Chapter One: Whispers of a Silent Strength (静寂の力の囁き, Seijaku no Chikara no Sasayaki)

Silent hands convey,

Strength blooms in quiet whispers,

New dawn heals old wounds.

Resolved to use his quirk, which he named Logos, only in the direst of situations, Shugo accepted the reality that his voice would never fully heal. Despite this, he did not lose it entirely, and instead, he delved deeper into learning the intricacies of Logos. His understanding grew of how critically he needed to use precise language to avoid the Literal Interpretation consequence. He appreciated more than ever the importance of his limitations and the need to maintain control.

Aware of the potential dangers that could arise from malicious forces seeking to exploit his quirk's power, Shugo made a conscious decision to keep the full extent of Logos under wraps. He chose the path of stealth and subtlety over grand displays of power, aiming to avoid becoming a target. With this in mind, he concluded that he must find alternative ways to protect himself and others—one that did not rely solely on the overwhelming ability he possessed.

Sign language became not just a tool for everyday communication but also a symbol of Shugo's decision to forge a new identity beyond his quirk. It was with a determined effort that he started his lessons in sign language, grappling with the challenge of articulating complex thoughts through gestures and expressions.

Taiga, steadfast in his unwavering support, took it upon himself to learn sign language as well. They practiced together, a silent dance of hands that steadily improved, bridging the gap that Shugo's stilled voice had left between them.

In one of their shared signing sessions, Shugo carefully constructed a question in his still-imperfect sign language. His hands shaped the words with a measure of hesitation as he asked Taiga if he knew someone who could teach them martial arts. The idea was to supplement his communication skills with a form of self-defense—an embodiment of the independence and strength he sought.

Taiga, understanding the significance of the request, smiled in agreement. He knew that embarking on this new journey of martial arts training would empower his brother with the physical confidence to match his resilient spirit. It was a way forward, a path of growth that embraced the quiet fortitude Shugo had shown in the face of adversity. Together, the brothers would venture into this new discipline, bolstering their defense against an uncertain world, their silent bond growing ever stronger.

Taiga led Shugo through the winding streets, away from the polished bustle of the city to a neglected quarter where buildings carried the weight of years unkind. They stopped before a dilapidated dojo, its walls weary and wanting. Shugo's eyes traced the faded paint and the tattered sign swaying with a tired creak. His skepticism whispered through the quiet clasp of his hands, a silent question painted in his eyes.

"Don't let looks deceive you," Taiga signed, interpreting his brother's gaze with a brother's intuition. "The master here, he's unparalleled—trust me."

Shugo's doubt lingered, a thin veil he couldn't quite shake off, yet his trust in Taiga guided him forward. The creak of the old wooden door protested their entrance, opening to a scene that contradicted the disrepair outside.

The interior brimmed with life. A group of people, a mosaic of ages and backgrounds, moved with an odd grace that captivated Shugo's attention. Their techniques lacked the rigid structure he associated with traditional martial arts; instead, there was a fluidity, an improvisation to their movements that bordered on chaotic yet carried an undeniable harmony.

Confusion flickered through Shugo's thoughts, a puzzle struggling to find its form. The arts practiced here did not resemble the martial discipline he expected to see. It was something rawer, perhaps more primal, and undeniably effective.

As Taiga ventured further into the dojo, he was met with the warmth of recognition—smiling faces and welcoming taps on the back. People greeted him not just with the fondness reserved for an old friend but with a respect that spoke of shared trials and triumphs.

Shugo watched, his wariness tempered by the welcoming atmosphere. There was an unmistakable sense of community within these walls, a spirit of inclusiveness that seemed to invite him in.

Taiga turned back to Shugo, his expression open and reassuring. It was a look that said, "This is the right place." With that simple affirmation, Shugo's reservations began to dissipate, melting into curiosity. He stood on the threshold of a new chapter, ready to immerse himself in the teachings of the mysterious master who commanded such a devoted and diverse following.

As Taiga mingled among the spirited greetings, Shugo stood off to the side, feeling the weight of careful eyes appraising him. They were not unkind, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of skepticism toward the newcomer, who stood in stark contrast to the vibrant figures that filled the dojo.

