Chapter 21: BNHA. What does it mean to be a hero? II (8)
A/N: Hi there, everyone. Sorry for the delay, I pulled an all nighter the day before yesterday for Uni and straight up died for twelve hours after getting home last night. On other news, get ready for an extra long episode next week as I've got some good stuff cooking.
DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains discussions about strong depictions of human cruelty, viewer discretion is highly advised. You have been warned.
Disclaimer 2: I do not own the rights for any of the preexisting characters. This novel is made merely for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.
…
「Commercial district, Hosu」
Hosu burned in the distance, embers floating up into the humid night air. From the rooftop, Damian crouched silently, his hood shadowing his face, hiding even the occasional glow in his pupils. The alley below unfolded in the way he remembered so he didn't intervene. He didn't need to, instead limiting himself to be a silent observer.
Not because he condoned Stain's actions… but because he needed to know whether the Hero Killer's legend aligned with the man himself. Whether Chizome Akaguro was a fanatic, a hypocrite or a potential asset.
Below, the battle unfolded, but unlike in the canon, Todoroki didn't hesitate tonight.
The moment he arrived, a flare of fire illuminated the alley, burning away shadows and forcing Stain to adjust. Midoriya pressed forward with coordinated blows. Iida, shaking but resolute, used Recipro Burst earlier. Native was pulled out of immediate danger faster. The fight wrapped up quicker than it had in the original timeline.
Stain fell–hanging on to his consciousness by a thread–steam rising from his wounds. And that was his cue.
While the hero trainees decided how to proceed with the villain, Damian descended. The layered spells made it so only a set of shadowy circles were visibly moving, not even a sound giving him away. He hit the pavement in a blur, landing behind Iida and Todoroki before either even sensed the pressure change.
Their instincts warned them but they only managed to turn in time to see a fist.
*WHUMP*
A shockwave puffed dust outward as Iida was sent sliding across the alley, landing on his back with a startled shout. Todoroki's eyes widened but before he could counter, a palm tapped his chest with controlled force, sending him skidding backward into a pile of trash bags. No injuries nor broken bones, merely a dazed confusion.
Midoriya barely had time to gasp in response when-
Damian and Stain vanished.
「Abandoned warehouse, Hosu」
The air warped open and slammed shut in the same breath, leaving Stain sprawled on the cold concrete floor, bleeding and unconscious, his weapons dumped in a neat pile several meters away.
Damian straightened, exhaling. He rapidly weaves mudras as he chants in a low voice while at the same time, Eva channels their unique energy through the Nexus. The energy releasing around the warehouse before it settles in a dome covering Damian and Stain, said energy transforming and solidifying into a unique mixture.
Faint mechanical whirring emanated from beneath his skin afterwards as he seamlessly switched a limb of his, executing the nanotechnological healing protocols his android body possesses. The wounds and burns on Stain's chest, face and arms disappeared with soft pulses of light only visible to Damian's eyes.
Looking at the serial killer, Eva asked Damian with a tone full of doubt. [Do you really believe this batshit crazy guy can become a willing subordinate?]
'I don't care if he has what it takes to be useful. I'll mold him into a useful tool with my own hands if needed. It's the least he can do to atone for his acts.'
Stain gasped awake moments later, snapping his head upward like a feral animal. He immediately tried to surge forward but found his entire torso bound tightly in ropes while his hands seemed to be sealed shut in special handcuffs.
He noticed the lack of weight on his body next; his knives, swords, even the thin throwing blades hidden in his boot seams. All gone.
Damian stood over him, hands in his pockets, his hood hiding his face unnaturally, giving an unreadable presence.
"Hello there, Stain," he said lightly. "Or should I call you Chizome Akaguro?"
Stain bared his teeth, immediately twisting against the restraints with violent intent. Every muscle in his wiry frame flexed as he tried to tear himself free. Spit hit the floor.
Damian didn't move. "It's no use, Chizome," he said conversationally. "I've taken all your weapons. Even the hidden ones. You're pretty thorough with your arsenal, by the way."
Stain froze, not in fear, but in calculation.
Then he rasped, voice gravelly and loaded with contempt: "What is your objective in taking me from those frauds? What are you? Another pretender? A villain? Regardless… I have nothing to say to you."
