A Forest Training Camp arc fanfiction filled with quiet tension, resurfacing memories, and a night that changes everything.
On the eve of the Forest Training Camp, Jessa returns to a place she’s avoided for fifteen years—and finds Aizawa there first. The tension between them deepens in quiet moments where the past presses close, even when neither of them is ready to face it. Then the camp’s uneasy calm shifts into something far more dangerous, forcing instincts and priorities into sharp focus. By the time the smoke clears, the distance between them doesn’t feel like a choice anymore.
Chapter 7: The Roof, the Forest, and the Things Unsaid
The night before the Forest Training Camp feels strange. Humming with energy. Heavy with unease. Papers are finished. Lesson plans are done. The students are buzzing with excitement.
But Jessa cannot stop thinking.
About the USJ attack.
About the hospital.
About how he held her hand, then pulled away again the moment he healed.
By the time the sun sinks behind the horizon, she needs air.
Her feet take her toward the teacher stairwell almost on instinct. She hesitates at the final flight.
She has not set foot on the UA rooftop in fifteen years.
Fifteen years of avoiding the place where everything she loved and everything she lost is tangled together.
But tonight she forces herself up the final steps and pushes open the metal door.
The hinge squeaks softly.
She steps out.
Then stops dead.
Shota is already there.
He stands near the railing, back to her, hair stirring in the breeze. The golden remains of sunset halo him in soft amber light.
Jessa’s heart stutters painfully.
Of all the people she expected to find here, he was the last.
He turns at the sound of the door.
Surprise flickers in his eye.
Then something guarded clenches his posture tight.
She inhales. “I thought… I thought I would be alone.”
He looks away toward the darkening sky. “I did not expect anyone else tonight.”
Her chest tightens.
This was supposed to be a moment to face her ghosts.
Now one is staring directly at her.
She steps forward slowly, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt. “If you want space, I can leave.”
He hesitates. “You can stay.”
Her breath catches. “Are you sure”
He nods once. “Yes. It is a large roof.”
It is a strange invitation.
Awkward.
Gentle in the only way he knows how to be gentle with her.
She walks to the opposite side, leaving distance between them. The cool air smells faintly of concrete and old memories.
Jessa grips the railing, steadying her breath. “I have not been up here since we were students.”
He goes still.
She sees the tension in his jaw even from several feet away.
“I come here often,” he admits quietly. “It helps me think.”
“Of course it does,” she says softly. “This was always your place.”
His fingers flex on the metal. He does not answer.
A long silence stretches, full of unsaid things.
Finally she risks it.
“Shota,” she says gently, “we used to talk up here. About everything. About the future. About fears. About… what mattered.”
His breath catches.
She takes a step closer, but slowly. Carefully. “I know things fell apart. I know I left. But we never talked about what happened. And I want to understand.”
He turns his head slightly, just enough that she sees the pain in his expression.
“We are not kids anymore,” he says quietly.
“I know,” she whispers. “But that does not mean the past does not still hurt.”
His throat works. “There is nothing to discuss.”
“Shota, please. I am just asking you to let me—”
“No.”
The word is soft but final. “I cannot do this.”
She stops moving. Her chest aches. “I am not trying to fight. I just…” She swallows hard. “I miss being your friend.”
Something breaks in his expression for a single breath.
A flash of longing.
Regret.
Fear so deep it looks ancient.
Then it is gone.
He turns away. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be difficult.”
She nods even though he is not looking. “Right. Of course.”
She retreats toward the door.
Her hand rests on the metal handle. She forces a small smile. “Goodnight, Shota.”
He hesitates.
His answer comes too quietly. “Goodnight, Shimizu.”
The last name wounds her, but she hides it.
She slips inside, letting the door fall shut behind her.
Shota stands alone under the emerging stars, staring at the place she stood moments before, wondering why it still hurts to watch her walk away.
Forest Training Camp – Before the Fire
By the time the buses pull up to the edge of the forest, half the class is groaning dramatically and the other half is buzzing with excitement.
Kaminari presses his forehead against the window. “We have been driving for hours. I think I am dying.”
Bakugo rolls his eyes. “You are always dying.”
Aizawa stands at the front, wrapped in his scarf, radiating tired teacher energy. “Everyone off.”
Jessa steps down beside him. “You could try sounding excited.”
“This is excited.”
She snorts. “Right.”
Meeting the Pussycats
The moment the students gather, Mandalay and Pixie-Bob leap from the hillside with a dramatic introduction. Earth trembles. Dirt explodes. A giant beast made of soil roars at the class.
Half the children scream.
Jessa claps her hands. “Love the enthusiasm. Ten out of ten for presentation.”
Mandalay beams. “Thank you. We try.”
Aizawa sighs. “Shimizu, do not encourage them.”
She grins. “Too late.”
