Izuku opened his eyes, and felt startled by the world's clarity.
On typical days, he only left his bed via sheer will power. Morning grime and sleep-crust would keep his eyes welded shut just long enough for him to salvage a breakfast and to finish his morning run. Only once the sun peeked over the horizon would he even consider opening his eyes. Even then, however, his vision was messy and inaccurate. Danger Sense navigated for him. He'd be half-way to her house by the time the world started making sense.
Perhaps, he supposed, staring up at the flabbergasted nurse, that was why the world seemed so confusing these days. He just hadn't made the journey over yet.
It was odd, then, that he could see the nurse so clearly. She was a younger woman, and while she wasn't quite pretty, she had a softness to her chin that spoke of many enjoyed meals. A mole dotted her left cheek, like someone affectionately poked her with a marker. She was very easy to look at.
Her only oddity was how fierce her surprise seemed. She called over to another nurse; an older gentleman, with a pointy goatee and dark eyebags. The second Izuku met his eyes, whatever exhaustion permeated his frame vanished, banished by some unreasonable adrenaline.
"Chiyo!" He said, calling over his shoulder. His rich voice rolled over Izuku's easily, and for a second, a shiver ran down his spine. Chiyo… That meant Recovery Girl; and Recovery Girl meant a mean old bat that complained like a banshee. Izuku liked her, but she was by no means easy to listen to.
Alas, the nurses vanished, and the old bat replaced them. From this low angle, he saw her from an entirely unique perspective. Being shorter than Gran Torino, he'd never had the pleasure of seeing her neck; instead, all he'd seen was her well-groomed scalp. Now, however, he realized her skin was less wrinkled than he assumed.
She saw his wandering gaze before anything else. Without a word, she retrieved a tiny flashlight and shined it into his eyes, muttering to herself.
"How on earth…?"
Izuku fluttered his eyes, blinking away the bright spot ringing his vision. It faded as quickly as it took for the woman to leave, come back, and present to him a vision test. With it, she threw rapid, easy challenges his way.
"How many dots are there?"
"Three black. And a faded red one between the second and third."
"Can you read the bottom line?"
"Antarctica is where the bears aren't."
"What's the alphabet backwards?"
"Uh, Z, Y, X, W—"
"You know the phoenician alphabet backwards?"
"I don't really know the cyrillic, sorry."
She jotted something down, humming to herself.
"Remember the words Jumble, Toot, Atlas, Foreign, and Terror. What's the date?"
He told her the date.
She jotted something else down, and very carefully, she had him sit up. One by one, she disconnected him from tubes and wires. Then, she made him stand and perform basic stretches. He stood on one foot, touched his toes, and crossed his eyes.
"I'm not concussed, you know," Izuku said, when she made him do more stretches. She only made him contort more. On the other side of the clinic, a printer spat out paper.
When his gymnast act finished, a nurse brought over the paperwork. Recovery Girl gave it a serious once over, and then a second, less scrutinizing skim. Her tiny, scrunched face seemed perturbed. Over the paper's top, she gave him a similar, crocodilian once-over.
"What were the words you're supposed to remember?"
"Atlas, Foreign, Jumble, Terror, and Toot; in English alphabetical order."
"Show off."
"Sorry."
"No, no—" Recovery Girl said, before decompressing like a popped balloon. Her already-tiny frame shrank. "This is good. Very good; but odd. Very odd. We didn't have enough time for a full scan, but this paper says your superficial brain waves are totally normal. If you were truly concussed, they'd be distorted."
She was kind enough to show him the paper, though he didn't comprehend a lick of it. He appreciated that; though he appreciated what she showed him next… less.
The mirror sat in his palm perfectly. Caked by cracking flakes of foundation, it smelt of silk and old-lady perfume. Gently, she pushed back his bangs.
Most of his pent-up energy abandoned him. He deflated alongside her, feeling like a shriveled balloon. Carefully, he eased her tiny fingers off him and gave back her mirror.
"Thank you," he whispered. It didn't hurt in the slightest, though he recognized a familiar hollowness in his bones where his stamina should've been. The wound was… ugly, but ultimately superficial. He had worse scars.
"I won't yank your ear on this one, kid," Recovery Girl muttered, before hopping up a stool and sitting on the edge of his bed. He joined her. "Because I'm still nervous about your noggin; but I damn sure want to. What possessed you to do such a foolish thing?"
