Days passed.
The sky was still blue, the streets still crowded, the heroes still patrolling.
Life, somehow, had found its rhythm again.Even if the rhythm felt slightly off — like a melody played one note too low.
The incident — "the Entity over Musutafu," as people called it now — had faded from trending feeds and emergency bulletins. There were no new sightings. No official explanations. The Hero Public Safety Commission quietly archived the report. The media replaced it with newer chaos — quirk crimes, hero rankings, the upcoming U.A. Sports Festival.
It was almost as if the world wanted to forget.
But forgetting didn't mean understanding.And for some, that silence was the loudest thing left.
Morning: U.A. Campus
The air around the U.A. grounds carried a strange kind of normalcy — disciplined, hopeful, and yet faintly fragile. Training had resumed, classes restarted, the stadiums for the Sports Festival were being prepped under sunlight.
Posters fluttered across the courtyard. "U.A. Sports Festival — Where Heroes Rise!"
It felt like the world was healing.
Or pretending to.
Inside Class 1-A, the morning lesson began as usual.Power usage, team coordination, and mental endurance drills.
Aizawa stood at the front, scarf loose around his neck, voice monotone but steady. "You've had enough time to rest. The Sports Festival will be a chance for all of you to show growth. Use it wisely."
But even his tired eyes flickered once toward the window — out into the same sky that, weeks ago, had opened in silence.
Midoriya noticed it. He always did.
He pressed his pen against the page, pretending to take notes, but his thoughts drifted. It's gone… right? Whatever it was… it's gone. Yet part of him couldn't let go of the last feed — that final pulse before the signal vanished. Like a heartbeat. Like it had chosen to stop being seen.
"Midoriya," Aizawa's voice cut through.He jolted upright. "Yes, sensei!"
Aizawa sighed softly. "Focus on the present. Don't chase what's already over."
The words weren't harsh. They were… tired. Almost like advice for himself.
"Yes, sensei," Midoriya replied, but he didn't believe it.
Between Classes
The hallway buzzed with talk — hero rankings, festival strategies, rumors of new pro sponsors attending the event. It was lively. Familiar. But beneath the noise, some whispers carried an undercurrent the teachers couldn't quite erase.
"Did you hear the ocean readings last week? Like some weird electromagnetic pulse off the coast?""It's probably just tech interference.""Yeah, maybe… but what if it wasn't?"
Even now, rumors of "it" never truly died.
At the vending machines near the courtyard, Jirou and Kaminari leaned against the wall, sipping juice boxes.
"So," Kaminari started, voice light but eyes distant, "you think we'll ever get a real explanation?"
Jirou's headphone jack swayed idly. "About the thing in the sky? Nah. If the pros or the Commission figured something out, it'd be classified for years."
"Man… it's just freaky. I can't stop thinking — what if it's still out there? Like, just invisible or something."
"Then what can we even do?" she asked, shrugging. "Heroes fight villains. Not… mysteries."
Kaminari nodded slowly. "Yeah. Guess so."
She noticed the way he looked at the sky and, just for a second, thought she saw the same quiet question in his eyes that everyone avoided: Why did it come at all?
Training Ground Gamma
Afternoon sun reflected across the training grounds. Explosions of color, dust, and energy filled the air as students practiced for the Festival.
Bakugo's voice roared over it all. "Faster! If you can't dodge this, you'll be a damn embarrassment in front of the pros!"
Kirishima dodged his blast with a grin. "Bro, you yell more than you breathe!"
"That's called motivation!"
They clashed again, laughter half-masked by noise. To an outsider, it looked normal — two students driven by pride and fire. But even Bakugo's eyes carried a faint restlessness. He'd seen the thing in the sky too. The silence it brought.
And deep down, he hated how it made even him feel powerless.
Nearby, Todoroki paused mid-training, staring at the horizon. His breath fogged slightly from the chill radiating off his half-frozen side.
"Something wrong?" Iida asked, jogging up beside him.
Todoroki shook his head slowly. "No. Just thinking."
"About the Festival?"
"…Maybe." He glanced upward, the same quiet reflection mirrored in his expression. "Do you think people just… move on too fast?"
Iida blinked behind his glasses. "It is the nature of society. Heroes maintain peace by giving people a sense of order. If they didn't move on, fear would rule."
Todoroki looked down at his frost-covered palm. "And what if peace just means forgetting?"
Iida didn't have an answer.
Cafeteria Conversations
Lunch period felt almost normal again.
Almost.
At one table, Ashido, Hagakure, and Uraraka were huddled together, talking in low voices while occasionally bursting into laughter.
"I swear," Ashido said, "Kaminari's trying to name his attack after a dessert again. 'Chocolate Thunder'? Really?"
Hagakure giggled. "Maybe it'll distract villains with confusion!"
"Or nausea," Uraraka added with a grin. Then her smile faded as she caught a glimpse of the large screen on the cafeteria wall — playing muted headlines. Something about global cooperation meetings. Satellite launches. The usual.
Except one image showed Endeavor, Hawks, and several foreign heroes in what looked like a briefing.
