The Confrontation
The evening air was heavy with tension as Yui entered her mother's room. The dim light cast long shadows across the walls, amplifying the unease that had settled between them since the attack on the USJ. Sakura Kodai sat in her wheelchair, her posture stiff and her hands gripping the armrests tightly. She looked up when Yui entered, her face guarded.
Yui closed the door behind her, the soft click of the latch sounding like the final note of a funeral march. She stepped closer, her sharp gray eyes locked onto Sakura's. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint hum of the estate's central air system.
"I need answers," Yui said coldly, her tone leaving no room for evasion.
Sakura frowned. "About what?"
"Inko Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya." The names hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Yui didn't miss the way her mother's knuckles whitened as her grip on the armrests tightened further.
Sakura's reaction was instant. Her already pale complexion drained of what little color remained, and her breathing quickened. Her eyes darted around the room as though searching for an escape route, but there was none.
"Where did you hear those names?" Sakura demanded, her voice trembling.
Yui stepped closer, her presence looming over her mother. "I'll be the one asking questions, not you. Start talking, or there might be another accident."
The threat was as subtle as a sledgehammer, and Sakura visibly flinched. "Yui," she whispered, her voice laced with both fear and pleading, "you don't understand what you're getting involved in."
"Then enlighten me," Yui snapped. "Because I'm not leaving this room until I know the truth."
A Mother's Fear
Sakura's chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing. She turned her head away, refusing to meet Yui's piercing gaze. "You need to drop this," she said quietly. "For your own safety."
Yui scoffed, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "Are you threatening me, Mother? Hardly seems like you're in a position to do so." Her eyes flicked to the wheelchair. "You can't even stand on your own two feet."
Sakura's head snapped back toward her daughter, anger flashing in her eyes. "I'm not talking about myself," she hissed. "I'm talking about your uncle, Hisashi."
The name struck Yui like a slap, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she crossed her arms and tilted her head, feigning indifference. "What does he have to do with this?"
"Everything," Sakura said, her voice a shaky whisper. "Hisashi is… not someone you trifle with. Even family isn't safe if they press the wrong buttons."
Yui leaned closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "And why would Uncle Hisashi care about a dead woman and her missing, quirkless son?"
Sakura shook her head frantically. "Stop. Stop asking questions. If you value your life, if you value your friends' lives, you will drop this. Pretend you never heard those names."
"Why?" Yui pressed, her frustration boiling over. "What's he hiding? What are you hiding?"
Sakura's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't answer. Instead, she reached out and grabbed Yui's hand, her grip surprisingly strong for someone in her condition. "Please, Yui," she begged. "If not for yourself, then for me. Don't pursue this. Don't bring it up to anyone else. If Hisashi finds out…"
Her voice broke, and she couldn't finish the sentence. The raw fear in her mother's eyes made Yui pause, but only for a moment.
A Warning Veiled in Pleading
Yui wrenched her hand free and took a step back, her jaw clenched. "You're protecting him," she accused. "Why? What could possibly be so important that you'd shield someone like him?"
Sakura's tears spilled over, but her expression hardened. "You don't understand. Hisashi isn't just powerful—he's untouchable. He controls everything—politicians, police, heroes. If he thinks for a second that someone is digging into his past, he'll eliminate them without hesitation. He's done it before."
Yui felt a chill run down her spine, but she refused to let her fear show. "And what about you, Mother? Are you afraid he'll come after you, too?"
Sakura closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. "He already has me where he wants me. I can't cross him. Neither can you."
For a moment, Yui considered pressing further, but the sheer terror in her mother's voice gave her pause. Sakura wasn't just afraid—she was petrified. Whatever Hisashi was hiding, it was big. Bigger than Yui had anticipated.
"You think a wheelchair will stop me from finding the truth?" Yui asked, her tone defiant despite the knot of unease in her stomach.
Sakura opened her eyes, meeting her daughter's gaze with a mixture of desperation and resignation. "It's not the wheelchair you should fear," she said quietly. "It's Hisashi. And if you're smart, you'll warn whoever brought this up to you to stay silent. If they don't, they won't survive the week."
Yui's Resolve
Yui stared at her mother, her mind racing. She didn't know whether to believe her or dismiss her warnings as paranoia, but one thing was clear: Hisashi Yaoyorozu was a man who inspired fear even in his own family. That alone made him dangerous.
