All Might tilted his head slightly, squinting at the animated face dangling from Kratos's belt. "Forgive me for asking but… Mimir, are you… actually a head? I mean—not an object talking like one, but a living head?"
Mimir grinned, eyes twinkling like a bard who knew his tale would raise some eyebrows. "Aye, I get that question more than ye'd think. Not just a glorified trinket, if that's what yer wonderin'. I was very much alive once. Full body, legs, arms, and all. But let's just say, I had a bit of a… falling out with the powers that be, and me noggin ended up parted from the rest."
He chuckled, tilting slightly on Kratos's belt. "But I was kept alive—by a… witch, no less. A very noble and powerful one at that. She used a magic so old it creaks with age. Only she knows it, far as I'm aware. Without her, I'd be mulch by now, not a storyteller strapped to a grumpy warrior's hip."
There was a quiet pause. Eyes flicked between the head and the stoic figure beside him.
Nezu leaned forward slightly on the table, his voice curious, not accusing. "That is… quite the tale. Preserving life without a body through magic alone… Fascinating. Though I wonder…"
He glanced around at the other teachers before continuing.
"You say you were pulled into this world by some sort of… rift in the air?" he asked. "A crack, you said?"
Mimir nodded. "Aye. Just a shimmer at first. Like a tear in the fabric of the world, hangin' there above our forest. We'd seen one like it before—unsettlin' thing—but this time it opened further. Showed us this realm. And then, poof. It swallowed us up like a hungry beast and tossed us down from the heavens."
Nezu's gaze sharpened, thoughtful.
"See, that's the strange part," he said, finally. "We've checked. Thoroughly. Our satellites cover the skies with precision. Sensors for gravitational anomalies, space-time distortions, radiation spikes, all of it. And yet…"
He steepled his paws. "Nothing. Not even a shimmer. No evidence. No eyewitnesses. If you hadn't landed in the middle of a villain incident, I daresay no one would've ever known you came through at all."
The teachers exchanged uncertain glances, the unspoken thought lingering in the air: What else might come through without notice?
Their eyes naturally drifted back to Kratos—the embodiment of silent, unreadable power—and the head who spoke too much yet said exactly enough.
"We do not seek a fight with this realm."
The words were heavy, shaped by ancient weight and purpose. Not a threat. A promise.
Nezu nodded, meeting his eyes. "Nor do we seek with yours."
He took a breath, stepping gently forward.
"But the fact remains—you are here. And we still lack any means of returning you home. I assure you, not out of ill will, but simply out of uncertainty and limitation."
He paced a little, voice steady, reflective.
"So until something changes, it would be wise to learn how this world works. Its customs. Its dangers. And its values."
He paused, then glanced back toward Kratos and Mimir.
"I don't ask you to pretend to be something you're not. Only to walk among us long enough to understand this place—and for this place to understand you."
Silence settled once more as Kratos studied the creature before him—the small, sharp-eyed... rat-dog? Whatever it was, it spoke with clarity and conviction that belied its size.
Kratos didn't answer right away. Since their arrival, he'd been quiet, observant—gauging the weight of every word, every glance cast his way. These mortals had been eyeing him like a blade in the dark: sharp, unknown, dangerous. It grated on him, but he had let it pass. For now.
He didn't like being studied. He liked being handled even less. And now this rodent was assigning him roles? Making decisions in his stead?
His jaw tightened. Since when had he taken orders from anyone? Let alone a council of strangers and a talking animal.
But Kratos was not a fool. Whatever irritation he felt, he held it tight beneath the surface—controlled, measured. There was wisdom in what the creature said. They were in a world not their own, surrounded by unfamiliar customs, powers, and expectations. Half the words spoken here may as well have been another language. To blindly charge through it all would be reckless.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound low and steady.
"Fine," Kratos said at last, the single word ground out like stone on stone—heavy with reluctant acceptance and the edge of warning. He wasn't agreeing out of obedience. He was agreeing because it was the smart choice… for now.
All Might—Toshinori—stepped forward, voice calm but firm. "Then let me be the one to guide them. I'll help them learn what they need to know about our world. Its people. And its rules."
Mimir gave a bright, cheeky grin. "Oh, ye're too kind! Truly. On behalf o' me and the big lad here—thank you. And no need to spend your whole life ferryin' us about. Just show us where your knowledge's kept. Books, scrolls, glowy boxes—whatever ye've got. We'll do the readin' ourselves."
Nezu tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That would work… But, Toshinori—this year's Entrance Examination begins in three weeks."
Toshinori didn't flinch. He looked toward Kratos and Mimir, then back at Nezu. "Then we have three weeks to make sure these gentlemen are welcomed and informed. Until I'm certain they've found a place in this world—I won't rest easy."
Mimir gave a low whistle. "Well now, that's hospitality if I ever saw it."
All Might straightened, arms folded proudly over his chest. "Then it's settled," he said with a wide grin. "I'll be your guide, Kratos, Mimir. I'll help you understand this world—the good, the strange, and everything in between."
Mimir gave a cheerful nod. "That's mighty kind o' you, lad. We'll try not to be too much trouble."
