Nightmares often made sleep an unbearable affair.
Amid the nightmare itself, you scarcely had the sense of mind to differentiate dream from reality. And while what you saw, what you felt were all simply restless shifts of the mind, the effects of a nightmare were very much real; something that would linger with you even after you woke up.
In the Slums, a place devoid of the imagination for a well-faring dream, such nightmares were more frequent than in other areas of Musutafu.
In the flinching muse of Yotaro's mind, such cases only grew.
On a quiet, Thursday morning…
Letting out a yell, Yotaro jumped up in bed. Breathless wheezes occupied the otherwise silent room — a humble but well-maintained space — as his eyes, nestled beneath the thick, rocky expanse of his brows, darted to the nooks and crannies of his apartment. Something scuttled that, a form blacker than the shadows darting across the room… towards him.
Snapping open the window blinds beside him, the darkness was quickly expelled, revealing that whatever had scuttled was just a figment of his imagination. Still, his heart banged against his ribs.
Opening the bedside table, he shoved aside the stacks of papers. Fortunately, the folder still greeted his sight, like every other day.
Hopefully until the distant future, as well.
As his restless heart began to quell, Yotaro swung his feet off the bed, stomping down on the floor with an audible thud. It took nearly an instant for him to groan with regret, already knowing what was coming.
"Oi, you fucker, quiet down up there!"
"Sorry!" He yelled back, trying his best to not let his frustration slip into his voice. An angry downstairs neighbour was not a good way to start the day.
He flicked a nearby switch, allowing the bulb overhead to wash over the room with light. Opening the fridge, he stared apathetically at the sight before him: some eggs, a carton of milk that weighed light, and a few others that did little to improve the view. Shaking his head, fingers of stone gently — very, very much so — picked up half a dozen eggs, several thin slabs of meat, and headed over to the stove. It wasn't long before the sizzling began.
When the sizzling ended, he ended up with six plates of simple bacon and egg. Set five on the dining table and took one for himself, which he very quickly swallowed and then cleansed with the taste of water.
From there, he walked over to another door. Opening it gently, he was greeted by a room drowned in darkness. A blue sphere, decorated on its surface with stars, was the only thing that suffused light throughout the room. Nevertheless, it was enough for him to see five smaller figures, their breaths slow and resoundingly asleep.
He allowed himself to smile.
Turning towards the entrance — or, in this case, the exit — he swiped a key with a small, wool doll of Hound Dog attached to it and made his way out. The air rustling his clothes, he gazed out towards the distant cityscape in front of him: dark, gloomy buildings stood about, somehow managing to seem gaunt, all the while the towering structure in the middle of it all spewed out twisting tentacles of black that infected once blue sky.
The Slums themselves were an industrial hub. There were factories, warehouses, workshops, and a variety of other facilities. A thick cluster of trees lined the outskirts leading to the city with several roads cutting through the canopies. The dark, ceaseless cesspool of poverty was actually a small portion of Musutafu as a whole… but adding in the fact that Musutafu was one of the largest cities in Japan, contending even with Tokyo, meant that the Slums were still quite sizable.
Shaking his head, Yotaro trotted down the stairs and onto the street. Following the crosswalk, his surroundings shifted from dull grey blocks to rustling green. Heavy trucks whistled across the asphalt, their engines rumbling like the growl of a beast. Most carried wood, minerals, or other such resources. Some, however, carried several people with each wearing vividly yellow caps and vests; construction workers sent to demolish the remnants of Zukunft, the place said to have been a futuristic project.
He didn't envy those people. Sent to work on a place infamously renowned for its structural instability… he shook his head as he continued deeper towards the Slums.
A shaky sigh escaped his chest, eyes narrowing towards a huge garbage can nearby. Rats scurried under its gloom, and so, his steps scurried away with haste.
Eventually, he entered the Slums. Thin, ashen-faced people flanked every corner of his vision; dark eyes fell upon him, molesting his very body, sending shivers down his spine in a way that no storm ever could. He tried his best to ignore them. The minutes stretched into what felt like hours until Yotaro finally arrived at the doorsteps of Boletaria. Looking up at the looming structure, undulating smog pooled overhead like a surly crown.
Stepping forward, he was suddenly halted by a pair of men with hulking statures. That alone made them a special sight in the Slums. Their uniforms, an imitation of a police officer coloured a striking red, only added a dose of fear to the inhabitants. They were Boletaria's security guard.
Yotaro clenched his teeth. "What is it?" He said, his voice tense. They weren't familiar faces… which meant that they wouldn't be familiar with his face either.
One of the guards tried to shove him, though the man cringed when it bore little effect. The other stepped forward, jutting his chin.
"Your card. What else?"
"I don't have one."
The first guard snorted, seemingly having gained confidence from that. "Boo-hoo. Should've gotten a replacement before work began, dumbass."
"No," he shook his head, his gaze softening as he regarded the two guards with bloated egos. "I'm from outside the Slums, come to visit. Just check on the register; I'm not there."
People from outside were technically allowed to freely enter as long as they didn't cause trouble. Of course, they rarely — if ever — had a reason to.
Near instantly, their demeanour shifted. Where their chins once jutted out, their gaze bold, all of their confidence evaporated; replaced by shallow husks that owned nothing to their name. Yotaro watched silently as the guard that tried to shove him suddenly turned away, their voices much quieter as they inquired the woman past the doors — the receptionist — to confirm the validity of his statement.
It wasn't often that visitors outside the Slums came to this dump, so their disbelief was much warranted. Yotaro knew that the pair wanted nothing more than for the receptionist to sign him as a fellow inhabitant of Boletaria, their equal — even their lesser — in the sprawling cesspool that is the Slums.
Unfortunately for them, their meagre hopes were snuffed away when the lady behind the counter gave a simple shake of her head. As Yotaro walked past, the guards meekly turned to the side, trying to project confidence as they glared at the ashen-faced people passing by. They, in turn, looked away.
If the outsides already oozed a putrid scent, it only worsened within the confined, grey walls of the apartment complex. The stench seemed to pierce his nose, causing his face to scrunch up slightly in response.
Walking up to the desk, he found a small sigh of relief at the familiar face that adorned the receptionist. She glanced at him for a short moment before murmuring, "The usual?"
"Mostly. I'll return again later."
