Denki Kaminari had never felt this much pain in his life.
It wasn't the dull kind—the kind that faded into the background after enough adrenaline kicked in.
No.
This was sharp.
Every step felt like knives stabbing into his gut. Every movement pulled at torn flesh, every breath rattled against broken ribs.
And now—
Now, he had no choice but to fight.
Villains surrounded him.
Their masks hid their expressions, but their stance told him everything—they thought this would be easy.
Denki's hands clenched.
Electricity crackled at his fingertips.
It hurt, everything hurt—but his love for Jiro burned stronger than the pain.
"You picked the wrong girl to mess with," Denki growled, voice hoarse.
The villains chuckled.
One of them stepped forward. "You can barely stand."
Denki grinned, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "Doesn't mean I can't win."
And then—
He struck first.
A wild, furious, unstable blast of lightning tore through the room—sparks jumping across metal crates, shocking the air, crashing into the villains like a storm without warning.
Denki's vision blurred from the effort—his body screaming in protest—but he did not fall.
Because Jiro was waiting.
And Denki Kaminari wasn't losing.
Denki Kaminari should have stayed in bed.
He should not have run straight into battle while bleeding out.
He should not have fought multiple villains while barely able to stand.
But none of that mattered.
Because Jiro was here.
And Denki was winning.
Lightning crashed through the warehouse—wild, frantic, unstable—but powerful. Sparks jumped between metal crates, flickering along the concrete floor, shocking his enemies into retreat.
The villains hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected him, an injured, barely-conscious hero—to fight like hell anyway.
Denki panted, chest tight, blood dripping from his wounds, but his grin was unshaken.
"You guys," he gasped, wiping sweat from his forehead, "really underestimated me."
One of the villains growled, electricity flickering against their gloves—a direct counter to his Quirk. "Cocky little bastard!"
They rushed him.
Denki spun, dodging, retaliating with a shockwave that sent them crashing against a stack of crates.
Another villain tried to flank him—Denki saw their shadow first, twisted just in time, ducking beneath the incoming strike, then delivered a point-blank blast that sent them reeling.
For a moment—just a moment—he thought he had it.
Thought he was winning.
Thought Jiro was within reach.
And then—
A fist slammed straight into his stomach, right through his stab wound.
Denki screamed.
His vision exploded into white-hot agony, his legs buckling, his body collapsing onto one knee as the pain ripped through him like an electric storm gone wrong.
His brain stuttered.
His lungs choked.
His Quirk faltered.
The villains closed in.
Denki gasped, barely keeping himself upright, electricity snapping weakly at his fingertips—but he wasn't done.
Because Jiro was still waiting.
Still counting on him.
And Denki Kaminari did not break now.
Pain blurred his vision—his limbs numb, his heartbeat erratic, but he forced himself up.
"You really think I'm gonna lose," Denki rasped, wiping blood from his mouth, "now?"
The villains stepped forward, smirking. "You can barely—"
Denki didn't let them finish.
Didn't let them win.
With a final, desperate surge of power, Denki unleashed everything.
A storm of electricity exploded outward—violent, unstable, merciless the voltage tripling in intensity, crackling through the air in jagged, lightning-filled chaos.
The warehouse lit up.
The villains collapsed.
And Denki—Denki faltered legs giving out, body crashing onto the cold, hard floor.
But before his mind faded—before the pain finally stole his consciousness—his blurry vision caught one thing.
Jiro.
Still here.
Still breathing.
And finally, finally she was free.
(Jiro POV)
Jiro's ears were ringing.
Not from sound—sound, she could process. Sound, she could understand.
No.
This was static.
Faint. Electric. Heavy.
And it was coming from him.
Through the metal bars. Through the ropes that dug into her wrists. Through the chaos outside her cage.
Denki Kaminari was fighting.
And she could do nothing but watch.
Mina, Kirishima, Sero, and Bakugo had tried to reach him, had tried to break into the storm of electricity surrounding him—but it was too wild. Too unstable.
Denki was untouchable.
Trapped in his own power, throwing himself forward alone, his body breaking but his lightning refusing to falter.
Jiro struggled against the ropes, gritting her teeth. "Come on—"MOVE—"
Mina rushed to her, slicing through the bonds, hands shaking. "Hold still—we got you!"
Jiro didn't hold still.
