Trigger Warning:
- sexual assault
- blackmail with video
- blood
- crude language
Announcement: There is an Attack on Titan reference in this chapter. It's not fun. -_-
Emotions are fleeting.
Especially the happy ones.
After the wave of ecstasy had worn off, Shouto and I were occupied with fear and stress.
What would happen now that I refused to go to the Hanada manor?
How would Miyamoto attack me next?
How would Hanada-sama retaliate?
These negative emotions persisted for undesirably much longer.
Saturday passed. Sunday did, too. Not one word from the mansion came. One might believe that it was a good sign. No news is good news, or something like that. Not me. No news is the equivalent of uncertainty. It is unknown. It did not help that my intuition plucked at my heartstrings like a harp, warning me that it was the calm before the storm.
March was coming to an end soon, and April was going to arrive with a flurry of activity.
On one hand, Shigaraki's awakening. It is only a matter of time before he arises and provokes the hero world to another war. The deadliest yet because while the heroes preoccupied themselves anticipating the next attack, us villains bided our time in the dark. Training. Killing. Strengthening. In less than a week, Daruma-san began mass production of the drug bullets with my blood, and Yotsubashi-san compiled a massive collection of data from my battles with the automatons. I had been concerned with two valid ideas: the first, that if the quirk enhancers and suppressors fell into the hands of the Pro-Heroes, they could test the components and identify that I was the donor; the second, the destruction I ravaged in the forest would not go unnoticed by the same people. But both men were quick to assuage my fears. Daruma-san had mixed in various quantities of blood of his patients covertly, and Yotsubashi-san sent his environment ability users to restore the former state of the jungle every dawn. Their statements, however, brought about another set of worries. One about STIs and the other about my identity being revealed. Fortunately, they implemented measures to take care of that, too.
Meaning, my focus should be on transferring One for All to Shigaraki. The best time to do it is immediately after he adjusts to walking on two legs. After that, he will resume his duty as Grand Commander of the Paranormal Liberation Army. I can envision what his purpose for me will be. The same as always. The ace up his card. I have always been the factor that almost or definitely guaranteed victory. This is not something I am ashamed of. Ambushes and surprises have always been my speciality. I like it when I am the variable that no one expects. When chance defers to me, and not I to it.
But chance is its own master.
On the other hand, the imminent trial. The papers were handed to the court. And I failed to assassinate Hanada-sama before then. Sooner or later, he will receive a notice from the court, summoning him for judgment. There is nothing I can do to rectify my mistake. Though I may be heir, my official debut into the corporate world is still pending. Had Hanada-sama died before then, my entry would have been marked with sorrow and condolences. The poor man never recovered from the grief of losing his sons, is what people would say. Then the court trial would have happened. Sympathy for my tormentor would have warped into fury. Then I would have my own army of supporters.
Now, that will not happen. My debut will be tainted forever. The daughter of a criminal. Though I will testify against Hanada-sama, and people will hate him and defend me, there will be a greater subset of those who whisper behind my back. Suspecting me of being the same as him, fraudulent and immoral. They are right, of course. Just not in the way they would expect. Still, their behavior will serve as a thorn constantly pricking my side. Scrutiny on me will intensify. No doubt, I will have to be more careful of actions.
That is only one of the problems. There are countless more.
So to find a solution to some of them, I scourge the school library for books on law and commerce.
Given that U.A. has a Department of Management, which is devoted to the hero industry, I hope that their catalog has something that will aid me. I manage to find one book that discusses business law and lift it off the shelf.
Just then, my phone rings.
I freeze out of instinct. The number of saved contacts in my phone could be counted on a single hand, and none of them are people I wish to speak to. Is this the beginning of Hanada-sama's punishment?
I'm scared to look at the name. Despite garnering power of my own, diverting attention from my murders in England, lacing poison in every glass and drink … I am afraid of Hanada-sama. After everything that I have done, I am still afraid of him. There is no reason I should not.
A thousand thoughts race through my head. What if it is him? What will he say? How should I respond? Should I pick it up? But if I don't, he will call again. I can only push him away for so long. What do I do?
