Chapter Text
Walking down the halls of U.A. for what would be one of her last times as a student, Momo Yaoyorozu made her way toward the principal’s office to receive her assignment.
U.A. had recently added a new post-graduation requirement. It was a significant change—one made out of duty and love for the country. From now on, every graduate from both Class 1-A and 1-B would be sent to lesser-known parts of Japan—remote towns, forgotten cities, and regions that didn’t make headlines but still struggled. Areas where pro heroes were rare, not because there weren’t problems, but because the spotlight never reached them. There was no glory, no media coverage, no sponsorships—just people in need.
Each graduate would be sent in pairs, tasked with supporting and protecting the area they were assigned to. They would learn by doing, grow through service, and experience challenges as unique as the communities they were sent to. No two locations would be the same.
Stopping in front of the door, Momo paused, her mind swirling with possibilities. She had seen rumor lists floating around—speculative guesses at where people might go—but the final decisions were kept tightly under wraps. She understood why. If the assignments were public, students might try to swap destinations, lobby for certain placements, or worse—undermine the fairness of the process.
Just as she reached for the handle, the door suddenly swung open. Bakugo brushed past her with his hands jammed in his pockets, his expression as stormy as ever. He didn’t even glance at her.
Typical.
Wherever he was assigned clearly hadn’t thrilled him—but then again, was there any place that would?
Momo stepped into the office. Inside were three people seated at a table: Nezu at the center, with All Might on one side and Aizawa on the other. A paper lay in front of them, along with a stack of folders—likely one for each student.
She glanced at the stack. It was smaller than she expected—she definitely wasn’t the first one to be called in.
Silently, she found a seat and folded her legs neatly as she sat down, hands clasped together in her lap. Her fingers fidgeted despite herself, betraying the nervous energy building in her chest. She tried to steady her breath.
Whatever was coming, she hoped she was ready.
And maybe—just maybe—it would be somewhere good.
“Welcome,” Nezu said, his voice warm but edged with sharp precision as his bright eyes studied her.
“I’ll handle this,” Aizawa said, glancing sideways at the paper in front of him, though it was clear he already knew what it said. His voice was steady, no-nonsense as always. “Konpeki. A small fishing village on the southern coast—quiet, isolated, under-resourced. You’ll be stationed there for three months.”
He folded his arms, his gaze settling firmly on her.
“You’re there to assist with the problems the village is facing and support the local organizations. It’s not wealthy. Don’t expect spotlight work, and I doubt you’ll be fighting villains. But remember—heroism isn’t always about taking down threats. Sometimes, it’s about showing up where no one else does.”
Momo gave a small nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Aizawa’s tone wasn’t critical, but it carried an undercurrent of expectation. This wouldn’t be a flashy mission—but it would matter.
“Toshinori-san,” Aizawa said, his eyes flicking over to the former Symbol of Peace. “Your turn.”
“Yes,” All Might said, smiling gently as he adjusted his tie. “Lovely Yaoyorozu-san, I have your pairing.”
Momo straightened slightly.
“Your partner for this assignment,” he announced, “will be Midoriya-kun.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Midoriya-san?”
She hesitated for a beat, then added softly, “He… hasn’t been at school much lately. Are you certain he’s still pursuing hero work?”
There was no judgment in her tone—just a note of concern, shaded with quiet sympathy. She hadn’t forgotten what he’d gone through—gaining incredible power, then losing it, all while surrounded by classmates with powerful quirks. That kind of loss… it could’ve shaken anyone’s path.
“That’s correct, Yaoyorozu-san,” All Might said, nodding seriously. “Midoriya-kun left for Naruhata recently. He mentioned seeking out someone to train him—a former hero, someone who knew how to fight without relying on quirks. I believe the man’s name was Oguro Iwao.”
He paused thoughtfully before continuing.
“A former vigilante. From what I gathered, he was impressed with Midoriya’s determination. And knowing him… he’ll be there. You can count on that.”
Momo looked down, processing. She hadn’t seen Izuku in weeks—not since graduation, really. But she remembered the way he always stood back up, no matter how hard he was knocked down. If he said he’d be there… he would be.
“I leave in a week, right?” she asked, rising from her seat, smoothing down her skirt.
“Yes,” Aizawa confirmed.
She gave a polite bow. “Thank you. I’ll be ready.”
As she turned to go, her nerves still fluttered—but they were no longer heavy. She wasn’t sure what waited for her on the coast… or what it would be like to work with Izuku again after everything. But a small flicker of something stirred in her chest.
Maybe this would be the start of something meaningful.
The next day, seated comfortably at her desk with a warm cup of tea cooling beside her, Momo opened her laptop. Her fingers hovered briefly over the keys before she began typing: Iwao Oguro.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what All Might had said. A former vigilante? Not exactly the sort of mentor U.A. usually endorsed. And yet… All Might, Nezu, even Aizawa had seemed perfectly at ease with it. That, in itself, spoke volumes.
If Izuku had gone to this man, then he had done his research.
And if he could find information—so could she.
Momo’s eyes narrowed slightly as she scrolled through the search results, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. It wasn’t about prying—it was about understanding. If she was going to work with Izuku again, she wanted to be prepared. It had been a while since they’d really talked, and even longer since she’d seen him in action. A lot could change in that time.
She clicked open the first article and leaned forward, absorbing every word.
Who was Iwao Oguro?
And what had Izuku learned from him?
The search didn’t take long—at least, not the surface-level results.
Iwao Oguro. The name was buried under years of digital dust, tucked between half-archived news clippings and sparse forum posts. Hero Registry entries listed him under a former alias: O’Clock—a pro hero once known for incredible speed, so fast it blurred the line between movement and teleportation.