"Well, whatever." She handed him a sleek white card. An imprint — tinted black — near the bottom left read 'Boletaria'.
From there, he headed straight for a specific elevator, separate from the others. It was a sort of special treatment for those who came from outside the Slums, a debtless man… or a VIP.
The machine groaned from years of use as it rose past the twenty-three floors of Boletaria. Eventually, reaching the top, he stepped out into a dimly lit hallway. Set alight by the thin, wavering lights, were messy plates stacked beside several doors. Yotaro could hear a faint scuttling; could see small forms flickering across the room. He clenched his fists, his breath growing ever so slightly shaky.
Hurried steps padded their way down the hall, halting only in front of room 2312. Raising his hand, Yotaro knocked on the door.
As it opened, the first thing he was greeted with was a faint floral smell. Though the odour of the cramped halls still pierced his nose, the scent did dampen it.
The next was a pair of brown dog ears, one still standing upright while the other seemed bent, sprawled on a mop of similarly brown hair.
The final thing was what made him smile. An aged yet — to his eyes — beautiful face, made all the better as the tense muscles relaxed when the woman saw who was beyond the door. She smiled warmly at him.
"Come in, quickly." She ushered, having pulled her shirt up to cover her nose. After he did, she closed the door and dropped the makeshift mask, revealing her snout.
"Morning, Mom."
"Morning, son." The woman smiled, if only slightly. That faded into a frown when he gave her a brown envelope, given a certain thickness by what it contained; opening it revealed a stack of cash… as usual. "I… Thank you. And I'm sorry."
He sighed. This wasn't the first time she apologized and it likely wouldn't be the last. "It's fine, seriously. Just focus on getting healthier."
She nodded though the frown still remained etched on her face. His mother — Yitan — blinked as she finished counting the money in the envelope. "There's more in here than normal?"
"Yeah. That new company I told you about? They got me more work, so the money rose considerably as well." He explained quickly, every word and sentence coming almost instantly after the one prior.
Yitan just beamed, however, her eyes regarded him with a shine. Her fluffy tail wagged rapidly. "Tha-That's… amazing! Does the company give promotions?"
"Y-Yeah." Yotaro puffed his chest, projecting confidence. He looked away with downcast eyes. "They do. I don't know if I can get one but…"
"You should!" She said with a wide, infectious smile. His lips remained in a straight line. "A job you love is a good opportunity that needs to be chased. Hold onto it with all your strength, dear."
"I'll… try." Gulping, he took one step back. "Ah, b-by the way, how are your medications? Are you running out?"
Yitan held a finger to her chin, mulling over her memories. Finally, she raised several of her fingers. "Two pills left, I think."
"Just enough for tomorrow, then." He nodded. "I'll get you those as well as some food."
"O-Oh… Um, you don't have to…"
"I do." He chuckled. "Besides, I'm going to buy some for my siblings as well. I swear, they need to eat more than I did."
She smiled softly, reaching up to pat his head. "Good job, son. Thank you so much and… if you're ever struggling… just know that I'll always love you. No matter what." He merely stood there, silently accepting it.
Nodding, he hurriedly turned away. Besides, there was something else he wanted to do.
"Mom? Where's in the incense sticks?"
Her gaze seemed to soften considerably when he said that. Smilingly, she pointed to a nearby shelf, where Yotaro then took some and headed deeper into the unit. His surroundings shifted from a narrow corridor to a wider, clean room bestrewn with well-preserved furniture. He stopped in front of an indent to the side, where a large carpet decorated by a beautiful, geometrical pattern could be seen hanging from a pair of nails on the end wall. A thin ray of light poured from a small window on the indent's inclined roof, covered by a yellow, pocked stain.
Kneeling, he gently pushed up the carpet until a makeshift shrine revealed itself to his eyes. As he replaced the incense, sparking a fire to them with a crude lighter, he stared at the picture perched atop: that of a blonde girl, her smile wide and brimming with the rays of sunlight even amidst the backdrop of a sky stained black.
Most importantly, she stood next to the image of a much younger Yotaro.
Heaving a sigh, he clasped his hands together and closed his eyes… leaving him accompanied by only his thoughts.
After that, Yotaro had returned down to the acrid streets and the thick crowd that permeated it. Buying the necessary groceries was easy enough, the same as the medicinal pills his mother needed for her fever. The hard part came in resisting the jealousy he felt as he gazed at the only customer in the sweets section: a rather tall but slim woman, donning a modest dress on top of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with long locks of white hair cascading down her back…
'Isn't that…?' He blinked, feeling a spark of remembrance. 'One of Izuku's friends. I think her name was…'
"Frieren-san?" He called out, hoping he was right.
Fortunately, that turned out to be the case. The woman turned, her eyes shown not the least bit of surprise by his sudden interruption. "Ah, Yotaro, right?" She tilted her head. "So you live around these parts?"
"I…" He shook his head. "No, no, I'm just here on some errands for my mom, is all."
She gave a curt nod, "I see," then turned back to the mountain of sweets, displayed tantalizingly behind glass. The white-haired woman tapped one of the larger cakes. As the employee packaged it, she looked over her shoulder at Yotaro. "Say… I recall hearing from Izuku that you were with him when those Free-Seekers invaded the mall. Can you clear up some questions I have?"
"Ah, sorry. I'm in a bit of a rush," He smiled apologetically. Without even hearing her response, he hurried outside, leading him away from her intense gaze…
The same could not be said for her other senses.
Humans could learn almost anything as long as they practised it often enough.
Throughout the last few months, Yotaro has always felt like he was constantly watched by… if not members of the Free-Seekers, then at least the Messiah and his army of rats, with the former somehow being the more unnerving of the two. Suffice it to say, he's grown more than just a knack for such things.
Today, it felt particularly intense.
Even here as he wandered the long, wide road — having already given the medicine to his mother — leading outside of the Slums, he could still feel it. As if something was stalking him past the thin slits of the thick foliage that called itself his surroundings.
The question was: what did the source of this unceasing gaze call themselves?
Jinshi? Cecile? The rats?
Or perhaps the Messiah himself?
…
'No. That's not possible.' Yotaro thought, his breaths shaken. 'It's… probably just my imagination.'
He tried to think of another topic, something that could help him ignore the chilling gaze. It spoke volumes about his state of mind when the first thing he thought of only heightened his worries. 'What about the folder? Have they taken it? Are the others alright?'
