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The so-called forest training camp was, in reality, nothing more than a crash course designed to help students enhance their Quirks. This time, a total of six pro heroes were assigned to oversee it—four members of the hero team d Wild, Wild Pussycats, along with two teachers from U.A.
There was Pixie-Bob, whose Quirk controlled Earth Flow; Mandalay, who had Telepath; Ragdoll, with her Quirk "Search," which could analyze detailed information of anyone within her vision—including their location and weaknesses; and lastly, Tiger, whose Quirk allowed him to stretch and manipulate his body at will. With Pixie-Bob, constructing customized training grounds for each student was as easy as waving a hand. Mandalay could guide multiple students simultaneously through telepathy, while Ragdoll's analysis was precise and reliable. With these three working together, most situations could be handled with ease.
On top of that, there were two of U.A.'s own teachers. One was Aizawa Shota, known as Eraser Head, whose Quirk could erase any Quirk just by looking at its user. The other was… well, let's just say that with these heroes gathered—especially with someone like Eraser Head present—it wouldn't be an exaggeration to claim that even All For One himself would find it difficult to win, let alone survive.
Aizawa honestly couldn't imagine a scenario where this group could be ambushed and overwhelmed by the League of Villains. With so many pro heroes gathered in one place, would the League truly be foolish enough to attack?
Oh, and one more member hadn't been introduced yet: Tiger—the only male member of the Pussycats, also responsible for training students with close-combat or reinforcement-type Quirks like Midoriya Izuku and Konata Izumi.
Despite his reliable and composed demeanor, his appearance alone was enough to make people pause. Broad shoulders, bulging muscles… Konata honestly thought he could almost match All Might in physique—if you ignored the fact that he, too, wore the same cat-themed battle costume as the others. Skirt and all.
As much as his outfit could make anyone's eyes bleed, his strength was undeniable. Konata and Midoriya had teamed up to spar with him, attacking with everything they had, yet they hadn't managed to so much as ruffle a single strand of his hair. Konata swore it was the costume distracting her—every time she looked at him in that ridiculous skirt, she couldn't help but feel an overwhelming urge to scrub her eyes.
Naturally, that moment of distraction ended with her and Midoriya getting absolutely wrecked.
Without activating her transformations, Konata realized there was no way she could stand against him. Unless… maybe she tried calling on Shana's Flame Haze powers and took a swing with that flaming blade?
Later, when Class 1-B finally joined them, she noticed with some dismay that none of their Quirks were particularly useful for this kind of direct combat training. Which meant that, in the end, it was still just her and Midoriya left taking hits until they could barely stand.
By the time the combined forty students from Class 1-A and 1-B dragged themselves back to the campsite, what greeted them was not a warm bath and a feast like the previous day, but stacks upon stacks of raw ingredients piled high.
If they wanted to eat? They'd have to cook for themselves.
While the rest of the students groaned in despair, Konata, strangely enough, looked almost excited. Sure, yesterday's luxury of a ready-made meal and a hot spring had been nice, but that wasn't what a training camp was supposed to be. This—making your own food in the wild, with your own hands—this was what felt authentic.
With that cheerful thought in mind, she managed to produce… a massive pot of something that was black, bubbling, and gave off an ominous smell.
…Truly, a masterpiece of "dark cuisine."
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Meanwhile, far away in the smoky, dimly lit bar belonging to Kurogiri, the League of Villains was already beginning to move. Only Kurogiri and Shigaraki Tomura were present, but unlike their usual dynamic—one part caretaker, one part reckless child—the two were locked in a tense standoff.
"Kurogiri," Shigaraki muttered, voice sharp, "do you seriously expect me to believe that crap?"
"Tomura Shigaraki," Kurogiri replied, his tone calm yet firm. "When I first learned of this, I had the same doubts. But Sensei gave me confirmation."
He hesitated, almost reluctantly, before continuing. "According to Sensei, if it weren't for her, we wouldn't have found out the location of the training camp so easily. Given his attitude, the truth is obvious."
Without a word, Shigaraki pulled a photo from his pocket and slapped it onto the bar counter. His red eyes lifted to meet Kurogiri's, simmering with restrained anger.
"Don't forget," he hissed. "She nearly killed me before. And now you're telling me she's one of us?"
"I'm only repeating what Sensei told me," Kurogiri said with a note of quiet frustration. "I don't understand it either. Why the one who's disrupted our plans time and again… would actually…"
He trailed off, exhaling heavily before finishing. "By age, she fits the profile. And thinking back… perhaps that's why Sensei went to such lengths, even when he was still injured, to confront her personally—to verify this for himself."
Silence settled between them for a moment before Shigaraki spoke again, his voice like ice.
"I'm going too. To this training camp."
