The autumn sky was high and clear. Above the National Takoba Stadium, drones circled in formation while massive screens lit up one after another with the words “MIRKO OFFICIAL RETURN CEREMONY.”
Yet beneath the cheers, something older stirred—the weight of everything they’d lost. This wasn’t just a festival. It was a reckoning, a heartbeat of an age trying to rise again. Deku had once been their symbol. Now, another was returning. No one said it aloud, but everyone knew—this was the moment the Hero Era began to breathe again.
Onstage, the enormous screen flashed the words “RABBIT HERO MIRKO — LIVE.”
Before the ceremony began, the upper tier of the stadium—reserved for pro heroes—was steadily filling with giants of the industry. At the center sat the Big Three of U.A., standing side by side once again.
“Wow—look at this crowd! So many foreigners! The flags even have English, French, and Japanese all mixed together!” Nejire leaned forward, her blue hair catching the stage lights.
Beside her, Mirio smiled—his familiar, easy grin in place. “Can you blame them? After All For One fell, Mirko went around the world taking down the remnants of his army. That’s when people started calling her Bunny the Weapon
“Totally! I saw her photo from the New York Hero Expo—she looked amazing!” Nejire’s eyes glittered like glass under the floodlights.
Tamaki hunched his shoulders slightly. “To think… that same Mirko’s coming back as the Rabbit Hero again. Everyone must’ve been waiting for this.”
Tens of thousands of faces, flags, and camera flashes turned toward the same point. “With this many people… it’s kind of overwhelming.”
Mirio laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Relax, Tamaki. We’ve been on big stages before. This’ll be easier than our debut day.”
“That’s what you think,” Tamaki muttered, half turning away.
Nejire smiled at the sight. “When Mirko walks out, the nerves’ll disappear. The air itself changes around her.” The lights shimmered in her pupils. In that glow, Nejire’s eyes carried the look of someone waiting—once more—to share the same sky as an old comrade.
Right beside them sat Best Jeanist, Mount Lady, Ryukyu, and Wash in a neat row. As Jeanist straightened his tie, Mount Lady folded her arms and pouted.
“You’re the No.3 Hero and didn’t even give me a heads-up? That’s cold.”
“It was classified,” Jeanist replied evenly.
“Hmph, that again! You always say that. Was it really necessary to keep me in the dark?”
Ryukyu chuckled softly beside her. “If we told you, it wouldn’t have been classified anymore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I can keep a secret!” Mount Lady puffed out her cheeks, and Wash let out a bubbly “Pff-hoo—” that made the nearby rows laugh.
Jeanist adjusted his posture, voice calm but deliberate. “This ceremony isn’t just about Mirko as an individual. It represents something larger—the recovery of hero society itself.”
“Agreed,” Ryukyu said with a nod. “Since the war, we haven’t seen this many people gather just to witness a single hero.”
Mount Lady’s gaze drifted toward the stage. “It shows how much she’s loved—by the public and by us.” Her lips trembled faintly as she smiled.
Jeanist’s own smile softened. “Then let’s make today about celebration, not jealousy.”
“I was never jealous!” she shot back, crossing her arms again—and Wash’s foam burst into another soft “Pfu-fu—.” Laughter rippled through their section, loosening the formality that had hung in the air.
Below the hero VIP section sat a row of familiar U.A. graduates—Monoma, Kendo, Pony, Komori, Tokage, Ojiro, Shoji, Momo, and Kuroiro. The giant screen overhead kept ticking down the seconds. Arms crossed, Monoma glanced toward Class A’s seats with a smirk.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“See? Once again, Class B shows up in greater numbers. Loyalty runs in our class, I tell you! Hahahahahaha!”
Kendo sighed. “It’s been years since graduation and you’re still on about that?”
Ojiro gave her a look that said, . “If we’re keeping score, your class isn’t complete either. Shiozaki couldn’t make it—she’s on joint duty with Kamui Woods.”
“That’s different! At least Deku and Bakugo should’ve come! They fought beside me at the U.A. Sky Fortress, shoulder to shoulder! No sense of—”
“Ugh, seriously?” Kendo’s hand chopped the back of his head with a solid thud. “They’re on overseas missions, genius! Official assignments!”
Monoma clutched the back of his head. “I canceled my schedule to be here! Do you know what that cost me?”
Pony’s eyes sparkled. “Kendo’s chops are as sharp as ever!”
Laughter rippled through the row. Monoma scratched his head, muttering under his breath—and still, the countdown numbers kept flashing above them.
