A sharp crack, like reality tearing at a seam, split the sky directly above them. Not a villain’s quirk. Not anything from this world. The light that followed wasn’t light at all, but an absence of it, a rip of pure, silent void.

Then, a pull. Not gravity, but something deeper, hooking behind their sternums. The cityscape of Musutafu—the training grounds, the distant skyscrapers—blurred, streaked, and vanished.

They were on a grassy hill. Below, nestled in a valley against a shimmering stretch of water, was a collection of bizarre buildings. A cluster of cabins painted in loud, clashing colors. A massive climbing wall that, impossibly, oozed lava down one side. And in the central green, a group of teenagers—some armed with swords and shields, others just staring—were now turning as one to look up the hill at them.