Kurogiri shook his head slightly. "The trap is already set. All we have to do is wait for them to walk straight into it. This time, our primary targets are the students. We've gathered all the intel we need. Success is practically guaranteed."
"Tch. Fine, fine," Shigaraki muttered, his tension easing into his usual lazy drawl as he slumped forward over the bar. "But you're sure about her, right? She's done a hell of a lot of work for them. You really think she's got no choice?"
Kurogiri's tone dropped an octave, resolute and dark.
"She has no choice… as long as she still acknowledges who she is."
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The night sky was a river of stars, glittering silently above. Darkness fell as quietly as a whisper, just like countless ordinary nights before. And yet, once this night passed, it would no longer be ordinary.
The room was pitch-black and cold, the only light spilling from the dim glow of a computer screen. Around the room, complex machinery was stacked high, a tangle of tubes running from the devices, connecting directly to the broad, imposing man seated before the screen.
His head had been all but destroyed—his face grotesque and hollow, devoid of eyes, devoid of a nose, like skin that had been stripped away. But none of that mattered. His Quirk brimmed with infinite possibilities. Ever since stealing a regeneration Quirk from some unlucky fool, his body had been steadily repairing itself. He was still far from his peak—his current state a pale shadow of his prime—but against the gravely injured All Might, who had already passed One For All to his successor, he still held a decisive advantage.
Not that defeating All Might was his priority anymore. His focus now was entirely on cultivating Shigaraki Tomura, shaping him for the grand plan that lay ahead. He'd even prepared himself for the possibility of being captured and locked away if that's what it took to see his vision through.
"A society built on Quirks is a twisted society," he thought as his fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest of his chair. "If not for the emergence of Quirks, humanity's science and technology would've long since taken us to the stars, perhaps even to colonize other planets. Instead, Quirks have stagnated progress—an undeniable fact."
At some point, his gaze shifted toward the hunched, wiry man tinkering with machinery in the shadows of the room.
"How much longer?" His deep voice broke the silence.
"At least a few more months," replied the doctor as he turned and stepped closer. "You shouldn't have interrupted the treatments to leave when you did."
The man chuckled, a low, eerie sound. "I couldn't help it. That Quirk—'Fantasy'—it intrigued me far too much. Even though, in the end, I failed to take it."
A brief silence lingered, broken by the man's quiet amusement. "Doctor, you have questions, don't you?"
The doctor nodded, unflinching. "She—your daughter?"
"Perhaps," the man said casually. "Perhaps she was, once. But I don't know. And honestly, it doesn't matter anymore. If her existence can serve my plans, then why not take advantage of it?"
His fingers drummed idly against the chair before he added, almost to himself, "A power that strong… to waste it by simply killing her would be unforgivably foolish. There are places for her in my future plans. But first, she needs to be freed from that ridiculous hero dream of hers."
"So this is all… by design," the doctor said, realization dawning across his lined face.
"I sent every piece of evidence, every detail, to that man," the villain continued. "Given his rigid, uncompromising nature…"
"Yes," the man said with a slight smirk. "And oddly enough, everything fell into place far too easily. The evidence, her suspicious circumstances… no matter how I analyze it, I can't see through her. I don't understand what she's planning, if anything at all."
His fingers tapped the armrest again, steady and deliberate. "Everything is too convenient. Even if I hadn't intervened, the doubts surrounding her would've inevitably surfaced, dragging her to this point. Strange, isn't it?"
The doctor hesitated before asking, "Then do you think she'll join us?"
"Trust built over time isn't so easily broken," the doctor added, brows furrowed.
The man's grin widened. "That's why I've given her a choice. Whether she sides with us or remains with the heroes doesn't matter in the slightest. Either way, the result will be… useful."
His voice turned almost amused. "She'll make the choice I want her to. She's too kind. Too naive. All we have to do is wait. If I can't have her Quirk, then having the girl herself will suffice. I'm looking forward to seeing what she'll do."
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"What? My performance wasn't good enough?"
Konata Izumi's eyes went wide as she jabbed a finger toward the other poor souls slumped around the room, her tone indignant.
"Aizawa-sensei, this is completely unfair! I passed every single subject in the finals—every one! Why am I stuck here for remedial lessons too?"
Lowering his book, Aizawa fixed her with a tired, slightly irritated look. It was late, and only a handful of students were in the room: those who had failed their final exams and were now condemned to extra tutoring. Among them were Kaminari, Mineta, and a handful of others from Class 1-B… and, inexplicably, Konata herself.
"And what exactly do you plan to do instead?" he asked flatly.
"Go out and have fun, obviously!" Konata said, puffing up her cheeks. "They're holding some kind of courage test out there. It's a camp tradition, you know!"
Her tone was so matter-of-fact, so filled with misplaced confidence, that even Aizawa seemed momentarily at a loss. Then, with a sigh, he relented.
