The cameras clicked non-stop, filling the hall with soft flashes. The audience of journalists, heroes, and ordinary viewers watching the broadcast held their breath. On stage stood Mandalay. Her face was pale, yet it expressed a mix of determination and pain. Her hands, clasped in front of her, trembled slightly, but her posture remained firm.
— Today's event promises to be grand since the Wild Wild Pussy Cats team has finally invited reporters for an important announcement after several years, — the voice of the reporter sounded from the live broadcast, accompanied by archival footage from the past.
— The heroine who has inspired millions for decades and dedicated her life to protecting the innocent, today, Mrs. Mandalay, will start our interview. What could have prompted you to make such a decision after all these years? If I'm not mistaken, you and your team have refused to engage with journalists for seven years? — Mandalay stepped up to the microphone. Her brown eyes met the camera lenses, and for a moment, the hall fell silent.
— First of all, thank you to everyone who has supported me throughout my career. Your faith in me has been my strength. But today, I am compelled to make a statement that will mark the end of one chapter of my life, — she began, her voice slightly trembling.
Her colleagues from the Wild Wild Pussy Cats stood behind her. Ragdoll nervously bit her lip, Tiger crossed his arms over his chest, and Pixie-Bob looked extremely worried.
— I officially announce that I am leaving the Wild Wild Pussy Cats permanently and irrevocably. — The hall filled with a murmur. Reporters bombarded her with questions:
— What prompted your departure?
— Is it because of the last mission?
— How did your colleagues react to this?
Mandalay raised her hand, calling for silence, as the noise made it impossible to speak. Finally, when their barrage of questions quieted down, she decided to address all the reporters.
— My departure is a personal choice. I want to emphasize: it is not related to the actions of my team. They are the best of the best. But... — She hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Remembering the lifeless body of Koto in her hands, she was ready to pour out everything she had bottled up, but maintained her professionalism in front of the audience she had known since her very first debut in hero work.
— However, in recent days, I have faced a loss that is hard for me to accept. — She clenched her fists, as if trying to hold back tears. She had promised Koto's parents that she would protect him from threats if something happened to them. Koto's parents were heroes but died at the hands of Muscular during a rescue operation, and now, with Koto's death, their lineage had been cut off forever, leaving them without an heir.
— Is this about your nephew? — a voice rang out from the crowd. Mandalay instantly tensed. Her face froze, and her eyes filled with anger. She did not answer, but it was clear to everyone that the question struck a nerve.
— And what about Silent Phantom? You were the only hero who managed to talk to him. What can you say about him? — a question came from a young journalist in the front row, who was trying to interview her for a TV channel. His face changed after Mandalay's fierce glare, and the hall fell silent at her stern expression. For a moment, it became so quiet that one could hear someone squeaking a chair. Mandalay's face twisted in indignation.
— Silent Phantom, — she repeated, her voice filled with rage. — This... "hero." You call him a savior? To me, he is no better than those he kills. — The hall gasped. Her colleagues exchanged worried glances, but Mandalay was not going to stop.
— Yes, he saved the bridge from being blown up, but in doing so, he killed villains. It is not for us to decide whether they live or die, — she continued, recalling Silent Phantom's words and his silence, the look in his eyes that expressed nothing but indifference when he blamed himself for her nephew's death.
— But do you know what he said, looking me in the eyes? "I... regret" and "It's my fault." He said that after he killed those he could have simply stopped. — Her voice cracked, and she slammed her palm on the podium, unleashing her anger on the inanimate objects.
— He considers himself a judge, but he is not a hero. He is a murderer! He is dangerous, and if you think his methods will save this world, you are deeply mistaken. — Reporters bombarded her with questions, but she no longer heard them. A storm raged inside her. She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back tears, but her emotions took over. Tiger stepped forward, trying to take her hand, but it was a fatal mistake, and the man immediately understood from her trembling shoulders.
— Mandalay, calm down. This is not how you should speak... — He understood that the professionalism of his colleague was slipping away due to the flood of her unpleasant emotions.
— Let me go! — she jerked her hand away, glaring at him angrily. — You don't understand. None of you understand!
Ragdoll approached closer, trying to calm her but only angered her more with her words, unaware of it.
