The world outside was unnaturally still, a quiet enforced by certain government bodies swift action to stifle the chaos rippling through the city. Most television stations had been banned from discussing the games orchestrated by Daigo Kiyoshi.
The residents of Hosu that had not been taken to this game world were finally allowed to return to their homes with the promise of no threat coming to them. Although many were reluctant and many were too young to be trusted to survive on their own with their parents nowhere to be found.
Buildings that once showcased recent events, new up and coming heroes or even important announcements, were now gone. Leaving behind static filled screens that added to the eerie atmosphere of uncertainty. Even online platforms were under heavy surveillance and would receive fines of an untold amount.
The whispers of the death game only existed in many encrypted forums.
Endeavour stood in the purple haze of the poorly lit rundown bar, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over the room. The bar reeked of stale beer and perspiration, it's floors sticky with dirt and liquor. Several men and women were restrained, their wrists bound in cuffs.
A laptop lay open on the counter, it's screen glowing with a betting pool for the games. Names scrolled by, heroes, villains and civilians alike, some marked with gruesome odds and predictions.
He stared at the detainees, his face marked with controlled fury. These were the people exploiting the suffering of those trapped in the game, turning their pain into profit. Endeavour's fists clenched at his sides, the flames licking his skin burning hotter with every passing moment.
'How had it come to this?' He'd spent his life locking away monsters, people like Abyss, ensuring that they would never come to harm a single soul again. But now they roamed freely, their predatory instincts unleashed upon the vulnerable. He thought of Abyss—the water demon who left a trail of bodies for Endeavour to hunt him down by. Seeing Abyss on the live broadcasts on the first day killing a child with absolutely zero remorse it left a stinging pain with the number two hero.
And then seeing him clash against a boy that looked no older than his son was surreal. Once he got a good glimpse of him he learned the boy's name was Kobe Arakawa, another figure who was plastered over a lot of the media recently.
Soryu, or Kobe Arakawa as the private hero network had named him, was a puzzle Endeavour couldn't quite piece together. The boy is undeniably skilled, wielding his quirk with a precision and creativity that reminded him of hawks and himself in a way.
But the boy's later confrontation with Overhaul, that lingered in his mind. It wasn't the first kill that was on the broadcast. The way the kid had fought, his movements calculated and brutal, making sure to avoid the grip of the dangerous quirk he was going up against. Then the final decisive blow, killing Overhaul.
Endeavour didn't fault the boy for it, he doubted many would. In that moment, it had been the best choice. Overhaul was a monster that couldn't be reasoned with. But watching that act of finality, Endeavour felt a gnawing unease. The games would start warping everyone's morality, forcing people, heroes, students and maybe even civilians alike, to accept killing as a necessity.
If this continued, it wouldn't just be the villains who were irreparably changed. The thought of his son, Shoto, being forced into such decisions made Endeavour's chest tighten in a way he couldn't explain.
'Shoto.'
Endeavour knew he hadn't been the father that Shoto needed. He pushed him with the weight of ambition, his own goal. He couldn't take that back now, and if worse comes to worse, he'll never even get the chance to.
But this game, it's not just some physical test, they were an assault on the very essence of what it meant to be human.
Endeavour's flames flared brightly as his thoughts spiraled. He couldn't let Shoto lose himself in that place. His son was stronger than that—stronger than him. Shoto had the chance to be the hero that Endeavour failed to become in every way possible. A symbol of unyielding resolve instead of ruthless ambition.
Taking a deep breath, Endeavour's flames extinguished, his expression hardening with resolve. He turned to the officers flanking him, their faces tense. "Take them in," he said in a low commanding voice.
As the officer's moved to comply, Endeavour stepped outside, the cool night air doing little to soothe the fire raging within. He looked up at the darkened skyline, his jaw set. He couldn't reach Shoto, couldn't protect him the way he wanted. But he could still fight for him, for all of them, in whatever way he could.
The world was quiet, but Endeavour's resolve only burned brighter. He would ensure that when this was over, there would still be something worth fighting for.
___
The midday sun bore on the schoolyard, casting sharp shadows on the ground where a young Izuku Midoriya stood surrounded. His arms stung, crimson welts already forming where the heat of Bakugou's explosion kissed his skin. The tears in his eyes blurred the sight of his tormentor—a snarling, confident Bakugou who towered over him with his usual entourage flanking him.
