Arashi Tanaka's eyes snapped open, his body instinctively jerking upward as if trying to break free from the suffocating grip of a nightmare still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. His heart pounded in his chest with such force it felt like it might burst free, while a sharp, throbbing pain exploded in his head, as if someone were driving red-hot needles into his temples.
He clutched his head with both hands, trying to suppress the rising nausea threatening to turn him inside out. The room around him gradually came into focus: sterile white walls, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic, the quiet, monotonous hum of medical equipment, and the flickering screens of monitors tracking his pulse and breathing. This was U.A.'s infirmary wing—he recognized it by the familiar details.
A flood of memories surged through his mind, searing his thoughts: the dusty arena of the Sports Festival, Izuku Midoriya standing across from him with a resolute gaze, that strange mental space where shadows battled radiant figures, the clash of Nazgûl against mysterious spirits… and then, an all-consuming darkness that swallowed everything.
"Damn… What happened? How did I end up here?" he thought, struggling to sit up straighter despite his body's protests. His muscles ached as if he'd endured hours of grueling training.
He glanced around, blinking to clear the lingering fog from his eyes, and his gaze fell on a small but striking figure seated in a chair by the window. Principal Nezu, with his pristine white fur and gleaming, bead-like eyes, was calmly sipping tea from a tiny porcelain cup, as if he were in his cozy office rather than a hospital room. He looked as though he'd been there for a while—perhaps hours—and his presence felt both reassuring and intriguing.
"Oh, you're awake? It seems you enjoy sleeping in, Tanaka-kun," Nezu said with a faint, almost playful smile, carefully placing his cup on a small tray resting on the armrest of his chair. His voice was calm, carrying that characteristic intellectual tone that always made Arashi feel like he was under a microscope—as if the principal had already calculated every possible outcome of their conversation and chosen the optimal one.
"The Sports Festival ended a few hours ago. Your classmates came to check on you, including Midoriya-kun, who seemed particularly worried, but I shooed them away. I told them you needed complete rest, not a crowd of fans with questions and fuss. No need to interfere with your recovery, especially after such an intense day."
Arashi blinked, trying to process the principal's words. The festival was over? He'd missed the entire rest of the tournament—the semifinals, the final? The headache had dulled slightly but lingered in the background, a reminder of the price he'd paid for controlling his Quirk. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the slight dizziness and the way the world tilted for a moment, and sat on the edge. His hero costume—a black cloak with silver accents, lightweight chest armor, and reinforced gloves—had been removed and neatly folded on a chair nearby. Instead, he wore simple hospital pajamas, with a pulse sensor still attached to his arm, beeping softly in time with his heartbeat.
"Principal… thank you," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead with his palm, trying to gather his thoughts. "What… what happened afterward? I remember the fight with Midoriya, but then… it's all blurry, like a fog. And… does the principal of the school often wait for one of his students to wake up? Have you been here long?"
Nezu tilted his head, his eyes glinting with sly curiosity. "Only for those who pique my interest," he replied cheerfully, with a soft chuckle that sounded like the rustle of pages in an old book. "And you, Tanaka-kun, are definitely in that category. Your Quirk isn't just a tool—it's an enigma worth studying. But don't worry, I'm not planning to dissect you. Just… curiosity."
Arashi barely had time to process the principal's words before Nezu continued.
"By the way, how did you like the books I gave you? I hope they helped you better understand your Quirk? I didn't choose them randomly—your power has… literary roots, doesn't it? Nazgûl, fallen kings feeding on fear and despair… It's not just fantasy, but an archetype manifested through your Quirk."
"They… helped, Principal. Thank you. I realized the Nazgûl aren't just monsters I summon. They're part of me. Controlling them is like keeping a storm in check—one that could tear everything apart. But sometimes… they break through, and I'm afraid one day I won't be able to stop them."
Nezu's smile widened, his whiskers twitching, his eyes sparkling with pure intellectual delight.
"Exactly. Your Quirk isn't just physical power, like Bakugo's explosions or Todoroki's ice and fire. It's metaphysical, tied to the mind. At the festival, you used it impressively: Morgoth as a means of transportation, the Morgul blade for attack, waves of fear to suppress your opponents' will. The audience was stunned by your abilities, and your rivals looked terrified facing you. But in your fight with Midoriya… something went wrong, didn't it?"
