Chapter 21
Himiko Toga sat cross-legged on the dusty floor of an abandoned warehouse, the glow of her phone casting a pale light over her face. Her wide, manic grin softened into something almost wistful as she scrolled through video after video of Izuku Gojo.
The clips were everywhere—him standing tall in the aftermath of Sukuna's destruction, his bloodied yet unbroken form healing dozens with Eri by his side. Another video showed him flashing that cocky grin, his shattered sunglasses pushed up to reveal his piercing, otherworldly eyes.
The comments were endless:
"Gojo is the coolest hero alive!"
"He's unstoppable!"
"No one can match him!"
"My new favorite pro-hero. Move over, Endeavor."
Himiko's head tilted to the side as she whispered to herself, "He doesn't even try to make them like him... they just do."
Her fingers hovered over the screen, replaying a short clip of Izuku walking through a field of rubble, his long coat billowing behind him like a cape. He didn't stop for the cameras, didn't pose, didn't even acknowledge the crowd. He was just... cool.
"He doesn't care, but they love him anyway," she murmured, her yellow eyes narrowing. Her heart pounded, but not in the way it usually did when she was around blood. No, this was something different—an aching desire.
"I want to be him."
Himiko clutched the phone tightly, her knuckles whitening. She wanted that confidence, that strength. She wanted people to look at her like that, with admiration and awe instead of disgust and fear.
Her lips parted as she stared at the screen, her breath hitching. "They all love you, Gojo Izuku... even though you're so cold. So untouchable."
Her grin returned, sharper this time, and she licked her lips. "But I can touch you. I can be you."
The thought sent a thrill through her. To drink his blood, to feel his power coursing through her veins, to stand where he stood, to look into those shattered sunglasses from his point of view—she could almost taste it.
But it wasn't just about his blood. It wasn't just about becoming him, even though that idea made her heart race.
It was about understanding him.
"He doesn't smile for real, does he?" she whispered, tracing his face on the screen. "That grin is fake. Like he's hiding something... something painful."
Her head tilted the other way, eyes gleaming with curiosity. What was he hiding? What was he really like beneath that effortless swagger?
Himiko hugged the phone to her chest and giggled. "You're perfect, Gojo Izuku... but I bet you're broken, too. And I love broken things."
Standing abruptly, she began pacing the room, her thoughts racing.
"I'll find you," she said to no one in particular. "I'll find you, and I'll show you that I get it. I'll show you that I can be just like you."
Her smile turned dreamy as she twirled on her heel, the hem of her schoolgirl skirt fluttering. "And then, maybe you'll love me too."
The phone buzzed in her hand, and she glanced at the screen—a new video of Izuku healing someone with Eri by his side. She opened it immediately, her grin widening as she drank in every detail.
"Soon, Gojo Izuku," she whispered, her voice dripping with anticipation. "Soon."
Himiko Toga's phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen, her already wide eyes narrowing in curiosity. A new notification—an invitation.
The message was short but intriguing:
"To those who wish to see the hero society crumble and find a place where they belong, come meet us. The League of Villains is growing."
Below the text was an address, handwritten in a stylized font.
Himiko's lips curled into a sharp, toothy grin. "The League of Villains, huh?" she muttered, spinning the phone in her hand. "The man from the Sports Festival... and the USJ attack. Ooooh, this could be fun."
Her heart raced. She hadn't forgotten that strange, pale-haired man with the decay quirk who caused chaos so effortlessly. And then there was him, the one who floated above the stadium with that terrifying power—the one who clashed with Gojo Izuku. Sukuna.
"New people like me?" she mused, her grin widening. "I should definitely check it out."
She read the address again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. It wasn't too far, but she'd need a train to get there. She patted her skirt pocket and frowned. Empty. No money.
She groaned theatrically, flopping backward onto the worn couch in her hideout. "Ugh, why is everything so expensive? Can't a girl just meet some new friends without worrying about train tickets?"
Her pout vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a devilish smirk. "Guess I'll have to make my own way there."
The idea hit her, and her laughter echoed through the empty room.
Grabbing her blood-stained bag, she slung it over her shoulder and skipped out the door. Her step was light, almost playful, as she made her way to the train station. The city buzzed around her, oblivious to the chaos brewing beneath its surface.
At the station, she stood on the platform, watching the train approach. The sound of screeching metal filled the air as it slowed to a stop.