Pixie-Bob circles Jessa with a bright, sparkly glance. “Hello, pretty new pro hero.”
Jessa blinks. “Oh. Hi.”
“You have wonderful elemental energy,” Pixie-Bob says, practically purring. “Water types are very compatible with earth types.”
Aizawa steps between them immediately. “We are here to work. Not flirt.”
Pixie-Bob winks. “Noted.”
Jessa hides a smile. Shota absolutely noticed.
Training Begins
The students are thrown immediately into survival training. The trek to camp takes them most of the day.
Once inside the training facility, Jessa helps the kids organize their rooms while Aizawa sets up lesson plans with the Pussycats.
“Sensei, can you show us more water techniques tomorrow” Uraraka asks hopefully.
“Of course,” Jessa says. “But be ready. Water is more about control than force.”
Midoriya nods seriously. “I will try my best.”
She ruffles his hair. “I know.”
Aizawa watches the interaction from across the room, expression unreadable.
Evening by the Fire Pit
Dinner is chaotic. Kota glowers at everyone. Bakugo yells about seasoning. Sato makes rice that nearly saves the day.
Once the students drift off toward evening chores, Jessa finds herself sitting beside Shota near an unlit fire pit, both of them watching the forest darken around them.
“You trained them well,” she says softly.
“I try to keep them alive,” he replies.
“That is the job.”
He looks at her, just for a breath. “You are good with them. Better than me sometimes.”
Her chest warms. “Did you just compliment me”
He glances away. “It was an observation.”
“Still counts.”
Silence settles, not uncomfortable, but fragile.
For a moment, she imagines what it would be like if things had never gone wrong. Sitting like this with him could have felt natural. Easy. Safe.
He clears his throat. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be intense.”
“You say that every day.”
“And I am always right.”
She smiles. “I will rest if you rest.”
“I do not require it.”
She bumps his shoulder lightly. “Everyone requires it.”
He stiffens slightly at the contact, but he does not pull away.
A tiny victory.
Late-Night Training: Jessa and the Students
Later, while Aizawa prepares for tomorrow’s quirk-assessment drills, Jessa leads a late-night water control session at the camp lake.
Uraraka, Shoji, Tokoyami, and Midoriya gather around her.
“Water is alive,” she tells them. “It carries energy. It reflects your intent. If you push too hard, it scatters. If you hesitate, it slips away. Meet it in the middle.”
She raises her hands.
The surface of the lake lifts in a gentle arc, glowing in the moonlight.
Students gasp softly.
“Your turn,” she says.
They practice for nearly an hour. Midoriya manages to stabilize a small wave. Tokoyami impresses her by guiding Dark Shadow through reflections on the water.
From the shadows, Aizawa watches the whole thing.
He does not interrupt.
He does not comment.
He simply watches her, quietly, as if he is searching for the girl he once knew.
The Calm Before the Storm
As the camp settles for the night, Jessa stands alone on the deck overlooking the forest. She breathes slowly, trying to quiet the unease in her chest.
Footsteps approach.
She does not look back. “I thought you were asleep.”
Aizawa steps beside her. “I do not sleep early.”
She nods. “Tomorrow is going to push the kids hard.”
“It will push us hard too.”
She glances at him. “We always manage.”
He almost smiles. “Somehow.”
They watch the tree line in silence for a long time.
Finally, she says softly, “It is peaceful out here.”
“For now.”
She shivers at the edge in his voice. “Do you feel something coming”
He does not answer.
But he looks at the dark forest like he is waiting for it to burn.
Unspoken Truths
Jessa wraps her arms around herself.
Shota notices.
He removes his scarf and places it gently over her shoulders.
She looks up, shocked.
“You are cold,” he says simply.
Her heart trips. “Thank you.”
He nods, already stepping back. “Goodnight, Shimizu.”
The last name twists in her chest again.
But this time she lets the warmth of the scarf soften the sting.
“Goodnight, Shota.”
They part ways in the quiet of the forest camp, unaware that before the next night ends, the trees will be on fire, the villains will descend, and everything between them will break open again.
Fire in the Trees
Night pulled the forest into a gentle, humming quiet. A sky full of stars spread overhead, silver-bright and soft. The students were tucked into their cabins, final laughter fading into drowsy murmurs. A breeze rustled through the dense trees, cool against the warmth of the day’s sun.
For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
Jessa stood at the edge of the clearing, listening to the faint ripple of leaves. The forest breathed with a steady rhythm. She inhaled deeply, letting the night air settle into her lungs. Yet beneath it all she felt that small, familiar pressure behind her ribs. A warning she could not name.
Shota approached her quietly, boots nearly silent against the packed dirt. She sensed him before she heard him. She always had.
“You have not slept,” she murmured, not looking at him yet.
“Neither have you.”
His voice was low and rough in that way it got near midnight, when fatigue softened the edges. She turned slightly, meeting the tired gaze beneath the shadowed strands of his hair.