Before he knew it, Yotaro suddenly jolted in surprise when he found himself several steps deep into the city. The deep thicket separating the Slums and Musutafu was already behind him… yet he could still feel the gaze, spine-chilling in its intensity. He again forced away his worries as he trudged towards his apartment.
It wasn't long before the structure entered his vision.
The apartment that called itself Gancho Complex — even if that was neither the owner nor the apparent founder — wasn't anything to write home about. Surely, Gancho wasn't what you'd call a charming fellow. With its plain, grey sides and weathered walls, partially torn posters, alongside a cacophony of messy graffiti, Gancho wouldn't be charming many suitors anytime soon; them being a rather short fellow, standing at a measly three stories tall, certainly didn't help.
At least keeping Gancho loyal to you was cheap enough. And although many avoided it due to how close it was to the Slums, that fact made it a boon in his eyes.
"Oi, you fatass! Quiet down up there!"
Yotaro gritted his teeth, not bothering to slow down as the voice of his downstairs neighbour — once again — grated his ears. He needed to be quicker; who cares what that fool thinks of him?
Eventually, as he reached the final stretch of stairs, he was suddenly tackled by a shorter figure. A brown tail rose until it was eye level, wagging excitedly. The figure leaned back, revealing the youthful face of a 16-year-old girl. With a wide grin that revealed her glinting canines, she barked out. "Welcome back!"
Looking away from his sister, Yotaro found his four other siblings peeking from behind the cover of the open door. They blinked owlishly, studying his form. The sight of all his siblings washed his addled self with a douse of relief.
"How did you know I was back?"
"The jerk downstairs started yelling." She said, finally unwrapping her arms. His sister — Mulan, based on an old movie mother watched in the past — folded her arms above her chest, seemingly displeased. "You need to confront him, big bro. Make sure he stops being so annoying."
"That's not nice, sis. We…" He looked to the side, his lids feeling heavy. "You need to be better than that. Be an example to your little siblings."
The girl turned slightly, aiming a warning glare that sent all four scrambling back. After that, she promptly gathered the clothes resting along the railing and headed inside. Yotaro followed suit with an amused smile.
After greeting his other siblings — who were all quite shy —, Yotaro yielded a random but sensible excuse. The opportunity was used instantly as he nearly rushed into his bedroom. Promptly kneeling in front of the bedside table, he dug through the piles of paper. They fluttered all around him, scattered across the bed and the floor.
He smiled, then looked up past the window of his room.
His sigh of relief was distilled by the visage of a slim figure in the distance, the strands of her white hair fluttering wildly in the wind.
The clouds were a malevolent grey, swirling into a single mass as a torrent of rain and thunder peppered the vast land below. The skies were particularly furious… for what reason, Frieren could not understand.
Besides, that was the least of her problems.
Shielded by the rain from a protective barrier, she trudged up the porch steps. Entering, she was quickly greeted by a clean, tidy room, accompanied by the warm smell of honey. Everything was arranged neatly: from the many empty plates that formed long rows on the similarly long dining table to the way there to the way every broad surface was in pristine cleanliness.
Fern had always nagged her to clean up, to make sure everything was in place. Even as a child, she had tried her best to have her old, whiny teacher follow in her footsteps.
Frieren never did. Not until it was too late.
Her gaze was barely focused as she made a quick turn towards a particular door, where she then took down the spell that sealed it shut. Her ears remained that of a human; perhaps she forgot… or she simply didn't care.
The room she entered greeted her with a much too familiar sight. A board covered an entire wall, filled to the utmost brim with torn pieces of paper; red strings connected a few, but it was all a disjointed image, a compendium of dozens of leads that led to only dead ends.
Well, not all of them.
She brushed her finger against the dusty paper that spelt out, 'The Demon's Terror'. It covered an illustrious Villain during the Dawn of Quirks in the seventh century, back when chaos still reigned supreme, and the trail of headless bodies he left behind. The Villain themselves were never caught, their identity remaining a speculation.
Her finger slowly dragged across the thin string that connected it to another, this one being much more recent.
"A series of headless bodies found near the junction between Musutafu and the Slums…" was her soft murmur. She lifted her hand, thin fingers curling, as she absently dusted a light kiss on her ring. An excited smile formed on her lips.
Frieren had no doubt that the so-called 'Demon' of the past and the eerily similar killer of the present were — in one way or another — related. It was in the exact specifics of this link that interested her so. Of course, it could simply be a fanatic of the Demon…
If those were the only clues.
Further dragging her finger up, she pressed it against another piece of paper. Gazing at it, her eyes darkened. It was actually printed from an in-depth article she found of the Messiah, the orchestrator behind the invasion of the mall. But was it really an invasion? Or was it something else? A chase that spilled into innocents, like… a spoiled oil rig, infecting the blue and life around it.
Based on what she heard from Izuku, the Messiah had been searching for a traitor to his organization. And Yotaro was mysteriously there, as well… holding a folder of sorts. Something that she herself saw when Yotaro charged into his room with desperation, digging through the drawer with wild abandon.
She held no interest for Yotaro.
But he was her only solid clue to the Messiah, a figure she understood with only speculations; an educated guess, sure, but a guess nevertheless.
She was sure of one thing, though: the Slums were a vital part of the mystery surrounding the Messiah. Hefting the newly bought cake onto the table, she slid it underneath an odd device. It had a large, metallic body with intricate carvings to the sides, as well as a large, dull mana gem embedded into it. A thin limb protruded from it, ending in something that resembled several layers of magnifying glasses.
Lining all those layers atop one another, she softly pressed the gem; it quickly began to emit a soft, blue hue, and with it, she gained a deeper insight into the mana held within the cake… it was thinner than a wafer, fainter than a fading mist, but she could see it clearly now.
Without the device, she could only know that it was there. With it, however, she could see what it was for… and, most importantly, *who* it belonged to.
'A spell meant to mimic an addictive drug, to make those who consume enough of it become dependent on it… You'd be fine if your mana core is wealthy enough to reject it, though.' Frieren pressed the gem again, causing its luster to fade. She shook her head. 'And the mana distinctly belongs to the Messiah.'
In fact, the entirety of the Slums was still covered in a hazy veil, one that she isn't entirely comfortable with. The entire place was effectively under her skepticism. If she recalled, wasn't Zukunft close to the Slums?