Himiko tilted her head, her eyes scanning the conductor's cabin.
"Hmm, he looks so serious," she muttered. "That's no fun."
When the doors opened, she slipped inside, her movements fluid and unassuming. She made her way to the front of the train, weaving through the crowd with ease.
When she reached the conductor's cabin, she knocked on the door.
A muffled, irritated voice responded, "This area is off-limits to passengers. Return to your seat."
Himiko pouted again, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "But I really, really need to get somewhere! Can't you make a special exception for me?"
"Miss, I said—"
Before he could finish, she shoved the door open, her knife gleaming in the dim light.
The conductor's eyes widened in terror as she stepped inside, her smile never faltering. "Let's make a deal," she said sweetly, twirling the blade between her fingers. "You keep driving, but you take my route. Okay?"
He nodded frantically, his hands shaking as they gripped the controls.
"Good boy," she said, patting his cheek. "Now, take us to this address!"
She held up her phone, showing him the location.
As the train lurched forward, Himiko plopped down in the conductor's chair, humming a cheerful tune. The passengers had no idea their route had just been hijacked.
"New friends, here I come," she whispered to herself, her grin widening as she imagined what awaited her. "This is going to be so much fun."
O—O—O
The acrid smell of charred metal and plastic hung in the air as Dabi watched the flames lick the remains of the factory. It was a masterpiece of destruction—something he had perfected over the years. The dull orange glow of the fire reflected in his lifeless blue eyes, but his face betrayed no emotion.
A buzz in his pocket pulled his attention away from the inferno.
Dabi pulled out his phone, the light of the screen illuminating his scarred face. A notification.
"To those who wish to see the hero society crumble and find a place where they belong, come meet us. The League of Villains is growing."
Attached was an address.
He frowned, scrolling back to read it again. The League of Villains? He'd heard of the group, vaguely. Rumors whispered in the dark corners of society about a pale-haired leader with a decay quirk. The one responsible for the USJ attack and that massacre at the Sports Festival.
Dabi smirked, his cracked lips curling into a grin. "League of Villains, huh? Sounds like my kind of crowd."
The message mentioned others—people like him. Outcasts. Freaks. The thought was intriguing. The idea of meeting others who shared his disdain for society's glossy façade of justice, its broken promises.
Should I check it out?
He glanced at the address again. It wasn't far. An abandoned warehouse—how cliché. But convenient.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, turning his back on the blazing factory. The fire roared behind him as he walked down the dark alley, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.
The streets were quiet, save for the occasional distant siren. The fire would draw attention soon, but by then, he'd be long gone.
As he approached the warehouse, he noticed the area was eerily silent. No movement, no signs of life—just the occasional flicker of a streetlamp struggling to stay lit.
"Perfect," he muttered.
The warehouse loomed before him, its rusted doors slightly ajar. He could see faint light spilling from within, shadows moving inside.
Dabi pushed the doors open and stepped inside, his boots crunching against the debris on the floor.
The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of damp and decay. A group of figures stood huddled in the center, their faces obscured by shadow. One of them, a tall man with pale hair and hands covering his body, turned to face him.
"Welcome," the man said, his voice raspy and low.
Dabi's grin widened as he scanned the group. New people? Freaks? Just like him?
"Let's see what you've got," he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
The League of Villains had piqued his interest. For now, he'd play along. After all, there was always room for a little more chaos.
O—O—O
The Rolls Royce cruised through the dimly lit streets of Tokyo, its smooth hum barely audible over the quiet tension in the air. Izuku sat in the backseat, one arm wrapped around Eri, who had fallen asleep against him. The trip to Jujutsu High had given him more questions than answers, but at least he knew where to start looking.
Tengen-sama had seen him off with her usual unreadable expression, her cryptic words still echoing in his mind.
"All For One stole Sukuna's last finger... huh?"
The thought disturbed him. The implications were too vast, too dangerous. If that bastard had been hoarding a millennium-old curse, what else had he been keeping in the shadows?
The city lights flashed past the window, but Izuku barely noticed. His mind was a storm, thoughts colliding against one another, but he forced himself to exhale slowly. One thing at a time.
Eri shifted slightly, her tiny fingers gripping his sleeve even in sleep. His gaze softened. She had been through enough already. Whatever came next, he wouldn't let her suffer any more than she already had.
"Sir, we've arrived," the chauffeur announced.
