[U.A. HIGH SCHOOL – CLASS 1-A – 12:35 PM]
The lunch bell rang.
Immediately, the classroom erupted into motion.
Students stretched, grabbed lunch boxes, complained about morning classes.
Midoriya stood up, adjusting his bag.
"Iida, Uraraka, you coming to lunch?"
Iida was already halfway to the door, arms chopping mechanically.
"Of course! Proper nutrition is essential for afternoon performance!"
Uraraka started to stand—then paused.
Mina and Momo were huddled around Toru's desk.
Whispering.
Toru's sleeves were gripping the edge of her desk.
Uraraka blinked.
"Uh… I'll catch up with you guys. We have a… situation."
Midoriya followed her gaze.
"Is Hagakure okay?"
"I think so? Maybe?"
She walked over.
By the time she got there, Mina was mid-negotiation.
"Toru. Come on. It's just lunch."
"I know."
"So let's go."
"…Do we have to?"
Momo sighed.
"Yes. You need to eat."
"I brought a granola bar."
"That's not a meal."
"It's food."
Mina crouched beside the desk.
"Okay, what's going on? You were fine this morning."
Toru's sleeves fidgeted.
"I was not fine this morning."
"You came to class."
"Under duress."
Uraraka tilted her head.
"You're still thinking about that book thing?"
Toru's sleeves stiffened.
"…Maybe."
"Toru—"
"Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but getting hit twice in two days by the same person feels like the universe is laughing at me."
Asui, sitting nearby, raised a hand.
"To be fair, he probably didn't see you either time. Ribbit."
"THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT BETTER."
Mina stood up, hands on her hips.
"Okay. Real talk. Do you actually think he did it on purpose?"
"…No."
"Then what's the problem?"
Toru's sleeves gestured vaguely.
"I just… don't want round three, okay?"
Momo pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Toru, you're being irrational."
"Maybe. But it's my irrational."
Mina exchanged a glance with Momo.
Then she grinned.
"Fine. New plan. You come with us to return the book. If he's a jerk, you can yell at him. If he's not, you get closure."
Toru's sleeves went rigid.
"What? No. Absolutely not."
"Come on," Uraraka added. "It'll be quick. Just hand it over and leave."
"You don't need me for that."
"But we want you there," Momo said. "Moral support."
Toru groaned.
"…Fine. But if he's the same guy, I'm giving him a piece of my mind."
She raised her invisible fists, shaking them with exaggerated menace.
"I'll pound him."
Mina snorted.
"Sure you will."
"I'm serious!"
"Uh-huh."
The group headed toward the door.
Toru trailed behind, muttering to herself.
"This is a terrible idea. Absolutely terrible."
[CAFETERIA – 12:47 PM]
The cafeteria was packed.
Students from all courses crammed into tables, voices overlapping into a dull roar.
Mina scanned the room, textbook tucked under her arm.
"Okay. So. Where does General Studies sit?"
Momo pointed toward the far left section.
"Over there. Gray badges."
"Got it."
They wove through the tables, dodging trays and backpacks.
Mina's eyes scanned faces.
Red hair. Red hair. Where's the red hair—
"There!" Uraraka pointed.
A table in the corner.
Three students.
No red hair.
Mina frowned.
"…That's not him."
"Maybe he's not here?" Asui suggested.
Momo squinted.
"Wait. I recognize them."
"From where?"
"The tray incident."
Mina's eyes lit up.
"Oh! You're right!"
She walked over.
The three students looked up as she approached.
A girl with flowers growing from her hair—Hana.
A boy with color-shifting skin—Kimura.
Another boy with glasses—Tanaka.
Mina smiled.
"Hey! Uh, sorry to bother you guys."
Hana blinked.
"…Oh. You're from Hero Course, right?"
"Yep! Mina Ashido." She gestured to the others. "This is Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, Asui, and Hagakure."
Polite nods all around.
Kimura leaned back.
"If this is about the tray thing, that wasn't our fault."
"Oh, no, we know. Actually, we're looking for someone."
Tanaka adjusted his glasses.
"Who?"
Mina held up the textbook.
"This belong to someone named Yuta Akutami?"
All three of them froze.
Then Hana grinned.
"…Oh man. What did he do now?"
Mina blinked.
'So it's him, huh?'
"Uh. Nothing? We just need to return his book."
"His book," Kimura repeated.
"Yeah."
"That he lost."
"…Yeah?"
Tanaka muttered, "Of course he did."
Momo stepped forward.
"Is he here?"
Hana's grin faded slightly
.
"Actually… no. He didn't show up today."
"Didn't show up?" Uraraka asked.
Kimura shrugged.
"Nope. Wasn't in homeroom. Wasn't in first period. Haven't seen him all day."
Tanaka nodded.
"Which is weird. He's usually here."
Toru's sleeves crossed.
"Maybe he's sick?"
"Maybe," Hana said, though she sounded uncertain. "But he didn't message the group chat or anything."
Mina frowned.
"…Huh."
Momo cleared her throat.
"Well. When he gets back, could you give this to him?"
She handed the textbook to Hana.
Hana took it, flipping it open.
"Yeah, no problem."
"Thanks."
The four girls—and one invisible girl—walked away.
Once they were out of earshot, Uraraka whispered:
"…That was weird, right?"
Momo nodded.
"A little."
Asui tilted her head.
"Maybe he really is sick. Ribbit."
Toru's sleeves relaxed slightly.
"…Well, at least I didn't have to yell at him."
Mina grinned.