'What about Touma?' Her eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. 'He's working at Zukunft, right?'
Without even realizing it, she softly bit the insides of her cheeks. Her lips pursed as she absently tapped her finger against the board.
'Or that girl Izuku told me about? The Quirkless one? She could be a threat… especially with how close she always is to Izuku.'
A heavy rumble reverberated through her cabin. The winds outside seemed to lash out fiercely, a heavy whistle that accompanied the thunderous boom of the raging sky.
On a rainy, Friday morning…
The days following had been remarkable in their simplicity. Go to school, sit through general studies, attend Hero lessons, train with his newfound partners, find himself lost in the company of Iida and Uraraka, and in warm conversations with his mother.
Sure, it was filled with activities — certainly more than what he had prior to the Battle Trial — but not one day had truly felt droll. It was a far cry from the constant, blurry filter that hanged over his years in Aldera.
He hadn't spoken with Bakugo ever since his loss.
His schedule was simply far too filled.
Izuku groaned as he stretched his hands overhead, letting a few tight knots audibly pop loose. He stood up and walked over to the other side of the room, where Uraraka and Iida were packing up as they chatted.
Curiously, he listened in on their conversation.
"…excited!" Uraraka beamed, her lips opening in an amazed exhale. "Ah… I can hardly wait for tomorrow."
Iida nodded, himself smiling with an eagerness familiar to them. "I must agree. A day of training at one of U.A's prestigious facilities, alongside equally prestigious Heroes… it's an opportunity we must appreciate." His dark-blue eyes sparkled. "In the spirit of appreciation, how about we go to my family's Quirk Gym later? It'd be useful as practice."
Uraraka blinked widely. "Are you sure? L-Like, is that fine?"
Iida nodded as he stared at her. "Of course. I'm sure my family would approve."
"Is this about the U.S.J?" Izuku asked smilingly. His hands stood on Iida's desk as his body leaned closer.
"Yup!"
"Indeed it is."
"At Saturday, huh?" Izuku hummed, holding his chin thoughtfully. If he recalled, Saturdays would be filled to the brim with only Heroics… spent alongside the sibling to their class. "We'll be training with 1-B all day, right? I mean, I've talked with… one of them but it'd still be a new experience."
"Partially." Iida corrected, pushing back his glasses along the bridge of his nose. "Our classes will still be taught separately. It depends on what our respective teachers have scheduled; in our case, it's rescue training at the U.S.J, then learning more about Hero regulations, costume restrictions, and so on, then continued with combat simulations with multiple enemies…"
Iida shook his head. "Ultimately, we'll be interacting with 1-B during the break — where we'll be eating in the vicinity, supposedly — as well as the final Heroics lesson right after. This could be different next week, depending on whether or not Aizawa-sensei and Kan-sensei can agree on a schedule…"
Uraraka whistled, feeling impressed. "I guess sensei wasn't joking when he said the Homeroom Teachers were the one who decided how we'd be trained…"
"How do you know all of this?" Izuku asked, trying to think if he had missed an important announcement.
"I asked Aizawa-sensei."
"Oh." The greenette pursed his lips, letting out a slight chuckle. It was that simple?
Opening his lips, his words were cut short when the door to their classroom audibly creaked open. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the man of their conversation walk in, his face set in his usual gruff. A stack of papers were held in his hand, which he set down on the top of his podium.
He coughed. "This here," pressing his finger on the heap, "is a little something I compiled over what I observed from yesterday's Quirk training session. It details what I think of your current skills… including criticisms, how you could fix it, and just overall improvements you could do. Make sure to read it thoroughly; if I think it necessary, I'll help you with it tomorrow. Understood?"
The man was only met with a stunned silence. He clicked his tongue. "Understood?"
Jolted from their newly found reverie, they nodded eagerly. "Understood, sensei!" Was their chorused response.
Aizawa nodded, satisfied. Then he pulled out a long, thin rod. Clicking a button on it, the lights on the side lit up, projecting a holographic list reminiscent of the one he used during the testing of their Quirks.
Though they weren't yet aware of what it told, there was still something they almost immediately noticed.
Todoroki's name was dead last. One of, if not the most powerful student in their class… was on the bottom of the barrel.
Mineta sputtered. "I-Is this supposed to be a reverse list or something?"
"No…" Kaminari shook his head, eyes just as wide as the rest. "If it was, you'd be the top, man…"
"Yeah…" Mineta initially nodded along. Then, as if blinking awake, he aimed an incredulous glare at the boy. "Oi! What's that supposed to mean?!"
Aizawa coughed particularly loud, attracting all their gazes once more. He grunted out, "In relation to what I just told you, this is a list of how proficient I think you are with your Quirks. And yes… Todoroki there is at the bottom."
All the students turned to stare at the teen. He sat there, his face frozen in a seemingly emotionless mask. Still, there was a clear turmoil brewing in his heterochromic gaze.
"May I ask why…?" He asked. Though quiet, there was a clear edge to his words.
"Do I have to explain something so obvious?" Aizawa huffed, causing the boy to imperceptibly flinch. "If your Quirks is only ice, then you'd certainly be near the top of the list. But reality is, that's not the case, not by a long shot.
"Many of your fellow classmates still barely understand their Quirks. How to best use it, what situations are best for it… you see the picture. But none of them had the ludicrous idea of only utilizing *half* of their Quirk's full potential. The fact that you don't use the fire side of your Quirk alone is more than enough to put you at the bottom of this class."
Once again, Todoroki gave away a slight twitch. A part of him wanted to stay silent, to simply ignore the teacher's anger and allow it to pass by… like a boy braving a tumultuous storm of flames. In the end, though…
"I have my reasons." He found himself saying, hoping that was enough to deter the teacher.
It's been like that with all the teachers he's had, after all.
But if there was one thing you could say about Aizawa that he'd agree with, was that he's stubborn. His finger tapped against the wooden podium; every click echoed throughout the room, far louder than it actually is, causing a wave of nervousness throughout the class… some simply hid it better than the rest.
"Your reasons..." Aizawa glared, all the exhaustion that had been associated with him now gone, "mean nothing out in the field. Do you remember what I told you on the first day? Do you?"
"That…" Todoroki licked the dryness off of his lips, "the world is unfair."
"So do my words just enter one ear and go out through the other?"