Uraraka's expression softened. "They're still investigating, huh?"
Ashido leaned back. "Guess so. I mean, who wouldn't? If something like that appeared again…"
Hagakure's voice went quiet. "It won't… right?"
No one answered.
It wasn't fear anymore — just an awareness. Like something had permanently shifted the world's ceiling a little higher, and no one could put it back.
Evening Briefing: U.A. Staff Room
The teachers gathered under dim light. Screens projected various reports — oceanic scans, energy fluctuations, restricted footage.
Nezu sat at the head of the table, sipping tea with careful precision. "The data shows no further readings. The disturbance has stabilized."
Ectoplasm frowned. "For now."
"Indeed." Nezu's voice carried that peculiar calm of his — half logic, half unease. "But we can't afford panic. Students must believe in stability. The Festival is important for morale."
Across the room, All Might stood quietly. His large hands were folded, his face unusually grave.
"Principal," he said, "do you think it's truly gone?"
Nezu looked up. "Do you think it was ever really here?"
The question lingered.
Aizawa, standing near the corner, spoke next. "Whatever it was, it changed something. The students are restless. Even if they don't talk about it, I can see it in how they move — cautious, distracted. They're still waiting for the next sign."
All Might's brows furrowed. "And what if there isn't one?"
"Then," Nezu replied softly, "we teach them to live like heroes anyway."
Silence filled the room.
Because that was all they could do.
Later That Night — Dormitory Rooftop
The dorm lights were dim. Most of the students were asleep, but a few remained awake — silhouettes against the soft glow of the city beyond.
Midoriya sat at the rooftop edge, notebook open, pages fluttering in the wind. He wasn't writing theories anymore. Just thoughts.
He'd spent weeks analyzing everything — altitude, trajectory, response patterns — but none of it gave meaning to what he'd seen. The way it hovered. The stillness. The vanishing light.
It didn't feel hostile. It didn't feel random either.
It felt… aware.
He glanced up at the stars. "You saw it too, didn't you?" he murmured to no one in particular.
Behind him, a voice replied. "Still thinking about that thing?"
Midoriya turned. Bakugo leaned against the rooftop rail, hands in pockets.
"Kacchan…" Midoriya began, but Bakugo cut him off.
"You're not gonna find answers in that notebook, nerd. If it wanted to come back, it would've."
"I know," Midoriya said. "But… don't you ever wonder why it came at all?"
Bakugo's eyes glinted faintly in the dark. "Doesn't matter. It's gone. All that matters now is who's gonna win the Festival."
Typical Bakugo. But his tone didn't match the words — it wasn't loud, just steady. Almost forced.
Midoriya smiled faintly. "Yeah. Right."
Bakugo turned toward the sky one last time before heading inside. His voice, quieter than usual, carried back on the breeze.
"Still… if it shows up again… I'm blasting it myself."
Midoriya chuckled softly, not sure whether to believe him.
Across the World
While Japan returned to routine, the world beyond it had not forgotten.In Geneva, Moscow, and Washington, scientists compared notes. Satellite imagery. Magnetic field disturbances. And one repeated anomaly — a brief power fluctuation across several global sensors, occurring the exact second the Entity vanished.
Coincidence, they said.
But the data said otherwise.
A single frame of distortion.A faint light, far out in the Pacific.Then — nothing.
And somewhere deep in an ocean trench, machines whirred quietly as submersible drones continued their silent vigil — watching a void that might never answer back.
Next Day: Sports Festival Preparations
U.A. Stadium roared with the sounds of construction and training. Students tested quirks, polished techniques, compared notes. The energy was contagious.
Iida shouted over the noise, "Let us not lose focus! The Sports Festival is the heart of hero culture!"
"Yeah, yeah," Kaminari grinned, flexing. "Let's make it flashy!"
Ashido spun beside him, acid sizzling harmlessly in the air. "We're gonna make history!"
Nearby, Uraraka laughed — genuinely this time. "Let's give them something bright to talk about for once!"
Midoriya watched them, the sound of their laughter mixing with the wind. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had healed.
And maybe, in a way, it had.Heroes learned to move forward. Humanity, to look up again.
But as he looked toward the sky — clear, blue, and endless — he couldn't shake the faintest shimmer on the horizon.Like sunlight bending where it shouldn't.
He blinked. It was gone.
He smiled, unsure if he'd imagined it.
Late Night — News Broadcast
"Today marks three weeks since the unidentified phenomenon over Musutafu. No new reports have surfaced. The Hero Commission has officially closed the investigation. U.A. prepares for its annual Sports Festival, where young heroes will—"
The broadcast continued, fading into the quiet hum of an ordinary night.
Civilians turned off their TVs. Heroes returned to patrols. The city lights reflected on the water like stars caught between tides.
For the first time in weeks, the world seemed normal again.
Stillness
Far above that same world — in the silent dark beyond clouds and sea — something faint shimmered against the edge of the stratosphere.
It wasn't bright.It wasn't clear.
Just a flicker.
A memory of light refusing to fade.