“This place feels wrong,” she admitted.
“It does,” he said. “Something is off.”
Her arms folded tightly over her chest. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”
“You and I do not imagine things like this,” he replied.
She looked at him fully then and saw it. That tension he tried so hard to bury. A coil of unease that had been living in him since USJ, maybe since the moment she stepped back into his life.
And then the world broke open.
Chaos Unleashed
The first thing Jessa registers is the sound.
Not the normal sounds of a forest at night. Not the low murmur of insects or the occasional rustle of an animal in the underbrush. This sound is wrong.
A sharp crack, like the sky itself snapping.
Then a distant cry.
Then another, closer.
Her body responds before her mind catches up. Her spine stiffens. Her heart starts to pound. Every instinct honed over years of hero work flares awake.
Jessa turns toward the noise just as the world splits.
Purple light tears open in the darkness, swirling into a churning cloud at the edge of the training field, then another further in, then another still deeper between the trees. They twist, expand, and settle into pulsing, unnatural gates.
Warp quirk, she thinks immediately. Coordinated. Dangerous.
Figures emerge from the portals like shadows peeling off the ground. Villains. Dozens. Maybe more.
Behind her, one of the cabins opens. A sleepy-eyed student leans out, rubbing his face.
“Sensei, what is that glow…”
The forest explodes into blue.
Flames roar to life along the tree line, not red or orange but an eerie, vicious blue that stains the trunks and shadows in electric light. It spreads unnaturally fast, licking up bark, snapping through branches, devouring oxygen.
Heat slams into Jessa’s face. Smoke rushes forward a breath later, acrid and thick.
The nearest cabin erupts into panicked screams.
Shota swears sharply beside her. “It started. Get to the students. Now.”
Jessa’s eyes dart from the flames to the students’ dorms. The distance between them suddenly feels impossibly long.
“They will be trapped,” she says, voice tight.
“Not if we move.” His tone is clipped, but she hears the thread of fear under it. “Shimizu. Go.”
She nods once and sprints.
The heat intensifies with every step toward the tree line. The blue fire moves like a living creature, racing sideways, up, around, bending itself through branches in patterns that feel intentional.
That is not normal fire, she thinks. There is intelligence in it. Malice.
“Everyone out!” she shouts, her voice taking on the sharp authority of a pro hero. “Grab nothing, just move! Line up behind the teachers, now!”
Cabin doors slam open. Students pour out in various states of disarray, some in pajamas, some half in hero costumes, some barefoot. Their voices overlap in a rising, panicked wave.
“What is happening?”
“Is this training?”
“The forest is on fire!”
“Sensei, I cannot find my…!”
“Eyes on me!” Jessa commands, a sharp clap of her hands sending a small spray of water into the air that draws attention. “This is not training. This is real. Stay together, move where we tell you, do not run off, do not try to be heroes on your own. You hear me?”
A chorus of shaky “yes, sensei” answers her.
She counts faces as fast as she can. Not all of Class 1-A. Not all of 1-B. Some are on night training shifts, some already sent into the woods.
Her stomach sinks. They are scattered.
Telepathic words slam into her mind like a sudden broadcast.
This is Mandalay, she hears. All students, listen carefully. This is a villain attack. You are authorized to fight if necessary. Help each other and move to safety.
Jessa feels the communication pass through her as well, distant and sharp.
Shota appears at her side again, goggles up, scarf loose and ready.
“Thirteen and the Pussycats have interior groups,” he says quickly. “We handle perimeter and fire corridors. You clear pathways and suppress flames. I neutralize threats and pull kids through.”
“Copy,” she says. “We are going to overheat fast.”
“Then do not overuse.”
She gives him a look. “You know that is not going to happen.”
His jaw flexes. “I know. That is what worries me.”
They do not have time to unpack that.
A patch of earth just beyond the cabins erupts as a villain bursts from the ground, teeth bared. A boy in 1-B cries out, frozen.
Shota’s eyes glow red as he steps forward. “Quirk, erased.”
The villain’s power sputters out mid-attack. Jessa sends a whip of water cracking across his chest, knocking him flat. A second wave pins him to the ground with enough force to break his breath.
“Keep moving!” Jessa calls over her shoulder. “Heads down, eyes open. Stay behind the barrier when it forms.”
“What barrier?” Kaminari yells, eyes wild.
“This one.”
She reaches for the moisture in the air, in the soil, in the breaths of every terrified kid around her. It answers, drawn to her call. Her chest feels tight as she pulls in more and more and more. Then she shoves her hands forward.
A semicircular dome of water slams into existence in front of the main group, curving high over their heads like a translucent shield. Heat slams into it immediately, but the water cools, hisses, holds.
The students stare, wide eyed.
“Move under it!” she orders. “This will give us a corridor. Do not stop.”
