𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ━━ ❝All these worries about villains and heroes… about quirks and the quirkless… when they should be worried about something far worse… me.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you, the once powerful and feared Control Devil, find yourself surrounded by a world of heroes and villains, grappling with the decision to accept or deny your past.
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evil! reader x makarov/power ‘couple’ would be the type to make out and fuck as they torture someone
(hope you don’t mind, love your writing!!!!! i give you a shiny rock)
Bloody Love
Cw: smut,DARKFIC, torture, kissing, blood and gore, interrogation, creampie, riding, thigh riding, wall sex, sex marathon, sadism, reader is evil, tell me if I missed any.
Makarov doesn’t usually do the torturing, he prefers to leave it to his henchmen and allies, but, on occasion, he wouldn’t mind participating in some good, old fashioned, romantic torture with you. If it fits your fancy and that you’re feeling it, he’d willingly bend back to make your dream come true. While he has other ways of showing you off and letting you control the moment, he finds a certain joy in pleasing you while in the throes of pleasure and making a man slowly bleed to death.
And despite being a man of class, the sight of you covered in blood, manic grin stretched across your face and eyes gleaming darkly, he can’t help himself from falling deeper into this obsession of his. The vulgar and violent appearance of yours only drives him up the wall, his cock tenting his pants, pushing uncomfortably against his briefs. He knows it disturbs the others and his little captive, the show of viciousness and narcissism that you both show, laughing and taunting the poor man while you kissed.
You bleed the man, running a rusted knife - tetanus is a bastard once it’s in your bloodstream - along the curve of his collar, your tongue peeking out to lick at your bottom lip with a crazed gleam. Red had always been a pretty colour, crimson being a passionate and powerful shade to paint your world. Carmine is a fitting colour for you, he liked to see you bathed in it, lips, eyes, cheeks, nails, skin and clothes.
He kisses you like he hungers for you, devouring and hungry, tongue curling around yours and pulling moan and groans from your throat. He sits you on his lap while you make out, pawing at his chest and sinking your teeth into his lip, bleeding him like you bled the other man turned a whimpering and crying mess. He grips and ruts against you, finding ways to fuck you without undressing, to make you come twice as often as he does, helping you grind against his thigh until you gush all over his black pants, soaking the fabric with slick.
You take turn cutting and interrogating your captive, switching between a plier to a saw to rough up the man and drive your arousal higher and higher, to the point that you can’t help shrugging your pants off and riding Makarov. You sink onto him, throwing your head back and bucking against his sloppy thrusts, lost to your own world while your audience sobs, eyes bleary and body in so much pain that the last thing that would bother him is watching you and Makarov fuck.
You’d torture him again after your first session, still hanging on that post orgasm haze of pure happiness and giggles, landing the fess blows that would usually bring them to their knees and spill their secrets —so close, yet so far. Then Makarov ploughes your against the wall, pants sliding down to his ankles as he rolls his hips and thrust upwards, ramming home to fill you up a second time. He makes sure you clench around him, gripping him like a vice and nails drawing your mark on him - marking your territory - before he comes, his cock spurting thick, white cum from the tip.
Only after a third of fourth session do you and Makarov let the man go, on the brink of death and delirious from blood loss. You’re satisfied and happy, which means he’s satisfied and happy, and has all the information he first wanted with the man —it was the best of both worlds.
The world swam back into focus, a sickening wave of nausea rolling through you.
Your throat rasped, a metallic tang heavy in your mouth. Blinking away blurry spots, the world swayed violently around you.
There was a dull throb behind your eyes, and a chilling, empty space where your memories should have been with each sluggish heartbeat.
Fear, raw and primal, gnawed at your insides. Where were you? Everything felt...wrong.
BOOM!
Another thunderclap, followed by a blinding flash of lightning, illuminated the room for a split second. Each crackle of electricity sent a jolt of pain through you, a strange disconnect between the storm outside and the ache in your body.
Disoriented, you tried to sit up, only to find your limbs heavy and unresponsive. Groaning, you forced your eyes back open, expecting the sterile white of a hospital room. But instead, you were met with a riot of bubblegum pink and frilly decorations.
Trying to focus, you pushed yourself off the plush bed, tiny legs unsteady and weak on the plush carpet. Drawn by an instinct you didn't understand, you stumbled towards a small, ornate vanity tucked away in a corner.
BOOM!
Another flash illuminated the room, and for a fleeting moment, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. A face stared back, long, coily red-tinged auburn hair, framed a face unfamiliar and innocent.
However, it was your eyes that truly terrified you.
Golden irises stared back, hypnotic in the flickering light. But it was the crimson rings within them, swirling like miniature storms, that sent a cold dread spiraling down your spine.
These eyes, alien and unsettling, were the only familiar thing in this sea of confusion.
Where are you? Why did everything feel so wrong?
BOOM!
Tears welled up, blurring the vibrant clash of pink and lightning in the reflection. But even the tears felt alien—a betrayal of a body you didn't recognize.
You were adrift in a sea of your own flesh, a puppet with severed strings.
No memories, no identity, just a throbbing head, a strange pain in your body, and fear—a cold, suffocating fear that had no name.
Collapsing onto the plush carpet, you reached for the cool vanity for some semblance of comfort. But instead of finding solace, your hand brushed against a soft, frilly nightgown, another alien entity on your unfamiliar skin.
You were lost, a terrified child in a body that felt wrong, with eyes that held a secret you desperately wanted to remember.
A frantic voice cut through the cacophony of fear in your head. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"
An instinct you didn't understand made you shrink back.
The voice belonged to a woman who rushed to your side, her brow furrowed in worry. Her face, etched with lines of concern, was unfamiliar, yet there was a warmth in her eyes that practically swallowed you whole—you were a star in her desolate sky.
You wanted to ask who she was, who you were, but the moment you tried to form a question, a searing pain lanced through your head. It was easier, for now, to just let the confusion wash over you.
"Come to Mommy~" she reached out, her voice gentle but laced with urgency.
The woman—your apparent mother—sighed, her worry deepening. "Oh, sweetie, you must have been scared with that awful storm. Were you having another bad dream?"
Another dream? The term triggered a flicker of unease. Dreams? What dreams?
You clenched your fists, the throbbing in your head intensifying with every attempt to pull a memory from the void.
Nothing.
Frustration welled within you, a surge of anger replacing the fear. "I... I don't remember," you admitted, the words falling flat in the face of your growing anxiety.
Your mother, whoever she was, wrapped her arms around you, a gesture that felt foreign yet strangely comforting. You didn't know how to react, your body stiff and unyielding in her embrace.
"It's alright, ____~" she soothed, her voice tinged with sadness. "Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and ready for breakfast."
The name "____" hung in the air, a word that felt foreign on your tongue—a borrowed coat ill-fitting your shoulders.
As your short and chubby mother, led you away from the unsettling reflection in the mirror, you stole a glance at her. Her burnt orange hair, once vibrant and full of life, was now streaked with silver, a testament to the years that had passed.
The curls, once perpetually escaping from any attempt at control, were now pulled back in a loose, lopsided bun, seemed to vibrate with nervous energy.
Her honey-tan skin was dusted with a constellation of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose—boring the etchings of time in the form of wrinkles crinkling around her warm, honey-colored eyes.
Even now, a flicker of worry, a worry that seemed to have become a permanent resident, danced within their depths.
Her name, you vaguely recalled from the panicked jumble in your head, was Mei.
The house itself mirrored Mei—functional, lacking any personal touches. It spoke of a life lived by routine, devoid of the chaos you once thrived in. The lack of toys or childish decorations was another jarring note.
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Your 'father'—Wino, a stoic man with a perpetual peppered five o'clock shadow—presented a stark contrast.
Tall and lanky, he grunted a greeting before disappearing behind a newspaper. His electric green eyes, usually crinkled at the corners from a lifetime of suppressed smiles, were hidden behind thick wire-rimmed glasses.
His hair, once a vibrant auburn, had surrendered to the relentless march of time, turning a stark white that seemed to hold the secrets of countless unspoken words; both he and your mother appeared older than their mid-forties.
As Mei fussed over you, you picked at your food—the unfamiliar taste of fluffy pancakes, a bland echo of the delicacies you once indulged in.
Mei, oblivious to the storm brewing within you, hummed along to a children's show playing on the TV. It depicted brightly colored superheroes battling a giant, fire-breathing lizard.
You watched the scene detachedly; it was both whimsical and confusing.
"Welcome back, young heroes-in-training! Today, we're going to learn all about quirks—those amazing abilities that make our world so unique!"
A flurry of images flashed across the screen: a boy with stretchy limbs, a girl who could manipulate fire, a man who could zoom through the air. Your brow furrowed in concentration. This was unlike anything you'd ever known.
"Quirks can be anything from super strength to creating illusions!" the cheerful announcer continued, "It's what makes our society so exciting!"
The show droned on, explaining quirk training, hero schools, and the intricate classifications of these bizarre abilities. You listened intently, a spark of curiosity igniting within you.
What the hell are these "quirks" they kept droning on about?
Suddenly, a booming voice jolted you from your thoughts.
"Mei, change the channel. Not much point in letting her watch that mess. She won't be developing any quirks soon," Wino sighed behind his newspaper, lowering it down with a grimace. "No use in getting her hopes up."
Your mother bit her lip, a flicker of sadness crossing her features. "But she's only five," she began, her voice tinged with defiance, "we don't know if she's actually quirkless, there's always a chance..." Her words trailed off as Wino stood up and left the room without a glance, leaving behind a lingering scent of pipe tobacco in his wake.
You watched him go, your eyes narrowing a bit. Quirkless? The word itself felt foreign, a label you didn't understand but instinctively disliked.
As if on cue, the monotonous ringing of the house phone cut through the tense silence. Mei gave you a strained smile before hurrying to answer it. Left alone, you wandered back to the television, the cartoon announcer's overly enthusiastic voice now droning on about the "Quirkless Woes."
"And remember kids," the announcer chirped in a condescending tone, "if you're unfortunate enough to be born without a Quirk, just remember, there are plenty of perfectly ordinary jobs you can take up! Like... janitorial services! Or... grocery bagging!" His patronizing tone made you huff in annoyance; a strange feeling, a mix of anger and confusion, began to nestle in your chest.
Being Quirkless sounded... boring.
Limited.
Unfair.
Suddenly, the cheerful theme song was drowned out by a breaking news alert flashing across the screen.
A stern-faced woman with a microphone reported on a villain attack downtown. Live footage showed a hulking man with glowing red eyes causing havoc, his bare fists shattering concrete pillars with ease.
"This is villain Catastrophe causing a rampage in the Musutafu financial district," the newscaster explained. "Heroes are on the scene, but the situation seems critical. We'll continue to bring you updates..."
Your gaze flicked between the cartoon heroes and the real-life devastation; a strange mix of curiosity and... envy? flickered within you.
These people, these heroes, could manipulate reality—defy the laws of physics with the flick of a wrist.
You, on the other hand, were utterly and seemingly ordinary.
The frustration bubbled up again, a familiar feeling you couldn't quite place. Was it the powerlessness? The lack of control? Or perhaps a deeper longing for something more, something you couldn't even articulate?
As the news droned on, Mei switched the TV off, a bright etching itself onto her face. "Come on, sweetie, let's finish your breakfast~" she said gently, "Today's an exciting day, we're learning the alphabet!"
☆
☆
Later that night, as the rain tapped a gentle rhythm against your window, you lay tucked under the covers, Mei having just left after her nightly goodnight kiss.
Staring out at the slick streets, you tried, in vain, to push past the blank canvas of your memories.
A dull ache throbbed behind your eyes, intensifying with each frustrated attempt. Your body trembled, a cold sweat slicking your skin.
Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through your head, and a gasp escaped your lips.
Involuntarily, your eyes flared open, an unsettling yellow glow emanating from them for a fleeting moment. A metallic tang filled your mouth, and you reached up to your nose, feeling a warm trickle of blood.
Through the ringing in your ears, a voice, faint and distorted, seemed to whisper a name. "...Ma...ki...ma..." it repeated, the syllables blurring together before fading entirely. Each whisper senting a jolt through you, a flicker of a vision erupting behind your closed eyelids.
"...Ma...ki...ma..." The first whisper brought a flash of a pale, porcelain face, a chilling smile stretched impossibly wide across blood-red lips.
Then, darkness.
"...Ma...ki...ma..." The voice pleaded, a touch more insistent this time; and with it, it ignited a vision of slender, crimson-stained fingers wrapped around a length of barbed wire, a look of perverse pleasure contorting the unfamiliar face.
Darkness again.
"...Ma...ki...ma..." The vision that followed this plea was a kaleidoscope of horrors—a city in flames, screams swallowed by the roar of an unseen beast, and that same face, eyes blazing with a cold, predatory hunger.
A wave of nausea washed over you, and you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, willing the visions away.
The whispers began to quicken, a desperate urgency seeping into their tone. "Ma...ki...ma...Ma...ki...ma!" Each utterance felt like a physical blow, a sledgehammer pounding against the fortress of your mind.
With each beat, the visions intensified, a torrent of violence and depravity flooding your senses.
A cackle, laced with madness, echoed in the darkness. You saw twisted shadows writhe on the ground, heard the sickening crunch of bones, felt the heat of searing flames licking at your skin.
And then, her face, crystal clear this time, filled your vision.
The pale girl, the crimson smile—Makima.
Her eyes, once a mesmerizing crimson, were now a bottomless void, devoid of any humanity.
"Makima!" The final whisper arrived in a shout of despair, resonating with horrifying clarity, shattering the last vestiges of your resistance.
Your pupils dilated, a single word echoing in the vast emptiness—Makima.
It was a name, a fragment of who you were, but it offered no explanation for your current existence.
Slowly, the tremor subsided, the yellow glow in your eyes receding, leaving behind a chilling emptiness. Fear melted into a strange sense of clarity.
You were Makima, but you were also ____.
Calming your ragged breaths, you tested the name on your tongue in a low, raspy whisper. "Makima..."
It held power—a chilling familiarity—but it felt distant, alien.
____, the name your mother called you, felt more comfortable, more like your own.
Yes, you decided; you were ____.
You didn't know who Makima was, but you would find out. And in the meantime, you would carve your own path in this world, as ____.
A determined glint flickered in your eyes, a spark of defiance against the unknown future.
A/N: EECKKK!! I'm so hyped for this, lol. Just get ready for all the fan-service cuz y'all know i love being delusional, lololo
Anyways, here's a sneek peak, I have like 10+ completed and should start updating regularly in about a week (i plan on having 20+ completed so I won't keeping you guys waiting too long in between updates) See y'all next update ❤️
Aizawa coughed, a wet, bloody sound that echoed in the tense silence. A spray of crimson splattered across your cheek, a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He managed to wheeze out a single word, vice weak and raspy. ❝Villain...❞his gaze hardening despite his weakened state.
❝Always so quick to label,❞ you chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. ❝Perhaps villain isn't the right word. Let's just say... I have a different vision for this world, Aizawa-sensei. And you, with your unwavering sense of justice, would just stand in my way.❞
With narrowed eyes, Aizawa, his face haggard and drawn, rasped out, ❝I knew you'd...*Cough*... become an issue.❞ His haggard figure, his labored breathing—it only fueled your twisted sense of amusement.
Tilting your head, a slow, chilling smile spread across your face. It wasn't quite playful, but held a hint of something predatory, like a cat toying with its prey.
Leaning down even closer, you brushed the tip of your nose along the side of his wounded face, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the adrenaline thrumming in the air. The contrast of your smooth skin against his rough, blood-stained flesh sent a spark of something dark through you.
❝Oh, you haven't seen a real issue yet~❞you purred, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper, the sound sending shivers down his weakened spine.