The murmur of the room was abruptly severed by the booming admonishment of the old master. He was a towering figure, one-eyed and weather-beaten, his grey beard a testament to countless years of experience. Taiga bowed his head respectfully, accepting the scolding for his absence with grace.

"There's a reason I'm back, Master," Taiga explained, motioning toward Shugo once the gentle reprimand abated. "This is my brother, Shugo. He's in need of training."

The old master's gaze, sharp as a hawk's, fell upon Shugo. With an assessing scrutiny that made Shugo bristle, the master voiced a blunt critique. "Weak and frail. We forge warriors here, not poets."

Whispers of agreement echoed from some students, igniting a flare of indignation within both brothers—Taiga's fists clenched subtly at his sides, while Shugo's face tightened under the scrutiny. Though anger simmered within him, Taiga measured his words with care. "Master, give him a chance. Let him prove himself."

The old master's demeanor remained as unyielding as stone, yet the small quirk of his lip suggested he relished the prospect of a challenge. Slowly, he turned back to Shugo, eyeing him with renewed interest. "Very well," he grumbled, "If you can land a hit on me, you'll have your chance to train."

Shugo, having expected another kind of initiation, felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. Constrained by his quirk's limitations and lacking formal combat training, this was no small task. His movements, up to this point, had been practiced on paper through signs and writing, not through the sparring of blows. Yet the doubt cast upon him only served to strengthen his resolve.

Stepping into the center of the dojo, surrounded by expectant faces, Shugo faced the old master. A deep breath steadied him, and as the master settled into a ready stance, a sense of purpose took hold. Shugo might have been marked by his ordeal with Zhulong, his voice stolen by its aftermath, but he was not defeated. He was Shugo—the one who had faced Zhulong, the one whose resilience had seen him through tribulations that would have felled others. Now was his moment to show the strength of silence, the power of the voice that he retained through gestures and determination.

The room quieted, a collective breath held as student and trainer alike fixed their attention on the improbable contest. Shugo, versed only in the theory of fights gleaned from the dry text of books, squared his shoulders, his gaze never leaving the rugged visage of the one-eyed master.

The master beckoned him forth with an impatient jerk of his head, and the challenge was underway. Shugo's first attempts were timid, novice, his untrained arms easily deflected by the master's disciplined parries. Each swipe and jab Shugo made was artfully dodged or batted aside by the master, whose years had not diminished his combat speed or awareness.

Praise for Taiga's skills and jibes toward Shugo's futile efforts punctuated the air, fueling the growing fire within him. His brother's belief in him—coupled with the palpable doubt from those gathered—drove Shugo to dig deeper, to find within himself the spark that had yet to be fanned into flame.

As the sparring match unfolded, Shugo's attempts to land a hit on the old master initially seemed as futile as the efforts of a child. The master's comments cut through the air sharply, likening Shugo's inexperienced moves to those of a four-year-old flailing aimlessly. Yet, with each encounter and each attempt Shugo made, a glimmer of something else became apparent—an innate aptitude for strategy and an analytical mind that dissected each motion and response.

The old master, with his many years of teaching and battle, detected this quickly. Grudgingly, he gave a nod to Shugo's tactical approach, a silent acknowledgment of the young man's mental acuity. To test Shugo's resolve and physical robustness, the master suddenly closed the distance between them. He delivered a powerful punch straight to Shugo's stomach.

Air whooshed from Shugo's lungs, his body pitching forward from the unexpected blow. The impact resonated through the hall, and a collective gasp rose from the onlookers. But Shugo, bracing himself against the pain, remained on his feet. Eyes wide with surprise and respect, the students murmured among themselves as they observed the newcomer enduring the hit without crumpling to the mat.

Not one to offer praise easily, the old master seized the moment to escalate the challenge. He aimed a second, harder punch at Shugo, a test that seemed to hover on the edge of cruelty. Taiga watched, tension knotting his muscles, as the blow landed with enough force to send Shugo staggering backward.

Teetering on the brink of collapse, Shugo's legs trembled, a silent battle raging within him. Taiga's instinct to protect his brother screamed for action, yet his trust in Shugo held him rooted in place.

The room fell into breathless anticipation. The second punch had been harsh, a definitive statement meant to either crush or forge. Shugo's form wavered dangerously, but then, to everyone's astonishment, including the old master's, he found his balance.