A flaming hand, grabbing his own and pulling him free. A conversation with an ifrit, Banjo, and stargazing. He'd escaped the sand with a little help, and he'd spoken to Five. He'd told him something important… but he couldn't quite remember. The words felt empty in his ears, just as — was.
His decisions, deep in that pit, however, remained firm and clear.
"I wasn't in control, is all."
Recovery Girl snorted and slipped off the bed.
"Well that was obvious, you knucklehead. Get some rest, and swing by campus tomorrow so I can give you a more thorough checkover. I've still never seen someone of your build shrug off a blow like that."
Izuku nodded on autopilot, already considering his next move before her words sank in.
"W-wait!" He said, grabbing her shoulder before she could hobble away. "What about the Sports Festival?"
She raised an eyebrow, shooting him a look that said "Are you serious?"
"You're a two man team that got knocked out in round three. You think you moved on?"
Izuku hesitated. Truth was, he didn't know, but now that he considered the variables, he realized it was unlikely. Recovery Girl shrugged off his hand and faced him.
"Regardless, I'd recommend against you competing. It's time to do some serious self-reflection, kid. You just ate a blow that should've, in all honesty, ended your life. Maybe instead of thinking about some dumb contest, which I think we both know is rigged against you, you should just rest. Now, do you hurt anywhere else?"
Izuku's hand found the ring of his collar. He massaged the skin and nodded.
She had him open his mouth and made him say "Ahh." As she studied the back of his throat, however, a powerful voice filled the clinic.
"It's not rigged anymore," Vlad King said, leaning against the doorway. Izuku's eyes shot open, but he couldn't afford to react too much; Recovery Girl didn't stop her examination for anything. Several seconds passed before she tapped his chin and freed him.
"I don't see anything—"
Izuku wasn't listening by then; he was half-way across the room, locking eyes with the Blood Hero. Stopping just short of the door, Izuku had to crane his neck to see him.
"It's not what?" Izuku asked, his voice a tad drier than before.
"Rigged. We handled it. Well, he did. I was just moral support," Vlad King said easily, his gruff voice drawing Izuku in like a moth to flame.
"Handled? He? Who? What?"
"H, A, N, D-led. No more horseshit from Nedzu, kid. No secret flags, no subliminal messages, no crap. Sir Nighteye, Hizashi, and Aizawa stepped up. It was kinda like an intervention, but Nedzu's schemes were the drug. Honestly, I had no clue what to expect going in. It should've been harder, but…"
He glanced over his shoulder. Following his gaze, Izuku realized he was somehow looking at Recovery Girl. Vlad asked a silent question, only hinted at by his quirked eyebrow. It was impressive how stoic he seemed, regardless of his expressive gesture. With a single nod from her, however, Vlad's silence evaporated.
"So you knew… It's insane this was kept a secret for so long. Is he clear?"
Recovery Girl glanced at Izuku, then back at Vlad.
"Yes, he is. Bring him back after your stroll, however," she said, before shooing off a confused-looking nurse—the plump one with the mole.
"Oh, no, you misunderstand, Chiyo," Vlad said, making the short woman freeze. A tingle ran down Izuku's spine. The sturdy, square-jawed man leveled Izuku with an alien amount of compassion. "We're gonna go on a walk, yeah, but I mean for the tournament. Believe it or not, his stunt and his teammate's quick action netted them a miraculous fifth. They bumped off half of Monoma's team. I'm asking if he's clear for what Nighteye arranged."
Recovery Girl didn't reply immediately. She squinted at Izuku, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep still under her searching eyes. His stamina, though diminished, wasn't crippling; and his head didn't even hurt. He felt fighting ready.
Bar puffing out his chest, he tried everything to present himself as confident, competent, and no danger to himself. He tilted his neck so his bangs covered his forehead. Sweat rolled down his neck as no answer came forth. Several long-suffering seconds passed before Recovery Girl even acknowledged the question.
"In what way is the tournament fair, now? Surely Nedzu wouldn't have had a change of heart, after so many months of this behavior."
Vlad coughed into a fist.
"Not quite a chance of heart. More like a… surrender. Nighteye, Aizawa, and Hizashi are working together to overwrite the third event, whatever that would've been. It'll just be a fair, classic one on one tournament—loser's bracket included."
