My Mangekyo Sharingan Can't Save My Hero Academia: 17 Toru

HAGAKURE HOUSEHOLD – 8:52 PM]

Toru Hagakure sat cross-legged on her bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen in horror.

Her parents were downstairs watching a movie.

She was supposed to be doing homework.

Instead, she was watching a video that had just shattered her entire worldview.

The title:

“U.A. Student Goes FerAL On Villain (COUNT THE HITS LMFAO)”

She pressed play.

Hooded figure.

U.A. blazer.

Red hair.

Manhole cover.

THUNK.

Toru flinched so hard her whole body blurred.

THUNK.

“Oh no—”

THUNK.

“Oh no—oh no—oh NO—”

The villain begged.

The kid did not care.

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

Toru dropped her phone.

Then snatched it back and scrubbed through the footage to the moment the hood slipped back.

Red hair.

Same messy length.

Sharp jawline.

Dead-inside eyes.

Her soul evacuated her body.

“…It’s him.”

She opened her group chat with Mina and Momo.

TORU:

GUYS. EMERGENCY. RED ALERT. LEVEL 10.

MINA:

huh what happened did u burn dinner again

TORU:

THE TRAY GUY

IS THE MANHOLE GUY

THE MANHOLE GUY

IS THE TRAY GUY

MOMO:

Please send context before Mina has a stroke.

Toru threw the link like a grenade.

Three dots appeared.

Then:

MINA:

oh

my

god

MOMO:

…He hit him very hard

TORU:

HE HIT HIM TWELVE TIMES

TWELVE

TIMES

AND THE LAST ONE WAS A WAR CRIME

MINA:

ok yeah that part hurt ME ngl

ASUI:

Is this the same guy who hit you guys with a tray at lunch?

TORU:

The very same.

ASUI:

Well that's horrifying. Ribbit.

MINA:

Wait toru are u SURE it's the same guy??

TORU:

I'M LIKE 80% SURE

MOMO:

That's not certainty.

TORU:

FINE

TORU:

90%

MINA:

TORU

The video wasn't very clear.

TORU:

OKAY MAYBE 70% BUT THAT'S STILL A FAILING GRADE IN "SHOULD I BE WORRIED" CLASS

MOMO:

We were supposed to return his textbook tomorrow.

TORU:

NO WE WEREN’T

NO WE ARE NOT

I AM NOT GOING

MINA:

Toru he's just a guy lol

TORU:

HE IS A MANHOLE GUY

THAT’S NOT A GUY THAT’S AN ALTERNATE CLASSIFICATION OF HUMAN

MOMO:

It's just a book. The owner and this person might be different.

TORU:

MY GUT SAYS OTHERWISE.

MOMO:

Technically, he saved a pro's life.

TORU:

BY BEATING SOMEONE LIKE A RUG.

IN PUBLIC.

AT NIGHT.

MINA:

ngl the form was kinda good tho

ASUI:

why did he keep hitting him though? ribbit

TORU:

BECAUSE HE'S UNHINGED

MOMO:

To be fair, the villain did threaten him.

TORU:

AFTER HE HIT HIM THE FIRST TIME

TORU:

STOP COMPLIMENTING HIM

DO YOU TWO WANT TO BE NEXT???

EVERY TIME I’M NEAR HIM SOMETHING HITS MY HEAD

FIRST THE TRAY

THEN THE BOOK

NEXT IT’LL BE A DESK

OR A VENDING MACHINE

OR—GOD FORBID—ALL MIGHT

MOMO:

Please calm down.

TORU:

NO

I AM ORDERING A HELMET

MINA:

girl u need therapy

TORU:

YES

BUT FIRST I NEED SURVIVAL

She threw her phone aside, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling.

Her parents called from downstairs.

“Toru! Dinner!”

“NOT HUNGRY! I’M—STUDYING!”

“You’re what?”

“VERY IMPORTANT HOMEWORK!”

Silence.

She curled into her blanket.

There was no way she was going near that boy tomorrow.

Not because he was *dangerous.*

But because apparently, the universe had decided that every time they were in the same vicinity, *something hit her in the head.*

And she was NOT signing up for round three.