A new resolve hardened in Shugo's gaze—a testament to his will. His endurance compelled a change in the air of the dojo. Murmurs turned to exclamations of awe, and what was once skepticism transformed into respect.

The old master, his solitary eye high and his stance unwavering, let out a hearty, approving laugh. The abrasive edges of his nature seemed to soften ever so slightly as he regarded Shugo.

"You have got steel in you, boy!" he bellowed, the volume of his voice matching his commanding presence.

Taiga's chest swelled with pride for his brother. Not only had Shugo withstood the verbal barbs and physical onslaught from the old warrior, but he had also done so with an unyielding determination. The room, now alight with a newfound recognition of Shugo's mettle, buzzed with energy. The students' eyes, once judgmental, now glinted with respect and curiosity about the newcomer who had refused to fall.

The master's attitude shifted perceptibly, the gruff exterior giving way to a nascent thread of respect. "You've got a warrior's heart, and your mind is sharp. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye," he conceded, his voice lowered to a respectable rumble. "We start training tomorrow. Be ready."

Shugo, still catching his breath, gave a nod, his expression a mix of pain and satisfaction. The ordeal had been a rite of passage, one he had passed not through the raw power of his quirk, but through the sheer force of his spirit and intellect. It was a new beginning on a path that promised no less hardship than the one left behind, yet it was a path Shugo chose willingly—armed with resolve and the silent, steadfast support of his brother.

With the echoes of the ordeal still pulsing in the air, Taiga turned to the old master, his gratitude profound.

"Thank you, Master," he said, his voice rich with sincere appreciation. Shugo, still regaining his composure, nodded in affirmation, the adrenaline from the confrontation melding into a fierce determination for the journey ahead.

The master's gruff demeanor returned as he eyed Shugo. "What's the deal? The kid mute or something?" he asked pointedly.

"He speaks rarely due to his quirk," Taiga explained cautiously, intentionally vague to avoid revealing too much about the potency of Logos.

"Hmph," the master grunted, his one eye settling on Shugo with a newfound understanding. "Just make sure you're ready to work." Without further sentimentality, he waved them toward the exit as he turned to the class, giving his undivided attention back to his students. The training continued, the rhythm of the dojo resuming as if nothing had occurred.

Stepping outside into the daylight, both brothers took a moment to let the intensity of the moment dissolve. Taiga, with characteristic enthusiasm, suggested they celebrate this new chapter. Shugo, still slightly winded but intrigued by what his brother had in mind, nodded his assent.

Taiga led Shugo down the winding streets, chatting animatedly with his hands and offering reassuring smiles. Their path eventually brought them to a quaint shop, its windows filled with a colorful array of sweets and confections—an array unlike anything Shugo had ever seen or tasted before.

The scent of sugar and baked goods wafted out as they entered, enveloping Shugo in an entirely new sensory experience. Taiga's excitement was palpable as he introduced Shugo to the plethora of options: delicate pastries, rich chocolates, and vibrant candies—each promising a burst of flavor and an escape from the ordinary.

Shugo, curious and a little overwhelmed by the selection, watched in amusement as Taiga prattled on about his own favorites. With careful consideration, he pointed to a few treats that seemed to call out to him, their textures and shapes intriguingly foreign.

As they sat down with their chosen sweets, the brothers shared a quiet moment, the sugar serving as a sweet coda to the day's trials. The pastries melted on Shugo's tongue, a delightful contrast to the lingering soreness in his muscles. Taiga watched his brother's expressions shift from cautious tasting to genuine enjoyment, a triumphant grin on his face. It was a celebration, not just of the path Shugo was about to embark on, but of the bond that held them together through every twist of fate.

Life, Shugo realized, held many flavors, and while some were bitter, like the tough training that awaited him, others were sweet, like the unexpected joy found in a small shop on a quiet street, or the silent pride of a brother who stood by him through the fiercest battles.

The simple act of sharing sweets was a reminder that even amidst challenges, there were moments of uncomplicated happiness to be found. It was a lesson Shugo took to heart, knowing that the days ahead would demand much of him, but also that they held the promise of new experiences, growth, and the sweetness of hard-earned victories.