"Wait," Izuku said, turning over the claim. "Nighteye… actually stood up to Nedzu entirely? And Aizawa, and Present Mic?"
Vlad looked down on him and nodded.
"Thank them later, though you should know…" He said, trailing off to glance at the eavesdropping nurses. Kneeling, he cupped his lips and whispered into Izuku's ear. "That Nighteye pulled back the curtain on your situation. I'm sorry for the embarrassing first quarter at U.A., Midoriya, and I rescind the things I said to your friend. I hope you can forgive my detrimental comments."
Then, he stood back up, and seemed so cool and at ease that it was hard to imagine that he'd just confessed something so… profoundly honest.
At the same time, however, he felt the floor beneath him crack ever so slightly. Behind him, further away than before, came Recovery Girl's voice.
"I will allow him to compete, so long as he promises to restrain himself."
Nighteye… pulled back the curtain? What did that mean? Did he—
"Did you hear me, Midoriya?"
Was One for All an open secret, now? Who knew? Why did Nighteye tell them?
Each breath grew more shallow than the last. His fingertips trembled with his growing pulse, just as his heart felt like a tiny bird, bashing its body against its cage.
It almost ended him; at least, before he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Flinching, he turned, expecting Vlad or perhaps Recovery Girl's touch, but found none.
Neither touched him; but if not them, who? He couldn't say, and the idea of ghosts disturbed him.
Five? He asked, attempting to think the man into existence. His predecessor, however, for the first time in memory, ignored his call. Furrowing his brow, he tried summoning Five again, only for something deep within him to clamp shut and deny his request. What?
A mystery; but one that quickly lost his attention. Like an electric shock, the realization that Vlad—The Blood Hero, Sekijiro Kan, Vlad King himself— knew Izuku's greatest secret jolted him awake.
"Yes," Izuku said, forcing out the words as he turned for the door. "I'll be careful. Can we go now? I have a lot to think about."
Recovery Girl, though hesitant, ultimately nodded. Together, Izuku and Vlad King left the clinic together. The older man filled Izuku in on everything; from the Sports Festival's status, results, and ranks, to the disconcerting revelations deep underground.
Vlad told him about meeting up with Whirlwind, and then how the two melded into Nighteye's snowballing group. By the time they all reached Nedzu's office, each individual party faded away. Instead, it was just a conglomerate of people who wanted the best for Izuku.
It was flattering, but the thought made him ill.
Nemuri Kayama, Sekijiro Kan, Hizashi Yamada, Yamato Yoarashi, Shouta Aizawa, Mirio Togata, and Sasami Fujimaki knew, now. They…
Knew.
His thoughts became a phantom issue; a bundle of pinched nerves in his brain's basement. A benign tumor, about to burst and spread, but not yet ready. It had his fear, yes, and his anxiety; but it did not yet have his full, undivided attention. Izuku thanked the man silently, over and over, as the Blood Hero kept him company. If he'd stopped for even a second, Izuku would've fallen down a rabbit hole.
As things stood, he teetered over its edge. He didn't dare peer into it, lest he risk falling. Izuku could only guess how deep it went.
Instead, he clung onto every word Vlad said, and held all his revelations close to his chest. He would take charge of things. He would. Even… even if Nighteye went and spilled his greatest secret, without his conference.
Izuku's left arm itched, and reminded him of that dark, starless world, where he still had his arm. His body was unblemished, there. No pain in his throat, no jaw-scars or forehead marks, nothing.
Vlad and Izuku came to a bend in the hallway. They could continue straight, if they wished to circle the whole Stadium; but this was his stop. The tunnel on his left would take him back into the spotlight. He did not go down it.
"Mr. Kan?" Izuku asked, slowing to a stop. He took a deep, cleansing breath. "What do you think about it? Me being… having All Might's quirk. Even with my…"
"Your arm?" He offered, glancing at the empty sleeve at Izuku's side. His massive shoulders shrugged. "Can't say. Despite the big game I preached in the Colosseum, it wasn't like my ideas were entirely based in fact. At the time, I was just of the opinion that you were wasting your time. Working at a disadvantage is very different from learning at one, you know?"
"Yes," Izuku said, nodding, "it has been."
"But then I did some digging. I tapped into that stalker-ish notation Nedzu has. He had records—damn old ones, to be honest. You awakened that… smoke power in the heat of the moment, right? You defended Ms. Tokage, in fact. As a ten year old."
