After discussing the soon-to-be-launched Hall of War and its rules with Samat, Kirishima enjoyed dinner and some playful moments with Tetsuya before stepping out into the garden.
The sky, darkened like spilled ink, showcased a full moon that shone brilliantly against the inky backdrop.
Gazing at the moon, Kirishima fell deep into thought.
‘Once Master takes charge of the Hall of War, most matters will be manageable. Negotiating with the Public Safety Commission will be tedious, but it shouldn’t be insurmountable. The real challenge is how to maximize our strength without letting it run rampant…’
The new Hall of War was not intended to impose strict membership restrictions.
As long as one wasn’t a cultist or a scam artist, anyone—no matter what combat style they practiced—could join.
This included not only martial arts centered on cold weapons like swordsmanship and spear techniques, or even unarmed combat, but also shooting, archery, and even unique fighting systems based on personal Quirks.
True to its name, the hall was to be an inclusive place for anyone skilled in the art of war.
He expected to easily gather traditional martial artists—those whose ancient arts were nearly extinct and who barely clung to life by their sheer perseverance.
While recruiting marksmen and Quirk specialists might prove more challenging, it was still within the realm of possibility.
Of course, merely gathering talent wouldn’t effect change; a shift in mindset was necessary as well.
He would need to demonstrate the indispensable value of combat techniques—but that wasn’t an insurmountable hurdle.
After all, Kirishima himself would continue to grow without limits.
He was destined to become the living symbol of martial arts, so there was no need to complicate matters.
The true challenge, however, lay ahead.
‘I must respect each individual’s Quirk while pooling our strengths into the most effective curriculum. The old-school fighters will probably resist such changes, but once they experience the power firsthand, it should all work out. The next generation, however, remains the real hurdle.’
He was confident in his ability to make people stronger.
The legacy of sports science, accumulated over the years, had waned alongside the decline of traditional sports in the Quirk era.
Yet, since its core focus was on enhancing physical ability and preventing injuries, it had persisted in its own form.
Kirishima believed that, if he could bring together a group willing to share ideas, invest money and time without hesitation, success was inevitable.
That was precisely why he was treading carefully.
He envisioned the Hall of War doubling as a combat unit when needed, though he had no intention of it becoming a political force.
Political clout was only necessary to safeguard the organization.
Yet the question remained: would members of an organization—once they reached a certain level of power—simply stop there?
He planned to avoid any overtly authoritarian structures by instituting a council-based system, though he doubted that alone would suffice.
‘When the time comes, I might even have to bring in someone from the government and offer them a seat at the table…’
While independent organizations typically shunned government interference, Kirishima viewed it differently.
Ultimately, trust was built on maintaining just the right amount of mutual restraint.
After all, no one could confidently claim that a wild tiger striding through the streets was tame simply because it seemed placid.
To thrive in society, one had to accept, to some extent, the limitations imposed by it.
This was the only guard against descending into chaos.
Lost in these complex thoughts, Kirishima was startled when his phone, tucked away in his pocket, began to ring.
Though he appreciated how the sharp vibration heightened his senses, he found it inconvenient at moments like these, and he answered the call.
It was Midoriya.
"Kirishima..."
"Hm? What’s with your voice? Did something happen?"
Struggling to get his words out, Midoriya recounted the day’s events.
From bumping into Shigaraki at the mall to the sudden disappearance that accompanied Uraraka’s arrival, his voice was heavy with both gravity and fear.
After hearing him out, Kirishima asked again, "So, what’s with your voice? Is Shigaraki’s threat still bothering you?"
"No. No... that does trouble me, but it’s not the main issue."
"Then what is it? Why are you beating around the bush like some five-year-old?"
Despite the irritation welling inside him as he heard the tremor in Midoriya’s voice, Kirishima held his temper.
This was far better than when he’d first met that hapless protagonist.
Besides, the kid wasn’t endearingly cute anymore.
He knew all too well that shouting wouldn’t solve anything.
After a long, tense pause, Midoriya finally spoke cautiously.
"The truth is... when Shigaraki saw Uraraka, I felt he had to be eliminated. No—I mean, when he smiled that dazzling smile, I instinctively knew he needed to be wiped out from this world..."
"And?"
"I was wondering if you’d ever felt that way too, Kirishima."
Though the question was difficult for him to voice, its loaded nature left little room for misinterpretation. Suppressing the urge to snap, Kirishima replied,
"Of course. In fact, I’ve always thought that way."
"Always?"
"Always. I’ve lived ready to die and ready to kill. There’s a fine line between subduing an attacker and actually ending their life. If it comes down to necessity, I’ll kill—hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands. And if I’m not strong enough, then I’ll be the one who falls. That’s just the way it is."