Slowly, my hand slips inside the trouser pocket. My phone is not a phone. It is an oracle. One that decides whether doom awaits me or fortune. I wrap my fingers around the rectangular box and pull it out. Then I shut my eyes, preparing myself for the unknown future.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
The dial tone will end soon. And Hanada-sama becomes outraged when no one picks up his call the first time.
I'm tempted to keep my eyes closed, but a small surge of courage enables me to open them for just a moment. And that single moment answers all of my questions.
The caller ID is not Hanada-sama. It is a cell number. Would be unknown, had I not memorized the digits beforehand.
Shouto.
Shouto is the one calling me.
Without realizing it, I lean against the nearest bookshelf and slide to the ground. Anxiety ebbs away in palpable waves. The slight confusion that follows is much more acceptable than the sentiments I was feeling before. Shouto has known for a while that I do not keep his number saved in my phone, for both his and my safety. So what was so urgent that he needed to call me?
I press the "accept call" button.
"Selene?" he greets, worry evident in his tone. "Where are you?"
"In the school library. I'm almost done," I reply, steadying my voice, so he cannot notice the faint traces of residual panic. "What happened?"
"Are you alone?" I tell him that I am, and he sighs heavily. "Why would you go unaccompanied? You know that Miyamoto is looking for the opportunity to hurt you. I was getting worried when you didn't answer my door knocks." He is right. I should not have come here alone. Apparently, it does not make any difference to the pervert that this is a school. I admit my foolishness to him, and Shouto brushes it off. "It's okay. Look, Bakugou, Midoriya, and I just got back from our work study. Just give me fifteen minutes to shower and dress, and I'll come pick you up. Sound good?"
At his words, I stand up and grab the book I had selected. "No, no, no. That's fine. Take your time. I'll return to the boarding house by myself."
He scoffs, "Absolutely not!" His vehemence stuns me. "What did I just tell you? You being alone gives that bastard the prime chance to target you. If you like, I can ask Bakugou to escort you. He already has some idea of the kind of threat being posed to you." I am reluctant to accept his help. Both Shouto and Bakugou-kun must be spent from their agenda at Endeavor-san's agency, so it makes me feel guilty to have them exert more energy. However, Shouto will not take no for an answer. Ultimately, I give in. "All right. Wait somewhere public. Go to the infirmary. Although it's evening, Recovery Girl is likely to be there. I'll tell Bakugou to meet you there."
The phone call ends. I click the history tab of the calling app, intending to delete this notification. But something inside me compels me not to. To wait until later. Perhaps it is intuition again, urging me to heed its message. I would be remiss not to listen to it.
So I close out the app and put my phone back inside my pocket. After checking out the stash of books, I follow Shouto's order. Go to the infirmary. Like he said, Recovery Girl is inside. She is finishing paperwork when she glances up to meet her new visitor. She inquires if my arthritis is giving me trouble again. I decide to be honest with her and tell her the real reason why I am here. She ushers me to occupy any bed in the meantime.
I intend on taking her up on it. My feet ache from standing and walking for so long. But first, the restroom. It's been a few hours since I last changed my menstrual pad. There is a bathroom within the infirmary. Yet when I open the door, the janitor has just started cleaning the floors. He tells me it will take a while until the bathroom is good for use.
The next closest one is outside, just down the hallway, to my left. Shouto's reminder of not wandering into isolated areas rings in my head. However, the distance is short. Five minutes. I won't take any more than five minutes. Then come straight back.
Determination and dread in equal amounts radiates in waves with every step I take away from the infirmary toward the restroom. The stress of the past few days has made me paranoid. Every meter I cover brings with it a new imaginable possibility of distress.
By the time I open the restroom door, shivers course up and down my spine. My hands tremble uncontrollably. Five minutes, Selene. You can do this. And I push myself into a random stall and lock it.
I cannot relax now. At a speed that is supersonic without any quirk, my fingers deftly unhook the buttons of my blazer to reach inside the inner pocket. Three spare sanitary napkins are stored. A hook is provided on the stall door to hang clothes and other belongings. Removing the blazer, I drape it on the hook.
