Had Setsuna not been sweating down to her socks, she might've taken a moment to appreciate the novelty of exercise. After almost two months of healing and resting, she'd finally regained full function in her leg. Not long after, Izuku had contacted her, letting her know that his idea of getting a coach was a success.
In the moment, she'd been ecstatic. Sitting around all day was nice; and by heaven, she needed it, but her muscles were stiff from lack of use. She thought she'd be ready to spring into action, pumped up and ready to go. The damnable old codger had gutted that notion within the first five minutes.
"When the brat told me you needed touching up, I thought he meant you were already furnished. Not that you still needed your foundations put in." Gran Torino had said, before her world had turned into one of hurt.
Conditioning, testing. Testing, conditioning. She ran more for the old man than she did for her old track coach. Within a week of their first meeting, he'd drafted up a road work routine. Within a month, he had her doing crunches, punching mats, and stretching in ways she'd never even heard of before. Once, when she and Izuku were eating dinner, she compared him to an evil Mickey Goldmill. Izuku proceeded to snort his drink out of his nose.
She put the new foot through its paces, new calluses growing where old ones once lie. That had been a serious side effect of the self-amputation, she'd learned. Not only was the new leg a shade paler than the other, it didn't grow back with all the hardened skin she'd earned in previous sports. Blisters had become her new roommate, lotion her new best friend.
The first time she'd come to Izuku's warehouse, she thought someone would murder her for dark web entertainment. It was an out of the way, cheap and flimsy building that her mother had warned her against all her life. The fact that Sir Nighteye had snagged this place before human traffickers bought it out astounded her.
Now, she was almost comfortable. The inside was a lot more pleasant than the outside. Neither heroes were maintenance men, so all the furnishing remained spartan and practical. She rather liked it.
At first, she hated the dull, dusty walls. Their simple existence pissed her off when she was working her butt off; but now, whenever she was flat on her ass exhausted, she welcomed their mundanity. At least she had it easier than Izuku.
The boy's portion of the warehouse was scary, in all honesty. His cardio routine made hers seem light, in comparison. She already knew Nighteye was tough on the guy; but she hadn't expected him to be this cartoonishly evil.
The Obstacle Course, shortened to the Course by her, was a nightmare. When she was a girl, she'd loved the old American Ninja Warrior reruns. Athletes at their peak physique competing in a crazy series of stunts, exercises, and obstacle courses was serious entertainment. Those people dedicated their whole lives to the craft, spending every hour molding their muscles to master their specific course perfectly, down to the last second.
Izuku might call those people wimps. She would, especially after watching him.
The Course was a loop, fitted with everything bar an underground pool filled with sharks. Izuku had to crawl, swing, jump, and otherwise fly through a monstrous series of challenges, all while being fired upon by baseballs.
Nighteye might've disliked her presence, but Gran Torino had convinced him to let her aim the baseball launcher a couple times. She'd gotten good at aiming the thing, in all honesty. There was nothing more fun—or frustrating—than launching baseballs at your friends. Fun, because causing chaos was the definition of joy, frustrating because she always missed.
It was inconceivable. Her mind already struggled to understand how black whips functioned as a part of his quirk, let alone how he avoided almost everything. He could be corkscrewing backwards through the air and still somehow manage to notice and evade her shot, despite snipers the world over envying her aim. For heaven's sake, he sometimes caught them while distracted! The boy was simply insane.
Everytime she tried to ask if the boy was sure his quirk wasn't some sort of sixth danger-sense, Nighteye sent her a withering glare. Izuku would just laugh, waving her off with some lame excuse about practice. Setsuna had learned to just let it slide. Overstaying her welcome was the last thing she wanted. She was already pushing Nighteye's buttons by existing, it seemed.
It was one of those fun days where Izuku was on the Course when she actually landed a shot, conking him on the head. Beside her, Nighteye blew a whistle, slapping a red button on his stopwatch. The older hero glanced at her, his look a little less hostile than normal.
"Good work, Miss. We don't want him getting a big head, with his recent successes." He said, before walking off to check on the boy. Setsuna blinked. Nighteye wasn't usually that pleasant. Maybe she should snipe Izuku more often.