Izuku kept his lips sealed, not proud of the instincts that bubbled up within him. Still, he nodded. Vlad studied his response, as if turning Izuku over in his mind. When he spoke, his voice lost some of its gruffness. Slowly, he fell into a kneel, and placed a hand on Izuku's shoulder.
"Well, if that's the case, then you've been working for a while, right?" He asked, probing deep into Izuku's eyes. His hand was warm; not quite hot, but like a fat dog's underbelly. "So, my logic was faulty in the first place. Most U.A. students are privileged enough to only need their skills after they graduate, but it seems like you've… not been so lucky."
Vlad King stood back up, and as Izuku studied him, he realized he wasn't sure who he was looking at. Was it the Blood Hero, or Sekijiro Kan?
"It's probably inappropriate to admit I respect that, but I do. Now, I understand where I went wrong. I wrote you off before understanding you weren't here to learn."
Izuku found himself missing the warmth of the large man's hand. Its vacancy left a cold patch on his shoulder.
"What am I here for, if not to learn?"
Vlad looked down the tunnel leading to the central stage. At the end, the bright light of a young afternoon shone white.
"Well, Nedzu certainly thought you were here for it. I suspect that belief was what drove him to withhold your due education, like a carrot and a stick. That carried over to this event, too, in that he wanted your best performance via any means necessary. Between that, his apathy, stubbornness, and unchecked power, he really hurt you in his pursuit of perfection. But after seeing your exams, your records, the USJ, and now learning about how you earned One for All…"
Izuku cringed, his thoughts growing dangerously close to that bottomless pit in his gut.
"I just think you're here for friends."
"Huh?" Izuku said, his previous ire vanishing in a blink. "What?"
Vlad didn't bother facing him. Instead, he pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to Izuku. Startled, Izuku caught it, but when he looked back at Vlad, the man was walking away.
"You're a little finicky, but your potential is clearly bottomless. You don't really need U.A.," Vlad King—Sekijiro Kan?—said, over his shoulder. "If you kept training with Nighteye, you'd be the best of us regardless. Nedzu just wanted to fill the gap All Might left behind as fast as possible. Maybe he was right to try, in the grand scheme of things; but he'd leave you feeling lonely as hell, and dry of fresh experiences!"
With that battering ram of a statement, Vlad King, following the hallway's curve, vanished from sight. Trembling, feeble fingertips ghosted over Izuku's chest, only to feel the violent, heavy thumps of a heart ablaze.
"Oh!" His voice returned, echoing through the halls from his far-off place. "That means go out there, don't sweat the small stuff, and enjoy your friends! I don't expect you to be All Might tomorrow, y'know?"
Izuku looked back down that bottomless pit in his gut. Was it fear, like he assumed, or potential?
He didn't let himself ponder. In the far distance, Present Mic's voice—rejuvenated, more satisfied than Izuku'd ever heard him—announced the beginning of the Third Event.
Soothing his nerves, Izuku remembered the promise to himself, Five's encrypted message, the fire within, and Sekijiro Kan's final remarks. He couldn't quite reconcile it all so fast, but that didn't matter right now.
Izuku made his way towards the light, granola bar in hand.
[x]
The wind did not disturb Katsuki.
Not one fiber of Katsuki's being fidgeted. His heart did not beat, his blood did not flow, his lungs did not breathe; and the wind did not rustle his clothes. It might as well not have been there, for all it did to manipulate his hair. It stood as rigid as ever. His neurons did not fire, his muscles did not flex, his eyes did not blink; and the world slid around him as if it and him were simply two overlaid layers of film.
Standing far enough away, you might mistake them for being one picture, rather than two translucent ones. He'd been this way for almost fifteen minutes. The suffocation should've killed him; his brain should've started, and his tendons should've calcified and atrophied, with how still he remained. But he did not. Unfortunately.
When the fifth and final round came to a close, Katsuki simply… ceased. He'd already begun the process, after round three ended. In the two minutes between rounds, Katsuki stopped. There was no discernable reason for the phenomenon. It just…
Like the kraken emerging from the murky depths to sink a thousand galleons, a dark typhoon of ravenous tentacles blackened the sky. Izuku caught Katsuki off guard using some feverish strength to bind him; only for that same fever to dull his focus. It must've been a fluke; a one-millionth chance failure, but Katsuki was lucky. Too lucky. The black, living things Izuku usually commanded so easily shattered their bindings and burst from Izuku like an egg finished with incubation. His silhouette warped and spasmed, blooming outwards while abandoning his human contours.