Todoroki turned away, unable to meet the man's eyes. This time, he wisely kept his silence.
Letting the sudden stillness stew for a moment, Aizawa dragged his gaze across the room, across each of their eyes. Some stared at him head-on; others did so with much hesitance; most looked away. It is the lattermost that caused his face to soften.
He clicked his fingers, eyes staring at his students as a whole. They were paying attention. Good.
"I'm sure all of you are aware that the path of being a Hero is riddled with many nails… each with so many different shapes, sizes, and other unforeseen variables. Some of the Heroes I know have said that, for all intents and purposes, it's impossible to prepare your mind for all of that."
Aizawa snorted. "Those Heroes are fools. Our jobs aren't to sit around in chairs, to calculate every possibility as we craft a rocket. Ours is much simpler." The man leaned forward, his arms holding the podium. Never have they seen his eyes so serious. "When push comes to shove, will I allow another life to be taken?"
"Even if you Quirks are taken away," A red glint flashed through his eyes, causing a wave of gasps to erupt from them.
"Even if your very limbs are broken," He brought forward his right arm, clenching his fist.
"If you can still do something to protect a life, then do it." His long hair fell back, cascading down his shoulders once again. As his pupils returned to their coal-like tint, a few of the students could be seen experimentally trying out their Quirks again. "That's the job of a Hero. Racking in cash, showing off, or whatever else is secondary to that."
Another blanket of silence fell over them. The air was palpably different, however. Each student furrowed their eyebrows, their eyes thoughtful. For so long, people have praised the profession of a Hero with such reverie, such worship, that hearing all of it packaged as something so simple by a man who's already achieved their dreams… felt odd to digest.
For better or for worse.
Aizawa's gaze lingered on them for a long stretch after his speech. He allowed the room to soak in the pensive silence…
Until the spell was broken by the sudden, loud din of the bell.
Scratching his nape, it was as if all the exhaustion returned to his eyes. He flicked his hand, telling them, "Well, that's about everything. You may go," with a voice that was all too mundane.
The class hesitantly sat still in their seats, nervously wondering if it was another test by Aizawa. Izuku was one of them. Similarly, all their eyes moved to Bakugo as he stood straight and casually walked out the class, his chin slightly jutting up. After that, it was Momo, and only then did the rest start to trickle outside.
Following them, his ears were met with the buzzing lips of several students.
"I think sensei could've been a bit nicer to Todoroki…" Mina mumbled off to the side. She held a bright pink umbrella against her shoulder, one dotted with an array of purple circles.
With a voice that conveyed a grin, Kirishima replied, "But his words were so manly! I couldn't agree more!"
Crossing to the other side of the hall, where the windows protected them from the harsh rain gushing from the darkened skies, Izuku leaned against the window as he awaited his friends. Peering past the open door, he noticed his friends heading towards him… and, within the same view, he also noticed that Todoroki was being held back by Aizawa. They — or at least only Aizawa — seemed to be intently discussing something.
It wasn't really his place to intrude, however. Instead, he simply smiled at his two friends. "So, are we still going to your Quirk Gym, Tenya?"
"Yes. At least, I am." He looked over at the brown-haired girl beside him, her gaze cast to the floor in thought. "How about you, Ochako?"
"I… Yeah. Yeah, sure. But before that, can I ask something?" Her brown orbs flickered over to the both of them. There was a short pause, as if she was mulling her words. Eventually, she opened her lips. "Why did you two want to become Heroes? Like… what started you in this path, I mean."
Iida pressed his finger against his spectacles. "Well, it was a family tradition, you can say. As you two know, the Iida family has produced Heroes from way back with my grandfather, so becoming a Hero has always been my dream since as far back as I can remember."
Thinking of his former greatest idol, Izuku gave a slight smile. "As for me… well… I guess it started when I watched a video of All-Might. It inspired me."
There was a short pause as her gaze flickered between the two of them. She pursed her lips, stifling a sigh. Then she looked up at them and smiled. "Ditto. Though, I guess being a fan of Heroes isn't exactly original." She laughed.
Iida shook his head. "Most people our age across the world share a dream to become a Hero. We share a goal. That separates us."
With that, the trio continued on their way down the hall and widening into the lobby, they soon joined a mass of other students — not just from their Heroics class, nor from just their year. Their forms blurred together into an undulating crowd. At that moment, it was hard to notice who was who.
On the dawn of a Saturday like no other…
The skies were dim, more so than they usually were. Heavy, dark clouds formed a sea that filled the expanse. Certainly, such alone would have been enough to make for a depressing vista.
For one such as I, it felt as dull as the sunniest, warmest of days.
The people around me seemed to share that sentiment. Their lines of faces were pulled down, their shoulders slumped… interestingly, this feature remained consistent no matter the day. Even on a sunny day, or a rainy day, or a day where nothing really happens, they always remained soulless. Or as soulless as a person could get, at least.
Eyes were a window to the soul, after all.
And the people here had eyes with a flicker of hope that they could someday live free, of rage and regret, of annoyance and amusement… of warmth. No matter how small, it was there.
I walked down the road alongside them all. Of course, I already casted a spell over my face to make sure that they couldn't see the face-full mask I donned — that they saw me like just another face in the crowd. We were heading in opposite directions, so I had to shove my way past the thicket, pushing against the hundreds that made up the crowd itself. Many shoulders bumped into me; some people stepped on my foot; a few still had enough warmth to scowl at me.
I first made a stop at a vividly pink building. It was soon that I stepped out, holding a plastic bag filled with boxes of cakes. The transparent plastic seemed to be stretched to its malleable limit, teetering near the point that would've had it torn entirely.
My steps did not slow down as I trudged past the masses.
Soon, I arrived in front of a building that loomed far above the others in the vicinity. Casting another spell, I brush past the two guards posted at the entrance; they continued to look around, posing more than anything else. From there, still under the effects of my spell, I turn the corner towards a row of elevators. But I didn't intend to use any of them.
Without sparing a glance, I walk past the steel doors until I arrived to the end of the hallway where an innocuous bricked wall blocked my path. Despite that, the sight of it didn't halt me. I simply pressed my palm against a particular brick, which did the trick: each individual slab twisted and turned outwards, revealing a well-lit stairwell that curved in a circle. The ceiling overhead was dotted with grooves, each fitted with a light bulb.