Taiga's gesture of celebration was more than a treat; it was an affirmation that no matter what lay ahead, they would face it together, finding moments of delight in the midst of their relentless pursuit to overcome and to thrive.

Taiga sat across from Shugo at the dinner table, his eyes serious as he broached the subject that had been on his mind for days. "I think it's time for you to try out elementary school, Shugo," he said, folding his hands together as he watched his brother for a reaction.

Shugo's brows furrowed, his eyes betraying the simmering doubt within. The idea seemed ludicrous to him. His intellect had always soared beyond his years, a fact Taiga was intimately aware of, even if he couldn't pinpoint the exact source of Shugo's precociousness. Besides, Shugo's reserved demeanor and his aversion to speech didn't exactly lay the groundwork for the bustling hallways and boisterous playgrounds of a typical school.

"Why?" Shugo signed, his hands moving with the fluid, precise motions Taiga had come to understand well. He couldn't fathom why Taiga would want to place him in such an environment, a setting he was sure would only highlight his differences further.

Taiga took a moment to formulate his response, knowing he needed to approach the topic with care. "It's not just about learning, Shugo. It's about experiencing life, understanding others, and maybe—just maybe—letting others understand you," he explained, hoping to strike a chord with Shugo's deeply reflective nature.

Shugo contemplated the idea, his expression neutral but his mind a swirl of thought. His brother's suggestion was coming from a place of concern; this much was clear. Taiga wanted more for Shugo than the confines of their home and the solitude that so often accompanied him.

Days passed with the idea hanging in the air like a persistent fog. Taiga watched Shugo wrestle with the concept, offering encouragement but never pushing too hard, giving his brother space to weigh the decision for himself.

Finally, after much deliberation and with no small amount of trepidation, Shugo agreed to give it a try. Taiga's arguments, coupled with a curiosity about the world outside the rigid structure he was accustomed to, had won out. Signing his consent with a steady hand, Shugo communicated his readiness to step into a new realm.

Taiga's relief was palpable; he knew that Shugo's journey through school would be far from conventional, but he believed wholeheartedly in the potential for growth it presented. He promised to be there every step of the way, a sentinel for Shugo as he navigated the complexities of school life.

The enrollment process was straightforward. Taiga outlined the situation to the school staff, detailing Shugo's muteness as a complication arising from his quirk without delving into the specifics or power of Logos. The school's administrators were receptive, keen to support Shugo and provide him with the best educational experience they could offer. It didn't take long for them to recognize Shugo's unusual intellect, his proficiency in certain academic areas leaving them both impressed and slightly daunted.

However, it was also apparent that Shugo encountered obstacles beyond academic work. His interactions with peers were stilted, his understanding of social cues limited by his tendency to retreat into silence. It was an aspect of schooling that no amount of intellectual aptitude could easily navigate.

In class, Shugo's calm and serious nature set him apart from his often rowdy age mates, whose burgeoning quirks added an unpredictable dynamism to the school environment. His demeanor earned him a blend of respect from some and envy from others, who found his unflappable presence either intriguing or intimidating.

As is often the case in the microcosm of a schoolyard society, differences can attract unwanted attention. There were a few children, more outspoken and brash, who whispered and made assumptions about Shugo's lack of an overt quirk. In a world where quirks were becoming the norm and were often flaunted as a point of pride, the false perception of Shugo being quirkless left him open to mockery and isolation.

The inevitable happened; Shugo found himself the target of bullying. The teasing was as much a test of Shugo's resilience as any physical trial. The words of his peers, though lacking the malevolence of seasoned antagonists, carried the sting of exclusion and derision.

But Shugo bore the behavior of the bullies with the same stoicism that permeated every facet of his life. He saw them merely as children, their actions driven by ignorance and the unbridled energy of youth rather than calculated cruelty. Rather than retaliate or seek assistance, Shugo chose to endure silently, an internalized response that kept Taiga oblivious to the trials his brother faced daily.

Within Shugo, a complex interplay of dismissal and defense unfolded. To him, acknowledging the bullies' power by seeking help would grant them a victory he was not willing to concede. So, he wrapped himself in the armor of indifference, refusing to let their words and actions reach the quiet sanctuary he had built within himself. It was a coping mechanism as much as it was a strategy, one that embodied his approach to life's trials. Yet this armor, while protective, also served to deepen the chasm between Shugo and his peers. His silence and stoicism became both his shield and his isolation.