"I'll decide for myself what's worth pursuing," Yui said finally, her voice cold. "But thanks for the warning, Mother."
She turned on her heel and strode toward the door. Before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder. "You're scared of him. I'm not. Maybe it's time someone stood up to him."
Sakura didn't respond. She simply watched her daughter leave, a single tear trailing down her cheek.
As the door closed behind Yui, Sakura whispered to the empty room, "Please, Yui… don't make the same mistakes I did."
The Inquiry
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard of Aldera High. The once-busy school grounds were now abandoned, the echoes of laughter and shuffling feet replaced by an eerie silence. Jiro and Toru waited by the rusted gate, their breaths visible in the chilling evening air. Tsubasa, a former classmate of Bakugo's, was late.
"This guy better show up," Jiro muttered, her earphone jacks twitching as they instinctively scanned for any nearby sound. "I'm not standing out here all night."
"He'll come," Toru said softly. "You said he likes you, right? He'll want to impress you."
Jiro rolled her eyes. "He's only talking because I promised to consider a date. Emphasis on consider."
The clink of a chain drew their attention. Tsubasa finally emerged from the shadows, his lanky frame silhouetted against the dim light of the streetlamp. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, his gait hesitant as he approached.
"You owe me for this, Jiro," he said, his voice laced with a mix of nervousness and excitement. "A date, yeah?"
"We'll see," Jiro replied curtly. "Depends on what you tell us."
Tsubasa stopped a few feet away, his gaze shifting between the two girls. "You mentioned… Midoriya."
The name seemed to hang in the air, heavy and foreboding. Toru noticed the way his shoulders tensed, his fingers twitching as if the mere mention of the name unsettled him.
"Yeah," Jiro said, her tone firm. "We need to know what happened with him. You were in the same class as Bakugo, right? You must've seen something."
Tsubasa's eyes darted around, scanning the area as though he expected someone—or something—to emerge from the shadows. "Why do you care about him?" he whispered.
"That's not your concern," Jiro shot back. "Just tell us what you know."
The Tale Unfolds
Tsubasa sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered. "But if I tell you, you better keep it to yourselves. I don't want anything to do with Midoriya anymore."
Toru and Jiro exchanged glances before nodding. "We promise," Toru said.
Tsubasa leaned against the gate, his face partially obscured by the shadows. "Izuku Midoriya… He was quirkless, you know? Just a regular kid in a world full of superhumans. You'd think that would make him easy to ignore, but no. He stood out."
Jiro frowned. "Why?"
"Because he was too good," Tsubasa replied, his voice bitter. "Quirkless, but he still aced every test, outperformed everyone in physical assessments, and had this… this look in his eyes. Like he was better than us. Like he knew something we didn't."
Toru tilted her head. "But that's not his fault. Why would people bully him for that?"
Tsubasa's laugh was humorless, a dry, raspy sound that sent a shiver down Jiro's spine. "Because it made us feel small. Especially Bakugo. Midoriya's very existence made him feel… inadequate."
The Beginning of the Fear
"Bakugo envied him," Tsubasa continued, his voice dropping. "Izuku was quirkless, but he always did better than him. In everything. And Bakugo hated that. He wanted to prove he was superior, and the only way he knew how was through violence."
The gate groaned as the wind picked up, its rusted hinges shrieking like a warning. Tsubasa glanced over his shoulder before continuing.
"Bakugo beat on him constantly," he said. "But Izuku never fought back. Not at first. He just… took it. Like it didn't bother him. But then, one day, something changed."
Jiro leaned forward. "What happened?"
Tsubasa hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Bakugo went too far. I don't know what he said or did, but whatever it was… it broke something in Midoriya. After that, everything changed."
"How?" Toru pressed, her invisible hands clenched at her sides.
"He started fighting back," Tsubasa said, his voice shaking. "But not like you'd expect. He didn't throw punches or yell. No, he was… subtle. Calculated. People who crossed him started having accidents. Their lockers would mysteriously catch fire. Their homework would vanish. And then there was Sanji."
The Incident
Jiro's earphone jacks twitched, detecting the tremor in Tsubasa's voice as he said the name. "Sanji?" she repeated.