Nezu hopped down from his perch atop a tall stack of folders, landing with a soft pat on the wooden table. His paws folded neatly behind his back as he walked toward the center of the room, eyes gleaming with quiet purpose.
"Well then," he began, his tone as pleasant as ever, though sharpened with resolve, "we have quite the challenge ahead of us, don't we?"
He turned slightly, glancing at Kratos and Mimir before continuing. "You see, the world outside these walls—our world—is full of cameras, records, and questions. Questions that, if answered truthfully, might cause widespread panic… or worse, draw the attention of people we don't want getting involved."
He gave a tiny chuckle, ears twitching. "And I suspect you would not like to deal with all of those things."
Nezu gestured toward the teachers lining the room. "Now, we all understand you didn't ask to be here. And from what Toshinori's told me—and what the footage didn't explain—it's clear that your arrival was… involuntary. But until we know more about how you arrived, and what that means for our reality, we must take precautions."
He paced a few steps, tail swishing lightly.
"So. Here's what I propose."
Nezu's voice took on the calm cadence of a tactician laying out battle plans.
"First, we fabricate a background for you—nothing too detailed, nothing that invites inspection. Something believable. All Might encountered you in a remote, uncharted region of the Nordic wilderness. A hermit warrior. Mysterious, powerful, but not aggressive. Over time, the two of you built a bond, and Toshinori—impressed by your strength and integrity—invited you to U.A. to serve as a mentor."
He looked up at Kratos with a glint of admiration. "You'd be here as an Instructor. Not a hero. Not a teacher in the traditional sense. Your duties would be non-academic: keeping order, advising students, and assisting with training. Your presence alone will command respect—and deterrence. And more importantly, it provides you legal standing within our walls."
He turned slightly to Mimir. "As for you, well... your existence defies categorization in ways even I find delightful. But you'll be classified as an independent support consultant. A specialist. I imagine once we're done with the paperwork, most bureaucrats will avoid asking too many questions. We'll mask your 'unique presence' as a downside of your 'quirk. Let's say your 'quirk' gave you wisdom beyond comparison but it took the rest of your body. What do you think?"
Mimir gave a wheezy laugh, the sound rich with amusement. "Ha! Aye, that's a tale worthy of a skald's song. 'Gifted with wisdom untold, yet cursed to be naught but a bletherin' head.' I've heard worse legends."
He bobbed slightly in Kratos's grasp. "I suppose it suits me fine. Better a 'specialist' than a strange relic, tossed aside and forgotten. And if it keeps the curious from pokin' their noses too far, I say let the tale be told."
A few chuckles rippled through the room. Even Aizawa gave the faintest of amused snorts.
"Secondly," Nezu continued, "you'll be housed here. On campus. Not only for your own safety, but to prevent unnecessary eyes. You'll have your own place to live and unrestricted access to the school grounds—within reason, of course. The students will know only what we tell them: that you're here to help them grow stronger, more disciplined, and more focused."
He paused, his small form still as stone. Then, slowly, he added, "And lastly… your origin, your power, your world—all of it—will be considered classified information. Only those in this room and a handful of trusted administrators will know. The fewer the questions, the fewer the lies we'll need."
He gave a final, soft-spoken note, voice like a whisper through fog. "You'll have your peace, your purpose, and our protection… so long as we protect the secret together."
There was silence for a moment.
And then—
A low, guttural growl rumbled through the air.
Kratos' brows furrowed like storm clouds, and his hand clenched tight by his side. His voice cut through the air like an axe through bark.
"Why?"
The room froze. The word was simple. Quiet. But it struck like a warhammer against stone.
One syllable, yet it carried the weight of a lifetime. Of battles waged, of decisions made when silence would not suffice.
Kratos stood still, but the air around him shifted. Thickened. Every teacher in that room—heroes seasoned and sharp—felt the pressure of it. They didn't need further words to understand. He wasn't asking for clarification. He was demanding meaning.
Why the façade? Why the cage of names and papers and titles?
Why hide?
The irritation he'd kept leashed since his arrival now bled into the open. Just enough to taste. Just enough for the room to feel the storm beneath his skin.
He had never hidden. Not when Atreus was at his side, fragile and learning. Not when gods came knocking at his door. Thor. Odin. The All-Father himself had tried to bargain, to twist the thread of fate into something docile.
Kratos' answer had been clear. He avoided conflicts for Atreus' sake, but he was never the one to back away when a jab was thrown to his face first.
No.
Not because he was defiant by nature, but because there was no need to hide from those who sought to test him. He had faced worse than judgment. Worse than misunderstanding.
He had faced himself.
So now, standing in this strange world, among mortals who whispered plans and dressed fear as caution, he asked the only question that mattered.
Every teacher present understood without needing to ask. He wasn't questioning the details. He was questioning the point. Why the charade? Why the structure? Why act like a pawn in someone else's game?
Why hide?
Nezu's ears gave a single twitch. He didn't flinch. He took a few careful steps forward and met Kratos' stare head-on. "It's not that we doubt your ability to protect yourself," Nezu said, tone soft yet unwavering. "In fact, that's precisely the issue."
