Class 1-A's Perspective
The sun shone through the wide windows of the classroom, casting soft light across the desks. It was the start of a new day at UA College, but there was an underlying tension in the air. The students of Class 1-A, as they were now known—older, more mature—sat in their seats, some still distracted, others discussing the most recent news.
"Did you see the footage of him? The Nightmare Vigilante? Nightmare Bonnie, I think they're calling him now?" Mina Ashido's voice cut through the murmurs. She twirled her pen absentmindedly as she spoke. "He looks like something straight out of a nightmare. How could anyone trust someone like that?"
"Yeah, I don't know…," Kirishima added, crossing his arms. "I mean, his actions... they're so brutal. But at the same time, he's doing what the heroes can't, right? It's a tough call." He frowned, clearly torn.
"That's the problem, though," Momo Yaoyorozu said thoughtfully, adjusting her glasses. "He's taking things into his own hands, and sometimes, that's not the best approach. What if there are more people caught in the crossfire next time? What if the damage gets worse?" She leaned back in her chair, the weight of the discussion heavy on her shoulders.
The class fell into a hushed silence, each student weighing the validity of the points raised. The Nightmare Vigilante, or whatever he was now calling himself, was a topic that left them conflicted. The media had painted him as a villain, the kind that didn't respect the boundaries set by society. But there was a part of them—the part that had seen how things really worked—that could understand why someone like him might step outside those boundaries.
"He's cost so many lives," Jiro said quietly, her gaze fixed on the table in front of her. "I don't care how much he saves or how many criminals he takes down. You can't just ignore the people he's hurt."
"I agree," Bakugo spat, his voice sharp and harsh. "This guy's just a ticking time bomb. Who knows what happens when his temper gets the best of him? He's got this power, and he's clearly not using it right." His fists clenched involuntarily, a sign of his growing irritation.
"Well, it's not like anyone's giving him a chance to explain himself," Midoriya said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His gaze flickered to his classmates, his green eyes wide with concern.
The conversation took a turn as more students chimed in. Some were firm in their condemnation of the vigilante's actions. They blamed him for the deaths, for the destruction. Others, like Kirishima and even Momo, couldn't help but feel a little empathy, despite how dangerous and chaotic his methods were.
But no one—except Midoriya—brought up the strange, unanswered questions that had been gnawing at him.
---
Midoriya's Thoughts
Midoriya sat back in his chair, his mind racing. He had been quiet for most of the conversation, but something was eating at him.
There's more to this.
He knew it. There had to be. From the way the media had been spinning the story to how the authorities had handled everything... it all seemed so incomplete.
The Bombing incident—where the villains had attacked so many students, and yet, the Nightmare Vigilante had shown up at the last minute to save them all. There had to be something about that day that the media was hiding, something that didn't add up. And then the explosion—he could feel the pieces of the puzzle slipping through his fingers, like trying to hold water in his hands.
Midoriya glanced at the others, noticing their faces twisted with doubt, judgment, and concern. But none of them had the same questions. He looked over at Aizawa, who was sitting at the front of the classroom, his expression unreadable.
Does he know something? Midoriya wondered, his heart pounding.
Just as quickly as the thought had come, Midoriya shook it away. It wasn't his place to dig too deep. He wasn't a journalist. He wasn't a detective. He was just a student trying to figure out his own place in the world.
But the question still lingered in his mind.
---
Aizawa, who had been watching his students with quiet contemplation, exhaled a subtle sigh of relief as Midoriya stopped pursuing the line of thought. He had caught that look in his student's eyes—the one that suggested curiosity, but more importantly, the one that sought answers.
Aizawa had hoped Midoriya would drop it, and thankfully, he did. The last thing they needed was another student poking around into things that could get them all in trouble.
Aizawa knew things about the Nightmare Vigilante that the others didn't, things that could ruin the boy's life if they were revealed. But those were things he couldn't say—*wouldn't say*. He had learned that much in his years as a pro hero. Sometimes, it was better to leave certain truths buried.
The class slowly shifted focus, but Aizawa's mind lingered on Lucas—on the boy he couldn't help but feel responsible for. He knew that, in time, they'd all cross paths again. It was inevitable. But for now, he hoped Lucas would find the peace he so desperately needed, even if that peace meant staying hidden in the shadows.
---
Meanwhile, Lucas was deep in the heart of another city, away from UA's watchful eyes. The weight of the media's condemnation still hung over him, but today, he was focused on something more immediate.
It had started out simple enough—just a robbery at a corner store. Two men armed with quirk-enhanced weapons had tried to make off with a stash of cash, but Lucas had intervened before they could escape.
Just another day, just another small victory, Lucas thought as he stood in the alleyway, his form shifting from Nightmare Bonnie to something smaller—Foxy—lean and ready for action.
He had saved the shopkeeper and the few bystanders, but he couldn't escape the feeling that something was wrong. He didn't know if it was the unease that lingered in the pit of his stomach, or the sense of being watched, but something told him this wasn't over.
Sure enough, as he was about to leave, a figure stepped out from the shadows—a tall man dressed in black, his face obscured by a mask.
"You're the Nightmare Vigilante, huh?" the man said, his voice low but threatening. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a device that flickered with light.
Lucas didn't hesitate. He transformed again, this time into Nightmare Chica, his bulky form more suited for intimidation and heavy combat. The man took a step back, clearly surprised by the shift in size and power, but Lucas didn't give him a chance to recover.
"Who sent you?" Lucas growled, his voice mechanical and cold.
But before the man could answer, more figures emerged from the shadows, all wearing similar attire—each carrying weapons and quirks designed for assassination. They were clearly well-prepared.
Great. Just great, Lucas thought, his eyes narrowing.
But before the situation could escalate, something unexpected happened.
A group of figures appeared from the rooftops, their movements swift and synchronized. They landed in front of Lucas, taking defensive stances. The group was fast—too fast for ordinary heroes. They wore dark, tactical clothing, each carrying a weapon and looking ready for a fight.
"Stay down," one of them said, his voice sharp and authoritative. He was tall, with striking white hair, his face half-obscured by a mask.
"The Vigilante Front's got your back."
Lucas's heart skipped a beat. He recognized the name, the underground network of vigilantes who had banded together to fight against corrupt heroes and villains alike. They were the ones who operated outside the law, the ones who understood what it meant to live in the shadows.
For the first time in a long time, Lucas allowed himself to relax, just a little bit. Maybe there was someone out there who understood.