Chapter 37: The Aftershock
The news of the attack on U.A. High School spread through the city like wildfire.
Across the bustling districts of Musutafu, giant digital billboards that usually played upbeat hero commercials were now dominated by breaking news reports. Crowds of civilians gathered on the sidewalks, their faces painted with shock and worry as aerial footage of the shattered USJ dome played on a continuous loop.
"A coordinated villain assault on the premier hero academy..." the news anchors repeated, their voices echoing through the streets. "Are our children safe? Is the Symbol of Peace losing his grip?"
Far from the noisy city center, in the quiet, traditional courtyard of a secluded dojo, Master Kenji sat on the wooden porch. A small, old television set rested on the floor next to him, its antenna bent at an awkward angle to catch the broadcast.
Kenji took a slow sip of hot green tea, his calm eyes watching the screen. The footage showed the U.A. students gathered near the front gates, surrounded by police cruisers. The camera panned across the crowd, momentarily capturing the image of a certain green-haired teenager with three swords resting at his hip. Zoro looked entirely unfazed by the chaos around him.
Kenji lowered his teacup, a low, knowing chuckle rumbling in his chest.
"You're a tough one to kill, kid," Kenji muttered to the screen, a proud smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I'll be waiting right here. You've got quite the story to tell me."
Many miles away, in a forgotten, rundown district, stood an old, decrepit building. The paint was peeling, and a faded, dusty sign hanging above the door simply read: Welcome.
Inside the dimly lit room, an incredibly short, elderly man with a yellow cape sat at a cluttered table. Stacks of old books and dusty hero files surrounded him. Resting on top of one of the thickest books was a plate of freshly baked taiyaki—fish-shaped biscuits filled with sweet red bean paste.
The old man took a bite of a fish biscuit, chewing slowly as he read a letter written on pristine white paper.
The handwriting was neat, formal, and deeply respectful. It was a letter from his former student.
"...And so, the situation escalated far beyond a simple rescue exercise," the letter read. "However, there is a silver lining. I have finally taken up a teaching position at U.A. High School, just as we discussed. More importantly, I have found him. The successor."
The old man paused his chewing, his sharp eyes scanning the next paragraph.
"His name is Izuku Midoriya. When I met him, he was completely Quirkless, but he possessed the heart of a true hero. I have passed One For All onto him. He is still struggling to control the power, constantly breaking his own body, but his spirit is unbreakable. I believe he can become a great hero."
The old man hummed, taking another bite of the taiyaki. He adjusted the paper to catch the light from the dusty window.
"Furthermore, there is another student I must mention. A boy who defies all logic. Like Midoriya, he is Quirkless, yet he fights using a bizarre and incredibly lethal three-sword style. His name is Roronoa Zoro. His physical strength, his sheer willpower, and his utter lack of fear are staggering. He stood before death today without blinking. He is a fascinating, dangerous, and incredibly brave young man."
The letter concluded at the bottom of the page.
"Please, be a guiding hand to me when the time comes. Take care of yourself. I will continue to keep you updated on all new developments. Yours sincerely, Toshinori Yagi."
The old man placed the letter down next to his plate. He looked at the ceiling, swallowing his food. "A Quirkless successor... and a Quirkless swordsman," he grumbled, his voice raspy. "You always did attract the strangest bunch, Toshinori."
Back at U.A. High School, the atmosphere inside the main faculty meeting room was thick with tension.
Principal Nezu sat at the head of the large oval table, his paws steepled together. Around him sat the pro heroes and teachers: Snipe, Midnight, Present Mic, Hound Dog, and All Might, who was currently in his skinny form, wearing a baggy yellow suit.
Standing at the front of the room, standing beside a whiteboard covered in photographs, was Detective Tsukauchi.
"We've spent the entire night running the data," Tsukauchi reported, his face showing signs of severe exhaustion. "And the results are concerning. Regarding the two ringleaders—the one called Shigaraki, and the mist-man Kurogiri—we found absolutely nothing."
Snipe adjusted his mask. "Nothing? You mean they're ghosts?"
"Exactly," Tsukauchi nodded. "No birth records, no registered Quirks, no fingerprints in the national database. It's highly likely they aren't even citizens, or they are using completely fabricated aliases. They are individuals with unregistered, highly dangerous Quirks."