"Nope," she muttered into her pillow. "Not doing it. Mina can try to drag me. I'll hold onto the desk. The wall. Aizawa-sensei if I have to."

She pulled the blanket tighter.

Tomorrow was going to be a disaster.

But at least her head would be safe.

…Probably.

Maybe.

Okay, she was definitely wearing a helmet.

___

[TOKYO – MORNING NEWS CYCLE – 6:14 AM]

Japan woke up to:

A freeze-frame of a teen winding up a manhole cover

A blurred villain screaming

Sentinel limping in the background

Every news station replayed it like a national sport.

Some networks discussed it seriously.

Others added dramatic music.

One channel used baseball sound effects.

By 6:30 AM, the video had hit national trending #1.

By 7:00 AM, anchors were asking:

“Should minors intervene in villain attacks?”

“What is the ethical limit of manhole-based justice?”

“Did he really hit him twelve times? Or was it thirteen?”

Nobody had a clear answer.

But everyone agreed it was hilarious.

---

[U.A. – FRONT GATES – 7:42 AM]

Yuta approached U.A. with the posture of a man walking toward his own execution.

He remembered how he ignored his mom's calls last night, only to have her send a message saying he should be at the hospital tomorrow without fail.

But that was a problem for later.

Now?

'Time to socially die.'

He kept his hood up. Bag slung low. Eyes fixed on the ground.

Of course, that didn’t matter.

Because outside the gates, a small cluster of reporters had already gathered.

Not the big national networks with fancy vans. Just freelance journalists and part-time bloggers smelling content.

A woman saw him.

Red hair. U.A. blazer. Teenage boy.

Her eyes lit up like Christmas.

“Excuse me! Are you the—?!”

Yuta turned 180 degrees and walked the other way.

Fast.

Very fast.

Another reporter jogged after him. “Sir! Young man! Manhole Kid!”

Yuta stopped dead.

'For Pete's sake.'

'Inhale.'

'Exhale.'

Then he turned back around, with the dearest expression he could give.

“No interviews,” he said flatly. “No comments. No opinions.”

“What are your thoughts on ...”

“I don't even have thoughts.”

He sidestepped them with fluid motion.

One reporter tried again:

“Your actions last night—”

“I don’t remember last night.”

“Public perception—”

“I have no perception.”

“Sentinel credited you for—”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Are you denying it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re on video.”

“Deepfake,” he said immediately.

Their eyebrows collectively rose.

Yuta didn’t stop walking.

He disappeared through the main doors before anyone could corner him again.

[U.A. – MAIN HALL – 7:48 AM]

The atmosphere inside was… different.

People stared.

They weren't hostile. They weren't scared.

Worse. They were curious. He could hear their discussions despite the hushed whispers wherever he went.

“Is that him?”

“Red hair… looks like it…”

“Bro he used a manhole cover—”

“No way the angle was THAT clean—”

“I counted eleven.”

“It was twelve. I slowed the footage.”

A first-year from Support Course peeked from behind her locker.

“…He doesn’t look like a serial manhole hitter.” observing his flat expression and steady steps, her cheeks reddened a bit. “He's actually pretty cute.”

Her friend whispered:

“That’s how they get you.” Yuta's lips twitched slightly. Nevertheless, he kept walking. His current social status depended on keeping a straight face if he wanted to salvage his reputation.

Straight ahead. No eye contact. No social side quests.

He rounded a corner—

Almost collided with a cluster of Hero Course boys from class 1b.

They stepped aside instantly, like pigeons parting for an apex predator.

One of them whispered:

“Dude… that’s him…”

Another whispered back:

“I heard the villain begged.”

“Bro everyone begs after the first hit to the nuts.”

Yuta resisted the urge to evaporate.

__

[GENERAL STUDIES – CLASS 1-C – 7:59 AM]

Students trickled in one by one.

Most talked about:

The weather

Homework

Who stole whose pen

By the time Yuta slipped inside, the room went quiet.