Slowly, you trailed your nose along the contours of his jawline, stopping just a hair's breadth away from his own. ❝Not by a long shot,❞ you breathed, your voice barely above a murmur. Then, with a final, teasing touch, your nose bumped against his.
With a final smirk, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his temple. Before Aizawa could react, you took control. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, flickered once before glossing over completely. His jaw slackened, his body a puppet on a string.
You had seized the reins.
..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....
Humans.
Oh, how you despised them.
As the Control Devil, you couldn't help but see them for what they truly were: inferior pests that belong beneath your thumb.
So imagine your surprise that you found yourself dying at the hands of one and waking up in a world where 'Quirks' define one's worth, with no recollection of who you were.
But as whispers of your past life soon began seeping through the cracks of your new reality, you decided that a life without your reverend Pochita wasn't a life worth living.
So the question remains:
What's left for you to do?
..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....
╭─↬ ❗𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆❗ ↫─╮
There will be mentions/descriptive scenes of the following:
╭ ⁞ ❏ Strong Language
┊ ⁞ ❏ Stalker-Like Tendencies
┊ ⁞ ❏ Toxic and Manipulative Behavior
┊ ⁞ ❏ Graphic Gore and Violence
┊ ⁞ ❏ Apathetic/Antisocial Behavior
┊ ⁞ ❏ Minor and Major Character Deaths
┊ ⁞ ❏ Yandere Tendencies
🔺 Reader Discretion Advised.
Lol, I don't know if I got them all, so if you see anything I didn't list, come back and comment right here so I can add them to the list later ➡
Enjoy (•͈˽•͈)
𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐬𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Though this may be a various!bnha fic, MC will most likely be with 1-2 people; may the best yanderes win 😈
Your life was a carefully constructed bubble, meticulously crafted by your ever-anxious mother, Mei. Unlike other children your age, you didn't attend daycare or school.
The outside world, with its potential dangers and lurking germs, was deemed too much for your mother's fragile peace of mind.
Instead, your days revolved around a routine as predictable as the sunrise.
Mornings began with a meticulously planned breakfast, followed by lessons conducted by Mei herself. As a former high school teacher, she poured all her energy into your homeschooling, bombarding you with colorful flashcards and meticulously constructed schedules.
While other children learned through messy playdates and scraped knees, your world was confined to the walls of your apartment, safe but undeniably stifling.
Wino remained a distant figure in all this, keeping his interactions with you brief and impersonal. Sometimes, you'd catch him stealing a glance your way—a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he quickly retreated behind a curtain of newspaper.
Despite, or perhaps because of, your sheltered life, a fierce independence bloomed within you. You devoured the lessons Mei presented, your mind a sponge soaking up knowledge.
You craved understanding, a way to make sense of the world beyond the four walls of your home.
One afternoon, as you were diligently building a tower with colorful blocks, the sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on your focused face.
The air was thick with the aroma of baking cookies, courtesy of Mei, who was humming cheerfully in the kitchen.
Suddenly, the gentle hum was replaced by the familiar blaring voice of a cartoon announcer on the television.
You glanced up, the frown furrowing your brow mirroring the one now etched on the face of the overly enthusiastic cartoon hero plastered across the television screen.
The hero, clad in a flamboyant costume that seemed more of a hindrance than a help, was pummeling a villain whose entire power seemed to be an unfortunate case of bad hair.
"And that, my friends," the announcer boomed, his voice dripping with condescension, "is how a proper hero uses their Quirk! Now, let's talk about those unfortunate souls who weren't blessed with such amazing abilities."
A familiar heat pooled in your chest, a simmering resentment fueled by the announcer's patronizing tone.You weren't 'unfortunate'—you were ____.
And you wouldn't be belittled like some charity case.
The announcer, completely oblivious to your internal dilemma, continued his spiel. "Being Quirkless doesn't mean you can't contribute to society," he chirped, his voice laced with a saccharine sweetness that made your teeth itch.
You rolled your eyes, grumbling under your breath, "Yeah, contribute by being a glorified dog walker."
You spent the next few moments trying to drown out the annoying voice, focusing on meticulously placing the final block atop your ever-growing castle.
You stacked them with an almost obsessive focus, each piece a silent rebuttal to the announcer's words. But you couldn't drown him out forever.
"And remember, kids," the announcer declared, his voice adopting a sinister edge, "if you're Quirkless, no point in attempting to do the impossible. You're better off understanding your role as a citizen in society. Don't become a burden!"
Slowly, you raised your head; your eyes narrowed to pinpoints as the last line echoed in your head.
Burden? A scowl thundered across your face, erasing any trace of childish amusement. A low growl, more animalistic than human, rumbled from your chest.
Everything went silent around you, the only sound being the frantic drumming of your heart.
Unbeknownst to you, your eyes once again began to glow an unsettling yellow.
A blinding flash of static suddenly erupted from the television, scrambling the image on the screen into a distorted mess.
You were so engrossed in glaring at the screen—your mind running miles a minute with internal arguments about how you weren't average and wouldn't be belittled—that you didn't notice your mother rushing in.
The static intensified, morphing into a horrifying, demonic screech that sent shivers down your spine. The air crackled with unseen energy, and the hairs on your arms stood on end.
Suddenly, with a deafening pop, the television went completely black. The room plunged into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
You blinked, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
Slowly, you turned your head to find Mei standing frozen in the doorway, her face etched with a mixture of concern and confusion.
The silence stretched on, thick and heavy. Mei, finally breaking free from her shock, ventured towards the lifeless television.
"Well, I guess that means it's time for an upgrade?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as much a question to herself as to you.
☆
☆
Warm bubbles tickled your skin as you leaned back in the tub, tilting your head to allow Mei to lather your hair with shampoo. Her gentle hands worked the suds in, a soft smile lighting her face.
"You're unbelievable, sweetie~ You managed to finish all the multiplication flash cards in record time!" she chirped, her voice tinged with a touch of awe. "Honestly, ____, you're learning so fast, I'll have to find some more challenging material soon!"
Her praises usually fill you with a sense of accomplishment, a validation of your efforts. Today, however, it triggered a different thought.
She was right...you weren't like the other children—like the ones in the grainy television shows you occasionally glimpsed at or the ones you saw playing from your window.
They were carefree, giggling as they chased each other down the street, their quirks a vibrant kaleidoscope of color and powers.
Mei continued, blissfully unaware of your internal turmoil. "Maybe we could even tackle some basic science concepts next! Wouldn't that be exciting?"
Exciting wasn't the word you'd use to describe your current mood.
You tilted your head back, allowing Mei to rinse out the soap. As the cool water cascaded down your face, you squeezed your eyes shut, picturing those same children once again.
You weren't like them.
They interacted with ease; their world filled with laughter and adventure.
You, on the other hand, were a mystery, even to yourself. The yellow glow in your eyes, the distorted television, the demonic screech—these weren't normal occurrences.
A shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn't entirely from the cool water rinsing down your face. A chilling realization settled in—the world you inhabited felt small and stifling.
A question, heavy with unspoken fear and a strange, exhilarating thrill, began to form in your mind: What exactly were you?
A/N: ok, i swear this is the last update. I just couldn't wait ❤️❤️ see you guys soonF
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Mei hummed a gentle tune as she washed the dishes, the warm soapy water swirling around her hands. The sound of a sports commentary played softly from the living room television, a mundane background noise that filled the small but cozy kitchen. Wino was sprawled on the couch, half-watching the game, half-lost in his own thoughts.
It was just another quiet evening—or so it seemed.
Dinner had been subdued, the air heavy with a quiet tension Mei couldn't quite shake. Her thoughts repeatedly drifted to you, her daughter, as they often did when you weren't home. She'd caught herself checking her phone several times during the meal, as if willing an update to come through, but it remained silent.
She told herself not to worry—it was just a training camp, after all. But the gnawing unease in her chest was persistent, a quiet voice whispering, "What if something happens?"
Wino, noticing her distant gaze earlier, had grumbled for her to relax, calling her overprotective. But Mei simply smiled and waved off his comment, masking the bubbling worry that lurked beneath the surface. It wasn't the first time she'd felt this way, and she doubted it would be the last.
The quiet moments without you at home always felt too loud, too empty.
She sighed as she rinsed the last plate, her hands lingering in the warm water as her mind wandered. Were you eating enough? Were you staying warm? Was the camp safe? Mei found herself imagining you surrounded by your classmates, smiling, thriving—but the image was fragile, fleeting, easily replaced by her darker thoughts.
Suddenly, the shrill ring of the telephone cut through the calm.
Mei jumped, nearly dropping the plate in her hand. "Could you get that, dear?" she called over her shoulder, trying to steady her breath as she nodded toward the phone. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed the plate in the drying rack, her heart already beating faster.
Wino grumbled under his breath but heaved himself off the couch and shuffled to the phone. He picked up the receiver with a resigned sigh, "Hello?"
There was a moment of silence as he listened, and then—"What?" he barked into the phone, his voice harsh, demanding an explanation.
Mei froze, her heart stopping mid-beat as she turned to watch her husband's expression shift. His body tensed, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone tighter. Whatever was being said, it wasn't good.
After a tense moment, his voice faltered, his stern demeanor cracking as he muttered a resigned, "Alright," before slamming the phone back onto its cradle.
The clatter of the receiver echoed in the small space, and Mei's humming stopped abruptly. She quickly rinsed her hands and turned off the tap, the warmth of the water forgotten as a cold dread settled over her. She turned to Wino, her heart racing with sudden worry. "What's wrong, Winnie?" she asked, her voice thin, trembling as she struggled to keep calm.
Seconds later, Wino stormed into the kitchen, his face grim. Without a word, he grabbed Mei's jacket from the hook by the door and thrust it into her hands.
"The school called," he said, his voice flat but heavy with urgency.
Mei's heart skipped a beat, her thoughts immediately jumping to the worst-case scenarios. Her hands clutched the jacket tightly as she stared up at him, seeking answers in his troubled eyes. "What happened? Is she okay?" she asked, her voice cracking as the questions tumbled out.
Wino shook his head, his usual stoic composure nowhere to be seen. "There's been an incident at the camp. They didn't give much detail over the phone; they just said we need to come to the school right away," he said, his tone clipped, as if forcing the words out.
The world seemed to tilt under Mei's feet.
Images of you hurt or in danger flooded her thoughts, and she felt a wave of nausea at the mere idea. Her fingers fumbled as she slipped into her jacket, her movements robotic, almost automatic, as she tried to process the information.
Her chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt hard to breathe. "An incident?" she echoed weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. "What kind of incident?"
But Wino had already opened the door, the cool evening air rushing in. He turned back to her, his expression grim but resolute. "We'll find out soon enough. Let's go."
.☆.
.✩.
.☆.
In the U.A. staff conference room, Kan stood slightly to the side where Aizawa was currently speaking to a room full of anxious parents from Classes 1-A and 1-B, their faces etched with concern and confusion.
Principal Nezu, perched atop a nearby podium, was engaged in a low, serious discussion with another staff member, occasionally glancing over the crowd with a discerning eye. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension; the worried murmurs of parents mingled with the shuffle of papers and the soft clicking of pens.
Kan observed the scene, his stance firm yet his eyes betraying the concern he felt for his students and their families. As a teacher, it was his duty not only to educate but to protect, and the weight of this responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders in moments like these.
Suddenly, the doors to the conference room burst open, causing a few startled gasps as heads turned towards the noise.
Mei stepped into the room, her appearance slightly disheveled from what was clearly a rush to get here. Her greyed burnt orange hair was pulled back in a hurried ponytail, some strands escaping to frame her worried face. Her honey-tan skin seemed paler under the fluorescent lights of the room, and her eyes, usually warm and inviting, were wide with apprehension.
Wino followed closely behind, his expression grim. He wore his usual attire of a simple button-up shirt and slacks, but the lines of his face were drawn tight, the set of his mouth hard.
As the couple made their way into the room, several other parents quieted, their own conversations pausing as they took in the sight of the frazzled woman. Some offered sympathetic looks; others shared glances of mutual understanding, their own fears reflected in their eyes.
Mei's gaze swept through the room, skipping over the other parents and landing directly on Kan. Without hesitation, her steps quickened as she made her way through the crowd, her focus laser-sharp.
"Mr. Vlad!" she called out, her voice carrying a sharp edge of panic as she approached; the room fell into a deeper silence, all eyes now.
Kan met her halfway, his expression softening slightly in understanding. "Mrs. and Mr. Akuma," he greeted. "Thank you for coming so quickly. We're just about to go over everything we know about the issue."
"I-Is ____ okay? Is everything fine?" Mei's voice wavered, trembling as she gripped her jacket tightly, her knuckles white against the fabric. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Kan with an urgency that made the seasoned hero falter for just a moment.
Kan opened his mouth to respond, his features set in a grim line, but before he could speak, Aizawa stepped forward. His usual tired demeanor was replaced with a firm resolve, though the faint clenching of his jaw betrayed the tension he was holding back. "All the students are currently being seen at the hospital," he explained, his tone grave yet laced with a practiced calm. "We're making sure everyone gets the care they need."
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Aizawa's words hanging heavy in the air. The quiet, punctuated only by the soft shuffling of uneasy parents, seemed almost deafening. Aizawa glanced briefly at Kan, as if silently bracing himself for what was to come. His voice lowered slightly, a grim note slipping through as he continued."Unfortunately," he continued, his gaze flickering between Mei and Wino, "we must inform you that ____ and Bakugo were the only ones unaccounted for—taken."
The words hit like a thunderclap. Mei gasped audibly, her face draining of color as her legs faltered beneath her. She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a broken cry of disbelief. Wino, for all his usual aloofness, moved swiftly to her side. His hands found her shoulders, steadying her trembling frame even as his own face twisted in a rare display of raw emotion.
Murmurs erupted from the other parents, their voices a chaotic mix of fear and confusion. "Taken? What does that mean?" a mother from Class 1-B whispered sharply, her hands gripping her husband's arm. Another father leaned forward in his chair, his face pale as he muttered, "This isn't supposed to happen... not at U.A." The room felt smaller, the collective fear of the parents closing in like a suffocating wave.
From the cacophony of voices, Mitsuki's sharp tone cut through, rising above the subdued chaos. "What? Katsuki's gone?" Her voice cracked under the strain, her face paling as the reality of her son's situation settled in. She shot up from her seat, her fists trembling at her sides. Beside her, Masaru shook visibly, gripping his wife's hand tightly, seeking comfort in her touch even as his own fear threatened to overwhelm him.
"How could this happen?" another parent blurted out, their voice tinged with anger and despair. "We trusted you to keep them safe!" Heads nodded in agreement, the murmurs swelling again as anxiety rippled through the crowd.
Kan's shoulders fell slightly, a flash of guilt darting across his face before he composed himself again. The tension in the room seemed to close in, wrapping itself around him as he struggled to maintain his professional demeanor. He glanced at Aizawa, silently passing the baton.
As if sensing the burden Kan carried, Aizawa stepped forward again. He addressed the room with a tone meant to instill confidence, though his clenched fists betrayed the weight of his words. "We're working tirelessly to get them back," he assured Mei directly. "We've already mobilized our top heroes and are coordinating with local authorities. We won't stop until they're found—"
But Mei cut him off sharply, her voice louder and more commanding than anyone had ever heard from the usually soft-spoken woman. "I don't care. Where is my daughter?" she demanded, her honey-brown eyes blazing with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the room. Her usually warm, freckled face was etched with desperation, her trembling frame barely able to contain the fire in her words.
The room stilled. Aizawa met her gaze, his expression unreadable, though a subtle, slow exhale escaped his lips as if absorbing the brunt of her pain. He took a measured breath before speaking, his tone calm yet solemn. "Mrs. Akuma, we are doing everything we can," he said firmly. "This is an unprecedented situation, and we are responding with all available resources. I assure you, no stone is being left unturned."