Damian crouched slightly, head tilting with a cheerful tone that grated against the grim tension in the room. "Oh, really? But I do have a lot to talk with you."
His voice lowered, sharpening. "Tell me, Stain… how far are you willing to go to see hero society become more 'pure,' as you like to define it?"
Stain's single exposed eye narrowed. "…What do you mean by that?"
Damian smiled beneath the hood. "See, Stain, much like many others before me, I've pondered deeply about what it means to be a hero. Is having the heart of a hero all it takes? Can you be a hero even when your reasons aren't pure? Does it matter if you have ulterior motives as long as you're willing to put your life on the line in defense of the ideals of heroism?"
He paused, letting the questions seep into the silence. "...And ultimately, I've come to realize… that none of that matters. Because all these questions are posed under the wrong framework to begin with."
Stain's expression flickered; something between annoyance and curiosity. His breathing slowed. This time he was listening, and Damian noticed even if he gave nothing away.
He continued. "All these questions are useless if you forget to consider the nature of men. As advanced and sophisticated as we've become, the immense majority of humans are still ruled by the same primal genetic code, the same chemical reactions. And this code, these chemicals, dictate everything we are within its boundaries."
He lifted a hand, snapping his fingers lightly. "At our root, we are social animals, Chizome. And all social animals crave the same thing; acceptance, validation, to receive idolatry even from those we deem our kin, our tribe. In acceptance we find security, community, all the emotions that tell our brains we are properly surviving," he head tilted. "And in a world where Quirks exist, what do you think is the ultimate way to be accepted? To be idolized?"
Stain's voice was low, grudging: "…To be a hero."
"Bingo." Damian smiled. "But that's not the only path, far from it. Here comes the other sides of this dice. Vigilantes and Villains, villains especially so," crouching down to be at eye-level with Stain, Damian spoke. "Villains are merely the other face of the same coin. Casted at the fringes of society, discriminated against or maybe too lazy to walk the hard path, yet still craving that same acceptance. They find the same sense of tribal bonding, but they do it through 'transgression', much like how the ultra-wealthy bond and form alliances."
Damian raised his palm and holographic screens projected upward in a fan-like spread, casting blue light across Stain's masked face.
On the left screens: Politicians, tycoons, corporate giants. All manner of obscenely powerful individuals in the sense of the old definition of power standing together while committing acts that would turn a normal human's stomach inside out; Covering s*xual assault through bribes. Letting a client state engage in g*nocide to increase your country's control over the resources of the region and the dependence of the client state on your allieship. The rich paying corrupt officials to hunt human beings–children, men and women, old and young alike–in war-torn countries with rifles as though hunting animals while laughing. Prime ministers and foreign dignitaries taking turns to r*pe little girls that were trafficked in systematic fashion. Masked billionaires sacrificing an infant for a religious ritual before taking turns drinking blood from the open wound.
A myriad of depraved atrocities.
On the right: Villains engaging in robbery, assault, domestic and s*xual violence, murder, kidnapping, videotaping gang r*pe and sn*ff films to sell to the wealthy. Atrocities mirroring the hidden upper echelons of society, the only difference is that villains didn't bother with the veneer of civility and sanctity.
Stain's breath came in ragged gulps–more from indignation than any phantom pain from his injuries–as Damian's projections shifted, illuminating the alley in stark, floating images. The holographic screens split the darkness in two: on the left, the filth of society indulging in corruption; on the right, the depravity of villains mirroring them. Both sides wearing different masks, yet acting on the same rotten impulses.
Damian spoke without facing him at first, voice low. "Different masks, yet the same sickness."
His tone sharpened like a knife, cutting through the silence. "In a world where Quirks reign supreme and facilitate the perversions of humankind, there are those who can step low enough to abandon their humanity to satiate their depraved fantasies and even then they can still find solace in like-minded filth."
Stain's jaw clenched. His bindings creaked as he strained, tendons pulling, but the ropes did not budge.
Damian rose from his crouched position and looked at the projected atrocities with a detached, clinical loathing. "Yet there are so many who choose to don the mantle of heroism. Who dare stand against these vermin. Inspired by their own goals, their ambitions–yes, but they fill the shoes of justice regardless. Their presence alone forces this sludge to hide in the cracks, behind closed doors, praying they won't be the next ones dragged into the light. Eternally looking over their shoulders."
