TheFanficGOD
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MHA- The END
🕑 Added 2025-08-27 10:37:39 +0000 UTCNezu stood on the roof of the Quirk Regulation Agency, teacup in hand, wind rustling through his little rat-fur as he watched the street below turn into something between a parade, a press frenzy, and a mild riot.
Ryuu walked in the middle of it.
H.E.R. FORCE flanked him like battle-tested queens on a victory march, Momo and Toru on each side like twin walls of grace and annihilation. Mina and Nejire were bouncing with uncontained energy, Toga waving both hands in a blur of sass, Tsuyu calm and observant as always. Uraraka hovered slightly above the rest, Jiro walked with lazy rhythm.
They were power wrapped in glitter and war paint.
And in the center, Ryuu.
No hero costume. No cape. No posing. Just black jeans, a torn hoodie with the sleeves ripped off, combat boots worn to hell, and that damn bat slung over his shoulder like a threat from the gods.
Phones rose. Cameras clicked. Even the reporters who usually screamed dumb questions just stood there, frozen, because Ryuu Midoriya was not just the Number One Hero of Japan.
He was Ryuu.
The guy who once ripped a tank in half during a hostage rescue.
The man who knocked a S-class villain unconscious using a refrigerator and two insults.
The one who beat a giant kaiju barehanded while chewing a toothpick.
He was not a man anymore.
He was a myth with muscles and PTSD.
Behind them, Dynamight Smash arrived, slightly off-formation, but no less famous. Bakugo stomped in like every crack in the pavement was a personal offense. Deku kept pace next to him, eyes scanning every rooftop. Between them walked Hatsume Mei, dragging a hover-cart labeled “DO NOT TOUCH OR DETONATE WITHOUT SIGNING A WAIVER.”
The rest of the agencies followed in formation like war factions.
Todoroki with Iida at his side led the Equilibrium Brigade, both dressed to kill, if "kill" meant "detain respectfully and with legal due process." Kendo gave the occasional nod, coordinating field positions, arm in arm with her husbondo Iida. While covering for Ryuu, Iida ended up spending some time with Kendo at school, and their relationship grew over time. Sero and Awase followed the band, rounding out the main rack of the agency.
Crimson Forge was pure muscle as always. Kirishima and Tetsutetsu looked like walking tank engines, shoulder to shoulder, tossing grins and flexes as they passed. Aoyama sparkled. Rumor had it that Kirishima and Tetsutetsu begged him, just so their flexing photos would have that sparkle too. Kamakiri and Kaibara flanked the group. Mineta walked with them, helmet on, trying to look useful, respectable, and deeply terrified of being noticed by Ryuu.
The Nocturne Wardens slipped into the crowd, all moody and cool. Tokoyami did his whole “eerie grace” thing, Komori floated in behind with a spore aesthetic, Shoji was always cool, and Yanagi plus Kuroiro flanked the squad like pros who totally weren’t trying too hard. Yeah, they were a lot.
Tailwind Dojo showed up in neat lines, very proper. Ojiro gave a polite bow to a passing civilian, and Pony waved sweetly right after, totally coincidence, not like they’ve been spending extra time together or anything, breathsharing. Kodai walked with Rin, hands tucked like always, while Shishida was just the wall of muscle in the back, keeping it low-key.
Absolute chaos stormed in. Oh look, Field Mirage had arrived. Kaminari led like a rockstar with a lightning bolt up his ass, waving at the crowd like they owed him tips. Tokage strolled beside him, tossing finger guns at the press like she was born for it. Tsuburaba and Monoma were already mid-argument about “tactical nuance” vs. “being annoying.” Manga Fukidashi had speech bubbles popping into the air reading “WE HERE” and “THIS AIN’T A DRILL.” Bondo just sighed. Again.
Verdant Aegis moved like a damn forest on legs, Shiozaki muttered prayers like the crowd was a chapel. Sato lugged half the food supply on one arm without blinking. Shoda looked like he might levitate if no one stopped him.
And above them all, Nezu watched.
A true U.A. reunion.
Press, public, and support teams all paused as Ryuu stepped up to the front gates of the Quirk Regulation Agency. The crowd parted like they knew better. People whispered.
“That’s him.”
“Number One.”