"Why're you crying Deku?" Bakugou taunted, his voice a jeering snarl. "Think you can start ratting on everything I do to my ma!"
Midoriya sniffled, clutching his burned arms close to his chest, but Bakugou wasn't finished. He grabbed both of those arms, his grip was firm and unrelenting, and he forced them towards Midoriya's face.
"Why're you hitting yourself?" Bakugou jeered, slapping Midoriya's cheeks with his own hands. The impact stung less than the humiliation, but the mocking laughter of Bakugou's lackey's felt like an avalanche burying him in shame.
Midoriya's bag lay discarded nearby, it's contents unceremoniously dumped out. One of Bakugou's friends picked it up a tattered notebook labeled Hero Analysis for the Future: Volume 4. He flipped through the pages, pausing when he noticed the detailed notes on Bakugou's quirk—diagrams, estimates of his explosive power, and even theories to improve it.
"Oi Bakugou, this whole things about you!" the lackey called out, waving the book like a trophy.
Bakugou's face darkened, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he snatched the book away. "What the hell is this nerd? This what all your shitty mumbling is about? 'Hero analysis for the future..." Bakugou continued jeering, his quick burst in anger squashed by his lust to hurt, "... when will you get it you quirkless retard. You'll never be a hero."
The insults came rapid-fire, each word a dagger. Finally, Bakugou tossed the book into the trash bin nearby. "Keep dreaming Deku," he spat before walking away, his gang trailing after him like hyena's.
Midoriya stood frozen, his breaths shallow. His knees trembled as he bent to collect his scattered belongings, the sting of humiliation burning brighter than the welts on his arms. He reached the trash bin, toppled over, staring at his ruined notebook, now stained with leftover juice and bits of paper.
"Pathetic."
The voice startled him. He turned to see a boy leaning casually against the wall of the school. His light brown eyes seemed to glow in the sunlight, piercing Midoriya with an intensity that felt heavier than Bakugou's explosions.
It was Kobe. He wasn't part of Bakugou's group, nor did he speak much to anyone, not after his father left. His presence carried weight.
Kobe's gaze flickered down to the trash bin, and somehow, without moving a muscle, he made Midoriya feel even smaller. "How long are you going to let them walk all over you."
Midoriya flinched. The words weren't spoken cruelly, but they cut deep. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.
Kobe stepped forward, pulling the notebook out of the trash with a casual motion. "If this is your dream," he said, holding the now soggy book out to Midoriya, "Don't let other's stomp all over it."
For a moment, Midoriya just stared at him. Then he took the notebook with trembling hands. When he looked up again, Kobe was already walking away, his silhouette disappearing with the afternoon glare.
The memory faded, and Midoriya blinked, his focus returning to the present. The grey tone's of the villain's fabricated Hosu hummed around him. But his mind was strangely on the past.
Back then he had been weak and powerless. A doormat for others to wipe their boots on. But not anymore. Life had taken him far from those moments of despair. His mother had worked tirelessly to move them to Tokyo when he was twelve, leaving the shadow of his old life behind.
He met All Might, the symbol of peace, his favourite hero and he inherited his quirk that now surged through his veins.
But he couldn't stop the twirling of thoughts in his head. Kacchan... Kobe... Names from his past lingered like ghosts, reminders of who he was and what he wanted to be. His relationship with Bakugou had become complicated, a mixture of resentment and reluctant respect. As for Kobe, it was basically non existent.
Midoriya shook his head. Kobe was here, in this nightmare of a game. Their path's diverged so completely, and yet, here they were, forced together by a twisted design.
Not only him, but his classmates. He had met Uraraka. He had found her when he and Iida were still searching for Todoroki, eventually they found him as well with some people from Class B. They were with the Pro hero Crust, Midoriya held himself back from acting like a fan.
Determination lay in his heart. He has All Might's power, he has to be stronger now. Not for himself, but for everyone caught in this chaos. He'd save people, like All Might.
"Midoriya." He heard the gentle call from Todoroki who had snook up to his side.
The group were in a Libarary, dusty bookshelves that stood silent, it was an odd serenity in the context they were in.
The number 6 hero Crust stood at the forefront, his shield like arms crossed as he scanned the room with a sharp gaze.