Then Damian finally lowered his gaze to Stain.
Even with his face hidden beneath the hood, something cold pressed against Stain's senses. An instinctual whisper crawled down his spine, as though facing a predator.
A ripple of invisible mystical energy seeped from Damian's tongue, tugging at the edges of Stain's mind like a gentle hand turning his face toward truth.
And then, soft but laden with judgment: "And you, Chizome Akaguro… you killed dozens of those heroes. For what? Because they get paid? Because they want appreciation? Because they're human?"
Damian tilted his head. "Tell me, Stain, does All Might work for free? Would you demand a firefighter or a cop to work for free too?"
Stain's teeth ground together; the answer erupted like a snarl: "They were frauds! Hollow shells wearing capes! If villainy were the praised path, they would've sprinted down it! They-"
"So fucking what?" The interruption hit Stain like a gunshot.
Damian's voice dropped an octave, his tone cold, the type of coldness one used when doing his best to refrain from doing something they might regret. "If you save a life to feel better about yourself, is the life any less saved? If you protect your community because you want your children to grow up safely, is your impact any less real?"
Screen after screen shifted, no longer crimes, but gratitude. A woman crying with relief after he saved her from a man trying to assault her. A rescued child beaming up at the camera after being saved from a burning building. An elderly man bowing deeply next to his grandchild, trembling with thanks after saving the child from a kidnapping attempt.
Each one an echo of heroism Stain had never bothered to look at since embarking on this path of no return.
Damian's voice softened, but not kindly: "This, Stain, is what your twisted crusade has forgotten."
Every word sank in like a needle through bone, amplified by the subtle weaving of Mind and Will slipping into Stain's psyche, loosening rigidity, prying apart delusion.
"In your obsession with the purity of heroes, you forgot the one thing all heroes ought to do: To save people."
Damian stepped closer, boots clicking softly against the stone. "You are wrong, not only for thinking you are worthy of deciding who is a hero. You are wrong, not only for thinking killing flawed men and women makes you righteous."
Inhaling a breath, he continued. "But you are wrong first and foremost because you have done nothing but facilitate the lives of the filth by taking away heroes from the streets. You are most wrong because you killed men and women who have done much more for the word hero than you have ever done. And believe me when I say I mean my words because I've looked up each one of your victims–their heaviest sin was their vanity and greed for a better pay."
Stain finally looked up. There was something in his eyes, something Damian had not seen there before.
Fear.
A rare, trembling sort of fear that comes only when a man realizes the foundation of his entire identity may be rotten, flawed.
And Damian twisted the blade deeper after seeing that. "Your actions didn't cleanse society. They made it worse by a measurable metric."
Stain shook his head violently, though his conviction wavered. "No… no. They-they were false idols. They polluted heroism. I-I purged the rot-"
"No, you only helped true rot fester more safely."
That struck a chord as he winced visibly, his breath hitching.
Damian stepped closer. His tone now soft, intimate and crushing. "Think of every criminal who slipped through because the hero meant to catch them was already in the morgue. Think of the children who cried alone because their would-be rescuer was buried with a hole through their chest or alive but paralyzed, unable to reach them. Think of the villains who got away scot free this time because you killed the one person who could've stopped them."
Stain stared forward, unblinking, unbreathing. His muscles trembled as if his body resisted the truth his mind could no longer deny.
Damian pressed. "You didn't cleanse hero society. You helped to cripple it."
The mystical influence of Will and Mind wrapped around Stain's thoughts, forcing him to confront memories he had buried; faces of heroes he'd slain, their histories, their acts of service, their humanity.
Cracks formed and a fissure spread.
And then… Stain broke.
He exhaled a shuddering breath, eyes widening in something more agonizing than physical pain. "No… no… they… they weren't… all of them… they weren't all corrupt…"
His voice shook, his words spilled like a confession dragged from the deepest pit of his soul: "I… I thought I was cutting away the diseased flesh of society, but I… I killed men who… who saved more lives than I ever could…"
Damian said nothing. He let Stain drown in the truth.
Stain's voice cracked into a hoarse whisper: "What have I done…? What have I become?" His forehead touched the ground, breath erratic, face twisted in grief and horror.