Tentacles overtook his form, sprouting from his skin and feeding off him. For a split second, bound and captured, Katsuki could only gape in his former friend's presence. His transformation was monstrous; less evolution and more devolution. Izuku became a greedy thing; his form took captives, seized flags, and stole attention; but more than that, it was hungry. It ate the light and noise and life of the world, making itself the center of the world.
It was like watching a silent horror film; only, the screaming broke the illusion. Yes, the crowd was screaming, yes, Katsuki's peers were yelling, and yes, he himself might have felt his confidence take a wicked downward shift, but their complaints didn't register.
Only one scream pierced his ears and made his spirit wither. All he knew, for one brief, terrifying moment, was that Izuku's transformation was painful.
Katsuki reached out, wishing to pull Izuku free, but grabbed nothing but air. He wanted to save Izuku.
So, he used his quirk, and saved him. The explosion ripped between them, blowing through the heart of Izuku's writhing mass. It tore him clean away from the tentacles, cutting his screams short and soothing Katsuki's nerves.
Then, flung from Katsuki's blast, Izuku ragdolled so hard into a concrete wall that his body left an imprint. Thus, Katsuki's greater functions stopped. Stupidly, he only recognized that the tentacles disappeared as Tokage appeared to cradle his body. He stepped toward Izuku, but he didn't even make three before medics appeared to take him away.
She didn't seem to know what to do with herself as they spirited him away. Not at first, at least.
But, as her head slowly swiveled toward him, Katsuki's slow steps halted. Their eyes met, and Katsuki came to know the curse of Medusa. The air around Setsuna fluctuated; it simmered like a mirage, writhing in the same manner as Izuku's freakish quirk. Only, it was no quirk or power of Setsuna's—it was just pure, unadulterated anger.
While they were still a team on paper, henceforth, Katsuki operated alone. Their contributions remained pooled together, but their efforts could not be more separated.
Bakugo hadn't meant to hurt him—damn it all, he'd just wanted his pain to stop. He hadn't… it didn't occur to him—
The rounds slipped past him like sand through his fingers. While the stage rumbled and changed, he fought; it wasn't a conscious choice. He just fought; he blasted and defended; he punched and he kicked. It was all he could do. Then, when the buzzer went off, he would stop.
For two minutes at a time, he would simply stop.
He wouldn't—couldn't—think. His body refused to do, his spirit refused to be. There was little difference between him and a corpse. The world slipped him by; he had no influence, not will, to do otherwise
Katsuki stopped counting his points. He stopped counting other people's. The event became an enigma, something too hard for his petrified brain to analyze. Rivers of worry carved canyons through his brain, only letting his thoughts stray as far as the river's banks. The only noise he heard was Izuku's cracking skull, echoing through his cavernous mind.
Did he kill Izuku Midoriya? Shitty little Deku, whom he used to hold such contempt for? That he'd mistreated, burned, and bullied years ago?
That he'd insulted and cursed and exploded on, not two hours prior? That boy; did he kill him? When this game ended, would they take Katsuki away in chains? Was Inko Midoriya's son dead? Did he kill his God Mother's child, for all he'd spoken to the kindly woman?
Katsuki… had he killed a person?
The stage died for the fifth time. Had Katsuki not committed murder, he might've cared to look up and see who won. It was supposed to be important. The winners moved on and the losers did not. Katsuki vaguely knew he was supposed to care, but not why.
Katsuki was violence. He was born for it, he knew, with sharp instincts to match his powerful quirk. It was the only thing that came to him easily, despite what he showed people.
His perfect grades came from slaving over his notes. The delicious meals he cooked were just a recent, pretty peak on a mountain of charred, undercooked, and unseasoned disasters. His skills in video games came from late nights spent watching professional guides. What little fashion choices he made were meticulous and reviewed. 1Z's rescue protocol only made sense to him thanks to years of studying how professionals operated. All his skills were artificial
Only his ability to hurt people came naturally. It came to him so naturally, in fact, that he couldn't help himself sometimes. He hurt people without trying. He hurt people without wanting to.