They obey, streaming beneath the watery barrier, small silhouettes framed against the pulsing blue beyond. Every few steps, more villains appear. Aizawa flashes into motion each time, erasing quirks with a single look, binding their limbs with swift, sure movements.
Jessa expands the barrier as they go, feeling the toll in the way her throat dries and her fingertips tingle. The water flows like an extension of her nerves, humming and straining around them.
“Shimizu,” Shota calls, voice close to her ear now, “how much more can you hold?”
“Enough,” she lies.
He does not argue. There is no time.
Inside the Fire
They reach the edge of the main camp, where the safe open field ends and the thick forest begins. Here is where the fire is worst.
Trees crack and fall, sending embers spiraling like fireflies. The blue flames cast the world in a ghostly glow. Smoke pools low to the ground as if reluctant to rise, ready to choke anyone it can reach.
Jessa’s eyes burn. Sweat trickles down her neck. Her lungs already protest each breath.
“Sensei!” a voice cries from somewhere to the left. “Over here!”
She turns sharply. A group of students is cut off from the main body by a thick line of blue flame that crawls along the ground like a living barrier. They huddle close, some covering their mouths, others holding onto each other.
She does not think. She moves.
The barrier behind her holds on its own for a few seconds as she pulls every bit of available water she can feel in a wide arc. Her muscles scream in protest, but she bears down harder.
She throws her arms forward.
Water crashes into the blue fire with a deafening hiss. Steam explodes upward, hot and blinding. The flame recoils, shrieking as it is smothered.
The students run through the newly opened gap, coughing and stumbling.
“Go!” she says, voice hoarse. “Stay with Mandalay. Do not look back. Keep your heads covered.”
They obey, fear giving them speed.
Smoke coils around Jessa’s head. The world swims at the edges of her vision. She sways, just for a second.
A hand catches her elbow.
“Careful,” Shota says. “Your hands are shaking.”
She looks down. He is right. Her fingers tremble, droplets of water clinging and slipping from them.
“I am fine,” she says. “I have done worse.”
He does not let go. “Not since you were a kid.”
For a moment, she hears the other words hidden in that sentence. Not since he almost lost her. Not since Oboro.
She pulls her arm free gently and forces a smirk. “Are you telling me you are worried about me?”
His mouth tightens. “I am telling you I need you functional.”
She laughs once, brittle and thin. “Sure. That too.”
He opens his mouth, something like an argument or a confession forming there. Before he can speak, the fire intensifies again to their right.
A towering pillar of blue flame erupts in the middle of the woods.
Jessa feels the heat even from where she stands. It feels like someone just opened the door to a furnace.
“Not natural,” she whispers. “That is… focused.”
Shota’s eyes narrow. “He is here.”
Dabi’s Clone
he figure that steps through the wall of blue looks like the fire invented him.
Tall and lanky, wrapped in ragged clothes, skin stapled together with crude patches of purple scar tissue, he walks with a lazy sort of menace. Blue fire curls around his fingers as if eager to be used.
He smiles as if they are playing some small, pleasant game.
“Well,” he says casually. “You must be the staff. I was told UA had some decent pros.”
Jessa steps forward on instinct, water pooling at her feet like an eager tide.
Shota immediately moves half a step in front of her. “Shimizu. Stay back.”
“I am not staying behind you in a fire,” she says sharply. “That is not happening.”
“Your quirk is unstable. You are already sweating and pale.”
“So are you,” she fires back, then, quieter, “we do better together.”
That gives him pause. The memory of USJ flashes between them unspoken. The way she moved beside him there. The way he nearly died. The way she almost watched it happen again.
He does not have time to answer.
Dabi lets a ribbon of blue fire fall from his hand, burning a clean line across the ground. “Touching,” he says. “I am going to enjoy this.”
Shota’s eyes flash red behind his goggles. “Quirk erased.”
The blue fire at Dabi’s fingertips flickers, sputters, and dies. His expression shifts from bored to mildly interested.
“Oh,” he says. “That one. I have heard of you.”
Jessa uses the opening.
She pulls hard, gathering water from every direction she can feel. From the air. From the moist earth. From the sweat on her own skin. It rushes to her hands, heavy and cold.
She thrusts both palms forward.
The water hits the Dabi clone with enough force to lift him off his feet and slam him into a half burned tree. Wood cracks under the impact. He slumps, then pushes himself upright, laughing.
“You hit harder than you look,” he says, wiping blood from his lip. “I like you.”
She feels the cost of that hit immediately. Her heart thuds too fast. Her lungs pull in air that does not feel like enough. Her vision threads with dark spots.
Shota steps in closer. “That was too much output.”
“I know what I am doing,” she mutters.
“No,” he says, voice low and controlled, the way it gets when he is trying not to shout. “You know how to break yourself for other people.”