She tore herself free the second her wrists were loose, shoving past the others, running straight for him.
And that's when she saw him.
Denki.
Falling.
Bleeding.
Smiling.
The electricity flickered—weak, fading, collapsing.
Jiro's breath hitched.
"Denki!"
He hit the ground before she could reach him.
The sparks faded.
And for a moment—just a second she saw his face.
Bloodied. Exhausted. Triumphant.
And that stupid grin—the same damn grin he had when he was showing off, when he was winning a battle, when he was being the reckless idiot she loved.
Jiro dropped to her knees, grabbing his face, forcing him to look at her.
"Denki—stay with me!"
His body shook.
His breath was uneven.
But his smile didn't break.
Jiro couldn't breathe.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Her fingers tightened in his uniform.
And Denki—Denki laughed.
"Told you I'd come for you," he rasped, barely audible.
Jiro's vision blurred.
"You idiot," she choked, "you're—"
Denki reached for her hand—weak, unsteady, his fingers barely grasping hers.
"You're safe," he murmured. "That's all that matters."
And then—
His grip loosened.
His body slumped.
His eyes fluttered closed.
Jiro's pulse shattered.
"Denki!"
Jiro had never felt this kind of fear before.
It wasn't the sharp, adrenaline-fueled fear of battle.
It wasn't the cold, calculated fear of losing control.
This was pure panic.
Raw. Suffocating. Crushing.
Because Denki wasn't waking up.
His body lay motionless against the cracked concrete, electricity flickering weakly at his fingertips—like static, like a fading radio signal, like a dying battery.
His breathing was shallow. His uniform soaked with blood. His face too pale.
And Jiro—Jiro couldn't do anything but hold onto him.
"Denki!" Her voice cracked, her fingers tightening around his hoodie, desperate. "Don't do this, don't—"
Mina was already beside her, hands shaking, trying to keep pressure on his wound. "He's—he's losing too much blood!"
Sero cursed, throwing off his jacket and shoving it toward Mina. "Use this—stop the bleeding!"
Kirishima wasn't speaking. His hands hovered over Denki, eyes sharp, focused, teeth clenched like he was biting back the panic threatening to consume him.
Bakugo—Bakugo was already dialing emergency support, his fingers tight around his comms, his usual explosive energy now controlled—focused into a single goal: keeping Denki alive.
But Jiro wasn't thinking about emergency support.
Wasn't thinking about strategy.
Wasn't thinking about anything except him.
His smile.
His stupid, reckless grin, the one he gave her just before falling unconscious.
Like he had already accepted what was happening.
Like he wasn't scared.
Like he was happy.
That made it worse.
"Denki," Jiro whispered, voice breaking, forehead pressing against his bloodied uniform. "You're not allowed to do this."
He didn't respond.
Didn't twitch.
Didn't move.
Jiro's breath hitched—choked—her hands shaking as she gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, because she refused to let go.
"You idiot," she rasped, tears threatening to spill. "You can't—you can't just save me and then—"
She couldn't say it.
Wouldn't.
She refused.
Mina pressed harder against the wound, her own breath shaking. "Come on, Kaminari," she murmured. "Stay awake."
Sero cursed again, Kirishima muttered something under his breath, and Bakugo growled into his comms, barking orders for backup to move faster.
And Jiro—Jiro just held onto him.
Like if she just held him tight enough, just kept him close enough, he wouldn't slip away.
(Denki POV)
He is dying, he can't feel it-dragging him into the darkness.
The thought didn't scare him.
It should have.
It should have sent terror crashing through his veins, should have made him fight, should have made him beg for more time.
But all he felt was peace.
Because Jiro was safe.
She was free.
And if he had to die again and again to make sure that stayed true?
He would.
His body was too heavy.
His limbs too numb.
The pain had faded—or maybe it was still there, lurking in the edges of his mind, but he simply didn't care anymore.
Warm hands touched his face—Jiro.
Her voice was shaking, pleading, desperate—but he could barely understand the words.
"Denki—stay awake!"
He wanted to tell her it was fine.
That she didn't have to worry.
That this had always been worth it.
But his lips wouldn't move.
His breath was shallow.
His body was failing.
And yet—
The last thing he saw, before everything faded, was her face.
Tear-streaked. Furious. Alive.
And that?
That was enough.