“He trained Eri. The Devil”
“Hssh! He might hear you.”
“He is so far away, and it is too crowded. He can’t.”
Ryuu stopped in front of the doors. He turned slightly.
He smiled at nothing, as if he saw things others couldn't.
Behind him, someone sneezed.
“Bless you,” Ryuu muttered.
The press almost fainted.
Mirio and Tamaki stood near the back, watching the chaos unfold like veterans watching a new generation take up the hammer.
“They really grew up,” Mirio said, hands in pockets, eyes wide with pride.
Tamaki nodded, eyes flicking from agency to agency, but landing on Eri as she stepped into frame, proudly wearing her hero costume.
“She did,” he said softly.
Mirio grinned. “You think she is ready?”
“She was trained by Ryuu,” Tamaki said. “She was born ready.”
Then he paused.
“...But I do fear for whoever flirts with her.”
They both shivered.
Stepping in, Ryuu led the charge like he always did, casual as hell, zero fucks given. The ballroom had been polished to the gods, marble floors, crystal chandeliers, gold trim that screamed “taxpayer robbery,” and a ridiculous number of spotlights for what was supposed to be a friendly reunion-slash-political glad-handing.
Every Pro Hero turned at once.
Conversations stopped.
Ryukyu caught sight of him first and sighed like she had aged five years in a blink. “I told you to dress nice.”
Mirko barked a laugh next to her. “You saw him leave the house like that. You let this happen.”
“I thought he would change in the car,” Ryukyu hissed back.
“You thought wrong,” Toru said, materializing beside her with a smirk. “I think he’s worn that same hoodie to five state events.”
“Six,” Momo corrected flatly, glancing at him like she was already planning to burn it.
Nejire was already bouncing like she was on a trampoline. “Hey! Ryuu! Smile for the cameras!”
“I hope every single one of them breaks,” he said with a groan.
Uraraka giggled next to him. “You could’ve worn the suit we got you.”
He cracked his neck. “It choked me.”
“That was the tie,” Tsuyu croaked from behind, eyeing his boots. “You wore combat soles to a ball.”
“I wear them everywhere.”
Jiro raised her phone. “Say cheese, dirtbag.”
He flipped her off with perfect timing. Flash went off. She laughed. Saved it.
Toga looked at him with a grin. “Ryuu, if you keep dressing like a sexy war criminal, the tabloids are going to write fanfiction again.”
“They already did,” Momo muttered. “Twice.”
One of the reporters near the entrance tried to approach, probably to ask a stupid question about Ryuu’s outfit, or the bat, or the lack of visible hero branding.
He made it two steps before Bakugo appeared as if a summoned demon.
“Try it,” Bakugo growled. “See what happens.”
The reporter backed up. Slowly. Smart man.
Eri dragged Inko by the hand, weaving through the chaos of cameras and gawkers until she found a spot near the front. She plopped down with a grin, tugging her mother closer to the group.
On the far side, Best Jeanist adjusted his immaculate collar like the entire event hinged on the angle of his denim weave.
“I give it twenty minutes before Ryuu punches someone,” Aizawa sighed, as they entered.
Midnight leaned toward him holding a brat. “Fifteen if someone hits on Eri.”
“Ten if it’s a politician.” All Might chuckled.
“Five if it’s Hawks.”
“Done in three,” Present Mic added.
Suddenly a purple head leaned in far too close to Ryuu’s shoulder.
Toga was there before the words even formed, sliding between with a glare, “Back off, bitch.”
Lady Nagant tilted her chin, a grin tugging her lips. “Hehe, little lass. Stop acting like a guard dog.”
Toga’s grin widened, fang flashing. “I bite like one too.”
Nagant huffed like she found the exchange more amusing than threatening. “Relax. I only wanted to thank my Ryuu.”
A knife slipped into Toga’s hand without a sound. “He isn’t your Ryuu. Not yesterday, not ever.”
The sigh that came from Toru was loud enough to cover Nejire muttering, “Here we go again.” Mina was already smirking like it was her favorite morning soap.
Lady Nagant didn’t bristle. She grinned. The kind of grin that came from someone who’d already survived her own grave and still had the nerve to flirt with the guy who dragged her out of it. She looked past the knife, past Toga, straight at the man and the women around him.
