The sterile white hallway of U.A. High, usually a vibrant artery of ambitious youth, felt like a cold, judgmental tunnel to Yaoyorozu Momo.
Her polished black boots made almost no sound on the immaculate floor, a stark contrast to the thundering self-recrimination echoing in her mind.
The air was heavy with the silence of a student body dispersed on their various paths—paths she felt increasingly uncertain about.
Momo's shoulders slumped, an uncharacteristic posture for the girl who normally carried herself with the flawless poise of a debutante.
She was walking towards the faculty office to submit her internship form, a task that should have filled her with excitement, yet it only fueled her simmering depression.
The Sports Festival.
It had been her chance to shine, to demonstrate the true versatility and strategic depth of her Creation Quirk.
Instead, she had frozen, her anxiety paralyzing her when she needed decisiveness most.
"A performance of a lifetime, for all the wrong reasons," she muttered to herself, wincing at the memory of her swift, anticlimactic defeat.
The result of her lackluster showing was a meager stack of internship offers, and every single one felt tainted.
She was painfully aware of her family's prestige and wealth. The Yaoyorozu name, steeped in tradition and industry, was a powerful magnet.
She knew, with a sinking certainty that crushed her self-esteem, that most of the offers weren't for the potential of the hero-in-training, but for the influence of the heiress.
They weren't looking for a future Pro Hero; they were seeking a business connection.
Her ultimate aspiration, the dream internship that had been the silent goal of her entire preparation, was unattainable.
She wanted to study under Yoroi Musha, the Armored Hero and a revered member of the Top Ten, who was known for his rigorous, practical training and his focus on large-scale urban defense—precisely the kind of high-pressure environment she needed to conquer her performance anxiety.
But her festival display had been so thoroughly underwhelming that to even approach his agency felt like an insult to his reputation.
So, she had settled. She had filtered the few legitimate-seeming offers and chosen the highest-ranking hero who had extended one: Uwabami.
It was a choice of pragmatism, a step taken to avoid the shame of not interning at all.
She told herself that she was also a top hero, and her mentorship must offer some valuable experience.
Lost in this mental accounting of her failures, Momo rounded the corner near the general studies classrooms without looking up.
BAM!
The collision was clumsy and unexpected. She felt a jolt run up her arm and then the floor rushing up to meet her.
A scattering of papers whispered across the linoleum.
"Oh! I am so incredibly sorry, Yaoyorozu!" a familiar, high-pitched voice stammered immediately.
Momo looked up, blinking away the slight sting of the fall, and saw the genuinely panicked, worried green eyes of Midoriya Izuku hovering over her.
His hands hovered, unsure where to offer assistance.
"No, Midoriya-kun, please don't worry," she said, quickly manufacturing a smile to ease his distress.
Her usual formality returned as a defense mechanism against embarrassment. "It was entirely my fault. I was preoccupied."
Momo hadn't interacted with him much, save for the occasional study session or class discussion.
She had once, shamefully, viewed him as merely the "talentless-boy"—a walking paradox of massive power he couldn't control.
At the first week, she might have viewed his panic with slight disdain.
But the USJ attack had changed that. She had witnessed his reckless bravery, his raw instinct to protect others even at immense personal cost.
And his devastating performance in the Sports Festival—a controlled, strategic display of overwhelming power—had completely eclipsed her own.
She had developed a quiet, grudging respect for him, recognizing a fierce, resilient spirit that her own, perhaps, lacked.
As she began to gather her scattered items, Izuku stooped down with his own practiced urgency.
He picked up a slightly crumpled piece of paper—her internship application form—and his movements froze.
Momo reached for it, ready to thank him and finally be done with the agonizing task.
"Thank you, Midoriya-k—," She stopped.
Izuku was holding the paper, but his forehead was deeply furrowed. He wasn't looking at the name of the Hero; he was looking at the form itself with an expression that bordered on… cringing.
He looked genuinely uncomfortable, like he was looking at a disastrously misspelled exam.
"Midoriya-kun?" she asked, tilting her head. "Is something the matter with the form?"
He slowly handed it back, his eyes darting to hers and then immediately to the floor. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit she'd noticed.
"Um, no, the form is fine, Yaoyorozu. It's just…" He hesitated, clearly wrestling with a difficult thought. "Are you… are you really planning to intern under Uwabami-san?"
Momo blinked, confused by the question. "Yes. She was the highest-ranking hero who offered me a spot. Why?"
Izuku took a deep breath, his green eyes finally meeting hers, though they still held an air of profound reluctance. "Look, I have absolutely no right to interfere with your choice. But… Uwabami-san is… she's primarily a commercial hero now. My notes say that her agency work mostly revolves around product endorsements, modeling, advertising campaigns, and photoshoots. Her actual, hands-on hero patrol and rescue work has been minimal for the last two years."
Momo's world tilted.
The air in her lungs seemed to turn to ice as her face drained of color.
This internship, this painful compromise, was supposed to be a chance for a crucible of growth. It was meant to address the very flaw exposed at the festival—her inability to act decisively in a crisis.
Commercial hero?
A crushing wave of disappointment and anger—primarily directed at her own naive choice—slammed into her.
Her family was one of the wealthiest in Japan! She didn't need endorsements! She didn't need to model! She had access to everything material she could ever need.
The entire point of her being here, risking her life, and enduring the rigorous training, was to prove she was worthy of her position through her own merit, not her family's influence.
What she needed was genuine experience, practical combat strategy, and high-stakes decision-making.
If Midoriya's detailed, comprehensive knowledge of Pro Heroes was correct—and she had learned long ago that his analysis was rarely, if ever, wrong—then choosing Uwabami would not just be a wasted opportunity; it would be a professional setback.