All of a sudden, a resounding slam emanates from the main door. So loud, the handles and hinges of the stall shake in place. I do, too. In a fight or flight response, my defense mechanism is to halt. Immobilize my arms, legs, chest, head like a statue. The unopened pad slips from my hands to the tile floor.
Footsteps enter the restroom. Strong. Heavy. Thunderous. Ominous. Whoever the intruder is, they stop in front of the first stall. Pause for one second. Then move to the second. Pause. Third. Pause. They must be reading the small sign. Engaged or available. Fourth. Fifth. I am in the penultimate one. Sixth. Seventh. The only stall that reads "ENGAGED."
Time ceases for an eternity.
The intruder waits for longer than one second before taking action. Almost as though they can taste my terror in the air and are delighting in torturing me with it. Then, time rushes back with urgency and adrenaline. The intruder plants a jarring kick to the stall door. The hinges tremor. The lock shudders. Do something, Selene. Don't just stand here like a dummy. Use your abilities. Use your cane. Use the skills Shigaraki, Spinner, and everyone else taught you.
But as much as I want to, my body defies me. The only movement I achieve is backing away from the door, futilely putting as much gap between my unknown assailant and myself. You're useless, Selene! My conscience screams at me. Fight you, stupid, stupid, girl!
With each kick, my panic heightens. Instinct practically shouts at me. These defenses will not hold for much longer. Already, the lock is bent. One more brunt of force and barrier will break.
And it does.
With a final kick, the intruder damages the lock and upper hinge. The door flies inward and hangs off its side.
Perhaps it is one last act of mercy bestowed upon me by fate that I finally regain the strength to move.
I do not get the chance to identify the invader. A barrage of icicles unleashes their way, barricading us from each other. Using the brief respite of surprise, I intend to crawl under the space between one stall to the next, as disgusting as it may be.
However, my opponent is quick to recover. They counter my attack with their own. Ropes as thick as the ones used for sails ripple in the air before charging toward me. I attempt to retaliate by burning them mid-path, and to some extent, I am successful. The intruder screeches, which leads to me to analyze that the ropes are an extension of their body. Their quirk. The subsequent gash that tears skin somewhere on my body is further proof of that.
But one tendril manages to snake around my throat. That is all they need to launch themselves over the ice wall and into my domain. While I struggle with incinerating the coil, I get a good look at my assailant's face. One of Miyamoto-san's girl friends. Kurosawa Inei-san. She appears absolutely livid.
Safe to say that so am I.
Kurosawa-san is standing close enough that I can palm her in the face and break her nose. That is exactly as what I do. Crush the nose. Then aim for the solar plexus. Shigaraki's directions reverberate inside my mind, guiding my hands and legs in successive motions. He ingrained these lessons into me so many times that they have become muscle memory. Kurosawa-san covers her nose, trying to stop the twin waterfalls of blood. While her guard is down, I punch her gut. She keels over, using her other hand to clench her stomach. Finally, the groin.
Boy or girl, a solid knock to the private parts hurts like bloody hell. Not giving her even one second to recover, my knee makes hard contact with the tender area, and much to my satisfaction, is returned with a boisterous shriek.
The bully buckles to the ground, heaving and fighting back tears.
Now is my chance to flee.
Sparing a moment to fetch my cane and coat, I turn toward the exit. Only to be met with a rod to the head. It is my turn to fall to the floor, clutching the site of injury. White flashes erupt behind my eyelids, making it impossible to focus on anything besides the pain. Having no idea who my new attacker is, I swing my cane around wildly.
It seems to work. I sense the silver make impact with flesh and fabric, and a loud groan follows immediately. Male, by the sound of it. After memorizing the spatial location, I hit him again. A more intense wail this time.
Cannot forget about Kurosawa-san.
Indeed, she has had bought herself enough time to recuperate. Just as I feel another tendril tickle my collar, I grab it, wrap it around my wrist, and jerk it forward. I hope she tumbled face-first, so her nose is disfigured forever.