Shugo's unspoken struggles did not diminish the pride Taiga felt in his brother's ability to adapt to the complex world of elementary school. Nevertheless, Taiga remained unaware of the undercurrents of discord that ran beneath the surface of Shugo's day-to-day experiences.

With the genesis of quirks in his classmates came an ever-present reminder of the vast and chaotic world of powers that surrounded Shugo. His own quirk, Logos, lay dormant by his choice, its potential hidden from those who might misuse or misunderstand it.

The days passed, and the small acts of bullying persisted, an unfortunate reality of Shugo's attempt to assimilate into the social fabric of his new environment. His resilience was undeniably admirable, yet the question lingered: how long could Shugo maintain his solitary fortitude against the tide of childhood teasing? Would there come a point when the silence he upheld would need to break for the sake of his own well-being? Only time would tell, and Taiga remained steadfastly by his side, an ever-present support, even in ignorance of the challenges Shugo faced.

Time marched on, and Shugo entered his tenth year—a milestone that brought with it new challenges and growth. The young boy who had first hesitated on the threshold of elementary school was now a fixture in those hallways, a constant in the fluctuating dynamics of classroom life.

To his peers, Shugo was an enigma: brilliant but aloof, often secluded by his own stoicism and preference for silence. His intelligence continued to shine, a beacon that often alienated him from those who couldn't—or wouldn't—understand him. The days of simply being teased for his quiet demeanor were gradually replaced by an escalation in hostility, as quirks came into more active and uncontrolled use among the children. The school struggled to maintain an environment where quirks were neither a tool for intimidation nor a means to establish a hierarchy.

Despite the trials Shugo faced, his strength, both physical and mental, had grown considerable. His time at the dojo under the stern guidance of the old master had not only honed his body but also tempered his will. The martial arts had taught him discipline, control, and restraint, valuable virtues that he carried into every aspect of his life.

Shugo had the power to put an end to the bullying; his quirk, Logos, was a force that few could contend with. Alongside his martial abilities, he could easily have established dominance. Yet Shugo chose a different path. He refused to use his gifts to inflict harm or assert superiority, even in the face of provocation. It was not fear that stayed his hand, but rather an unwavering sense of right—a code that echoed the teachings of the old master and the silent principles he lived by.

He continued his rigorous regimen, honing his quirk with care and precision, learning to wield his words with the same deftness as his strikes. To an outside observer, this dedication might have seemed a preparation for retaliation, but Shugo trained for a nobler cause. He was cultivating his strength so that when the day came that someone needed help, he would be ready to act—not as an avenger, but as a protector.

Shugo's approach to conflict was not without pain or sacrifice. The bullies, emboldened by the lack of oversight on quirk use, grew more daring in their actions. Physical confrontations became more common, and the atmosphere at school was charged with the constant threat of these altercations. Yet even as the proverbial storm clouds gathered, Shugo remained a steadfast presence.

Shugo's resilience became a silent testament to his character. He weathered the blows, both verbal and physical, with the same indomitable spirit that had seen him through countless trials before. His reticence to fight back was not out of fear or inability but stemmed from a deep-set belief that true strength lay in restraint and the preservation of peace.

The dojo provided a sanctuary for Shugo—a place where he could channel his frustrations into disciplined training and where the principles of honor and respect reigned supreme. The gruff but respectful nods from his fellow martial artists were a sharp contrast to the scornful looks from his classmates. Within the dojo's walls, Shugo was valued for his dedication and spirit.

It was in this space that Shugo found solace and growth, pushing his physical limits and expanding his mastery over Logos. He practiced with an intensity that spoke volumes of his desire to be more than what the world saw—a silent, stoic figure shadowed by misconceptions. He wanted to be ready for the moment when his strength and courage would be called upon to serve a purpose greater than himself.

As his peers flaunted their quirks in idle displays or thoughtless skirmishes, Shugo sharpened his own abilities with purpose and intention. He was the stone, smooth and immoveable, against which the tumultuous waves of childhood indiscretion broke and receded.