Following the steps down, I was eventually greeted by a small, circular room decorated with several other tunnels to the sides. Though each space was little, it more than made up for it with the sheer number of rooms that made up the complex; in a way, it was like an ant hill. Several figures could be seen lounging about, lost in laughter or the usual pub games.
It was only then that I turned down my spell. The effects were almost immediate.
"Ah—" One fellow blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. "Boss!"
Like a chain reaction, the others turned to me. All of them got up and straightened, as if the act of simply sitting meant an offense. Within the depths of their eyes, the windows to their souls, all I could see was the dominating presence of admiration.
Raising my hand, I stilled their voices as I made my own the forefront.
Not before I paused. "...Calm down. Tell Jinshi and Cecile to head over to the meeting room." Before they could even speak, I dropped the plastic bag on a nearby table and moved on, my form swallowed by the darkness of the branching halls.
From behind me, profuse cheers of excitement reverberated through the air.
The meeting room — which functionally served as the Messiah's quarters as well as— was blanketed with a serious air. Occupying a long table in the center were six figures: the Messiah, his two officers Cecile and Jinshi, as well as a trio of unfamiliar figures.
Two of them bore appearances less human than the other three. The first wore a white suit with crisp lines as well as a grey vest and a black tie, but that was where his form ended; instead, an ever-shifting dark fog spilled out of his clothes, his eyes characterized only by two slits that glowed yellow.
The second was made of black steel from head to toe. She had a clearly feminine form, holding a slimness that was accentuated by the sheen she now constantly radiated. Her legs were noticeably rigid, strong, with long hinds much like a kangaroo of iron and electricity. Far and beyond, however, the most unique part of her came in the form of her head: breaking away from the natural, human-like form of her body, was instead a spider-like head with thin legs affixed to various notches around the neck.
The last man sat on the seat across from the Messiah, tapping his finger against his chair's armrest. Grotesque, detached arms clamped onto various parts of his pale skin, with one that covered his face as thin, light-blue hair strands draped over his eyes.
"…And that is our plan of attack." The unsettling figure — Shigaraki — said in a clicking, gravelly voice. "For that, we will need the assistance of one of your officers as well as half a dozen of your men. In return, this will mint the beginning of our cooperation."
"Just that?" Cecile narrowed her eyes. "What if your League turns out to be a bunch of nobodies? What then would be the benefit of an alliance?"
The relentless tapping stopped, Shigaraki's fingers curling together into a fist. He audibly heaved out a stifled groan. "That would not be the result."
Cecile snorted. "Based on what? The words of a brat?"
"You–"
"Shigaraki-san." The man beside him, Kurogiri, called out. His yellow slits looked down submissively when the boy snapped to him but his voice remained insistent. "Remember the mission." He whispered.
"Yes, yes…" Shigaraki scratched his neck. Slowly, his breaths seemed to grow calm. "…Well, you bring up a good point. I myself despise gacha games." Cecile quirked up a brow but otherwise said nothing. "So how about this? If my information serves me right, you got your ass beat down by a green-haired kid during that mall debacle, didn't you?"
Cecile narrowed her eyes. "Much the opposite… but what of it?"
"Well…" A raspy chuckle wheezed out of his lungs. "What if I tell you that you can get back on that brat? He's a student from U.A., after all… in a very particular class, as well."
At that moment, a glimmer appeared in her eyes. For the briefest glimpse, her lips seemed to curl into a smile… before she forced them to straighten. Leveling a glare at Shigaraki, she smirked. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do. You'll have to be more convincing than that… brat. Otherwise your offer will end up on mute ears."
Met with yet again another failure, Shigaraki shot an intense snarl at her. Not one to be intimidated, Cecile returned the gesture with equal intensity. The air grew stifled from their tension; despite being a literal dark cloud, Kurogiri couldn't help but tense up.
Fortunately, the atmosphere was broken up by a sudden bark of laughter. Turning together, they found Jinshi, lips spread wide as he clapped his hands. "Come on! Don't be so mean, Cecile." He smiled, leaning his cheek against his fist. "Why don't we try out his offer? It seems fun."
"For you." She snorted, folding her arms together. "Not to mention we'll be killing a bunch of teens. Nothing 'fun' about that."
"Well, it's all subjective. All people will end up being one with the dirt, anyway." His frame trembled with mirth.
An audible click escaped her lips. She shook her head. "That again? But… it doesn't matter anyway. All that does is what *he* says." She turned to the masked man who had kept his silence the entire time. Clearly, she expected him to agree with her.
For once, however…
"We will do it." The Messiah said, causing Cecile to blink in shock. Even Jinshi quirked an eyebrow. Of course, the other three were oblivious to all that, and simply felt satisfied with his response.
"That's it, then?" Shigaraki stood up, stretching. "Ugh… you all should invest in better seats. I can barely stretch in this thing." He then turned around, gesturing for something. "Oi, Kurogiri. Get the portal up."
"Before that… isn't there something else Sensei tasked us?"
"…Oh, yeah." Digging through his pockets, his thumb visibly jutting away so as to not touch the fabric, he eventually placed a small, circular device down on the table. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic." Kurogiri's form then undulated and quivered as the fog pooled outwards, forming a large portal in front of Shigaraki.
The boy didn't immediately leave; instead, he aimed a gaze their way. "Follow me, whichever one of you. I don't really care."
Cecile shook her head silently. That left the choice to only Jinshi, who grinned widely as he jumped up to his feet. "Let's go! Oi, guards! Bring my team!" He called out. Soon, the door to the room opened, and six figures trailed in; each sported a similar sense of happiness as Jinshi. From there, they followed Shigaraki into the depths of the portal.
Right after, the Messiah gestured with a tilt of his head. "Cecile, step out for a moment. This is a private conversation." Cecile followed his words obediently, hands dug in her pockets as the lines on her faces wrinkled unpleasantly.
Suddenly, a deep, echoing voice resounded from the device. "You too, Kurogiri. I wish to have a… private conversation with our friend here." Similarly, Kurogiri left the room though he did so by virtue of his own portals. That left behind Mark II… as well as two dark, foreboding presences.
The disembodied voice chuckled, mirth dancing in his words. "When you first caught Mark II in her spider form… well, I certainly didn't expect to meet up with an old friend."
"You could say the same for me... All For One."
