We were still in the arena.
Suddenly—
A chill slid down my spine, slow and deliberate, like something had traced a finger along my nerves.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Instinct.
The kind that screams run before the mind can think.
The air thickened. Breathing felt wrong—like the world had noticed me.
Something was here.
Watching.
Hungry.
What the hell…?
The air around the stadium felt wrong—thick, suffocating, heavy with intent. My lungs tightened as if something unseen had wrapped its hands around my chest. This pressure… this killing intent…
Is Dad here?
No.
This was different.
Why would he release something like this? Why now—why here, at the International Sports Expo, with heroes from across the world watching?
I turned.
And then I saw him.
A man I had never seen before stood behind us, as if he had stepped out of a nightmare. White hair fell loosely over sharp, predatory red eyes. His presence alone bent the space around him, like the world itself was recoiling.
His gaze snapped to Arjun Dev.
And then he moved.
Not a charge.
Not a leap.
A violent burst—like reality tearing itself apart.
But he never reached him.
Flames detonated between them as Endeavour intercepted, slamming the man back across the arena floor.
"You've got some balls coming here," Endeavour snarled, fire roaring higher. "You really think you'll walk away from this?"
Before the man could rise, Star restrained him mid-motion, invisible force crushing down like the weight of the sky.
"Do you think you can survive after coming here?" she said coldly.
He didn't answer.
Didn't struggle.
Didn't blink.
Slowly, he raised his head.
And screamed.
The sound tore through the stadium—raw, distorted, inhuman. My ears rang violently as pain exploded through my skull. I staggered, blood trickling down my ear as the lights overhead flickered and shattered.
Without hesitation, Endeavour and Star grabbed Arjun and rocketed into the sky.
The man twisted his head toward me.
Red eyes locked onto mine.
"Izuku Midoriya," he said.
His voice wasn't human anymore.
"I'll kill you."
He lunged.
I barely dodged—his strike ripping through the ground where I had stood a second earlier.
Then—
A voice thundered across the arena.
"Everyone! This is not a drill! We are under villain attack!"
Portals tore open across the battlefield.
Dozens.
No—hundreds.
High-End Nomu poured out like an army from hell.
My heart cracked.
Dad… what have you done…?
For a moment, my thoughts shattered.
Has he finally gone insane?
Every quiet conversation. Every fragile trust I'd built—splintered in an instant.
Was it all a lie?
But the face that surfaced in my mind wasn't his.
It was Kurohane.
Her calm eyes.
Her steady voice.
Her sincerity.
Was she just playing me…?
"Izuku!"
Aizawa's shout snapped me back.
"Snap out of it, Midoriya!"
I ducked another attack just in time.
"Saving the civilians comes first!"
He was right.
Always.
Blackwhip surged from my arms, catching falling debris, shielding screaming spectators, pulling people away from collapsing structures. Panic echoed everywhere—fear raw and uncontrollable.
Around me, heroes from across the world fought desperately.
But something was wrong.
These weren't normal High-Ends.
Bakugo—who could tear through one or two without hesitation—was struggling to even pin one down. Zhang Meilin was bleeding, barely holding her ground.
What the hell is happening…?
My hands trembled as I reached for the gauntlets Melissa had upgraded over the past two years.
I hadn't used them once.
Because I knew what they meant.
I snapped them into place.
One For All: Full Cowl—100%.
Fa Jin.
Power detonated through my body as I launched forward, Blackwhip tearing through the sky, dragging multiple Nomu upward and smashing them together midair.
Then—
Another Nomu stepped forward.
Its touch rotted the ground instantly.
Decay.
My blood ran cold.
"What the hell…?"
Before it could reach me, Seojun and Shoto attacked together—ice and fire colliding violently against decay.
"Do it, Midoriya!" Seojun screamed.
But I shook my head.
No.
Not enough.
I activated it.
Gear Shift—on myself.
My muscles screamed.
Still—
Not enough.
The impact would be shallow.
Temporary.
Then—
"Young master… I'll assist you."
I froze.
"Kurogiri…?"
Around me, former members of the League of Villains were fighting—protecting civilians, shielding heroes, bleeding for a world that had once rejected them.
My eyes met Kurohane's across the battlefield.
She didn't smile.
Didn't explain.
Didn't beg.
She just kept fighting.
My chest tightened.
They've changed.
Even now… they're risking everything.
"Kurohane… Dad…" I whispered. "I'll trust you."
Kurogiri synchronized with me perfectly, warping space to amplify my momentum.
And then—
I unleashed everything.
The battlefield exploded.
Nomu were erased—completely obliterated by the sheer force of my strikes. Shockwaves tore through the stadium as I pushed my body beyond its limits.
The International Sports Expo—
Was nearly destroyed.
Then—
A hologram appeared.
It did not announce itself.
It did not demand attention.
It simply manifested above the ruins, as though the world had accepted its presence without protest.
The figure was indistinct—neither hero nor villain, neither man nor symbol. Identity felt irrelevant, almost wasteful.
Unknown.
Unfamiliar.
Overwhelming.
When he spoke, there was no heat in his voice.
Only precision.
"Heroes from across the world," he said calmly.
"You call this structure a society."
A brief pause.
"In practice," he continued,
"it is a marketplace."
No accusation.
Just assessment.
"You assign value to suffering," he said.
"Rank it. Broadcast it. Reward those who resolve it cleanly, and discard what cannot be made palatable."
The broken arena seemed to listen.
"You call yourselves protectors," he went on,
"yet protection ends where profit, image, and convenience begin."
No raised voice.
No anger.
"Villains are not born in opposition to you," he said.
"They are produced by you—by the margins you deny, the failures you hide, and the damage you label acceptable."
A pause.
Measured.
"You erase the consequences," he continued,
"and call it peace."
"I am not your enemy," he said plainly.
"I am the accounting you refused to perform."
Another pause.
Then—
"I hereby declare war on this world."
Not a threat.
A declaration of process.
"This war is not against heroes," he finished.
"It is against the illusion that you are necessary."
The hologram vanished.
And for the first time—
The silence felt accusatory.
Heavy.
Crushing.
The expo was a disaster.
Over one hundred heroes—dead.
Five hundred casualties.
And the count was still rising.
And then—
Me.
Restrained.
Surrounded.
Accused.
Captured under suspicion of treachery.
I didn't resist.
Because deep down—
I knew.
The truth hadn't been revealed yet.
And when it was—
The world would never be the same.