Her lips thinned into a tight line, her body trembling as she hissed through clenched teeth, "I trusted her in your custody." The accusation hung heavily in the air, sharp and potent, cutting through the silent room like a knife.
Kan shifted uncomfortably, his gaze briefly dropping to the floor as though the weight of her words had struck him physically. Beside him, Aizawa's hands tightened at his sides, his usually composed expression cracking ever so slightly under the pressure.
Wino, typically stoic and detached, now showed a rare vulnerability. His eyes, usually dulled with indifference, mirrored the depth of Mei's worry as he cautiously reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. But Mei, wrapped in her turmoil, shrugged him off with a swift, dismissive motion.
Taking a single step forward, her voice rose, her fear transforming into a sharp, erratic edge. "You need to fix this," she demanded, her voice cracking with emotion as unshed tears glistened in her eyes. "I refuse to lose another child."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. Wino's hand faltered mid-air before falling to his side. His expression darkened, the weight of past wounds dragging his gaze downward. Mei's trembling frame and blazing eyes seemed to burn a hole through the room, her desperation tangible and raw.
Everyone present could feel the weight of her fear, the depth of her desperation, the impact of her words leaving her audience speechless.
Suddenly, Mei's demeanor shifted; her voice softened, though the steel in her tone remained as she coldly spat, "You are responsible for bringing her back. Do whatever it takes. But bring her back safe." With that, she turned sharply on her heel, her steps quick and resolute as she stormed out of the room.
Wino lingered for a moment, staring after his wife with a heavy, solemn expression. The rapid departure left a tangible void in the room, the tension thick and suffocating. He cleared his throat, a subtle sound that barely rose above the soft murmurings of the other parents.
Slowly, he bowed deeply toward the teachers and staff, his voice gravelly as he muttered a heartfelt apology. "I... I'm sorry."
When he rose, there were soft tears glistening in his eyes, betraying his usual detached demeanor. The lines on his face, often hidden behind a mask of indifference or irritation, now seemed deeper, more pronounced. He looked every bit his age, the weight of years marked by worry and fear now visibly etched into his features.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Wino glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the faces of other concerned parents before settling on the teachers. "You may not know this," he began, his voice strong despite the emotional strain, "but there's a reason Mei is... the way she is."
His eyes shifted downward, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he delved into a part of their past that was rarely spoken about. "Years ago, before ____ was born, we had another child. A son." The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his revelation hanging heavily in the air.
Wino's voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if the memory itself was painful to voice. "He was kidnapped. Taken right from under our noses when he was just four years old." His words hung heavy in the room, like a storm cloud threatening to burst. The memory clawed its way through the years, vivid and sharp, refusing to dull with time.
"We were at the mall, just a normal day out," he continued, his voice distant, as though he were speaking from the depths of that very moment. "It was sunny—perfect weather. Laughter filled the air as people wandered in and out of stores, and our little boy..." He paused, his throat tightening. "He darted between us, clutching at a new toy he'd begged us to buy. He was so happy, his face lit up like it was the best day of his life."
Mei's laughter rang clear in his memory, a sound full of joy and life. Wino closed his eyes for a brief second, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. "She'd been laughing at something silly he'd said, holding his hand one moment, and then—" His voice cracked, the weight of the memory pressing against him. "Then, we looked away. Just for a moment. One moment." His hands curled into tight fists at his sides. "And when we looked back... he was gone."
The ensuing panic was seared into his mind, an endless loop of chaos and desperation. Mei's cries, frantic and terrified, echoed through the mall, cutting through the chatter of the crowd. Her voice rose above the din, raw and unrelenting, as she screamed his name over and over again. It was a stark contrast to the carefree laughter that had filled their day moments before.
"I can still hear her," Wino admitted, his voice barely audible, the tremor of unresolved grief threading through his words. "The way she screamed for him, begged strangers for help. Security came, the police arrived, but... it was too late. Too late for us to find him." He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making his next words feel heavier. "Our son... our little boy was nowhere to be found."
He fell silent for a moment, his green eyes staring blankly at the floor. The pain of that day etched deep lines into his face, making him appear older than his years. "We searched for hours, for days, for months—every alley, every abandoned building, every wooded area nearby." His hands tightened further, knuckles white, as though clenching the memory itself. "Every time we heard a knock on the door, we thought maybe—just maybe—it was him. But it never was."
When he finally looked up, his gaze was fixed and glassy. "We never found him," he said quietly, his voice trembling with the weight of that truth. "And then," he continued, his voice lowering to almost a whisper, "after months of relentless searching—after the police had already called it off, said there was nothing more to be done—it became a cold case."
The room seemed to hold its collective breath, the silence so thick it pressed against the walls.
"But we didn't stop," Wino muttered, his voice trembling as if the memories themselves were dragging him back to that hopeless time. "We couldn't. While everyone else moved on, Mei and I kept looking, chasing any shred of hope, no matter how faint. We didn't eat. We didn't sleep. We handed out flyers, begged anyone we came across for information, chased down every lead, no matter how slim." He paused, his jaw tightening as if speaking the next words would take every ounce of strength he had left. "Until one day, in the woods—just beyond the edge of the city, after a year of hell—"
His voice cracked, and he had to stop, his throat working to suppress the lump that had formed. Mei's cries echoed in his mind, sharp and piercing, as if he were back in that moment. "We found... something," he rasped, his voice barely audible, weighted with grief.
"It was his," he choked out after a long pause, his hands trembling. "Tattered, bloody clothes. His favorite little shirt with the red dinosaur on it—torn to shreds. Stained." His words hung in the air like a heavy fog, sinking into the hearts of everyone listening.
Wino's voice faltered again, his hands coming up to press against his face for a brief moment. When he lowered them, tears shimmered in his green eyes, sliding down his weathered cheeks. "And there was more," he choked out, his voice breaking entirely. "A small... hand. Or what was left of it. Just two bony fingers—pinky and ring—like the flesh had rotted away ages ago. Clean, like they'd been placed there on purpose. Like someone was laughing at us."
Gasps rippled through the room, and Wino's hands trembled as he wiped furiously at his face. "We knew it was him. We knew," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "There wasn't anything left after that. No trail. No ransom note. Just those clothes. Just those pieces."
He paused, his gaze flickering toward the ground as if he couldn't bear to meet anyone's eyes. His shoulders shook slightly, and his voice dropped even further. "I had to pick them up," he admitted, his breath hitching. "Those tiny fingers... I had to gather them in my hands and pretend that somehow, this was all going to be okay. That Mei wouldn't break completely when she saw what I had found."
A strained silence followed his words, his pain palpable, raw, and unfiltered. "That's why Mei is the way she is," Wino continued after a long pause, his voice hoarse. "That's why she's always been so protective of ____. We can't go through that again. We won't."
His eyes lifted, locking onto Aizawa with an intensity that belied the cracks in his voice. "And can you blame us? Can you honestly blame her? She lost her baby boy, and now we're here again, standing on the edge of losing another."
He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his grief and fear. "So, please," he pleaded, his tone wavering but insistent, "bring her back. Bring her back safe. Don't let us bury another child."
With another bow, this one filled with a desperate hope, Wino turned and followed in the path Mei had taken, his steps slow and heavy. As he left the room, the silent support of the other parents followed him, their own fears momentarily calmed by the shared understanding of his plea.
The door closed softly behind him, leaving the room in a reflective silence, each person grappling with the gravity of the situation and the heartfelt plea of a father scared to relive his past.
☆
☆
Midoriya sat in the sterile hospital room, his body aching, but the pain barely registered compared to the turmoil in his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly in several layers of gauze, evidence of the injuries he had sustained during the chaos. Both arms rested absently on his lap, fingertips grazing over the hospital blanket, but his thoughts were miles away—replaying the moment over and over.
The portal had opened. He could still see the way your face had looked, the moment you and Bakugo were pulled in, that fleeting expression of surprise before everything went dark.
He should've stepped in. He should've been the first to try and help Bakugo. He had hesitated, frozen in the moment. The more he replayed it in his head, the more he realized just how long it had taken him to react. The bitter taste of regret lingered, something heavy in his throat.
He wasn't supposed to freeze when it mattered most.
His hand trembled slightly as he clenched it into a fist, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of guilt was suffocating. How had he let this happen? The scene kept replaying in his mind—the way Bakugo had struggled against the pull, his voice shouting, full of anger and fear. And you, you had been dragged in too, helpless. I should've done something... anything.
His stomach twisted. He should have done more. He should have been faster. His hands twitched against the sheets, but what good was that now? What did it matter how much he regretted it? It wouldn't bring you back. It wouldn't change the fact that he had failed.
The sterile scent of the hospital room felt suffocating. The dull beep of the machines, the hushed voices outside the door—they barely registered. Everything inside him felt hollow, like the fight had been drained right out of him.
What if he never saw you again?
What if—?
A loud knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He barely had time to process it before the door swung open, and suddenly, the room wasn't empty anymore.
His classmates filtered in one by one, their expressions ranging from exhausted to grim. Kirishima was in front, his usual bright energy replaced with something sharper—something determined. His red eyes burned with something fierce as he stepped forward, fists clenched.
"We have to do something," he said, looking directly at Midoriya.
Midoriya blinked, sluggishly dragging himself from the fog of his mind. He could see the others behind Kirishima—Todoroki standing stiffly by his bedside, Iida with his arms crossed. Momo stood near the back with Uraraka and Asui, her hands clasped together with worry. Sato, Ashido, Shoji, Tokoyami, Kaminari, Sero, Ojiro, Mineta, even Aoyama—they were all here, all looking at him like they expected something.
Kirishima's fists tightened, his voice carrying a weight that sent a ripple through the room. "We can't just sit around and wait. Bakugo and ____ are out there, and we don't know what those villains are planning." He turned, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. "I say we go after them. We can't leave them to whatever the hell the League has in store."
Midoriya's breath caught in his throat. Go after them? His mind stuttered, gears grinding as he tried to make sense of what Kirishima was suggesting.
Iida reacted first, stepping forward, his hands gripping his sides tightly. "Absolutely not," he snapped, his voice almost desperate. "I understand how you feel, Kirishima-kun, but this is reckless. We can't go after them ourselves!"
His voice cut through the room, carrying an urgency that forced everyone to listen. His stance was stiff, as if he was barely holding himself together.
Midoriya could see it—the conflict behind Iida's eyes. He wasn't just saying this because it was the logical course of action; he was saying it because he was afraid. Afraid of losing more people. Afraid of making the same mistakes he had once made.
Kirishima scowled, his frustration evident as he turned toward him. "But we don't know if they'll make it in time!" His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. "We don't even know where they are! How long are we supposed to just sit here and hope for the best?"
His voice wavered slightly, but it didn't break. He was determined. He had already made up his mind.
Iida bristled, adjusting his glasses as he exhaled sharply. "That's exactly why we have to leave this to the Pro-Heroes. We don't have enough information, and running in blindly will only put more people in danger."
"Then what do you suggest we do? Huh? Just wait?" Kirishima snapped, his voice rising. "They don't have time for us to just sit around twiddling our thumbs while the League of Villains does who knows what to them! I'm not just going to stand around when we can do something! Momo, you already have a way for us to track them, don't you?"
Momo hesitated, glancing away. "I... I do," she admitted.
Iida inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That doesn't change the fact that we're students. We can't fight villains! We're already lucky we weren't expelled after our last incident—" His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to continue, his posture stiff. "What do you think All Might would say if he knew we were planning this?"
Todoroki, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. "If it were me," he said, his voice cool but deliberate, "I'd want my friends to come for me."
"Oui, mon ami," Aoyama cut in, shaking his head, his usual flair subdued. "I do not mean to be cowardly, but we have been strictly warned not to engage in combat. The Pro-Heroes are already working on it. Do you really think they would allow us to interfere?"
His words hung in the air, logical yet heavy.
Tokoyami, who had been quiet until now, exhaled through his nose. He shifted slightly, the fabric of his uniform crinkling with the motion. "...Aoyama is correct," he admitted after a long moment. His voice was low, almost reluctant, but steady nonetheless. "We have been warned against reckless actions, and as one who has been saved multiple times during this ordeal, I am in no position to dictate what should or should not be done."
He said no more after that, retreating into silence. He had already spoken his piece, and now, he would leave the decision to the others.
Kirishima's frustration simmered just beneath the surface, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looked around the room, searching for something—someone—to back him up.
Midoriya swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. He understood both sides. He knew what was at stake, knew the risks. But he also knew what it felt like to sit still, waiting, hoping—and watching helplessly as people slipped through his fingers.
Bakugo.
You.
Gone.
The word echoed in Midoriya's mind, rattling against the fragile control he had left. It wasn't just a thought—it was a gaping void, an unbearable silence where you and Bakugo should have been.
He wanted to do something—anything—to fix this.
But before he could even form the words, Asui stepped forward. "Todoroki-kun. Kirishima-kun." Her wide, unblinking eyes flickered between the two, her webbed fingers curling slightly as she chose her words carefully. "I understand that you're upset. We all are. But if we act only on our feelings, then what makes us any different from villains?"
The room went eerily silent.
Midoriya felt the weight of her words settle over them, a heavy, undeniable truth that none of them could argue against.
Kirishima's expression faltered, his shoulders drooping as his fists curled harder at his sides. Todoroki's mismatched eyes flickered downward, his normally impassive face unreadable, his arms crossed stiffly over his chest.
No one spoke. No one dared to.
Because Asui was right.
They were training to be heroes, and yet here they were, thinking of breaking the rules, of sneaking out and fighting without backup, without a plan—out of pure desperation. It was the kind of thing villains did, acting on impulse, taking what they wanted without thinking of the consequences.
The weight of it pressed down on Midoriya's chest, making it harder to breathe. But all he could do was sit there, trapped in this sterile room while the clock ticked forward, every second slipping away, taking you and Bakugo further and further from him.
Then, the door creaked open, slicing through the heavy silence.
A doctor entered, dressed in light blue scrubs with a clipboard tucked beneath his arm. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze swept over the gathered students with quiet authority. "I need to speak with Midoriya Izuku privately," he said before stepping back out.
A few of them hesitated, reluctant to leave. The tension in the room thickened, a silent battle of emotions flashing across each of their faces.
Kirishima's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. He looked like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to say just one more thing, but in the end, he only let out a sharp exhale and stepped back. The others followed suit, moving toward the door with heavy steps.
Todoroki lingered, his gaze flickering toward Midoriya, unreadable but heavy with something unspoken. Asui gave him a small nod—whether it was reassurance or caution, he couldn't tell. Iida didn't say anything, but his rigid stance and the deep frown on his face said enough.
One by one, they filed out, leaving Midoriya alone with his thoughts.
Except for Kirishima.
The redhead paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. His face was set with determination, but his voice was quieter now, more serious. "We talked to Yaoyorozu-chan yesterday." He hesitated for only a moment before pushing forward. "We decided... we're going tonight. We're going after them."
Midoriya's breath caught in his throat.
Kirishima's grip tightened on the doorframe, his shoulders tense. "I know you're hurt, man. I know you've been through a lot. So I'm not asking you to come," he admitted, his tone careful, deliberate. "But if you want to—if you feel like you need to—we'll be waiting outside the hospital. Just before we leave."
For a moment, Midoriya didn't respond. He just stared, his heart pounding, his thoughts racing too fast to catch.
Then, with one last nod, Kirishima turned and stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.
The room was silent once more.
Midoriya swallowed hard, his gaze locked onto the spot where Kirishima had stood.
They're going after them.
The words echoed in his mind, setting his nerves alight, the frustration bubbling back to the surface.
The question wasn't if he was going.
It was how fast he could move.
