A silence colder than a winter spear froze the atmosphere.
Everyone present seemed taken aback.
Not only the other reporters, but the moderator at the front and the surrounding heroes couldn’t hide their astonishment.
That reaction lasted only a moment before everyone’s responses diverged along their own lines.
The reporters, sensing instinctively that whatever Kirishima said next would set the headlines, wore expressions of eager anticipation. A few even showed overt displeasure, though that was far from the dominant mood.
Next to Kirishima, the heroes Rumi and Endeavor did nothing to conceal their discomfort. If there were objections to his participation in the battle, the criticism should have been aimed at Endeavor or Rumi—not at a fifteen-year-old.
Posing such a controversial question to Kirishima could only be seen as an act of malice.
The moderator, caught in the middle, visibly fidgeted with nervous energy.
Feeling the heavy, awkward curtain of tension closing in, Kirishima slowly ran his finger along the tabletop. After a brief moment to collect his thoughts, he began speaking with an unreadable expression.
His thick, low voice, resolute and unwavering, quickly seized control of the restless atmosphere. "Before I answer your question, I must first recount what happened yesterday. At the time of the incident, I was on patrol with Mirko. Once the first explosion occurred, we headed towards the site together, but along the way there were three additional explosions at different locations."
He stated only the facts—no embellishments, no omissions.
When addressing the public, if you desire to persuade, you must recount the truth as it was. In an age saturated with black boxes, CCTV, and cell phones in every hand, any attempt to hide the truth only breeds distrust.
Once the truth emerges, every word spoken carries an extra weight.
"In that moment, I received battle permission from Mirko and split off. He continued toward our original destination while I, with permission to engage, turned east. I’m sure you didn’t want a mere recitation of facts, so thank you for listening. Now, let me explain why I separated from Mirko and entered combat alone."
Kirishima lifted the water bottle before him and took a measured sip. Though he wasn’t particularly thirsty, his slight tension before delivering such an important message was altogether appropriate.
Some observers sympathized—not only because he was a young student who had faced battle, but because he now had to stand in this very place to explain himself.
In a measured tone he continued, "I am not a hero. I am merely an individual brought up in the embrace of this society—a member, like everyone else—albeit one with a bit more strength. That is why I chose to fight. Not because I relish combat, nor because I crave an enemy’s blood, but because if one person doesn’t step forward, another will be forced to shed blood. With the ability and will to act, I was simply fulfilling my responsibility."
Embodying a deep sense of duty in his actions, Kirishima pressed on. "Was yesterday’s tragedy truly of our making? Did our malice harm another, bringing the retribution back upon us? No. Our peaceful, free, and just society was attacked solely because its brilliant banner shone like a jewel coveted by a robber."
'It isn’t perfect—and perhaps not even exquisitely beautiful—but it has worth,' he thought. Even as he struggled to fully embrace his own words, he knew that this peace was something to be cherished.
He understood all too well the futility, cruelty, and despair inherent in a world where everyone struggles against everyone else. For those who have never known anything but peace, its value can be as invisible as air. But those who have tasted its absence will always yearn for it.
"If another attack like yesterday’s occurs, I will fight again without hesitation. In the city, in the mountains, on the beach, in the fields, by the river, on the hills—wherever our freedom and peace are threatened, I will fight. As my hero name, Champion, proclaims, I will fight on behalf of your will."
As Kirishima’s resonant voice filled the room, the expressions around him changed. The reporters, who had been indifferent just moments before, sat up straighter. Though his words differed from what they had expected, it was precisely this intensity that seized the spotlight. Only such uncommon passion could captivate the public and ignite fierce emotions.
For an audience surviving on meager distractions, Kirishima’s performance was irresistibly compelling—in a word, delicious.
His declarations continued to echo. "What is it all for? Because the peace we established—calming the chaotic era when monsters appeared, achieved through our ancestors’ blood and sweat—is undeniably worth protecting. I believe that what matters is not merely whether we live or die, but what we live for and what we’re willing to die for. At the very least, in yesterday’s battle, I fought by my own free will for something truly worthy—not out of compulsion. That is what I believe, and that is why I do not consider my actions in battle to be inappropriate. To think otherwise would be an affront to those I aided, even with my limited power."
Silence descended once more upon the press room. This time, however, it was gentle—not awkward or unpleasant, but a quiet that left each person with a lingering resonance.
In a softer tone, Kirishima added, "I acted in strict accordance with procedure. If you have any questions, feel free to ask at any time. I will answer everything. That concludes my statement."
The reporter who had posed the question remained speechless, while other hands shot up around the room. The unexpectedly articulate speaker had truly ignited the reporters' enthusiasm.
Amid the barrage of questions, Kirishima answered with ease and skill, steering the conversation with an expert’s touch. In doing so, he even managed to overshadow Endeavor and Rumi.
Meanwhile, off to the side, Shigaraki watched the unfolding scene with a scowl. "Damn it... what is that kid up to? Why can he even speak so well? It’s infuriating," he muttered.
Perched on a bar stool, he violently crumpled a newspaper he had already mangled once before, his irritation barely contained. "A hero, huh. So he’s a hero now. I don’t like it," he grumbled.
Peering through his fingers, dark eyes glinted. Swallowing the rising anger and restraining a destructive impulse, he murmured, "Next time, I'll kill you. Even if I can’t get All Might, I’ll make sure you perish."
Kurogiri looked down at Shigaraki in silent disapproval.
