Kirishima's world was a haze of pain and exhaustion. He barely registered the hands dragging him onto a stretcher, the frantic voices around him blending into an incomprehensible buzz. His body screamed in protest as every nerve seemed to throb in unison. His vision wavered, flickering between darkness and blurred lights overhead.
A part of him knew he should be relieved. The battle was over. They had survived. But the seed of doubt had already been planted, nestled deep in his chest like a splinter that refused to be ignored.
If All Might struggled that much… if he barely won… then what about the next time?
His throat felt dry as he was wheeled into Recovery Girl's office. The scent of antiseptic and sterilized linens filled the air, a stark contrast to the blood and destruction he had just escaped from.
His body tensed as soft, shuffling footsteps approached. Then, a small, familiar voice reached him.
"Ah, another reckless one. Honestly, you children give me more work than pro heroes these days."
Kirishima forced his eyes open and found himself staring into the kind yet exasperated gaze of Recovery Girl. The elderly healer pursed her lips as she inspected his wounds.
"You look like you picked a fight with a demolition crew." She sighed, shaking her head before leaning in. "This is going to take a lot of energy, so don't fight it."
Kirishima nodded weakly, feeling her lips press against his forehead. The warmth of her healing quirk flooded his body, dulling the pain, mending the fractured layers of his skin, knitting together what had nearly been torn apart. The relief was instantaneous, but his mind remained unsettled.
The images wouldn't leave him—All Might, gasping for breath. The Nomu standing back up despite being broken beyond recognition. Shigaraki's words, laced with pure, unfiltered hatred.
"You ruined everything."
Why did he sound so desperate? So... unstable? And worse—why had he looked at Kirishima like that?
His thoughts spiraled until a voice snapped him back to reality.
"Kirishima!"
He turned his head, sluggish but aware enough to recognize Midoriya rushing toward him, eyes wide with worry. Bandages wrapped around his arms, remnants of the battle still fresh on his face.
"You're awake!" Midoriya nearly tripped over himself, stopping just short of his bed. "I—Are you okay? That was… That was insane! I saw what you did, you actually held off the Nomu! That was incredible!"
Kirishima let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. "I dunno if 'incredible' is the word, dude. I barely made it out alive."
Midoriya's excitement dimmed slightly, his brows furrowing. "But you did it. If you hadn't stepped in, we might not have lasted until All Might got there."
Kirishima opened his mouth to respond—but hesitated.
What was he supposed to say? That he felt useless? That he felt small?
That even after everything, even after fighting with everything he had, it hadn't been enough?
His fingers curled into the sheets. "Yeah… I guess so."
Midoriya studied him for a moment, eyes sharp despite his usual anxious energy. "Kirishima… what's wrong?"
He almost laughed. What wasn't wrong?
Instead, he exhaled through his nose. "I just… I thought heroes were supposed to make people feel safe." His voice was quieter now, laced with uncertainty. "But I wasn't safe. None of us were. Even with all the pro heroes, all the training, all the preparation—we still barely made it out alive."
Midoriya's expression shifted, something understanding settling behind his gaze. "I know what you mean." He sat down beside the bed. "All Might is the strongest hero. He's the Symbol of Peace. But even he…"
He trailed off. He didn't need to finish the sentence. The image was burned into both of their minds. All Might, panting, bleeding, straining to stand.
Kirishima swallowed. "What happens if one day, he's not enough?"
Midoriya didn't have an answer.
A long silence stretched between them before a new presence entered the room.
Aizawa.
Bandages covered nearly every inch of his body, his usual exhausted glare somehow even more intense. He stepped forward, his sharp gaze locking onto Kirishima.
"You held your own out there." His voice was raspy, tired. But there was something in it that almost sounded like approval. "You kept fighting even when the odds were against you."
Kirishima sat up slightly. "Yeah, and what did it get me?" His voice had more bite than he intended, but he couldn't stop the frustration bubbling up. "I got lucky. If All Might hadn't shown up when he did—if Snipe hadn't fired that shot—I'd be dead."
Aizawa didn't blink. "That's the reality of being a hero."
Kirishima felt his teeth grind together. "Then how the hell are we supposed to win? If even All Might struggles, then what's stopping another villain from showing up tomorrow, just as strong—or worse?"
Aizawa exhaled through his nose. He stepped closer, his presence looming but not overbearing. "That's the difference between being a student and being a pro." His voice was level, but there was something colder beneath it. "You're starting to understand what it really means to stand on the front lines."
Kirishima's hands clenched. "Then maybe the 'front lines' need to be stronger."
Aizawa regarded him for a long moment before speaking. "If that's what you believe, then prove it." He turned, making his way toward the door. "Get stronger, Kirishima. Because next time, there might not be anyone left to save you."
The door shut behind him, leaving the room in silence.
Midoriya shifted uncomfortably. "Kirishima…"
But Kirishima wasn't listening anymore. His mind was already racing, replaying the battle over and over, focusing on every moment where he had been too weak. Too slow. Too helpless.
He didn't want to feel that way again.
He refused to feel that way again.
His grip tightened. His hardened skin flickered over his knuckles before fading.
Stronger.
He didn't just need to train. He didn't just need to improve.
He needed to change.
As Midoriya continued speaking, Kirishima barely heard him. His heart pounded with a new resolve, drowning out everything else.
The doubt was still there, gnawing at the edges of his mind. But alongside it, something else was beginning to bloom.
Something sharp.
Something unshakable.
Determination.