Midoriya's pulse pounded in his ears, his mind already working through possibilities, through the logistics of sneaking past the hospital staff, of pushing through the pain, of making it to Kirishima and the others before they left. He had to do something. Sitting here wasn't an option—not when you and Bakugo were still out there, somewhere, trapped in the hands of villains.
Before he could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.
The doctor from before reentered the room, his expression calm but unreadable as he stepped inside. Midoriya forced himself to straighten, his body tensing instinctively, trying to mask the restlessness buzzing in his limbs.
"I have an update on your condition," the doctor said, flipping through his clipboard as he approached the hospital bed. "Thanks to Recovery Girl's efforts, we were able to heal most of the damage. Your bones and muscles are in stable condition now."
Midoriya exhaled softly, his hands twitching in his lap as he tested his movement. His fingers curled stiffly, but they responded. He could move them. He could still fight.
But the doctor wasn't finished; he shifted closer and began unwrapping the bandages around Midoriya's arms.
Midoriya watched as the bandages loosened around his arms, his skin still raw and irritated from the previous injuries. His heart pounded harder with each layer of gauze removed. The reality of the situation was more painful than any of his physical injuries.
"However," he continued, his voice dipping into something more serious, more final, "because of the extreme stress you put your body through during the fight against Muscular, your ligaments have started to deteriorate."
Midoriya stilled, his breath catching in his throat.
When the last of the bandages were unwound, the doctor gently set them aside, his eyes scanning Midoriya's arms. The doctor's face remained neutral, but there was a hint of pity in his eyes that Midoriya didn't miss.
The doctor then met his eyes, his expression grave. "If you continue sustaining injuries of this magnitude, especially to your arms, the damage may become irreversible. One day, you may lose the ability to use them entirely."
The words struck him harder than any punch he had ever taken.
His hands, the very things that carried his strength, that held his dreams, that fought for the people he cared about—gone?
His mind reeled. He had known his fighting style was dangerous, that his recklessness came at a cost, but this? The thought of never being able to use his arms again, of being permanently sidelined, of losing his ability to protect the people he cared about—it was a weight he hadn't been prepared to bear.
But then his thoughts snapped back to you.
To Bakugo.
To the helplessness he had felt watching you both disappear, his body too broken to stop it.
His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palms as his breathing steadied. The doctor's words pressed heavy against him, a warning of what lay ahead. But it didn't matter.
It couldn't matter. Not right now.
Not when there were lives still hanging in the balance.
Midoriya lifted his gaze, determination hardening behind his exhaustion. "I... I understand."
The doctor studied him for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he could see the storm brewing behind Midoriya's resolve. But he only sighed, nodding slightly as he stepped back. "Make sure you do," he murmured before turning toward the door.
But just as he reached the threshold, he hesitated.
"Oh, right," the doctor said, reaching into the pocket of his scrubs. "This came for you earlier." He pulled out a small, slightly crumpled envelope and held it out. "It's from a Izumi Kota."
Midoriya's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering through the fog of exhaustion and turmoil clouding his thoughts. He slowly took the envelope with careful fingers. The paper was rough against his fingertips, the edges bent from hurried folds, as if the sender had wrestled with whether or not to give it at all.
"You must've made quite the impression on the kid," the doctor continued, a small but knowing smile crossing his face. "He asked me to make sure you got it before he left."
Midoriya swallowed, his throat tight, and nodded in thanks. The doctor didn't linger any longer, simply giving him one last glance before stepping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
For a moment, Midoriya just sat there, staring down at the letter in his hands. His fingers traced the uneven creases, feeling the weight of something far more significant than just ink and paper. Kota, the boy who had once stared at him with nothing but resentment and distrust, had gone out of his way to write to him.
Slowly, carefully, he peeled the envelope open, unfolding the letter inside.
The handwriting was uneven, shaky, like the writer wasn't used to putting his feelings into words.
"Midoriya-kun, thank you for saving me."
The words were simple, but they hit harder than any punch.
"I didn't know if I wanted to say it before, but you were really cool. I get why everyone looks up to heroes now."
Midoriya's chest tightened, his vision blurring slightly as he continued reading.
"I hope you get better soon so I can thank you in person. Don't do anything stupid and hurt yourself again."
There was no sign-off, no formal goodbye—just a single, tiny, scrawled doodle of a hat-wearing child with his arms crossed, his expression serious.
Midoriya let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the edges of his lips twitching upward despite everything weighing down on him.
The ache in his arms, the warning from the doctor, the heavy frustration of being unable to act—it all felt a little lighter for just a second.
He carefully folded the letter back up, holding it tightly in his hands. He couldn't afford to dwell on his pain, not when there were people still relying on him.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and the same doctor poked his head back in. "Almost forgot—Recovery Girl signed off on your discharge. You're free to leave today."
Midoriya blinked, surprised by how quickly everything was moving.
Discharged today. Free to leave.
His grip tightened around Kota's letter.
Free to go—just in time.
Midoriya sat in silence, the weight of the doctor's words settling over him like a heavy blanket. The sterile smell of the hospital room clung to the air, the quiet hum of machines a steady backdrop to his spiraling thoughts.
Free to go.
His hands clenched slightly around Kota's letter, the edges of the paper crinkling under his grip. He had been given clearance to leave, to step back into the world outside this room, but that didn't change the gnawing feeling in his chest—the deep, unrelenting ache of helplessness.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to Bakugo.
The image of his childhood friend—his rival, his tormentor, his... friend—burned itself into his thoughts. Midoriya could still see the way Bakugo had looked at him before he was taken, his eyes burning with rage and something deeper, something even he didn't seem to understand.
Frustration clawed at Midoriya's throat.
Bakugo was strong. He wasn't supposed to need saving. He was the one who fought his way out of anything. But Midoriya wasn't blind—he saw the cracks forming beneath that explosive exterior, the weight pressing down harder than Bakugo would ever admit.
Everyone else saw Bakugo as one thing—angry, violent, untouchable. But Midoriya knew better.
He saw the way Bakugo pushed himself, never allowing weakness, never letting up. Pride and pain twisting together, turning into something sharp and reckless. And most of all, Midoriya saw how alone he must have felt, even when surrounded by people who admired him.
He had spent his life watching Bakugo, and while time had shifted their dynamic—while they were no longer just a scared kid and the boy who towered over him, demanding to be the strongest—Midoriya still felt that same pull.
That same responsibility.
Bakugo would never ask for help. He would fight, struggle, claw his way out—even if it destroyed him. But Midoriya had seen it. The brief flickers of doubt. The moments when his eyes flashed with something other than unrelenting determination.
Bakugo was drowning, and no one else seemed to notice.
And you—
Midoriya's fingers twitched against the thin hospital sheets. His thoughts shifted, settling on you like they always did when he wasn't paying attention. It was embarrassing, really—how easily you slipped into his mind, how natural it felt for you to be there.
He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the warmth creeping up his neck. Now wasn't the time. Not when everything was falling apart. Not when Bakugo was still out there—when you were still out there.
But he couldn't stop himself.
You had always been there—ahead of him, making everything seem possible in ways he never really understood. What was it about you that made him feel both challenged and cared for? That made him want to be better, not just for himself but for you?
Even now, he could picture your smile, the way your head tilted slightly when teasing him, the quiet focus when lost in thought. He remembered your laugh—soft and full, something real in a world that constantly felt like it was crumbling.
And yet, that warmth felt just out of reach, slipping through his fingers like sand.
Why was it that whenever he saw you with Bakugo, his chest tightened?
He should've been happy. You were getting stronger, keeping up, carving a space between the chaos of Bakugo's fire and his own determination.
But something about it made him feel... left out.
Midoriya squeezed his eyes shut.
He didn't know what to call this feeling.
Jealousy? That didn't seem right. Bakugo wasn't the enemy—he wasn't trying to take you away from him. And yet, Midoriya couldn't ignore that he hated the idea that Bakugo might be the one you turn to, while also admiring the strength between you two.
The way Bakugo's eyes followed you. The way his hands clenched when you weren't looking. The way his rage burned just a little hotter whenever you were involved.
And now, you were both gone.
His throat tightened as he thought back to your last conversation, the words lingering like ghosts in the air.
It hadn't been long ago—just hours, maybe. But the memory felt distant, like it belonged to another life, another version of himself.
The forest had been cold that night, the moonlight casting sharp shadows between the trees. And yet, all he could focus on was the way you had looked at him—steady, unreadable, as if weighing him in your mind and finding him lacking.
"Why is Kacchan so obsessed with you?"
His own voice echoed in his head, low, hesitant, searching. He remembered how your posture had shifted, how the air around you had thickened as if you were bracing for impact. And then, how you had turned it back on him, cutting through his words like a blade.
"And what? You feel bad for him?"
Midoriya exhaled shakily, gripping the sheets. That had been his moment. His chance to say what he really meant. To tell you that no, it wasn't about pity. That it wasn't just about Bakugo at all.
It had been about you.
It had always been about you.
But instead of saying that, he had hesitated. He had let the moment slip through his fingers, let you turn away from him, let you walk off into the night without another word.
And now, you were gone.
His breath stuttered. He pressed his fingers to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. That couldn't be the last time. That couldn't be the last conversation. Not when all he had left was a question—one he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.
"You let him treat you like nothing—and yet, you still followed him."
Your words struck just as hard now as they had then, rattling inside his chest like a locked door shaking on its hinges. Because you were right.
He had always followed Bakugo. Even when it hurt. Even when it didn't make sense. Even when it meant standing in the shadows, watching, waiting, never saying what he really felt.
But this time, he refused to stand by.
This time, he wasn't going to let Bakugo be the only one chasing after you.
He wasn't going to let this be the last conversation, the last moment, the last memory.
Midoriya sat up, heart pounding against his ribs with a new kind of urgency. He had wasted too much time already. Every second that passed was another second you were still out there. Another second the villains had you.
Another second he refused to lose.
He wasn't too late.
Not this time.
.☆.
.✩.
.☆.
Midoriya pretended his mother was waiting for him when the doctor came to check on him one last time before discharge. It wasn't far from the truth; he knew Inko was probably pacing in their apartment, worrying herself sick over him.
If she had been at the hospital, she would've hugged him so tight that his injuries might have reopened. But he couldn't afford to go home, to see the fear in her eyes and let her convince him to stay put.
No, he had somewhere else to be.
The doctor didn't push when Midoriya told him his mother would pick him up at the entrance. Instead, he nodded, gave him a final warning about his arms, and signed off on his release papers. Recovery Girl had done everything she could, but the damage to his ligaments had been severe.
Another serious injury, and he might never be able to use his arms again.
Midoriya barely reacted to the warning. What were his arms compared to you and Bakugo? He could still move. He could still fight. That was enough.
The hospital halls were eerily quiet as he stepped outside, the cool night air biting at his skin. He hadn't realized how chilly it had gotten. The sky was a deep navy, speckled with stars, but Midoriya had no time to admire it. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and made his way toward the meeting spot.
Todoroki and Kirishima were already there, standing in the dimly lit parking lot near the hospital entrance. Kirishima had his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet, while Todoroki leaned against a lamppost, his expression unreadable.
The moment they spotted him, Kirishima's posture straightened, a small but relieved smile flickering across his face. "You made it."
Midoriya nodded, his eyes sharp with determination. "Of course."
A moment later, Yayarozu approached, her steps careful but purposeful. She carried herself with the same air of responsibility she always did, but there was tension in her shoulders, an unease she hadn't shaken since she first agreed to help them.
She barely had a chance to speak before another voice cut through the night air, sharp and furious.
"I won't allow this."
The group turned just in time to see Iida storming toward them, his usually composed features twisted in frustration.
His glasses reflected the glow of the hospital lights, obscuring his eyes for a moment before he came to a stop in front of them, his hands balled into tight fists. His breathing was heavy, the rise and fall of his chest quick and uneven, and when he finally spoke, his voice cracked under the weight of his emotions.
"You're about to make the same mistake I made at Hosu," he snapped, his voice laced with anger—but beneath that, there was fear. "And I won't let you."
The cold night air felt heavier between them, the silence stretching far too long. Kirishima's smile had faded entirely, his jaw tight, while Yayarozu's lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Todoroki stood still, unreadable, but his fingers twitched at his sides.
Midoriya met Iida's glare with calm determination, though he could feel the weight of his friend's words settle in his chest. He knew exactly what Iida was saying. That this was wrong. That they were going against everything they stood for as heroes-in-training. That this wasn't what they had fought so hard for.
And yet—
"You know we can't just sit here and do nothing," Kirishima argued, stepping forward, his voice firm but lacking its usual warmth. "We don't even know where they are, Iida. We don't know if the pros will make it in time. We have to do something."
Iida's breath hitched, his fists shaking at his sides. "That's exactly what I thought when I ran off after Stain," he said, his voice rising. "And you know what happened? I nearly died. And Midoriya and Todoroki—they nearly died too." His head snapped toward Midoriya, his expression pained, voice raw as he pointed directly at him. "Do you think I've forgotten? You should've never been in that situation, but you came anyway. And you—" he swallowed hard, his words tightening—"you got hurt because of me."
Midoriya's stomach twisted, but he didn't look away.
"Iida-kun, that was different," Yayarozu tried, stepping forward, but Iida shook his head violently.
"No, it wasn't!" he shouted. "It was reckless! It was emotional! And now you're all doing the same thing, acting on impulse instead of thinking! The same mistake I did!"
"We won't be running into this without a plan," Midoriya argued.
Iida scoffed, his hands trembling as he clenched his fists even tighter. "A plan? You think that matters?! If you go, you'll be breaking the law. You'll be interfering with a hero mission and putting yourselves at risk." His voice dropped lower, a slight shake threading through it. "You could die."
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Unshakable.
Midoriya met Iida's gaze, his face pale but resolute. He could feel his heart pounding, a mix of anger and frustration swelling inside him.
"I know it's reckless," Midoriya said quietly, but with certainty. "But this—this is worth it. You think I don't know the risks? That I don't understand what we're about to do? But she—" his voice faltered for a moment, then he steadied himself again, "They need us."
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, despite the protests of his arms, the pain flooding his muscles. His tone hardened. "I don't care if I have to break every rule to get them back—they're worth it."
The words hit like a bullet, raw and unfiltered, before he could stop himself. And that feeling, that desperation in his gut, it overpowered everything else.
Iida's eyes widened as he stared at Midoriya, but before anyone could speak, the silence broke, and then—
Iida moved.
Fast.
Before Midoriya could react, before anyone could process what was happening, Iida's fist connected with his face.
CRACK.
Midoriya's head snapped to the side, the force knocking him off balance for a split second. A sharp sting bloomed across his cheekbone, the faint copper tang of blood pooling where his lip had split.
No one spoke.
Kirishima froze, his eyes wide with shock. Yayarozu let out a tiny gasp, her hands clasping over her mouth. Todoroki, ever composed, narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze flickering between Midoriya and Iida.
Iida was shaking.
His breath came out in harsh, uneven gasps, his entire body trembling as his fist remained clenched at his side. He wasn't even looking at Midoriya. His head was bowed, his chest rising and falling too quickly, too sharply.
"Iida—" Kirishima started, stepping forward, but Iida's voice broke through the silence, loud and ragged.
"Why aren't you listening to me?!"
Midoriya blinked, slowly lifting his head, his cheek still stinging from the punch.
Iida's shoulders heaved with every breath. His eyes, usually filled with determination and logic, were wild with emotion.
"Do you think I want to see any of you hurt?!" he snapped, his voice shaking. "Do you think I want to see you in a hospital bed again, barely able to move, Midoriya?! Do you think I want to stand at another crime scene and wonder if I could've done something to stop it?"
His hands curled into his blazer, gripping it tight. "I don't want to lose you," he admitted, his voice softer now, but just as strained. "Not again. Not any of you."
Midoriya stared at him, his thoughts racing.
Iida wasn't wrong.
This was dangerous. It was reckless. It was exactly what had nearly cost them everything before.
