Denki Kaminari had never hated a hospital bed more in his life.
He was still here. Still breathing. Still useless.
Jiro was not here.
And every second that passed felt like another failure stacking against him.
Bakugo's words lingered, burning through his mind like a brand:
"If you wanna save her, you need to be alive to do it." He knew that. He knew that. But knowing wasn't enough.
His fists clenched against the sheets, electricity snapping at his fingertips-weak, unstable, but there. A flicker of defiance.
Mina was watching him carefully. Kirishima too. Sero leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.
They were worried.
He didn't have time for that.
Denki exhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax even as his pulse screamed at him to move. To get up. To go.
"I need details." His voice was hoarse, strained, but steady.
Sero raised an eyebrow. "You need rest."
Denki's glare could've powered a city.
Mina sighed. "Denki..."
"I'm not staying here." His tone left no room for argument.
Silence stretched between them, heavy, uncertain. Then—
Kirishima nodded. "Alright, man. But if you're gonna do this, you do it right." Denki swallowed hard. "Then tell me everything."
Mina hesitated for only a second before taking a deep breath. "Okay. Here's what we know..." They had scrambled every resource they could after the attack. Pro he-roes, teachers, police all working together to track where the villains had taken her.
But so far, they had nothing.
No solid leads. No confirmed locations. Only fragmented reports— half-truths and unreliable witness statements, all circling the same devastating fact: Jiro was still miss-ing.
Denki's fingers twitched against the blanket, electricity sparking faintly at his fin-gertips.
Not good enough.
None of this was good enough.
His jaw clenched, frustration boiling beneath his skin. "So we don't know where she is
Mina bit her lip. "Not yet. But—"
Denki pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his ribs. "Then what the hell are we waiting for?"
"Denki-" Sero stepped forward, voice careful. "We all want to get her back. But rushing in blind isn't gonna help."
Denki's breath hitched. His pulse slammed against his ribs. He hated that they were right.
Kirishima spoke next, steady but serious. "You just woke up, man. You're still hurt."
Denki ignored him. "I'm fine."
Bakugo scoffed from the doorway, arms crossed. "Yeah? And I'm a damn saint."
Denki shot him a glare. "I'm not sitting here doing nothing."
Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "Then quit whining and listen. We've got something." Silence snapped across the room. Denki froze.
Mina leaned in. "Wait—what?"
Bakugo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression grim. "It's not a solid lead, but... there's been movement in the industrial district."
Denki's heart stopped.
Mina sat up straighter. "What kind of movement?"
"Supply shipments." Bakugo's tone was tight. "Unregistered. No records, no over-sight—just crates being moved in and out of one of the abandoned sites." Denki's pulse picked up speed. His mind raced.
Jiro had been taken from the industrial district. And now, there was activity there again.
Mina's eyes widened. "You think it's connected?"
Bakugo scowled. "I think we don't have a better damn lead."
Denki swung his legs over the bed, ignoring the sharp warning pain slicing through his stomach.
Sero stepped forward. "Dude, wait—"
"I am waiting," Denki bit out, electricity cracking at his fingertips, burning against his skin. "That's the problem."
Kirishima sighed. "Denki, we're not letting you go in alone." Denki didn't care. He wasn't going in alone.
He was getting her back. Denki Kaminari was done waiting.
His body protested-every muscle aching, every nerve screaming in protest-but his mind? His mind was already past the pain.
Jiro was out there. That was all that mattered
Bakugo had given them their first real lead: suspicious activity in the industrial district-the same place where Jiro had been taken. It wasn't concrete proof, but it was something.
And Denki was not about to sit around while villains moved unchecked.
"We move tonight," Denki said, barely taking a breath between words, his voice sharp with urgency.
Mina blinked. "Uh, dude, I know you're emotionally fueled right now, but maybe
"
"No 'maybes.'" Denki clenched his fists, electricity crackling faintly along his knuckles. "She's been gone for days. You think I'm waiting another second?"
Kirishima sighed but nodded. "I hear you man. But if we're doing this, we do it smart."
Sero leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "What's the plan?"Bakugo scoffed. "You idiots better not slow me down."
Denki narrowed his eyes. "This isn't about you, dude."
Bakugo's expression sharpened. "It's about getting her back. I don't care about your feelings—1 care about results."
Denki bristled, frustration boiling beneath his skin—but he didn't argue.
Bakugo was right.
This wasn't a rescue driven by desperation. It was war.
Midnight came fast.
They moved in silence-Denki, Bakugo, Kirishima, Mina, and Sero weaving through the abandoned district, the scent of rust and damp concrete heavy in the air.
Every shadow felt alive, every distant creak of metal threatening to expose them.
Denki's pulse pounded, his senses tuned to every movement around him.
And then—he heard it.
Voices.
Faint. Muffled. Coming from inside the warehouse.
Denki froze.
Mina tapped his shoulder, her whisper barely audible. "You hear that?"
Denki nodded slowly.
Bakugo glanced toward the entrance, eyes sharp. "Ich. That's our way in." Denki's heart slammed against his ribs.
This was it.
The villains were inside.
And Jiro?
She might be, too.
Denki Kaminari should not be standing.
He should not be breathing through gritted teeth, drop his half-functional body through the grimy streets of the industrial district. He should not be ignoring the blinding pain searing through his gut like fire licking at raw nerves.
