It had been a week since Yujiro joined Class 1-A.
In that time, he spoke little, trained often, and watched everything.
His presence was constant but never demanding.
He didn't dominate conversations.
He dominated silence.
Training intensified under Aizawa's leadership.
Daily combat drills. Physical conditioning. Tactical breakdowns.
Yujiro never faltered.
During sparring, he dismantled opponents with calculated precision. He didn't overpower them—he disassembled them.
His movements were too fluid. His defense too aware.
Against Kirishima, he bypassed his hardening and swept him in two strikes.
Against Kaminari, he weaved through electricity arcs with footwork alone.
When he sparred with Todoroki, even half-cold-half-hot was forced to back off.
"Where did you learn this?" Todoroki asked mid-clash.
Yujiro parried and responded coldly, "In pain."
Meanwhile, strange reports began surfacing.
Drones found melted metal on the edge of U.A.'s barrier.
The same entropy signature once traced to Revenant.
Nezu met with All Might and Aizawa in private.
"This can't be coincidence," Nezu said. "He's being hunted again."
"Yujiro's presence attracts threats," Aizawa said. "But removing him is out of the question."
"No," All Might said. "They're not after him anymore. They're after what he could become."
At night, Yujiro meditated on the rooftop, shirtless under the stars.
Midoriya approached slowly, hands in his pockets.
"You always sit out here alone," he said. "Don't you ever get tired of carrying so much by yourself?"
Yujiro opened his eyes. "If I share the weight, someone else could break."
Midoriya sat beside him. "That's why people train together. So we get strong enough to carry each other."
Yujiro glanced at him. The wind stirred.
He didn't reply.
But he didn't walk away either.
Later, Yujiro caught Bakugo in the gym after curfew.
The blond boy was training in silence—brutal strikes, sharp breaths.
"You think you're stronger than me," Bakugo growled.
Yujiro wiped sweat from his brow. "No. I know I train harder."
They stared.
For a long second.
And something unspoken passed between them—not rivalry.
Recognition.
In the faculty hall, Aizawa reviewed secret footage.
A shadow moved in the forest perimeter. Unnatural. Watching.
"Whoever this is," he muttered, "they're not done with Hanama."
The next day, while Yujiro practiced his breathing drills at the training grounds, the air shifted.
His skin prickled.
His instincts screamed.
And in the trees, just beyond the safety net of U.A., a pair of red eyes blinked.
A voice echoed softly.
"Found you."