It would be weeks spent preparing for a magazine cover shoot, not a villain confrontation.
Her fists clenched at her sides.
The thought of submitting the form now, knowing what Izuku had revealed, felt like a betrayal of her own ambitions.
She stared at the paper in her hand, the name Uwabami swimming before her eyes, and a wave of determination—the first genuine, self-directed resolve she'd felt since the festival—began to rise from the ashes of her self-pity.
"Midoriya-kun," she said, her voice low but firm, "thank you. Thank you for telling me."
She crumpled the form slightly in her hand. This path was closed, she would not accept a shallow substitute for real training.
She had to find another way.
The silence that followed Izuku's revelation about Uwabami was thick with the weight of shattered plans and budding hope.
Momo stood gripping the crumpled application form, her mind racing to reconcile the image of the famous, advertising-savvy Pro Hero with the rigorous training she desperately craved.
Seeing the deep distress he had inadvertently caused, Izuku hesitated once again, nervously rubbing the back of his neck and pulling his collar up slightly.
"Um, Yaoyorozu-san," he began, his voice a tentative murmur. "If you don't mind me saying this… I have a suggestion."
Momo looked up, her expression a mixture of surprise and profound relief.
She was currently without a viable plan, staring down the barrel of a professionally catastrophic choice.
Having someone as strategically insightful as Midoriya Izuku offer a solution was like seeing a lifeline thrown to her in a turbulent sea.
She was more than happy to listen.
She tilted her head, her curiosity overcoming her residual shame. "Please, Midoriya-kun. Any insight you have would be invaluable right now."
Izuku's eyes immediately flickered back to the list of internship offers she was holding, his mind already churning through the data he had collected over countless hours of dedicated hero analysis.
"When you were gathering your papers just now," he explained, gesturing vaguely at the scattered sheaf, "I caught a glimpse of a name… Muramasa. Did you really receive an offer from someone by that name? Can you confirm it?"
Momo, spurred by his unusual intensity, immediately flattened the papers and began searching.
The list was short, but her eyes quickly scanned the printed names.
"Muramasa… Ah, yes, here it is," she confirmed, pointing to a small entry tucked near the bottom.
The details were sparse: "Muramasa Agency – The Blacksmith Hero".
She frowned, reading the information aloud. "The rank is not specified. He's listed simply as a Pro Hero. That usually means they are either too low on the official Japanese rankings to be tracked, or perhaps they are a Sidekick, though the name on the offer suggests leadership."
Izuku nodded, a triumphant, knowing look crossing his face. His usual nervousness began to give way to the focused enthusiasm of a hero fanatic discussing a deep-cut topic.
"That's exactly right, Yaoyorozu-san! If I'm right, the reason his ranking isn't specified here is because he's actually a European Hero," he explained, a bright smile now splitting his face. "He graduated from U.A and became a Pro here in Japan for just about a month before he emigrated to Europe. He wanted a bigger stage, perhaps."
Momo breathed a soft, "Oh."
The realization that the offer had come from an international hero agency made a degree of sense, explaining the lack of familiar ranking data.
Then Izuku's excitement truly took hold.
He began to gesticulate, his hands moving to illustrate the gravity of the information. His voice, though still quiet, was brimming with fervent admiration.
"And, and listen to this! Within a very short five years, he absolutely skyrocketed. He rose to become the Number 1 Hero in all of Europe! He's hailed as their Symbol of Heroism!"
Izuku was practically vibrating with enthusiasm now. "If All Might is the undisputed world's number one, then Muramasa is seen by many in the international community as the undisputed number two! Unlike All Might, he is the Hero that all Hero wanted to be! He's just… incredible!"
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially as if imparting state secrets. "He also founded a global organization he calls The Grand Order. It's the largest independent Hero organization in the world! It operates outside the direct jurisdiction of any single nation's government, and its sole purpose is to maintain peace and stability globally, tackling high-level, international threats that local agencies can't handle. They're like an elite, mobile peacekeeping force."
Momo remained rooted to the spot, her mind struggling to process the sheer scale of the information.
For many, Izuku's rapid-fire, heavily researched mumbling would be an incomprehensible torrent of niche facts.
But for someone like her, with a mind trained for rapid analysis and complex data management, she understood every single word.
And that made her profoundly confused.
The Number 1 Hero in Europe. The leader of the largest global Hero organization. An undisputed contender for the world's second spot.
"But, Midoriya-kun," she interjected, her brow furrowed in genuine disbelief, "if this 'Muramasa' is such a powerful and respected hero with global influence, why on earth would he send an internship offer to me? Especially after my performance at the Sports Festival?"
The last words were spoken with a painful, self-deprecating honesty.
Izuku finally stopped his torrent of information. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his wide eyes focused, calculating.
He stepped back slightly, seeing the situation from a fresh perspective.
"You're right. It doesn't seem to make sense, given his rank. But," he said, a slow, understanding smile spreading across his face, "now that I think about it, taking you under him makes a lot of sense."
Momo took a step closer, captivated. "How so?"
Izuku's explanation was simple, direct, and stunningly logical. "Because the two of you have an almost identical Quirk, Yaoyorozu-san. The mechanism is clearly the same, you both create complex objects from non-living matter stored within your bodies. The only difference is that Muramasa can only create cold weapons, swords, axes, shields, and armor, while your Creation Quirk is not restricted to those forms."
Momo's breath hitched.
She stared at the name "Muramasa" again, realizing the full implications of Izuku's analysis.
The chance to study under a hero who had mastered a Quirk fundamentally similar to her own, a hero who had leveraged it to become the best in an entire continent, was not just an opportunity—it was a miracle.