Not dead silent. Just… the silence of twenty-five teenagers discreetly observing a breaking news event in biological form.

He walked to his desk.

Sat down.

Pulled out his textbook—the replacement he'd bought last night at a convenience store.

Opened it.

Pretended the entire room wasn't staring at him.

Someone coughed.

Someone else shuffled papers very loudly.

Yuta kept his eyes on the page.

'Just act normal. If I act normal, they'll get bored and move on.'

A shadow fell over his desk.

He looked up.

Hana stood there, arms crossed, eyes gleaming.

"Morning, Yuta."

"…Morning."

She sat on the edge of his desk.

"So."

"So."

"Crazy night last night, huh?"

"Not particularly."

"Really?" She tilted her head. "Nothing interesting happen?"

"Nope."

"Nothing at all?"

"Dead boring, actually."

"Huh." She pulled out her phone. "That's weird, because I saw this video—"

Yuta closed his textbook.

"Hana."

"—of a guy with red hair—"

"Hana."

"—wearing a U.A. blazer—"

"Hana."

"—beating a villain twelve times with a manhole cover."

The class collectively leaned in.

Yuta sighed.

"That wasn't me."

"It looked like you."

"Coincidence."

"Same hair."

"Lots of people have red hair."

"Same height."

"I'm average height."

"Same face."

Yuta's eye twitched.

Kimura appeared on his other side, grinning like a lottery winner.

"Dude. Dude. That was the sickest thing I've ever seen."

"Wasn't me."

"You hit him in the—"

"Still wasn't me."

Tanaka leaned over from his desk.

"Bro, the form. Where'd you even learn that?"

"I didn't—"

"Was it a Quirk thing? Or just raw talent?"

Yuta pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I have no idea what you're ...."

Hana held up her phone.

The video played.

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

The entire class crowded around.

"OH MY GOD IT IS HIM—"

“Wha—”

The bell saved him.

Mrs. Nakamura walked in, sipping coffee, looking exhausted.

"Alright. Settle down."

The students scrambled back to their seats.

Mrs. Nakamura walked to her desk, set down her bag, and turned to face the class.

"Before we start—"

She paused.

Looked directly at Yuta.

"Yuta."

"…Yes, ma'am?"

"Why are you trending on national news."

The entire class turned as one.

All eyes on him.

Yuta rubbed his face.

"I—"

He chose his words very carefully.

"—was having a bad day."

Silence.

Then someone in the back snorted.

Then someone else laughed.

“Alright, settle down. Before we start—”

He paused.

Looked directly at Yuta.

Squinted.

“…Son. Why are you trending on national news.”

The entire class turned as one.

All eyes on him.

Yuta rubbed his face.

“I”—

He chose his words carefully—

“—was having a bad day.”

Silence.

Then someone snorted.

Then someone else laughed.

Then the entire room cracked up in that half-nervous, half-disbelieving high school way.

Mrs. Nakamura sighed and took another long sip of coffee.

"Yuta."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you, or did you not, beat a wanted villain unconscious with a manhole cover?"

Yuta hesitated.

"…Allegedly."

"Allegedly."

"The video quality was poor."

"There are twelve different angles."

"Deepfake technology is very advanced these days."

Mrs. Nakamura stared at him.

He stared back.

She sighed again—longer this time.

"Fine. Here's how this is going to work. You will stay out of trouble. You will not talk to reporters. You will not become a meme."

"Too late," someone whispered.

Mrs. Nakamura shot them a look.

"And," she c

ontinued, "you will expect a call from the administrative office later today. They'll want a statement."

Yuta nodded.

"Understood."

"Good." She turned back to the class. "Now. Can we please focus on actual schoolwork?"

Reluctant murmurs of agreement.

Mrs. Nakamura pulled up the day's lesson plan.

"Today we're covering—"

Hana's hand shot up.

"Yes, Yamada?"

"Can we talk about the ethical implications of civilian intervention in hero work?"

Mrs. Nakamura's eye twitched.

"No."

"But it's relevant—"

"No."

Hana grinned and sat back down.

Yuta slumped lower in his seat. 'This is going to be a long day.'