Chapter 34: The Northern Winds
The morning sun didn't have a chance to gently wake Aokiji. Instead, the heavy velvet curtains of his room were ripped open with a decisive swish, flooding the space with aggressive, blinding light.
"Young Master. It is already 7:00 AM."
Aokiji groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow. "Five more years..."
"Five minutes," a firm, familiar voice corrected him.
It was Matsu. She was the head maid of the Kuzan estate, an older woman with greying hair tied in a severe bun and lines on her face that spoke of decades of service. Unlike his parents, whose coldness was genetic and absolute, Matsu's strictness was a facade for a deep, human warmth. She was the one who had bandaged his scraped knees when he was a child, not his mother.
She pulled the duvet off him without mercy. "Get up."
Aokiji sat up, rubbing his messy hair, his eyes half-open. "You're ruthless, Matsu-san."
"And you are the U.A. Sports Festival Winner," she said, her voice softening just a fraction. She paused, looking around the room. "Speaking of which... where is it? The Gold Medal?"
Aokiji yawned, scratching his stomach. "Mmm? Oh. I think I left it in the locker room? Or maybe I stuffed it in my shoe bag. It was heavy."
Matsu sighed, a long, weary sound that came from the soul. "You left the symbol of being the number one student in Japan... in a shoe bag?" She shook her head, though a small, proud smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Wash your face. Breakfast is ready."
Downstairs, the dining hall was vast and silent, save for the clinking of Aokiji's spoon. He sat alone at the long table.
"Where are they?" Aokiji asked, referring to his parents.
"Today is a rest day for the Master and Mistress," Matsu replied, pouring him tea. "They are sleeping in. It is just you and me this morning."
The atmosphere was comfortable. There was no tension, no talk of stocks or mergers. Just the smell of miso soup and grilled fish.
Then, his phone buzzed on the table.
ping
A notification from the school server: [Draft Nominations Summary].
Aokiji chewed on his rice slowly as he opened the file. His eyes scanned the list, his expression bored. He had intended to just forward this to his father later and let him deal with the politics of choosing a "Worthy" agency.
Endeavor Agency... Best Jeanist... Hawks... The list goes on.
His finger hovered over the screen, ready to close it, when a name near the bottom caught his eye. It was an obscure agency, one with barely any online presence.
Agency: The Chill Vibes Office.
Hero: The Ice Cream Hero: Frosty-Cone.
Aokiji stopped chewing.
Ice Cream Hero?
He tapped the profile. The hero's description was brief: "We specialize in local community support and keeping things cool. Also, free samples on Fridays."
A spark of life appeared in Aokiji's usually lazy eyes. No high-stakes villain fights. No intense media training. Just... ice cream. It was destiny.
Without a second thought for his father's "Best of the Best" plan, Aokiji tapped [ACCEPT].
The atmosphere in Class 1-A was strange that morning.
Usually, the class was a chaotic mix of shouting and laughter. But when Aokiji slid the door open and walked to his seat, a hush fell over the room. The memory of his father's chilling speech—and the realization of the pressure Aokiji lived under—had created a barrier. No one knew quite what to say to the boy who had won everything but looked like he wanted nothing.
Aokiji sat down, rested his cheek on his palm, and stared out the window.
The silence broke when Aizawa rolled into the room, looking slightly less like a mummy than before, though his bandages were still present.
"Morning," Aizawa grunted. "Today's hero informatics period is a bit special. It's time to formulate your code names and look at your draft nominations."
He clicked a button, and a digital graph projected onto the blackboard.
1. Aokiji Kuzan: 4,523 Offers
2. Katsuki Bakugo: 3,556 Offers
3. Shoto Todoroki: 3,400 Offers
The class erupted.
"Whoa! Four thousand?!" Kaminari shrieked, clutching his head. "That's a different dimension!"
"It's the disparity of the pros..." Jiro muttered, twirling her earphone jack. "They really want the powerhouse."
"DAMN IT!" Bakugo kicked his desk, veins popping in his forehead as he glared at the board. "Why is the The difference between me and the Ice-bastard is a whole thousand!?"