“You pulled me out when the Commission buried me,” she said. “And she—” her eyes slid toward Momo without hesitation “—patched me back together after. I owe you both.”
Momo sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Stop using gratitude as an excuse to get close to Ryuu. No one here buys it.”
Nagant chuckled, arms folding. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
Ryuu smirked, but the sudden turn of every eye—Mirko, Toru, Toga, Momo, Mina, Nejire, Uraraka, Jiro, Tsuyu, even Ryukyu—had him pause mid-step. He blinked, sighed, and made the only safe move left. He walked over to Eri and Inko, sat down between them, and slouched like a kid caught in detention.
“Am I leashed?” he asked.
Eri didn’t hesitate, grin wide. “Oh yeah. So bad.”
Mt. Lady slid into place behind them with Kamui Woods at her side.
“Why do you look like you’re being held hostage?” Mt. Lady whispered, nudging him with her elbow.
“Because I am,” he whispered back. “You bribed me with cheesecake.”
“And I’d do it again.” Mt. Lady dropped the kid she was carrying, like she was delivering a package. She plopped him down in front of Ryuu. “Look. This is the certified menace.”
The boy bounced, leaves sticking out of his hair in every direction. “Wildcard!”
Ryuu ruffled the leafy mop. “Wuzzup, Konoha?”
The kid beamed like he’d just been knighted. His leaves shook so hard they shed a few onto the marble.
A little boy in a half-sized capture scarf bolted straight past the press line and latched onto Aizawa’s leg. His hair was dark, messy, and his eyes glared with the same “I hate mornings” energy his father radiated daily. He yanked on the scarf. He launched himself at Izuku, yelling, “Uncle Deku!” before crashing into his arms. Izuku caught him with a startled grunt, as the boy wrapped himself around his neck like a koala.
“Slow down, Snoozer,” Aizawa said.
“Snoozer,” Midnight repeated, pointing at him with mock serious, “what did we say about running indoors?”
“Don’t,” he mumbled, but he clung tighter to Izuku’s shoulders.
Present Mic leaned over the railing from the stairs above. “Yo! Mini Eraser, come to Uncle Mic!”
Snoozer looked up, considering, then promptly buried his face back into Izuku’s jacket.
“Denied,” Izuku said, chuckling.
“You traitor!” Mic shouted.
The crowd shifted as more familiar faces spilled in, older heroes carrying little versions of themselves like time had skipped a beat. Gang Orca walked through with a girl perched on his shoulder, sharp little teeth flashing as she pointed at Ryuu’s bat. She yelled, “I want one!” loud enough to make half the press wince.
Hound Dog trailed behind, one hand trying to corral a hyper pup darting between people’s legs like it was part feral. Recovery Girl actually smiled as she guided a teenager who looked suspiciously like Power Loader’s kid, already fiddling with some gadget strapped to his wrist.
Izuku shifted Snoozer to one side as Mei bounced up next to him. “So whose kid gets expelled first?”
Izuku sighed, “If the world survives to see their age, we will see.”
The ballroom noise cut down when Nezu hopped onto the stage, teacup in one paw, clipboard in the other. Microphones adjusted themselves like they were afraid of him.
“Attention, attention. Hello to all guests, press, and those watching behind screens,” he said with a grin, “Welcome to the first of its kind, The Quirk Regulation Agency Ball.”
“This event,” he continued, “is not simply about policy or prestige. It is the first official gathering of the new era of hero work, free of the Commission’s shadow, rooted in accountability, and built with the public at the center. Heroes, civilians, partners. Together.”
Around the room, it was a storm of reactions. Some of the older generation kept their arms crossed, stiff in tailored suits, clearly bristling at the words no Commission. Veterans who had lived too long under those orders had the look of people still chewing old chains.
But the students, no, not students anymore, the new leaders stood loose, spread across the hall in groups. You could tell who had seen war and come out choosing to laugh anyway. Their voices carried softer, but their presence swallowed the old guard.
“Tonight is both celebration and reminder,” Nezu said, sipping casually as if the entire country’s cameras weren’t on him. “That heroes are not rulers. They are servants of the people. Which means tonight is yours as much as ours. Dance. Talk. Eat the suspiciously expensive hors d’oeuvres. But never forget why we’re here.”
