"When something precious is taken from our grasp, we often find that what remains is even more valuable – an inner strength, a newfound wisdom, a deeper appreciation for the simple yet profound gifts of life."
Toshinori's heart pounded as he arrived at the hospital where Midoriya had been rushed. His breath was ragged; anxiety clutched at his chest with the news of the ambush at the mall that left the young hero critically wounded and missing a limb. As Toshinori navigated the sterile hospital corridors, his mind was a tumultuous storm of worry and guilt, the weight of the situation etching deep lines of concern across his face. The thought of breaking this devastating news to Inko was almost too much to bear.
"Stay strong, young Midoriya. You must pull through this," he whispered to himself, a silent plea to the universe.
Reaching the reception, Toshinori, his voice edged with desperation, inquired, "Excuse me, miss, can you tell me which room Midoriya is in? I need to see him immediately!" He was nearly out of breath, the result of sprinting through the city's veins to be by his protégé's side.
The receptionist, noting his distress, responded with a mix of professionalism and empathy, "He's scheduled for room 405. He's still in surgery, so there'll be a wait. Please, try to remain calm; any additional commotion can be distressing for others here."
Grasping onto the fragment of hope, Toshinori murmured his thanks and strode toward the elevators, his heart in his throat. Once at the surgical wing, his eyes were fixed on the ominous red light above the operating room - a glaring, unyielding sentinel that was indifferent to his inner turmoil. He braced himself for a vigil filled with haunting thoughts and what-ifs, ignoring persistent calls from Inko. Her name on the screen was a reminder of the difficult conversation that loomed ahead.
"Please, let this nightmare end soon," he sighed heavily, the dread settling like a stone in his stomach.
Time stretched on, an excruciating three hours, before the red light finally relinquished its hold, flickering off. A surgeon emerged, the fatigue of the ordeal evident in his posture and eyes. Toshinori leapt from his seat, a barrage of questions tumbling forth.
"Doctor, how is he? Can I see him? Did the surgery go well?"
The doctor, steadying his hand, replied,
"Hold on, slow down. He's stable. The surgery was complex; we barely kept his heart rate steady. His wounds were severe, but curiously, they began healing at an unusually rapid rate, even the deep cuts. This accelerated healing put immense strain on his heart. While he's out of immediate danger, he faces a long road of physical therapy. Unfortunately, we couldn't recover his arm; the remains were beyond salvage. He's being moved to his room now; you can see him there."
Overwhelmed with relief yet burdened with sorrow, Toshinori thanked the surgeon, who then excused himself to attend to other patients. Room 405 was silent save for the subtle beeps of the monitors. There lay Midoriya, pale and unconscious, a stark reminder of the cruelty of their world. The empty space where his left arm once was seemed to echo in the room.
Pulling a chair close, Toshinori took Midoriya's remaining hand, his own trembling. Tears, unbidden, traced the contours of his face as he whispered,
"I'm so sorry, my boy. I failed to protect you."
His apology, laden with grief and regret, filled the hushed space between the mentor and his brave student.
.
.
In the enigmatic realm of shadows, a vast and unyielding void materializes, its presence enveloping Midoriya in an inescapable darkness. Here, in this realm of obscurity, a symphony of spectral voices emerges, their ethereal whispers weaving through the foggy air. Each utterance sends a shiver down Midoriya's spine, his head pulsating with a pain that seems to echo the tumultuous emotions of his predecessors – a maelstrom of anger, disappointment, and despair that he feels deep in his core.
He stands, a lone figure amidst this spectral tribunal, as the voices swell around him. The Second speaks first, his voice resounding with a note of irrevocable decision. "The time has come for a change of host; this endeavor with the current one is futile," he declares, his tone echoing in the vast emptiness.
"The Third nods in agreement, adding, "This boy's naivety was his undoing. Incapacitated in an ambush, he has proven himself incapable of wielding our power. His body, now battered and broken, is no longer a fitting vessel for the legacy we bear."
Another voice, more forceful and scornful than the rest, pierces through the chorus of disapproval. "We must seize this opportunity," it booms. "As he falters in control, we should transfer One for All to Togata. All Might's misplaced faith in this child is nothing short of a farce."
Midoriya, engulfed in their scathing words, feels a deep sense of powerlessness. He is unable to defend himself, to articulate the turmoil that rages within him. The voice relentlessly continues, "And to compound his failures, he's distracted by a juvenile infatuation. Obsessed with a girl beyond his reach, he's neglected his primary mission, ensnared by these insignificant, emotional follies."
The air grows heavier as the tirade against Midoriya intensifies. The voices merge into a singular, damning verdict: "Midoriya, you must surrender your power to Togata. Your unworthiness is now beyond question."
Crushed by the weight of their condemnation, tears stream down Izuku's face. In a whisper barely audible, he utters a heartfelt apology to his idol, All Might. "I've let you down. I couldn't rise to their expectations, and now I'm nothing more than a broken, defeated loser." As the darkness deepens, a sense of loss envelops him, his power ebbing away, leaving him hollow and resigned to his fate.
But in this moment of utter despair, two voices of dissent rise above the rest. One is gentle and maternal, reminiscent of his mother's comforting tone, while the other, a male voice, strong and resolute, remains unknown to him. Both voices radiate a sense of defiance and unwavering support. "This ends now!" the woman's voice thunders. "This child has demonstrated more bravery and heart than any of you are willing to admit. He faced insurmountable odds and emerged victorious. My support for him is unyielding."
She turns to her ally, her gaze fierce and determined. "What about you, Fifth? Where do you stand?"
Without hesitation, the Fifth responds, his voice imbued with conviction. "I believe in this kid's potential and spirit. His resilience and determination are testament to his worth. I stand with him."
A luminous light begins to emanate from these two staunch defenders, their radiance challenging the encroaching darkness, silencing the chorus of naysayers. The void transforms, giving way to a serene and boundless plain, a stark contrast to the oppressive gloom. Two figures, the man and woman who spoke up for Midoriya, materialize before him. The man offers a smile, warm and reassuring. "You've got this, kid," he says, his words imbued with confidence and belief. The woman, her presence exuding grace and warmth, envelops Midoriya in a comforting embrace. "Don't worry," she whispers, "I am here with you, until the end."
Overwhelmed by their support, Midoriya's tears continue to flow, but now they are tears of gratitude and relief. He holds the woman tightly, finding solace in her embrace. As they begin to fade, he awakens from this surreal experience to find himself staring into the concerned, blood-streaked face of a blonde boy. "Dam, I guess they really did leave," the boy says, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and disbelief.
sorry for being so late to upload
might upload a new story maybe not idk