"Yeah, don't worry about the big head. I think I put a dent in it." She called back. Nighteye stumbled, pausing mid stride at her joke. His head swiveled back, a ghost of pleasant surprise in his eyes, before taking Izuku to task. Gran Torino barked out a laugh from behind her.
"Keep making jokes like that, kid, and Nighteye might warm up to you. Doesn't much seem like it, but he's a prankster at heart. A total whoopie cushion fiend." The old man said, pulling out a clear bottle of cranberry juice.
Setsuna took the break to rub her newish foot, the thing still a bit sore after today's roadwork. With her regeneration, building muscles and calluses was easy. That said, she'd only had a few months with this new foot. It was hard to make up for a decade of calluses in such a timeframe.
"I still don't get why he hasn't "warmed up" to me already. Shouldn't he just, I don't know, not care? I don't get why he's over complicated it so much. Am I really intruding?" She asked, shifting into a dynamic stretch.
"A bit. Nighteye generally has a stick up his ass, though, so don't feel too bad. Personally, I don't mind you being here. It's not like you're interrupting much." He grumbled, pausing from his drink. He was already halfway through it.
"That's a whole other thing, too. What were you guys doing here that was so private? Sounds creepy. Better yet, why do you guys even train Izuku, anyways? I remember him saying something about being a pity-apprentice."
Gran Torino choked on his drink at the word pity, the red juice staining his scraggly little beard.
"You ask a lot of questions, girlie. Have you considered that if any of us wanted you to know, we would've already told you?" He said, whipping away at his face. Setsuna rolled her eyes.
"See, that's an answer that makes you guys seem even creepier. Hanging out with kids all day." She said, stifling a laugh as Gran Torino stood up, not getting any taller.
"Oh? If you have the energy to tell your trainer that he's a creepy old dog, then I think you have the energy to hit the mats." He said, his voice slipping into something reminiscent of a drill sergeant.
"Calm now, Torino. I thought of a use for your pet project, and here I find you trying to kill her. Miss." Nighteye said, returning with Izuku in tow. "Spar with the boy. After which, I have a surprise."
He'd never acknowledged her this much in a single day, and she found she rather appreciated it. She followed his instruction alongside Izuku, who was nursing a purple bump on the side of his head.
"Sorry about that." She whispered, throwing an elbow into his shoulder. He shifted, taking it as a glancing blow instead of a direct hit.
"N-no problem. It was a good shot. How's Gran? I didn't see you working earlier—I was busy."
"Dude is tough as nails. Tried to teach me how to punch better—by kicking me. Weird guy."
"I heard that, girlie!" The old bastard called across the floor as he shuffled next to Nighteye. Together, they sat down on a slightly raised floor the Course offered, giving the kids the majority space in the center.
Izuku stood across from her, appearing a bit distracted. His head tilted back and forth, like he was trying to get an annoying buzz out of his ears. There was a good ten feet between them, though the floor offered at least twenty more in either direction. Spars between them were sparse, but familiar.
Setsuna was the junior fighter, so Izuku handicapped himself while she got full use of her powers. They'd scuffle until they pinned the other or knocked each other silly, usually her. Today, however, seemed a bit different.
"Ground rules, kids. First off, no hitting below the belt, no maiming, no disabling, no nonsense like that. As for handicaps; Izuku, you will have to maintain a smokescreen blindfold at all times. You forfeit the moment either we see your eyes or you see Setsuna's." Nighteye said. Setsuna glanced at him, surprised. Typically, a handicap meant something closer to "No quirks" or the limit on either the smoke or the whip things. But total blindness? That seemed a bit much. Then, Gran Torino stood up.
"As for you, girlie," he said, a devious smile on his lips, "you gotta keep your eyes hovering around the fight at all times. Extra points if you keep them separated."
Nighteye nodded, setting up the camera meant to record the fight. Setsuna looked between the two heroes and Izuku, doubtful. She was to fight from a third person perspective? The boy himself seemed preoccupied, lost in his own little world.
"Uhm… anything else? Can we use quirks, or…?" She asked, just as Nighteye locked the camera into position. He nodded.