Midoriya went to sit down beside Uraraka who was nervously fiddling with loose thread on her sleeves. Todoroki leaned against a pillar, his expression stoic as ever, while the two class B students whispered to each other. Iida, he was sat closest to Crust and was attentively watching the entrance to the library.
Crust broke the silence, his tone was heavy and baritone, it commanded attention. "We've all seen what's out there. It's surreal honestly. But you guys have been taking it well so far."
He looked around at the group one more time, a more noticeable stutter in his speech. "We didn't choose this, but as heroes we have no choice but to face it now. Each of you has something the world needs right now. Courage, determination, the ability to protect other's even when it's hard. that's what makes a hero."
Midoriya's eyes lit up with a mix of awe and resolve. Crusts words ignited something in him, reminding him of the very reason he'd taken the first step on his journey to becoming a hero.
"For those who have passed on in this moment," his voice was softening, "we can't let their sacrifices be in vain. We stand together, but not just for ourselves, for everyone trapped in this nightmare. For every civilian looking to us for hope. For every teammate we've yet to find."
Tetsutetsu clenched his fists. "Damn right, we do! We're not going out without a fight."
Tokage smirked, "Big words ironhead. Just make sure you don't get too ahead of yourself."
Uraraka spoke up, her voice trembling but firm. "We can do this. I know we can. If we stick together, there's nothing we can't handle."
Crust nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit." Tears were starting to flow from him.
Midoriya rose to his feet, his determination spilling over. "All Might always says its a heroes job to save people with a smile. I don't know how much I can smile right now, but I know I can at least save people. And I'm not stopping until everyone's safe."
Crust placed a hand on Midoriya's shoulder, his expression proud. "Then lets make sure every step we take brings us closer to that goal."
'Yes.' Midoriya thought. 'We can do this. I can do this.'
____
The room smelled of disinfectant. White walls. White floors. White lights. A sanitized prison disguised as a laboratory. They called it the Eden Project, we were children meant for more. Children of hope, that is what they called us.
We didn't have names in Eden. We had no need for them. That was the first thing they took. We were subjects, numbers, variables in a grand experiment designed to push the limit's of humanity's potential.
So we whispered. It started small and unnoticeable. A quiet rebellion against the erasure of who we once were. Someone, a boy older than most of us, had whispered his name to another during a practically gruelling physical endurance test. It spread like wildfire.
At night, when the staff thought we were too exhausted to think, which most of us were, we'd huddle together in the absence of any light. That's when the games would start. Whispering our names, passing them between one another like secret treasures. And we remembered. It was a way to remind ourselves that we existed.
"I'm Riku," the boy would say, "Who are you?"
We'd whisper back. And for that brief and dark moment, we weren't experiments. We were just kids clinging to identity in a place meant to take that away.
But that end came brutally and swiftly.
One day, Riku didn't return from morning evaluation. Instead we were all herded into the cafeteria, a sterile, joyless place where the food was as flavourless as the air we breathed. The staff stood at the front, faces hidden but voices sharp.
"We've discovered unauthorized communication among the subjects." one of them announced, their voice lacked any emotion. "This behaviour undermines the integrity of the project and will not be tolerated."
Two guards dragged Riku into the room. He was barely recognizable. His face was swollen, one eye completely shut, his lips cracked and bleeding. His body limp, dragged across the floor like a trash bag.
They threw him onto the floor before us. A staff member crouched down onto the floor before us, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is what happens to those who defy the rules."
Riku had no parents, they said. No one to miss him. We watched as they ended him. Quick, methodical and efficient. Riku's screams echoed in my ears, haunting, primal and then... silence. They dragged his body away.
"Every creation is only as strong as it's foundation."
Next was just as bad. They turned on us, each of us subjected to punishments just as bad as the next. The whisper game stopped. Everything stopped. And all we had to do from then on was survive.
I sat in my bunk that night, staring at the wall. I felt empty. Hollow. A deep gnawing loss I couldn't shake. I felt anger, and I felt shame.
Now, in the present, I stared at hands. They were still stained in red in my mind, Overhaul's blood vivid against my skin. The memory of his lifeless body flashed before me, his damp trousers, his wiggling, his fear.
It was deserved.
But the faces I got, maybe in my mind now they were worse. But the recoil and their widened eyes. What should I have expected.
It shouldn't have even mattered. No. It doesn't matter.