But still—
Midoriya wiped his lip with the back of his hand, his gaze steady.
"I know," he said quietly. "Iida, I know."
Iida's eyes widened slightly, but Midoriya didn't stop.
"I know this is reckless. I know this is breaking the rules." His fingers curled slightly, his chest tightening. "But if we sit here and do nothing... if we just wait—what if we're too late?"
Iida swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.
Midoriya took a deep breath, his eyes sharp, filled with something unshakable.
"I won't let this be like before," he said, voice firm. Certain. "I won't let them face this alone."
Silence.
The weight of Iida's words still hung heavy in the air, pressing down on everyone like an immovable force.
Then—
Todoroki, silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was even, carrying none of the tension that crackled around them, but there was a quiet certainty in his words.
"We won't engage the villains in combat."
His calm declaration cut through the tension like a blade.
Iida turned slightly, his posture stiff, but he said nothing as if processing Todoroki's words.
"We're not storming in to fight," Kirishima added, stepping up beside Midoriya. "This is a rescue, plain and simple. Get in, get them out, and leave before they even know we were there."
Midoriya watched as Iida's jaw clenched. He was still struggling, still wrestling with the weight of his own emotions, but he wasn't stopping them anymore.
Yayarozu, who had been quiet in the exchange, let out a small sigh before straightening her posture. "That's why I came along as well," she said, her tone measured, carefully composed. "Not just to support, but to make sure we don't engage in unnecessary combat. If things go wrong, my focus will be on getting everyone out safely."
Her words were gentle but firm, a reminder that they weren't just acting on reckless emotions—they had thought this through. They had planned for this.
Still, Iida didn't move.
Midoriya swallowed hard as he forced himself to speak. "Iida... after everything, after failing to save Kacchan at the training camp..."
He hesitated, his breath catching as your face flickered into his mind—the last time he saw you, the last conversation, the way you had to step in because he couldn't. Because he had frozen, because he had hesitated, because in the moment that counted he wasn't enough.
His hands curled into fists. "And now ____ is gone too." His voice faltered, quieter, strained. "I couldn't save either of them."
The words cut through the air like a confession, filled with raw frustration and guilt. He took a shuddering breath, his chest tight with emotions he could barely contain. "My gut is telling me I have to do something," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "I have to save you both."
Iida's fists trembled at his sides, like he was still fighting the urge to stop them. But when he looked at Midoriya—really looked—he saw something unshakable in his expression. Determination. Resolve.
There was no hesitation anymore, no second-guessing, no doubt. This wasn't some impulsive, reckless decision. Midoriya had thought this through, had felt the weight of failure before, and refused to let it happen again.
He wasn't just running on emotions—he was standing on them, using them to move forward.
Iida let out a sharp breath, his shoulders rising before he slowly exhaled, his rigid posture softening just slightly. "...If you're truly set on this," he started, adjusting his glasses, "then I won't let you go without me."
Midoriya's breath caught as he blinked at him in surprise. "Iida..."
"I still don't agree with this," Iida admitted, his voice hard but lacking the edge it carried before. "But like Yayarozu said, if you're going, someone has to make sure you guys don't take things too far. I'll be there to assist her and help to pull you back if you do."
Kirishima grinned. "That's what I'm talking about! We could use someone like you, man."
Todoroki nodded in approval, while Yayarozu, though still tense, seemed relieved to have another voice of reason among them.
Just as they turned to leave, another voice called out from the shadows.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't a band of heroic rule-breakers."
They all froze.
The voice was dripping with amusement, laced with that all-too-familiar smugness that sent a wave of irritation through Midoriya before he even turned to look. Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the alley beside the hospital entrance, where two figures emerged from the dim glow of the streetlights.
Monoma.
And Kendo.
Monoma's smirk was already in place, his arms crossed, his posture screaming confidence. He stepped forward leisurely, his gaze flicking over the group like he had just stumbled upon something mildly entertaining.
"Should've known better than to think Class 1-A could pull something like this off without getting caught," he mused, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in them. "You lot don't exactly have a reputation for subtlety."
Iida was the first to react, stepping forward with a sharp glare. "You two need to go home. This has nothing to do with you."
Monoma scoffed. "Nothing to do with us? Really?" His smirk twisted, his tone laced with mockery. "Let's not forget, Akuma-san is our class president. Not yours."
Midoriya stiffened.
The reminder sent a dull pang through his chest. He hadn't even thought about that. Of course, they'd want to help.
"We have just as much reason to go as you do," Monoma continued, stepping forward, his periwinkle eyes sharp with something more serious than his usual taunts. "If you think we're going to just sit around and wait while the person we care about are in enemy hands, then you clearly don't know us at all."
Kendo, standing beside him, didn't have Monoma's smirk or cocky posture. She was calm, steady, her gaze unwavering as she met Iida's glare. "Like Monoma-kun said, we can help," she said simply. "You know we can. We're not here to argue."
Iida shook his head immediately. "No. Absolutely not." His voice was sharper now, edged with frustration. "It's already dangerous enough—bringing more people into this only increases the risk."
Monoma clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk. And here I thought you were supposed to be the level-headed one, Iida." He leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. "But if you're really so against it... I could just tell Vlad-sensei about your little plan." His voice was sing-song, almost gleeful at the thought. "And wouldn't that be a shame? All this effort... wasted."
Iida's jaw clenched, his fists curling tightly at his sides.
"He's got a point," Kirishima admitted with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head. "We don't have time to argue about this. If we don't bring them along, Monoma will snitch."
Monoma placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. "Oh, please. Like I'm the bad guy here."
"You are," Todoroki deadpanned.
Kendo ignored them both, instead focusing on Iida. "If this is really about safety, then wouldn't it make more sense to have extra hands?" she asked, her tone careful. "We're not here to get in the way. We're here to support you. To support our class president."
Midoriya looked between them, seeing the same determination in Kendo's eyes that he saw in Kirishima's. They weren't just saying it to be difficult—they meant it.
And... they were right.
Midoriya let out a slow breath before turning to Iida. "They should come."
Iida's head snapped toward him, disbelief flashing across his face. "Midoriya—"
"They're right," Midoriya said, voice steady. "We need all the help we can get."
There was a beat of silence. Iida's gaze flickered between Midoriya, Kendo, and Monoma. His glasses reflected the hospital lights, obscuring his eyes for a moment before he exhaled sharply, closing them for a brief second.
Then, finally, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he muttered. "But if any of you even think about engaging the enemy, I will personally drag you back myself."
Monoma smirked, victorious. "Deal."
Kendo just nodded.
Midoriya felt the tension in his chest loosen just slightly. It was time.
A/N: hey winxies! man, things have been getting really hectic on both the writing front and real life, so sorry for the sporadic updates! But anyway… DUN-DUNNNN MC had a sibling?! *le gasp* ?!?! 😅 haha finally managed to reveal your parents behavior—wino's stoicism, and mei's overbearingness—lowkey had this plan since i first started writing, so don't worry, things will be further fleshed out in the next book. oh, and if it wasn't obvious, we've got about 5-6 chappies left in 'kne' (i'm following the actual anime arc, so basically this arc is 'hideout raid arc') also, not to spoil my plans, but i've heard you all voices/opinions on how the mc will go—whether she'll continue being morally-grey, or soften up... and all i can say is wait and see (and, uh... don't bully me too bad when i reveal it, i'm just a child ;-; *stares in grown ass adult*)
The days bled into another, the memory of your encounter with Todoroki a distant thought as you focused on the familiar routine of navigating the bustling halls of U.A. Lunch beckoned, and you clutched the brown paper bag of goodness—courtesy of a grumbled-but-appreciated offering from Bakugo—closer to your chest.
Just as you were about to turn the corner leading to the cafeteria, a deep, gravelly voice boomed from behind. "Akuma-san, a word please."
You whirled around, spotting Kan, his imposing figure filling the doorway, holding something to the side of him. A flicker of surprise danced across your features before settling into a mask of polite neutrality. "Kan-sensei," you greeted with a respectful nod.
"There's been a slight change in your schedule," he began, his crimson eyes studying you with an intensity that could make lesser students squirm. "Principal Nezu, with the unanimous support of the faculty, has extended an invitation for you to join Class 1-A at U.S.J. today."
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. The Unforeseen Simulation Joint arc you'd devoured in textbooks? You couldn't help but be curious. "U.S.J.?" you echoed, allowing a touch of confusion to lace your voice.
Kan grunted in response. "Given your exceptional performance during class activities and your consistent lead over your peers, it's been deemed beneficial for you to observe Class 1-A during their training exercise. Consider it a... crash course in advanced hero work."
A slow smile spread across your face. Observing Class 1-A, the cream of the crop students at U.A.? This wasn't just an observation session; it was a golden opportunity to glean valuable intel on their strengths, weaknesses, and, most importantly, their Quirks.
Information you could then use to your advantage—to elevate your position within U.A.
"I understand, Kan-sensei. Thank you for informing me."
Kan gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. He lifted up the object he held—it was a sleek black suitcase. "Here," he rumbled, tossing the suitcase towards you with surprising agility. "Your hero costume. Get changed and report to the class. There, someone from 1-A should take you to the others, where Aizawa-sensei will brief you further."
You caught the suitcase effortlessly, the weight reassuring in your hand. "Understood," you responded, a single, clipped word that held a promise of silent understanding.
With a final, assessing glance, Kan turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with the weight of unexpected opportunity and the promise of a thrilling afternoon at U.S.J.
You tucked the hero costume case under your arm and decided to swing back by the classroom to drop off your uneaten lunch before heading to change. As you approached the classroom door, the murmur of hushed conversation filtered through the thin barrier.
Pushing the door open, you were greeted by the sight of nine of your classmates, a mix of familiar and less familiar faces, clustered around your usual desk.
Monoma shot up like a rocket the second his eyes landed on you. His wide, cheesy grin could rival All Might's in its enthusiasm. "President!" he crowed, his voice cutting through the hushed conversations.
The other eight turned towards you, their surprise mirroring Monoma's initial reaction. Tetsutetsu, gave a hearty laugh. "Akuma-san! Is everything fine from your... um... feminine emergencies? You nearly missed lunch! Good thing we waited for you," he boomed, his voice lacking any real malice.
"I appreciate you all's generosity, Tetsu-kun," you replied smoothly, keeping your voice vague as you internally tsked.
You knew someone—or rather, several someones—would be lingering for you despite dipping out of class ten minutes prior with the well-worn excuse of feminine issues. You just hadn't expected quite so many, or for them to be so persistent and actually wait for your return.
Monoma, ever the pest, was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, his persistent grin plastered on his face. "Whoa, what's that?" he blurted out, pointing an accusing finger at the hero costume case you held.
Tetsu's earlier question about your extended restroom break was clearly forgotten.
Kendo, your fiery-haired vice president, shot him a withering look. "Monoma, manners," she hissed under her breath, teal eyes blazing in irritation.
You, however, didn't mind the interruption. This was a perfect opportunity to further cultivate your air of mystery. A slight smile played on your lips as you lifted the case a few inches, the sleek black surface catching the light. "It's my hero outfit," you replied nonchalantly.
The moment the case left your side, the classroom erupted in a flurry of excited chatter. Tsuburaba whistled appreciatively. "Whoa, looks intense, Akuma-san! What'd you get, a jetpack with it or something?"
A chorus of questions and comments filled the air. "How'd you get it so soon?" chirped Tsunotori, the girl with tall, pale tan horns, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"Maybe it's super cute!" squealed Tokage, the dark, moss-green-haired student, bouncing on her toes.
Monoma scoffed. "Nah, definitely not cute. Probably something hot, right? Like a high-tech bodysuit that hugs and enhances her bo—"
Kendo, clearly exasperated, reached over and smacked Monoma on the back of the neck with a resounding thwack. "Monoma! Manners!" she hissed through gritted teeth once again.
Monoma yelped, rubbing his sore neck with a pout. "Jeez, Kendo, what was that for?"
Ignoring him completely, Kendo bowed towards you in apology. "I'm terribly sorry about Monoma, Akuma-san. He can be a bit too much sometimes."
You raised a hand, silencing the classroom with a single gesture. A satisfied smirk played on your lips as the chatter died down instantly. You liked it; they obeyed your command without you even needing to resort to your 'Quirk'. It spoke volumes about the hierarchy you'd established in Class 1-B.
"Thank you, Kendo-san," you replied politely, acknowledging her apology. "It's quite alright. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a hero costume to change into." You gave a curt nod and turned towards the door, a thrill coursing through you.
This unexpected invitation to U.S.J. was shaping up to be far more interesting than you could have ever anticipated.
With a quick stride, you made your way to the nearest restroom, eager to slip into your hero costume. Inside a private stall, you carefully removed your school uniform, anticipation building with each rustle of fabric.
Unzipping the sleek black case, you revealed your hero costume in all its glory. Quickly donning it, you stood back to a moment to admire your outfit in the mirror.
Your blouse, a pale aqua, was crisp and neatly buttoned, giving you a professional yet relaxed vibe. The black tie knotted firmly around your collar added a touch of seriousness to your look. Over your blouse, a fitted black blazer hugged your form, its sharp lines mirroring your newfound determination.
You'd paired this with classic black trousers, which complemented your frame with a comfortable, tailored fit. The pants ended just above brown leather shoes, polished to a high shine.
With your hands casually tucked into your pockets, you exuded a confident, ready-for-business air, softened by the whimsical hint of the forest green backdrop that adorned the inside of the blazer. It wasn't camouflage, exactly, but rather a subtle artistic flourish that hinted at a hidden power lurking beneath the surface.
Satisfied, you exited the restroom, ready to rejoin your classmates. As you walked back into your classroom, the murmurs started again. This time, however, they weren't filled with questions about your absence, but with a mixture of awe and curiosity.
A blur of movement zipped towards you. It was Fukidashi, the boy with the comic book head, bouncing excitedly. With a burst of energy, his head transformed into a flashing white speech bubble that read "Whoop! Whoop!" in bold letters, accompanied by a pair of clapping hands.
Behind Fukidashi shuffled Komori, a short girl with honey-brown hair curved inwards in a mushroom-shaped bob. Her usual shy demeanor was amplified by the situation, her cheeks dusted a soft pink.
She nervously twirled an end of her bob as she approached you, her voice barely a whisper. "A-Akuma-san," she stammered, "it... it looks really good on you. Very well-suited." She couldn't quite meet your gaze, quickly rushing off to hide behind Tetsutetsu, her face burning red.
Monoma attempted to maintain his usual bravado, his gaze, however, lingered a beat too long on your figure, a faint blush creeping up his neck despite his crossed arms. He cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "Alright, alright," he scoffed, "So you got your hero costume early. Big deal. Why'd they give it to you anyway?"
You tilted your head slightly, casting a playful glance up at him through your lashes. A slow, teasing smile played on your plump lips as they stretched into a half-smirk. "Do you really want to know, Monoma-kun?~" you purred, your voice dripping with a deliberate sweetness.
The effect was instantaneous. Monoma's blush deepened several shades, and a flustered look crossed his face. It wasn't just him; several other classmates found themselves inexplicably flustered by your sudden display of playful charm. You couldn't help but internally smirk.
With a playful lilt in your voice, you replied, "Well, let's just say I wanted something practical. Something that wouldn't attract undue attention while working undercover amongst civilians."
This, of course, was a carefully constructed lie.
The truth was, the familiar lines of the suit were a subtle comfort, a reminder of your past life at Public Safety. But that was a secret you found no use in revealing.
"Now, as for the gadgets and upgrades," you gestured towards the subtle metallic accents lining the blazer, "there's extreme heat resistance for those sonic-based Quirks, and..." you trailed off dramatically, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "Let's just say there are a few other surprises built in. Let's keep them under wraps for now, shall we?" The implication of hidden power was clear, and your classmates leaned in, captivated.