Anger flares hot in her chest, mixing with fear and exhaustion. “And you know how to ignore your own injuries until you cannot stand.”
“This is not about me.”
“It has always been about you.”
Dabi raises his hands again, smirking. “Lovers’ quarrel. Cute.”
Shota snaps his gaze back to Dabi, grinding his teeth. “Quirk erased.”
The flames vanish again. Jessa surges forward for a second strike, but her focus wavers. The water she conjures splashes wide, missing the vital point, more harmless spray than weapon.
The strain finally hits her fully.
Her legs feel heavy, like they belong to someone else. Her chest aches. Her skin prickles and tightens across her face.
Shota sees it. Of course he does.
“Enough,” he says.
She keeps moving.
“Jessa,” he says, not Shimizu this time, voice catching. “Stop.”
She freezes for a fraction of a second at the name.
Dabi uses it.
He lunges forward, aiming not for her, but for Shota, blue fire sputtering back to life as the erasure breaks for just an instant. Shota twists, scarf snapping up to block, and gets between the clone and Jessa without thinking.
Jessa reacts.
She throws every last bit of strength she has into one more resonant blast. The water crashes into Dabi’s side again, hard enough to send him flying, this time into a smoking log that splinters under the impact. He rolls and goes still for a moment. Even a clone cannot immediately shrug off a hit like that.
But the cost is brutal.
Something inside her lurches.
Her hearing dims, as if someone suddenly covered her ears.
Her fingers tingle, then go numb.
The world tilts.
Shota’s Flashback – Oboro’s Last Stand
The smell of burning wood and metal blurs. The blue fire, the present, the forest, all fall away for one brutal heartbeat.
Shota is not in a forest anymore.
He is seventeen again.
The air is thick with gray smoke and the sharp scent of concrete dust. Buildings groan overhead, their structures weakened by villain attacks. Civilians cry for help somewhere down the street, their voices thin and desperate.
Jessa stands in the middle of it all, drenched, trembling, water swirling around her in collapsing waves. She has been fighting fires and clearing rubble for too long. Her shoulders shake. Her lips are pale.
“Jessa, stop,” he says, moving toward her. “You are done. You need to rest.”
She shakes her head. “There are still people inside. I can feel them. Just a little more.”
He feels the panic like a knife in his chest. “You are already past your limit.”
“I am fine.”
She is not. He can see her knees buckling. He can hear the slight slur in her words. He knows the signs. He has watched her push like this before. From the day she arrived.
Oboro runs past him, cape flapping, face set.
“Shota, get those people on the street to safety!” Oboro shouts. “I will grab Jessa.”
“You cannot go under that structure,” Shota says sharply. “It is going to collapse.”
Oboro grins at him then, bright and foolish and brave. “That is why you are making sure I do not get crushed. We have got this. That is what we do, right?”
Shota’s mouth goes dry. “Oboro.”
“Go!” Oboro says. “Trust me.”
He does. He always has.
Shota turns to the crowd, forces himself to focus on pulling civilians away, on guiding them toward the emergency teams. He hears the groaning of the building grow louder. He hears Jessa’s voice, strained and hoarse.
“One more wave. I can push it back.”
His heart spikes. He looks over his shoulder.
A massive crack appears along the top of the structure above Jessa. Concrete starts to buckle.
“No,” he says. “No, no, no.”
He runs.
He is not fast enough.
Oboro yells her name, louder than Shota has ever heard him. He throws himself toward her, body slamming into hers with enough force to knock her clear. She flies into Shota’s arms, all wet hair and limp limbs, eyes rolling back as exhaustion takes her.
Then the building comes down.
The sound is deafening.
Shota falls backward with Jessa in his arms, shielding her as best he can from the dust and debris that rain down. When the world finally stops shaking, he cannot hear anything but a horrible, hollow ringing.
“Oboro,” he whispers. “Oboro.”
There is no answer.
Through the dust, he sees a hand sticking out from the rubble. Familiar. Still.
The world narrows to a single point of agony in his chest.
He holds Jessa closer, her face pressed against his shoulder, unconscious tears streaking through the grime on her cheeks. He feels her breath, shallow but steady.
She is alive.
Oboro is not.
The equation sears itself into his mind.
He kneels there in the wreckage, arms wrapped around the girl he loves, staring at the place where his best friend disappeared under concrete.
Terror carves itself into his bones.
If I let her push herself like this again, he thinks, if I stand by and watch her burn out, it will be her body under rubble next time. Not Oboro’s. Not mine. Hers.
I cannot survive that.
I cannot.
Back to the Fire – Jessa Breaks
“Jessa.”
Her name leaves Shota’s mouth with a crack in it. He hears the weakness in his own voice and hates it, but fear is rising inside him too fast to hide.
Jessa stands unsteady on her feet, shoulders slumped, breaths coming shallow. Her hair sticks to her damp cheeks, her eyes unfocused, lashes clumped from sweat and smoke.
