The morning after the USJ attack, I woke up feeling as if my entire body had been run over by a truck, then reassembled with glue and tape. Every muscle, every joint, screamed in protest as I forced myself to sit up in bed. The sharp, burning pain from Incursio's manifestation had subsided, leaving a deep, dull ache that seeped into my very bones. I looked at my arm; the faint, web-like scars beneath my skin were slightly more pronounced than before, a permanent map of the power that had torn its way out.
The atmosphere in our apartment that morning was heavy. The usual welcoming aroma of coffee was absent, replaced by a tense silence. As I walked out of my room, I found both my parents already sitting at the dining table, waiting for me. Their faces showed the exhaustion of a sleepless night. This was the conversation I knew had to happen.
"Good morning," I greeted them softly.
"Tacchan," my mother said, her voice trembling slightly. She got up and placed a bowl of warm miso soup in front of me, her own hands shaking a little. "We saw the news last night... and this morning. We saw… that building… the villains." Her eyes welled up. "We thought we were going to lose you."
My father, usually so calm, looked at me with an intensity I rarely saw. "Son," he said, his voice hoarse. "We are proud of you. More than words can say. You protected your friend. You survived. But that power of yours... your Quirk... it hurts you, doesn't it? We could see it on your face when you came home yesterday."
I couldn't lie to them. Not completely. They deserved more than that. I swallowed, the warmth of the soup spreading through my stomach. "Yes," I admitted. "My Quirk... it's very powerful. Maybe more than I realized. But it comes at a high price. It uses an immense amount of my stamina and energy, and the manifestation process… it's painful. I can't fully control it yet."
I explained it to them as best I could, without revealing anything about my reincarnation or Incursio's true origins. I described it as a rare and unstable transformation and reinforcement-type Quirk, one that only activated under extreme duress as a self-defense mechanism.
My mother cried silently, and my father reached out to put an arm around her. "So," my father said, looking at me again. "Every time you use that power that saved you, you have to endure immense pain?"
I just nodded.
He let out a long sigh, a sound filled with the weight of a father's burden. "Tatsumi, there is nothing we want more than to see you follow your dream. But not if it costs you yourself." He paused, searching for the right words. "Promise us. Promise us you'll be careful. Promise us you'll learn to control it, not let it control you."
I looked into their eyes—eyes filled with genuine love and fear for me. My resolve, already hardened into steel, was now further forged. "I promise," I said, my voice steady and full of conviction. "I will become strong enough that you'll never have to worry again. I will master this power. Whatever it takes."
School was closed for two days while U.A. beefed up its security and the school board debated the next steps. I used that time for recovery and reflection. I felt restless, cooped up in the apartment. On the second day, I sent a message to Toru, and we agreed to meet at our usual park. Seeing her—or rather, seeing her floating set of clothes—run towards me felt like a breath of fresh air.
"Tatsumi-kun!" she called out cheerfully, though I could detect an undercurrent of worry in her voice. She handed me a warm bag of taiyaki. "You need to eat more! How are you supposed to activate a monster Quirk like that if you're skin and bones!"
I smiled, accepting the snack. "I'm not skin and bones," I retorted. "This is... an efficient combat form."
"That's another name for 'forgot to eat lunch'," she shot back, which made me laugh. Our lighthearted banter, our little jokes, felt like an anchor to reality, pulling me away from the dark memories of the USJ.
We sat on a bench, enjoying our taiyaki in comfortable silence for a moment. "So," she said finally. "That power of yours… have you figured out any more about it?"
I shook my head. "Not really. I still can't call on it at will. It feels like there's a locked door in my mind, and I can only open it by ramming my head into it over and over. That's not a great long-term strategy."
"So what are you going to do?" she asked, her invisible head tilted in curiosity.
"I'm going to change my approach," I said, looking at my own hands. "All this time I've been trying to break the door down. Maybe… maybe I should try knocking on it politely first. Maybe I need to try talking to whatever's on the other side." I told her about my new plan: to focus on mental training, meditation, and trying to build a bridge of communication with the "dragon" inside me. I had to treat it as an entity, not as a tool. Toru listened intently, and even though it sounded strange, she didn't laugh. "That sounds tough," she said. "But if anyone can do it, it's you. If you need someone to just sit there quietly with you so you don't feel weird, just call me!"
Her unconditional support made me feel lighter. Back home, I checked my phone. There were dozens of messages in the newly created Class 1-A group chat. Most of them were silly memes about the incident, jokes about Aizawa-sensei looking like a mummy, and other light chatter. It was their way of coping, a teenager's way of normalizing the horror they had just experienced. Then, I saw a private message. From Momo.
Subject: USJ Incident Follow-upMessage: Tatsumi-san, I hope your recovery is going well. I have been re-analyzing our combat performance. The synergy between your tactical abilities and my creation abilities proved to be highly effective. However, your reliance on a trigger of mortal danger for Quirk activation constitutes a significant strategic weakness. If you are amenable, I would be willing to help formulate a training regimen or discuss theories to overcome this issue. Sincerely, Yaoyorozu Momo.
I smiled at her message. So formal, so analytical, so Momo. She didn't ask if I was okay; she immediately identified the problem and offered a solution. I quickly typed a reply, thanking her for the offer and agreeing to discuss it further when school was back in session. Our partnership, born on the battlefield, was apparently going to continue.
When school reopened, the atmosphere in Class 1-A was different. The air was charged with a new sobriety. We weren't just a bunch of talented kids anymore. We were survivors. We had shared a traumatic experience that bonded us in a way no normal training ever could.
Aizawa-sensei entered the class, still wrapped in bandages from head to toe. He looked more like a reanimated mummy than a teacher. "Morning," he said in a muffled voice.
"AIZAWA-SENSEI, YOU'RE BACK ALREADY?!" the entire class shouted, shocked to see him back at work.
"My well-being is irrelevant," he said, walking to the podium. "What's more important is that your fight isn't over."
The whole class held its breath. What did he mean? Was there another attack?
"The U.A. Sports Festival is about to start."
His statement was met with confusion. "Sensei!" Kirishima called out. "Is it really okay to hold a huge festival right after we were attacked by villains?"
"That's precisely the point," Aizawa replied. "This is U.A.'s way of showing that we are not deterred. That our security systems are robust and yesterday's incident was just an anomaly. This is one of the most-watched events in the entire world. For you, it's your single greatest chance to show yourselves to the pro heroes and agencies across the country. Your internships and futures could be decided by your performance here. Don't waste this opportunity because of one little incident."
The energy in the room shifted instantly. Fear and doubt were replaced by a burning, competitive fire. Everyone started talking excitedly, declaring that they would give it their all. Uraraka was fiercely determined. Iida looked mentally prepared. Bakugo looked like a volcano about to erupt.
In the midst of the noise, I could only sit in silence. My stomach twisted into knots. The Sports Festival. A global stage where students showed off their incredible Quirks in a series of games designed for entertainment. It was my worst nightmare right now. How could I possibly compete? How could I defend my number-one rank when my real weapon refused to come out unless I was on the brink of death? All eyes would be on me, expecting a spectacular performance.
I looked down at my hands. All this time, I had been focused on how to survive. Now, the challenge was different. I didn't just have to survive; I had to win. I had to prove that I deserved to be here, even without the dragon inside me. The USJ was a test of strength and courage. The Sports Festival... this would be a test of my intellect, my strategy, and my ability to overcome seemingly impossible odds. The pressure I felt was heavier than ever before. And I knew, I had no choice but to face it head-on.