After the tournament ended, the night settled quietly over Musutafu.
In the heart of the city, Sir Nighteye's agency was lit only by the pale glow of the streetlights filtering through his office blinds.
The scene was strangely familiar — two men sitting across from each other at a desk — but this time the room was far more modest than Principal Nezu's ornate office.
Behind the desk sat Sir Nighteye, impeccably neat as always, his expression sharp and unreadable. Across from him sat All Might, thin and frail in his weakened form, a faint smile softening his tired face.
"So now," began Sir Nighteye, his tone even but firm, "with complete honesty — what do you think?"
His brows were slightly furrowed. Not in anger, but in focus. All Might knew that look well; his old sidekick wasn't scolding him — he was analyzing.
All Might leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I think you already know my answer," he said. "But to put it plainly — I don't remember a batch this strong before. Not once. Even those who didn't make it to the final rounds were far from weak. It's just that the ones who did win were leagues ahead of the rest."
Sir Nighteye nodded slowly, tapping a pen against the desk. "I see. Then let's go straight to the point."
His eyes lifted from his notes to meet All Might's. "About your successor — did anyone among the finalists catch your attention? Personally, I think any of the four could be potential candidates. But in terms of personality and heart, I can only vouch for one: Togata Mirio. He's always shown exceptional spirit and compassion. His resolve reminds me of you."
All Might smiled, nostalgia flickering across his tired face. "I could see it, too. He fought me head-on, without hesitation — even landed a few solid hits." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Let me tell you, those punches weren't light, hahaha!"
Sir Nighteye's frown softened slightly, though his tone remained serious. "I'm glad you found joy in being nearly punched through a wall, but I have another question. The boy you fought last — the one with the psychic abilities. Something happened between you two. I saw it, even if it was just for an instant."
All Might's expression changed. He lowered his gaze, folding his hands together. "It's not what you think," he said quietly. "The boy didn't do anything wrong. It's just… his Quirk. It's complex — almost like he has several powers at once. For a moment, when I felt his energy, it reminded me of All For One. It caught me off guard, and my old instincts slipped through. I think he sensed it."
He sighed. "I should apologize to him."
"I see," said Sir Nighteye, adjusting his glasses. "So, you're saying you won't consider him as a successor candidate?"
All Might shook his head. "No. I don't think he needs it. He's what — fifteen, maybe sixteen? And he already stood against me, face-to-face. He's still growing, and if my instinct is right, giving him One For All might actually hinder that growth."
Sir Nighteye raised an eyebrow. "Hinder him? You really think One For All could limit someone's potential?"
"I know it sounds strange," All Might replied with a faint smile, "but that's what my gut tells me. He's already building something on his own. For him, our power might just get in the way."
Sir Nighteye sat in silence for a moment, processing that answer. Then, with his usual calm, he asked, "And the other two?"
All Might rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Young Tamaki… he's gifted, but he lacks confidence. He holds himself back. And Nejire — she's incredibly powerful, but still too impulsive. She needs more wisdom before she can carry a legacy like this."
"Sir Nighteye nodded once. 'Then that leaves us with only one logical choice.'
'For now,' All Might said with a small grin.
Sir Nighteye raised a brow. 'For now?'
All Might's smile widened. 'We never know where the next hero might come from.'
Sir Nighteye allowed himself a faint smile in return, the corners of his lips barely lifting. 'Hmph. Spoken like a true optimist.'
All Might chuckled softly. 'Spoken like a teacher,' he corrected.
Outside, the city lights shimmered — and for a moment both men sat in silence, quietly hopeful for the new generation already rising to surpass them.
As the two of them talked, inside the U.A. dorms there was a celebration: all of 2-A had gathered to honor their "Yonkous." The table sagged under pizza boxes, fries, burgers, and an embarrassing amount of soda. When the four returned to the common room they were greeted by confetti and cheers; their classmates had gone all out.
"Congratulations!" everyone shouted at once.
Mirio, Tamaki, Nejire and Raiden stood stunned for a beat, then their faces broke into wide, grateful smiles. They hugged their classmates—Nejire impulsively used a tiny burst of her power and leapt across the group, toppling everyone like dominoes; the others laughed and joined in, dragging shy Tamaki into the tumble. It was loud and messy and full of warmth. Yes, there was a little envy in the room, but it was swallowed by the genuine happiness on everyone's faces.
The night flowed on. After food and laughter Nejire bolted to her room and returned with a console; she handed controllers to the other three and queued up Just Dance. The room exploded into movement—teams formed on the fly, the girls absolutely crushing the boys' scores, and the boys cheerfully sulked and tried again. Later they settled down to watch a movie about heroes—of course—and one by one heads dipped until soft snores filled the room. It had been a perfect, exhausting night.
Raiden didn't sleep. He lay awake long after the lights had gone out, staring at the dorm ceiling, replaying the last stages and the odd sensation of an enemy who could invade dreams. It wasn't fear so much as a cold discomfort: the idea that rest could be stolen from him by something unseen made the notion of sleeping feel dangerous. Walking helped, kept his mind steady.