Her entire body looks drained of color.
She forces another wave of water to form in her palms, the shape trembling before it even fully coalesces. The surface flickers, breaks, then collapses in a harmless splash at her feet.
That has never happened before.
“Jessa.” This time his tone is firm, commanding. “Look at me.”
She tries. Her eyes lift halfway to his, then drift to the side as if even keeping them open is too much.
“I can still work,” she whispers, swaying. “Some kids… I thought I heard Sero. And Shoji. I need to make another safe path.”
“You have no strength left.” His voice is sharper now. “You used everything.”
“Just one more,” she murmurs. “I have to.”
Her knees buckle.
Shota lunges forward, catching her before she hits the scorched ground. Her body folds into his, limp and frighteningly lightweight.
“Jessa.” He cups the back of her head, fingers threading through strands wet with condensation and ash. “Stay awake. You hear me? You stay awake.”
She tries to lift her head. “Sorry… I know I pushed too much… I always… overdo it.”
He tightens his hold on her. “Do not apologize. Just breathe.”
Behind them, the battlefield screams.
A portal tears open in the air with a violent ripple. Blue-black energy spirals outward, warping the nearby trees. Debris swirls into the vortex like dust drawn into a vacuum.
Bakugo’s furious voice pierces the night.
“Let go of me! I said let go!”
Shota’s head snaps toward the sound. He sees Bakugo struggling violently against two villains, teeth bared like a feral animal, sweat and soot streaking his face. He hurls explosions at them, but they dodge and drag him closer to the warping gate.
“Bakugo!” Jessa gasps, eyes widening in horror as she tries to lift herself.
Her arms shake violently and give out. Shota holds her steady, one arm around her back, the other beneath her knees.
He cannot move.
Not with her like this.
Not without dropping her.
Not without risking her life.
Another voice rises from somewhere behind the inferno, Mandalay’s telepathy slicing through the smoke.
Bakugo has been taken. Prioritize remaining students. Retreat to safe points.
Jessa’s head falls weakly against Shota’s shoulder. Her breath hitches once, then slows again, too faint, too shallow.
Her fingers twitch as if she wants to reach toward the portal. “Shota… help him…”
His throat closes painfully. “I cannot leave you.”
“But the kids…”
“I said I cannot leave you.”
The rawness of his voice drags her gaze up to his face for half a second. Her eyes, dazed and unfocused, struggle to make sense of his expression.
Fear.
Rage.
Something much deeper.
She opens her mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to apologize again.
Nothing comes out.
Her eyes roll back.
Her body goes completely still.
“Jessa.” Shota’s voice breaks. “Jessa, open your eyes. Now.”
He shakes her gently. Her head lolls against his shoulder.
Her pulse beats fast and weak under his fingers. Too weak.
Smoke rushes around them. Flames crackle. Students scream somewhere to the north. Wood groans overhead as trees collapse under the spreading blue blaze.
The world spins in chaos, yet all Shota sees is her.
He stands without realizing he has decided to stand, lifting her fully into his arms. One arm under her knees. One arm braced around her back. Her head rests against his collarbone, hair draping over his chest like dark streams of water.
“Hold on,” he whispers, breath shaking. “You stay with me.”
He starts walking.
Every step is slow and deliberate, made heavier by the frantic pounding of his heart.
Behind him, the portal snaps shut. Bakugo is gone. Flames roar louder, devouring more of the forest. The air is thick with smoke and sirens and shouts.
The students they passed earlier call out names, searching for each other.
But Shota hears none of it clearly.
His world has narrowed to the unconscious woman in his arms.
Her weight.
Her uneven breathing.
The faint tremor in her fingers.
The memory of Oboro’s hand disappearing beneath rubble.
The way Jessa’s body felt limp in that moment too.
The way he swore never again.
A violent ache blooms across his chest.
“Not again,” he whispers, forehead pressing against her hair. “Not ever again.”
For a moment he cannot breathe.
He forces air into his lungs and moves faster.
“I am getting you out,” he murmurs against her forehead. “I am getting you safe. Just stay alive.”
He walks through the burning wood, not caring that flames lick too close, not caring that falling branches narrowly miss them, not caring that embers sting his skin.
She is all that matters.
Because he remembers the last time he carried her through smoke.
He remembers what was lost that day.
He remembers how long he has lived with the guilt of loving someone he failed to protect.
He will not fail again.
He tightens his hold as he steps into clearer air near the medical tents.
Her head shifts gently against his chest, but she does not wake.
Shota lowers his mouth to her hair, speaking in a voice no one else will ever hear.
“Stay alive, Jessa. Please. I need you to stay alive.”
The Night the Forest Burned
The medical tents glow like islands of white amid the blackened chaos. Lights flicker under canvas awnings. Medics shout for supplies. Students cry, groan, or shiver in shock while other teachers try to count heads and keep order.