His secret training sessions with Logos were meticulous and calculated. He experimented carefully, understanding the potent risk that came with his quirk and the weighty responsibility of wielding such power. His voice, though rarely used, was a weapon in its own right, one that he kept sheathed out of respect for its potential to harm.

Beneath the cool exterior, Shugo harbored a passionate will to protect those in need, a will that he steeled each day with each silent dedication to his craft. He endured the bullying, the loneliness, and the misunderstanding, harboring hope that someday his true character would be seen—not through the use of Logos or his skills learned in the dojo, but through his actions when they mattered most.

Through it all, Taiga remained Shugo's unwavering ally, at times unaware of the full extent of his brother's tribulations, yet always there to offer a supportive shoulder or a shared moment of silence. Their bond transcended the need for words, and in Taiga, Shugo found a source of enduring strength and acceptance.

After the final school bell rang, signaling the end of another demanding day, Shugo gathered his belongings in quiet solitude. The bustle of students eager for freedom filled the classroom. As he was about to slip out the door and into the quiet embrace of the journey home, a murmur of unrest snagged his attention.

He paused, his sharp gaze casting about for the source until it landed on a huddled group in a secluded corner of the room. The familiar cluster of bullies loomed with menacing postures around a figure Shugo couldn't quite see. As he drew closer, the figure resolved into a dark-haired boy curled defensively—a boy whose name evaded him but whose fear was palpable.

Without hesitation, both propelled by his intrinsic sense of justice and steered by his disciplined mind, Shugo intervened. His approach caused the bullies to hesitate, a ripple of uncertainty passing through them. They had never seen Shugo take a stand like this before. The air seemed to stiffen, tension threading through the stillness as their eyes locked with Shugo's.

The main bully, audacity swelling in his chest, jutted out his chin defiantly, smirking at Shugo. "What're you gonna do about it?" he taunted, emboldened by Shugo's historical passivity.

Yet there was something different this time—a steely resolve that flickered behind Shugo's placid facade. The other bullies shifted uncomfortably, sensing the change, their confidence faltering in the face of this unexpected challenge from someone they had always seen—and used—as an easy mark.

With a sneer, the main bully dismissed any nervous glances from his cohorts and stepped forward, intent on reclaiming the dominance that Shugo's presence threatened. He raised a fist, empowered by his quirk, which began to emit a faint, menacing glow.

Shugo stood his ground, his training at the dojo coalescing into an ironclad calm. He had no intention of letting the situation escalate into violence—not here, not now. He was prepared to defend, but he remained focused on de-escalation, on protecting without provoking.

As the bully lashed out, Shugo's reflexes honed by years of practice, dodged the blow with agility surprising to his classmates. He had no desire to fight, but he was ready to hold the line—to be the barrier between the bullies and their victim.

In that charged, breathless moment, Shugo's actions spoke louder than any words ever could. With his swift movement to the side, Shugo avoided the punch while simultaneously reaching out to catch the bully's extended arm, redirecting the force and guiding the aggressor past him with an unexpected ease—a judo technique perfected over diligent practice sessions.

The bully stumbled forward, thrown off balance by the deft maneuver, his cockiness faltering in the wake of Shugo's skillful defense. The room fell silent; the other students, ceasing their chatter, turned their eyes to the spectacle that shattered their preconceived notions of the silent, uninvolved Shugo.

Despite Shugo's reticence to draw attention or use his quirk, Logos, in a manner that risked harm, he had mastered the art of self-defense in a way that protected both himself and his peers from unnecessary violence. The bullies and bystanders alike recognized at that moment the depth of Shugo's resolve and the quiet dignity with which he addressed the conflict.

The dark-haired boy, whose cowering form had sparked Shugo's intervention, peered up through brimming eyes to witness the scene. A mix of gratitude and awe washed over him as he realized that he was no longer alone against his tormentors.

Shugo released the main bully gently but firmly, ensuring the boy regained his footing without incident. His actions weren't about humiliation or retaliation; they were about upholding a sense of safety and respect within those classroom walls. His keen mind and disciplined strength had deterred an escalation, hopefully planting a seed of thoughtfulness in his peers about their actions.

