V-Su Pilot Episode
Please enjoy my little fanfic for my OC, V-Su.
My Hero Academia: The Arrival of Zero For One
Episode 1 ((Pilot))
Opening Scene
Night settles over a crowded district of Musutafu. Neon signs flicker over narrow streets, and in a back alley, a small villain crew crowds around a rough map spread across a dumpster lid.
One villain cracks his knuckles. “Tomorrow, we take the shopping district. Big fire, lots of panic, easy money.”
Another grins. “And if the heroes show up?”
The one in the middle smirks. “Then we show them what real power looks like.”
A quiet voice cuts in from the alley mouth;soft as a mere gentle breeze.
“Wow. That was adorable.”
All of them turn.
Standing there is a slim figure in a velvet hood, face hidden in shadow. Their posture is relaxed, almost polite, like they wandered in by mistake.
One villain squints. “Who the heck are you?”
The hooded figure tilts their head. “I am merely a fan.”
The villains blink.
“A fan of what?” one questions with an edge of suspicion.
“Of chaos,” the figure says simply. “You’re loud, ambitious, and striving for a world of fear and reality of how cruel the world really is. I respect that.”
That gets a laugh from the group. Suspicion is there, but malicion gets there first.
The hooded figure raises one gloved hand. “I have a quirk that might help. Touch me, and yours gets stronger. A lot stronger.”
The villain leader’s eyes narrow. “Why would you do that for us?”
The figure shrugs. “Because I’m curious what happens when the villains in the story potentially succeed.”
That is all it takes.
The villain reaches out.
The instant contact is made, something red and strange ripples through the alley like a pulse under the skin of the air.
The group freezes.
One villain’s hands shake. “What the—?”
Another’s quirk misfires. A blast meant for the opposite wall detonates right into his own teammate’s shoulder. A third villain suddenly can’t control his speed and slams into a fire escape. Someone’s strength surges way past what their body can support, and they collapse in a pained, panicked heap.
The alley turns into a mess of bad timing and worse decisions.
The hooded figure watches with mild fascination, then folds their arms.
“…Hm.”
A beat.
“That’s it? How boring…”
A villain tries to lunge, only for his own overcharged power to twist his balance and send him crashing into his partner.
The hooded figure’s red eyes briefly glow beneath the hood.
“In all honesty,” they murmur, “you all have played yourselves.”
They turn away while the villains shout, scramble, and accidentally sabotage each other in a panicked cascade of friendly fire.
Cut to title.
Act 1 — The Report
Morning. Police units flood the scene, but the battle is already over.
The street is wrecked, yes, but civilians are safe. No hostages. No major casualties. The villains are tied up with what looks like a bizarre mix of rope, cable, and torn support gear. Their own defeated bodies are evidence enough.
A police officer stares at the report sheet. “So let me get this straight. One unknown vigilante neutralized a high-risk villain cell using an unregistered quirk, and the villains mostly defeated each other?”
Another officer mutters, “That is the weirdest sentence I’ve heard all week.”
At the station, the matter quickly escalates.
Aizawa stands with his arms folded, already looking tired. Present Mic is pacing. Midnight is half concerned, half amused. Vlad King is listening with a sharp, defensive focus. The atmosphere is tense, because the report doesn’t sound like a normal vigilante case.
Present Mic throws his hands up. “Okay, no, I need details. A hoodie, a bunch of villains, and then the villains just explode into chaos because of some mystery teen with a spooky quirk? That’s not a patrol report, that’s a fever dream.”
Aizawa’s eyes narrow. “It’s worse than a fever dream. It means someone is operating outside the system and choosing when to intervene.”
Midnight crosses her arms. “But they saved lives.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Aizawa says. “If they can do this once, they can do it again. And next time, they might not stop at villains.”
The room goes quiet.
Then the door opens again.
Endeavor steps in, all heat and gravity, the kind of presence that makes every conversation suddenly feel smaller.
He looks at the file. “Where is the vigilante now?”
“We have no clue,” one officer says.
Endeavor’s expression hardens. “Then we find them.”
