ShuraZero
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Chapter 80: Parallel Lives
🕑 Added 2025-10-03 16:29:11 +0000 UTCThe first day of the internships began with the sound of a thousand briefcases zipping shut and the murmur of nervous goodbyes. For Class 1-A, it was the first real step into the professional world—a world that turned out to be far less glamorous and much stranger than most had imagined.
The agency of the Chivalrous Hero: Fourth Kind, in downtown Osaka, was a place of Spartan discipline and an overwhelming smell of floor polish. Eijiro Kirishima and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, the two pillars of toughness from Classes A and B, found themselves standing before their mentor, an imposing man with four arms and a no-nonsense expression.
“Welcome, interns!” Fourth Kind boomed, his voice echoing in the immaculate office. “You showed strength at the festival! You showed tenacity! Very manly qualities! But being a hero is about much more than just hitting villains!”
Their first task wasn't a patrol. It wasn't combat training. He handed each of them a bucket, a rag, and a bottle of window cleaner.
“Being a hero is 90% paperwork and community service, and 10% glory, boys!” he lectured, pointing to the office’s enormous windows. “A hero must be a pillar of society! They must inspire confidence through discipline and respect for detail! Now, clean those windows until I can see my manly reflection in them! And do it with spirit!”
Kirishima and Tetsutetsu looked at each other, a mix of disbelief and frustration on their faces.
“Cleaning windows?” Tetsutetsu muttered. “My Quirk is Steel, not microfiber!”
“C’mon, man,” Kirishima replied, trying to find the bright side. “Cleaning windows in a super manly way is a challenge, too! I bet my windows will be shinier than yours!”
“You've got to be kidding! My stainless steel spirit will leave that glass spotless!”
And so, the two young heroes began their first grueling mission: a fierce and competitive battle of window cleaning under the watchful eye of their mentor.
Hundreds of miles away in Tokyo, Kyoka Jiro’s internship was a completely different experience. Her first day with Death Arms wasn't one of lectures or chores. It was one of almost absolute silence.
They walked the crowded streets of Shibuya, the pro hero a few steps ahead of her, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd. He didn’t speak. He didn’t explain. He just walked.
“Uhm, Death Arms-san,” Jiro finally said after an hour of silence. “Is there a plan? Are we looking for anything in particular?”
The hero stopped and turned to her, his face a mask of professional seriousness.
“Listen,” he said, his voice a low growl.
“Listen to what? I just hear city noise.”
“Exactly. The city is a symphony. Thousands of instruments playing at once: cars, conversations, music, footsteps. A hero learns to listen to that symphony. And to look for the discordant note. The sudden silence on a busy corner. The pair of footsteps moving too quickly. The conversation that dies when you walk by. We don't look for villains; we look for anomalies. Your job isn't to fight. It’s to observe. To listen. And to learn to read the music of chaos. Now, be quiet and listen.”
Jiro fell silent, a new respect for the stoic hero blooming within her. She realized this was a much deeper kind of training. It wasn't about power. It was about perception.
In another corner of the city, Shoto Todoroki's internship began with a coldness that rivaled his own ice. Endeavor's agency was an imposing and oppressive building, a monument of black granite and smoked glass that seemed to radiate heat even on a cloudy day.
His father didn't greet him. He didn't welcome him. He was sitting behind his enormous desk, not looking up from his papers. He simply tossed a file across the desk with a dismissive gesture.
“Stop wasting time and read that,” Endeavor said in an icy tone.
Shoto opened the file. It contained incident reports, hero profiles, and autopsy results. All related to the Hero Killer.
“The Hero Killer is operating in Hosu,” his father continued, finally looking up, his fiery eyes burning with a cold ambition. “He’s incapacitated several heroes from minor agencies in the last few weeks. It’s a high-profile case. The media is obsessed with him.”
“And what does this have to do with me?” Shoto asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Capturing him is the kind of victory people notice. The kind of victory that reaffirms power and efficiency. You're coming with me to Hosu tomorrow. You're going to see how a real hero takes care of the scum hiding in the shadows. You will be my support, and you will use all of your power, not just half.”
Shoto’s internship wasn't to learn. It was to be used. A weapon his father planned to deploy in his own personal hunt.
While the U.A. students faced their first strange hours as interns, on Dagobah Beach, the calm was only an illusion.
Inko Midoriya sat on the sand, legs crossed and eyes closed, in a state of deep meditation. Her face was serene. But above her, in the sky, a spectacle of impossible power was taking place. A gigantic tornado of objects—car-sized rocks, rusted steel beams, shattered refrigerators, tires, pieces of wood—spun in a silent, perfectly controlled vortex sixty meters in diameter. Her control was absolute, a dance of vectors that defied gravity and logic.
Beside her, Himiko Toga was in the same position. Her face was the perfect copy of an anonymous girl with black hair and blue eyes. She was practicing fine control of her Quirk, trying to maintain the transformation without having ingested any blood.
“Do you feel that, Inko-san?” Toga said, in her alter ego's voice. “It's like a hum. The energy of the beach, the sea, the air…”
“It’s the flow, Himiko-chan,” Inko replied without opening her eyes, her voice a deep calm. “Izuku was right. When you stop thinking about ‘pulling’ or ‘pushing’ and just feel the connection to everything around you… the power just flows. I'm no longer controlling it. I'm simply... guiding it.”