— We understand that you are hurting. We are here to help. — Mandalay's face turned more sinister as she no longer held back her emotions and raised her voice at her colleagues, who just wanted to help her with her grief. After her uncontrolled words and the memory of Koto's lifeless body and his encouraging words, and due to her weakness, she did not let anyone close to her anymore.
— I don't need your help! — she shouted. — None of you can bring him back! None of you saw how he died... how he called for me, and I... I could do nothing. — She covered her face with her hands, and everyone saw her shoulders tremble with suppressed sobs. Mandalay could no longer hold back. She stormed out of the hall, leaving her stunned colleagues and the press buzzing like a swarm of bees behind her.
— Mandalay, wait! You can't leave us alone; we need your help!! — Pixie-Bob shouted behind her, but she was stopped by Ragdoll, who shook her head negatively. She was the head of their squad and coordinated everyone, but now that she had left the team, they were left without a strong leader. She had always been positive, supporting them in any sorrow, but they couldn't help her in her grief, leaving her alone. Now her departure created a void in their team, and an important detail of the whole mechanism had vanished forever.
— Don't, leave her alone, Pixie-Bob. She needs time to come to her senses; maybe she will reconsider, — Ragdoll said with a note of hope, trying to be positive after the shocking words of her colleague. Tiger, watching the entire situation, remained silent, trying to maintain his composure as the figure of his departed colleague disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, leaving them alone to face the press.
****
After waking up and doing morning exercises, breathing heavily from unconditioned muscles after yesterday's workout, Izuku decided to box with his shadow, not wanting to lose his fighting skills. Izuku sat on the floor of his room, wiping his face with a towel. His body pulsed from the recent workout, but a thought kept spinning in his head:
— This is not enough. I need to try something new, something more challenging. — Lying on the floor, Izuku bent over in pain throughout his body, but remembering that none of his enemies would spare him, he stood up using the will of his body.
— I have acquired a quirk, though not the strongest, but I refuse to just lie here. I am weak, but I am confident that any weakness can be turned into an opportunity, — Izuku thought to himself, feeling pain in his joints. He had almost given up on everything that kept him on this earthly plane, and it would be terrifying to imagine what would happen if he went to the edge, merging with his matter, which had long been waiting for him in its embrace in the gardens of Eden.
— Are you planning to completely break yourself? — Venom asked mockingly, sensing the tension in the host.
— No, but I need to improve my technique, add something special. And I just remembered a video about an ancient boxing style. They said it's a style where technique, tactics, and analysis of the opponent come first, — Izuku replied, getting to his feet.
He quickly stood in front of the mirror, checking his stance. His feet were slightly wider than shoulder-width apart, one slightly advanced. His hands were raised, fists protecting his chin. He also experimented with various stances, protecting his ribs and stomach from various strikes, but he was trying to find the most ideal defense for himself. The most optimal option was mobility and agility.
— Alright. Let's start with the basics, — he muttered. Suppressing his pain and clenching his jaw so that no groan escaped his mouth, he took his stance, maintaining the balance of his body. Izuku began with simple movements, focusing on balance. Light steps forward, backward, to the sides. Each movement was careful, but at times awkward due to the youth's inexperience.
— The main thing is constant movement. The Soviet style was built on staying on your feet, controlling distance, and not just standing and exchanging blows, — he reminded himself aloud. He made a lean to the left, then a quick step forward with a left jab. Immediately following was a right cross. Everything was slow, though not perfect. Dissatisfied with his movements, Izuku repeated a few more times, trying to achieve perfection, but it all turned out poorly until he began analyzing his movements.
— Smoothness and control, smoothness and control, — he repeated, returning to his stance and continuing to move in a circle. Izuku didn't have much endurance, and every breath and exhale was accompanied by a burning sensation in his lungs, and each particle of oxygen brought pain with each inhale. Sitting on the ground, he looked at his shaking hands but did not suppress his eagerness to learn and develop further despite the pain.
— Now time to work on combinations, — he said, again taking his stance. Aligning his breath and blinking several times, Izuku envisioned an opponent and identified the most vulnerable points: the chin, temples, kidneys, ribs, and throat, attempting to hit them with all the speed he had and with every technique he knew but couldn't sharpen due to inexperience.
Izuku began throwing a series of punches: jab, cross, lean, uppercut. His movements were smooth but powerful. He ended each attack with a defensive lean or a step back.