The bullies, their bravado now thoroughly undercut, mumbled among themselves—some with grudging respect, others with confusion. The tension began to dissipate, and they gradually retreated, leaving Shugo and the dark-haired boy in a newfound stillness.

The encounter left a palpable shift in the classroom dynamic. Shugo, once seen as the stoic, detached figure, had emerged as a guardian presence. Though it was not his aim to be lauded or feared, his peers couldn't help but view him in a new light, the incident forging a subtle bridge between him and his classmates.

The scrawny boy, his heart still hammering from the clash, cast a grateful glance at his unexpected savior. His sharp teeth, a striking feature set against the small scar above his left eye, offered a timid smile that barely masked the lingering fear. "Thank you," he murmured, almost embarrassed by the need to have been defended.

Shugo dismissed the thanks with a gentle wave of his hand, more concerned with the boy's well-being than with acknowledgment. Shugo signed, his hands moving in the silent language he was accustomed to, asking the boy if he was alright.

The boy's eyes followed Shugo's hands, confusion spreading across his face as the gestures formed an unfamiliar lexicon. It was clear he had no knowledge of sign language, leaving him unable to grasp Shugo's silent inquiry.

Realizing the communication barrier, Shugo's observant eyes scanned the boy more closely, noting the scrapes and the fresh bruises that marred his skin—a testament to the fear and pain he had just experienced. Without hesitation, Shugo reached out, his grip gentle but firm on the boy's arm, and led him through the now-empty corridors toward the school's infirmary.

The boy seemed startled at first by Shugo's firm determination but offered no resistance. He quietly allowed himself to be guided, trusting that this stoic peer had his best interests at heart.

As they entered the infirmary, the school nurse looked up, surprised by the unscheduled visit. With practiced efficiency, she ushered the boy onto a clinic bed and began to tend to his wounds. Shugo stood by, a silent sentinel, watching to ensure the boy received the necessary care.

When the nurse finished and the boy's injuries were addressed, Shugo offered him a nod, communicating without words that he should take better care to avoid dangerous situations. The boy responded with a small nod of his own, his eyes conveying a mix of admiration and curiosity for Shugo, who had twice this day acted as his guardian.

The incident in the classroom would lay the foundation for a relationship built on respect and mutual recognition. The boy, feeling indebted to Shugo, might endeavor to understand his silent ways and perhaps even learn his sign language, drawn to the character of the person who had stood up for him.

For Shugo, the choice to help had been instinctive, driven by the discipline and values instilled in him, yet this brief, wordless exchange hinted at the possibility of understanding, even friendship, rooted in actions rather than words. Shugo had always been an island, but perhaps this act of kindness could be a bridge, a connection to another soul who might just see beyond the silence to the person beneath.

As they left the infirmary—Shugo with his quiet dignity, the boy with his patched-up scrapes and a newfound sense of solidarity—a subtle shift occurred. Shugo had never sought gratitude or companionship, yet as he walked alongside the boy, there was a silent acknowledgment that something had changed.

Back in the empty classroom, as they collected their forgotten bags, a moment passed between them. Perhaps for the boy, it was the realization that courage could come in many forms, even as silent as Shugo's. For Shugo, it might have been the faint, unfamiliar warmth of potential friendship, an echo of understanding that didn't need to be signed or spoken.

With the afternoon waning and the sun casting long shadows, they parted ways, each stepping into the cool evening air with their own thoughts. But for the first time in a long time, Shugo cast a lingering glance back, pondering the unexpected turn of events, the silent communication, and the vague, tentative promise of tomorrow.

In the days following the encounter, Eijiro Kirishima found himself gravitating toward Shugo's company. Their shared experiences in the classroom had formed an inexplicable bond, one that was cemented further by their emerging companionship. Eijiro, who once felt isolated by his own vulnerability, now took solace in the silent strength of his new friend.

Lunchtimes became a shared ritual, their silence filled with the mutual respect that had grown between them. Study sessions ensued, where Shugo's academic prowess complemented Eijiro's inexhaustible determination. This budding friendship not only provided a respite from the turbulence of school life, but it also created an unspoken pact that seemed to ward off the previous aggressions from their classmates.