Tetsutestu let out a whistle, rushing over with eyes sparkling. "Whoa, that's sounds so manly, Akuma-san! Always gotta be prepared!"
Even Monoma, despite his embarrassment, managed to grumble a begrudging compliment, "I guess, you do look good. Not that I care or anything..." A faint blush still lingered on his cheeks, betraying his attempt at indifference.
The rest of the class chimed in, showering you with compliments on both the practicality and sleek design of your costume.
Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door startled everyone into silence.
The door creaked open to reveal a young man standing impeccably in the doorway. He was relatively tall and muscular, with a wide frame and short dark blue hair neatly flattened and parted on the right. His most striking features, however, were his calves.
Incredibly thick and shaped like automobile engines, six silver exhaust pipes protruded from each leg in columns of three. This, you knew from Bakugo, was the Quirk 'Engine' that granted him incredible speed and kicking power.
"Excuse me," the young man began, his voice polite and formal. "My name is Iida, and I'm here from 1-A to escort an 'Akuma ____' to the U.S.J. meet-up-point. The bus is preparing to leave shortly."
An awkward silence filled the room. Your classmates exchanged glances, unsure how to react to the sudden arrival of a student from the prestigious Class 1-A.
Monoma, never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot, took a step closer to you, his usual sneer plastered on his face. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who it is. A fancy 1-A student here grace us with his presence. Think you can just waltz in here and snatch our precious president away, huh?"
You cut him off before he could unleash another tirade. A gentle giggle escaped your lips, the sound light and carefree. "Monoma-kun," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful reprimand, "that's no way to treat a guest, especially a hero-to-be like Iida-kun."
Mentally, you silently applauded Iida for his stoicism. Despite the tense atmosphere and Monoma's childish behavior, he remained calm and collected, a true mark of a leader.
Kendo, sensing the potential for escalation, wasted no time in delivering her own brand of justice. With a swift movement, she karate-chopped Monoma in the back of the neck. The blow, though not malicious, was more effective than the last two. Monoma yelped and crumpled to the floor, instantly silenced.
"Monoma deserved that," Kendo muttered under her breath, sending a reassuring smile your way. "Please excuse him once again, Akuma-san."
You waved her off. "No worries at all, Kendo-san. It seems we all have a bit of fire in us, wouldn't you agree?" With a final flourish, you rose to your feet, smoothing down the non-existent wrinkles of your blazer. Turning to your gathered classmates, you gave a small bow. "I'll be back shortly, everyone. Until then, keep up the excellent work."
Your gaze then settled on Kendo, your fiery-haired vice president. You placed a soft smile onto your lips as you met her eyes, tilting your head in a gesture of quiet confidence.
Walking forward, you reached out and gently grasped both of her hands between yours. Your touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool exterior you often presented.
"Kendo-san," you began, your voice dropping to a low murmur, "I'm counting on you to keep everyone in line while I'm gone. You're the voice of reason here, and I know they'll listen to you." A playful glint entered your eyes. "Especially Monoma-kun. See if you can keep him from causing too much trouble."
Kendo's eyes widened momentarily, a harsh blush creeping up her cheeks. You couldn't help but find her flustered expression humorous.
Once again, here was someone reduced to a blushing mess by you from merely a simple touch and a few honeyed words.
"O-of course, Akuma-san," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I, uh... I won't let you down." Her long orange hair, usually tied back in a high ponytail, seemed to frizz slightly at the ends, betraying her underlying anxiety.
"I know you won't." Turning your attention back to Iida, you offered a polite smile. "Thank you for coming to fetch me, Iida-kun. I'm ready to go whenever you are."
As you began walking side-by-side with Iida, a memory flickered in the back of your mind. You recalled seeing him a few times around U.A., his distinctive blue hair and engine calves making him hard to miss, especially since he'd always hung Midoriya and some rosy-cheeked girl.
Filing that information away for later, you decided it would be beneficial to have a rule-follower like Iida on your good side. With a casual smile, you turned to him. "By the way, Iida-kun," you began casually, offering your hand for a shake, "allow me to formally introduce myself. Akuma ____, Class 1-B president, at your service."
Iida seemed momentarily surprised. Perhaps he'd expected you to maintain the same aloof demeanor your other classmates had displayed earlier. But as you offered your hand and a friendly smile, you could visibly see his demeanor relax a bit.
A hint of blush crept up his cheeks as he let out a short, embarrassed chuckle. "Ah, well, yes," he stammered, taking your hand with a light shake. "Of course I know who you are. Midoriya and, well, Bakugo-kun, have mentioned you a few times. It's a pleasure to properly meet you, Akuma-san. Iida Tenya, Class 1-A president, at your service as well."
You chuckled, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Also, please forgive the... enthusiasm of my classmates earlier. They tend to get a little carried away, especially when it comes to showing off Class B's best." You flashed him a wry smile. "Being class president isn't always sunshine and rainbows, is it?"
The dam broke. Iida, a wellspring of pent-up frustration finally unleashed, launched into a tirade about the struggles of student leadership. He spoke of overzealous classmates, mountains of hero-work on top of general education, and the constant pressure to maintain perfection.
You listened patiently, interjecting with understanding nods and sympathetic sighs. It wasn't hard to play the part of the eager listener, and Iida, starved for an outlet, poured out his woes.
As the conversation flowed, your eyes subtly began to glow a soft yellow. A faint, almost imperceptible sheen flickered over his eyes behind the glasses. He was under your subtle influence.
With this control in mind, you skillfully shifted the conversation. "Speaking of pressure," you began, your voice laced with feigned curiosity, "I can only imagine the expectations placed on Class 1-A. All those top heroes coming out of your class..." You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.
Iida, caught in your gentle manipulation, readily took the bait. His frustration momentarily forgotten, he puffed out his chest slightly, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. "Yes, well, the pressure is immense," he declared, his voice taking on a more animated tone. "We have to constantly strive for excellence, to uphold the legacy of our predecessors. It's not for the faint of heart, that's for sure."
You leaned in slightly, feigning intense interest. "Tell me more," you urged, your voice barely a whisper. "What are some of the challenges you face? The unspoken expectations? Perhaps some of the Quirks your classmates possess..." You planted the seed of information-sharing subtly, watering it with your carefully constructed persona.
Iida, basking in your newfound attentiveness, readily complied. He launched into a detailed explanation of Class 1-A's rigorous training regimen, the immense pressure to succeed, and even dropped a few names of his classmates and their Quirks; his info a little more detailed than Bakugo's recount from the first day a couple of weeks ago.
You absorbed this information eagerly, filing it away for future use.
Just as you both rounded the corner to the bus, the yellow glow in your eyes faded away. With an innocent smile, you ended the connection, confident that you'd gleaned all you needed for now.
Pushing your control too hard could backfire; a dazed and confused Iida would be a red flag in a school crawling with heroes. No, subtlety was key.
You had taken the first bite out of the apple of Class 1-A's secrets, and you were hungry for more.
The stadium buzzed with energy as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the arena. The echoes of laughter and cheers filled the air as the recreational activities drew to a close, leaving the audience in high spirits.
The side games had been a whirlwind of fun and competition, with students from all courses showcasing their unique talents and quirks in a variety of mini-events.
Present Mic's voice crackled through the speakers, his enthusiasm infectious. "[Yo, yo, yo! Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for our incredible students who rocked the side games! We saw some wild moves, crazy quirks, and epic fun! But now, it's time to shift gears and turn up the heat! Are you ready for the main event?!]"
The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable as they eagerly awaited the next phase of the festival.
"[Alright, heroes and future pros, feast your eyes on the scoreboard! Here are the lucky contestants moving on to the One-on-One Fighting Tournament! Drum roll, please!]"
With a dramatic flourish, the large video screen above the stadium flickered to life, displaying the names and faces of the fourteen students who had qualified for the tournament. The names were listed in order of their team rankings from the Cavalry Battle.
_Scoreboard_
1st Place ~ Team Todoroki:
1.Todoroki Shoto
2.Kaminari Denki
3.Yaoyorozu Momo
4.Iida Tenya
2nd Place ~ Team Bakugo:
5.Bakugo Katsuki
6.Ashido Mina
7.Sero Hanta
8.Kirishima Eijiro
3rd Place ~ Team Shinso:
9.Shinso Hitoshi
10.Akuma ____
4th Place ~ Team Midoriya:
11.Midoriya Izuku
12.Tokoyami Fumikage
13.Uraraka Ochaco
14.Hatsume Mei
Present Mic leaned forward, peering dramatically at the screen before spinning around to face the audience, slamming both hands down on the announcer's desk, causing a loud thud that echoed through the stadium. "[Wait a minute, folks! I'm counting fourteen contestants! That's...hold on...14!? That's not quite enough for a full bracket! Does this mean we'll have to pit the two strongest fighters against each other for double the action? Double the elimination?! What ever shall we do??]" The man gasped into the mic before turning his attention to his colleague. "[Hey Midnight! Is there any way we can we add more fire to this showdown?? Maybe get more contenders in here? I want this tournament to last longer, and I know you all do too!]"
The camera panned to Midnight, who stood near the center of the field. With a sly smile, she cracked her whip, the sharp crack reverberating through the arena. "I see no reason why we shouldn't spice things up a bit. Let's allow the next two highest-scoring students to join the fray and make this a sweet sixteen!"
The screen updated, adding two new names to the list of contestants:
15.Shiozaki Ibara
16.Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu
You exhaled deeply as you left the restroom, relieved to finally be out of the cheerleading outfit and back into the Sports' Festival unfirm. As you walked back towards the stadium, the muffled cheers and Present Mic's amplified voice filtered through the walls, growing louder with each step.
"[And there you have it, folks! Welcome Shiozaki Ibara and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu to the tournament! Now that's what I call a proper lineup! Are you ready to see these heroes-in-training throw down? This is gonna be EPIC! Grab your popcorn, your soda, and get comfy, because we're about to witness some serious action!]"
You paused at the entrance to the seating area, glancing up at the large screen that displayed the newly updated tournament bracket. The addition of Shiozaki and Tetsutetsu brought the total number of contestants to sixteen, ensuring a full and balanced competition.
Just as you were about to head to your class's designated section, a familiar voice called out to you.
"Hey, Akuma-san!" You turned to see Kirishima jogging towards you, his face lighting up with excitement as he caught up. "Did you hear? Midoriya's up next!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with anticipation.
You forced a polite smile, concealing your growing annoyance. Biting back the urge to snap. Instead, you nodded, your tone measured. "Oh? Well, can't miss that, can we? If you'll excuse—" Before you could finish excusing yourself to your class's section, Ashido's high-pitched squeal reached your ears. "Akuma-san, over here!" She bounded over, her eyes sparkling with excitement, followed closely by Sero and Kaminari.
Ashido, grabbing your hand, "C'mon, you can sit with us to watch! It'll be so much fun!" She began pulling you towards their section before you could utter a word of protest.
Sero chimed in, a playful grin on his face: "Yeah, Akuma-san, it'll be way more interesting with you there."
"Besides, who wouldn't want to watch a match with such a captivating view?" Kaminari adds with a wink, causing Ashido to roll her eyes.
Despite your mild annoyance, you allowed yourself to be guided to the stands, settling into a seat between Ashido and Ojiro. You glanced around, noting the large screen displayed the details of the upcoming fight.
Midoriya and Shinso stood at opposite ends of the arena, their expressions a mix of determination and focus. The crowd's murmurs hushed as the anticipation built, all eyes on the two contestants.
"[Welcome to the first match of the finals tournament! It's Midoriya Izuku from the hero course versus Shinso Hitoshi from general studies! The rules are simple: immobilize your opponent or force them outta the ring! You can also win by getting the other person to cry uncle. Let's get ready to rumble!]"
The crowd erupted in cheers as Midnight raised her whip, signaling the start of the match.
"[Ready? Begin!]"
You watched intently as Midoriya and Shinso faced each other. Then, Midoriya's body suddenly went rigid, his eyes widening in shock as he froze in place.
Ojiro, beside you, leaned in, whispering urgently, "I warned him not to say anything!"
"[The fight has just begun and Midoriya Izuku is... completely frozen? He's not moving a muscle! What's with that look on his face? Could this be a Quirk at work? Shinso seems to have Midoriya completely stunned! He didn't stand out in the first rounds at all, but it's possible Hitoshi's crazy powerful! Who could've imagined this turn of events? That's the Festival for ya! Ha-ha!]"
You narrowed your eyes, focusing on Shinso's calm, almost smug expression as he began to circle the frozen Midoriya, a smirk playing on his lips, "You're lucky to have been so blessed, Midoriya Izuku. Now turn around and walk out of bounds like the good little hero you are."
Midoriya's body obeyed, his movements robotic as he began to walk towards the edge of the ring. The crowd gasped, and you could feel the tension in the air as everyone watched in disbelief.
"[Uh—What?! Ah! Midoriya's obeying him! And there you have it! Shinso Hitoshi! His Quirk: Brainwashing! When an opponent answers his question, it flips a switch in their minds, forcing them to do whatever he says. Not every question does it, though. He only brainwashes when he wants to. Not very flashy...]"
Aizawa's calm, analytical voice cut through Present Mic's excitement. "[This is a perfect example of why the entrance exam isn't rational.]"
"[Huh? Why's that, Eraser?]"
"[Since we're on to the individual matches, I had some information compiled about our final competitors. Shinso failed the practical exam to get into the hero course. Since he also applied for general studies, he probably figured that would happen. His Quirk is incredibly strong, but that entrance test consisted of fighting faux villains. Robots. It gave a huge advantage to those who had physical superpowers they could show off.]" Aizawa continued, his tone measured: "[Despite his abilities, Shinso never stood a chance at passing.]"
You watched as Midoriya's feet edged closer to the boundary, his eyes wide with panic. His internal struggle was evident, and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to resist.
.☆.
.✩.
.☆.
Midoriya's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and frustration as he struggled against the invisible chains binding his will.
What's happening? My body's moving on its own. I feel like my brain is full of fog. I can't concentrate. No! Not like this. Gotta stop! Dammit!
Desperation clawed at him, and he fought to recall Ojiro's warning about Shinsou's Quirk. The memory was hazy, slipping through his grasp like sand, but the urgency of the situation sharpened his focus.
I fell for it, even after Ojiro warned me about his power. I'm an idiot. This is all my fault!
🇫🇱🇦🇸🇭🇧🇦🇨🇰:
In the bustling halls of the Sports Festival's recreational area, Ojiro leaned closer to Midoriya, his expression serious as he recounted his experience with Shinso. "His Quirk is that he can control other people. It's powerful, but he can't use it unless you answer his questions. He didn't get into my head until I responded to something he said."
Midoriya's eyes wide with concern. "So I have to be careful not to say anything, or I'll lose for sure."
Ojiro nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Well, not exactly. Even if he gets you, there's still a chance. At the beginning of the cavalry battle, after he approached me, I don't remember anything until I bumped into another person. It was like I woke up, and suddenly I could think clearly."
"So that bump broke his hold?"
"Maybe. It's only a guess, but it's something to keep in mind."
Midoriya's eyes darted around, searching for anything that could jolt his body back under his own control. His feet continued their march towards the edge, each step bringing him closer to disqualification.
Even in the faced of disqualification, Midoriya couldn't help but analyze his situation: Still... I don't know how much of a shock it would take to break his spell. And in a one-on-one match, I can't count on an outside force intervening to help me.
The only part of his body under his control were his eyes, and he scanned the crowd, his gaze lingering on familiar faces. Each person he saw, each pair of worried eyes, felt like a weight pressing down on him. He was letting them down. He was letting everyone down.
I can't stop it. I'm going to lose. It's all over. Even though... so many people are counting on me... Everyone is watching... Everyone!