Midoriya was taken aback by words so raw and unrefined—hardly the heroic mindset one would expect.
He had assumed that Kirishima might harbor such thoughts, but hearing them spoken so bluntly revealed a ferocity that was more akin to a warrior’s conduct than that of a conventional hero.
After a moment of silence, Kirishima sighed lightly and began to reassure him, as though he could perceive the shock that still trembled in Midoriya’s voice.
"That’s just who I am. I may not know exactly when one human should kill another, but when that choice comes, I won’t hesitate. That’s my truth—not necessarily yours. You see things differently. You aspire to be a hero like All Might, don’t you?"
"All Might... Yeah. Actually, I met him earlier, but I was too scared to say anything. I worry about what he might think if he knew what I truly felt."
"Oh? You met All Might as well?"
"Yeah... I explained everything to the detective before I met him."
"You blockhead. Then you should call All Might and ask him—don’t ask me."
"I’m still a bit scared, though..."
"Is All Might the kind of guy who’d sever the bond with his disciple just because you had such thoughts?"
"No, he wouldn’t."
"Then what’s worrying you? If you’re troubled, you should confide in your master, you fool."
"Yeah... now that you mention it, you’re right. Sorry—I’ll call All Might."
Listening to his reluctant tone, Kirishima couldn’t help but shake his head in exasperation.
The kid may be foolish and a bit naive, still clinging to that awkward, kid-like air, but he wasn’t bad at heart.
It was hard not to understand why Midoriya was troubled, and, if honest, a small part of him was envious.
For a fleeting moment, Kirishima wondered how nice it would be to have the luxury of such concerns.
The very fact that Midoriya could afford to worry about these things only proved that he had grown up in a truly fortunate environment.
Though Kirishima had been reincarnated and raised by good parents, the shadows of his past life still lingered.
All the brutal training and relentless honing of his techniques since childhood were a testament to this.
He was a man who could not live unless he was strong.
His relentless obsession with strength and martial mastery was almost a curse—a burden as natural as breathing by now.
In a calm tone that carried both firmness and warmth, Kirishima continued, as if gently reassuring Midoriya:
"Before we go any further..."
"Hm?"
"Since you’ve called me, let me share my thoughts: you needn’t be overly troubled by this. In fact, I find it admirable."
"Admirable...?"
"Yes. When confronted with extreme circumstances, there are only a few possible reactions—running away, giving up, or hiding behind someone else. Most people raised in today’s society end up choosing one of those options."
"Is that so?"
"Indeed. Modern education tends to suppress a citizen’s natural assertiveness. But you, you decided there was no option but to fight. You chose not to run or hide—you chose to stand your ground like a predator, baring your fangs rather than being prey chased down. Could the person you were a decade ago have done that?"
"No... I couldn’t. Back then, I was too weak."…
"Maybe you weren’t completely idle, but you were undeniably powerless back then. The point is, this isn’t about physical strength—it’s about heart. And clearly, you’re already the kind of person who fights. For that, I commend you. You’ve done exceptionally well."
"Ah..."
As Midoriya exhaled softly, Kirishima lavished him with praise, his words sincere and unreserved.
Are there truly those born to be predators and those destined to be prey?
Of course there are.
But the human heart is far too complex for there to be any fixed rule—one can rise above a prey mentality just as easily as one might not remain a predator forever.
At the very least, Midoriya had already broken free of the role of prey.
"That’s what I believe. In the end, what matters most is how your heart responds. Neither my opinion nor All Might’s is infallible. Justice is a personal concept—if you have a hundred people, you’ll have a hundred different definitions of it."
"Yeah. Thanks, Kirishima. Talking with you really gives me strength. I guess I should call All Might now."
"Good. Call him right away, and don’t go around sulking—your mother must have been worried, so be sure to comfort her."
"Alright. I’ll talk to you later."
"Okay. I’m hanging up."
After ending the call, Kirishima stared at his phone.
The dark screen, catching the moonlight, softly illuminated his face.
Looking at the visage where a mature man and a youthful boy coexisted, he mused,
‘Of course, he’s still young—just a fifteen-year-old kid. Being the protagonist, he’ll eventually grow stronger and resolve the issues, but at best, he might only reach the level of a second All Might. That’s not a particularly ideal outcome.’
This was precisely why Kirishima was determined to build an organization.
The protagonist was still too young, and society itself was far from mature.
Instead of relying on a lone individual to bear society’s burdens, what was needed was a system where everyone shared the weight, collectively upholding society.
After watching the full moon ripple on a pond, its surface stirred by a gentle breeze, he returned to the building.
Today, tomorrow—every day—he would continue to prepare for the future with unwavering dedication.
For now, it was time to rest.
Rest, to make way for even greater leaps forward.
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