The door behind her vanished.
Gone.
No way back.
Just her, and him.
Bakugo.
But wrong.
He wore the colors of a broken nation—black, gray, gold.
No smile. No shouting.
Only precision.
Like a soldier trained to end threats before they begin.
He moved first.
No warning.No sound.
Just one flash of his gauntlet—
And the rooftop exploded.
She dodged.
Barely.
The world spun sideways—Air scorched.Hair singed.
The older her didn't move.Just watched from the mirror's edge.
"Don't expect him to remember you," she said."In his world, you died before you ever mattered."
Dust cleared.
Bakugo stood there.
Not smirking.Not cocky.
Expression: blank.
"You have one chance," he said."Come with me. The Architect can still fix your thread."
She stepped forward.
"Bakugo. I don't want to hurt you."
He blinked once.Didn't react.
"That's irrelevant."
She ducked the next blast.Spun low.Hit him in the ribs.
He didn't even flinch.
He grabbed her arm mid-swing—
And twisted it—
Not to break.
To reset.
His tech glowed.
"Rewind dampeners. Yours won't work on me."
The older her murmured from the mirror:
"He's here to teach you something."
"Lesson one—power won't save people who don't remember loving you."
She gritted her teeth.
Slid out of his hold.
Charged again.
Not to strike—
But to see.
She looked into his eyes—deep.
Behind the static soldier face.
And there—
Just a flicker.
A crack.
A memory.
Flash—Lunch on the dorm roof.Her. Him. Eri.A food fight.Laughter.
Gone in a blink.
But it was there.
Buried.
She stopped running.
Stood still.
Bakugo raised his gauntlet.
"This is your last chance—"
She smiled.
"You remembered, didn't you?"
His hand trembled.Barely.
"…No."
"Liar."
He roared.Charged again.
This time, she didn't dodge.
She stepped in.
Pressed her forehead against his chest—
And whispered:
"Even if you forgot… I didn't."
His hands shook.
Explosion flared—
Then fizzled.
His breath hitched.
He backed away.
Staggered.
"…Why aren't you fighting me?"
She smiled softly.
Tired. Warm.
"Because even a broken you… is still my friend."
Silence.
Then—
He fell to his knees.
Dropped the gauntlet.
Breathed.
"…I didn't want to forget you."
Behind them, the mirror cracked.
Light poured through.
A voice—The Architect's—cold, disappointed.
"Emotion is not immunity."
"Progress requires pruning."
But Bakugo stood.
Faced the mirror.
Middle finger raised.
"Then prune this."
The glass shattered.
And the door opened again.
The older girl nodded.
"You passed."
The younger girl frowned.
"That wasn't a test of strength."
"No," the older said."It was a test of faith."
They walked forward.
Past broken glass.Past shattered timelines.
To the next door.
On it:
"Test Two: Uraraka Ochaco – The One Who Stayed Too Long."
The girl paused.
Hands shaking.
"…She loved me."
The older self whispered:
"She still does."
Behind her, the Architect reset his board.
With one word etched in white:
"Empathy: Persistent."
He looked at the shadows watching from beyond the veil.
And said softly:
"Then we move to heartbreak."
To be continued.