She skimmed the bio. Originally based in Naruhata. Active in his twenties. Clean record. Known for precise strikes and crowd control. Then... a gap. One that stretched across years like a missing bridge in his timeline.
The quirk—O’Clock—was gone. Stolen, the registry noted cryptically, with no further detail. No official update. No final interview. Just a note: “Inactive – presumed retired.”
But the trail didn’t end there.
A handful of old forums—ones no hero agency would bother scrubbing—told the next part of the story. Some called him Knuckleduster. A vigilante. Operated without a license. No quirk. No mercy for drug dealers or street gangs. Most posts read like urban legend: a man who picked fights with underground dealers in Naruhata alleys, beat them senseless, and vanished into the night. There were no smiling selfies or agency PR clips—only shaky phone videos and grainy screenshots.
One headline caught her attention: “Mysterious Vigilante Linked to Illegal Trigger Ring Takedown”. Trigger. That name hadn’t popped up in a while. Most of the incidents were hushed up by the time she entered U.A., but she remembered enough from Hero Law lectures to know it was serious.
He'd fought a drug ring, injured half a dozen thugs, and left them zip-tied to lampposts for local police. All off the record.
The public comments under the article were divided:
“Just a thug in a mask. Should’ve been arrested.”
“Did what real heroes were afraid to.”
“This guy saved my cousin when her alley was swarmed. Cops never showed. He did.”
Her brows furrowed. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Izuku hadn’t just found an old pro—he’d gone to someone who had operated outside the law, someone controversial, someone angry.
And someone effective.
Momo leaned back in her chair, fingertips tapping lightly on the trackpad. The screen glowed with articles and comment threads, none of them recent, none of them sanitized.
This was who Izuku had chosen to learn from.
Whatever Midoriya had been through—whatever he was trying to become—it wouldn’t be the same boy she’d known in Class 1-A. She was preparing to work alongside someone who had sought out a man like this.
And maybe... that meant he wasn’t trying to get back what he lost.
Maybe he was learning how to live without it.
The next morning, Momo was up early, her bags packed and neatly arranged by the door. One rolling suitcase, two smaller carry-ons. Hopefully, she had everything she’d need for the summer.
She’d been told she'd be living in a small house near the coast. Private rooms and baths, but a shared kitchen and common space—with Izuku Midoriya.
Sliding her luggage into the trunk of the taxi, she paused for a moment before climbing in. The setup wasn’t all that different from her time in the U.A. dorms—only this time, there would be just the two of them. That changed things in ways she couldn’t quite predict.
Her thoughts wandered as the taxi pulled away. She tried not to fidget, but the quiet hum of the road gave her space to think—maybe too much. Three years at U.A., and she found herself replaying every interaction she could recall with Midoriya. There were more than she remembered… but fewer than she’d expected. Kind moments, team missions, study sessions. Nothing unpleasant, but not particularly personal either. Just two people walking parallel paths.
Outside the window, the scenery shifted slowly from concrete to green. The closer she got to the station, the more the city began to slip away.
She’d be taking the Shinkansen south, deep into countryside territory. Her destination: Konpeki, a quiet fishing village near the coast.
She hadn’t been able to find much online—just a few old fishing videos shot in the bay, a nearly-abandoned homepage, and a government-run utility payment portal. The rest was grainy photos of weathered buildings, rusted street signs, and docks that looked more wood than nail. A town of maybe a few thousand, tucked away like a forgotten chapter in a travel book.
Who had requested heroes for a place like that?
It wasn’t the kind of assignment that made the news. That thought lingered—subtle, but steady.
By the time they reached the station, Momo stepped out with a practiced motion, offering the driver a polite bow and a small, composed smile. She retrieved her luggage, checked the platform number, and made her way toward the boarding area.
The air carried the warmth of early summer. The kind of morning that hinted at possibility.
As she stood on the platform, waiting for her train, she allowed herself a brief moment to imagine what lay ahead. New town. New routine. A new version of Izuku—someone she hadn’t spoken to in weeks, maybe months, since he’d begun distancing himself from the others.
He’d already gone ahead, leaving a day before her. Probably settled in. Probably picked a room. That was fine—she wasn’t picky.
And it was such a lovely day to be traveling. With the sun casting soft shadows on the platform and the promise of countryside views waiting just beyond the city, there was something almost magical in the randomness of it all.
She smoothed her skirt, adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag, and let out a soft breath.
Soon, the sleek, silver train pulled into the station with a whispering roar, its polished body gleaming in the morning sun. Momo stepped forward as it slowed to a stop, the platform still beneath her feet—yet already, she felt herself somewhere else.
This was it. The last moment at home—for a while, at least.
Three months. In the span of a lifetime, it was barely a heartbeat. Just a brief detour, a blip on the radar. But standing there as the doors slid open, it didn’t feel small. It felt enormous. Heavy with possibility. Like a chapter opening she hadn’t yet read the title of.
She boarded quietly, weaving through the narrow aisle until she reached her assigned seat. The train would carry her through the southern countryside, past rice paddies, over quiet hills and through tunnels carved into the mountains. Places most people forgot about when they thought of Japan—so often pictured through skylines and neon.
She stowed her luggage—carry-ons tucked below, suitcase overhead—then eased into the wide, cushioned seat. It was comfortable, spacious, quiet.
Settling in, Momo rested her hands on her lap and turned to the window. The platform was already beginning to slip away from view. With a soft chime, the train gave a gentle lurch forward.
And then she was moving.
The city blurred behind her, and with it, the familiarity of routine.
A new place waited. A new rhythm. And a boy she hadn’t spoken to in far too long.
Whatever came next—she was ready to meet it.