And yet—
Here he was.
His breaths were uneven, his hands shaking, his vision struggling to keep steady.
The stab wound had never fully closed —he had ripped his stitches open the second he left the hospital and now blood seeped through his uniform in slow, relentless waves. His movements were sluggish, his muscles failing, his balance uneven.
But his mind?
His mind refused to stop.
Mina had already noticed. He saw it in the side-glances she kept throwing him, her fingers twitching like she wanted to grab his arm and force him to sit down. But she knew better. Knew there was no forcing Denki Kaminari to do anything when Jiro was on the line.
Sero sighed under his breath. "This is actually insane."
Kirishima muttered something about 'unbreakable spirit and 'determined idiot en-ergy, but even he looked concerned. Bakugo wasn't concerned at all.
He was pissed
"You better not die before we get her back, dumbass," Bakugo growled, eyes sharp.
Denki smirked, wincing at the way it pulled at his injuries. "I'll try my best." Bakugo scoffed, but his grip on the entrance door tightened. "Whatever. Just don't slow us down."
Denki wasn't going to.
Because in this moment-this filthy, bloodstained moment where his own body was barely keeping up with him-there was only one thing in his mind.
Jiro.
The warehouse was massive.
Dim lighting flickered against cracked floors, the scent of rust and oil thick in the air. Large metal crates lined the walls, towering shelves stacked high with supplies— illegal supplies.
This was it.
Their lead.
Denki's pulse pounded in his ears. Every breath felt harder, every second heavier.
But he kept moving
Footsteps echoed in the distance-voices, low murmurs, the occasional barked or-der.
Villains.
And then—
A sound.
Not talking. Not footsteps.
A thump.
A struggle.
A muffled voice.
Denki froze.
Jiro.
The others heard it too.
Mina grabbed his arm on instinct, eyes wide. "Denki—" But he didn't listen.
(Jiro POV)
Kyoka Jiro had lost track of time.
Days? Hours? Minutes? They all blurred together in the suffocating darkness.
But no matter how long she had been here, trapped in this concrete cage, she could still see him.
Denki.
Falling to his knees.
His eyes wide shocked, pained-his mouth open like he was about to say some-thing, reach for her, do something. But the words never came.
Because the blade came first.
Jiro squeezed her eyes shut, fingers clenching into fists, trying— failing— to banish the image from her mind.
She had seen him take hits before. Had seen him laugh off injuries, brush off elec-
. trocution, joke about battle scars that didn't last.
But this—
This was different.
Denki wasn't supposed to crumple like that. Wasn't supposed to freeze, to choke on his own breath, to bleed so much blood pooling at his feet, soaking into his uniform, spilling across the pavement like someone had taken a brush and painted the world
She remembered the way his body locked up, his limbs failing, his breath hitching in that awful, uneven way that didn't sound like Denki didn't sound like the idiot who was always moving, always buzzing, always full of energy even when he didn't need to be.
This wasn't him.
But she couldn't help him.
Because she was already being dragged away.
Her wrists had been forced back, her arms twisted, her balance stolen as rough hands hauled her into the dark, away from Denki's collapsing form-away from the one person who had fought so hard to reach her.
And that was the worst part.
Denki had tried.
Even stabbed through, even with the pain ripping through him, the world blurring around him, his body failing—he had still tried.
He had still reached for her.
Still called her name.
Still tried to move.
And he had failed.
Not because he didn't want to.
Not because he didn't care.
Because his body wouldn't let him.
And now, he was gone.
She didn't know if he had made it out. Didn't know if they had found him, if someone had helped him, if he was still breathing, still alive.
But somewhere, deep in her chest, beneath the bruises, beneath the exhaustion, beneath everything that threatened to drown her—she felt something.
A pulse.
A hum.
A frequency barely there-faint, distant, but familiar.
Denki was coming.
And she was not going to let him fight alone.
Not again. Not after what happened last time.
(Denki POV)
Denki did not care that his body was on the verge of collapse, that the pain in his gut was blinding, or that he was losing way too much blood to be remotely functional.
He only cared about one thing.
Jiro.
And that's why, despite the sharp, searing agony ripping through him, despite the way his vision blurred around the edges, he kept running.
Straight into the warehouse.
Straight into the fight.
Straight into hell.
Mina barely managed to grab his wrist before he fully charged forward. "Denki— seriously-you're bleeding out!"
Denki ripped his arm free, panting. "I don't care!"
Bakugo growled. "Then don't die before we get her, dumbass!"
"Fuck." Sero cursed under his breath. "He's not listening. No one can stop him now."
They were right.
Denki wasn't listening.
He was already past the point of careful.
He slammed through the warehouse doors, electricity snapping violently around him, sparking against the metal walls as he forced himself forward-each step heav-ier, slower, but determined.
And then—
A scream.
Muffled, pained, Jiro's.
Denki's vision tunneled.
MOVE!
Everything else disappeared —the villains, the team, the world.
There was only her voice.
Only the desperate, restrained struggle coming from deeper inside the warehouse.
He did not hesitate.
Did not think.
Did not stop.
He ran.
Pain ripped through him—his stitches were fully torn now, his body giving warning after warning, but he pushed harder.
Jiro was here.
Denki Kaminari was going to reach her.