As despair gripped his heart, his eyes finally landed on you. Your gaze met his, and for a brief, electric moment, everything else faded away. Your lips moved, forming a single, commanding word: "Move."
A jolt of clarity shot through him, igniting a spark of defiance in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears, and the fog clouding his mind seemed to lift, replaced by the fierce determination in your eyes.
What... is... that? Wait.
Shinso paced behind Midoriya, his voice dripping with mockery. He watched Midoriya's struggle with a cold satisfaction, convinced of his impending victory. "Even with a Quirk like this, I have my own dreams of becoming a great hero. So, lose for me."
The edge of the platform loomed closer, the boundary line a stark reminder of his precarious situation. Just as his foot hovered above the line, Midoriya's eyes widened in sudden clarity. In a desperate act of defiance, he summoned all his strength and snapped his own fingers, the sharp crack resonating through the arena.
Present Mic's voice rose in excitement at the spectacle. "[What's this? Midoriya stopped just in time!]"
The crowd erupted into cheers, their relief and exhilaration echoing through the stadium.
Aizawa, his eyes narrowing with interest, saying. "[His finger. He broke one in order to stop Shinso.]"
Pain seared through Midoriya's hand, but his mind was clear, his resolve unwavering. He flexed his finger, the agony grounding him in reality.
Shinso's smug expression dissolved into shock and disbelief. His eyes widened as he took a step back, the confidence in his stance faltering. "No. Impossible. You're not supposed to be able to fight back! What did you do?"
Midoriya's gaze locked onto Shinso, his eyes blazing with determination. Though instead of answering vocally, all he did was raise a brow.
Internally, Midoriya didn't have an answer for the purplenette—noy yet anyways. All he knows is that something extraordinary just happened. I'm certain I'm the one who used One For All. But I'm not the one who moved my fingers just now. It was like someone I didn't know came into my mind. And for a second, it was clear. Could it be—Later. I don't have time to figure things out right now. I have to focus.
Panic flickered in Shinso's eyes as he glanced towards the crowd. His gaze landed on you, and he saw the bored, almost dismissive expression on your face. A flicker of panic crossed his features, desperation clawing at him. He won't answer. Did he figure it out? No. He's known. That damn dog-monkey must have told him. I have to get him to talk again.
Desperation tinged his voice as he tried to provoke a response from Midoriya. "Come on, say something. I didn't know you had so much power in your fingers. I'm kind of jealous of you."
Midoriya's resolve hardened, his thoughts a whirlwind of determination and empathy. I know what that jealousy feels like. I've been there.
Shinso scoffs at the lack of an answer, his voice bitter. "Thanks to the way my Quirk works, I've always been at a big disadvantage. But someone as blessed as you wouldn't understand that."
I get it. Even though he's right. I have been blessed.
Shinso's frustration mounted, his voice laced with bitterness and desperation. "You're lucky enough to have a heroic Quirk! It'll be so easy for you to reach your goal!"
Midoriya's eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of understanding passing over his face. I've been blessed by others. That's why I'm here!
Shinso's voice rose to a shout, his desperation evident. "Say something, dammit!"
Midoriya's resolve crystallized, eyes blazing with determination. Still...I can't lose this. I'll do it for her...for them!
Shinsou's frustration boiled over, his voice cracking with anger. "You've gotta be kidding me! Get out of this ring, you lucky brat!"
With a fierce cry, Midoriya surged forward, his fist connecting with Shinso's chest in a powerful punch. The impact sent Shinso sprawling out of bounds, his body hitting the ground with a thud.
Midnight's voice rings out over the cheers of the crowd. "Shinso is out of bounds! Midoriya advances to the next match!"
"[And with that expertly performed throw, we have our first victor of the finals! Class -A's Midoriya Izuku!]"
The stadium erupted in cheers, the roar of the crowd a thunderous wave of excitement. Midoriya stood at the center of the ring, his chest heaving with exertion, but his eyes were bright with triumph. He glanced around, taking in the overwhelming support from the audience, a mix of relief and exhilaration washing over him.
He looked up at the stands, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment. You gave a small, approving nod, acknowledging his victory before quickly scurrying to sit with your classmates before Ashido and the others noticed.
"[He focused his power like he did in the fitness test and used the throw from combat training. It's not just that he's learning from his experiences: he's using every trick he's picked up to improve his odds.]" Aizawa noted with a professional flare.
Present Mic nodded enthusiastically, his grin wide as he continued his commentary. "[Oh, yeah! That was actually kind of a boring first match, kids. But both of you fought bravely. Let's show them some love, everyone!]"
The applause swelled, a sea of clapping hands and cheering voices celebrating the efforts of both competitors. Midoriya's gaze flickered towards Shinso, who was still on the ground, a mix of defeat and frustration etched across his features. Shinso slowly got to his feet, his eyes downcast, but he squared his shoulders, accepting his defeat with a grim determination.
As Midoriya walked back towards the waiting area, the crowd's cheers continued to resonate, the excitement of the tournament reaching new heights. The first battle had set the tone for the intense and unpredictable matches to come, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation for what lay ahead.
☆
☆
Seated amongst your classmates—with you strategically seated between Kendo and Monoma—because, according to the blonde, it's to ensure safety from the "fake 1-A heroes from stealing you away," you watched as the seats around you buzzed with energy, your classmates' excitement palpable as they eagerly awaited the next match.
Suddenly, Present Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, drawing everyone's attention back to the arena. "[Enough standing around. Now welcome to the ring, our next players!]"
The spotlight swung to the center of the arena, illuminating Todoroki Shoto and Sero Hanta as they stepped onto the platform. The contrast between their expressions was stark—Sero's nervous determination clashed with Todoroki's cool, impassive demeanor.
"[He's got skills! But at the expense of some really creepy-looking elbows. From the Hero Course, it's Sero Hanta!]"
"That was uncalled for," Sero muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a wry grin.
"[Versus an early frontrunner in the competition who's way too strong for his own good! Someone who rightfully got into the Hero Course based on recommendations! It's Todoroki Shoto!]"
The crowd's cheers swelled as Todoroki's name was announced, a mixture of awe and anticipation rippling through the spectators. You leaned forward slightly, your eyes narrowing as you focused on the two competitors.
"[And now, for the second match of the finals. Ready?]"
Sero scratched the back of his neck, staring back at Todoroki's blank face. "Well, I don't really feel—"
Present Mic cut the teen off, shouting, "[Begin!]"
"—like I can win this fight. But, man—" Sero didn't waste a second, launching into his attack with a swift, decisive movement. His tape shot out, wrapping around Todoroki with a practiced precision, his face set in a determined grimace. "—I don't feel like losing, either!"
"[That attack could throw his opponent out of bounds! A brilliant, surprise opening from the underdog! Way to start off strong, Sero!]" Present Mic announces.
The tape wrapped tightly around Todoroki, and tried Sero pulling with all his might. For a moment, it seemed like his strategy might succeed, but with a sudden, precise movement, Todoroki used his feet to freeze the ground beneath him.
The ice spread rapidly, creating a shockwave that sent a burst of cold air rippling through the arena. Sero's eyes widened as he struggled to maintain his grip, the ice forming faster than he could react.
"Is that... an earthquake? What the heck is goin' on?" Monoma muttered beside you with wide eyes.
The ice attack created a massive wave, quickly encompassing Sero. The cold bit into his skin, freezing him in place as the ice continued to spread, leaving half the entire festival arena encased in a shimmering, frozen expanse.
"Holy crap." Sero's voice was muffled by the ice, a mixture of frustration and resignation evident as he managed a weak response. "Um... Don't you think you went overboard?"
Midnight, standing on the edge of the frozen section, raised her whip to get the crowd's attention. "Tell the truth, Sero. Can you move at all?"
"Are you kidding? Obviously not. My body is freezing!"
The crowd gasped, the magnitude of Todoroki's ice attack sinking in. The spectacle left the audience in awe, their cheers mingling with murmurs of astonishment.
Midnight swung her whip in the air with a resounding whack. "It's official. Sero has been immobilized! Todoroki advances to the second round!"
The announcement echoed through the stadium, the cheers intensifying as the reality of Todoroki's power set in. The audience erupted into applause, a chorus of "Nice try!" reverberating through the stands.
Todoroki turned to walk away, but not before throwing Sero a quick apology over his shoulder. "Sorry about that. It was a bit much. I was angry, is all."
You watched Todoroki as he left the arena, his expression unchanged despite the overwhelming display of power. The intensity of his attack and the ease with which he had executed it left a lasting impression, a clear testament to his capabilities.
Sometime after Todoroki's icy aftermath melted away, Present Mic's booming voice echoed across the stadium, rallying the crowd for the next battle. "[And now, let's welcome our next competitors! This match promises to be a real shocker!]"
The spotlight shifted, illuminating the next contenders as they stepped onto the stage. On one side was Kaminari Denki, a confident grin plastered across his face. Opposite him stood Shiozaki Ibara, her calm demeanor contrasting with the electricity crackling in the air around Kaminari.
"[Ready for a jolt? From the Hero Course, it's Kaminari Denki! And his opponent, bringing the power of nature itself, it's Shiozaki Ibara from Class 1-B!]"
Kaminari shot a cocky smile at Shiozaki, his confidence almost palpable. "Hey, Shiozaki! How about we grab a bite to eat after this match? You know, to comfort you after your inevitable loss." He chuckled, his eyes sparking with mischief. "This match is gonna be over in seconds."
Shiozaki's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression serene but resolute. She turned away from Kaminari, her hair coiling around her like a protective shield.
"[Oooh~, someone's got confidence! Let's see if Kaminari's got what it takes!]"
The starting signal blared, and Kaminari wasted no time, electricity surging through him as he prepared to unleash his attack. "Indiscriminate Shock: 1.3 Million Volts!"
Electricity crackled and surged from Kaminari, the air around him shimmering with the raw power of his Quirk. The crowd gasped, the sheer magnitude of his attack electrifying the atmosphere. The bolts of lightning arced towards Ibara, threatening to engulf her.
However, Shiozaki remained unfazed. With a fluid, almost graceful movement, she commanded her vine-like hair to form a protective barrier around her. "Shield!" The vines wove together, creating a thick shield that absorbed the brunt of Kaminari's attack.
The electricity sizzled and sparked against the vines, but Shiozaki's shield held strong. Kaminari's confident grin faltered as he watched his attack dissipate harmlessly.
"[Whoa! Shiozaki's not going down without a fight! Look at that defense!]"
As the last of Kaminari's electricity fizzled out, he stumbled, his usual cocky expression replaced by a vacant, dopey grin. His attack had backfired, leaving him in his infamous 'dumb state.' "Heh, I think I overdid it..."
Shiozaki seized the opportunity, her vines snapping forward with swift precision. They coiled around Kaminari, lifting him off the ground and suspending him in mid-air. His arms and legs were bound, rendering him completely immobile.
Shiozakis voice was calm, almost gentle as she addressed her opponent. "May the Lord forgive your sins, Kaminari-san."
With a flick of her wrist, the vines tightened, securing Kaminari in place. He dangled helplessly, a bewildered smile plastered on his face as he struggled against the restraints.
"[And there you have it! Shiozaki's defense and counterattack have Kaminari wrapped up—literally!]"
Midnight, still chilled from the lingering effects of Todoroki's earlier attack, stepped forward, her whip cracking sharply in the air. "Kaminari Denki is immobilized! Shiozaki Ibara wins!"
The crowd erupted in applause, cheers mingling with laughter at the unexpected outcome. In the stands, Tetsutetsu leaped to his feet, pumping his fists in the air. "Yeah! That's how you do it, Shiozaki! Show them what Class 1-B is made of!"
Monoma, not missing a beat, leaned over the railing, his voice dripping with mockery as he taunted the Hero Course students. "See that, 1-A? That's how a real hero fights! Too bad your electric wonder boy couldn't keep up!"
You glanced at Kendo out of the corner of your eye. Seeing this, your Vice-President's hand shot out and delivered a swift chop to the back of his neck.
Monoma yelped, holding the sore spot. "Hey, what was—"
"Enough, Monoma. Let's show some class," Kendo hissed with narrowed eyes before falling silent.
Monoma grumbled, rubbing his neck, but reluctantly fell silent. You couldn't help but smirk at the exchange, finding it amusing no matter how often it occurs.
The excitement in the stadium didn't wane as the next match was announced. "[Alright, folks, let's keep this momentum going! Up next, we've got a match that's sure to be full of surprises!]"
The spotlight shifted once more, illuminating Iida Tenya and Hatsume Mei as they took their positions on the stage. Iida stood tall, his posture rigid with determination, while Hatsume's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.
"[From the Hero Course, it's the speedster himself, Iida Tenya! And his opponent, ready to dazzle us with her gadgets, from the Support Course, it's Hatsume Mei!]"
The signal to start blared, and Iida immediately launched into action, his engines roaring to life as he sprinted towards Hatsume with impressive speed. "Prepare yourself, Hatsume-san! I will not hold back!"
Hatsume, however, seemed completely unfazed by Iida's aggressive approach. She activated her microphone, her voice cheerful and informative as she addressed the crowd. "Hello, everyone! Check this out—these leg braces I designed for Iida-kun here improve his mobility by 25%! Watch how he moves!"
Iida, taken aback by her casual demeanor, stumbled slightly but quickly regained his composure. He pressed forward, determined to close the distance between them. "What are you—?"
Before he could finish, Hatsume's backpack whirred to life, hydraulic attachments propelling her out of his reach with a smooth, mechanical efficiency.
"[Whoa! Did you see that, Eraser!? Hatsume's got some tricks up her sleeves!]"
As Iida attempted to adapt, Hatsume's voice continued, her excitement infectious as she demonstrated her gadgets. "And that's not all! These hydraulic attachments allow me to maneuver with ease! Oh, and let's not forget the Auto Balancers—watch how they keep Iida-kun from falling!"
Iida tried to use her distraction to his advantage, but Hatsume's backpack sensors detected his approach, activating the hydraulic attachments once more to evade him. He stumbled over the devices, but the Auto Balancers kicked in, preventing him from falling and redirecting him back towards her.
"[Looks like Hatsume's turned this match into a full-on gadget showcase!]"
"[This isn't a commercial, Hatsume-san,]" Aizawa grumbled, a complete 180 from his co-host's attitude.
Frustration etched across Iida's face as he charged again, demanding a fair fight. "Hatsume-san! Stop using your gadgets as distractions and fight me properly!"
Hatsume, her enthusiasm undeterred, evaded him once more, using her Electromagnetic Soles to glide smoothly across the stage. "But I am fighting! I'm showcasing my inventions! Look at these Electromagnetic Soles—they allow me to evade with precision!"
Iida's patience was wearing thin as he made another attempt to close the gap, but Hatsume was ready. She pulled out a Capture Gun, firing a net that ensnared Iida, immobilizing him.
"[Iida's caught in a net! What a turn of events!]"
Hatsume turned her attention to the support companies in the crowd, introducing herself with a confident smile. "I'm Hatsume Mei, and I hope you're impressed with my babies! There's more where these came from!"
For the next ten minutes, Hatsume continued to demonstrate her gadgets, much to the chagrin of Iida, who struggled futilely against the net. The crowd, initially baffled, soon found themselves entertained by her relentless enthusiasm.
Eventually, Hatsume walked out of the ring, her objective clearly met.
Midnight's whip cracked in the air, bringing the match to a close. "Hatsume Mei has stepped out of bounds! Iida Tenya is the winner!"
The audience's applause was a mix of confusion and amusement. Iida, despite his victory, looked thoroughly exasperated. "Hatsume-san! You used me as a prop!"
"I'm sorry, Iida-kun! But it worked, didn't it?" Hatsume giggled with a shrug of her shoulders.
Iida's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "I hate you."