Tsubasa nodded, his face pale. "Sanji didn't listen. He thought he could push Midoriya around like everyone else. One day, he went too far. The next morning, he didn't show up to school."
Jiro's heart pounded. "What happened?"
"They found him," Tsubasa whispered. "In an empty classroom. Hanging from a rope. They said it was suicide, but…"
Toru stepped closer. "But what?"
Tsubasa's voice cracked. "Midoriya was there the day before. I saw him. He was… smiling. Not a happy smile. It was… wrong. Like he knew something we didn't. Like he'd already won."
The Aftermath
The shadows seemed to deepen around them, the air growing colder. Tsubasa rubbed his arms as though trying to ward off the chill.
"After that, Bakugo changed," he said. "He told us to stay away from Midoriya. Never to speak to him or about him again. He didn't give us a reason, but he didn't have to. The look on his face… I'd never seen him so scared. It shook me."
Toru and Jiro exchanged uneasy glances. The idea of someone like Bakugo being afraid was almost unthinkable.
"Midoriya disappeared not long after that," Tsubasa added. "Some people said he ran away. Others thought he was taken by quirk purists. But honestly? I think he left because he wanted to. Because he didn't need us anymore."
The Warning
Tsubasa pushed off the gate, his expression hardening. "That's all I'm telling you. I don't want to know why you're asking about him, but take my advice: drop it. If he's alive, you don't want him coming after you."
Jiro frowned. "You think he'd hurt us?"
"I think he'd do whatever it takes to prove he's better," Tsubasa said darkly. "And he always wins."
Toru reached out, her hand hovering over his shoulder. "Tsubasa, thank you for telling us."
He pulled away, shaking his head. "Just leave me out of it," he muttered before disappearing into the shadows.
As the girls turned to leave, Jiro couldn't shake the image of Midoriya's smirk from her mind. It lingered, haunting her like a ghost.
"What do we do now?" Toru asked.
Jiro's voice was barely above a whisper. "We keep digging."
Loose Tongues
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a pale golden glow over the quiet neighborhood. Jiro stood in front of Tsubasa's house, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. She wasn't one to make good on a promise like this, especially when it involved someone like Tsubasa, but guilt weighed heavy on her. He had opened up about something deeply personal, and she'd promised him a date—granted, it had been more of a bargaining chip than genuine interest, but still, it was a promise.
"Better get this over with," she muttered under her breath, her boots crunching softly on the gravel path leading to the front door.
Jiro raised her fist and knocked. No response. She frowned and knocked again, louder this time.
"Tsubasa?" she called out, leaning closer to the door. Silence greeted her. The house seemed unnaturally still, like a predator holding its breath before a strike. Jiro's instincts prickled. Something felt off.
A Silent House
As she turned to leave, the door creaked open with a slow, mournful groan. Her heart skipped a beat, and she glanced around the empty street before stepping cautiously inside.
"Tsubasa?" she called again, her voice echoing through the dimly lit hallway. The air was thick, heavy, and carried a faint metallic tang that made her stomach twist. Her earphone jacks twitched, extending slightly to pick up any sound, but there was nothing. Just the low hum of a television from the living room.
"Hello?" she tried again, stepping further into the house. The floorboards creaked beneath her boots, each step echoing like a warning.
A Grim Discovery
She followed the sound of the television, her heart pounding in her chest. When she entered the living room, the sight before her made her freeze.
Tsubasa sat slumped in an armchair, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. His lifeless eyes stared blankly at the flickering screen, his mouth slightly open—but his tongue was missing. Blood dripped down his chin, pooling on the floor. Across from him, his parents lay sprawled on the carpet, their bodies riddled with stab wounds. The room had been ransacked; drawers were pulled out, furniture overturned, and anything of value was gone.
Jiro's stomach churned, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Her earphone jacks twitched uncontrollably, picking up the faint static of the television.
The Message
The only thing untouched in the chaotic room was the television. A movie played, the sound eerily clear amidst the carnage. Jiro's eyes flicked to the screen, her breath hitching as she recognized the film: Loose Tongues.
It was a gritty crime drama about a snitch who betrays the Yakuza and meets a gruesome end. On the screen, a Yakuza enforcer leaned over a bloodied man tied to a chair. His voice was calm, almost fatherly, as he spoke.