"There's always tomorrow."
Back at the table, Hana set the textbook down.
Kimura stared at it.
"…So. Where do you think he is?"
Tanaka pushed his glasses up.
"Probably sleeping in and forgot to wake up."
"Does he seem like that kind of guy?"
Hana didn't respond.
She just stared at the book, fingers drumming against the cover.
"…Yeah. Probably."
__
The human body had… what was it—thirty trillion cells? Fifty? He couldn't remember right.
But during the last moments of consciousness, Yuta was damn well sure that something was fundamentally wrong with his.
He felt it in the last seconds—like threads tightening, shifting, misfiring, doing things cells had no right to do.
But even that sensation faded.
And then he fell.
Into infinite darkness.
There was no floor. No sky. No up. No down.
Just drifting—slow, weightless, meaningless.
For a while, he wandered.
Or… floated.
Or simply existed, suspended in something that wasn't quite oblivion.
'Is this ... Death?'
He wandered, utterly confused. 'Why is it so loud?'
He couldn't tell where it was coming from, but somewhere far away, someone was shouting.
Not words—just noise. Urgent, shaking, tearing itself against the edges of his fading consciousness.
Then came the cold.
A rush of it. Air. Hands. Voices.
Metal clattered. Someone cursed. Someone else yelled for a stretcher. His body was turned, lifted, dragged—he couldn't feel which.
A stray thought drifted through the dark like a leaf:
…I'm already dead. Why does dying involve so much yelling?
The world swallowed him again before he got an answer.
**Light.
Sound.
Pain.
Too much pain.**
Yuta's eyelids twitched. Something beeped steadily beside him. A soft blanket weighed down his legs. He smelled antiseptic—strong enough to sting.
Hospital.
He didn't open his eyes immediately. His head felt like it was packed with wet sand.
And then—
"…so we're all in agreement that he shouldn't be alive?"
"That's what the scans say."
"What about the… uh… the bones?"
"Which ones?"
"Exactly."
Voices whispered somewhere to the left of his bed. Medical staff. More than one.
Another voice chimed in, younger—probably an intern:
"I'm just saying, I don't think ribcages are supposed to… fold."
"Nothing about this kid is supposed to do anything, Suzuki."
A sigh.
"Honestly, I think his survival is a crime against medical science."
Someone else mumbled, "Please don't say that while he's unconscious."
"I mean it as a compliment!"
There was shuffling. Paper rustling. Someone tapped a clipboard.
"Anyway… the girl's in the waiting area. Hasn't moved in hours. If she could starve by worrying, she'd be gone."
The words pierced through the haze.
Eri…?
Yuta's fingers twitched.
A nurse gasped softly.
"He tried to move!"
"Oh thank God—someone alert Dr. Ishikawa—no, wait, he's in surgery—someone alert ... Someone else."
More footsteps. More panic.
Yuta forced his eyes open.
The ceiling was white. Bright. Mockingly bright.
He turned his head—
—and immediately regretted it.
Pain flared viciously through his torso. He hissed sharply.
"There! See? He's alive!" the intern squeaked. "Looks miserable but alive."
"For someone who worked under Recovery girl, I can confidently say this is a medical miracle."
Yuta glared in the general direction of the voice.
"Please…" he rasped, "…stop… celebrating my suffering."
A woman in a white coat stepped into view. Mid-forties, short hair, tired eyes, and the kind of expression that said she'd seen too much weird shit to be surprised by anything anymore.
"Mr. Akutami," she said flatly. "Welcome back to the land of the living. I'm Dr. Ishikawa."
Yuta blinked slowly.
"…Thought you were in surgery."
"I was. Finished early." She pulled up a chair and sat down with the posture of someone who'd given up on proper bedside manner years ago. "Let's skip the pleasantries. You were brought in three days ago looking like someone put you through a meat grinder. Backwards."
"Three… days?"
Dr. Ishikawa nodded. "Seventy-two hours, give or take a few minutes. You were unconscious for most of it and semi-conscious for the rest. Mostly mumbling nonsense."
"Mumbling…?"
Her expression didn't change.
"Indeed."
Yuta's eyes slipped half-shut again.
"…so the mumbling wasn't a language, right?"
"Oh no," the intern said. "No human dialect. Just… chaos."
"What kind of chaos?"
He cleared his throat.
"He said, and I quote: 'If I die… delete my browser history—'"
Yuta wished very sincerely that he were dead.
Dr. Ishikawa cut in sharply.
"Enough. He doesn't need to hear the rest."
(Which implied there was a rest.)
Yuta groaned. "That… was taken out of context."
"Was it?" the intern asked.
"Yes," Yuta lied.
Dr. Ishikawa moved on mercifully.
"Mr. Akutami, let's divert to the important part."
Her tone shifted to a cooler, much more professional tone.
"In all my years, you have the most outrageous vitality I have ever seen."
Yuta cautiously opened his eyes. "Meaning…?"
"Meaning that when you were brought in, your body was damaged beyond the threshold of what even the esteemed Recovery Girl could heal efficiently," she said matter-of-factly. "Frankly, you shouldn't have survived long enough for us to even consider treatment."
"…Then how am I—?"
"Alive?" She folded her arms. "Because apparently, your body decided medical logic was optional."
He blinked, baffled.
She continued, "All we did was hook you up to life support and keep your organs functioning. The rest—" she gestured at him with an odd mixture of irritation and reluctant admiration "—you did. In three days."
He stared.
"Three days… of healing?"
___
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