The speech rolled on. He listed off reforms already in motion, new laws in draft, names of those leading them, heroes, yes, but also teachers, nurses, medics, rescue workers, even a few civilians who had lost family and still chose to help rebuild. The kind of names that never got air before.
After the war, after the fall of All for One and Shigaraki, the country cracked open. The vacuum they left almost tore it apart. Smaller clusters of villains sprouted like weeds, every corner of the nation had some self-proclaimed warlord, cult, or gang trying to fill the gap. It took years to hammer them down, and it cost even more.
The Commission didn’t survive it. Too much blood on their hands, too many files dumped into the public eye, too many secrets dragged into sunlight. They were decommissioned by force, by law, by exposure, by heroes who refused to keep dancing to their strings. What replaced them wasn’t another faceless council hiding behind polished doors. It was something that couldn’t be twisted as easily, an agency built with civilians, heroes, and elected leaders sharing equal weight. No single hand could pull strings without the others snapping it.
Balance wasn’t easy to reach. Old guard heroes fought it, clinging to the idea of “order” they’d grown used to, an order built on silence and fear. Others adapted, some quick, some bitter. What tipped it wasn’t speeches, it was scars. The younger generation had already lived through hell without blinders. They weren’t going to let that cycle repeat.
Ryuu was blunt about it from the start. Transparency or nothing. He didn’t waste time dressing it up. His view was simple, people were stupid, but a nation was built out of stupid people, and stupid people, when they were left in the dark, were easy prey. Hide enough, and someone would twist it. Education and exposure weren’t optional. You showed everything, ugly included, so no one could weaponize the gaps.
Some hated it. Called it reckless. Said it would fuel panic. But when cities rebuilt faster because citizens knew the truth, when villain groups were cut down by neighborhoods who had been taught how to spot their tricks, the results killed the argument before it grew teeth.
The shift wasn’t just policy. Heroes had to change too. No more untouchable icons standing above the crowd. No more blind faith. They worked with their communities now, schools, hospitals, volunteer corps. When the alarms rang, it wasn’t just capes dropping in, it was trained civilians running shelters, guiding evac, patching wounds side by side with medics. Heroes didn’t own the stage anymore. They shared it.
It was messy. It was loud. But it was harder to corrupt.
On the floor tonight, that change was obvious. Retired legends sat at the same tables as rookies who had only just gotten their licenses. Civilian reps in plain suits stood shoulder to shoulder with top-ranked pros in battle gear. Reporters weren’t kept out, they were given front-row seats. Nezu’s reforms made damn sure of it.
---
A few years later, in an unknown haven, Ryuu cracked his back loud enough to make a dog bark outside.
“E-Eri, rewind your big brother. My back is killing me.”
Eri skipped over, already laughing, horn glowing faint.
Before she touched him, Momo caught his ear between two fingers. “Stop using her to fix your bad decisions.”
Ryuu winced. “It wasn’t a bad decision.”
Momo opened her mouth to press but stopped, color rushing her cheeks. With Eri right there, she couldn’t say what he was trying to escape from.
Eri pouted. “So no rewind?”
“No rewind,” Momo said firmly, still tugging Ryuu’s ear.
“Abuse,” Ryuu muttered.
Eri giggled. “You’re gross.”
A kid rushed up and jumped into Ryuu’s lap, tiny arms clinging to his hoodie.
“Papa, Luffy’s bullying me,” Robin blurted, lower lip wobbling.
Ryuu sighed through his nose, steadying her before she toppled them both. “Robin, what did I tell you about filing complaints?”
“That you’ll just laugh,” she said softly into his chest.
“Exactly. Now, was it bullying or just Luffy being Luffy?”
Before she could answer, the air above whistled. A blur pinballed across the yard like a deranged bird ricocheting off invisible walls. Luffy dropped out of the last bounce and skidded to a stop in the grass, arms flailing.
“I wasn’t!” he shouted, cheeks red. “I was playing!”
“Playing too hard,” Robin snapped back, sticking her tongue out.
“Didn’t even touch you!” Luffy argued, stomping tiny boots. “I made the grass float, that’s all.”