Damian waited until Stain's mind hung on the edge of complete collapse, shattered yet searching for something to cling to.
Only then did he finally kneel. He lowered his hood as a face no one would be able to track back to this 'Damian Rossi'.
And with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with everything he had just inflicted, Damian placed a hand near Stain's bowed head, not touching, but close enough for him to feel the human warmth within it. "It's too late to wail in grief now, Chizome."
His tone was soft, empathetic, almost forgiving. Almost. "What's done is done."
Stain swallowed hard, shoulders trembling. Damian leaned in, voice like a lifeline cast to a drowning man. "But what if I told you there is still a way to atone? A path where you can make up for your sins… And pursue the goal that was twisted beyond recognition?"
Stain lifted his head, eyes wet, breath unsteady but his gaze held it–hope. A small, fragile, desperate thing that flickered in the ruins of his conviction.
A dangerous, desperate hope.
And Damian felt it, feeding on it. His voice softened, but beneath the silk lay the poisonous edge of temptation: "There are many dangers lurking beneath the light, Chizome. You know this better than anyone."
He stepped closer, letting the shadows peel away from his features just enough for Stain to see determination carved into flesh and bone. "I am trying to rid the world of the filth that feeds on society's cracks, filth waiting to corrupt and destroy what All Might spent his whole life building."
Stain's eyes widened faintly at the name and Damian could see it; the reverence, the pain, the regret. "But I cannot do it by just playing the role of hero."
The words slithered in honest, seductive, dangerous. "I need people like you, Chizome. Those who crave redemption. Those unafraid to stain their hands if it means cleansing the future."
He took a second, to resume then with deliberate weight. "Work for me… and I will see to it that only the heroes truly worthy of the title will shine in this world."
A heavy silence enveloped the room. Stain lowered his gaze–not in submission, but in contemplation–his thoughts churned violently behind his eyes. His life's doctrine lay shattered at his feet… yet here was a path. A chance. A purpose that didn't betray the core of what he once sought.
And after long seconds of hesitation-
Stain leaned forward. Bound torso tightening, muscles straining against rope, he bowed until his forehead pressed against Damian's outstretched palm.
The gesture was crude, desperate, reverent. His voice cracked, but his conviction rang true: "I swear my life to your cause… to atone for the blood I spilled."
But then he drew a strained breath, his tone shifted to a cold and solemn one. "But hear me, stranger. If you ever stray from the path, as I once did, I will carve clarity back into your flesh myself."
Again a tense pause took hold of the room… then Damian burst into laughter.
Unexpected, bright, almost comical. "Mh. Sure thing, man."
Stain blinked, unsure if Damian was mocking him or genuinely entertained.
Damian then tilted his head, tone sharpening: "But before anything else… I need you for your first task, Chizome."
Stain straightened instinctively, spine rigid despite the bindings. "…What is it that I must do?"
Damian gestured around them with a sweep of his hand.
"Well, it's a bit difficult to explain to a normal person. Long story short, right now we're inside a time-accelerated chamber."
Stain stared and Damian shrugged. "Meaning what happens here happens far faster than in the outside world. Out there, only five seconds have passed."
Stain's face contorted into disbelief. "Impossible."
"Hard to believe, I know," Damian said calmly, "but my Quirk is just that special."
The self assurance in his tone made Stain's skepticism waver. The man had already healed him. Already overpowered him. Already made him see the truth behind his thoughts.
Time-warp no longer sounded as absurd, so Stain swallowed, regaining slivers of his focus. "…There must be a reason why we're here then, so what do you want me to do?"
Damian crouched again, eye-level, serious. "I'm going to take you back to the exact spot where those kids defeated you."
Stain frowned in response, but his eyes didn't quite show why. Expecting the skepticism, Damian clarified. "Your job is to act exactly as you would have acted… if this conversation had never taken place."
Stain's eyes flickered for a moment, dread and self-disgust flaring beneath. "…Must I go back to being that?"
Damian nodded once. "Yes and no," he said, his voice steady. "You need to remain the Hero Killer for tonight, just long enough to be arrested."
Damian continued before he could protest. "Don't worry. I can guide you right back into that mindset. Quickly."
There was something chillingly gentle in the way he said it, like a puppeteer promising to help a marionette rediscover its old strings.