"Loose tongues," the enforcer said, tapping a knife against the man's cheek, "lead to painful deaths. The wise know when to keep quiet."
Jiro's legs felt like jelly as she staggered backward, her eyes darting between the screen and Tsubasa's mutilated body. This wasn't a robbery—it was a message.
A Chilling Realization
Her mind raced as she pieced together the implications. Tsubasa had talked. He'd broken whatever unspoken code of silence surrounded Izuku Midoriya. And now he—and his family—had paid the ultimate price.
"Who…?" Jiro whispered, her voice trembling. "Who would do this?"
She thought of the Yakuza, of the ominous warnings she'd heard about their reach and ruthlessness. But was it really them? Or was this something bigger, something darker?
Her earphone jacks twitched again, detecting a faint creak from the hallway. She spun around, her heart hammering in her chest, but there was nothing there. Just the empty, blood-soaked house.
A Warning Taken
Jiro took a shaky step back, her mind screaming at her to leave. The message was clear: someone didn't want her digging into Midoriya's past. She turned and bolted out of the house, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she stumbled onto the street.
She didn't stop running until she was blocks away, her legs burning and her lungs heaving. When she finally stopped, leaning against a lamppost, her thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and confusion.
"Midoriya…" she muttered, her voice barely audible. "Who the hell are you?"
The image of Tsubasa's lifeless body, the missing tongue, the deliberate choice of the movie—it all painted a picture of a man shrouded in darkness, a man who inspired fear even in death.
For the first time, Jiro wondered if they were digging into something far more dangerous than they could handle.
The Grim News
The following morning, Bakugo stood stiffly in the principal's office, his hands shoved into his pockets, trying to keep his temper in check. Across from him sat two detectives, their expressions grim. The air in the room felt heavy, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Aizawa stood off to the side, his dark eyes watching Bakugo intently, ready to intervene if necessary.
"Bakugo Katsuki," one of the detectives began, his voice low and somber. "We regret to inform you that Tsubasa Igarashi and his family were found dead last night. Their home was ransacked, and it appears to have been a violent robbery."
Bakugo's jaw clenched. His mind flashed to Tsubasa's face, the stupid grin he'd always had when they were kids. The words violent robbery felt hollow. He knew better. This wasn't random.
"You were childhood friends, right?" the detective pressed. "Did you notice anything unusual about Tsubasa recently? Anyone he might've angered?"
Bakugo's nails dug into his palms. His temper simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. He wanted to scream the truth: This wasn't a robbery. This was Izuku.
"No," Bakugo growled, his voice low and tight. "Tsubasa and I haven't talked in years."
The detective studied him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're sure? Because we've heard rumors that he may have been connected to… unsavory individuals."
Bakugo's lips curled into a snarl. "I said no."
Aizawa stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Bakugo's shoulder. "That's enough. If Bakugo says he doesn't know anything, then he doesn't. He's already given his statement."
The detectives exchanged glances, but they didn't push further. "Alright," one of them said. "If you remember anything, contact us immediately."
The Confrontation
Later that day, Bakugo stormed into the common area of the dorms, his face twisted with fury. Jiro was sitting on the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, clearly shaken. Toru and Ochako sat beside her, trying to console her, their voices soft and concerned.
"You!" Bakugo roared, his voice echoing through the room.
Jiro's head snapped up, her face pale. Before she could react, Bakugo was in front of her, his hands balled into fists. His crimson eyes blazed with anger, the sheer intensity of his presence making the room feel ten degrees hotter.
"This is your fault!" he yelled, pointing a trembling finger at her. "I warned you to stay out of it! But no, you had to keep digging! And now look what happened!"
Jiro flinched, her hands gripping the fabric of her jeans. "I didn't mean for—"
"Didn't mean for it?" Bakugo cut her off, his voice rising. "You think that matters? Tsubasa's dead because of you!"
"Bakugo!" Ochako yelled, stepping between them. "That's not fair! She didn't—"
"Shut up!" Bakugo snarled, his voice cracking with rage. "You don't know anything! None of you do!"
Aizawa Intervenes
The tension in the room was suffocating. Jiro looked like she was on the verge of tears, her face crumpling under the weight of Bakugo's accusations. Toru placed a protective arm around her, glaring at Bakugo with uncharacteristic fierceness.