Back in Kyoto, Samat—watching the press conference with Tetsuya’s help—clicked his tongue. "A greenhorn who’s never even seen a crisis can sure talk a good game," he remarked.
"But big brother looks cool, doesn’t he!" came an enthusiastic interjection.
"Cool might not be the word, but he certainly is a real man," another agreed.
Their tall and sturdy disciple, now even more impressive in stature, exhibited undeniable confidence and resolve. There was not an ounce of hesitation in the way he spoke, and although Samat silently resented the burden his newly retired mentor was imposing on him, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.
Tetsuya watched the scene with a proud smile, delighted by the display of mentorship.
Some reactions, however, were harder to read. At her desk, Sumire watched Kirishima’s video on her PC and offered a faint smile. "I wonder if he liked the gift. I was worried it might be too extravagant, but he unwrapped it so stylishly," she mused, sticking her tongue out playfully as she licked her lips.
Brushing aside her purple hair, she leaned closer to the screen as if she were about to devour him, a meaningfully mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Who knew he could turn things around like that? You really know how to set a woman’s heart on fire, bad boy." The eerie bloom of her smile added a touch of enchantment to the dim office.
Unaware of the eyes upon him, Kirishima finally retreated to the waiting room after the press conference, letting out a weary sigh.
"Why the sigh? You spoke brilliantly! Ha! I was about to kick that clueless reporter myself, so I’m glad you handled it," came a voice of praise.
"I thought I did well, but I still can’t stand this. Fighting would be easier—convincing people with words drains too much mental energy," Kirishima replied with a shrug.
It was something he had grown accustomed to since his previous life; though he managed to scrape through thanks to that experience, dealing with the media was never his cup of tea. For someone who despised the spotlight, enduring unwanted attention was nothing short of exhausting.
"Hmm. You did better than I expected. You’re in the same class as Shoto, right?"
"Ah, yes, that's right," came the brief acknowledgment.
Endeavor tossed out a casual remark and then, ignoring Kirishima’s response, silently observed him.
Just as Kirishima was beginning to find the flickering flames—reminiscent of a stubbled beard—somewhat oppressive, the man remarked, "Shoto will do well too."
Without another word of clarity, he left the waiting room.
Watching his retreating back, Kirishima grumbled inwardly, 'What is that old man even on about? I know he believes Shoto will do well, but why say it now?'
"What is he rambling about? He may be blunt, but he usually makes sense. Why is he spouting nonsense all of a sudden?"
Rumi voiced the sentiment on his behalf.
Choosing to chalk it up to the man’s peculiar way of showing care, Kirishima smiled. "How would I know what’s going on in that man’s head? Anyway, is that all for today?"
"Yeah. And let me say again—you did really well! I’m not 100% certain, but I doubt many will speak against you after this. If push came to shove, I was even ready to step in and back you up myself. This kid—where did you learn to give a speech like that?"
She beamed as she grabbed both of Kirishima’s cheeks, playfully pulling them apart.
Kirishima silently let her do as she pleased, all the while seriously contemplating whether he should reach out and tug her ears in return.
Just as the thought of her soft, inviting ears made itself known, she continued, "Keep this up and you might become a full-fledged hero before you even graduate."
"Hmm? Is that really possible?"
"Why not? There’s precedent. Hawks may excel in many things, but he’s not stronger than you."
"Hmm. If they offer me a chance, I’d gladly accept. But for now, since no one’s said a word, I don’t want to get ahead of myself."
"Haha! Right. We’re both not the type to fuss over such things, are we?"
With that, she led Kirishima down to the parking lot.
The familiar, pristine white supercar carried them safely back to Musashino.
After dinner—discussing yesterday’s events and reviewing battle tactics—Kirishima returned to his room and collapsed onto his bed. A day that had stretched long in its own way, distinct from yesterday, finally ended with the coming of darkness.
At that very moment, the incident was rippling out to affect countless people.
A large-scale act of terrorism had shattered the peace that Japan had enjoyed for so long.
Where the U.A. attack at USJ might have felt distant and abstract to ordinary citizens, this attack had struck at the very heart of their daily lives.
Naturally, the reactions were starkly different.
Generally, two main responses emerged. The first was reaction to Stain’s capture. Some celebrated, while others lamented. As footage of Stain’s final moments began to circulate, opinions grew even more polarized. His defiant spirit and raw determination—however twisted—moved many hearts, sowing cracks in society.
The government had tried to suppress the video, but in this digital age, once a clip spreads online, it cannot be entirely retracted. Worse still, overseas approval only fueled its viral resurgence, taking the video completely out of governmental control.
The footage—transmitted through the world of zeros and ones—resonated deeply, inspiring more and more sympathizers. These sympathizers would soon come to be known as villains.
Beneath the surface, unseen fissures continued to widen.
The second response was directed at Kirishima himself. In this case, there was little disagreement—nearly everyone responded in unison. People cheered for his actions and marveled at his words. Not only did his press conference footage and articles spread widely, but interviews with both heroes and civilians he had helped further propelled him into becoming the most celebrated high school student in Japan.
In a twist of fate, Kirishima’s declaration that he was not a hero had, in fact, turned him into one.
Though different people perceived his words in varied ways, there was one point on which everyone agreed: the man who took the microphone and calmly explained why he fought possessed all the qualities—both mental and physical—of a true hero.
The brilliant first step of the man destined one day to be called a king had been unequivocally recognized by all.
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