It all started in the boys' locker room, just as Class 1-A finished their practical exam.
Ryuga lingered last, claiming he wanted to rest for a bit. But as soon as the last person's footsteps faded down the hallway, darkness began to rise in his mind.
First, the smell. Not the familiar sweat or antibacterial soap of U.A. It was the acrid, pungent, nauseating smell of human flesh roasted to the bone—the smell of the Nomu incinerated with white phosphorus at U.S.J. Immediately afterward, a hoarse, razor-sharp voice pierced the empty space: "You are a cancer... A manipulator... You must be eradicated..."
Stain.
Ryuga clutched his head, staggering back until his back slammed against a row of metal lockers. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, trying to chase away the hallucination, telling himself that the Hero Assassin had died a slow death at his hands. But it was useless. His heart pounded wildly, tearing at his chest, his lungs feeling like they were filled with ashes. Unable to control himself any longer, a choked, agonizing scream escaped his throat.
At that very moment, the locker room door was flung open. Himiko rushed in. She had been waiting for him in the hallway and immediately recognized the sound of the shattering.
Seeing Ryuga sliding down to the floor, his hands clawing at his hair, Himiko said nothing. Survival instinct and a distorted love compelled her to act. She knew empty words of comfort wouldn't reach Ryuga at this moment. What he needed was reality. Himiko lunged forward, kneeling on the cold tile floor, hastily stripping off her own uniform before tearing open Ryuga's shirt. She pressed her bare, soft chest tightly against his trembling, icy skin. The most intimate skin-to-skin contact—the kind that usually brought him back to reality—was utterly powerless this time. Ryuga still gasped for breath, his pupils twitching, completely lost in the illusion.
Suddenly, the boisterous laughter of the boys from Class 1-A echoed from the end of the hallway. They were coming back.
Through the fog of panic, a faint glimmer of awareness flickered in Ryuga's mind. Being discovered here, half-naked with a girl under U.A. special surveillance, everything would fall apart. With an extraordinary strength drained from fear, Ryuga lunged forward, grabbing the clothes scattered on the bench and throwing them into his oversized hero costume locker before roughly pulling Himiko inside.
The locker door slammed shut with a dry, sharp click just as Kirishima and Kaminari pushed open the door and entered the changing room.
Inside the lockers, it was pitch black and cramped, so tight that their chests were pressed together without a gap. The air was thick. Ryuga's old stomach wound ached from the sudden movement, and the laughter outside amplified his panic to its peak. Ryuga's lips parted, his chest constricting—he was about to lose control and scream.
Recognizing his limit, Himiko immediately lifted her head. She pressed her lips against his, launching into a deep, forceful kiss. Her tongue intertwined, locking onto his, silencing any sounds that threatened to escape, turning them into choked moans in his throat. In this extremely sensitive position, skin against skin in the dark, cramped space, Himiko maintained that suffocating kiss for ten long minutes. Her forehead was dotted with sweat, while Ryuga's body trembled uncontrollably under the lingering pressure of panic.
Finally, the footsteps outside faded away. The boys had left.
Inside the locker, Himiko slowly broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Ryuga leaned his head against the metal wall, his eyes weary and wild in the darkness. The hallucinations had faded, but the frustration and terror still gnawed at his nerves. With his last shred of consciousness, he buried his head in Himiko's neck, his voice hoarse and desperate, pleading:
"Himiko... Bite me. Please... Bite hard. Do anything... As long as it hurts..."
Himiko froze. Her golden eyes, usually filled with a thirst for blood and violence, were now brimming with concern and pity. She didn't want to hurt him when he was as fragile as a shard of glass about to shatter. But feeling Ryuga's fingers gripping her waist like a drowning man, she had no choice.
She parted her lips, sinking her sharp fangs into his shoulder. The metallic taste of blood seeped out. A sharp pain shot through her nerves, and in the suffocating confines of the metal locker, a passionate encounter ensued. There was no romance or ecstasy, only a painful, agonizing struggle. The cramped space made every movement a torment, sweat mixing with the rusty smell of blood, yet Ryuga clung to the physical pain, hoping it would stifle the ghosts in his head.