Stain inhaled sharply… resentful, but accepting nonetheless.
Damian leaned in closer, tone shifting into strategy. "After your arrest… we'll begin the real plan. As for what you need to do…"
…
"Very well… I will do as you command."
Damian then placed his palm above Stain's head, hovering an inch above. His voice carrying both warmth and danger. "Good. Then let us begin rewriting the world."
[You'd make for a terrific villain, you know that?] Spoke Eva, half admiring and half unsettled by Damian's lightning fast brainwashing.
He sighed after hearing her, his tone a bit more quiet than usual. 'Yeah, sometimes even I feel scared of myself.'
A gentle pulse of light tore shone briefly in his extended hand, while the other was locked into a half complete Hakini mudra as the time-accelerated chamber vibrated unstably, the limits of Damian's current capabilities silently creeping through his creation.
…
In the outside world only six seconds had passed since.
Everyone suddenly became highly alert after seeing the unconscious Stain reappearing near them, even his weapons fell neatly piled together next to the criminal. Yet, after repeatedly looking everywhere around the alley, including the rooftops, they still couldn't find a trace from the mysterious guy who had taken Stain just to drop him off with them seconds later.
Without any other choice, they decided to stick to the original 'plan' and escort both Staind and the hero to the other pro's.
Like a sickening play, reality unfolded as it was once intended again.
The group of heroes moving with Gran Torino met Midoriya's group. Iida had his heartfelt apology interrupted by a flying Nomu kidnapping Izuku and Stain recovered just in time to paralyze the Nomu with his Quirk before finishing it off.
Endeavour reached just in time as Stain gave his infamous speech before falling unconscious due to a lung puncture.
'Thankfully I borrowed Eri's Quirk before coming here.' Damian thought before decisively teleporting away, not without giving Shigaraki who was watching far away a last look before dipping.
…
「Outskirts of Nagoya」
Yawning in exaggerated fashion, Damian ducked under a sweeping crescent kick as he spoke in a deliberately irritated, deliberately obnoxious tone.
"You know, it wouldn't kill you to greet me like a normal person, maybe even thank me for agreeing to be your sparring partner, might even help you be a better he-"
He had to sidestep immediately as a second kick came in without warning, hard and fast. Mirko's irritated snarl cutting the air sharper than her heel. "It's you who should thank the great me for letting a pipsqueak learn to fight with a pro hero, you brat!"
Her voice was rough from sleep, but her blood was already running hot. Dawn hadn't even fully broken yet, and her house's outdoor training room–spacious, reinforced, and already cracked in more than one place—was alive with motion and the cool air of summer mornings.
Damian only gave her a grin as he slipped under her follow-up knee strike. It had been three months. Three months of this. Relentless sparring every single morning and honestly? He'd grown to enjoy this little ritual with an intensity he hadn't expected.
Both of them moved without thinking. Her hops, spins, and explosive lunges meeting his adaptive footwork and uncanny technical precision, these months had polished the disconnect between absorbed knowledge and own muscle memory.
Damian had learned that Mirko wasn't just fast, she was feral. Instinct sharpened to a blade's edge, physicality honed into a combat art.
And Mirko, despite all the pretending, all the scoffing, had found something in these morning spars she didn't get anywhere else: someone who could keep up with her pace. Someone who could take a kick and return one. Someone who didn't treat her like a celebrity or a monster, but like a partner. And it didn't feel all that bad.
Not that she'd ever say that out loud. God forbid.
Damian slipped back just enough to avoid a roundhouse, watching her with a small, thoughtful smile and that was when Mirko snapped her fingers twice, irritated.
"Oi. Focus, brat." She clicked her tongue as she ducked under his jab, her ears rotating sharply forward. "I've heard you're going to some summer camp with your class."
Damian blinked lazily. "Oh? Didn't know you talked to other human-"
A heel fell like a guillotine.
*CRACK*
The entire reinforced floor split under her axe kick, spider-web fractures spreading out from the impact.
Damian laughed as he hopped back, brushing dust off his shoulder. "How touchy. Anyway, yeah, I'll be gone for a couple days. You'll have to find other ways to blow off steam in the meantime."
She launched another kick, which he blocked with both forearms.