The car slowed to a smooth stop in front of his apartment complex—one of the more high-end places in Tokyo. It wasn't flashy, just secure and private. The kind of place that kept out prying eyes.
"Thank you," Izuku murmured, gently lifting Eri into his arms.
As he stepped out, the cool night air greeted him, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city—cars, muffled voices, the occasional siren. Tokyo never truly slept.
The chauffeur gave a respectful nod before driving off, leaving Izuku standing at the entrance of his building, Eri curled up in his arms.
He sighed, looking up at the sky.
Whatever was coming, he had to be ready.
Izuku sighed as he scrolled through the latest social media feeds, his fingers lazily flicking across the screen.
Some people were calling Sukuna a divine punishment—judgment for mankind's reliance on quirks and their corrupted hero society. Others, in equal absurdity, had started calling him the last hope of humanity.
Tch. Annoying.
The last thing he needed was a bunch of zealots worshiping or condemning him. He wasn't a god, and he sure as hell wasn't interested in playing savior. He had his own problems to deal with.
Shoving his phone into his pocket, he pulled it out again almost immediately and fired off a quick text.
Yo. You free? Care to crash in?
It took less than a minute before his phone buzzed.
Young Midoriya, I'm on my way.
Izuku smirked.
Awesome.
With that, he leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. At least one person still treated him the same, no matter what the world thought.
All Might, in his skeletal form, arrived at Izuku's penthouse about twenty minutes later. He still knocked, despite knowing Izuku could probably sense him a mile away.
When Izuku opened the door, the former Symbol of Peace grinned. "I hope I'm not imposing, Young Midoriya."
Izuku scoffed, stepping aside to let him in. "If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have invited you."
All Might chuckled, patting his stomach. "Well, I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea if you have any."
Izuku raised an eyebrow. "Tea? Seriously? I have an entire bar, and you ask for tea?"
"I still have some dignity, my boy."
"Uh-huh," Izuku drawled as he walked toward the kitchen. "You sure you don't want whiskey instead? Might need it after what I'm about to tell you."
All Might's expression grew serious. "That bad?"
Izuku didn't answer immediately. Instead, he handed All Might a steaming cup of tea before slumping onto the couch.
"So," All Might said, sitting across from him. "Where exactly did you go today?"
Izuku swirled the tea in his cup, watching the liquid move before finally answering, "Tokyo Jujutsu High."
All Might blinked. "Jujutsu High… The one that's been shut down for centuries?"
"The same," Izuku confirmed. "Tengen's still there, though."
All Might hummed in thought. "I see. And did you learn anything useful?"
Izuku inhaled slowly, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he finally said, "Sukuna's definitely resurrected."
Silence.
All Might's grip on his teacup tightened. "You're sure?"
"Yeah." Izuku leaned back against the couch, sighing. "He's back. And he's in Shigaraki's body."
The tea in All Might's cup rippled slightly as his hand trembled. "You're saying… Sukuna was resurrected… in Tomura Shigaraki's body?"
"By All For One."
A beat of silence.
"Oh," All Might said, voice quieter than usual.
"Yeah."
"So, he's really alive."
Izuku snorted, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, no shit."
All Might stared at his tea for a long moment before sighing. Then, with a weary shake of his head, he got up and walked over to the bar.
Izuku smirked. "What happened to dignity, old man?"
All Might didn't even look at him as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass. "Dignity is reserved for days when an ancient curse isn't possessing my former student's greatest enemy."
Izuku chuckled. "Fair enough. Pour me one too."
All Might gave him a pointed look before taking a slow sip of his drink. "No."
Izuku scoffed. "Seriously?"
"You're fifteen."
"I'm a sorcerer."
"You're still fifteen."
Izuku groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. "Tch, bummer."
O—O—O
The air inside the abandoned warehouse was thick with the scent of rust, old oil, and decay. It had seen better days, but so had they. The dim, flickering light from the single exposed bulb above barely illuminated the cracked concrete floors and broken wooden crates scattered around.
Dabi leaned against a rusted metal wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his striking turquoise eyes scanning the two others in the room. He had arrived first. Then, a man wrapped in a patched-up coat, his face hidden behind a black mask, had strolled in. Twice. Dabi had heard of him—loud, unpredictable, but strangely reliable. The third to arrive was someone new. A girl. She was young, with messy blonde hair, golden eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a smile that was far too wide to be innocent.
"So," she said, tilting her head in an almost childlike manner, rocking on her heels. "Who are you guys?"
