The office of U.A.'s principal was cluttered with stacks of documents, screens streaming data, and an ever-present cup of Earl Grey tea, a faint wisp of steam rising from it. Nezu sat in his chair, his small paws steepled, his gaze fixed on one of the monitors displaying footage from the Beta Training Ground. He watched the chaos that had just unfolded: flashes of quirks, students' shouts, and at the center of it all, the dark figure of Arashi Tanaka, surrounded by ghostly shadows. His mind, amplified by his "High Specs" quirk, was already weaving dozens of scenarios, analyzing classmates' reactions, and calculating potential consequences. This wasn't just an exercise. It was a test of resilience—not only for the boy but for the entire system.
A couple of hours after the lesson, the office door creaked softly, and a towering figure appeared in the doorway. All Might, the Symbol of Peace, stepped inside. But he looked different—his muscular, gigantic frame was gone, replaced by a skeletal appearance. His usual radiant smile was absent; instead, his face bore a look of focused contemplation, tinged with worry. He closed the door behind him and, without waiting for an invitation, sank into the chair across from Nezu's desk.
"Principal Nezu," his voice lacked its usual enthusiasm, sounding subdued. "We need to talk."
Nezu looked up from the screen, his beady eyes glinting with mild interest. He took a sip of tea, savoring the aroma, and nodded.
"Of course, my dear colleague. I was expecting your visit. Tea? Freshly brewed, with a hint of bergamot—perfect for reflection."
All Might shook his head, his blue eyes fixed on Nezu.
"No, thank you. I'm not here for pleasantries. This is about Tanaka. Our… special student."
Nezu set his cup down on its saucer with a soft clink. He knew this conversation was coming. His brilliant mind had already anticipated every phrase, every intonation. But he let All Might continue—the dialogue was part of the game.
"Please, share your assessment of Arashi after today's session. You saw him in action closer than anyone. What do you think of his progress?"
All Might leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, gathering his thoughts. His face, usually the epitome of confidence, now reflected an inner conflict.
"He's… impressive. No, more than impressive. His quirk is something otherworldly. Those entities he summoned… they're not just projections. They're alive, filled with ancient malice and power. I fought them, and it wasn't just an exercise. They forced me to exert real effort. The boy managed to outmaneuver me, using them as a distraction. That's clever, strategic. In a real battle, that kind of ability could turn the tide."
Nezu nodded, his whiskers twitching slightly in a smile.
"Indeed. Arashi's potential is immense. He's not just fighting enemies—he's fighting himself, keeping that darkness in check. Your battle showed how far he's come in controlling it."
But All Might didn't smile back. His gaze hardened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"That's exactly what I wanted to talk about. Why? Why did you set up that fight the way you did? I agreed to your request to change the conditions of the combat training, but… I don't understand. Why me against him? One-on-one? It wasn't fair. The boy nearly broke. He lost control, and those… Nazgûl, as you call them, almost consumed him. I saw it in his eyes—green fire, full of desperation. And the class? They're in shock. Some are afraid of him now. This could've ended in disaster."
Nezu didn't flinch under the gaze. He calmly took another sip of tea, letting All Might's words hang in the air.
"Ah, my dear All Might. Your concerns are entirely valid. I see you're worried about the boy's well-being—and that does you credit. But allow me to explain. Everything was calculated. Based on the profile I've compiled—detailed analyses of his past, psychological tests, medical records, and observations—Arashi needs confidence. Not hollow praise, but a real challenge that shows him he's capable. His quirk isn't a curse; it's a tool. And who better than the Symbol of Peace to be that challenge? You embody strength and hope. If he could reach the objective against you, it would give him faith in himself. Faith that strengthens his wall of control."
All Might frowned, his fists clenching.
"But the risks… You endangered not just him, but the entire class. What if he'd completely lost control? Those entities—they're no joke. I felt their hunger. They didn't just want to win; they wanted to break. Sometimes I think your genius goes too far. This isn't a lab experiment. These are living children."
Nezu set his cup aside and steepled his paws, his voice remaining soft but firm—in that way that always soothed yet left no room for argument.
"I appreciate your concern, All Might. Truly. But let me remind you: I don't interfere in your affairs with Izuku Midoriya. He's your student, your successor, and I respect that. I don't question his training or the power you're passing to him because I trust your judgment. Likewise, Arashi is my project. My responsibility. U.A. is my school, and as principal, I make decisions I deem necessary for each student's growth. They're not always easy or pleasant, but they're effective. We're shaping the future, and the future demands courage. If we avoid risks, we'll raise not heroes, but bystanders who crumble under pressure. With Arashi, this is even more critical."
All Might was silent for a few seconds, processing the words. His shoulders slumped slightly—a sign the argument had hit its mark. He'd known Nezu long enough to understand that behind the softness lay steely calculation.