— See? You attack, but you are always ready to defend, — Venom stated, watching the host. The host was trying to squeeze the maximum out of his weak body. Venom, connected to him, felt as each organ in the host's body protested against the convulsive pain, urging him to stop, but his mind urged him to work without letting up for the sake of the result.
— Yes, that's important. The red style has always been about not just power but also strategy. Hit, dodge, hit again, but from another position. The perfect option for me, who analyzes everything he sees, — Izuku exhaled, moving on to the next combination. Cracking his neck and summoning strength in his legs, he jumped several times in the air, bringing himself to his senses, and straightening up, he took his stance again, looking at the wall.
Now he added more strikes: jab, cross, hooks. After each combination, he changed the angle of attack, constantly moving around an imaginary opponent to disorient him with his movements and strike when he least expected it. Izuku constantly dodged imaginary punches, but this led to fatigue, and eventually, his shoulders and neck ached in response to the pain.
— Don't forget to breathe, kid, — Venom teased, as Izuku's breathing began to falter from the frequent loads he was placing on his body after several hours of active boxing with an imaginary opponent. Back in his stance, his damp hair obstructed his vision. Izuku paused for a second, aligned his breathing, and began training again, now focusing on the proper rhythm.
— Inhale through the nose while dodging, exhale through the mouth on the strike. Breath control is key to endurance. — He moved like clockwork: inhale, dodge, exhale, strike. His body began to work in sync with his breathing. Izuku repeated all his movements, reinforcing all the material, ultimately forming a sort of base for punches and devising a strategy for strikes. He applied this against the imaginary opponent.
His stance was almost perfect, and moving synchronously, he refined his movements. For today's lesson, he sent out three strikes. The first was a cross aimed at hitting the temple of the head, the result of which should be a loss of concentration and disorientation. The second strike was with his left hand to the jaw, causing maximum pain and buying time while the opponent regained composure, and the third, finishing with a jab, considering the application of Venom's powers, which increased physical strength, if not five times, then a full ten.
Finally, Izuku stopped, breathing heavily. Sweat flowed down his face and chest, but he felt he had taken a step forward.
— Not bad for a rookie, — Venom said with a slight smirk, smiling broadly.
— I'm not perfect yet, but this style will definitely help me improve, — Izuku glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He felt he had become a bit more confident. The Soviet style added not only technique but also an understanding of the importance of discipline and tactics.
— Starting tomorrow, I will incorporate this into my daily training, — he quietly said to himself, picking up the towel from the floor.
— Just don't forget to rest, kid. A dead hero is of no use to anyone, — Venom reminded him, this time his voice carried genuine concern. Smiling at the words of his alien friend, Izuku headed to the shower to wash off all the dirt from his body after the workout. After rinsing his body with cold water and finally finishing his routine, he stepped out of the bath, refreshed by the morning air blowing in from the window.
— According to my calculations, if I create a new patrol schedule and combine it with training and studying, it could be a good opportunity to balance everything, — Izuku thought. The most important thing was his studies; he couldn't afford to skip them, nor could he skip training. Patrolling could only be done in the evening since there were too many well-known professional heroes during the day who might try to hinder him. After his shower, Izuku headed to his workspace, recording all his activities, prioritizing study, training, and patrolling.
**Weekdays (Monday – Friday):**
06:00 – 07:00 — Morning training:
Light warm-up: 6 km run or cardio.
Flexibility and balance exercises (training, stretching).
07:00 – 08:00 — Breakfast and preparation for school.
08:30 – 15:30 — School:
Focus on theory and skills related to the heroic profession.
16:00 – 18:00 — Main training:
Training at Dagoba Beach:
Soviet boxing style or other types of martial arts (combinations, shadow boxing, working on a bag that needs to be purchased).
Body strengthening: strength exercises (squats, push-ups, and strength exercises).
Endurance training.
18:00 – 19:00 — Dinner and a short break.
19:30 – 23:00 — Patrolling:
Observing the streets, assisting citizens, gathering information.
Moving stealthily to avoid drawing attention from professional heroes.
23:30 – 00:30 — Reflection and recovery:
Analyzing patrols and training.
Meditation and stretching before sleep.
00:30 – 06:00 — Sleep.
**Weekends (Saturday – Sunday):**
08:00 – 09:00 — Morning training:
Light jogging or walking to maintain tone.