"Anything goes, bar the established rules. Anyways—begin."
Setsuna choked, surprised at the sudden beginning. She scrambled to pop her eyes off her head, but didn't have the time to before Izuku's furious footfalls reached her. In her haste, she popped her head off her shoulders just as Izuku, a dark haze surrounding his eyes, swept her ankles out from under her.
Instead of toppling over, however, she allowed him to blow her feet off their ankles. She floated away, bisecting at the waist for more fluid flight as she regained her barings. Given the brief second of levity, she focused on separating her eyes from their sockets and reconnecting her neck and shoulders.
"Be aggressive, girlie!" Gran Torino shouted from the sidelines, his hoarse voice grating on her nerves. Izuku was a reactionary fighter; the old coot was just trying to get her killed. Still, she was above him and he had no way of hearing her next attack.
Breaking into eight pieces, she formed a ring around the boy, looking for an angle for attack. Her vision was difficult to use, given the multiple angles she was seeing at once, but it mattered little when Izuku was just standing there, menacingly.
Well, if he wasn't going to move, she would make him. In one motion, she sent both heels to crash down on his shoulders. Izuku immediately dashed to the side, somehow sniffing out her plan A, but didn't quite catch plan B in time.
Her hands, sneaky and undetected, latched onto his ankles, holding him in place. He wrenched against her hold, freeing a single leg, but it was too late. She backed her head up before charging down, crashing the crown of her head into his left flank.
The impact left her dazed, but she could see how it knocked the saliva out of his mouth. His fingers clawed at the air like wild, trying to find a stray piece but catching nothing but air. For the brief second he was confused, she tried pulling back her head to safety. That plan came to a screeching halt as his wild fingers snatched the blonde tips of her short green hair, pulling her back.
Incensed, she bisected her head below the nose, sending her jaw out to bite his forearm. This time, he let go squealing, and she was home free to reevaluate. At least, that was what should've happened, but instead her head jerked to a stop five feet away, black ropes enveloping her brain in a cage.
"Don't pull my fucking hair, man!" Her jaw screamed, flying away to rejoin her neck. Izuku pulled the whip-cage back to his arms, taking her brain hostage.
"Don't bite me! I didn't know that'd pull your hair, but you know those teeth would hurt!"
"Boo—freaking—hoo!" Setsuna yelled as what remained of her face rejoined her torso and limbs, forming almost a complete body. Her eyes swung around, hovering right behind her neck just as her united body lost its weightlessness, dropping back to the ground.
Izuku struggled to keep up as her body rushed him down, attacking him at a furious pace. She knew keeping the black whips under control exhausted him, and since he was using his arm to host the ability, he couldn't block her attacks anymore.
She threw haymakers, jabs, elbows, knees, and just about every kick she could think of in his direction. With each strike, she grew more desperate as he held her skull tighter and tighter in his grasp, her annoyance growing with each fail.
When she sent knuckles to his face, he ducked. When she aimed a kick for his abs, he swung his hips. It was infuriating; it was almost like he could guess what she was doing before she did it herself! A leg sweep meant a jump, a headbutt—a jawbutt?—meant he leaned back.
Finally, after throwing all caution to the wind, she dashed back before pushing off the ground for a charge. Right before she got close, she jumped, bringing her knees out in front of her.
Just before she connected, however, his hands flicked out, smoke exploding out of them. It didn't matter where he aimed; he just covered both their bodies, hiding them from her own sight long enough to mess with her.
Though she couldn't see, she could feel it when he sidestepped, pushing her leading knee aside. She could feel it when she lost her balance, spinning into the ground. She could taste the floor on her tongue as he pinned her down. She could hear her heart in her ears when he pulled her back up, and she could smell the dust when he brushed the debris off her shirt.
Then with a snap of his fingers, Smokescreen dispersed, revealing them in all his glory. The black whips deteriorated, freeing her brain to join up with the rest of her body. She sighed, sagging into his shoulder as his own blindfold evaporated. The low whistle of Gran Torino could be heard across the now quiet warehouse as Nighteye tapped a button on the camera, shutting it off. She raised an eyebrow.