Meanwhile, her partner – bully number two – tackles me. He shoves me onto my back and possesses the audacity to press my own cane against my neck. The agony has subsided enough that I can keep my eyes open. Identify the boy. Agawa Suima. Another of Miyamoto-san's lackeys.
He heaves, "Fuck, she's a tough one! Who thought a cripple like her would put up such a fight!" The pressure is making it harder to breathe.
"You're telling me!" Kurosawa-san howls. From my periphery, I can tell that she is struggling to stand on her two feet. "She broke my nose! Twice! No amount of plastic surgery is going to fix this! How am I going to snag a boyfriend now?!"
With that kind of personality, no one will choose you. And now your face matches your rotten interior. Glad to be of service.
My efforts aside, Agawa-san has the advantage. Given that he is male, muscular, and on top of me, he will crush my windpipe at this rate. I have to get him off somehow. His eyes promise to exact unspeakable things to me. Wait … his eyes … This was also one of Shigaraki's tricks. If I am ever on the receiving end of a choke, I must dig my thumbs into the choker's eyeballs.
It is difficult to resist grappling with the cane. But I manage to avoid temptation, anyway. Wrapping my legs around his waist for grip, I cradle his face and press my thumbpads into his eye sockets. Agawa-san shouts and immediately eases the pressure. Without a moment to waste, I roll us so that our positions are reversed. He is the one lying on the ground, and I above him. At this position, it is so easy to force my entire weight on my thumbs.
He emits a satisfying cry before flailing his arms around, attempting to land aim on me. My method of circumvention is to summon rose thorns on my thumbs.
His counterattack, however, takes me by horror.
Without any warning or premonition, the ground disappears beneath me.
I'm falling. Falling, falling, falling. There is no end in sight. Yellow lights, grey walls, white sinks. These shapes and colors warp and distort as the abyss swallows me. My stomach churns. I could vomit. All I know is that I am spinning in the air, descending to my doom. And then I feel something rigid break my fall. Those same flashes return. First the front of the head, now the back. I need treatment for concussion, immediately.
I regain a sense of my surroundings when the blazes dim. I am still in the public restroom, but everything is magnified by one hundred times. The stall doors are as tall as Walls Maria, Rose, and Sina. The sinks cast patches of shadows that are hundreds of meters long. The pipes attached to them are as thick as redwood trees. That is not even the scariest part. I see a colony of ants in the corner. About the same height as me. Thousands of them, scavenging for crumbs.
It is not that the objects around have become gigantic. It is that I have shrunk. Like the "Drink Me Potion" from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, I have become miniscule. Agawa-san used his super ability on me. Blood seeps into the bandages from a laceration in my leg, confirming the truth.
I want to cry.
With what happens next, I most certainly have a reason to. Because the same way that everything around me is massive, so are my attackers. Agawa-san bends down to snatch me. He is a Titan, possessing every intent to devour me.
Futilely, I endeavor to run away from him. Only I have diminished in size, not my cane. My attempt at running means stumbling and doing my best not to trip over my feet. It is pointless. With one swipe, he scoops me into his palm.
"The effect only lasts for a short time," I hear him say. The size discrepancy makes what should be normal speaking volume seem deafening. I have to cover my ears. "Take her and go to the site. I'll leave after you." And he tosses me into the air. That whooshing sensation returns. Kurosawa-san catches me and squeezes my waist.
I consider setting myself on fire and singeing her palm when she locks something around my wrists. They are heavy. Compact. I look down at them. Metal bracelets that weigh down my arms and hinder my movements. They appear familiar. I have seen them before. Where?
It does not take long for the answer to come to me. My eyes widen at the realization.
High density weights. From the practical exam last year. All the teachers were wearing these when they combatted a pair of students. Shouto, Yaoyorozou-san, and I were challenging Aizawa-sensei. He had the bracelets on his persona. But how did these two imbeciles get their hands on them?
That is the least of my concerns right now. The bracelets have no quirk inhibitor functions on their own, but their bulkiness more than compensates for that. I can hardly lift my arms more than a few centimeters, by my standard. They hang listlessly by my side, too far from my thighs or any part of my body that I could use to activate my arsenal of powers. Desperately, I brush a finger against my palm. Nothing happens.