"Dabi." His answer was short, clipped, uninterested. No need for full names. If she was here, then she was meant to be here.
"Twice," the man in the patched coat replied instantly, then immediately followed with, "Or maybe not. Maybe I'm someone else. No, no, I'm definitely Twice. Yeah."
The girl giggled, twirling a knife between her fingers as she watched them both. "Toga Himiko! Nice to meet you! So, what do you guys like?"
Dabi raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly against the wall. "What kind of question is that?"
"I dunno. Icebreakers? Blood?" She tilted her head further, her eyes practically glowing.
Twice let out a loud laugh. "I like money. And freedom. Oh! And not being hunted by heroes."
Dabi considered his answer before giving a small smirk. "Fire."
"Oooh, that's a good one," Toga said approvingly, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I like blood. And cute people. And drinking blood from cute people."
Dabi gave her a look, but she only grinned wider.
Before any of them could say anything else, the heavy sound of metal groaning filled the warehouse. The large sliding door creaked open, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. Two figures stepped inside. One was tall, clad in a dark suit, his entire head engulfed in swirling mist. Kurogiri. The other was unmistakable—Tomura Shigaraki.
Dabi had seen his image before, heard the rumors, but seeing him in person was something else. He walked with slow, deliberate steps, his movements eerily calm yet filled with a sense of restrained violence. His ragged hoodie barely concealed the collection of hands clinging to his body, the most unsettling one resting atop his face. His blood-red eyes scanned the room, taking in each of them like a predator assessing his prey.
For a moment, there was only silence. Even Twice, who seemed to have a hard time shutting up, remained still.
Shigaraki finally spoke, his voice dry, raspy, and dripping with disdain. "I don't like useless people."
The words hung in the air like a blade. Toga simply smiled, her eyes shining with amusement. Twice scratched the back of his head nervously. Dabi remained unfazed, waiting for him to continue.
"If you're here, it means you have potential," Shigaraki continued. "But potential doesn't mean anything if you slack off."
He turned slightly, pacing in slow, measured steps. "Our goal is simple. Destroy hero society. Expose the truth. No more fake smiles. No more deception."
Dabi tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. "And how exactly do we do that?"
Shigaraki stopped and looked directly at him. "By being better than them at their own game."
Twice nodded quickly. "I like the sound of that. No more hypocrisy. No more pretending heroes are perfect."
Toga clapped her hands together. "So we get to cause chaos?"
Shigaraki's lips twitched into a small smirk beneath the hand covering his face. "We expose their flaws. We show people that their so-called 'heroes' are just as corrupt as the villains they hunt. And if chaos happens along the way… so be it."
Dabi let out a small chuckle, pushing off the wall. "Sounds like a fun time."
Shigaraki's gaze flickered between them, satisfaction glinting in his red eyes. "Good."
Kurogiri, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "There is much to prepare. If you are truly committed to this cause, then be ready. The real work begins soon."
Toga's smile widened as she twirled her knife. Twice adjusted his mask. Dabi simply gave a slow nod.
Shigaraki's smirk grew ever so slightly. "Then let's get started."
O—O—O
Ochako followed Toji through the dimly lit streets, her steps hesitant as she trailed behind him. The city's glow barely reached this part of town, leaving the narrow alleyways steeped in darkness. The deeper they went, the more uneasy she felt. The man in front of her moved with a predator's grace, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his broad shoulders relaxed as if he had all the time in the world.
Finally, they reached an open lot behind an old apartment building. The place looked abandoned, littered with broken glass and discarded trash. A couple of rusted-out cars sat in the corner, long forgotten, their windows shattered. The air smelled faintly of oil and damp concrete.
Ochako furrowed her brows. "Uh… what exactly are we doing here?"
Toji stopped, stretching his arms behind his head before rolling his shoulders. His dark eyes flicked toward her, unreadable. "Training."
Ochako blinked. "Training? What, here? Shouldn't we—"
SMACK!
Pain exploded in her cheek before she even registered what had happened. One moment she was speaking, the next, her head snapped to the side, and she staggered backward. A sharp, stinging sensation spread across her face.
"What the hell?!" she gasped, her hand flying up to touch her cheek. She looked up, eyes wide with shock. Toji was watching her, his expression calm, almost bored.
"Try dodging like your life depends on it," he said, shaking out his wrist. "Because at the moment, it does."