"What's with the whistle, man?" She asked as Izuku walked her over to get some water.
"Well, I think that just might've been one of the most entertain'n things I've ever seen, at least until the smoke came. Certainly wasn't very technical, but it was creative. Nighteye?" The older man said, turning to his partner. Nighteye glanced between the camera and him, rolling it around in his head.
"I believe I see your meaning. The spar was—pardon me—relatively low skill. Izuku, you hardly threw a punch, and the girl threw too many. Mechanically, it was just lackluster. Either of you would be better off sparring us at the moment, if your goal was exclusive to martial arts. It was, however, quite the spectacle quirk-wise. Perhaps you would like to spar with your quirks more often, while myself and Izuku handle martial arts alone." Nighteye said.
"You definitely need a fighting style though, girl. Lucky for you, I know something that is a lot less fancy, but just as efficient as what Izuku is learning." Gran Torino added, quick to follow up before Nighteye's casual rudeness registered. Setsuna still noticed, however. She sighed—not only did she seem to have another thing to work on, Nighteye still didn't seem to care for her merit.
Izuku nudged her, noticing her slumped shoulders.
"Hey, the ankle-grab was awesome. I never saw it coming." He whispered. Her frown eased with his attempt at the compliment; it didn't quite hit the spot, but she appreciated it.
"You didn't see anything coming, you dork." She retorted, allowing a small smile to bloom on her face. Smiles didn't come easy after being destroyed in a fight, but she was learning to deal with that. He gave her one back before walking over to Nighteye, who'd called their attention.
"Alright. As for the surprise, it more so pertains to Izuku than you, Miss," Nighteye began, looking from Izuku to her, "but you're… welcome to use the facilities, if you so please. Gran?"
"C'mon, kids. You got a truck to unload." He said, waddling towards the emergency exit with his cane. The two tweens shared a confused glance before trotting after him, the short man already part way out the door.
Whatever Setsuna had expected, it hadn't been this. A storage truck shuddered out back, the engine rattling the frame as the storage door winded open. Setsuna squinted, trying to make out the contents despite the harsh glare of the overhead sun. Beside her, Izuku gasped, rushing forward.
"Is this—?" He said, running up the edge. Beside her, where he'd left the old man behind, Gran Torino nodded.
"Yup. Weight equipment. We're finally gonna transform you from a string bean to a bell pepper, kid."
She gave Gran Torino a side eye, an eyebrow raised.
"Really?"
The older man scoffed just as Nighteye slipped past them, walking up to the driver's side door. She couldn't make out what they were talking about, but when the man rolled down the window and held out a clip board to sign, Nighteye froze. Setsuna's eyes bounced between a suddenly animated conversation with the driver and Izuku, who was holding himself back from diving into the truck to explore.
The animated conversation paused as Nighteye hurried around to the back, grabbing Izuku by the collar and pulling him to the truck's front. Curious, Setsuna snuck around to see what the commotion was, not feeling ashamed of her nosiness.
"Wait! You're the kid!" The driver exclaimed, popping open the driver's side door to greet them on his feet. He struggled a bit, given his hefty weight, but managed to just squeeze out onto the pavement before them. A thick handlebar mustache graced his face, a blue collar tan staining his skin. Izuku bounced in place, for some reason excited beyond all measure at this random, mundane looking man.
"You! You were the driver for those girls! Set, Set, get over here! This guy was on the bridge!" He said, looking over his shoulder to wear she'd been standing a moment ago. Eyes wide, she slipped out from her hiding spot, surprising him.
Now that she got a better look at him, he seemed familiar, like he had a face you might've seen on the news once. Perhaps she did, given the national coverage from that event. He seemed excited, like he'd found a soldier in arms who'd gone AWOL, who just so happened to be a kid.
"Oh, wow, was this little miss there too? Wow…" The large man said, reaching out a hand to shake. She complied, curious at the feeling of his palm. Despite how large and intimidating he was, his hands were rather soft, oiled like a baby's. "I gotta say, kid, you really saved our skin. If it wasn't for you and your helpers… I wouldn't be here right now. They wouldn't, either."