"Fine," he said at last, standing. "I trust you. But keep an eye on him. If something goes wrong… I'll be there."
Nezu smiled, his eyes glinting.
"Of course. Thank you for the visit. And remember: the tea is always ready."
All Might nodded and left, leaving Nezu in the quiet of his office. The principal leaned back in his chair, his mind kicking into high gear again. The conversation had gone as planned—All Might wasn't fully convinced but was reassured. That was important. Now Nezu's thoughts returned to Arashi.
He recalled how it all began. A call from Rumi Usagiyama—the brash, pragmatic heroine who rarely asked for anything. "The system will chew him up, Nezu. Give him a chance." He'd studied the file: an incident at a store ten years ago when Arashi's quirk first manifested, leaving villains in a state of apathy. Reports of a "door" in his mind, nine pairs of eyes. Nazgûl—archetypes from old literature, brought to life through the collective unconscious. Incredible. Dangerous. But endlessly fascinating.
Nezu pressed a button on the remote, and the screen replayed the battle footage. He watched as Arashi summoned the Witch-king, the entity materializing, spreading cold and terror. Then the other Nazgûl, their synchronized attack. All Might fought but was pushed back. And Arashi, crawling through the shadows, reached the objective. The cost—loss of control, green fire in his eyes. But he pulled them back. On his own.
"Potential," Nezu thought. "But risks. If he breaks, U.A. will be at the center of a scandal. If he succeeds, we'll have a new kind of hero. One who fights darkness from within."
He made notes in his digital journal: Increase psychological support. Schedule additional sessions with Hound Dog. Monitor interactions with classmates. His genius calculated probabilities: Arashi's integration into the class—67%. Risk of an uncontrollable incident—12%. Chance he could be key to understanding quirk evolution—85%.
But behind the calculations was another side. Nezu wasn't a heartless machine. He remembered his own past—experiments, pain, isolation. Arashi reminded him of himself: a being the world deemed "inconvenient." We'll give him a chance, he thought. Not out of mercy. Out of necessity. The world is changing, and heroes must change with it.
Evening settled over U.A., but Nezu didn't leave. He switched the screen to a live feed from the infirmary, where Arashi lay connected to monitors. The boy was asleep, his face pale but calm.
Should I visit him? Nezu finished his tea and stood, his small figure casting a long shadow in the lamplight.
When Arashi came to, the world was white and sterile. The smell of disinfectant, the soft beeping of monitors. He lay on a bed in U.A.'s infirmary, hooked up to IVs and sensors. His head throbbed, his body ached as if he'd endured hours of torture. But inside… inside, it was quiet. The Nazgûl were silent, lurking behind the wall. They hadn't vanished—he felt their presence, a distant whisper—but they were weakened. Tired. Like him.
He tried to sit up, but his hand slipped. Beside the bed was a chair, and on it sat… Nezu. The U.A. principal, in his impeccable suit, holding a cup of tea, watched him with a faint, enigmatic smile.
"Good evening, Tanaka-kun," he said calmly, as if they were chatting about the weather. "You were unconscious for a few hours. But it seems your body has coped. Impressive."
Arashi blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. "What… what happened?"
"I… I touched the objective," he whispered hoarsely, his throat raw as if from shouting.
"Oh, yes," Nezu nodded, sipping his tea. "You didn't just touch it. You put on quite a show. Your… 'friends' caused a stir. The class is in shock. Some doubt you should be here. Others are in awe. And All Might… he's impressed. Very impressed."
Arashi lowered his gaze. Memories flooded back: the battle, the Nazgûl, the cost. "I lost control. I almost…"
"I… I didn't mean to," he forced out. "They… broke free. I couldn't hold them."
Nezu set his cup on the table and steepled his paws.
"On the contrary, Tanaka-kun. You held them. You brought them back. That's control. Not total suppression, but the ability to restore balance. Your quirk isn't a tool. It's a living thing. Or things. And you're learning to live with them. It's… fascinating."
Arashi looked at the principal. There was no judgment in his eyes. Only interest. Pure, intellectual interest.
"But… the class. They're afraid of me now."
"Fear is normal," Nezu shrugged. "Fear is a lesson. They saw that heroism isn't always bright and beautiful. Sometimes it's dark, painful. Like yours. And that will make them stronger. You'll teach them that the world isn't as simple as it seems, that not everything that appears evil is. And in turn, you'll find something to learn from them."
He stood, adjusting his tie.
"Rest. Tomorrow, you'll return to class. And remember: U.A. isn't a place for the weak. But it's also not a place for loners. Use that."
Nezu left, leaving Arashi alone with his thoughts. He lay back, staring at the ceiling. Indispensable? Or dangerous? The Nazgûl's whisper was faint, but he knew—they were waiting. Waiting for the next call.