"Well, I guess it's because you were sealed in a rose," Sero pointed out helpfully from the back.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY, TAPE-FACE?!"
"It is truly impressive," Iida chopped the air with his hand, turning to Aokiji. "Kuzan-kun! To garner such attention despite your... relaxed... attitude is a testament to your raw capability!"
Uraraka nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! It's amazing, Aokiji-kun!"
Momo Yaoyorozu looked at Aokiji with a thoughtful expression. "Usually, the gap between first and second isn't this large. The Pros must see a lot of potential versatility in your quirk, Kuzan-san."
Mineta was biting a handkerchief in the corner. "They just want him because he's tall and mysterious! The ladies love the mysterious and tall type! This is not fair at all!"
"Manliness isn't about offers," Kirishima said, grinning as he turned his chair around to face Aokiji, finally breaking the awkward personal barrier. "But that was a manly fight yesterday, Kuzan! Next year I'll become stronger and fight you with all my might."
Aokiji blinked, looking at the graph. He sighed, a long cloud of cold breath escaping his lips. "Four thousand people want to make me work? That sounds like a nightmare."
"Don't complain when you're at the top." Mina laughed.
"I wonder who you'll pick, kero," Asui said, her finger on her chin. "With that many, you can go anywhere."
Even Tokoyami chimed in from the shadows of his desk. "The choice is heavy."
"I already picked," Aokiji mumbled, resting his head on the desk.
"ALREADY?!" the class shouted in unison, except for Todoroki, who was staring at his own offers with a frown, and Bakugo.
"Yeah," Aokiji yawned. "Somewhere... chill."
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The weekend arrived swiftly, bringing with it the biting promise of winter.
When Aokiji returned to the estate after school, the black executive car was already idling in the driveway, exhaust puffing white clouds into the cold air.
"You're here," his father said. He was standing by the trunk, checking luggage with military precision. "Change your clothes. We leave in one hour."
"Understood," Aokiji replied.
Thirty minutes later, Aokiji stood by the car, dressed in a simple trench coat. The front door opened, and a round, fluffy shape waddled out.
It was Sayuri.
She was wearing so many layers she looked like a spherical marshmallow. A thick wool hat, a scarf wrapped three times around her neck, a down jacket over a sweater, and padded snow pants. She could barely bend her knees.
Aokiji stared at her. "What... is this?"
Sayuri's muffled voice came from behind the scarf. "Precautionary measures! It's Hokkaido, brother! HOKKAIDO! The land of eternal frost!"
"You look like a bear that raided a clothing store," Aokiji deadpanned.
"I am warm," she declared, waddling toward the car. "That is all that matters."
The journey was long. They took a private jet to the northern island, and then a rented luxury SUV for the drive into the mountains.
As the hours passed, the scenery outside the window transformed. The urban sprawl of Tokyo and musutafo gave way to the dense, dark forests of the north. The temperature gauge on the dashboard dropped steadily.
5°C... 0°C... -4°C...
By the time night fell, they were deep in the heart of Hokkaido.
The world outside was a monochrome painting of blue and white. The snow here wasn't the slush of the city; it was thick, powder-white, and piled meters high on the sides of the road. The pine trees bowed under the weight of the ice.
A full moon hung in the sky, huge and pale, casting an ethereal, ghostly glow over the snow-covered landscape. It was beautiful, but desolate.
"We are arriving," the driver announced from the front seat.
The car turned off the main road, crunching over fresh gravel and ice, heading up a winding path.
Ahead, illuminated by the headlights and the moonlight, stood the ancestral home of the Grandparents. It wasn't a modern mansion like their city estate. It was a sprawling, traditional Japanese compound, built from dark, aged timber that had withstood a century of blizzards.
Snow drifted down gently, silence wrapping around the car as the engine cut off.
Aokiji stepped out. The air here was sharp, tasting of pine needles and absolute zero. He took a deep breath, the cold filling his lungs, feeling oddly like home.
Sayuri stepped out next to him, shivering despite her ten layers. "It's... pretty," she chattered, her teeth clicking.
"Let's go inside," Aokiji said, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her on the slippery path. "Before you turn into an actual snowman."
"You mean a snowgirl!" She replied.
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