When it was over, they both dressed in silence. Ryuga pushed open the locker door and slumped onto the long bench, his body clad only in his uniform trousers.
"Go back to the dorm first," Ryuga said, his voice hollow, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. "I'll come later."
Himiko wanted to say something, but seeing his lonely back, she bit her lip and silently left the room.
When he was alone, the harsh truth struck Ryuga's mind. It was ineffective. The method of violence and lust that had saved him in the bathroom the day before had backfired. The frustration hadn't disappeared; it had only been temporarily suppressed and was now erupting more violently, transforming into a suffocating anxiety. He had truly become a sick person dependent on pain.
Ryuga's breathing became ragged. In the unconsciousness of panic, his right hand rose, his fingernails digging into his left forearm. He began to scratch. He scratched so hard that his skin tore, drawing bright red blood, but he didn't stop, as if wanting to inflict more pain on himself to cling to his sanity.
Click.
The changing room door opened for the second time. Sato Rikido walked in, intending to retrieve his forgotten sweatband.
The tall teenager froze at the sight before him. Ryuga sat there, his bare back covered in sweat and red marks, frantically scratching his arms, his lifeless eyes filled with utter bewilderment.
"Onodera! What the hell are you doing?!"
Sato hastily threw his backpack to the floor, rushed forward like a whirlwind, and used his large, rough hands to grab Ryuga's wrists, pulling them apart. The strength of someone with a Quirk that enhances physical strength made it impossible for Ryuga to resist.
Ryuga snapped back to reality, looking up at Sato with the eyes of a cornered animal, his chest heaving violently.
Sato didn't ask, "Are you crazy?" or yell. He looked at the blood on Ryuga's hands, then at the despair in his classmate's eyes. Sato wasn't a psychologist; he didn't know how to deal with such profound emotional trauma. But he knew one basic thing.
Sato released Ryuga's hand, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a strawberry-flavored hard candy wrapped in clear cellophane—something he made himself and always carried for energy.
"Open your mouth," Sato said, his voice unusually deep, warm, and steady.
Ryuga was bewildered, but Sato's sincerity, devoid of any pity, made him unconsciously comply. Sato unwrapped the candy and placed it in Ryuga's mouth.
The rich, original sweetness of the sugar melted on his tongue, instantly dispelling the metallic taste of blood and the bitterness of the hallucination. The sugar naturally and gently stimulated the brain to release dopamine. Ryuga's attention shifted to the hard candy rolling in his mouth. His breathing slowed. His muscles, which had been tense like taut strings, gradually relaxed. It really worked. No blood, no violence, just a simple strawberry candy.
Seeing Ryuga's eyes gradually regain focus, Sato breathed a sigh of relief and released his hand. The large boy slumped down onto the bench beside him, maintaining a distance sufficient so Ryuga wouldn't feel suffocated.
The silence lasted for a few minutes, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner.
"Thank you, Sato..." Ryuga finally spoke, his voice less shaky. He raised his hand to his face, bowing his head. "And... I'm sorry. Sorry for making you see this unsightly state."
Sato scratched his short hair, giving a gentle chuckle.
"It's nothing unsightly. Every hero gets stressed out sometimes. I almost smashed the oven when I messed up my three-tiered cake," Sato joked to ease the tension. Then he glanced at the wound on Ryuga's hand, his voice lowering. "I don't know what you're carrying, Onodera. You always pretend to be fine and calculate everything. But sometimes... it's okay to indulge in a little sugar and allow yourself to be vulnerable for a while."
Ryuga silently chewed the last of his candy. Sato's simple words seeped into his mind, shattering the tough shell he had painstakingly built. For the first time since transmigrating to this cruel world, he realized that solace didn't necessarily come from toxic and insane dependencies. The warmth of an ordinary friend... was the most powerful antidote.
The two boys sat quietly in the changing room, exchanging a few meaningless words about cooking recipes and class assignments. There was no conspiracy, no League of Villains, just a rare moment of peace before Sato stood up, patted Ryuga on the shoulder, and left, leaving behind an Onodera Ryuga who had truly found his breath again.