Returning home late that evening, he tossed a few words to his parents about a long training session and missing the right train.
The next day, his body still ached, but he walked straight. U.A.'s corridors seemed empty—classes had already started. He reached Class 1-A, pausing at the door to steel himself. What awaited inside? Rejection? Fear? Hatred?
He opened the door. The hum of voices stopped instantly. Everyone turned. Aizawa, standing at the board, nodded.
"Tanaka. Take your seat. We've been waiting."
Arashi walked to his desk under the gazes of his classmates. Some looked away. Others watched with curiosity. Bakugo crossed his arms, his gaze challenging but lacking its usual venom.
"Let's begin," Aizawa said in his even, tired voice. The class fell silent, waiting. He didn't waste time. He pulled up a screen with footage from the training: Bakugo's explosions, Todoroki's ice, and finally, the dark figures of the Nazgûl around Arashi. "Let's break down yesterday's combat training. But first, a word of caution."
Aizawa paused, his gaze falling on Bakugo, who sat with his arms crossed, a sour expression on his face.
"Bakugo, you're talented, so don't act like a kid over a loss, got it?"
Bakugo scoffed but stayed silent, his fists clenching. Aizawa's gaze shifted to Midoriya, who nervously gripped his pencil.
"And Midoriya… I see you. You won the match, breaking your arm again. Work harder. Stop saying you can't control your quirk—that excuse is getting old. You can't keep injuring yourself in training. But your quirk will be truly useful if you master it. So show some urgency, alright?"
Midoriya nodded, his cheeks flushing, but determination flickered in his eyes. The class whispered—this was familiar, an echo of All Might's past words, but Aizawa had added his own stern edge. Now it was the others' turn. Aizawa switched the screen to Arashi's fight—the cold air, the Nazgûl materializing, the epic clash with All Might. The class tensed; Uraraka shivered, recalling the bone-chilling frost.
"Now, about you, Tanaka," Aizawa continued, his tone unchanged, neutral as always. "You went one-on-one against All Might. It wasn't a standard exercise, but you succeeded—you touched the objective. Your… entities, Nazgûl, as the reports call them, are a force that terrifies. They didn't just attack; they suppressed, drained. You used them as a diversion to slip through. That's strategic. But the cost… You nearly lost control. That's not heroism if it destroys you. Your quirk isn't a tool you can switch on and off. It's alive, and you need to learn to live with it without letting it consume you. Keep going like this, and you'll break before you become a hero. But… if you master it, your power can save where others fail. In fear, in despair. Show urgency in control, like Midoriya."
Arashi sat still, his heart pounding. Aizawa's words cut like a knife, but they held no judgment—just truth. He nodded, muttering softly, "Yes, sir." The class was silent; Jiro exchanged a glance with Momo, her hair twitching slightly at the memory of the Nazgûl's whispers.
Aizawa didn't stop. He scanned the class, his scarf shifting slightly, as if ready to activate.
"Let's make this quick. Let's talk about the standout performance in this training. The MVP of this exercise—Iida!"
The class gasped. Uraraka blinked, Midoriya looked up in surprise. Bakugo's frown deepened.
"Not Ochako or Midoriya, who won their exercise. If that surprises you, think again. Why? Anyone want to explain?"
Hands went up—Yaoyorozu, as always, was first. Aizawa nodded to her.
"Yes, Yaoyorozu."
"Mr. Aizawa," she began confidently, her voice clear as if giving a lecture. "I believe Iida was the MVP because he adapted best to the scenario. Unlike Midoriya, who injured himself and damaged the building, Iida fully embraced the villain role. He planned, coordinated, and used his quirk efficiently without unnecessary destruction. It showed maturity and an understanding of hero work—not just strength, but strategy."
Aizawa nodded, his expression unchanged.
"Correct. Iida approached the task seriously, while others relied on improvisation or raw power. That's a lesson for all of you: heroism isn't a show. It's efficiency."
Iida sat up straighter, his eyes shining with pride, though he nodded modestly. The class buzzed, discussing. Arashi listened, his thoughts circling his own mistakes. I'm not the MVP… but I did it. I touched the objective. That's a step.
Aizawa moved on, addressing other pairs: praising Todoroki for his ice control, criticizing Sero for excessive impulsiveness, noting the teamwork of Ashido and Jiro. When he returned to Arashi, he added:
"Tanaka, your fight was… unique. You showed your quirk can stand up to the Symbol of Peace. But the class saw the cost of power. Use what they saw as a lesson. The world isn't always clear about who's the villain and who's the victim. Tanaka, don't isolate yourself—learn from them, as they learn from you. Fear is a barrier, but it can be overcome."
The words echoed in Arashi. He recalled the green fire, the Nazgûl's roar, but also the moment he locked them back. I'm in control. Not them.