After everyone had drifted off he slipped outside and wandered the campus, absorbing the stillness. "I wonder what comes next," he murmured to the night.
A small voice answered from below. "That's life, young one."
Raiden startled, then looked down. Director Nezu—miniature, impeccable as ever—had somehow crept out in his tiny mouse form and sat perched on a low stone, watching the campus lights. He wore his little bow tie as if it were a ceremonial flag.
"Director Nezu!" Raiden blinked. He hadn't been using his telekinesis, so the director had approached without him noticing.
"Hello, young Raiden. Something wrong? I thought you'd be enjoying the party—it's quite late, you know. Four in the morning," Nezu said, voice gently reproachful but warm.
"It's not that," Raiden replied, turning his face to the sky. "I can't sleep yet. I need to process. It's been a long two years."
Nezu nodded, as if he'd expected nothing less. "Indeed. You've been through much, and you've grown. I can see you are no longer a child who only dreams of heroics. Tell me—honestly—what do you think of the hero career now?"
"Can I be honest?" Raiden asked, not quite meeting the director's small eyes.
"I wouldn't have it otherwise," Nezu answered.
Raiden drew a breath. "It's been hard. It shattered what I thought being a hero meant. The world is darker, crueler. That hotel—those bodies. The deformed things—I still get cold sweats thinking about them. I can't shake how much evil it takes to do something like that, to—" he swallowed and the words scraped his throat, "—to tear people apart and make monsters of them."
Nezu listened without interrupting, the way an old teacher collects the weight of a student's confession and holds it gently. When Raiden fell quiet, Nezu's tiny voice was quiet, too. "Sometimes," he said, "even I wish I could lock away the worst of them and make sure they never hurt anyone again."
Raiden let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob. "Sometimes I wish I could go to prison and kick the Evolver's ass one more time."
Nezu's whiskers twitched with a softness that almost looked like sympathy. "Anger is a compass, Raiden. It points you to what you value—but it mustn't be the whole map. If we let it guide every choice, we lose sight of what we're protecting. Your growth will be in learning how to act with that anger, not be controlled by it."
"But sometimes it's hard," Raiden said quietly, his gaze fixed on the dimly lit courtyard. "I'm not saying I want to take justice into my own hands, it's just… you know, I really believed in people like the Evolver. I truly thought he was one of the good ones. And the worst part is—he made me feel stupid for believing that."
He exhaled slowly, frustration and weariness mixing in his voice. "When I was younger, I used to think that if I did something good, even if I was a bit rough about it, it would balance out. That property damage didn't matter much if the outcome was justice. But now… after the hotel incident, after seeing what real crime looks like, I know that's not true. Still—" he clenched his fist, his tone darkened slightly, "I'd be lying if I said I don't feel deep rage when I see what some villains do. Like him, the symbol of fear, or the one who turned his victims into… followers."
He sighed heavily, his voice trembling faintly at the end.
Principal Nezu's small, warm laugh broke the silence. "Hahaha, Raiden, you worry too much. What you're feeling—it's perfectly normal." He folded his paws over his chest, his tone calm and patient. "Of course you feel rage. Of course you want to see justice done with your own hands. That anger isn't evil—it's your compass. It's what tells you the difference between right and wrong."
He took a step closer, looking up at the boy. "And more than that, it's proof of your empathy. That fury means you care. If you saw injustice and felt nothing at all, that would be far more worrying. Indifference is colder than any villain's heart. So don't feel ashamed of your anger—especially not you, who's seen the worst of the world long before you should have."
Raiden's eyes softened. "Thank you, Director. Now that I think about it… we didn't meet here by coincidence, did we?"
Nezu's smile grew a little wider, genuine and amused. "Hahaha, you caught me. The truth is, I was a bit worried. A student wandering around the campus at this hour isn't something I ignore—especially not one who just won something so important. So, I came to check on you."
Raiden chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Thank you for that, really."
The small principal gave a satisfied nod. "Sleep when you can, Raiden. The world will still be waiting when you wake—and you'll face it better with a clear mind." He hopped down from the stone he had been standing on and straightened his tiny bow tie.
"And tomorrow?" Nezu added, his voice carrying a playful undertone. "We'll see what the Yonkou decide to do with their new responsibilities."
He let out a faint chuckle. "Good night, young one."
Raiden watched the diminutive director walk away, his small figure vanishing into the shadows toward the dorm buildings.
When he was finally alone, Raiden let his shoulders drop and exhaled the tension he hadn't realized he was holding. The air was cool, the night calm, and for the first time in hours, he felt at peace.
He turned toward the dorms and began walking slowly, letting the silence settle around him. Now that I think about it, he mused, there's nothing to worry about.
By the time he reached the door, his steps were heavy, his eyelids heavier. The exhaustion of battle, victory, and doubt all caught up to him at once.
And as he finally slipped inside, one thought followed him like a whisper:
Tomorrow could wait. Tonight, he would rest.