Outside of the meeting room, Cecile walked down the winding halls in a haze. While she certainly wouldn't mind to have another go at the green-haired kid… the distinction between a simple fight and a full-on invasion on a prestigious Hero school was worlds apart. Unfortunately, Jinshi saw it as worth only a few inches. Though she wanted the bastard to go away, that wouldn't translate well to the Free-Seekers. A good portion of them had originated from Jinshi's gang, after all.
As for being told to leave… she didn't mind. Who knows what the Messiah was thinking in that constantly masked face of his? Even his outlandish, boastful act during the mall was just that… an act. Ultimately, his feelings, his thoughts, all of it remained hidden. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel even the slightest breath of frustration from that.
But if there was one thing she knew, it was that the Messiah — whatever his plans were — wishes nothing but the best for her and the Free-Seekers. He had pulled each of them outside of the slumps, helping them stand on their own two feet, so whatever his antics, Cecile would hold nothing but absolute loyalty for her leader.
She was snapped out of her thoughts as a voice called out. "Cecile! Wait up!" The aforementioned smilingly turned to a familiar face. It was of a youthful face decorated with black hair cut at shoulder length, layered strands framing her. She would have looked quite plain if not for her entirely robotic right arm, steel shafts jutting out the length with each ending in varied pieces of technology: laptops, grippers, and even a small radar, constantly pinging the girl data of her surroundings.
Still, if one were to ask her what the most prominent feature of hers is, Cecile would always mention the sunny twinkle that brightened her pitch-black eyes like a man spreading news of an oasis to his thirsty friends. She's seen blue-eyed people with darker pupils than the girl.
"Arata." Cecile greeted back. The two walked side-by-side to Cecile's room, chatting while the younger girl seemingly vibrating in place.
They eventually arrived in a room suffused with a gentle, blue glow. The first thing to catch a person's eye in her quarters would, of course, be the pool dominating the center; the distance between the edge and the wall formed a small road encircling the pool, wide enough for her to pass through. A blue glass layer coated the poolbed, an array of lights beaming underneath. Most notably, however, was the concrete dome that could be seen beneath layers of water.
That was her true quarters.
Flexing her fingers to the side, the water was pushed through the side like when Moses split the Red Sea — just on a much, much smaller scale — and she stepped down a flight of stairs. Arata looked around, staring at the way the lights created a dazzling sight in the waters. They entered the dome where the floor was once again an actual one and not just shining glass. Flicking a switch, the room within a room was cleared out of the darkness, revealing a bed, sofas, shelves, and so on.
"I'll never not be amazed with your place!" Arata grinned from ear to ear. As Cecile sat down on a sofa, reaching up to pull out a book from a shelf, Arata plopped down beside her. "Ooh! It's that book again!"
Cecile nodded silently. "Want to read with me?"
"Yep!" Arata said with an audible pop on the 'p'. "My reading got a lot better! Like, look here…" She eagerly leaned over Cecile's shoulder though the older woman didn't much mind. Very quickly, however, her plain face scrunched together in confusion. "Court…? Isn't that a place? So why is 'death' the next word?"
"Contextual definitions. In this case, it's sort of like… someone wanting to marry another, strictly speaking."
"Oh, I see… But, um, why is 'death'…?"
"Technically the sentence means someone wishes to marry death, but again, you need to look at the context. In this case, it's because the other person acts like they want to be killed."
"Ah-! So, like, when someone insults a bigger someone!" Her eyes sparkled with great intensity… Cecile smiled gently, patting her head.
"Indeed." She chuckled, though there was a hint of bemusement in it. "Ugh, if only most of the others were like you… especially that Botan and Kenji. I wish the boss would just throw those two out already."
Arata blushed, scratching her nape sheepishly. "Thanks…?"
Their moment was broken when a loud din filled the dome. Knowing that someone was ringing her door, Cecile stood up with a sigh and walked out, once again splitting the pool outside; Arata followed closely.
"What is it—!" Cecile snapped open the door, only to freeze when the first thing she saw was an eerie, blank mask: the Messiah. She quickly bowed. "I-I'm sorry, boss! I thought…"
The man patted her shoulder, placating her. "It's fine, Cecile."
Breathing out in relief, she looked up at her leader. She tilted her head; he rarely bothered to come by her room… or anyone else's, for that matter. "What brings you here?"
"I have a mission for you." That immediately got her full focus. He walked out, followed by Cecile and Arata trailing behind, into one of the communal rooms; several other members greeted the Messiah. As a part of his order from a few days ago, they were packing up most of their items… apparently, they're having a new base sometime in the encroaching weeks. "You will head out into the city. Precisely two hours from now, you will stand ready at the road between block 29 and 38." Digging into his leather pockets, he pulled out a piece of paper. She gingerly took it. "Follow all the instructions there. You can bring along any number you want… just make sure Arata will be there."
The aforementioned girl straightened, her eyes spread wide. She did a salute, attracting a giggle from Cecile. "I'll be there, boss!"
There was no other response from him. He simply turned and walked away, ignoring the other sounds coming from the suddenly eager men around. They weren't important.
"Look at her." Someone said, followed by a snicker. "So excited to gain the boss's favor…"
"After that shitshow at the mall? Yeah, no shit."
The Messiah slowly dragged his face towards a pair of seemingly unremarkable men. Tilting his head, he called out to them, his distorted voice causing the two to jolt in surprise. "Botan. Kenji. I noticed that the trash near in my storage is full… go and throw it out." They opened their lips, but the Messiah quickly added, "It's storage 12."
With that, the Messiah continued on his way as the two scrambled to get his orders done.
A purely white figure stood atop Boletaria, a huge bubble surrounding her with a constant shimmer. It served well to blot out the smog around, each thick tendril swirling into the already dark clouds overhead… well, if they were even clouds. The dark storm hovering over Musutafu may as well be the same as the constantly smog spewed out by the building. Still, she didn't allow any of it to disturb her concentration.
She has widened her mana sense, enough to encompass the entirety of the Slums alongside everyone in it. It even gave her a sense of their moods, of their every actions…
Of their droll, empty lives.
Keeping up a stoic exterior, she scouted the landscape, searching the ashen alleys for… something. Anything to give her a clue of the Messiah. As of now, there was precisely 4.238 people here… of those, the ones that could be of suspect would be—
Oh.
It's 6.240 now.
