock stood at the edge of Lane 4. He had traded his tactical gear for simple dark trunks. Without the heavy black fabric of his hero suit, his physique was finally on display—lean, corded muscle built from years of Thomas Itadori's grueling "itinerant" training. He wasn't bulky like Sato or Kirishima, but he possessed a surgical sort of definition.
From the water, Ashido nudged Momo. "Hey, check out the Magician. Who knew Sheets-kun was hiding that under all those cards?"
Momo felt the heat rise to her face, her eyes lingering on the sharp lines of Sherlock's shoulders and the steady, calm way he carried himself. "He... he takes his physical conditioning very seriously," she managed to say, her voice slightly strained.
"Quirks are allowed!" Iida shouted. "Show the results of your training!"
Bakugo launched first, using Explosion to literally surf across the surface of the water like a jet ski. Todoroki followed, creating a slick lane of Ice and sliding with effortless grace. Midoriya activated One For All: Full Cowl, his body sparking with green electricity as he blasted through the water.
Sherlock, however, didn't reach for his cards. He didn't secrete cellulose. He simply took a breath and dived.
He moved with a natural, predatory efficiency. His stroke was clean, his kick powerful. While the others were using the "cheat codes" of their superpowers, Sherlock was relying on the raw mechanics of the human body. He wasn't as fast as the Quirk-users, but he was outpacing everyone else by a wide margin.
"He's not using his Quirk?" Kirishima shouted, watching Lane 4. "That's so manly! He's just out-swimming us with pure muscle!"
By the final heat, the water was churning. It came down to four lanes: Bakugo, Todoroki, Midoriya, and Sherlock.
"I'll blast you both into the drain!" Bakugo roared, his palms popping with pre-ignition sparks.
"I won't lose," Midoriya said, his eyes determined.
"Ready..." Iida raised the whistle. "START!"
The four of them exploded from the blocks. Bakugo was a blur of orange heat; Todoroki was a streak of white frost; Midoriya was a green bolt of lightning. Sherlock was the silent shadow beneath them, his arms cutting the water with rhythmic, terrifying precision. He was holding his own against the titans of the class, his natural ability a testament to the "worst-case scenario" training he practiced—preparing for the day his Quirk might fail him again.
Just as they reached the halfway mark, the water suddenly went still. The sparks died. The ice stopped forming. The explosions fizzled into nothing.
The four boys tumbled into the water with a massive, ungraceful splash. They surfaced, sputtering and confused, to see a familiar, disheveled figure standing at the gate.
Aizawa-sensei stood there, his eyes glowing red, his capture cloth fluttering in a nonexistent breeze.
"It's 5:00 PM," Aizawa rasped, his voice cutting through the humid air. "Your pool time is over. Go home, finish packing, and get some sleep. The buses leave at dawn. If anyone is a second late, they're staying behind for double remedial lessons."
The competitive fire was instantly doused by the cold water of reality.
• THE LEAK IN THE SHADOWS
As the sun began to set over Musutafu, the city took on a deceptively peaceful glow. But miles away, in the cramped, smoky interior of the League of Villains' hideout, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of malice and planning.
The air in the League's hideout was stagnant, smelling of old dust and the ozone tang of Kurogiri's flickering warp gate. Tomura Shigaraki sat hunched over the bar, his red eyes fixated on the map of the Nagano forest. The GPS coordinates provided by their "source" were glowing on a tablet screen nearby—a digital death warrant for Class 1-A.
"The Master has confirmed it," Shigaraki rasped, his voice sounding like sandpaper on bone. "The heroes think they've hidden their precious 'eggs' in the deepest part of the woods. They think isolation is safety. How pathetic."
A hulking figure in a straitjacket shifted in the corner, his breathing erratic. Beside him, a girl with messy blonde buns and a school uniform hummed a cheerful, discordant tune while cleaning a serrated knife.
"Is the Vanguard Action Squad ready?" Shigaraki asked, his gaze drifting to the television screen where All For One's silhouette remained a silent observer.
"We are prepared, Tomura Shigaraki," a voice replied. Dabi leaned against the back wall, his blue flames flickering momentarily in his palms. "The objective is clear. We aren't just there to cause a stir. We're there to shatter their sense of security. And to bring back the prize."
Shigaraki's eyes narrowed. "The explosive brat, Bakugo. And keep an eye on the Magician and the boy with the green sparks. They are variables that need to be... accounted for."
"I just want to see them bleed," Himiko Toga chirped, her eyes wide and manic. "If the forest is so dark and quiet, their screams will sound so much prettier, won't they?"
"Control your bloodlust, girl," Muscular growled, his muscle fibers twitching beneath his skin. "I just want someone who can actually take a punch. I heard there are some 'strong' ones in this class. I hope they don't break too easily."
Spinner, clutching his makeshift blade of swords, stepped forward. "We follow the will of Stain. If these students are the fake heroes the Master says they are, then the forest shall be their purging ground."
Mustard, the youngest of the group, adjusted his gas mask, his voice muffled. "I'll handle the perimeter. Once the gas settles, they won't even see the end coming."
"Don't fail me," Shigaraki said, his fifth finger twitching just inches from the bar top. "The Symbol of Peace thinks he's built a fortress around these kids. He doesn't realize we're already inside. Go. Turn their 'Summer of Growth' into a funeral."
Kurogiri's purple mist began to swirl, expanding to swallow the group. One by one, the Vanguard Action Squad stepped into the void, their eyes fixed on the distant, unsuspecting mountains.
"those Brats will be there," Shigaraki muttered, his eyes fixated on the names Sherlock Sheets and Izuku Midoriya. "We'll take the fire-starter, too. Once the Symbol of Peace realizes he can't even protect his own students in the middle of nowhere... the world will finally see how fragile this 'hero society' really is."
"The game begins now," Shigaraki whispered as the last of the mist vanished
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Mha:- The Grand illusionist