Ochako's breath hitched. "You just—"
She barely had time to finish before he moved again. A blur of motion, then—
THWACK!
This time, she saw the attack coming, but not fast enough. His fist struck her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She stumbled back, doubling over.
"Damn it!" she coughed, clutching her midsection. "Are you crazy?!"
"Crazy?" Toji tilted his head. "Kid, if this was a real fight, you'd be dead already."
Ochako glared at him through watery eyes, her breaths coming in short gasps. She wanted to yell at him, to call him out for being a lunatic, but… deep down, she knew he was right. She had tried to fight before. She had tried to be a hero. And she had failed.
Miserably.
Back at the rally, she had frozen. Against that thug in the alley, she had fought… and lost. Even with her Quirk, she had been weak.
But she didn't want to be weak anymore.
Ochako straightened, forcing herself to stand tall. "Fine," she spat. "You wanna do this? Let's do this."
Toji grinned. "That's more like it."
Then he disappeared.
Her eyes widened. What the—?!
Something in her instincts screamed at her, and she threw herself to the side just in time. A gust of wind brushed past her ear as Toji's fist swung through empty air where her head had just been.
He wasn't holding back.
Ochako hit the ground and rolled, springing back to her feet. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. She barely had time to process before he was on her again.
Dodge!
She ducked under the next punch, then twisted away from a sweeping kick. But she wasn't fast enough to avoid the heel of his palm slamming into her shoulder.
She stumbled back, teeth gritted. "Damn it!"
Toji smirked. "You're learning."
Another attack. Another dodge. Ochako started moving faster. She didn't think—she reacted. She had no choice. If she hesitated, she'd be on the ground again.
Toji was relentless. He wasn't a hero, wasn't some teacher giving a lesson. He was a hunter testing his prey.
But Ochako wasn't prey. Not anymore.
She caught sight of an opening—just for a split second—and swung a punch at him.
Toji caught her wrist effortlessly.
"Too slow," he said.
A second later, she was on her back, staring up at the night sky, gasping for breath.
"Shit," she groaned.
Toji loomed over her, hands on his hips. "You lasted longer than I expected."
Ochako wanted to punch him, but that would require moving, and right now, she wasn't sure she could.
"You're not terrible," he continued. "You've got instincts. That's good. But instincts won't save you if your body can't keep up."
She rolled onto her side, coughing. "So what… do I do?"
Toji knelt beside her, staring her dead in the eye. "You get stronger."
Ochako swallowed, her throat dry.
"You want to fight?" Toji asked. "Really fight? Then you need to be faster. Tougher. Meaner."
She clenched her fists. "I want to win."
A smirk pulled at the corner of Toji's lips. "Then get up."
Ochako forced herself to her feet. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she ignored them.
Toji tilted his head. "Again."
She nodded.
Then, without warning, he attacked.
This time, she was ready.
Ochako barely had time to process before Toji lunged again.
His fist blurred toward her, and she twisted to dodge—but not fast enough. His knuckles grazed her ribs, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her side. She stumbled but didn't fall. Not this time.
Good. Keep moving.
Her breath came in short, ragged bursts as she tried to stay light on her feet. Toji didn't let up for a second. He came at her from the left, a quick jab aimed for her shoulder. She barely ducked under it before he swept her legs out from under her.
She hit the ground. Hard.
Her vision blurred for a second as pain shot through her back. The impact rattled her bones, but she refused to stay down. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.
"Not bad," Toji remarked, rolling his shoulder. "You're not crying yet."
Ochako scowled, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Give me time."
Toji chuckled. "Alright. Let's see how much time you've got."
He was on her again in an instant.
Ochako barely had time to lift her arms before he slammed a kick into her guard. The force sent her skidding back, her boots scraping against the cracked pavement. Her arms ached from the impact. She didn't get a chance to recover before he struck again.
A punch to the stomach—knocking the wind out of her.
A sharp blow to the side—making her vision swim.
A sweeping kick to the legs—sending her crashing down.
Her palms scraped against the rough ground, the sting barely registering over the deep ache in her muscles. She tried to stand, but her knees wobbled, threatening to give out.
Her entire body hurt.
This was beyond anything she had ever experienced. This wasn't just sparring; this was a real fight. A one-sided beatdown designed to break her.
And yet… she wasn't broken.
She coughed, spitting out a bit of blood. Her lip was split, her arms bruised, her ribs throbbing. But she wasn't done.
