Cross the Divide

Whispers of The Past

Midoriya's footsteps echoed down the hall as he and Hawks walked toward Principal Nezu's office. The familiar walls of UA loomed around him, yet every inch of this place felt foreign. The air was thick with a tension that weighed heavily on his chest. Hawks glanced back at him occasionally, as if to check that he was still grounded in reality and hadn't vanished like the ghost this world believed him to be.

The silence between them was unbearable. Hawks, usually so easygoing and chatty, was uncharacteristically quiet. The weight of the situation had clearly affected him too. Midoriya knew that in this world, his death had left a gaping hole in everyone's lives—Hawks included.

"How... how bad is it?" Midoriya's voice broke the quiet, though he wasn't sure if he wanted an answer.

Hawks' lips pressed into a thin line. "It's bad. The world isn't the same without you, kid. The war ended, sure, but at a cost." He paused, glancing at Midoriya. "Your sacrifice... it saved everyone, but it left scars."

Midoriya's heart clenched. He hadn't realized just how much his death had impacted this world. The thought of leaving his friends, his mentors, behind to deal with the aftermath sent a wave of guilt crashing over him. In his world, he had survived. He was there to help rebuild. But here... his absence had left everyone struggling.

"Do they—do they talk about him?" Midoriya asked hesitantly, unable to meet Hawks' eyes. "The other me, I mean."

Hawks sighed softly. "All the time. You're a hero to them, kid. You gave them hope, even in death. But... it's not the kind of hope that heals. It's more like a wound that never fully closes."

The words hit Midoriya like a punch to the gut. He hadn't asked for this. He didn't want to be remembered as some tragic figure who had given everything to save the world. In his world, he hadn't had to make that choice. He was still here, still fighting. But in this world, his memory was all they had.

They reached Nezu's office, the small door almost a mockery of the enormity of the situation. Hawks knocked softly, and a voice from inside called them in.

The office was just as Midoriya remembered it—filled with books and papers, the smell of old parchment lingering in the air. But Nezu's expression as he looked up from his desk was one of solemnity, not the usual playful curiosity.

"I've heard about the situation," Nezu said, his voice soft but firm. "This is... unprecedented."

Midoriya swallowed, his throat dry. The small principal stood up and walked over, his sharp eyes assessing Midoriya like a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

"You're not from this world, are you?" Nezu asked, though it wasn't really a question. His tone was knowing, his gaze piercing.

Midoriya shook his head. "No... I'm not."

Nezu nodded slowly, his face contemplative. "This world lost its Izuku Midoriya. And now, you've appeared, a version of him from another universe." He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening just a bit. "You must be feeling quite... lost."

Lost didn't even begin to cover it.

"I don't know why I'm here," Midoriya admitted, his voice small. "I don't even know how I got here. One moment I was saving a kid, and the next... I'm in a world where I died."

Nezu paced the room slowly, his tiny steps almost rhythmic. "A quirk, no doubt. But what kind of quirk could cause such a rift between realities? And more importantly, how do we send you back?"

Hawks leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Nezu carefully. "Any idea where we even start with this, Nezu?"

The principal stopped his pacing and turned to face them both. "There's no simple answer, I'm afraid. We'll need to do some research, find out what quirks were involved with that child you mentioned. But for now, you'll need to remain here, Midoriya."

The thought of staying in this world—this place that wasn't his—filled Midoriya with a gnawing sense of dread. He didn't belong here. This wasn't his world, these weren't his friends, and he wasn't their hero.

"I can't stay here," Midoriya whispered, panic rising in his chest. "This isn't my world. I don't—"

"You don't have a choice," Nezu said gently but firmly. "Until we figure out what's going on, you're stuck here."

Midoriya's hands trembled slightly, his mind racing with the reality of the situation. Trapped in a world where he was dead, surrounded by people who were grieving him. How could he face them? How could he look into the eyes of his friends, his mentors, and see their pain knowing that their version of him had died?

All Might. Kacchan. Todoroki. What would they think when they saw him? Would they even be able to look at him, or would his presence just be a painful reminder of what they'd lost?

"Izuku," Nezu's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "We'll help you. You're not alone."

The words should have been comforting, but instead, they felt like a weight pressing down on him. He was alone. No one here truly knew him—they only knew the version of him that had died, the version that had been willing to give everything for the greater good. But that wasn't him.

He didn't know how to feel about the other version of himself. Had he made the right choice? Would Midoriya have done the same if faced with the same situation? It was hard to say. In his world, the outcome had been different. He hadn't had to make that ultimate sacrifice.

"Thank you," Midoriya finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nezu nodded, turning back to his desk. "We'll do everything we can. In the meantime, you should prepare yourself. People will want answers, and it won't be easy for them to see you."

The door creaked open, and Midoriya turned to see Aizawa standing in the doorway. His eyes were tired, more tired than Midoriya had ever seen them before. He exchanged a glance with Nezu, then turned his attention to Midoriya.

"Come on, kid," Aizawa muttered. "You'll need somewhere to stay while we sort this out."

Midoriya followed him out of the office, Hawks trailing behind them. His mind was still racing, but one thing was clear—he was stuck here, in a world where his name was written on a memorial stone, and where his very existence would be a constant reminder of what had been lost.

And the worst part? He wasn't even sure if he wanted to go back.