I'm Uchiha Madara In MHA World

After lunch in the cafeteria and a few simple theory classes, it was already 5:30 in the afternoon.

It was February—still winter—and even though it wasn't quite six o'clock yet, the sky was more than half dark.

"Want to walk home together?"

In the classroom, Yaoyorozu Momo finished tidying her desk, then came over to Shin with a warm smile.

"No, you go ahead," Shin said calmly as he packed away his books. "I'm low on groceries at home. I'll stop by the market."

"I see…"

A flicker of disappointment crossed Momo's face, but since Shin had decided, she didn't press further.

"Alright, then. See you tomorrow."

"Mm. See you."

As she walked away, Kirishima Eijiro strolled over and bumped Shin's shoulder, grinning broadly.

"Hey, hey—you really turned down walking home with a pretty girl? Are you even human?"

"You're overthinking it. We're neighbors, that's all," Shin replied with a helpless smile. He hoisted his bag onto one shoulder and waved. "I'm heading out. Later."

"Yeah, yeah—see you."

Kirishima watched him leave, smirking wickedly.

Neighbors? Sure, buddy. What a load of crap.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to crush you, damn pink-eye!"

Bakugo Katsuki immediately started shouting the moment Shin passed by his desk, voice full of familiar hostility.

"Fine," Shin replied, voice cool. "I'll be waiting, Baku—go—Katsu—ki."

If it was just once or twice, he could tolerate these outbursts. But after so many provocations, even his patience was wearing thin.

His eyes flashed scarlet, the three tomoe of the Sharingan spinning rapidly.

Opposite him, Bakugo's vision lurched. Before he could even react, his legs buckled. He collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, unconscious.

"Bakugo!"

"Kacchan!"

Iida Tenya and Midoriya Izuku shouted in alarm and hurried over to check on him.

"Shin-kun—how could you use your Quirk on Bakugo-kun? You know that's strictly forbidden!"

Iida stomped over, brimming with righteous indignation.

"I didn't do anything. I just let him take a nap," Shin said flatly, stepping around Iida without so much as a glance back. "And you saw he provoked me—again—and not for the first time."

"Shin!" Iida called sharply, about to follow him—

—but Asui Tsuyu quickly reached out to grab his sleeve.

"Let's wait for the teacher to handle this," Tsuyu said mildly. "Honestly, both Shin-san and Bakugo-san share responsibility."

"…You're right."

Iida exhaled shakily, trying to calm down.

"Just call me Tsuyu-chan," she said, smiling faintly and flicking out her long tongue.

...

"Beef, a bunch of vegetables, some tofu… alright, that should be everything."

Out on the shopping street, Shin's hands were full of bags.

If only the system could cook, he thought with a sigh.

Ever since it had announced it was "entering repair mode," it hadn't shown any sign of coming back.

Of course, he could have called ahead and asked the vendors to deliver everything to his door, but Shin preferred picking out ingredients himself—it felt more reassuring.

"Time to head home."

He slung the bags over his shoulder and started walking briskly toward his villa.

...

The sky had turned fully dark. Streetlamps cast bright pools of light across the pavement, illuminating the quiet city.

As Shin passed an alley, he suddenly stopped.

A thick, metallic scent—blood.

His brows drew together. In an instant, his eyes turned scarlet.

The shadows sharpened into perfect clarity under the Sharingan.

In the alley, a tall man wrapped in bandages and dressed like a wandering swordsman was stalking toward a figure slumped in the corner, madness glinting in his eyes.

"…Stain. The Hero Killer."

Shin's breath caught. The infamous vigilante whose crimes had made headlines everywhere.

"Hm?"

Stain's sword froze mid-swing. He turned slightly, his gaze landing on Shin.

"You know me?"

In that instant, Shin saw clearly the blood-soaked figure in the corner.

It was the Red Fist of Death—the same underground fighter Shin had encountered once before.

But the man now looked nothing like his fierce reputation. His uniform was shredded and stained with blood, the bridge of his nose swollen purple from a brutal blow.

"This isn't the place for you—get out of here!"

The Red Fist's voice was ragged, but his eyes widened in alarm when he recognized Shin's silhouette.

He's just a kid—how could he possibly fight a criminal who hunts professional heroes for sport?