"Fine. Go."
Konata blinked in surprise, then grinned in triumph. "This is my right, you know," she muttered under her breath as she waved a hand and bolted for the door, clearly eager to escape.
"Be careful," Aizawa called after her lazily.
As the door slid shut, he turned his attention back to the dejected group of students before him. Their collective despair was almost palpable as he picked up his book again and resumed the dreaded night of remedial lessons.
And then—chaos erupted.
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Three minutes earlier.
Konata Izumi had just stepped out of the training lodge, the night air cool against her flushed cheeks. Maybe as a reward for the students, after a full day of hellish, back-breaking quirk training, the teachers had given them a rare gift: a little time to relax.
Class 1-A and Class B together, forty students in total, plus six pro-heroes. Minus the unlucky six stuck inside for remedial lessons and the two U.A. teachers watching over them, everyone else had headed off to another part of the forest for the courage test event.
Technically, Konata should have been with them. She wanted to be with them. But for reasons she couldn't even begin to guess, Aizawa Shota had stopped her on the way back and told her she needed to join the remedial group.
Like hell she would.
If Aizawa-sensei had actually tried to keep her locked up to do extra study, she would've considered defecting out of pure spite. The whole point of this camp trip had been to relax. Instead, it turned out to be an ambush—a meticulously planned hell disguised as "training." Fine, she could deal with that. But taking away the one bit of free time she had left? Unforgivable.
Muttering complaints under her breath, Konata quickened her pace toward the exit. If she hurried, she could still make it in time. No way the courage test would be complete without her. She already had a dozen different ways to scare the life out of her classmates mapped out in her head.
But that small spark of excitement instantly died the moment she spotted the figure waiting just beyond the gate.
A tall, black-haired young man stood there in the dim light. Silent. Still. Most of his exposed skin was a patchwork of burn scars—his neck, under his eyes, both arms, both legs—the twisted lines of scar tissue a sharp, brutal contrast to the untouched patches of skin.
When her footsteps caught his attention, the young man lifted his gaze. Before she could say a word, his low, gravelly voice cut through the quiet night.
"The two U.A. teachers," he said evenly, "they're still inside the facility, aren't they?"
Konata had prepared herself for a lot of possible questions from someone who so obviously reeked of "villain," but this… this wasn't one of them. Her eyes narrowed slightly, gaze drifting past him toward the dense, shadowed forest behind.
Then—blue flames.
A flare of ghostly azure ignited the treetops, painting the night an unearthly shade.
"…How did you even find this place? And where are the others?" she asked, voice sharp, steady.
There was no point wasting time asking who he was—she could guess that easily enough.
For a brief second, something flickered in the man's eyes—surprise, maybe—but just as quickly, it was gone, buried under that detached, almost bored expression.
"There are ten of us," he answered flatly. "A rapid assault. Blitz tactics. Ragdoll's already down. Mandalay hasn't reached you with her telepathic warning?"
Konata pressed her fingertips against her temple, mind spinning as she pieced together the situation.
So they thought she was one of them.
Something had happened—something she didn't know about. But one thing was clear: the League of Villains had launched an ambush. And if there was already fighting out there, then Mandalay should have sent out a warning to everyone.
Unless… she'd been cut off.
Unless someone had deliberately left her out of the loop.
Her mind went still. She wasn't stupid; she could see the shape of the trap laid out in front of her. Someone inside U.A. had sold her out. Someone wanted to push her—to push Konata Izumi—into a corner where joining All For One's side would look like her only option.
And if she turned her head now, she knew what she'd see.
Aizawa Shota, lurking just out of sight, watching her with that unreadable gaze of his, waiting. Waiting to see what she would choose.
If she played her cards right, she could turn this all around. She could stand her ground, prove her innocence in the chaos, and when the dust settled, Aizawa would back her. Always. He was a hardass, a blade wrapped in barbed wire, but he protected what was his. Even if every scrap of evidence pointed to her as the traitor who leaked their location, if she made the right choice now, he'd protect her.
And if things played out the way she predicted, this raid would fail. All For One's carefully laid plans would crumble. The League of Villains would take a crippling blow. And she—she'd come out of it clean. Maybe even as some kind of double agent in the public eye.
It was the safest option. The smartest option. The one that guaranteed survival and redemption.
But…
No.
She couldn't. Not if she wanted her original plan to succeed. Not if she wanted the freedom to act on her own terms. If she took the safe route now, all her work—every calculated risk, every careful step—would be for nothing.
A quiet, weary sigh left her lips.
When she opened her eyes again, they were flat. Cold. Detached.
Turning slightly, she looked toward the shadow at the far end of the path, where she knew—of course she knew—Aizawa stood, silent and still. She dipped her head just enough, a strange, almost mocking smile curling her lips.
"…Aizawa-sensei."
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