Before Bakugo could unleash another tirade, Aizawa appeared in the doorway. "Bakugo, that's enough."
Bakugo whipped around to face his teacher, his chest heaving. "They got him killed, Sensei. They—"
"I said that's enough," Aizawa repeated, his tone sharp and unyielding. His capture scarf twitched slightly, a silent warning.
Bakugo's fists trembled at his sides, but he bit back his retort. He turned his glare back to Jiro. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't some stupid game. You don't poke the bear and walk away unscathed."
With that, he stormed out of the room, the sound of his boots echoing down the hallway.
The Aftermath
Jiro broke down the moment Bakugo left. She buried her face in her hands, her body shaking with silent sobs. Toru wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. "It's okay," Toru whispered. "It's not your fault."
Ochako knelt in front of Jiro, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Bakugo was wrong to yell at you like that. He's just… hurting. Don't take what he said to heart."
Jiro shook her head, her voice muffled. "He's right. I… I shouldn't have gotten involved. Tsubasa… it's my fault."
Aizawa stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "This isn't on you," he said firmly. "What happened to Tsubasa is tragic, but blaming yourself won't change anything."
Jiro looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen. "But—"
"No buts," Aizawa said. "If anything, this shows that whatever you're looking into is dangerous. You need to stop before someone else gets hurt."
The Comfort of Shadows
The quiet of the dorm room felt heavy, almost oppressive. Jiro sat on the edge of her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands trembling. Her eyes were red and puffy, dried tear tracks marking her cheeks. Across from her, Toru sat cross-legged on the floor, her usually bouncy energy subdued. The faint glow of a desk lamp cast long shadows across the walls, the light dim enough to make Toru's semi-visible outline barely distinguishable.
Jiro sniffled, wiping her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. "I can't stop seeing it, Toru," she muttered, her voice cracking. "His house… his parents… him. It's my fault. If I hadn't dragged him into this—"
"Hey." Toru's voice was soft, yet firm. She scooted closer, placing a gentle hand on Jiro's arm. "Don't do that. Don't blame yourself. You didn't hurt Tsubasa. Whoever did this… they're the monster. Not you."
Jiro shook her head, fresh tears spilling over. "But if I hadn't gone to him—if I hadn't started asking questions—"
"Stop," Toru interrupted, her hand squeezing Jiro's arm gently. "We both know that's not true. You didn't make someone do this. Whoever did this made their own choice. And if they're willing to do something like that, then they were dangerous long before you came along."
--
A Moment of Reflection
The room fell into silence, save for the muffled sounds of Jiro's soft crying. Toru stayed close, her posture open and relaxed, a comforting presence that didn't demand too much. It was a delicate balance—offering just enough warmth to soothe, without overwhelming.
In the stillness, Toru's gaze flicked to the small mirror hanging on the wall opposite them. For the briefest moment, her true reflection glimmered in the glass—a girl with piercing, calculating eyes and a faint smirk tugging at her lips. It was almost imperceptible, but her reflection seemed to hold a separate awareness, as though it had its own secrets to keep.
Toru's fingers twitched, and she quickly looked away from the mirror, her grip on Jiro's arm tightening ever so slightly. "We're going to figure this out," she said softly. "Together."
Jiro sniffled, glancing at Toru with watery eyes. "How can you say that? What if it happens again? What if someone else—"
"Then we'll stop it," Toru said, her voice carrying a quiet steel beneath its gentleness. "I promise you, Jiro. We'll make sure no one else gets hurt."
Jiro gave a shaky nod, her lips pressing together in an attempt to hold back another sob. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Toru leaned back slightly, tilting her head in a playful manner. "You'd probably be fine," she said lightly, her tone lifting the weight in the room just a fraction. "But lucky for you, you don't have to find out."
A Subtle Shift
As Jiro wiped her face and took a deep, steadying breath, Toru's invisible gaze shifted briefly to the window. Outside, the moon hung low, casting silver streaks across the darkened campus. The quiet air felt almost unnaturally still, the kind of stillness that made every creak of the building seem louder than it should.
Toru's presence beside Jiro was oddly comforting, her movements impossibly soft, almost like a phantom. When Jiro glanced over to where her friend sat, she couldn't help but feel a strange calm emanating from her, as if Toru's invisibility extended beyond sight, creating an aura of safety and stillness around her.