Watching Kurosawa-san grin at my helplessness, treacherous tears stream down my face. She starts walking. I have no idea where. No idea to whom she is taking me to. No idea what she will do to me. No idea if I will survive this evening unscathed.
Each step resounds with a cacophonous echo.
I'm so sorry, Shouto. I should have listened to you. I should have never gone by myself, never left the infirmary, never let my guard down. By now, Bakugou-kun must be inside, talking to Recovery Girl because he has noticed I am not inside. I apologize to you, too.
Kurosawa-san exits the restroom. I wonder if someone will spot her bloody nose. Then observe me. I try to scream at the top of my lungs. All that comes out is a wheeze. A frightened, breathless wheeze.
I am wrong. Hardly anyone is inside the school building at this time, let alone near the ward. It is precisely that fact that gives her the confidence to walk out of the side door of the building without batting an eye.
Once outside, a quote manifests in my mind. Inopportune, unwelcome, random. This is no time and place for something so unrelated to make itself known. Yet it does. An English saying: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky in the morning, sailor's warning." The sunset colors the sky a bloodred. It feels like a cruel joke. What has happened to me … what is going to happen to me … none of it is to my delight. I thought my instinct wanted to protect me. So why this change in behavior?
Actually, what is the point of thinking about all this? My fate is sealed.
All that training, all that fighting, all that experience … all pummeled into scrap. I have lost. Lucifer Morningstar has lost. Everyone is going to be so disappointed in me.
Kurosawa-san enters the forest that surrounds U.A. I lose count of how many left turns and right turns she takes. By the end of the ordeal, I wish I could enter a coma.
Distantly, I hear her talk with someone. No, a group of someones. One male, two females? It is not Agawa-san; this voice has a different tone. I squeeze my eyes a few times, shaking some modicum of concentration back inside me.
It is one boy and two girls. Kiyohime Nakano-san and Kimura Yuriko-san are the girls. And an obvious given that the boy is Miyamoto Akutenshi-san. All the second- and third-prize winners gathered in one place to take revenge against a first-prize victor. I would say it was such immature behavior were I not the victim bearing the brunt of their hatred.
Kurosawa-san catches their attention. "I got her," she hisses, lifting me high as though I am a trophy.
"That was messy," another voice pipes in. Agawa-san. He achieved exactly what he promised.
Miyamoto-san saunders toward them, studying their wounds carefully. "You mean that handicapped inflicted all this damage on you guys?" Both bullies agree vigorously. Between gasps and sighs, they recount the battle that took place inside the restroom. His gaze slides from them to me. I hate it. I want to gouge your eyeballs inside your skull. When they finish, he never stops staring at me. "She deserves to be punished more harshly, don't you think? Suima, how long until she returns to normal size?"
"Give it a few seconds."
Indeed, all it takes is a few precious moments. Kurosawa-san releases me, giving me the third unwanted rollercoaster ride of the day. Midair, I feel my bones enlarge and skin stretch. It is an uncomfortable feeling, not much different from shrinking. By the time my back makes contact with dirt, I have returned to my normal height.
Miyamoto-san is as much of an opportunist as I am. He clamps his fingers around my forearms and hauls me up. Then he shoves me against the trunk of a sturdy tree. I thrash and kick around, but his weight is so much more than mine. With my hands still trapped above my head, he closes the gap between our bodies.
I tremor at the sensation of his chest against mine. His legs bracketing mine. His breath hot against my cheeks. His touch is undesired. Unwelcome. I turn my head to the side to avoid looking at him. He tortures me by whispering into my ear, "You brought this on yourself. You should have gone home last weekend. I was waiting for you. I may have chosen to be lenient before, but don't expect any clemency from me now."
I want to retch.
This is practically a confession. An admission. Shouto was right. This creature was at the Hanada mansion last weekend. And if I had gone there, he would have had his way with me. Hanada-sama would ensure that he did. My three months of celibacy would have ended.
It will end now.