09:00 – 10:00 — Breakfast.
10:00 – 13:00 — Study assignments and planning:
Preparing for the upcoming week.
13:30 – 15:30 — Additional training:
Working with Andy on his integration into the combat style.
Practicing close combat tactics using the symbiote.
16:00 – 18:00 — Rest or personal time:
Recovering after an intensive week.
18:30 – 22:00 — Patrolling:
Expanding the observation territory.
22:30 – 23:30 — Relaxation:
Light stretching, analyzing one's strengths and weaknesses considering heroic patrols, or reading books.
00:00 – 08:00 — Sleep.
Finally, after finishing his entire schedule and routine, Izuku prepared breakfast for himself and Venom, who eagerly devoured the food he had prepared. Izuku understood all his needs and, contemplating his future development paths, concluded that maintaining such a body and musculature in the future would require him to buy gym equipment. The money sent by his father was enough to sustain life for a month, but he did not account for the possibility of increased expenses.
Izuku sat at the kitchen table, thoughtfully staring into a cup of cooling tea. The room was silent, interrupted only by the soft sounds of Venom devouring the prepared meal. His presence was always felt, like another shadow living in the house.
— To be honest, I'm not sure I can maintain this pace for long, — Izuku muttered, breaking bread in his hands. — I don't have enough funds to cover everything I need.
— You know I'm always here, — Venom replied, his voice echoing directly in Izuku's head. — But we both understand: gym equipment, supplies, all of this won't just appear.
— You mean to say you lack resources? — Venom interrupted with a hint of mockery. — Kid, we have choices.
— What do you mean? — Izuku asked, guessing what words Venom might say, knowing he could read his thoughts.
— Money. Power. All of this is in the hands of villains. They rob ordinary people. What if we just take back what's been stolen? It's even noble, if you think about it. — Izuku frowned, rubbing his nose.
— Are you suggesting I steal?
— You save people, and they save you. It's a balance, isn't it? We don't rob the innocent. Only those who are guilty. Your conscience is clear, — Venom lowered his tone slightly, trying to sound more convincing.
Izuku closed his eyes for a moment, going through the thought in his head. He imagined carrying suitcases filled with money from the villains' hideouts. He pictured the expressions on their faces when they discovered the theft. And finally, he saw that money going towards enhancing his abilities, his equipment, his future.
— But that's wrong. That's... not heroism, — he whispered, as if afraid of his own words.
— And what, is heroism starving to death? Or being crushed by a strong enemy because you didn't have enough power to stand your ground? — Venom snapped. — We don't take money from the innocent. Only from those who break the laws. Izuku took a deep breath.
— Fine... but only if it's for the cause. No personal gain. — He snapped back, looking around the apartment.
— And you don't have personal gain, — Venom smirked. — You want to be better. To be stronger. To save people. That's a noble goal, kid. — Izuku stood up, feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt brewing inside him.
— Then let's start small, — he quietly said. — We'll find those who deserve to be robbed.
— Now you're talking business, — Venom replied, his voice carrying a triumphant note as he suppressed the doubts of his host.
— Then after breakfast, training, and patrol, — Izuku said with a smile, finishing his breakfast and preparing for the new stages of pain.
Meanwhile, at school
The final bell rang through the classroom, and the students began to gather their things with relief. Bakugo quickly tossed his textbooks into his backpack, threw it over his shoulder, and headed for the exit. His expression, as usual, was confident, and his eyes reflected his habitual arrogance.
— Bakugo, stay after class. We need to talk, — came the firm and unwavering voice of Fuyumi. She looked at his face filled with indignation, recalling the scars on Izuku and how he had cried in front of her, revealing his soul and everything within him. It was painful to watch, like a child putting others above himself and selflessly ready to help without selfish intentions, understanding that the key to revelation was him, Katsuki Bakugo, who misunderstood the consequences of his actions.
He stopped abruptly, his gaze immediately becoming wary. He turned to her, frowning.
— What's the matter? I didn't do anything, — he muttered, as if pre-emptively defending himself. Fuyumi, standing at her desk, took off her glasses and looked at him carefully. Her gaze was calm but firm. She gestured for him to sit.