Act 2 — The Scene of the Crime
When the pro heroes arrive at the district, the city looks like it survived a storm that learned how to think.
Cars are bent at strange angles. Asphalt is scorched in patches. A few walls are fractured where the villain group must have unleashed their quirks at full power. But every civilian is already being ushered away safely.
And at the center of it all stands the vigilante.
Not huge. Not armored like a tank. Not flashy.
Just an ordinary-looking teen in dark tactical clothing, red energy flickering low around their feet like a restless ember field. Their expression is flat, almost sleepy. Their hands are tied casually behind their back, not because they have to be, but because they’re currently using one finger to keep the villains from writhing free.
One villain groans, “Why is this rope tighter every time I move?”
The hooded teen answers without looking at him. “Because you keep trying to struggle. It is rather futile…”
Another villain snarls, “Who even are you?”
The teen gives the smallest shrug. “Nobody that is important to you.”
That lands like a slap.
The heroes fan out.
“Stand down!” Mount Lady calls, voice bright but serious, stepping between the teen and the civilians. “You already made a mess. You’re coming with us.”
The teen turns their head slightly. “With all due respect I’ve not caused a mess in the slightest. I ended one.”
Aizawa’s scarf shifts as he studies them. “You’re a vigilante.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then you know what that means.”
“It means you’re here to arrest me because your laws are emotionally complex.”
Present Mic points dramatically. “That is not helping your case, kid!”
The teen glances over. “I wasn’t aware I had a case.”
There is something unsettling about how calm they are. Not smug. Not nervous. Just certain.
Mount Lady’s tone softens a little. “You saved people today. That matters. But this is dangerous. You’re clearly young, and whatever that quirk is, you can’t just keep using it to take care of villains all by yourself.”
The teen finally looks at her fully.
“I did not do this alone,” they say. “The villains were very cooperative.”
Mic makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Okay, wow, that one hurt.”
Endeavor steps forward. “Enough. Unmask yourself.”
The teen’s voice remains mild. “No thank you.”
“Then come quietly.”
“I was already being quiet.”
That gets Endeavor’s attention fast.
Act 3 — The Argument
What follows is less a negotiation and more a collision of worldviews.
Aizawa tries logic. Mount Lady tries empathy. Mic tries to keep everyone from escalating. Endeavor tries command. The teen answers each of them with unnervingly clean logic.
Aizawa: “You’re operating without authorization.”
Teen: “And yet the civilians are alive and well.”
Mount Lady: “That does not make this okay.”
Teen: “It makes it inconvenient yet still workable.”
Mic: “Kid, you do realize that is not how society works, right?”
Teen: “Society seems to have a habit of requiring rescues after it stops working.”
That one hits harder than it should.
Mount Lady studies them carefully. “You talk like this is all just math.”
“It mostly is.”
“Then what are you?”
The teen pauses.
For the first time, they seem genuinely unsure.
“A mere correction,” they say at last. “A very small one.”
That quiet answer hangs in the air.
Then Endeavor loses patience.
He launches forward in a burst of flame, not enough to endanger nearby civilians, but enough to force the issue. “I’m done listening to this smartmouth of an outlaw!”
The teen moves.
Not fast in a flashy way. Fast in a way that looks like they already knew what Endeavor would do before he did it.
They slip the first strike, brace against the second, and counter with a compact hit to the joint line that forces Endeavor to pivot back. He grows hotter, more aggressive, and the teen keeps redirecting him with maddening calm.
Mic yells, “They’re baiting him!”
Aizawa mutters, “No. They’re reading him.”
Mount Lady widens her eyes. “Its like they’re actually adapting in real time?”
“Not just adapting,” Aizawa says. “They’re controlling the pace of the fight.”
Endeavor gathers a massive burst of flame. “Move.”
The teen tilts their head. “That sounded like a request.”
Then Endeavor detonates a blazing strike across the area.
The red haze around the teen surges.
For a second, everyone thinks they took the hit.
The heat tears across them, and they stagger one step.
But the red energy surrounding the battlefield seems to drink in the damage, dampen it, smooth it out. The teen straightens, visibly impressed in the vaguest possible way.