He leans back now. Just enough that he is not hovering by my ear. That is hardly a respite. He speaks louder now. So his fellow accomplices in crime can listen to him.
"Do you know what my quirk is, little miss business magnate?" At my stubborn silence, he continues, "No? Let me enlighten you. Pathokinesis. I can sense and manipulate the emotions of people around me. I can make the sad happy, the angry calm, the pessimistic optimistic. And vice versa. During the competition, my teammates and I worked so hard to win first place. Yuriko, here, was a bit of a lone wolf, but she put her all into her work, too. I used my pathokinesis to write stories that would make even the most stone-hearted weep tears of sorrow.
"But you spilled water over our efforts. You. Your friend. Especially, you. How could a handicapped cripple like you defeat talented people like us? Who gave you the right to stand on a level equal to ours? Huh? Answer me!" he roars. That and the slam he inflicts on the wood compel me to flinch.
He is demanding a response from me. And a response I shall give. "What do you want to hear from me? An apology? A plea for mercy? Or do you want to fall to my knees and accept that I do not deserve to hold my head proudly?" Slowly, I turn my head to meet his disgusting gaze. I know he can see the tears of fear in mine. But I also know that he can see the sliver of willpower as well. No matter what you do to me, I refuse to cower in front of you. I refuse to beg. "Because let me tell you something: I will do absolutely nothing of the sort."
The intent of harm that had been flickering in his eyes for a while now ignites into a bonfire. His voice drops threatingly low. "Inei, tie her wrists up on that branch. Suima, put some weights on her feet. Kiyohime, Hound Dog should be on the other side of the forest right now, but keep watch. Yuriko, turn your camera on."
Each person follows their respective commands. Kurosawa-san's ropes link around the metal cuffs and the branch before detaching from her body. Suima-san's added bracelets inhibit any knee plants I could enact. Nakano-san takes some steps back, giving her a decent vantage of the jungle and the atrocity about to happen to me. Kimura-san does the opposite. She moves closer, searching for the proper angle where Miyamoto-san and I are recognizable in the video recording.
Miyamoto-san reaches into my pant pocket and tosses my phone behind him.
It does not take a genius to put the puzzle pieces together. The entire gang is going to sexually assault me and post the video online. The question is why.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask between bouts of crying. "This frames all of you as much as me."
Miyamoto-san works on unbuckling my belt. I want to kick him away. Spear him with swords and knives. But I cannot. He relishes the knowledge that I am his slave. "Because your father thinks that he can push other people around. Don't get me wrong. He wants to see you psychologically and physically destroyed as much as I do, but who the fuck is he to tell me how to hurt you? When to hurt you? I accepted his invitation of going to your house with the motive of punishing you. But when you never came, he told me to come back another time. How fucking dare he? I am not you, who will obey his every order like a spineless dog.
"This is collateral. You tell anyone besides your douchebag dad about this, and I will drag both your names through the mud. Nepotism-enabling bastard and whorish ***!"
He finishes unlocking the belt and tosses it aside. A small breath leaves my lungs in a silent whoosh. Miyamoto-san thinks that is my expression of shock. Shock at the truth that he knows of my dirty secrets. True, I am stupefied, but not for the reason he believes. I will not dare correct him, either. Especially after the details about his quirk.
"Your dad told me all about you," he sneers as his focus shifts to my shirt. After pulling the hem out of the trousers, he undoes the lowest button. With each touch, I can feel the rise of the arthritic flare building. Already suffering plenty of anguish, I suppress the sensation. "Sleeping left and right with any guy who so much as looks at you. He sells you, and you go along with it." And that is my fault? There is no purpose in reasoning with this perpetrator. "So imagine how it feels to be defeated by a slut and her latest sex partner?"
I had been holding my tongue back for so long. But now … now when he not only accuses me but Shouto as well … I cannot restrain myself any longer. Just for a moment, I forget my panic. Familiar turquoise flames of anger course through my veins. Untamed, unruly, waiting to ravage everything in its vicinity. His hands never stop unbuttoning. I am about to make him. My tongue is a whip, lathered with poison ammunition, ignited with a match, prepared to kill.