"It's no problem! I'm glad you guys made it out okay. Do you know what happened to the others?" Izuku asked. The man shook his head.
"No, they were just clients. My family has big fingers in transportation, and I was filling in for my brother in law that day. He drives around all the richies. They still drive with him, though, so I assume they're doing aight."
"That's great! Thanks for making the drive, sir." Izuku said, Setsuna nodding along. What were the chances? Nighteye coughed into a fist behind them, dismissing the reunion before it dragged out too long. The mustached driver nodded, now serious as he went to grab the paper work. Nighteye signed it, waving them off to go unload.
"Give me a second, kids, once this's done, I'll help out. That stuff is crazy heavy. Trust me; I'm the one who loaded the darn thing, haha!" The big man laughed, much to Nighteye's chagrin. Izuku nodded.
"Alright!" He said, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her back to the rear from the opposite side she'd approached from. Setsuna blushed at the contact, her mind turning to a quiet blur as he brought her to the back. One thing she did notice, however, was this side of the truck had a big logo that wasn't on the other. It appeared to be some sort of black bird, maybe a vulture? It was quite a dramatic piece, with the sword in its mouth. Izuku didn't seem to notice.
It wasn't long after that everyone helped unpack the equipment, minus the old man. The driver even flexed on all of them, carrying an entire rack by himself. The dude was packing some serious power, and made the transfer super easy. When it was all said and done, Izuku was all over the man, piling on thanks after thanks.
"Really, kid, relax. You saved my life. My. Life. This might've put me behind schedule, but Pop won't mind too much." The man said, before bowing out of the building, bidding them farewell. Setsuna watched him go with an odd feeling in her chest, just as Izuku waved away the man's car until he turned the curb and disappeared.
Setsuna was a passive observer as Nighteye counted their inventory, the girl following along as he muttered. They had enough barbells, dumbbells, kettles, and elastic bands to last years. What was more impressive were the benching station, squat rack, and leg claps. They even got an escalator that could turn into a treadmill with a button. It was a full gym set, and that wasn't even half.
As Izuku continued to gush over the haul, Setsuna continued to feel more and more surprised. She hadn't expected Izuku to be so… chipper, today. He'd been a little air headed as of recent times, and seeing him so enthused was nice.
"So… what's all this for, then?" Setsuna asked. She regretted that question almost as soon as it left her mouth.
"To work out, girlie." Gran Torino said, holding back a laugh as he croaked out his sarcasm. A blush almost exploded out of her face, but a few quick breaths kept her calm, kept her steady. The old man was getting on her nerves.
"Quit calling me girlie! It's demeaning. What I meant is why? I can guess it's for Izuku, but what about the Course? Is cardio not enough? It's not like bulking is gonna make Smokescreen stronger." She said, looking between Izuku and Nighteye. Both boys blinked at her.
"Uhm… Set? Did you forget?" Izuku started, wiggling his nub. She blinked. Nighteye coughed.
"The reason I blew my arm off is because my… internal generator got too heated for my level of conditioning. Smokescreen isn't my quirk; it's one of my quirk's side effects. The core of my power is super strength."
It dawned on her, in that moment, that she might've forgotten that tidbit. Of course, on a factual level, she knew, but it'd never processed. It's not like he was inhumanly fast or durable. He certainly wasn't stronger than a normal kid, either.
Though it did seem like he was super-perceptive. And he was definitely made of some stern stuff. And she'd definitely consider him a skilled fighter. From there, her thoughts started to snowball, growing alongside her heart rate.
She remembered some old All Might clips on the internet. Her brain latched onto how he steamed with excess strength, how he always seemed one step ahead of his opponents, avoiding all damage with ease. Memories of his personality surfaced, reminding her of his heart of gold. She'd never seen All Might utilize tentacles, but that could always have been a mutation….
Her pulse was in her ears now, pounding harder than ever. Izuku's quirk was super strength, smoke, maybe reflexes, and his personal trainer was Sir Nighteye, All Might's only sidekick. He had a heart of gold, and wanted to be a hero more than anything, with a determination that only matched one man.