Mirko scoffed, "Please. As if I depend on you to keep myself entertained."
"Yes," Damian said seriously.
"No," she snapped.
"Yes."
"Say it again, I dare you."
He wisely didn't, and smoothly transitioned the block into a grip, which she instantly broke with an elbow and a pivoting knee aimed at his ribs. He jumped back, heartbeat steady, smile sly.
Then he hesitated, just for a second but Mirko saw it immediately, stopping mid-stance, one ear tilting in suspicion while the other flicked back. "What, did your brain freeze again? Out with it, kid."
Damian scratched his cheek, genuinely looking… shy. Which only made Mirko narrow her eyes harder.
"I wanted to ask for a favor."
"Oh?" She folded her arms, chin lifted smugly. "Look at you. Acting all meek like some little girl. Tsk. If you've got something to ask, just ask."
Damian inhaled. "You know how I have a little sister living with me, right?"
Mirko nodded curtly. She'd heard him mention Eri in passing, but he never went into detail unless asked. He was oddly personal about some matters even if he wouldn't shut up when talking about anything else.
"Well," he continued, "since our parents passed away and it's just the two of us… I'm worried about her being alone for so long. So…"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "…would you mind looking after her for the week I'm gone?"
Mirko froze. Absolutely froze.
Her expression didn't just shift, it collapsed into something Damian had never seen. Wide-eyed, ears stiff, jaw tight, a faint panic rising behind her pupils.
"Wha- me?!" she sputtered, taking a full step back like he'd asked her to swallow a live grenade. "Take care of a kid? No way. Impossible. I'd rather fight for a week straight while blindfolded!"
Damian bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing… but he failed. "So the mighty hero Mirko–the terrifying scourge of villains everywhere–is afraid of babysitting? Now I've seen every-"
"Shut your mouth or I'll kick you through the wall," she barked, cheeks coloring dangerously. "A kid!? I don't know how to handle kids! They're small and fragile and sticky and cry–hell no!"
He raised his hands in surrender, but the teasing glint remained. "Oh? So you're admitting it?"
"Admitting nothing! Shut up!"
A few more jabs-back-and-forth, her threatening to punt him into orbit, him reminding her she already cracked the floor twice this morning-
Then Damian's tone dropped the joke entirely. He stepped forward and bowed properly. Something he had never done in front of her, or in front of almost anybody to be fair. "I'm being serious, Mirko. I can't leave unless I know Eri's safe. You're one of the very few people I trust with something like this. Please… do me this favor."
Mirko's ears twitched. She stared, stunned, caught unprepared by his sincerity. "Oi-hey-okay, okay!" she blurted, flustered and waving her arms. "No need for all that formal crap! Raise your head, damn it."
And only after hearing her agreement, he did.
Mirko scowled, looking anywhere except his face. "I'll… I'll look after your sister for a week. How hard can it be? Just… don't expect me to do tea parties or whatever." She crossed her arms again, trying to recover her dignity. "But yeah. Fine. I'll do it."
Damian felt relieved by her words, smiling genuinely this time. "Thank you, Mirko."
"Tch. Don't make me regret it, brat." She said, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward, betraying her.
…
「U.A High School, Musutafu」
As the incessant humming of cicadas surrounded the outside, The buses rumbled up the mountain road until, finally, the one carrying class 1-A lurched to a stop in a temporary parking area overlooking a massive stretch of forest.
The door hissed open.
Everyone poured out. Stretching their backs, stomping stiff legs, squinting into the bright morning sun. Before anyone could ask why they'd stopped so far from anything remotely resembling a camp facility…
A car parked beside the bus swung its doors open in theatrical unison.
Two heroes stepped out in coordinated motion, wind catching their fur-trimmed costumes for dramatic effect. At their side, a silent, uninterested child followed.
"Hey, Eraser," Mandalay greeted, tail flicking as she waved.
Aizawa bowed slightly, voice professional but just warm enough. "Long time no see."
Then the women stepped forward, faces bright, energy explosive.
Mandalay pointed directly at the class, her eyes sparkling. "Lock on with these sparkling gazes!"
Pixie-bob spun beside her, claws lifted theatrically. "Stingingly cute and catlike!"
Both threw their arms out in perfect synchronization: "WILD WILD… PUSSYCATS!"