“…That was rather… Refreshing!” they say.
Endeavor stares. “What?”
“You almost made that attack worth the effort.”
Mic chokes. “That is one of the most insulting compliments I have ever heard.”
Endeavor goes in again, furious now.
The teen finally unleashes their quirk.
Not a giant explosion. Not a grand beam. Something stranger.
A cloud of red energy threads through the battlefield and locks onto Endeavor’s flame output. His fire suddenly spikes, then jitters, then surges out of rhythm. The control slips. Heat rolls too wide, too uneven.
Endeavor’s eyes widen slightly.
The teen’s expression barely changes. “Interesting. Your output resists the overload better than the others.”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Aizawa says sharply.
“Yes,” the teen replies, as if that is self-evident. “I am testing your limits.”
The heroes tense.
Then, with the same bored flick of their wrist, the teen pulls the red energy back into themselves.
Endeavor’s quirk stabilizes instantly.
The abrupt restraint leaves everyone staring.
The teen looks at him with something almost like respect. “Your control was rather wonderful. Not perfect, but lovely nonetheless.”
Endeavor’s jaw tightens. “You just fought a pro hero and you’re acting like this is a school evaluation.”
The teen’s mouth twitches.
“Is it not?”
That finally gets a reaction out of everyone.
Mount Lady exhales sharply. “You really do have no idea how terrifying you are.”
The teen considers that.
Then, very quietly: “I know exactly how terrifying I may be.”
That lands hard.
And then, just as suddenly, their tone lightens by a fraction.
“I also know I’m not here to replace any of you heroes… So don’t take this little encounter as a sign that I will be a common occurance.”
A beat.
“If there’s a problem that slips through the cracks of your system, I will be there to handle such hidden situations personally if needed.”
Another beat.
“Less people would suffer whilst Heroes can claim the credit.”
That throws the room into stunned silence.
Then the teen adds, almost offhandedly, “Such balance is a better use of time than mere pride alone.”
Endeavor says, low and sharp, “You’re playing with fire.”
The teen glances at him. “And so are you.”
That nearly breaks Endeavor.
Act 4 — The Unmasking Without the Mask
Mount Lady steps forward again, slower this time. “You’re still clearly a child.”
The teen’s eyes narrow just a little. Not anger. Annoyance.
“Please do not refer to me as that.”
The softness in their voice makes it worse somehow.
Mount Lady hears it. She changes her approach immediately. “Then let me ask it another way. You’re young, strong, talented and honestly kind of charming. But you’re alone. Why not come with us? Aim for a hero license, get supervision, training. You wouldn’t have to do this by yourself.”
The teen is quiet.
For a moment, it looks like they might actually agree.
But then they answer with brutal honesty.
“Because if a hero commission found out who I am,” they say, “they would not call it supervision.”
No one speaks.
The teen goes on, still calm, still flat.
“They would call it containment.”
Aizawa’s gaze sharpens. “And why would they do that?”
The teen looks at him, and for one brief moment the mask of indifference slips just enough to reveal something colder underneath.
“Because despite my blessed skill and expertise, peace and safety has never fully embraced me. Hence why I embrace risk”
That’s the line that changes the room.
Not because it’s dramatic.
Because it sounds true.
Mount Lady’s face softens with real concern now. “Whatever happened to you, you do not have to keep carrying it alone.”
The teen answers, “That is exactly what people say right before they try to take you apart piece by piece. I’m sure a certain birdie has had much experience with that… Isn’t that correct my winged hero”
Hawks is hit with utter shock and silence, seething in utter confusion as to how on earth they know this.
Endeavor stares at them for a long second, then says, “You should be arrested.”
The teen nods once. “Probably. Even though I am one that fights for peace, by law I am still considered a criminal”
That, somehow, is the most infuriating answer of all.
Then they look past the heroes, toward the civilians being escorted away, and their voice turns nearly gentle.
“But I intend to keep the sense of freedom that I have now whilst I can help it.”
They step backward into the broken street.