Ochako forced herself to her feet.
Toji raised an eyebrow. "Huh."
She took a shaky breath, steadying herself. "Again."
That made him grin.
"You sure?" he asked. "You look like you're about to pass out."
She glared at him. "Again."
Toji let out a low chuckle. "You've got guts, I'll give you that." Then, without warning, he lunged.
Ochako barely had time to react. She threw herself sideways, avoiding his first strike. But the second one clipped her shoulder, sending her spinning. She caught herself before she could fall completely, gritting her teeth against the pain.
Move. Don't stop.
Toji wasn't going easy. At all.
Ochako knew that.
And yet, some part of her had expected him to hold back just a little. He was an adult, a pro, a seasoned fighter. She was just a girl barely out of high school. But no—there was no mercy in his attacks, no hesitation in his movements.
This was real.
This was what fighting was.
Not scripted battles, not training simulations, not hero school exercises.
Real fights hurt. Real fights didn't wait for you to catch your breath.
Real fights didn't care if you were tired.
Another punch came flying at her. She ducked—barely—but she was too slow to avoid the knee that crashed into her ribs.
She choked on a gasp of pain.
Her legs buckled.
Toji grabbed her collar and yanked her forward, throwing her onto the ground like she weighed nothing.
She hit the pavement with a grunt.
"Still breathing?" he asked, looming over her.
Ochako spat blood onto the ground. "Yeah."
"Good." He cracked his knuckles. "Get up."
She did.
Every part of her body screamed at her to stop, to just stay down and rest. But she ignored it.
She wasn't done yet.
She took a stance, her hands shaking from exhaustion. Toji gave her an approving nod.
"Alright, then," he said. "Let's go."
He attacked again.
Ochako didn't dodge in time.
His punch slammed into her gut, making her double over. Her vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges of her sight. She swayed on her feet but refused to fall.
Toji exhaled through his nose. "You've got more willpower than I expected."
Ochako wiped her mouth, tasting copper. "I can take it."
He smirked. "We'll see."
The next hour was brutal.
Ochako kept getting knocked down, and she kept getting back up. Over and over.
She wasn't landing any hits. She knew that.
But she was lasting longer.
She was reacting faster.
She was moving better.
And even though her body ached, even though her lungs burned, even though she had never been more exhausted in her life—she didn't stop.
Toji knocked her down again.
She got up.
He knocked her down.
She got up.
Bruised, battered, shaking on her feet—but still standing.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Toji called it.
"Enough."
Ochako collapsed onto her knees, gasping for breath.
Toji crossed his arms, studying her with an unreadable expression. Then, after a long moment, he smirked.
"Not bad, brat."
Ochako let out a breathless laugh. "You… almost sound impressed."
He snorted. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
She grinned despite the pain.
Toji shook his head. "Get some rest. You're gonna need it."
Ochako nodded, her body too exhausted to argue.
She had survived.
And tomorrow, she'd do it again.
O—O—O
Ochako limped down the dimly lit street, every muscle in her body aching like hell. Toji had wrecked her. Bruised, battered, and barely holding herself together, she was just trying to make it home without collapsing in some alleyway like a dead raccoon.
Then, she heard it.
"HEY, YOU EXTRA! WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE DRIVING!"
She blinked, glancing up ahead.
There, in the middle of the street, was Bakugou Katsuki, standing protectively in front of a small, very confused-looking cat. A driver—some unfortunate soul who probably regretted his life choices right about now—was gripping his steering wheel in terror, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here.
"YOU ALMOST RAN OVER THIS DAMN CAT, YOU MORON!" Bakugou continued, rage practically radiating off him. "WHAT, YOU BLIND?! NEED ME TO BLAST YOUR EYES OPEN FOR YA?!"
The driver, wisely deciding not to argue with the walking explosion, simply threw up his hands in a desperate apology before speeding away like his life depended on it. Which, knowing Bakugou, it probably did.
Ochako stared. Huh. So the angry Pomeranian had a soft spot for cats. Who would've thought?
The cat, seemingly unfazed by the chaos, stretched lazily before trotting off as if it hadn't just been at the center of a near-death experience.
Bakugou clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Dumbass cat. Almost died and doesn't even care."
Ochako chuckled but immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shot through her ribs. She winced, clutching her side.
Unfortunately, that tiny movement caught Bakugou's attention. His crimson eyes snapped to her, and his brows furrowed.
