The invigilator room was quiet.
The only sounds were the low hum of surveillance monitors and the soft clicking of keyboards as pro heroes kept an eye on the ongoing entrance exams. Bright light from the screens painted faint glows across tired faces. Midoriya Izuku sat slouching at the back of the room, hands resting in his lap. His eyes, red-rimmed from too many sleepless nights, stared blankly at a monitor.
Within moments, his eyes shut. And he drifted in his sleep.
Soft wind brushed against his cheeks. The sky above was impossibly blue, clear, and vast, stretching over miles of untouched grassland. Iceland, maybe. He didn't know, but it didn't matter. The warmth of the sun, his wife's gentle laughter, and the small bundle in her arms made the world feel perfect.
No alarms. No screaming. Only peace.
They were sitting on a soft woolen blanket, surrounded by hills under an open sky. Ochaco giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear."You're spacing out again, hero."
Deku smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Sorry... I just can't believe this is real." He looked down at the swaddled baby in her arms.
The child's face was unclear, like a dream half-remembered, but the feeling in Deku's chest was unmistakable.
Love.
Relief.
"I love you, Ochaco," he whispered, resting his hand softly on the baby's chest. "I don't know what I did to deserve this... but thank you. For everything."
She leaned into him, her eyes glimmering. "We made it, Izuku. We're okay now."
For the briefest millisecond, the blue sky bled into a blood-red hue.
He chuckled and gently reached out, laying his fingers across the baby's chest, feeling the tiny rise and fall of breath. "Still… I don't know how I got this lucky."
Deku didn't notice.
But something had changed.
Grip.
"Izuku..." came a whisper, vile and rasping, right behind him.
Something touched his shoulder. It was cold. Decayed. Foul.
A rotting hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"You don't deserve it, hero."
His body reacted instantly. Deku snatched Ochaco with one arm and cradled the baby tighter with the other, spinning around defensively. The figure before him was twisted skin flaking, hollow eyes sunken into a face that didn't match anyone he recognized.
"You don't deserve happiness," the corpse hissed.
"Ochaco—" he choked out, only to freeze.
She wasn't there.
In his grasp was a severed, decomposed arm. The fingers were curled, as if reaching out in pain.
His breathing turned erratic. He let go of the arm, stumbling back. The sky turned crimson. The flowers died. The grass wilted beneath his boots. The fresh breeze rotted into the stench of decay.
"The baby...!" His eyes darted to his other arm, but it was empty.
The child was gone.
"You're not wearing that smile very well," the corpse muttered.
Red light bled from its eyes, eyes Deku did recognize now.
"What... what's happening?" Deku looked down.
"The baby!" he shouted. "Where is—?!"
He spun wildly, searching the red-stained landscape. But there was nothing. No baby. No wife. No life.
Only death.
And the corpse?
Its eyes began to glow a hateful red.
"The costume doesn't suit you well enough," it growled.
"What…?"
Midoriya looked down. His civilian clothes were gone.
He was dressed in the tattered, blood-streaked uniform from the final war, the old green suit, ripped and soot-covered. The mask hung limply from his neck, burned at the edges. The weight of those days slammed into him like a train.
And then came the screams.
Thousands of them.
Every direction.
Cries for help.
Children sobbing.
Families pleading, "Take the kids, please—just save the kids!"
A child sobbing over their dead mother.
A man begging for someone to save his crushed legs.
A mother screaming for her baby, lost in the rubble.
Bodies littered the fields. Burned. Crushed. Skewered.
People clawed at each other in panic. Some mutilated themselves, desperate to stop the rot spreading on their skin. Others just gave up, slumping beside loved ones who would never wake up again.
Heteromorphs screamed as they were dragged by mobs. Accused of being monsters. Left bleeding in the streets.
Deku's knees buckled.
"No... this isn't real..." he whispered, but the smell, blood, smoke, rot, it all felt too real.
"You remember this, don't you?" the corpse asked, its face slowly shifting, reforming.
The strands of disheveled hair. The decaying skin. The cracked, eerie smile.
"Shigaraki," Deku breathed, eyes wide.
"You tried so hard." Shigaraki's voice was almost gentle. "But in the end... did you save everyone, hero?"
Midoriya's throat tightened. Words refused to come. Memories surged like waves, faces he couldn't save, cries that still echoed in his ears, Bakugou's motionless body..
Boom.
A single clap broke the air.
Then a voice. Deep. Cold. Ageless.
"I thought I told you..."
Deku froze.
The air turned suffocating. His body trembled, not from fear, but pure, primal dread.
"Next..." the voice echoed.
The pressure crushed him.
"It's your turn... Midoriya."
Deku spun.
"All For One!"
He jolted awake, gasping.
Sweat trickled down his temple. His hands were shaking, knuckles white from gripping the armrest. The invigilator room came into focus, the monitors, the lights, the worried eyes staring back at him.
"Hey, Mido-bro... you okay?" Kaminari's voice was soft, unsure. Concern painted his face.
"What...?" Midoriya blinked, struggling to breathe evenly. His chest heaved, as though the nightmare hadn't let go yet.
Aizawa stood in the corner, arms crossed, staring at him with a rare frown.
Midoriya rubbed his face, forcing a small smile. "Yeah... I—um—I'm fine."
Kaminari didn't look convinced, but he glanced at the screen. "The test's about to start."
Midoriya nodded absently, still catching his breath. "Right. The test."
He stood, his legs unsteady, and made his way toward the water dispenser.
Behind him, Kaminari shot Aizawa a worried glance. The veteran hero nodded slightly, his expression unreadable.
They would talk later.
But for now, Midoriya stood in silence, letting the cold water soothe his shaking hands, trying, and failing, to forget the screams that still echoed in the back of his mind.