But Shota sees none of them clearly.
He walks with Jessa held firmly in his arms, her body limp and frighteningly still, her cheek pressed against the front of his capture weapon, her hair sticking to his throat.
Her breath is too quiet.
Too shallow.
Too uneven.
Every inhale from her sounds like a coin flip with fate.
As he approaches the triage line, a medic rushes forward.
“ETA? Condition?” the medic calls, reaching for Jessa.
Shota shifts back instinctively, pulling her closer. “Quirk overuse. Severe dehydration. Possible syncope. She is unresponsive.”
“Let me take her,” the medic says, gentle but firm. “We need to lay her down.”
“She stays with me,” Shota snaps.
The medic blinks. “Sir, we cannot treat her if—”
“You treat her. I hold her.” His tone is sharp enough to cut. “Move.”
The medic hesitates only a second before stepping aside and clearing space on a cot.
Shota kneels beside it, laying Jessa down slowly, carefully, as if she is made of thin glass. Her head lolls toward his shoulder even when he tries to lower her.
He moves his hand to support her neck until she settles.
Her eyelashes flutter, barely.
“Shota…” she breathes, fragile as wet paper.
His heart slams so hard it hurts.
“I am here.” His voice drops to something tender and panicked. “Stay awake for me.”
Her lips move, though no sound comes out. Tears sting his eyes, a burn he refuses to acknowledge.
A second medic arrives with fluids, vitals equipment, and a mask.
“Blood pressure dangerously low,” they mutter. “Pulse is rapid and weak. She is crashing. We need an IV. Sir, please step back.”
Shota does not move.
“I said,” the medic tries again, “we need space.”
“I am not leaving,” Shota says. The words are soft, but they tremble with something fierce. “Work around me.”
Jessa’s fingers twitch, searching the air. Shota catches her hand before she finds empty space.
Her skin is ice cold.
“Focus on my voice,” he murmurs, leaning close. “Do not drift. Stay with me, Jessa.”
One medic slides a needle into her arm. Fluid begins dripping into the line.
Her face tightens, a silent wince.
Shota swears under his breath and squeezes her hand. “It is alright. You are safe. I have you.”
She opens her eyes for a second.
The pupils are unfocused, hazy with exhaustion and pain.
Her gaze settles on him.
Recognition flickers.
Fades.
Flickers again.
“Your face…” she whispers.
He leans in until his forehead touches hers. He does not care who sees.
“You are going to be fine,” he says quietly. “Do you hear me. You are not dying on me.”
She exhales a weak laugh. “You… yelled a lot… earlier.”
“You deserved it.”
“Mean… teacher…”
“Stay awake,” he says sharply, because the alternative terrifies him.
Her eyes roll slightly. The medics raise the oxygen mask toward her face.
Her breath stutters. Her fingers squeeze his weakly. “Shota… I am sorry…”
He feels something in him crack.
A clean break.
“Do not apologize,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I messed… up…”
“You saved them. You saved so many of them. You did everything right.”
“But Bakugo…”
“Not your fault.” He cups her cheek with his free hand. “You did everything you could. More than you should have.”
Her eyelids droop.
“Stay with me,” he says again.
She breathes shakily. “I am… trying…”
“Good.” His voice drops to a trembling whisper. “Keep trying. Do not stop.”
Her brow furrows slightly, as if she hears the fear beneath his tone.
The medic carefully settles the oxygen mask over her face.
Her breathing steadies a little, though too faint for his comfort.
Aizawa leans closer, forehead almost pressing to hers again.
“You listen to me,” he says quietly, words meant for her and only her. “I cannot lose you. I cannot. Not again.”
One of the medics glances over. “Sir?”
He ignores them.
Jessa’s fingers slip in his, losing strength.
“Stay,” he breathes. “Please stay. I know I do not deserve to ask, but please… stay.”
Her eyes flutter open, barely. “Shota…”
“Yes,” he whispers.
She tries to shape another word. It comes out as a ghost of sound.
“Cold…”
He immediately pulls his capture weapon loose and drapes it over her, shielding her from the night air.
“You will be warm soon,” he says. “You will be fine.”
Her eyes close again.
Her chest rises and falls slowly, but it rises. That is all that keeps him from unraveling entirely.
“Her pressure is stabilizing,” one medic announces. “Keep the fluids going. She may drift in and out. Try to keep her responsive.”
Shota nods sharply, still clutching her hand.
He leans close again, voice trembling in ways he hopes she will not remember.
“You listen to me, Jessa Shimizu,” he whispers. “If you die I will never forgive you. I cannot go through this again. I cannot lose you like I lost him. I need you. Do you understand me. I need you.”
Her lips move weakly behind the mask.
He bends down to hear her.