Onstage, the pre-show performance was in full swing. As the drones traced glowing circles across the night sky, their light brushed the brim of Komori’s mushroom-shaped hat. She touched the spot with her fingertips and smiled faintly. The striped suit, the brown hair cascading to her shoulders—she looked almost clumsy, yet the eyes beneath her fringe were steady.
“When I teamed up with Mirko… I still remember it clearly, shroom.”
Kendo turned to her, folding one toned arm over the other, her orange ponytail swaying. “Yeah. Pony and I were there too. I remember.”
Komori gave a small nod. “Since that day, I’ve always wanted to be a hero like Mirko—someone who stands tall, confident, and true to herself, shroom.”
Her voice was soft, but her gaze sank slowly to her knees. Light slid down beneath her hat brim, leaving her eyes half-hidden in shadow. “Back in the Bunny the Weapon
Pony suddenly lifted her head, golden hair flashing under the lights, the small horns atop it bouncing. “But now the Rabbit Hero’s coming back! I can’t wait to team up again—Team up!”
Her bright voice loosened the tension in Komori’s shoulders. Kendo looked between them, smiling. “It won’t be long. This time, we’ll be the ones standing beside her—just like she once stood by us.”
Pony nodded firmly, and Komori lifted her face again. Light slipped under her hat once more—and in that glow, her gaze melted into the countless others waiting for Mirko’s return.
The quiet resonance of her words hung in the air. But for some, the memories brought back by that name were darker, heavier. Shoji broke the silence, his voice low.
“When I think of Mirko… I remember right after the all-out war.”
Behind his dark gray mask, six arms shifted slightly. His tall frame and guarded expression still carried the shadow of that battlefield. “When Shigaraki attacked Tartarus,” he continued, “tons of prisoners escaped—All For One included.”
Ojiro curled his tail upward, resting his chin on his hand with a nod. “Yeah. You, me, Bakugo, and Momo were chasing the escapees. They kept using teleport quirks—we could barely keep track of them.”
Momo folded her hands neatly over her knees. Her black hair, tied with precision, slid down over her shoulders. “That’s right… I got caught in one of those quirks and ended up surrounded. I really thought it was over.”
Her gaze lifted toward the stage, the light brushing over her irises. “That’s when it happened. Best Jeanist and Mirko appeared. It was so fast I could barely process it.”
Momo’s fingers trembled. “She landed from midair—her knee rebounded like a spring. Before the sound of metal breaking even reached me, the villains were already down.”
Ojiro let out a short laugh. “When she launched her Luna Rush right in front of us, the shockwave hit before the sound did. Even the air got pushed back.”
Shoji nodded quietly. “She wasn’t just strong. She was the kind of person who pushed straight through fear itself.”
Ojiro added, “I heard from Jeanist later—apparently, that day Mirko was six hours deep into prosthetic training. The moment she heard the explosion, she just ran straight out. Then went right back to training after it was done.”
Momo exhaled softly. “That’s what I think a hero is—someone like Mirko in that moment.”
Ojiro smiled faintly. “Yeah. That’s when I realized—when we say we dream of being heroes, for people like her, it just means surviving through hell.”
The stage lights flickered across their faces. In one corner of the packed stadium, as the return ceremony drew near, the Mirko they remembered was still running—somewhere inside their memories.
As if tracing that lingering afterimage, Tokage leaned forward, arms crossed. Under the lights, her green combat suit gleamed, and her golden hair brushed against her shoulders. Her eyes—sharp and glinting like shards of glass—were fixed on the stage.
“Mirko was the kind of person who poured everything she had into a fight. Once she chose a target, she never turned back. Even if her body broke apart, she’d still take that next step. That’s what made her a true hero.”
A short breath slipped out between her pointed teeth. Beside her, Monoma slowly lifted his head. The usual smirk was gone; the light trembled faintly across his pale face.
“I… saw that with my own eyes.”
“Monoma…” Kendo turned toward him.
He steadied his breathing, his voice dropping into something low but steady. “During the U.A. Sky Fortress battle—I held the Erasure Field as long as I could, grinding my teeth, forcing my eyes open. The fortress was shaking apart under Shigaraki’s evolution… and when his hand pierced Bakugo’s heart—Mirko—”
“It’s starting.”
Kuroiro’s quiet voice came from the corner. Tokage’s eyes flashed toward the stage. Monoma’s words faltered; he exhaled, gaze clouding, then turned his eyes forward—with a look caught between awe and ache.
When the countdown on the stadium’s massive screen reached its final number, the world plunged into sudden darkness.
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