The color of Toga’s eyes flickered, returning to their original yellow for an instant. The illusion broke.
“Agh! I lost it!” she whined, her own voice returning, her tone full of frustration. “Maintaining a partial transformation without blood is harder than peeling a potato with a butter knife. It’s exhausting!”
“Patience, sweetie,” Inko said with a motherly smile, never losing concentration on her own monstrous tornado. “A year ago, I couldn't even lift a feather off the ground with my mind. Today… I'm juggling a junkyard. All in good time. Patience is a warrior's greatest virtue.”
Toga sighed but closed her eyes again, searching for her focus, the image of the other girl in her mind. Her tenacity, in its own way, was as formidable as Inko's power.
In a stark office at police headquarters, the atmosphere was grim. Detective Tsukauchi presented a gaunt Toshinori Yagi with the analysis results from the USJ Nomu.
“He was a small-time thug. We've identified him. A common criminal with a history of senseless violence,” Tsukauchi said, his face grave. “But the biological analysis is a nightmare. He had the DNA of at least four different people. However, he possessed multiple Quirks that didn't correspond to any of the DNA donors. He was genetically engineered, his brain reduced to its most basic functions, lobotomized to obey orders. He was a flesh puppet.”
Toshinori listened, his gaunt face tightening with every word.
“Toshinori,” the detective continued, his voice dropping to an ominous tone, “despite having the DNA of several people, he shouldn't be able to have multiple Quirks. It’s genetically impossible. Our theory, the only one that fits, is that someone else has the ability to grant Quirks to other people.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
“Someone we thought was gone. Someone you thought you had defeated.”
Toshinori froze. A sudden poof of steam enveloped him; not by choice, but from pure shock and a dread that chilled him to the bone, he transformed into All Might.
“...Tsukauchi,” his voice was a low thunder, filled with a dread he hadn’t felt in years. “If that’s true… then it means that he…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
“…that he has returned.”
The ominous confirmation that All For One was back in the game hung in the air, a death sentence for the peaceful future he had sacrificed so much to build.
The end of the first day at Mt. Lady's agency found Team Midoriya completely exhausted. They hadn't fought villains. They hadn't performed spectacular rescues. They had spent eight straight hours in the conference room, going over city blueprints, memorizing emergency evacuation protocols, studying past incident reports, and participating in mock press conferences.
“My eyes… I think my eyes are going to fall out,” Toru complained, collapsing onto a plush sofa in the break room. “I never thought being a hero involved so much reading. It's worse than school!”
“It's the foundation of any professional work, Toru-san,” Momo replied, though even she looked tired, massaging her temples. “Preparation and knowledge of the terrain are crucial to minimizing risks in a real operation. Although I must admit, the level of detail in the property damage reports is… exhaustive.”
“At least the food was good,” Ochako said, taking a sip of an energy drink they had been provided. “I've never had such expensive catering before.”
Izuku, for his part, wasn't tired. He was electrified. He had spent the day absorbing information like a sponge, his strategist's mind reveling in the logistical complexity of professional heroism.
Just then, the conference room door opened, and Mt. Lady walked in. She had changed from her business suit into a stunning, form-fitting red evening gown. Her hair was swept up in a sophisticated style, and her makeup was flawless. She was no longer the serious boss. She was the celebrity, ready for a night on the town.
“Alright, my stars,” she said with a predatory smile. “You've studied. You've practiced your fake camera smiles. You've proven you can survive an eight-hour meeting without falling asleep. Now it’s time for the real show.”
She walked toward them, her presence filling the room.
“Your target tonight: billionaire philanthropist Kaito Taniguchi. He hosts an annual charity gala to raise funds for victims of villain attacks. A charming man, a pillar of the community.”
She paused, her smile sharpening.
“We also suspect he uses these galas as a front to traffic illegal Quirk-enhancement technology. His ‘donations’ to research labs are suspiciously high, and several of his business partners have been linked to the black market.
“Our mission,” she continued, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “is to infiltrate his charity gala at his mansion tonight, blend in, and steal any data from his central computer that could prove his illicit activities.”
She looked at the four of them, who were now wide awake, their eyes wide with surprise and excitement.
“Remember your roles,” Mt. Lady said, handing them small communication earpieces. “You’re not heroes tonight. You're spies. Izuku, you’re my brilliant young protégé; you’ll stick by my side and analyze conversations. Momo, you’ll be the art expert evaluating Taniguchi's collection, an excuse to get near his study. Ochako, you'll be the charming and slightly clumsy guest who can create a diversion if needed. And Toru… you'll be our ghost.”
Momo, reacting with astonishing speed, immediately got to work, and in a matter of moments, had created four perfect formal outfits for them.
“Don’t fail,” Mt. Lady concluded as they headed for the exit. “And above all… try to have a little fun. Espionage is 90% boredom and 10% absolute terror. You're about to find out which one we get tonight.”
The team, now dressed in their formal wear, stepped into a black limousine that was waiting for them. They were heading not on patrol, but into the glamorous and dangerous wolf's den.