— Just sit down, please. This will take a little time. — The other students began to exit the classroom, glancing at each other. Some whispered, clearly discussing the incident that had occurred yesterday between Bakugo and Izuku. Bakugo shot them an irritated glance, causing them to fall silent, but his face reflected dissatisfaction.
— What are you looking at? Get out of here! — he growled, not hiding his irritation. Fuyumi gently but firmly intervened, not wanting the other students to repeat the incident with Izuku.
— Enough, Bakugo. Let them go. — After her words, the class quickly emptied, leaving only her and Bakugo. He slowly returned to his desk and sat down, slamming his backpack on the floor. Grimacing, he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at her defiantly. Burning her with a disdainful look, she was the first teacher who dared to keep him after class, and it irritated him. Does she really think someone like her can change anything?
— So, what did you want to talk about? — he said, with a note of sarcasm. Fuyumi stepped closer, her face remained calm, but her eyes conveyed unwavering determination. Looking him in the eyes without breaking her gaze, she spoke.
— About your behavior, — she started directly, not giving him a chance to shift the conversation elsewhere. Bakugo scoffed and leaned back in his chair.
— Behavior? What's wrong with it? It's just Deku… I mean Midoriya. He brings it on himself. — Fuyumi leaned in a little closer, resting her hands on his desk so that their gazes met.
— Bakugo, do you really think so? Or are you just finding excuses for your behavior? — Her question caught him off guard. For a split second, doubt flashed in his eyes, but he quickly hid it behind his usual mask of arrogance.
— Yes, I think so. I've known that idiot practically since childhood. All he can do is whine and hide behind others, and looking at him now, I know whose skirt he's hiding under. — He said with a smirk, looking into his teacher's eyes. Bakugo thought that this kind of answer would infuriate her, but he was surprised when she didn't flinch and continued to look at him with an unwavering expression. Fuyumi understood her student's intent and decided to conduct an open provocation past his ears.
— Tell me, Bakugo-san, during all your years of friendship, have you bullied him? — her voice was cold, but Bakugo didn't flinch at her words since he was prepared to answer such questions.
— No, — he replied instantly, dismissing all suspicions against him, but her gaze remained fixed on him, causing him discomfort.
— Then will you deign to answer where your hatred for him comes from? Where does all this anger toward a person who has never said a bad word to you in his life come from? To hate someone, you need a reason, and without one, it means you envy him. Bakugo felt cornered; each of her words dug him deeper into a pit, as he refused to admit that Izuku, despite his quirklessness, was ready to do anything to help others, while he just fed his ego by mocking him. Bakugo fell silent, not wanting to meet her gaze, and Fuyumi realized she had struck directly at the target with her question.
— You can answer honestly, Bakugo. No one will know about this conversation but us, — Fuyumi replied, trying to smooth things over with her student, who, despite expressing indifference, was clearly uncomfortable.
— He is weak and worthless, just like all the quirkless. He can't stand up for himself but is ready to stand up for others who don't even know him. Izuku can't be a hero; he is a coward. The fact that you chose to side with him means he is saving himself to find protection and comfort. — Fuyumi continued to listen to Bakugo attentively; her gaze was serious and calm. She listened to his words and did not interrupt him, but his words could not shake her composure.
— You are mistaken, Bakugo-san. I think you say this to convince yourself, — Fuyumi replied. Her voice remained steady, but there was an edge to it, as she could not make Izuku a laughingstock. He is a hero who saved her and undeservedly received hatred from people; the fact that he is still alive, having not taken his own life, is a sign of his willpower. At her words, Bakugo's jaw tightened, and narrowing his eyes, he looked at her.
— I don't owe you anything, — he snapped, defiantly looking at her. Fuyumi did not look away; she simply removed her glasses, and her tone became softer, yet still pierced straight to the heart.
— You call him weak, cowardly, and pathetic. But I have seen him save and help others without thinking of himself. And you? When was the last time you risked anything other than your pride? — These words struck Bakugo like a slap. He abruptly got up from his seat, fists clenched.
— Don't you dare compare me to that quirkless loser! — rage echoed in his voice, but something else flickered in his eyes—doubt.
— I am stronger than him in every way! I always have been and always will be! I am braver, and if necessary, I will put him in his place so he never thinks he can achieve anything. — Fuyumi remained in place; her calmness irritated him even more. Grinding his teeth, he looked out the window, where the rain was starting, realizing the atmosphere of the situation. Bakugo sighed wearily; this conversation was beginning to wear him down, and he understood she wouldn't let up until she got through to him.
