"Bakugo," Aizawa continued, his voice steady but laced with steel. "Stop acting like a child. You know what I mean."
Bakugo snorted, his eyes flashing, but he responded with unexpected calm:
"I know," he muttered, looking away as if unwilling to prolong the argument.
Aizawa gave a barely perceptible nod and turned to Midoriya, who was nervously fidgeting with the edge of his notebook. His right hand was still bandaged from yesterday's fight—another fracture caused by the uncontrollable power of One For All.
"Midoriya, you managed to break your arm again, didn't you?" Aizawa squinted, his tone stern but not devoid of concern. "The fact that you, like Tanaka, can't fully control your Quirk is no excuse. I don't like repeating myself, but once you figure it out, you'll be capable of great things. Hurry up."
Midoriya flushed, his green eyes shining with determination.
"I… I'll do everything I can, Sensei!" he replied, his voice trembling but filled with sincere resolve.
Arashi, listening to the exchange, lowered his gaze to his hands. Aizawa's words about control struck a chord. He knew his Quirk—the Nazgûl—was not just a power but a curse that constantly tested his will. Every time he summoned one, whether the Witch-King or another, he paid a price—pain, blood, and increasing pressure on his mind. He wasn't Midoriya, breaking bones, but his struggle was no less grueling.
Aizawa cleared his throat, drawing the class's attention.
"Sorry for not warning you earlier," he said, his voice slightly louder to cut through the students' whispers. "But today, you have an important task. You need to choose a class representative."
The class erupted into chaos. Students shouted their nominations, interrupting each other. Bakugo leapt from his chair, declaring himself the only one worthy of the role. Uraraka raised her hand, smiling, but her voice was drowned out in the noise. Even Ashido, usually cheerful, was yelling about wanting to try being a leader. Arashi remained seated, his face impassive. He saw no point in joining the chaos. Class representative? That wasn't for him. His Quirk didn't inspire; it terrified. Who would want to be led by someone whose power conjured nightmares?
Suddenly, Iida shot to his feet, his hand raised like a flag.
"SILENCE!" he boomed, his voice, amplified by natural confidence, silencing the class. "Leading a group isn't just a title! It's a calling! A leader must be responsible, organized, and able to make decisions for the good of all! I propose we hold fair elections. Everyone writes a candidate's name on a slip of paper, and we count the votes."
His words were met with approving nods. Even Bakugo, though he scowled, sat back down, muttering about "stupid formalities." Arashi looked at Iida, his rigid posture and confident gaze. He was impressed but not surprised. Iida was always like that—someone who took on responsibility when no one else wanted to.
When the voting slips were handed out, Arashi took his and froze, staring at the blank line. He had to choose someone. But who? His gaze swept the class, assessing his classmates and their Quirks. Midoriya was brave, but his uncontrollable power made him too unpredictable. Uraraka was kind, but her leadership qualities hadn't yet shone through. Todoroki? Too reserved. Yaoyorozu? Her creation Quirk was versatile, and she was clearly organized, but she lacked… drive, the fire needed to lead. Iida? His organization and passion for order made him an ideal candidate, but Arashi felt Iida was too… proper. Sometimes, a leader needed to handle chaos.
His gaze settled on Bakugo. The guy was a walking disaster, but his Quirk—explosions—was powerful and versatile. He wasn't afraid to make decisions, even impulsive ones. His aggression and confidence could inspire, even if through fear. Arashi recalled yesterday's fight, where Bakugo, despite his rage, showed he could lead if he wanted to. He wasn't a perfect leader, but there was a strength in him that could hold the class together. Arashi, grappling with his own inner darkness, saw something familiar in Bakugo—the same struggle with himself, the same fire that could either destroy or light the way.
He wrote a name on the slip: Katsuki Bakugo. It was an odd choice, and he knew many wouldn't understand, but something told him Bakugo, for all his roughness, could be the one to lead them forward.
When the votes were counted, the results were announced. Izuku Midoriya received three votes, Momo Yaoyorozu two. The rest, including Bakugo, got one or none. Arashi noticed Bakugo's scowl at the results, but a spark of irritation in his eyes showed he wasn't giving up. Midoriya, named class representative, looked stunned, his face red and hands trembling. Momo, appointed vice-representative, simply nodded, maintaining her calm.
Classes continued. Lessons flowed one after another. Arashi tried to focus, but the Nazgûl in his head wouldn't quiet. Their whispers were louder than usual, as if something was fueling them. He felt the internal wall holding them back begin to crack. It wasn't new—it happened under pressure or when emotions around him grew too intense. But today, there was something else. Were they growing stronger? Or was he still not recovered from yesterday?
At lunchtime, Arashi chose a corner table in the cafeteria, far from the noise and bustle. He didn't want to be the center of attention, didn't want anyone to notice his tense face or trembling hands. He ate slowly, almost mechanically, trying to drown out the Nazgûl's voices. "We feel their fear. Their anger. Let us out. Let us take it." He gripped his fork so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Suddenly, a deafening alarm blared. The loud, piercing sound cut through the air, and a voice over the loudspeakers announced:
"LEVEL THREE ALERT! EVERYONE STAY IN PLACE!"
The cafeteria exploded into chaos. Students jumped up, some shouting, others rushing to the exits. A stampede began. Arashi felt the emotions around him—fear, panic, anger—crash over him like a wave. It was too much. The Nazgûl roared in his head, their voices merging into a deafening chorus. "They're afraid! They're weak! Give us their fear!" His temples throbbed with pain, blood pounding in his ears. He didn't stand, just clutched his head, trying to silence the chaos.