A red haze blooms at their feet, not hostile, just alive.
Aizawa moves, but too late.
The teen is already retreating into the smoke and light.
Before they vanish, they call back, “Tell the press the heroes arrived right on time.”
Mic shouts, “Hey! Wait a sec!”
The teen’s last answer drifts back like a dropped coin.
“Thank you… For inspiring my heart.”
Gone.
Act 5 — UA Reactions
At U.A., the news hits the students like a live wire.
In the classroom, Midoriya is already scribbling furiously, eyes wild with analysis. “That quirk wasn’t just output-based. It was affecting the enemy quirk stability through contact and surrounding field pressure, but the aftermath suggests a controlled reabsorption mechanism—”
“Oi Deku,” Bakugo snaps, “breathe before you blow your head off!”
“I’m breathing!”
“You sound like a broken printer.”
Iida is outraged in full engine-mode. “A vigilante operating without a license is a direct violation of hero law, public safety procedure, and the entire ethical structure of our society! That menace should not be allowed to continue their actions like this!!!”
Kirishima scratches his head. “Yeah, but… they did save a ton of people.”
“Which does not make it legal!” Iida practically cries.
Bakugo scoffs. “Legal, illegal, who cares? What I care about is that extra just toyed with the #1 hero and just walks off like some nerd!”
Todoroki is quieter than the others, but his attention is razor sharp. He watches the footage of Endeavor being forced to retreat and says, flatly, “They weren’t trying to humiliate him.”
Everyone looks at him.
Todoroki continues, expression unreadable. “That makes it worse.”
Uraraka hugs her notebook against her chest, thinking aloud. “They sounded so soft.”
Bakugo immediately points at her. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t start humanizing the creepy red no-faced Extra.”
“But they’re a person,” she says.
“Yeah, a dangerous one.”
Momo looks unsettled but thoughtful. “Their combat sense is extraordinary. It feels less like raw aggression and more like a calculated counterplay on their end.”
Jiro folds her arms. “That’s still creepy.”
Kaminari shivers. “That was absolutely creepy.”
Midoriya looks up from his notes. “But they keep saying ‘balance.’ I don’t think they see themselves as a villain.”
Bakugo barks a laugh. “That’s what makes it annoying.”
Aizawa, listening from the doorway, sighs like a man regretting every career decision he has ever made.
“That,” he mutters, “is unfortunately the part we need to worry about.”
Final Scene — The Hideout
Deep underground, in a ruined lab long since abandoned and half-forgotten by the world, the red haze of V-Su’s quirk glows softly along broken consoles and stripped machinery.
The old place is no longer a nightmare factory.
Now it is a hideout.
A refuge.
A workshop.
V-Su steps inside, removes the hood, and for the first time in the entire episode, their face is fully seen: pale skin, quiet scar lines, scarlet eyes dimmed to a faint ember glow. They set the hood aside and move through the room with practiced care.
On the wall are notes. Hero encounter reports. Rescue routes. Structural diagrams of city districts. Quirk theory sketches. Emergency supply lists.
Not villain plans.
Not conquest maps.
A world in pencil lines and red string, arranged with grim precision like somebody is trying to build peace out of broken parts.
V-Su stands before a cracked whiteboard and writes one line:
BALANCE PREVENTS COLLAPSE.
They stare at it for a long moment.
Then, in the corner of the room, a small shelf holds a surprisingly ordinary thing: a few candies, neatly stacked.
V-Su picks one up, turns it once in their fingers, and then pops it into their mouth with an almost adorable and gentle sense of enjoyment.
On the desk nearby sits a folder labeled with their own quirk notes, and beneath it, in smaller handwriting, another phrase:
A world where people do not have to be saved twice.
The red haze in the room softens.
V-Su sits on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted in a way that feels older than their body.
Their eyes close.
Outside, the city keeps moving.
Inside, the camera lingers on the whiteboard, the notes, the candies, the quiet little proof that this strange vigilante is not trying to tear the world apart, seeking fame nor to eliminate heroes and villains entirely.
They are trying to stop it from falling apart in the first place.
Fade out.