When Taiga found out about the bullying, his emotions were a swirl of concern and frustration. He was disappointed that Shugo had kept this struggle to himself, yet he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for the way Shugo had navigated the situation—finding his own way to respond without resorting to violence and, more notably, in forging a new friendship out of adversity.

Sensing an opportunity to further solidify Eijiro's growing confidence and to provide him with a supportive community, Shugo wordlessly invited Eijiro to join the dojo where he trained. The prospect of learning discipline and strengthening both body and mind resonated with Eijiro, sparking an enthusiasm that overcame his reticence.

At the dojo, under the stern but fair tutelage of the old master, Eijiro found a new aspect of himself. Each kiai resounded through the walls—a cry of spirit, of breaking through barriers he once thought insurmountable. The training, while rigorous, gave him an outlet to channel his energy and confront his lingering self-doubts head-on.

Despite his earnest efforts, Eijiro still harbored uncertainties, particularly concerning his quirk. The ability to harden his skin offered both protection and empowerment, yet Eijiro longed to find a sense of purpose in it, a clearer path to becoming the hero he aspired to be. His doubts whispered to him in quieter moments, gnawing at his resolve.

Shugo, though silent, noticed the shadows that occasionally clouded Eijiro's typically ebullient demeanor. With small gestures—a pat on the back, a nod of encouragement—Shugo provided an anchor of support. Their camaraderie strengthened with each session, each shared exertion,

and though words were rarely exchanged, Eijiro began to understand the language of Shugo's quiet solidarity.

Throughout their training, Shugo remained a symbol of resilience for Eijiro. Witnessing Shugo's unwavering commitment to mastery and control showed Eijiro the value of steadfast dedication. It was not just about honing their quirks or martial prowess, but about cultivating the mental fortitude necessary to face life's challenges.

Eijiro's confidence grew incrementally, the foundation of his self-worth fortified not only by his enhanced physical capabilities but also by the rare and genuine friendship he shared with Shugo. In the company of his stoic friend, Eijiro learned that strength was multifaceted—it was about being unyielding in the face of adversity, yes, but also about the courage to be vulnerable and the willingness to accept help when offered.

As for Shugo, through his bond with Eijiro, he experienced the warmth of companionship without compromise. He had not altered his nature to gain a friend; rather, he had found someone who appreciated him exactly as he was. Shugo's usual solitary path lit up with the presence of someone who did not demand words to feel connected or understood.

Taiga watched this friendship unfold, his heart full as he witnessed the positive influence each boy had on the other. Within the safe confines of the dojo, amidst the camaraderie of kindred spirits, Eijiro and Shugo forged not only a friendship but also an unspoken brotherhood, each playing their part in strengthening the resolve of the other.

Shugo's proposal for Eijiro to join the dojo proved to be a turning point, shaping not just their individual paths but also the intertwined journey they had begun to walk together. The future, once a source of uncertainty for both boys, now held a glint of promise—a shared promise to face whatever lay ahead with unwavering hearts and boundless determination.

A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome back to Whispers of Fate.

We start fleshing out Shugo a bit, making an admittedly big jump in time, and starting to introduce big figures in the My Hero Academia plot.

Don't worry about Ashido though — I didn't forget about her.

Feel free to let me know what you think of the story so far, if there's anything that I can improve on, or expand upon, or anything — I welcome all constructive criticism.

-Vendicor: Thank you so much for taking your time to write a review on my story. You can expect Shugo to make a splash, that's for sure. I plan on introducing him into the plot and making some significant changes to the plot. Nothing too outlandish, because despite him having such an overpowered Quirk, it has its serious disadvantages and Shugo's preternatural tendencies to not abuse his power can make him even more prudent than he should be. I'm hoping to expand not only on his strengths, but also his major flaws. Unfortunately, I can tell you right off the bat that summoning his past comrades will be out of the question — unless they appear in a historic event already documented in written text, Shugo won't be able to summon them into reality. That's a prerequisite from Logos — Shugo wasn't able to summon Zhulong until after he read about the dragon. But thank you so much for your suggestion. I hope you continue liking the story.

I'll be uploading frequently at first, because I have already written down two chapters and a bit of the third, but expect my update progress to significantly slow down from that point onwards. I hope that isn't a deterrent for you readers.

Now, without further ado, I bid you all adieu.