"The hell happened to you?" he barked, stomping toward her. "You look like a beaten-up bitch!"
Ochako straightened, attempting to look less like she had been run over by a truck (and then thrown under another one for good measure). "Oh, uh, this?" She gestured vaguely at her bruises, trying to think of an excuse.
Bakugou scowled. "Yeah, that. You look like you got into a fight with a damn cement mixer and lost."
Ochako laughed nervously. "Well, you see... it's kind of a funny story—"
"Spit it out already."
"Right! So, uh..." Her brain scrambled for something—anything—believable. Or maybe not believable. Did it matter?
"A herd of rampaging ostriches," she blurted out.
Bakugou blinked. "What?"
"Yeah!" She nodded rapidly, going all in now. "I was walking home, right? And out of nowhere—BAM! A whole flock of them just came charging down the street!" She threw her arms up dramatically, ignoring the way her shoulder screamed in protest. "Feathers everywhere, chaos, destruction! It was like a scene straight out of an action movie!"
Bakugou's face twisted into the most skeptical expression she had ever seen. "The hell kind of bullshit—"
"And I tried to run," she continued, steamrolling over his disbelief. "But one of them locked eyes with me. Like—really locked eyes. There was something in that gaze, Bakugou. Something... unhinged."
"What—"
"And before I could even think, it just lunged at me! Pecked me right in the ribs!"
He stared at her. "You're telling me... a bird did that to you?"
"Oh, no! Not just one!" she corrected quickly. "The others saw me go down, and it was like I was a target! They swarmed me! Wings flapping, claws scratching—it was like nature had decided I was its enemy!"
Bakugou looked like he was actively trying to restrain himself from blasting her into orbit. "You really expect me to believe that a bunch of goddamn ostriches mugged you in an alley?"
Ochako gasped, clutching her chest. "I wish it was a mugging, Bakugou! At least that would make sense! But no, they didn't even want my money! They just wanted to see me suffer!"
His eye twitched. "You're full of shit."
Ochako shrugged, smiling innocently. "Believe what you want. But somewhere out there, those ostriches are still roaming the streets, looking for their next victim."
Bakugou ran a hand down his face like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment. "Tch. Whatever. Not my damn business." He turned on his heel, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Go home before you get your ass kicked by a flock of pigeons or some shit next time."
Ochako grinned, watching him stomp off. "I'll be on the lookout!"
Bakugou scoffed but didn't look back.
She sighed in relief once he was gone. Her body was killing her, but at least she had managed to avoid explaining the actual beating she had taken from Toji. No way was she dealing with Bakugou's inevitable explosion over that.
Still, she had to admit...
That excuse was one of her finest works.
O—O—O
Bakugou had zero intention of stopping by the convenience store. He was just passing through, hands shoved deep into his pockets, still mildly irritated about that dumbass encounter with Round Face and her ridiculous ostrich story.
But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.
A magazine.
Right there on the rack by the register, its cover featuring a dark, menacing illustration of a monstrous figure with four eyes and sharp, jagged markings along his body. The headline in bold red letters read:
"THE KING OF CURSES: THE TRUE HISTORY OF SUKUNA RYOMEN!"
His scowl deepened.
Ever since the Sports Festival attack, the whole damn world had been buzzing about Sukuna. News reports, social media debates, conspiracy theories—the bastard was everywhere. Half the internet was losing their minds, calling it divine punishment, while the other half was clinging to Izuku Gojo like he was mankind's last hope.
Tch. Annoying.
Still, his eyes lingered on the magazine for a second too long.
Without really thinking about it, he grabbed a copy, tossing it onto the counter. The cashier barely glanced at him before scanning it. "That all?"
"Yeah."
The transaction was over in a few seconds. Bakugou took the bag, stuffing the magazine inside before heading out.
He wasn't sure why he bought it.
Maybe he just wanted to know what the hell they were saying about this curse bastard. Maybe he was trying to piece together what the hell Izuku—no, Gojo—had gotten himself into.
Or maybe—he wanted to understand what the hell they were all supposed to be up against.
O—O—O
Author Note: So Uraraka finally begins her… special course. Hope she can at least last a month. Or a week. Am I too slow? Any suggestions? So, any ideas on how to spice things up? Tell me in the review section!
Thanks for reading this chapter. Drop your thoughts in the review section. Your words motivate me to write better, larger and with more depth.
Till next time!