"Yeah. When I directed a mental attack at Midoriya… we… entered a mental space. The Nazgûl attacked him, seeing his power as a threat—or an opportunity to grow stronger. They wanted to consume those… spirits that were with Izuku… But I stopped them. Barely. It was like… two forces colliding in my mind, and I was caught in the epicenter."
Nezu nodded, as if he'd expected this exact response, his expression growing more serious, though a spark of curiosity lingered in his eyes.
"Interesting. Midoriya-kun mentioned something similar. Your Quirk interacted with his… unique power, which also has a mental aspect. But more on that later—let me tell you what happened after your defeat. You must be eager to know how the Sports Festival ended, right?"
"Of course, Principal. I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me," Arashi replied, seeing an opportunity to shift the conversation away from the issues with his Quirk.
"The festival continued, and the quarterfinals, according to Nezu, were filled with drama worthy of U.A.'s greatest history books. Arashi leaned back against the pillow on his hospital bed, listening with interest despite his exhaustion. He'd missed the tournament's defining moments and could only imagine them now.
"The first match after yours: Tenya Iida versus Ibara Shiozaki," Nezu began. "Iida faced challenges. Shiozaki's vines and thorns sprouted from the ground like living snakes, studded with spikes capable of piercing even reinforced costumes. Iida maneuvered at high speed, dodging traps, but Shiozaki cleverly raised a wall of thorns right under him. He lost his balance, nearly fell, and the crowd gasped. Present Mic commentated every move, but Iida, maintaining his stern expression, broke through, delivering a series of lightning-fast kicks powered by his engines and pushing her out of the arena."
"Shoto Todoroki versus Fumikage Tokoyami. Tokoyami unleashed Dark Shadow at full power—it grew massive, absorbing the arena's light, its yellow eyes glowing, its claws slicing through the air with a whistle. Todoroki countered with a wave of ice, blocking the shadow. Tokoyami tried to bypass the ice, but the arena turned into a slippery rink, and Todoroki pushed him out with a powerful shove."
Nezu paused, sipping his tea, his eyes twinkling—he clearly enjoyed analyzing the fights like a chess game, calculating tactics and weaknesses.
"Then Katsuki Bakugo versus Eijiro Kirishima. Kirishima hardened to his limit, his skin like granite, able to withstand direct hits. But Bakugo kept his distance: a series of explosions blinded with orange flashes and knocked Kirishima back, leaving dents in the concrete. Kirishima held strong, but Bakugo broke through his defense with a massive AP Shot that hurled Kirishima out of the ring like a rocket."
Arashi nodded, picturing the vivid scene. Bakugo was always unstoppable, his Quirk pure destructive force. He'd hoped to test himself against him, but it seemed he'd have to wait for another chance.
"In the semifinals, Iida was supposed to face Midoriya, but… he withdrew."
Arashi sat up, ignoring the pain in his head. "Why? What happened?"
Nezu shrugged, his smile turning enigmatic. "If Iida-kun wants, he'll tell you himself. Let's just say… family matters."
"So Midoriya fought Shiozaki instead of Iida."
"Shiozaki started defensively, raising a barrier of thorns several meters high. Midoriya charged forward, creating a shockwave that tore through some of the vines and cracked the ground. But she was ready: vines burst from the earth, binding his legs like snakes, constricting with the strength of boas. She used his own attack against him, directing the shockwave into the arena floor, launching Midoriya into the air. As he fell, the vines bound his limbs, leaving him immobile. Midnight stopped the fight, declaring Shiozaki the winner."
Arashi blinked. Midoriya lost? After their fight, he'd seemed so powerful, with a will reminiscent of All Might.
"Midoriya-kun tried, but his control over his Quirk is still imperfect. Too much power, too little precision—his body can't handle its full strength. Shiozaki, meanwhile, commands the field masterfully; her vines are as adaptive as nature itself," Nezu explained, setting down his cup. His tone brightened, as if recalling a favorite match.