"Miyamoto Akutenshi-san, you are no different from my father. You claim that he treats people like dogs. Yet you do the same thing. He views disabled people as subhuman. So do you. And he degraded Todoroki-kun's name with the same insult you gave just now.
"I do not care what crude nicknames you call me. But don't you dare insinuate Todoroki-kun is of loose character! He is innocent and an infinitely more respectful human being than you could ever aspire to be. Do your worst! Because if you plan on dragging my name through the mud," parroting his own words at him, "Rest assured, I will drown you with me, too." I spare a single, poignant glance toward each of his four partners in crime. "All of you."
This time, when he takes out his rage on the tree bark, I anticipate it. My lack of reaction toward his outburst compels him to grind his teeth. My shirt is completely open now. Miyamoto-san's face gaze drops from my face to my camisole. My breasts. My waist. The single layer of bandage strips that cover them. And Shouto's gifted pendant. He slips his hand beneath the gauze and rips them in one pull. I cannot conceal the shudder.
Then he has the audacity to grip the necklace. You cannot have that! That's not yours to take! But if I reveal that I have any more sentimental value to it, he will coerce me to do his bidding.
"This crap won't even sell for my McDonald's meal!" he says as he throws the pendant to the dirt the same he way he threw my phone. Carelessly. "Still, you were wearing this cheap garbage close to your heart." And he stomps on it. It is not the necklace he is trampling. It is my heart. My dearest treasure. My blossom of the dark.
So much for swearing vengeance! I lashed out in anger, and now I must suffer the consequences! That anger was justified, nonetheless. There were embers burning at the end of it all, and Miyamoto-san made the mistake of adding fuel to it. I summon enough resolve to overcome my fear. I will not endure this quietly. Not anymore. If I can force Kurosawa-san and Agawa-san to reconsider their opinions of me, then I can also provoke Miyamoto-san into recklessness. I am sick and tired of letting these good-for-nothings who think they have the bloody right to a person's body control me.
These bullies are so confident that I will not expose them, right? How about I prove them wrong?
All these years, I worked hard to prevent anyone from learning the truth about me. For their own safety, for mine, for countless other reasons. Shouto knows, however. Sasaki-san does. Ahearn-san does. Shigaraki, Dabi, Toga, Twice, Spinner, Mr. Compress … Yotsubash-san … Daruma-san … all of them know. They want what is best for me. And the least of that includes doing something to protect myself. Right now, what I can do is collect evidence.
Incriminating evidence.
Astonishing how, even as droplets of water trail down my cheeks, the cogs and gears in my head spin.
First, the restroom. Bent lock, broken hinges, hanging door. Blazer, napkin, cane. My DNA, Agawa-san's DNA, Kurosawa-san's DNA. Given the time frame and the enormity of the task, it is impossible that Agawa-san cleaned all traces of the scuffle. They also touched me, which means that their skin cells are stuck onto my clothes and mine on theirs.
That leaves Miyamoto-san, Kiyohime-san, and Kimura-san. Both girls have kept their distance from me thus far. But the video Kimura-san is recording should be enough to trap her. She has wisely kept her mouth shut so far, but her IP address will tattle-tale on her. As for Kiyohime-san, I will have to get someone to call her out by name.
Miyamoto-san is the easiest. With our bodies pressed together and his hands roaming my skin, I can manipulate him to my whims. And I do not need a quirk for that.
If he can sense my resolution, then good; I want him, too. Although his motions never stop, he speaks again. No louder than a hush. "Should I make it feel good for you? I can make you crave my touch. What must be absolute hell for you can turn into paradise." Funny. I heard a hollow promise along those lines before. I killed him afterwards. Miyamoto-san's pathokinesis pulls a shroud over my mind. Veils of ruby red and amethyst purple color my vision in sensuality. Fogginess momentarily clouds the schemes and machinations brewing until I concentrate on one item that is precious to me. Remembering his face, his companionship, and his worries for me parts the dense clouds to make way for moonlight.
Miyamoto-san's control over my emotions breaks.