The duo had suddenly entered her senses from right underneath the apartment, even when she was sure her mana had stretched deep underground. Which left only one possibility in her mind.
Before that, though, she hopped up onto the edge of the building, gazing impassively at the long fall below, and stepped off. Instead of falling, she began to float, curiously following the pair. They were both donning the leather coats she's come to associate with the Free-Seekers. One of them was holding a large bag full of… something that exuded mana. It was hard to tell.
Her surroundings soon changed from the languor, dull surroundings into the depths of the forest. The pair proceeded until they were in a clearing, muttering as they did.
"I just use this thing, right?" One man carefully took out a piece of paper, holding it with reverie. Several marks adorn its surface…
Her eyes snapped wide. 'That's-!' They then narrowed, her fists clenched tightly around her staff. 'Verbennung… A spell that incinerates whatever it touches — as long as it's not alive — until not even a speck of dust is left. The perfect tool for a murderer… Stark had to deal with a lot of those in his tenure as a Guard Captain.'
"Probably." The other man grunted, throwing down the bag in a sickening squelch. "Just use it already and get this over with."
"Yeah, just wait a minute, Kenji. I still wanna look at this thing…"
'Kenji' rolled his eyes. He groaned as he shook his head. "Fucking hell, Botan. First I couldn't go with Jinshi, now you're gonna waste my time like this?"
A weighty sigh escaped Botan's chest. "Jeez I… I don't get why you wanna go and do that. They're probably gonna kill those U.A kids, you know?"
"Who gives a shit!" Kenji scoffed. Aiming a scathing glare his way, Kenji snapped the paper out of Botan's hands — ignoring his indignant yell — and was about to attach it to the bag…
When, out of the blue, a streak of light flashed through his eyes. One moment, he had his arm outstretched… in the next, there was only a singed stump where his forearm used to be. He looked down — eyes slowly widening in increasing horror — at the sight of his detached arm on the blackened grass. His lips opened and closed, again and again, nonplussed. He couldn't say anything more than rapid, breathless gasps…
A heavy thud echoed beside him. Turning, she saw a beautiful woman standing over Botan's prone form with a newly bloody spot on his head. He was still breathing, but in Kenji's chaotic, addled mind, all he saw was a dead Botan.
Before she could truly scream, the earth suddenly shifted. Three large hands of stone pierced through the dirt, knocking him down until he was on his knees; they restrained each of his remaining limbs, leaving him helpless as the woman grabbed him by the face. Her fingers dug deep into his cheek until he could feel the pressure against his gums, his teeth. He blew increasingly rapid wheezes as the woman, despite her beautiful and delicate features, glared at him with a cold fury that rivaled a raging storm.
"What was that about U.A?" She abruptly asked him.
"P-Pleh…" He choked on tears. "Pl-Pleahs… lhet m-meh g—"
His remaining hand twisted abruptly, broken, causing him to choke out spittle into her palm. The woman's hand shook from the sheer pressure she was clamping on his cheeks. Regarding the man with chilling eyes, she repeated her question.
"What are your plans…" She gritted her teeth, struggling to hide her anxiety. "At. U.A." The woman finished, easing some of the pressure on his lips.
"U-Uh—" Kenji almost wanted to refuse out of simple loyalty to his leader. But as he stared up at her visage, he gulped. He was more loyal to his own life. "I-I d-don't know much… J-Just that another group contacted u-us to join them i-invade U.A…"
"What year? What class?"
"I- I don't…"
"Tell me!"
"O-Oh, God, please—!"
"Your life is not in the Goddess's palm." Frieren accidentally had that slip, but she couldn't care less. Her face inched closer to his. "It is in mine." Her fingers clenched tighter around him, emphasizing her words.
"O-Okay, okay!" He closed his eyes, uncaring as his own tears began to sting. "I-I don't know about what class, b-but I heard Jinshi talking about wanting to kill a green-haired brat or something! T-The same one that fought against us some time ago! That's it, I swear!"
"When is this happening?"
"Now!"
Instantly, Frieren released her hold on him. Breathing out in relief, Kenji gave a tearful smile. "T-Thank you!" He told the same woman that took one of his arms. "Thank you so—"
A fourth stone hand bursted from the ground, grabbing his hand and slamming it harshly against the earth. Despite the tumultuous storm plaguing her heart, Frieren had enough reason to lessen the force. The man would be unconscious and in for a world of pain when he wakes up, of course… but he would be alive.
Frieren turned away in a snap. She didn't care if people saw her; she poured all of her magic into her flight, fueling it as she bursted like a bullet through the air. The wind lashed harshly against her face, her white strands fluttering wildly in the gale.
She could feel her heart banging against her chest.
A cold sweat trickled down her cheek.
All of it reminded her of when Izuku was in similar danger back at the mall. Only… unlike that place which was near the center of the city, U.A was placed directly across from the Slums. A vast rift stood between Frieren and her student, the only person she's started to care for in these recent centuries.
She has failed Izuku once before. She must not fail again.
Another day, another chapter. This one got out much, much later than usual, but I'll try to increase the frequency of the chapters; hopefully.
I've been watching/reading a lot of mediums lately. Tower Dungeon, Land of the Lustrous, Apothecary Diaries, etc. Though not equally, I did enjoy all of them with the one at the forefront being Legend of the Galactic Heroes. Though not my personal favorite of all time — it's up there though — LotGH is probably the most impressive anime I've ever watched in terms of its narrative. There's also Adolescence and The Substance from 2024; the latter has some of the best body horror I've seen in recent memory, all the while mainting a story that I found to be very interesting.
On the novel side of things… it's been enjoyable, as usual. I've finished Priory of the Orange Tree, Tress of the Emerald Sea, and even the first book of Poppy War named… well… Poppy War. My cousin even lent me The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict — a mouthful, I know — with an extremely pleasing red hard cover; the smell of the pages was top-notch, as well. I'll finish Poppy War first before reading that, though.
Lastly, I'd like to address a few comments on the previous chapters.
—One asked why Izuku didn't just use Treiben to render his opponents incapable of finding the objective. Well, it's a test closely monitored by All-Might, and Izuku was under strict rules to only show his water and ice spells unless his life is being threatened. It'd be pretty noticeable if Bakugo kept running forward only to suddenly turn back; even if regular folks can't see the mana, it'd still be suspect.