— Stronger? — she repeated, raising her eyebrows slightly.
— Then why are you wasting so much time proving it? If you are truly confident in your strength, why do you need to humiliate those who are weaker? — Bakugo froze; her words struck a nerve. Bakugo had always been characterized by his anger towards others, especially his old friend, who followed him like a puppy that had been abandoned. Bakugo had always grown up with the expectation that he would become a hero, and everyone who knew him, including his family, said he should become a hero. All the flattery that fed his egocentrism made him so self-assured, but when he noticed that Izuku, whom everyone belittled, was moving slowly and confidently without falling behind, it began to annoy him. In his manner, he tried to pull him out of the race, but he did not give up; no matter how many times he fell, no matter how many injuries he sustained, he kept getting up, proving that his will was stronger than any damage he could inflict.
— I don't… I'm just showing them their place, — his voice became quieter; he turned away as if avoiding her gaze, but even so, he felt her cold stare.
— No, Bakugo, — Fuyumi took a step closer; her voice was tinged with a soft note of regret and concern.
— You are showing yours. Your actions speak louder than your words. You are afraid that someone like Izuku might surpass you, even though he has no quirk. And that angers you.
— Shut up! — he exploded, turning abruptly to her. — I fear nothing! I am the best in this class! In this school! No one compares to me! — Fuyumi calmly endured his outburst, but now there was more sternness in her voice.
— Your strength, Bakugo, is a gift. But instead of using it to protect, you waste it to break others. And if you don't change, one day you will find yourself alone, with your pride but without people who truly respect you. — She took a dramatic pause and continued.
— And after that, you want to become a hero? — Her words made him freeze. Anger was replaced by confusion, but he did not want to show his weakness.
— You don't understand anything, — he hissed, his gaze filled with hatred, but his voice carried exhaustion. Fuyumi looked at him a bit softer.
— I understand more than you think. You are not angry at Izuku. You are angry at yourself because he does what you are too afraid to do: to be a hero in the purest sense of the word. — Fuyumi observed Bakugo intently. Her gaze was heavy, but there was no malice or contempt in it. She wanted him to understand the weight of his words and actions. She wanted to help him become better.
— And what if Izuku died? — she asked quietly, but her voice echoed in the silence of the classroom. — What if he couldn't withstand the injuries or the words you said to him? What if he wasn't strong enough to handle it?
Bakugo froze. His body tensed, and his gaze turned to emptiness. Fuyumi's words pierced him like a sharp blade, exposing what he had so carefully hidden even from himself. He remembered the day he destroyed his photograph with some girl.
— What did you say? — he whispered, but his voice was devoid of the previous aggression. Fuyumi stepped closer, and it was a sign for her that the question hit Bakugo right in the heart.
— Have you ever thought that your words could be the last straw? That someone like Izuku might not cope and just… break and even die? — Bakugo flared up like a match and almost activated his quirk as a defense mechanism in stressful situations.
— Enough! — he shouted, trying to drown out her voice. — Don't talk like you know what happened between us!
— Then tell me, — Fuyumi said firmly. — What exactly did you say to him, Bakugo? What made him keep fighting and get up when the whole world was against him? — Her words were too close to the truth. Bakugo's mind flashed back to that day. He remembered how Izuku looked at him with pain-filled eyes when he said…
— Jump off the roof and hope for a quirk in the next life, — he whispered. Fuyumi felt a chill run down her spine. Her eyes widened in shock.
— What? — she breathed. Bakugo realized he had let something slip, but it was too late. He looked at her, seeing a mix of horror and condemnation in her eyes.
— I… — he fell silent, realizing there were no excuses for those words. Fuyumi slowly stepped back; her face expressed barely concealed pain. Could it really have been that bad? She thought, realizing that Izuku could have died last week, unable to withstand all the negativity that had been thrown at him.
— You… said that to him? — her voice trembled, but she quickly regained her composure. — You seriously said that to a kid who was already rejected by everyone? Bakugo looked away, realizing what would come next, but to his surprise, Fuyumi reacted appropriately, not calling his parents like other teachers would have done.