"You're stronger than you think," Toru said softly, her tone filled with quiet conviction. "And you're not alone in this, okay? We're all here for you."
Jiro nodded, her lips trembling as she tried to smile. "I just don't want to lose anyone else," she whispered.
"You won't," Toru replied firmly, her words striking with a certainty that was almost unnerving. "I promise."
The Weight of Silence
Jiro's breathing slowed, her body leaning back against the bedframe as she finally began to relax. Toru remained seated beside her, her invisible form blending seamlessly into the quiet darkness of the room. She was unnaturally still, a stark contrast to her usual bubbly demeanor, and the air around her seemed to shift ever so slightly, like the faint ripple of wind through untouched water.
For a fleeting moment, Toru's reflection shimmered in the dark window across the room. A hint of movement, a shadow barely perceptible, like a whisper of something more tangible lurking just out of sight. But when Jiro glanced toward it, the reflection was gone, the space empty once more.
Toru's presence felt odd—not alarming, but different. Jiro blinked and frowned, as though she'd noticed something she couldn't quite place. She dismissed it just as quickly, chalking it up to the overwhelming events of the day.
Invisible Reassurance
Toru leaned forward slightly, her hand brushing Jiro's arm in a comforting gesture. Her touch was light, deliberate. Jiro's shoulders relaxed further as she exhaled, the weight of her fear momentarily lifting.
"I'll stay with you tonight," Toru said gently. "You shouldn't have to be alone after… everything."
Jiro nodded, her voice small but grateful. "Thanks, Toru. I mean it."
"Of course," Toru replied. Her voice carried an odd balance of warmth and something else—something almost too calm, too measured. But the moment passed, leaving only the comfort of her kind words.
Jiro settled into the bed, pulling a blanket over herself. As she drifted toward sleep, her heartbeat slowed, the tension in her face easing. Toru sat quietly beside her, her invisible figure so still and quiet that even Jiro's keen senses struggled to detect her presence.
If Jiro hadn't known better, she might have thought she was completely alone.
Unseen Resolve
Toru's head tilted slightly, her gaze flicking back to the small mirror on the wall. For the briefest moment, her reflection reappeared, faint and shadowy. Her face—usually hidden and cheerful—held an expression that was impossible to read, a flicker of something sharp and fleeting. The reflection smirked ever so slightly before vanishing entirely.
A soft sigh escaped her lips, barely audible. Her fingers brushed against the communicator tucked into her pocket, a small, cool object that seemed to ground her thoughts. She stared at Jiro's sleeping form, her invisible gaze unreadable.
"You're safe now," Toru whispered under her breath, the words almost a promise to herself. Her voice was steady, calm. "I'll make sure of it."
The room was silent again, the only sound the faint hum of the campus outside. Toru stayed by Jiro's side until the first hint of dawn, her presence as quiet and intangible as a passing shadow.
The Summons
Momo paced the floor of her room, her phone pressed to her ear as she listened intently to Toru. Her friend's voice was steady, but the underlying tension was impossible to miss.
"Tsubasa's death has hit Jiro hard," Toru said. "I'm with her now, trying to keep her grounded. But Bakugo… he's furious. He blames us for what happened."
Momo's heart clenched. "Blames us? That's ridiculous. We didn't—"
"I know," Toru interjected softly. "But you know how he is. Right now, it's better to keep some distance from him. Give him time to cool off."
Momo sighed, glancing at her desk where books and papers lay scattered, evidence of her half-hearted attempt to distract herself. The events surrounding Izuku Midoriya were spiraling into something darker than she'd anticipated, and now it was costing lives.
Toru continued, her voice quieter. "Oh, and Principal Nedzu made an announcement earlier. Starting after the sports festival, all students will be moved into the UA dorms. For our safety."
"For our safety…" Momo repeated, her voice trailing off. Safety felt like a fragile concept these days. "Thank you for letting me know, Toru. Please take care of Jiro."
"I will. Be careful, Momo. Call me if you need anything."
As Momo hung up, a sudden knock at her door startled her. "Akiko?" she called out instinctively, but the voice that answered was not the one she expected.
"No," came a smooth, almost condescending tone. "It's Sayuri."