Know your place, you fool. You believe you possess the talent of manipulation? I've been doing this for far longer than you have. The art of seduction is my area of expertise.
Before he can realize that his hold on me has shattered, I pretend to be enchanted under his spell. Three months of celibacy have not let me forget my past. Swaying the waist, hooking a leg around the ankle, arching the back, digging fingers, tilting the neck. These are skills I was forced to learn during my tenure as a prostitute. Even now – with my arms and legs rendered immobile by the bracelets – I enact all of these motions to some extent with the side of my body that does not appear in the camera's view.
They work.
Not without a price, though.
He rakes up the camisole to pinch and bruise my breasts. Nothing about his behavior is gentle. The straps slip down my shoulders, and he buries his face into the slope of my neck. I hate it. I hate him. I long to bite into his jugular and tear the flesh. Watch him bleed to death as his arteries spurt with blood.
It seems that Miyamoto-san has a similar idea. Soon enough, running the tongue against skin is not enough for him. He resorts to teeth. Bites, hard enough to draw blood, become his new method of "pleasuring" me. I try to console myself that revenge will come later, but it is hardly an ail for this agony. Miyamoto-san bites particularly hard in the flesh above my heart. I cannot swallow the gasp that escapes. Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! I want to scream.
He thinks that because I am experiencing bliss, he can do whatever he wishes to me. That is the only explanation for the increasing brutality of his actions.
Someone, please help!
His fingers slip inside my trousers. Toying with the hem of the underwear. He trails down further, lingering on my thighs before sliding between them.
And then, he freezes.
It is traumatic instinct to squeeze my legs close together, preventing him from further access. He has no inhibitions, however. He pries them apart to feel my genitals properly.
"Fuck!" he exclaims, suddenly. It is not a cry of carnal satisfaction, much to my relief. Tints of disgust and frustration shade his tone. "She's wearing a pad! *** is on her period!"
"What do you mean?" Agawa-san hollers. Apparently, no one cares about causing a commotion now. Much to my benefit. "You aren't going to fuck her?"
Miyamoto-san is quick to remove his hands from my pants and stumble away from me. He seethes, "She's bleeding like a slaughterhouse, dumbass! If her blood gets on my clothes, everyone is going to notice!"
While the two argue, the girls join in. No one pays attention to me. I am glad. The arthritic flare I had been fighting back for so long has emerged victorious. My feet slip from beneath me, bound wrists supporting my whole body weight. White flashes return with a vengeance. More intense than earlier. The blazes before were only warnings. The actual concussion was being delayed until now.
I barely hear the conversation now. Just fragments.
Vomit that had been climbing up my throat the entire time escapes all at once.
It rains down on Nakano-san.
Can't say I am apologetic about that.
Her shrieks are what end the argument. All of their attention is turned on me. Distantly, I realize they are shouting at me. Their words are garbled. Someone tugs my hair hard. They slap me repeatedly, trying to knock back me into conscience. Another person unties the knot that cuffed my hands to the tree branch. I fall unceremoniously to the ground. Unconsciousness beckons me into its embrace with open arms, and I am ready to reciprocate the gesture.
At some point, they must realize their efforts are futile.
Before they depart, Miyamoto bends down and murmurs in my ear, "Remember, crippled whore. Collateral."
When the echo of their footsteps disappears, I use the last dredges of my energy to roll over to my side.
My bones creak and ache from exertion, but the sight is worth it.
The lapis lazuli pendant. Dirt and shoe grime cover it, but I breathe a sigh of relief that at least it is not damaged. Seeing it gives me the strength to stave off oblivion's offer for a few precious moments.
The final rays of sunlight reflect off the metallic surface of the smartphone. I roll further until I reach it.
My limbs are useless.
I hope my chin can suffice.
Unlocking the Face ID consumes crucial seconds. Telling the AI system to connect a call with the last number on my history list takes even more.
Please.
Just a little longer.
The call passes through.
"Selene?" Shouto shouts with all the world's anxiety in that one question.
Before he can ask where I am, I talk first.
"Trace … phone … quickly …"
That is the last sentence I speak before blackness tucks me into a slumber as dark as the abyss.