"Todoroki versus Bakugo. That was truly a spectacle! The arena became a battlefield of elements. Todoroki started with a wave of ice—a massive slab that coated the ring in frost. But Bakugo blasted it apart, and ice shards scattered like a snowstorm. Explosions roared, ice cracked, and debris flew, forcing spectators to shrink back in their seats. Midnight even paused the match so Cementoss could reinforce the barriers with concrete to protect the crowd from the shockwaves. In the end, Bakugo broke through the ice barrier with a massive explosion that shook the arena and knocked Todoroki out of the ring with a blast impulse."
Arashi recalled Todoroki's words before the match: "I have to win… with ice alone." His stubborn refusal to use fire had likely cost him.
"The third-place match was tough. Midoriya and Todoroki were both battered. It seems Midoriya-kun tried to provoke his opponent into using his second Quirk, and he succeeded. Though it led to Midoriya's defeat."
It seemed Midoriya had goals beyond just winning. After a moment's thought, Arashi concluded that was very much in Midoriya's character.
"And the final?" Arashi finally asked.
"Bakugo versus Shiozaki. Compared to the semifinals, it was less flashy. Shiozaki raised her thorns, trying to trap him in a net of vines. But Bakugo obliterated the barrier with a series of explosions, leaving only smoldering, charred branches. Using the propulsion from his palms, he launched himself forward and hit her with a point-blank explosion—not lethal, but enough to send her flying out of the ring. Bakugo won the festival but was furious that Todoroki hadn't fought at full strength."
"They even had to restrain him," Nezu said with a chuckle.
Arashi leaned back, processing the information. He'd missed so much drama—explosions, ice, personal crises. His loss to Midoriya now felt like part of a larger puzzle, where every hero fought not just their opponents but themselves.
"What about my… condition? Did the medics say anything? Was it because of the Nazgûl?"
Nezu stood, his small figure suddenly imposing in the light of the room's lamps.
"Overexertion. Your Quirk demands immense mental resources—controlling nine entities like the Nazgûl is like juggling grenades. But you managed to keep them from breaking free completely. That's progress, Tanaka-kun. I've already called your parents—they'll be here soon. Rest. And remember: U.A. is a place where talents like yours flourish, even if they seem dark. Don't give up."
Arashi nodded, but questions swirled in his mind. Why was Nezu so interested in him? What did he know about Midoriya's spirits? But the principal was already heading for the door, his steps silent.
"See you soon, Tanaka-kun. And keep reading—knowledge is your best defense against the shadows within."
The door closed, leaving Arashi in the quiet of the room. He lay back, staring at the ceiling where the lamps cast a soft glow. His thoughts spun in a whirlwind: those spirits with Midoriya—eight figures radiating power. Why had the Nazgûl reacted so aggressively? They wanted to consume their strength, to grow stronger.
The door opened again—his parents walked in.
"Arashi! Are you okay? We were so worried—the principal called, said you were in the hospital, but it's not serious!" his mother said quickly, rushing to his bedside.
His father's usually calm face was tense, hands in his pockets, but his eyes were full of relief.
"The principal said you overexerted your Quirk. Ready to go home? The medics checked you—you're fine."
Arashi nodded, standing slowly. The medics came in, checked him again, removed the sensors, and cleared him to leave, giving instructions: rest, light training, and Quirk monitoring.
In his father's car, Arashi sat in the back, staring out the window. The city flashed by: bright neon shop signs, people hurrying through the evening bustle, heroes patrolling rooftops, ready for any incident.
"How are you feeling, son?" his father asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
Arashi sighed, tearing his gaze from the window to the back of the seat.
"Fine. Just… a bit disappointed. I thought I'd at least make it to the semifinals, show everyone what I'm capable of. But in the end… I couldn't change anything. It all ended in that mental chaos."
His father nodded, turning onto the highway where the flow of cars sped up, carrying them away from the city center.
"You don't need to worry. You did well in the earlier rounds—the cavalry battle with teamwork, even your first fight with Sero. I'm sure an agency will offer you an internship."
Arashi gave a faint smile, feeling a slight warmth from his father's words.
"I hope so, Dad. I hope you're right."