Mirko and Ryukyu came across the lawn, both looking about done with the morning already. Mirko had Sanji tucked under one arm like a kicking suitcase, the boy’s little legs swinging wild, each stomp cracking tiny shock cones in the air. Ryukyu carried Zoro by the scruff of his hoodie, his half-formed dragon wings flapping stubbornly until her tone cut sharp.
“Stop,” she said.
Zoro sagged instantly, wings folding with a sulky huff.
Momo reached forward to scoop Robin off Ryuu’s lap, brushing crumbs off her dress. “Be good, Robin. Luffy wasn’t trying to hurt you. He was just playing too rough.”
Uraraka crouched in front of Luffy and tapped him lightly on the forehead. “What did I tell you about your Quirk?”
He shuffled in place, arms crossed. “Don’t drop it on people’s heads…”
“Exactly. Use it smart, or you sit out next game.”
Before the argument could flare again, a burst of rainbow light scattered across the grass. Chopper hopped in from nowhere, invisible body outlined by the panels under his feet. “Boo!” he shouted, then doubled over laughing when Robin shrieked and swatted at empty air.
“Chopper,” Toru called, not even looking up from her phone, “don’t blind your sister this early.”
“But I am blinding!” Chopper argued, running off before Robin could chase him.
Mina’s boy, Franky, slid past in a spray of acid that hardened into a ramp under his shoes. “YEAH!” he yelled, skating a loop before tumbling headfirst into Sanji’s swinging kick. Both toppled, rolled, then broke into wild laughter.
“Idiots,” Mirko muttered, but her ears twitched, proud all the same.
Tsuyu came up behind them with Jinbe clinging to her back, his tongue split into three strands, each juggling an apple like he was a one-boy circus. “Show off later,” she said, but he only croaked a laugh and stuck one apple onto Sanji’s head before hopping down.
Brook came next, headphones crooked around his neck, stomping out a beat that cracked little sonic ripples through the dirt. Jiro flicked his earplug and said with a huff, “Tone it down, you’ll wake the ducks.” He ignored her and cranked it louder, Jinbe and Franky immediately bouncing along like they’d found a new anthem.
Nejire swooped in upside-down with Nami strapped to her side, both spinning spiral waves in sync. The younger one squealed in delight as her beam twisted, before blowing apart a bush Ryukyu had planted last week.
“Oops,” Nami gasped, hands covering her mouth.
Nejire just laughed. “Good shot, though!”
Toga strolled out with Usopp hanging from her shoulders, his hand pressed to her arm. A blink later he had her smile, her hair, her stance. He waved dramatically, then blinked again and popped into Robin’s shape, laughing as he ducked behind the real one.
“Usopp!” Robin shouted, glaring at her double.
He stuck out his tongue. “Can’t catch me!”
Toga clapped lazily. “He gets that from me.”
“No,” Ryuu said, still on the bench with Eri perched at his side, “he gets it from me. You just make it worse.”
The yard buzzed with kids darting, bickering, showing off little tricks their parents had tried and failed to contain. Sanji tried to outkick Luffy’s pulses, Franky built another ramp to ride, Chopper flashed prisms across the lawn, Robin spun thread into a snare to catch Usopp, who popped into Zoro just to flap away laughing.
Inko walked out from the house with a tray full of cups, smiling wide, eyes soft. “Everyone sit for a second, drinks before you blow a hole in the garden.”
The chaos slowed, kids huddling toward the smell of juice and snacks. Parents shook their heads, trading tired looks and quiet chuckles.
Ryuu leaned back, bat balanced against his shoulder. “I told you,” he said to nobody in particular. “Whole new generation. Already a nightmare.”
Mirko kicked his boot. “And you love it.”
He smirked, pulling Robin back onto his lap as she reached for a cup. “Damn right I do.”
The END.
Comments
TheFanficGOD
Thank you! For the long support and fun comments! Love your presence!
Tungst3n
And that's a wrap, this was an interesting read. A bit chaotic in the later arcs but fun nun the less. Thanks for the story, now off to catch up with the others. Take care and have a good one.
TheFanficGOD
Yeah! A finale is the respect every story deserves.
Juan Flores
I'm saddened that the story's over but as the saying goes. "All good things must come to an end." Now I just gotta figure out what to read next.