He felt them all—Uraraka's fear, Bakugo's anger, Midoriya's confusion. It was a storm, and he was drowning in it. His wall cracked, the Witch-King pressing against it, its icy voice louder than the rest: "Open the door. We'll make them quiet." Arashi clenched his teeth, his nails digging into his palms. "No. I won't let you out."
Suddenly, Iida's loud voice cut through the noise:
"EVERYONE, CALM DOWN! THIS ISN'T AN INVASION! IT'S THE MEDIA, THEY'VE BREACHED U.A.'s GROUNDS!"
His words, amplified by his Quirk, echoed through the cafeteria, and the crowd froze. Arashi lifted his head, his vision still blurry from pain. He saw Iida pointing to the window, where figures of journalists surrounded by U.A. security were visible. Gradually, the panic subsided, and students began returning to their seats, though many still whispered.
Arashi exhaled slowly, feeling the pain in his head recede. He forced the Nazgûl to silence, locking them behind the wall, but it took effort. His hands still trembled as he stood and headed back to class with the others. Walking down the corridor, he thought about how persistent the Nazgûl had been today. It wasn't just the crowd's panic. Something was fueling them. Was it him?
Back in the classroom, the bell signaled the next lesson. Aizawa was waiting, his gaze as stern as ever, with a hint of fatigue.
Midoriya and Momo stepped forward.
"I think Iida should be class representative instead of me," Midoriya said, looking pale and visibly nervous.
A wave of approval rippled through the class. Arashi wouldn't have objected. Iida had indeed handled the cafeteria situation well.
"Uh… alright, Midoriya," Iida said, smiling. "I'll do my best to live up to your trust."
The class buzzed with approval. Even Bakugo, though he scoffed, didn't argue. Arashi looked at Iida's confident posture and felt a slight relief. Maybe he'd been wrong to choose Bakugo over Iida.
"Listen up," Aizawa said, scanning the class. "There's a change in today's schedule. Basic training is canceled. Instead, you'll attend a lesson led by me, All Might, and a guest. It's a rescue training exercise. You'll work in conditions simulating a disaster: destruction, fires, floods. Your task is to save 'victims.' The training will take place off the main campus, so we'll take a bus. Get ready. That's all."
The class buzzed again, but this time without the earlier chaos. Arashi felt his heart clench. Rescue. His Quirk wasn't made for saving. It destroyed, suppressed, terrified. How would he manage? The Nazgûl whispered again, but he silenced them, clenching his fists. He had to find a way. For himself. For those who believed in him.
The students began to prepare. Arashi stood, feeling the shadows in his head stir. Rescue training. This would be a test. Not just of his Quirk, but of his will. He had to prove he wasn't just darkness. He could be something more. Or at least, he had to try.
Shoulder to shoulder. That's how we rode in that bright, modern bus taking us to the rescue training. Every inch of space was filled with loud voices, laughter, and excited chatter. The energy was infectious, overwhelming.
I sat by the window, trying to take up as little space as possible, pressed against the cool seat. My reflection in the glass was pale, my eyes too wide. Every laugh, every sudden shout made me flinch, sending an icy wave down my spine. They didn't understand. They didn't feel what I felt.
Behind the wall, something stirred. A faint, still-sleepy curiosity, awakened by the dense, almost tangible aura of young, untainted power filling the bus. It smelled like a feast to them. I clenched my hand in my pocket, feeling the familiar bite of an old nail in my palm. The pain was clear, real. My anchor.
"Such abundance," a sweet, venomous voice whispered in the back of my mind. "All so… juicy. And so loud."
"Shut up," I snapped mentally, closing my eyes. "They're my classmates."
"For now," countered another voice, cold and methodical. "Time will sort everything out."
Nearby, Bakugo was yelling at Iida, boasting about his explosive power. Iida, in turn, passionately argued about something regarding legacy. Their argument sent vibrations through my temples, intensifying my headache. Too loud. Too much.
I felt a light touch on my elbow and nearly jumped. Yaoyorozu sat beside me, her expressive face showing slight concern and annoyance at Bakugo's crude words and the noise.
"Tanaka-kun, are you alright? You look a bit pale," her voice was quiet, caring, and for a moment, it drowned out the chaos in my head.
"I'm… I'm fine," I forced out, barely unclenching my jaw. "Just a bit motion sick."
She nodded, but her eyes held a trace of doubt. Jiro, apparently overhearing, shook her head, her earphone jacks swaying slightly.
"Yeah, try not to puke on the bus," she muttered, but without malice. "We've gotta ride back in this thing."
I managed a weak smile and turned back to the window, my cheeks burning. Their concern was genuine, and that made it hurt more. They saw only a pale, nervous guy. They didn't see the battle raging inside me with every meter traveled, with every growing anticipation of the upcoming test.
The bus turned, and in the distance, between the trees, the massive glass domes of the USJ appeared. The complex looked unreal, like something from a futuristic movie.
The perfect place for everything to go wrong.
A cold knot of fear tightened in my stomach. The whispers behind the wall grew more insistent, hungrier.
"Tangible… Soon we'll take a walk. Soon…"
I took a deep breath, trying to silence them, and prepared to disembark.
"Enough chatter, we're almost there," Aizawa's voice cut through.