The whole class stared at the cat like heroes bursting with energy in silence.
Damian, standing slightly off to the side, did his absolute best to keep a straight face. 'Wild Pussycats… that name is certainly a choice,' he muttered internally.
Eva's voice flickered in his mind, dry and unimpressed. [Oh, grow up.]
Though she found the name amusing too from their perspective, she just had more dignity than Damian.
Aizawa stepped forward. "These are pro heroes who will be working with us during the camp: the Wild, Wild Pussycats."
Midoriya lit up like a firework. "Oh! They're a four-person hero team who set up a joint agency! They specialize in mountain rescues—they're a veteran team who's been working for twel-"
Before he could finish, Pixie-bob slapped a gloved hand over his face. "I'm 18 at heart!" she snapped, leaning down threateningly. "At heart, I'm…?"
Midoriya, muffled against her hand, wheezed. "…eighteen!"
Damian, standing right next to him, smirked. "No need to worry about that stuff, Miss hero. Real men appreciate a mature beauty."
Pixie-bob shot him a playful glare. "Careful, handsome. Compliments like that could get you adopted."
Aizawa, ignoring the chaos, sighed. "You all, greet them."
The class bowed in unison. "Nice to meet you!"
"We own this whole stretch of land," Mandalay added proudly. "You'll be staying at the foot of the mountain over there."
She pointed. But the foot of the mountain was… far. Very far.
Whispers rose immediately: "Why did we stop here…?" "Isn't that miles away?" "Wait… camp's all the way over there-?"
Mandalay suddenly smiled. A very ominous smile. "It's 9:30 a.m. right now. If you're fast…" Her tail swayed ominously. "…maybe you'll reach by noon?"
The class panicked immediately. "NOON?!" "That's impossible!" "What do you MEAN reach?!"
Then the students bolted for the bus-
"Kitties who don't make it by 12:30 won't get any lunch!" Mandalay added, voice sugary sweet.
-but Pixie-bob leapt in front of them, positioning herself between the bus and the class.
Aizawa, entirely unbothered, added. "Sorry, guys. Training camp… has already started."
Pixie-bob slammed her hands onto the ground, using her Quirk as the entire stretch of earth trembled just to give away shortly after. The ground collapsed beneath Class 1-A, sending them plummeting into the dense forest below with screams echoing the whole way down.
Mandalay peered down at the chaos. "Hey. Since it's private land, you can use your Quirks as you wish! You have three hours to reach the facility on your own two feet after getting through… the Beast's Forest!"
Damian clapped his hands around his mouth, cheering loudly: "Do your best, everybody! I believe in you!"
That's when Mandalay and Pixie-bob froze, finally noticing that there was another person next to them. "…H-How…?" Mandalay muttered.
"…What the…?" Pixie-bob added.
Aizawa stepped beside them, deadpan. "Trying to understand him is pointless. Don't bother. He's as unpredictable as they come."
Damian beamed at that like it was the kindest compliment in the world.
Aizawa pointed a thumb toward the cliff. "Get down there, Rossi."
Damian tilted his head, feigning as though he didn't get his words. Exhaling in exasperation, Aizawa spoke again. "Just use this as a chance to train your coordination with multiple heroes, or are you going to abandon your friends and take the easy way out?"
"What kind of teacher uses emotional blackmail and temptation to get students to comply? How cruel of you, Sensei."
Aizawa's eye twitched. Damian laughed in response, then he gave the Pussycats a small bow and a charming grin before going down himself. "Well then, see you pretty ladies later."
And with a smooth shift of his body, he shot off the cliff's edge and dove into the forest, flying to catch up to his panicked classmates who were still nearby.
The Pussycats stared after him, speechless.
Pixie-bob finally exhaled. "…what the hell was that?"
Mandalay shook her head slowly, tail flicking in bewilderment. "He talks like a flirt, acts like a wild card, and moves like a pro hero… How old is he again, Eraser?"
Aizawa sighed, as though regretting everything. "Too young. Far too young for how annoying he is."
Mandalay blinked, then murmured: "…That kid is going to give us a headache, isn't he?" And Pixie-bob grinned at her words.
Kota remained silent throughout the whole thing, only narrowing his eyes as he looked at the place where Damian's silhouette had disappeared in the forest.