Midnight slammed her hand on the table. "We need to act fast. If they managed to bypass U.A.'s security once, they will try it again. We have to root them out before they launch another attack."
"I agree," All Might spoke up, his sunken eyes fixed on the photograph of Shigaraki. "But we must consider the enemy's mindset. When I fought him, I realized something. Shigaraki... he isn't a master tactician. He boasted about his plans, threw a tantrum when things didn't go his way, and reacted to setbacks with raw violence."
All Might looked around the room. "He is an adult with immense power, but mentally... he is a man-child. A child who expects the world to revolve around his whims."
Nezu nodded thoughtfully. "A terrifying combination. A child wielding the power to destroy."
"What about the rest of the villains?" Present Mic asked, crossing his arms.
"We arrested seventy-two villains at the USJ," Tsukauchi concluded, tapping his pen on the clipboard. "However, after interrogating them, it's clear they are nothing but low-level street thugs. Nobodies who were gathered from the back alleys and manipulated into joining the assault. The League of Villains is hiding something much darker behind these pawns."
The next day, U.A. High School was temporarily closed to allow the staff to restructure the security protocols and give the traumatized students a day to rest.
Inside the Midoriya household, Izuku sat at his desk. The room was plastered with All Might posters and figurines. Izuku stared at his computer monitor, watching the old, familiar video of All Might's debut—the same video he had watched thousands of times since he was a child.
While he was watching The memory of the USJ played in his mind. The terrifying speed of the Nomu. The chilling aura of Shigaraki. And Zoro... standing tall, completely fearless, crossing his blades against a monster.
Izuku clenched his fists, determination burning in his green eyes. I can't keep breaking my bones, he thought. If I want to stand beside them... if I want to protect people like All Might and Zoro did... I have to control this power. I have to work harder.
At the same time, the wooden floorboards of the dojo creaked under Zoro's boots.
Kenji sat on the porch, smoking his traditional pipe, listening intently as Zoro recounted the events of the USJ.
"The bird freak was tough," Zoro said, sitting cross-legged on the grass, a wooden wooden sword resting on his lap. "I managed to cut its arm clean off with my blades. A perfect strike. But a second later, the flesh bubbled and the arm just... grew back. Regeneration."
Kenji puffed out a cloud of white smoke. "A monster designed to take damage. If you couldn't kill it by cutting it, you need to hit it harder, or cut it faster than it can heal. You need to push your training to the absolute limit."
"I know," Zoro agreed, his eyes narrowing. "But there's something else. Something that's been bothering me I didn't talk to you about it that night."
Kenji looked at his student, noticing the rare look of confusion on Zoro's usually stoic face. "What is it?"
"A few days ago, before this whole attack happened," Zoro began, looking at his calloused hands. "When the media broke the front gate of the school. I was walking down the hallway, completely relaxed. But suddenly... I felt it."
"Felt what?" Kenji asked.
"A presence," Zoro explained, his voice dropping low. "I didn't hear a sound. I didn't see a shadow. But my body reacted on its own. I felt an overwhelming surge of evil intent. A killing aura, aimed right at the school. It was like I could 'sense' the enemy's spirit, even though they were miles away."
The pipe slipped from Kenji's mouth, clattering onto the wooden porch.
Kenji froze. The color drained from the old master's face. His eyes widened in absolute, unfiltered shock.
Slowly, Kenji stood up. His hands began to tremble. He took a step back, shaking his head. "No... no, that's impossible. That cannot be. In this era? At your age?"
Kenji began to pace back and forth on the porch, muttering frantically to himself. "A Quirkless boy... sensing killing intent without seeing it... It's just a myth! A forgotten legend from the dark ages of martial arts!"
Zoro frowned, completely annoyed by the dramatic reaction. He stood up, grabbing his wooden sword.
"Hey, old man!" Zoro barked, stopping Kenji's pacing. "What's wrong with you? Spit it out! Give it to me straight!"
Kenji stopped. He turned to look at Zoro, his eyes tracing the fierce, unyielding aura of the green-haired swordsman. Kenji swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a terrified, yet awe-struck whisper.
"Zoro... what you felt wasn't a Quirk. And it wasn't just instinct," Kenji said, the wind suddenly howling through the dojo courtyard. "You are beginning to awaken it. The dormant power of the soul..."
Kenji looked directly into Zoro's eyes.
"...You are awakening Haki."
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