Hatsume's apology, while technically present, lacked any real remorse, her attention already shifting to her next invention. "Oh~ I can totally create an 'I-hate-you-inator'! It'll track and detect levels of dislike/hatred surrounding the chosen subject..." As you watched Hatsume leave the ring, her nonchalant acceptance of her own defeat and eagerness to advertise her gadgets leaving the crowd in a mix of awe and confusion, you knew your turn was coming up.
You brushed off your uniform as you stood, smoothing out any wrinkles as you prepared yourself mentally.
Your classmates were abuzz with excitement, their voices blending into a harmonious cheer of encouragement.
"Akuma-san, knock 'em dead!"
"Yeah! You got this!"
"Show them 1-B's no second choice!"
Kendo's eyes sparkled with pride, and she gave you a thumbs-up. Tsuburaba and Shiozaki exchanged nods of support. Monoma, always the dramatic one, quickly grasped one of your hands just before you walked away.
"You got this, President!" he said, his voice filled with earnest admiration and a touch of nervous energy. His grip was firm but comforting, a tangible reminder of your classmates' support.
You hummed softly, your lips twitching in disgust at his bold actions. "Thank you, Monoma-kun," you replied, bowing your head in acknowledgment.
The walk to the arena felt like stepping into a different world. The stadium lights bore down on you, their brightness creating stark contrasts and sharp shadows on the ground. The camera flashes were relentless, capturing every moment, every expression, adding to the almost surreal atmosphere. The roar of the crowd was a constant backdrop, a symphony of cheers and excitement that filled the air with palpable energy.
Stepping into the battle ring, you felt the coolness of the arena floor beneath your feet. The space seemed to expand around you, the vastness of the stadium a stark reminder of the scale of the event.
You took a deep breath, grounding yourself amidst the sensory overload. The anticipation was electric, charging the air with a tangible tension as the crowd awaited the start of the match.
Across from you, Ashido bounced on her feet, her eyes alight with excitement. Her pink skin glistened under the stadium lights, and her smile was infectious. She seemed more like a cheerleader than a combatant, her enthusiasm almost childlike in its intensity.
"I can't wait to see your fighting style, Akuma-san!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with eagerness. "Is it like hand-to-hand combat? Or do you have some cool surprise moves up your sleeve? I'm so excited! I trained with my classmates during the Battle Trial, so I know some of their weaknesses, but I have no idea what to expect from you!"
Her questions came in a rapid stream, each one layered with genuine curiosity and a dash of anticipation. You could see the light in her eyes, a sparkle that made her excitement almost contagious.
Present Mic's voice boomed overhead, adding a humorous commentary to the situation. "[Wow, she's not taking this seriously at all!]"
"[Ashido admittedly does have a major issue with her attention span,]" Aizawa sighed.
The contrast between her playful energy and the serious tone of the match was almost comical.
Without a word, you began to walk towards her, your steps measured and deliberate. Ashido's eyes widened as she watched you approach, her questions spilling out even faster. "Oh my gods, what are you going to do? Is this some secret technique? Are you going to—"
You reached out, gently but firmly placing your hands on her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and a hint of surprise.
With a steady, unyielding push, you guided her backwards. Each step you took brought her closer to the edge of the ring, her surprise morphing into confusion and then realization.
Quickly, Ashido managed to drop and roll away from your push, her reflexes sharp despite the playful demeanor she had displayed moments before. Springing to her feet, she grinned, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Whoops! Almost let you get me!"
Her eyes gleamed with a newfound intensity, the playful spark replaced by a keen focus. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and Ashido's entire demeanor shifted from bubbly excitement to concentrated determination.
With a swift, fluid motion, she squatted down and secreted acid from her feet. The corrosive substance sizzled as it hit the ground, and she used it to propel herself forward, sliding across the stage with surprising speed. Her movement was almost serpentine, a blend of agility and precision that cut through the air with grace.
For a moment, you considered dodging her attack, calculating the trajectory and speed at which she was approaching. But then, in a split-second decision, you chose not to evade. You let her come closer, her approach like a tidal wave of energy and intent.
As Ashido reached you, you executed a half-hearted roundhouse kick, your movements precise yet deliberately leaving yourself open. To anyone else, it would have looked like a full attempt to strike, but you knew better. It was a calculated risk, a feint meant to draw her in.
Ashido, her instincts sharp, ducked just in time, her eyes widening as she saw the opening. She lunged forward, aiming a strong uppercut at your side. Her fist brushed past your face, the force of the strike just grazing your skin.
You turned with the motion, making her miss entirely, and quickly grasped both of her arms in a firm hold. The action was fluid, almost too smooth, and before she could react, you had effectively locked her in place. Your grip was steady but not overly harsh, a testament to your control over the situation.
Ashido blinked, her concentration breaking for a brief moment. Her eyes sparkled with genuine admiration as she squealed, "No way, that was so cool! How did you dodge that!? I spent weeks perfecting this move..." Her words tumbled out in a rapid stream, her excitement and curiosity spilling over. She seemed almost oblivious to her current predicament, more fascinated by the mechanics of the fight than by the fact that she was restrained.
You sighed inwardly, recognizing that this conversation would likely continue unless you intervened. You glanced over her shoulder, assessing your position in the ring. To your advantage, you noticed that you were right on the edge of the platform. The realization sparked a quick plan in your mind.
Taking advantage of her distraction, you pushed her gently but firmly over the edge. Ashido, still caught up in her enthusiastic rambling, barely registered the movement until it was too late. She stumbled backward, her eyes widening in surprise as she tumbled off the platform.
Midnight's whip cracked through the air, the sound sharp and commanding. "Ashido Mina is out of bounds! Akuma ____ is the winner!"
The crowd erupted in a mixture of laughter and applause, the unexpected simplicity of your victory catching them off guard once again. Present Mic's voice echoed overhead, his tone a blend of amusement and commentary. "[And with Ashido going down embarrassingly easy, that's one win for Akuma!]"
You stood at the edge of the ring, watching as Ashido picked herself up, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. Her enthusiasm was undiminished, and she waved cheerfully at you. "Good job, Akuma-san! That was really clever!"
You nodded politely, acknowledging her words with a small smile. The lights of the arena glinted off the metal rails, and the cheers of the crowd formed a backdrop of noise and excitement. The thrill of the fight, coupled with the simplicity of your victory, left a sense of satisfaction bubbling within you.
As you walked back towards the waiting area, you could feel the energy of the stadium humming around you, a tangible reminder of the intensity and spectacle of the U.A. Sports Festival.
Instead of heading directly to the stands, you decided to make a detour. A thought had been simmering in the back of your mind, urging you to check in on someone else preparing for his battle.
Turning down a quieter corridor, you made your way towards Bakugo's waiting room. The muffled sounds of the ongoing fight between Tokoyami and Yaoyorozu filtered through the walls, a reminder of the relentless pace of the tournament.
You reached the door, noticing a small TV mounted on the wall inside, showcasing the current fight. Without hesitation, you pushed it open slightly, causing the door to creak. Bakugo's head snapped up, a snarl already forming on his lips. "I said I didn't want anyone bothering me—" His sentence abruptly cut off as he saw it was you standing there.
A brow arched, you let a smile tug at your lips. "Oh? Should I return later?"
For a moment, Bakugo's expression softened, and he quickly stood, a mix of surprise and something else flickering across his features. "____," he said softly, your name a contrast to his usual gruff tone.
You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you. "I was just stopping by to see how you were faring so far," you said, your gaze steady on his.
Bakugo's jaw tightened, and he was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I'm gonna win," he finally said, his voice low but resolute. "But I want you to advance to the final round."
You blinked, tilting your head slightly. "And why would I do that?"
"Because I wanna fight you," he blurted out, the words hanging in the air between you. The proclamation seemed to take both of you by surprise, and your brows raised in unison.
"Who knew you had it out for me," you replied, your tone light but your eyes searching his face for deeper meaning.
Bakugo rolled his eyes, a grunt of frustration escaping him. "It's not that," he muttered, his gaze darting away. "It's just..."
You leaned forward slightly, prompting him. "Just what?"
For a moment, Bakugo's eyes met yours, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within them. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts tumbling over each other. Internally, he struggled with the desire to prove his strength to you, to show that he could be someone you could rely on, someone strong enough to protect you. But the words tangled in his throat, refusing to form.
Instead, he scoffed, the sound more of a deflection than an answer. "Just wanna see how strong you really are," he grumbled, the excuse hanging weakly between you.
Before you could respond, the small TV in the upper corner caught your attention. Present Mic's voice boomed from the screen, announcing the end of the current match. "[Tokoyami Fumikage takes the win! Up next, it's the battle of steel vs. stone: Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu versus Kirishima Eijiro! Stay tuned, folks!]"
The fight on the screen transitioned to show Tetsutetsu and Kirishima entering the arena, their faces set with determination.
Realizing the conversation had run its course, you turned towards the door. "Good luck with your match," you said over your shoulder.
Bakugo scoffed again, his bravado slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. "Not worried about Round-Face," he muttered, his tone dismissive.
You paused at the doorway, casting a glance back at him. "You should be," you said, your voice carrying a quiet warning. With that, you slipped out, the door clicking softly shut behind you.
As you left Bakugo's room, the air seemed to crackle with the anticipation of the upcoming battles. The faint sounds of the stadium crowd echoed through the hallways, a constant reminder of the spectacle unfolding just outside.
Your steps were steady as you made your way back to your class section, a mixture of determination and contemplation playing across your mind.
You were only a few steps away from the arena entrance when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. "Akuma-san," Todoroki called out, his tone calm yet insistent. You turned to find him standing a short distance away, his expression serious.
"Yes?" you replied, arching an eyebrow. His demeanor was different, more introspective than usual.
"Could we speak for a moment?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of objection.
Intrigued, you nodded and followed him as he led you to a large glass window that overlooked a portion of the stadium-lobby. Below, hundreds of citizens milled about, buying merchandise and food, their faces lit up with excitement.
Yet you stared down at the crowd, a dark cloud of disdain crept into your thoughts. They looked like tiny, insignificant ants.
The stark difference between these humans and those you encountered in your previous life struck you with a jarring clarity.
In that world, power and control were everything. Manipulations, grandiose battles, and the constant struggle for dominance defined your existence.
Every interaction held weight, every move was a calculated step in a larger game. Here, in contrast, the crowd's self-righteousness and superficial concerns disgusted you.
They believed in their own moral superiority, convinced that their small acts of kindness or their adherence to social norms made them good, just, worthy. They viewed themselves as heroes in their own right, clinging to a superficial sense of morality and justice.
Yet, in their simplicity, they fail to see how their so-called righteousness are nothing more than a fragile façade, easily shattered by the cold, hard truths of power and influence.
Your musings were interrupted by Todoroki's voice, soft yet clear. "Akuma-san, I like to think of myself as an intelligent person," he began, his gaze fixed on the crowd below. "But it seems that everything becomes unintelligible when it comes to you."
You turned your head, curiosity piqued. "Pardon?" you asked, unsure of where he was leading.
Todoroki took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotions. "I've been thinking about what I told Midoriya earlier," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of bitterness and resignation. "About my past, about my father... the hero... Endeavor. It's something I feel you should know too."
He paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. "My father... he's not just unpleasant. He's driven by a relentless obsession to surpass All Might and views me as nothing but a tool to achieve that goal. My siblings—they're nothing but failures to him because they don't measure up to his standards. It's all been about grooming me to achieve what he couldn't."
Todoroki's eyes darkened as he continued, his hand unconsciously touching the scar on his left eye. "And my mother? She suffered greatly under his ambitions. The pressure, the constant demands and abuse—she couldn't handle it...and it broke her. I look like him, you see. Every time she saw the left side of my face—the fire I inherited from him—it reminded her of him...of everything she hated. One day, she snapped. She threw boiling water at me...said it was unsightly. That's how I got this scar."
He paused, the raw emotion in his voice a stark contrast to the stoic façade he usually maintained. "My father had her institutionalized. To him, she was just another obstacle. I grew up hating him, despising the fire side of my Quirk because it was his. I've spent my entire life trying to prove that I could be a hero without becoming him."
As Todoroki finished his story, you felt a hollow emptiness where empathy should have been. His words, dripping with a mix of self-pity and bitterness, left you cold. The tale of his troubled upbringing, designed perhaps to elicit sympathy, only reinforced your disdain for him.
Todoroki, with his tragic backstory and internal turmoil, seemed to you one of the most pathetic individuals you had ever encountered.
A soft hum escaped your lips, and a sardonic smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You turned to face him, your eyes gleaming with a harsh light. "For someone so intelligent," you began, your tone laced with mockery, "you have an awfully bad habit of oversharing personal and horrifyingly useful information one would think to keep private. It's a wonder you've managed to maintain such a mysterious persona." You could almost hear the echo of your peers' admiration for him, their awe and reverence for the troubled hero. If only they knew the full extent of his pitiful reality.
Todoroki's eyes widened slightly at your words, a flicker of confusion mingling with the anger already etched on his face.
Your lips dropped from the semblance of a smile into a disgusted snarl. "Although you had such an unsavory upbringing, Midoriya was right about one thing," you continued, your voice sharp and unyielding. "It's an absolutely pitiful sight to see you allowing your father to win and have power over something that's yours. Your life, your choices—they belong to you. Yet here you are, shackled by his shadow, letting him dictate who you become."
Todoroki's gaze faltered, his expression a mix of shame and defensiveness, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, his composure cracking under the weight of your unrelenting critique.
His anger, however, was not just from the truth of your words but from the familiarity of their tone.
You, with your overbearing harshness and cutting remarks, reminded him too much of his father—Endeavor's relentless drive, his unyielding standards, and his crushing expectations. But you weren't done yet.
You took a step closer, your presence towering over him. "Of course," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "you can always go on this woe-is-me journey of limiting yourself. Continue rejecting your fire, the very power that makes you whole, just to spite your father. It's quite amusing, really—watching you cripple yourself for the sake of some misguided vendetta."
Todoroki's anger flared, his eyes narrowing as he tried to hold back a retort. His frustration was palpable, mingling with the pain your words inflicted. Yet he remained silent, the truth of your accusations sinking in despite his instinctive resistance.
He despised the harshness of your approach, the way you mirrored his father's brutal honesty, but he couldn't entirely dismiss the validity of your perspective.
You leaned in, your eyes locking onto his, forcing him to confront the harsh truth of your words. "Though, what's truly even more pathetic," you continued, your voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, "is how you wear this victimhood like a badge of honor. You've let him win every time you hold back, every time you refuse to use your full potential. And for what? Some semblance of moral high ground? You're a fool, Todoroki. A pitiful fool clinging to a righteous delusion."
Todoroki's face contorted further, his internal conflict evident in the tightening of his jaw and the hardening of his gaze. Before he could gather his thoughts or mount a defense, Present Mic's voice boomed through the stadium, breaking the tension. "[And we have a draw! The battle between Tetsutetsu and Kirishima ends in a tie! Up next, it's Bakugo Katsuki versus Uraraka Ochaco! Get ready for a showdown!]"
The announcement echoed around you, the festival's energy seeping back into the moment. You stepped back, a charming grin spreading across your face. "Well, that's my cue," you said, your tone suddenly light, "Must be off to support. Do try to think about what I said, Todoroki-kun. Good luck, next round." As you made your way back to your class's section, you felt a surge of anticipation for the upcoming fight between Bakugo and Uraraka.
A/N: wheewww! 7.5k DONE! anyways, sorry for the little wait, these doubles at work been kicking my ass so i decided to update while i have time on my day off 😩. anywhooo, hope you all enjoyed this chapter, don't judge me too bad for the horrible action /fightring portion, i tired my best lolololo. the next three rounds will all be in 1 chappie, so it can be long like this one. see you all next update. ❤️❤️