“…didn’t… hear…”
“That is alright,” he murmurs. “Just keep breathing.”
She slips under again, deeper this time. Her hand grows limp in his.
But her pulse, though faint, holds steady.
Shota bows his head over her hand, eyes burning, chest shaking with breath he cannot quite steady.
One of the medics touches his shoulder. “Sir… she is alive.”
He nods without looking up.
He keeps holding her hand.
“Stay alive,” he whispers. “Stay with me. Please.”
He will deny saying all of this in the morning.
But for now, with no one but the unconscious woman who has haunted him for half his life to hear him, Aizawa Shota breaks.
Hospital – Something Breaks, Something Closes
The first thing she registers when consciousness drags her back is the weight in her limbs. Heavy. Weak. Her body feels wrung out, drained of both water and strength.
The second thing she registers is the light.
Soft morning light filters through a cracked curtain, painting the hospital wall in pale gold. The scent of antiseptic mingles with the faint sourness of dried smoke still clinging to her hair.
And then she notices him.
Aizawa Shota is in the chair beside her bed, slumped forward, arms crossed loosely, chin resting lightly against his own collarbone. His hair is tied back in a loose half knot, strands falling over his face. His uniform top is still dirty, ash-stained, torn at one sleeve. He looks like he has not slept in days.
Her breath catches.
He did not leave.
For a long moment she just watches him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slight twitch of his fingers when dreams tug at him. She remembers other nights like this. Another hospital room. Her younger self waking to the same quiet figure hunched beside her bed.
Her heart aches with something too old and too deep.
“…Shota.”
It comes out as a rasp.
His head snaps up immediately. His eyes widen a fraction before relief sweeps across his features so quickly she barely has time to register it. He sits forward sharply, bracing one hand on the bedframe.
“You are awake.”
His voice is rougher than usual, worn down by exhaustion.
She tries to smile. “My head feels like a dried sponge.”
“It is close,” he mutters. “You were severely dehydrated.”
She shifts slightly. Pain flares. He notices instantly.
“Do not move,” he says. “You need water, rest, and a supervised recovery. You pushed yourself far beyond your limit.”
There it is. The scolding she expected.
She exhales carefully. “Yeah, well… nobody burned to death. So you are welcome.”
He stares at her. “This is not funny.”
“I was trying for clever,” she says softly.
“You were not clever,” he counters, voice rising just a little. “You were reckless. You collapsed in the middle of a burning forest.”
“I had to keep the students safe.”
“You almost killed yourself,” he says bluntly. “Again.”
Her stomach drops. That word hangs there heavily, between them.
Again.
She looks down at her hands, fingers curling slightly against the blanket. “You still think that was my fault. Back then.”
His expression freezes.
She swallows. “You have thought it for years. You avoid me like I am the villain. I know you do not want to talk about it, but Shota… I know you hate me for what happened to Oboro.”
His jaw tightens. “I never said that.”
“You never say anything,” she whispers.
Something flickers in his eyes. Pain. Panic. Something too raw to hold onto.
He stands abruptly, pushing away from the chair as if the room suddenly became too small.
“You should rest. Talking is not helping.”
She closes her eyes briefly, hurt spiking. “Right. Back to the walls.”
He flinches but does not turn.
She tries again, quieter. “Shota… we were friends. Once. I do not understand why you have hated me for so long.”
He goes still.
So still she wonders if he is breathing.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet and strained. “Do not twist this into hate.”
“Then what should I call it?” she whispers.
He does not answer.
Instead, he reaches for the curtain with a clipped motion, clearly intending to leave. He needs distance. Air. Anything to put space between himself and the truth she keeps edging them toward.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “You need it.”
She watches him walk toward the door, shoulders rigid, steps too fast for someone who pretends not to care.
He pauses at the threshold.
For a long second he just stands there, back turned, fingers gripping the doorframe so tightly his knuckles whiten.
When he speaks, the words are so low she is not sure she heard them right.
“It was not worth almost losing you again.”
Her breath stutters.
“Shota… what did you say?”
He inhales sharply and straightens.
“Nothing,” he says, voice flat again. “You were imagining it. Rest.”
He walks out before she can stop him.
The door closes with a soft click.
Jessa sinks back into the pillows, pulse racing, her face hot despite the cool air.
Maybe she imagined it.
Maybe she dreamed it.
Maybe he said it by accident.
Maybe he did not mean it.
But the tremble in his voice had been real.
And so was the look in his eyes when she first woke up.
And so was the fact that he stayed beside her bed for an entire day and night.
And so was the line that will echo in her chest long after he leaves the room.
It was not worth almost losing you again.
She lifts a trembling hand to her mouth.
Shota Aizawa might not be ready to admit the truth.
But for the first time since she returned to Japan, Jessa feels a crack in the wall he has spent fifteen years building.
And behind that crack, something very real is waiting.
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