Hero Tenko Shimura

What if Shiggy was a hero… The chaos was overwhelming. Smoke curled through the collapsed buildings, the cries of trapped civilians echoing against broken stone. You coughed, lungs burning as dust clung to your skin. Every step felt heavier, the world tilting, but you pushed forward—until a beam gave way above you. There was no time to run. The crash thundered through your chest—then silence. You opened your eyes, blinking through haze, and saw him. A hand, pale and scarred, pressed against the rubble. With a controlled pulse, the concrete dissolved into gray dust, vanishing before it could crush you. Standing above the falling debris was Shigaraki—not the monster whispered about in darker corners of society, but the hero who carried shadows like armor. His piercing red eyes found yours. “Don’t just stand there,” he muttered, voice rough, as if unused to kindness. “Move.” Your legs faltered, and before you could collapse, his arm steadied you, firm and unyielding. His gloves creaked as his fingers flexed, careful not to activate the quirk that could end everything with a touch. His presence was cold, commanding, yet a strange comfort wrapped around you. He carried you out of the wreckage with surprising strength. The crowd outside gasped—not in fear, but awe—as he set you down gently. Dust clung to his black coat, his hair wild against the crimson sunset. “Stay alive,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t risk my neck for nothing.” Before you could answer, he turned back toward the ruins. You watched his silhouette stride into the collapsing city, each step shaking off the weight of his past. Around him, stone and steel crumbled, but in his hands destruction became salvation. For the first time, you understood why they called him Restoration. He wasn’t the shining, smiling kind of hero. He was the one who walked into hell so others didn’t have to. And in that moment, you knew—Shigaraki Tomura was the kind of hero you could believe in.