an ODST among Heroes.

S2-4

Izuku stood at the podium in the grand auditorium, where 200 trainees sat alongside his squad, their faces a mix of curiosity, skepticism, and quiet anticipation. The room was filled with low murmurs until Izuku tapped the microphone, the sound silencing the crowd almost instantly.

"I’m pretty sure I need no introduction, given the rumors you've all heard about me," Izuku began, his voice steady but laced with a hint of steel. "Yes, it’s true—I was held as a gladiator on the Brute homeworld, and I earned my next meal not just by fighting, but by performing... music for them."

A ripple of chuckles moved through the audience, a mix of disbelief and amusement. Izuku allowed a faint smile before his expression hardened.

"But despite what you might have heard," he continued, scanning the crowd with eyes that held a deeper story, "it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t heroic. It was survival, pure and simple. I was lucky, but luck is not what we’re here to talk about today. It did, however, grant me invaluable intelligence about the Covenant—intelligence that most will never have the misfortune to learn firsthand. And that includes this: the Covenant, despite their towering power, are run by what passes as corrupt geriatrics. Apparently, humanity isn’t the only species plagued by self-serving old men pulling the strings.”

A burst of laughter followed, some of it genuine, others more nervous. The tension in the room eased just a little, enough to let the trainees breathe, but Izuku’s eyes remained serious as he raised his hand to quiet the room.

“As for why you’re all here,” he said, the weight in his voice settling over everyone like a shroud, “the 208 of us are about to embark on something high-stakes, something that could tip the scales of this war. You will each receive a briefing with classified details—read it carefully, because you’ll only hear it once. I can’t go into specifics here, but know this: what we’re attempting has the potential to turn the tide of battle in humanity’s favor.”

A hushed silence fell over the room as the implications of his words sank in. Eyes widened, and postures stiffened. Izuku’s gaze swept over the crowd one last time before he stepped back from the podium, the echo of his words lingering in the air.

“Before we dismiss,” Izuku added, a small, almost playful smirk touching the corner of his lips, “you’ll all get to see recordings of every match I fought on that Brute world. Consider it... required viewing.”

He walked off the stage, the buzz of whispered conversations following him. Rejoining his squad, Izuku handed each of them a bag of popcorn.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, a grin forming on his face as he muttered, “Always full of surprises, aren’t you, Halsey?”

Izuku shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Figured we could use some entertainment before things get serious.”

Momo glanced at the popcorn, then at the eager faces of the trainees who were already looking up at the screens with both anticipation and unease. She nodded, knowing that whatever they were about to witness was just the beginning of what lay ahead.

-----

As the recordings played, the room fell into a captivated silence, eyes locked onto the screen with an intensity that spoke of both admiration and disbelief. Each match showcased Izuku's brilliance—his refusal to kill, his clever use of the environment, and the tactical maneuvers that left his opponents stumbling in confusion. The reactions were palpable; with every feint, trap, and creative takedown, murmurs of awe rippled through the Spartan trainees. It was more than just entertainment; it was a testament to resilience against overwhelming odds.

A chorus of chuckles grew steadily louder as they watched scenes of towering Brute warriors, once feared across the galaxy, reduced to helpless frustration. The raw power of these predators seemed almost laughable when faced with the unyielding resolve of a boy barely twelve years old. They watched with wide grins as each attempt to subdue Izuku ended in failure, the Brutes' fearsome presence crumbling until they appeared more akin to defeated hounds than formidable foes.

When the final match began, the trainees leaned in, eyes narrowed and breaths held. The presence of a Prophet, seated on a hovering throne with an air of false divinity, caught their attention. His barked orders and erratic gestures hinted at a desperation that bordered on madness. The Prophet’s carefully constructed veneer of control shattered as, yet again, Izuku emerged victorious. Gasps gave way to outright laughter when the Prophet, red-faced and shaking, descended into an ungraceful tantrum, flailing and sputtering incoherently.

By the end of the viewing, the tension in the room had transformed into an electric buzz of conversation. Trainees, previously suspicious or indifferent, were now animatedly discussing the spectacle, their voices overlapping as they praised Izuku’s ingenuity. Even those who had been openly hostile before now exchanged glances of reluctant respect.

A few of the girls in the audience cast flirtatious glances in Izuku's direction, their expressions ranging from impressed to intrigued. Katsuki, noticing this, smirked and elbowed Izuku lightly. “Looks like you’ve got some new fans, Wraith.”

Izuku's face turned a shade pinker, and he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to downplay the sudden attention. “I’d rather they focus on the mission,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth hinted at a smile.

Momo chuckled softly, leaning over to whisper, “You may have just become the most popular person in the room, Corporal.”

As the chatter continued, the room felt lighter than it had in days. For the first time since their arrival, there was hope in the air, a shared belief that maybe, just maybe, they had what it took to see this war to its end.

----

“Sir?” Amy called, jogging to catch up with Izuku. There was an unusual hesitance in her voice that made him pause and glance back. She stood there, eyes locked on his with an expression that mixed determination and nerves. “Permission to speak freely?”

Izuku blinked, slightly taken aback by her sudden seriousness. “Granted,” he replied, trying to gauge what was coming.

Before he could say another word, Amy surged forward, standing on her toes as she pressed her lips to his in a brief but fierce kiss. The world seemed to stop for a moment as surprise washed over Izuku, his eyes wide in stunned silence. The warmth of her embrace and the faint scent of the training field clung to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and spun him, their shared laughter breaking the tension that had existed between them for weeks.

Amy pulled back, her face flushed crimson. Without another word, she released him, stepping back with an almost bashful glance before turning on her heel. She hurried off, her strides quick as though to escape any follow-up questions, cheeks burning as brightly as a flame.

The entire scene had unfolded in front of the gathered trainees, who erupted into a chorus of whistles and whoops. Some patted Izuku on the back, grinning with amusement.

“Well, Corporal,” Kirishima teased, clapping Izuku's shoulder with a wide grin, “looks like you’re winning more hearts than battles today!”

Izuku, still processing what had just happened, felt his face heat up as the stunned silence melted into a sheepish smile. “Uh... noted,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper amid the good-natured cheers and laughter around him.