"W-wait… don't tell me…?" She whispered, staring at the three males before her in horror. A look of fear flashed across the face of Nighteye, surprise plastering itself onto Izuku's just as he recognized her own realization. Gran Torino only raised an eyebrow.
"You're All Might's son, aren't you?"
[x]
Beep.
…
…
Beep.
Dr. Garaki had made it a habit to work with the rhythm of his lord's heart rate. It was an expansion on something he'd learned a long, long time ago. Go with the flow, follow the melody of life. It was impossible to live a life without struggle, but he found the best way to cope with outliving his entire family was just to accept life as it comes.
Beep.
…
…
Beep.
Entries into his notes followed a two point rhythm. Perhaps it was a bit dull, but he found it to be effective. If he were to just write whenever, he'd be cut off in the middle by the machine's alert. He'd rather have time to put out an entire thought before the offensive noise assaulted his ears. Turning it down had crossed his mind, but the idea never panned out. He needed to be alert at all times.
On the plus side, it was great at keeping time. The lord's vigor was slower than the average vegetable's, but stayed consistent. He wondered if it was because the man did not dream. Within the next two beeps, Garaki would know five hours had passed since he awoke, meaning it'd be time to acquire some lunch. Perhaps he could take a break.
In some ways, his current occupation was a giant break, in some ways not. Some could describe his extended leave from Jaku Hospital as a vacation. His new work was far less mentally stimulating, and he was free to do as he pleased throughout the day. Others may consider it a far, far more laborious activity. Monotony was a notorious torture to genius, after all.
Beep.
…
…
Beep.
Ah, yes, lunch time. He was quite excited to stretch his legs; his old bones needed the break. Standing up from his desk, he walked past the makeshift hospital bed. His eyes did one automatic sweep of the three dozen tons of equipment. Everything seemed normal.
Walking eight feet to the right, he opened up a cabinet, pulling out a compressed tin bag, a spoon, and a cup of water. Tearing open the tin bag with his teeth, he poured the cup inside before stirring it together with a spoon.
Beep.
…
…
Beep.
Walking back over to his desk, he sat down leaning deep into the cushioned leather. Taking the same spoon he'd stirred with, he dipped it into the bag and began eating, enthused at the texture. The thick liquid held junks of mystery meat, typically a mix of poultry and horse intestine. It went down his throat easy, practice having made perfect.
It wasn't quite the gourmet he'd pleasured himself with in his younger days, but it got the job done. He couldn't risk leaving the building for more than a moment, after all. That meant sacrifices.
Beep.
…
…
Beep.
Sacrifices meant simple meals, meant staying by his lord's side through thick and thin. The man had done everything in his power to enable Garaki, and he would not rebuke that kindness with abandonment. Sacrifices meant pausing his life's work, meant cutting ties with peers and family alike.
His eyebrows scrunched together as he thought of the many pieces they'd lost, through sacrifice and lost battles. His mind wandered, ghosting over past patrons, pawns, before settling on the prince.
The prince was gone, but not yet out of reach. Garaki wasn't fond of the boy; rather, he might be considered the prince's biggest detractor. Still, the lord had decided the prince was necessary.
Perhaps he was bitter about that, perhaps he was not. He'd made and unmade a hundred prince candidates in his time. The lord had just decided to pick the one candidate Garaki had not crafted himself, had not molded for the lord's expectations.
Tenko Shimura—turned Tomura Shigaraki by the lord's hand—was a waste of space. A violent brat built on a throne of lies and pity. Yet he was the favorite. Not one of Garaki's children. Not Dabi, the son of flames, nor Diana, the daughter of bone. Tenko. The son of desolation.
The lord would not appreciate the brat's desertion, but Garaki could care less. That was the one prince that would not make a good king; how could he? All Tomura wanted was to destroy, and Kings were meant for growth.
Perhaps his desertion was inevitable. He was the blood of heroes, after all.
Beep.
…
Beep.
Garaki's head whipped around, his tin bag of sludge and horse organs dropped to the floor. That was the first aberration in the lord's chest in eight months; a streak of almost 14 million consecutive beats broken by a single hiccup! This was groundbreaking!
He swiped his desk clear of everything. Pens, notebooks, even his computer mouse went flying as he wrenched his keyboard to his chest, his fingers flying a million miles an hour.