— I didn't think he would take it seriously, — he muttered, lowering his gaze. Her hand touched his shoulder; her hand was gentle and cold, like her character, yet she showed concern, which surprised him, but her next words were like sharp blades that cut him deeper than any cold weapon.
— But you said it, — Fuyumi interrupted, her voice turning cold as ice. — You could have broken him. You could be the reason he wouldn't get up again. His hands trembled.
— But he got up, — Bakugo shouted, his voice trembling with emotion. — He always got up! That made me angrier than anything! — Fuyumi looked at him, her gaze more penetrating than ever.
— What if he hadn't gotten up? — she asked quietly. — What if one day he decided he couldn't anymore? What then, Bakugo? Would you live with that burden? And who would be to blame after that? — Her words struck like a hammer. Bakugo lowered his head; his breathing became heavy. She didn't remove her hand from his shoulder; at times, it calmed him, but on the other hand, it heightened his anxiety.
— I… don't know, — he finally whispered.
— Then think about it, — Fuyumi said; her voice softened, but there was still firmness in it. — Because words matter. Especially if you want to be a hero. I could have acted like all the other teachers and called your parents, but I chose to do otherwise. Understand, Bakugo-san, words carry weight, and every action you take toward others has unexpected outcomes, for better or for worse. — Accepting her words, he looked at her, asking to leave, as thoughts devoured him, and for the first time, he asked himself.
— Did I do the right thing? — he asked himself. Although he was Deku, he had acted extremely meanly towards him and his mother, whom he rarely saw but always treated warmly. She accepted him and never scolded him, knowing his terrible character and how he had bullied her son. Bakugo couldn't believe that because of his egocentrism, he had mocked him and almost killed the last member of the Midoriya family with his actions and words, obliterating that lineage without a right to exist. His lips trembled, and his eyes frantically searched for a place to escape, while his hands shook from the unexpected realization of his sins. Sensing Bakugo's panic, Fuyumi placed her hand on his sweaty hands from stress, and cooling her hands slightly, she touched his skin, calming him.
— Bakugo-san, are you alright? — she asked, watching the downcast face of her student. She had gone too far to reach him, and that was her mistake in approaching students. About Bakugo, she didn't know much, as in the case of Izuku, and by trying to speak openly on too painful topics, she did not expect to catch her student off guard.
— I'm sorry, Bakugo-san. I honestly didn't mean to touch on terrible topics. I just wanted to help, — she said, but Bakugo, unable to manage his emotions, simply removed her hand from his skin and grabbed his backpack, silently leaving the classroom and leaving Fuyumi alone in the darkness.
Fuyumi was left alone in the empty classroom, illuminated only by the dim light of the lamps. The silence seemed deafening, and her thoughts roared in her head like a hurricane. She took a heavy breath and sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands.
— What have I done… — she whispered, feeling a dull pain rising in her chest. She remembered how Bakugo's face twisted with stress, how his hands trembled, how panic seized him. Her words clearly struck him harder than she had anticipated.
— I wanted to help… — she whispered to herself, but her voice sounded as if she were justifying herself before him, and now she had made a serious error by pressing him. — But instead, I just made the situation worse.
Fuyumi lowered her gaze to her hands, still feeling his damp, cold skin. She recalled how he had avoided her gaze, how he had hurried away as if from her.
— I had no right. Not to push him like that. He is just a child… He is just a teenager learning to cope with his rage and pain. — She tried to find justifications for herself, but they sounded empty. It was as if she had tried to extinguish a fire within Bakugo's soul but had made it worse, turning the fire into an icy iceberg with her words.
— And if I caused him even more harm? If I just exacerbated his guilt? — She bitterly smiled to herself and felt guilt toward her student.
— Great job, Fuyumi. You are a teacher. You should have supported, not finished him off.
---
Bakugo walked down the corridor with a stone face, but chaos raged within him. His thoughts flitted about like agitated wasps, stinging every part of his consciousness.
—I am a self-centered bastard, — he thought, tightening the strap of his backpack until his fingers turned white. Memories flooded back, one after another. He remembered how he had said humiliating words to Izuku. He remembered how he burned his notebooks, how he mocked his dream. He recalled when Izuku reached out his hand, and in a fit of rage, he had used his quirk on him, leaving burns on his body, thinking he was looking down on him. But the most painful memory was of his mother.