The Stadium buzzed with quiet anticipation as Present Mic's announcement failed to arrive. His absence, however, did not diminish the Sports Festival's excitement; instead, it stirred the pot. People began to whisper, began to fidget, and theorize. Where was he? Was something happening? If so, what? Could it be—
Katsuki thought back to that day on the train. He thought of the rank foulness that left his mouth and the kindnesses that left Present Mic's. Izuku and him were fast friends.
Perhaps he was paying his last respects.
It was that thought—that grave, sobering thought—that brought Katsuki back to life. All at once, the wind blew through his hair, rustled his clothes, and flooded his lungs. The life of the world swept him, bringing him back to the present. His heart was pounding, he realized, beating like a drum built for war. He hadn't been frozen solid after all, he just felt like it. He was a hair's breadth away from quivering like a leaf in autumn.
Turning about-face, Katsuki half-walked, half-jogged to the nearest exit. He didn't care to check who won the Second Event, and he damn sure didn't care to check if he needed to compete. Eyes locked on the Stadium's tunnel, Katsuki abandoned his half-jog and burst into a full sprint. No one stopped him, for some reason. Where was Midnight?
Well, he didn't care. If he killed someone, he had to know. Screw 1Z, screw U.A., and screw consumerism. He would go where he needed to, even if it disqualified him.
Alongside his rejuvenated self-awareness, however, so too did his fear break its bonds and consume him. His action's weight, softened by the crowd's apathy and the lack of immediate repercussions, finally fell on his shoulders.
While the wind was back, however, it didn't wind didn't lift his wings. It buffeted his face, resisted him, and pushed back like some rubbery membrane. Now rejoined with the world, the very air resisted his every movement.
He didn't care. Katsuki had to be there, and see the consequences of his actions.
As his feet found purchase on the grass, however, and he crossed into the tunnel, Present Mic's voice crackled through the Stadium; late, but not unfashionable. Thunder to lightning.
"Sorry for the delay, folks, but I'm back, and I've brought good news!" Present Mic said, his voice bouncing around the stage with extra chippiness. His smile shone through his announcement like a torch through fabric. A bubble appeared in Katsuki's chest—dense, but delicate. Hope. Was Izuku alright? "Me and my team have done some review, and we've decided to mix things up a little bit. For our third and final round, we'll be doing a bracket tournament—and get this, with a loser's bracket!"
The bubble popped. Katsuki froze, hovering on the threshold between the Stadium's underbelly and the grass fields surrounding the stage. Did Present Mic just not care that Katsuki might've murdered Izuku on live television?
"That means…" Present Mic continued, drawing out each word, "that while our top sixteen will duke it out for Gold, the top eight runner-ups from each event will fight for their own consolation! Before we announce that roster, however, I think I forgot something… The winners of the Second Event"
A shiver ran down Katsuki's spine. He supposed he didn't. It was disconcerting; did anyone even remember Izuku, anymore? The crowd screamed, but not for justice; instead, Present Mic's loser's bracket enamored them, distracting them from the awful reality of Katsuki's actions.
Swallowing down his shame, Katsuki turned his back on the competition and stepped into the tunnel. He didn't make it three steps.
"Tokage's team takes first! No surprise there, right? Todoroki's team takes second! Uraraka's takes third! And… oh, what's this?"
Izuku, back from the dead, strut past him. Katsuki froze, jaw agape, as the boy didn't even acknowledge him. He broke past the threshold, stepped into the open air, and didn't look back.
"It seems that the King has returned! Izuku Midoriya is back on his feet and moving on! It seems the bottom half of Honenuki's team will be joining the loser's bracket! Welcome back… buddy."
Katsuki's eyes didn't leave Izuku's shoulders as the boy stopped, pumped a fist for the crowd, and then kept moving.
It took him three whole seconds for Katsuki to comprehend what he saw, and another five before he followed.
[x]
AN: the reason there was no chapter last week was because I was out of town from thursday to saturday, then on monday, i had someone crash at my house uninvited, so that took most of my afternoon.
crazy how a split second decision can derail your plans, both in the real world and in this fic. I just want to finish this arc, but my passion is totally dried up and i keep creating these situations to drag out every chapter. it's miserable work. hopefully i can finish how i want and take a long break from writing.
review!~