Programs flickered past his eyes at a rate incomprehensible to anyone who didn't build them; which meant he was fine. His eyes had mastered the program, his pupils zeroing in on data discrepancies like a bloodhound's nose does a fox.
Beep.
Beep.
His goggles reflected blood red as the computer began screaming, alerting Garaki of drastic changes. Shoving himself away from the computer, the portly man stumbled over to the lord's bedside, slapping several buttons among the excessive machinery.
Four monitors emerged from the walls, each telling him a different data statistic as the beeping continued to escalate, going from perhaps a handful a minute to almost double digits.
Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep.
"Good heavens…" Garaki muttered, not even looking at what dials and knobs he spun as his eyes tracked the spread sheets. A lesser doctor would've had to double check, but most doctors were not Garaki.
Garaki had calibrated each knob to his preferred precision; each did exactly what he wanted. He'd been waiting years for this; why wouldn't he have mastered such technologies?
After fiddling with a hundred or so levels of gaseous intake, he finally slapped the oxygen lever, elevating oxygen in bursts. Running across the room, he found the temperature console. A lesser device would've taken minutes to adjust to whatever specific changes he wanted. With his own creation, however, he could feel the temperature jolt downwards in real time as he ticked it down.
Engineering was his second passion, after all.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Bee—...
The beautiful song of his master's heart, soaring and glorious as it was, broke off, flat lining. Perhaps he should say he did not panic. Perhaps that might've been a lie. The lord could not be allowed to die, not after all this work—
He stilled himself, dismissing all anxieties. His lord would not want him to panic.
Fast, but not careless, he reached into his cabinet stocked with multicolored syringes. His fingers tread across each, looking for a specific concoction. Finding it, he brought it over to the lord, slipping on his surgical gloves. He stood over the body, seeking the best places to insert.
He'd studied the lord's body a million times, but now, finally in the moment, he hesitated. The man's skin was a monstrous terrain of calloused, scarred skin after his great battle, let alone the passive quirks that kept his body together after so many years. Garaki only had a single needle; resources had been short, without the lord. If the needle broke on the man's magnificent frame, he would die. If the doctor did nothing within the next ten seconds, he would die.
He gazed down the lord's magnificent face, once so handsome and full of life. Now, he was more comparable to a fleshy boulder, his only remaining orifice his once charming smile. Still, the scarred man was more beautiful than Garaki had ever been in life, and he would not let that beauty die, even if it meant another mutilation on top of the last.
Removing the glass casing of the man's face, Garaki pushed the slightest drop out of the tip of the needle. In one simple, sickening motion, he inserted the syringe into the empty socket of the man's flesh-covered eye.
He let half the liquid out and waited. If this did not work, then there was another vial in the cabinet with Garaki's name on it.
Garaki spent the next two minutes in deep vigilance. He monitored every statistic, every rise and fall in his chest. The monitor did not beep for a minute. Then two.
It was in the third minute he accepted defeat. The lord's blood moved like sludge, and even though most men could survive for five minutes without a heartbeat, the lord was not all men. Many times, that had been a boon, but not today.
In the fourth minute, he was at his medicine cabinet, selecting a serum he'd never intended to use. This one wasn't a syringe, but a simple vial to drink from. Uncorking it, he took a light whiff of it, wondering how it would taste. Even the slight sniff caused his knees to wobble.
He laughed to himself. He'd be gone before he'd registered the taste.
"Welp, down the hatch."
Beep.
"Perhaps, Doctor… you would like to give seppuku a raincheck?"
[x]
AN: I had a lot of fun writing chapter 26, though something about the ending feels off. I think I might try and rewrite it. I finished reading Circe and it was a banger; I just finished Black Clover's Elf Reincarnation Arc and it was a lil worse than I remember, but maybe the anime really just was better. All the characters are so good but the lore is so loose that it hurts my brain. Anyways, Deku's been popping off in the Manga. Nice job Mr. Hori. The goal is still chapter thirty, but I might have to stretch the definition of what constitutes the school arc.
Review! I'm hoping for more than my usual five. Can we hit ten today?