Momo's stomach twisted as she opened the door to find Sayuri standing there, her ever-present smirk firmly in place. There was an unsettling glint in her eyes, and Momo's unease deepened.
"Your father has summoned you and your mother to his quarters," Sayuri announced, her tone formal but laced with smugness. She leaned slightly closer. "He's waiting."
Momo swallowed hard, nodding. "I'll be right there."
The Revelation
When Momo arrived at her father's lavish office, her mother, Yuna, was already seated across from Hisashi. Hisashi, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, sat behind his grand oak desk, his expression composed yet unreadable. The room, with its polished wood and golden accents, exuded power and authority.
"Momo," Hisashi said, his voice warm yet calculated. "Please, sit."
She obeyed, her gaze darting between her father and mother, her heart pounding in anticipation of what this meeting could be about.
"I regret to inform you both that Akiko has been caught stealing," Hisashi began, his tone heavy with feigned sorrow. "As a result, I've had no choice but to terminate her employment."
Momo froze, her breath hitching. "What? That can't be true. Akiko would never—"
"Momo," Hisashi interrupted, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "Are you calling me a liar?"
The question hung in the air like a knife, and Momo hesitated, the weight of his authority pressing down on her. She shook her head slowly. "No, Father. But… something feels wrong about this."
Hisashi leaned back in his chair, his expression softening just enough to seem reasonable. "I understand your feelings. Akiko was a trusted member of this household for many years. I, too, was shocked by her betrayal. She had been asking for a pay rise, which I had to refuse. I didn't realize she was struggling with her health. Perhaps I should have been more attentive."
He sighed deeply, a gesture of carefully constructed regret. "But stealing is unacceptable. As the head of this family, I had to make an example of her. It pains me as much as it pains you."
Momo clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Every word he spoke felt rehearsed, as though he were reciting a script. "What will happen to her?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Her legacy will not be forgotten," Hisashi replied smoothly. "I've honored her contributions to this family with a statue in the garden. A tribute to her dedication and care."
Momo's breath caught. A statue? She felt a chill run down her spine as the realization dawned on her. Akiko's fate was far worse than she had imagined. Her father's golden statues, once symbols of elegance and wealth, now felt like ominous trophies.
Yuna, who had been silent until now, placed a hand over her heart. "I can't believe this. Akiko? After all these years? I feel so betrayed."
Momo glanced at her mother, unsure if her reaction was genuine or if Yuna was simply taking Hisashi's words at face value. Meanwhile, Hisashi's piercing gaze shifted back to her, his eyes gleaming with subtle warning.
"Do you have something to say, Momo?" he asked, his tone deceptively kind.
She hesitated, the memory of her conversation with Akiko replaying in her mind. The mention of Hisashi's affair with Inko Midoriya, the warning to be careful… Had he found out? Was this his way of silencing Akiko?
"No," Momo said quietly, lowering her gaze. "I just… I can't believe it."
Hisashi smiled faintly, satisfied with her response. "It's always difficult to lose someone close. But as a family, we must move forward. We have a legacy to uphold."
Momo nodded, her mind racing. She felt trapped, her father's presence suffocating her with its quiet menace. Hisashi's words were calculated, his actions deliberate. He was a man who controlled every aspect of his world, ensuring nothing threatened his carefully constructed empire.
As the meeting concluded and Momo rose to leave, she caught her father's gaze one last time. There was no warmth in his eyes, only a cold, unyielding authority that sent a shiver down her spine.
Reflection
Later that night, Momo stood by the window in her room, staring out at the garden below. The golden statues glinted under the moonlight, their polished surfaces hiding the dark truths they represented. Her eyes lingered on the newest addition, Akiko's likeness, standing frozen in eternal silence.
Tears welled up in her eyes as memories of Akiko flooded her mind. Akiko had been more than a maid; she had been a second mother to her, a guiding presence during Yuna's frequent absences. And now, she was gone, reduced to a lifeless ornament by the man Momo was supposed to trust the most.
Her phone buzzed on the desk, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from Toru.
Toru: "How are you holding up? Call me if you need to talk."
Momo stared at the screen, torn between confiding in her friends and keeping her family's secrets buried. For now, she decided, she would stay silent. But deep down, she knew this was far from over.