He began pacing slowly as he spoke. "You are… different. And while we understand that difference comes not with ill intent, others might not. There are individuals out there—powerful, persistent—who would look at you and see only opportunity. The kind of opportunity that leads to exploitation. Conflict. Chaos."
Kratos' frown deepened, but he didn't interrupt.
Nezu continued, voice still gentle, but growing firmer. "You use no quirk. Your strength, your power—none of it matches anything our world has seen. If I can reach that conclusion, others can too. And they may not be as interested in diplomacy as we are."
He paused, looking Kratos straight in the eye.
"So for your safety—and mostly ours—it is wiser to keep your presence contained until we understand the full extent of the situation."
A tense beat passed. Kratos' jaw clenched. The muscles in his arm twitched. But finally, he gave a low grunt. Not of agreement, exactly, but of acceptance. A reluctant nod followed.
Mimir, ever the peacemaker, chuckled quietly. "Well, at least ye didn't smash the table. That's progress."
Nezu's voice softened slightly. "I know this must feel beneath you. You've likely fought wars that make our worries seem small. But here, in this world, survival is not just about the sword. It's about perception. Appearances. Control."
He allowed himself a breath before continuing. "Now, as for your role here at U.A… we'll be assigning you the position of a Combat Strategy and Disciplinary Instructor. It's an ideal cover—official, respectable, and within your… particular skillset."
At that, Kratos' glare sharpened again.
"I will not teach," he said, voice rough as gravel but cold as ice.
Nezu raised his paws in a calming gesture. "Of course, of course. Not in the conventional sense. We don't expect you to take in disciples or make exceptional soldiers out of the students here. You won't be teaching them anything on the ethics of heroism either."
The principal took a small breath, then added gently, "But appearances matter. You'll have an identity here—one that explains your presence and allows you freedom of movement within the grounds. That cover must be maintained."
He folded his paws behind his back and began pacing again.
"In truth… your experience could be invaluable to the next generation. We do not hope for war, nor seek it—but the world is unpredictable. And there are few who understand battle, consequence, and restraint as you do."
A few teachers nodded in agreement. Aizawa's gaze lingered on Kratos longer than most.
Nezu's voice softened once more. "You don't need to be a teacher. Just… guide when needed. Advise, correct, discipline. You'll find that your presence alone teaches more than most words ever could."
There was a long pause. Kratos stared at the wall—silent, brooding.
Then Mimir piped up with a smirk, "And besides, better ye be the one teachin' the wee rascals about war than someone who's never seen more than a textbook! Ye'll make 'em better… sharper… alive, even."
Kratos exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.
Another grunt.
Another nod.
He turned slightly to Mimir. "As for you, well... you'll be classified as an independent support consultant. A specialist. I imagine once we're done with the paperwork, most bureaucrats will avoid asking too many questions."
Mimir let out a rich, hearty laugh that bounced off the walls like a tavern bell.
"Ohoho! 'Independent support consultant,' eh? That's a fancy way o' sayin' 'talkin' head that won't shut up!'"
He gave a playful nod, his single eye gleaming with mischief.
"Honestly, lad, I've had worse titles," Mimir said with a wry grin. "Once got labeled a 'mad oracle in a jar' by a dwarf king who didn't fancy me pointin' out the economic flaws in his gem-hoardin' policies. Compared to that, this gig's a step up!"
His eyes turned ever so slightly, glancing up at Kratos with a chuckle. "What d'ye say, Brother?"
Kratos didn't answer. He simply stared down at the disembodied head in his hand, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. The look wasn't rage—at least not the kind that breaks bones and levels mountains—but it was the kind that promised consequences. Cold. Heavy. Icy enough to freeze the Leviathan Axe mid-swing.
Mimir didn't need to turn around to feel it. That silent, smolderin' fury pressed against the back of his nonexistent neck like a storm brewin' in the North. He couldn't help but imagine Kratos weighin' exactly how many different ways he could punt his head across the courtyard without breakin' protocol.
He cleared his throat—purely out o' habit, seein' as he had no lungs—and clamped his mouth shut like a man who'd just realized he was drinkin' with a bear.
Right. Time to shut up.
He… might've spoken more than he should've today. Some of it, aye, was just habit—he'd been rattlin' on since the days of the Aesir, after all. But the rest? That was deliberate. Intentional. Carefully worded to steer the room and maybe, just maybe, soften the weight o' Kratos's silence.
Still, even the wisest head needs to mind his tongue. He'd likely need to explain himself later—before his dear Brother decided to punt his skull clear across the mountains like some cursed relic he'd had enough of.
Nezu, bless his little paws, smiled faintly at the tension but didn't comment.
"Then we'll begin preparations," he said, his voice calm, but already hummin' with motion behind the scenes. "Your living arrangements will be settled shortly, and the cover story is already in place. For now—rest. Tomorrow, Toshinori will begin familiarizing you with the world beyond these walls."
And with that, the path ahead began to take shape. Mysterious, dangerous… but now with purpose.