— She was always kind… Never said a bad word to me, even knowing what I was doing to her son, — it flashed through his mind. He froze, stopping in the middle of the empty corridor, and covered his face with his hands.
— What have I done… — his voice was almost a whisper, but it carried genuine pain. He remembered the day he first saw tears streaming down Izuku's face. In that moment, he felt strong. Omnipotent. He also remembered how their friendship had shaken because of him when in kindergarten he said that he was quirkless, laughing first at him. But now he realized at what cost that feeling had come.
—I almost killed him… — Bakugo pressed his back against the wall and exhaled heavily. — With my words, with my actions…
For the first time in his life, he looked at his actions differently. For the first time, he asked himself the question:
— What if he were gone? — This thought engulfed him completely. His face paled, and he began to rub his face with his palms nervously, as if that could wipe away the memories.
— His mother would lose her son… and I… I would… look at their gravestone, reading the last thing that connected them in this life.
"Here lies Izuku Midoriya, a loving son and a good friend."
— A good friend, — he whispered to himself, realizing his hypocrisy before him, and with this burden, he would have to live his entire life. He couldn't continue the thought. Sadness and fear wrapped around his heart, squeezing it.
— What do I do now? How do I look him in the eyes? How do I live with this? — Bakugo slowly slid down the wall, sitting down straight on the floor. His breathing was heavy, and thoughts wouldn't let him be.
—I'm just a little kid hiding behind my strength… and destroying everything around me. — His fingers trembled; his heart beat like crazy. For the first time in his life, he felt not anger but true guilt not only toward Aunt Inko but also toward his friend.
*****
After putting on his hero costume and adjusting his hat, he had a good dinner, taking everything into account, including the time. He jumped out of the window, looking at the nearby passersby who might notice him.
The rain poured incessantly; drops tapped against the metal roofs, flowing down in shiny streams, like mercury. The evening city was drowning in neon lights that reflected in the puddles on the asphalt, creating the illusion that the streets were glowing on their own.
Izuku soared from one roof to another; his silhouette disappeared and reappeared in the light of the street lamps. Venom's tentacles, black and gleaming from the rain, stretched out ahead, gripping the ledges of buildings. Each movement was precise and calculated, as if he had long been accustomed to this nocturnal dance.
— Amazing, isn't it? — Venom's voice echoed in his head. — This city is beautiful.
Izuku didn't respond; his focus was entirely on each jump. One more building, one more roof, and he smoothly glided over the wet metal like a shadow. The cold air whipped against his face, but it only spurred him on.
He stopped at the edge of one of the skyscrapers, gazing at the view before him. The city lights seemed endless: pink, blue, yellow — neon reflected in his white lenses. The rain drenched his face, but the hood of his long black coat shielded his head, leaving only the mask visible.
— Do you see it? — Venom spoke again. — The rhythm of the city, its breath. It's alive, just like us.
— Yes, — Izuku replied shortly; his voice was low and calm. — And it breathes through the shadows too.
He jumped forward, his hands shooting out along with the tentacles that wrapped around a metal beam. Izuku's body soared into the air like a bird and then smoothly landed on the neighboring roof.
— It's time to move on, — he said, crouching down and studying the street below.
His coat billowed in the wind; the wet edge softly rustled against the rooftop surface. At that moment, Izuku seemed like a part of the city itself, its inseparable shadow. A shadow that would become a nightmare for criminals.
Time: 19:47.
— So far, I don't see any criminals, — Izuku replied, standing on the roof of one of the buildings, gathering rain from the sky. Soaked, he found the strength to jump despite the pain in his joints that had not fully recovered from training. Watching the evening city, Izuku saw that most residents were walking with umbrellas and getting lost in the crowd; it was easier than easy. Jumping from roof to roof, enhanced by the symbiote, Izuku finally reached the not-so-favorable area of the city, Mustapha.
— Here we will begin, — he whispered maliciously, observing the social life of ordinary people. The rain splattered its drops on the surfaces of the buildings, and seeing a sound of a running person stepping in puddles, Izuku frowned and followed the sound. One guy was running from two pursuers, trying to escape a beating, but the cobblestone surface betrayed him, and with a splash, he fell face-first into a puddle.
— You're fast, kid, but it's time for you to pay double for moral damage, — said the street thug, approaching him. The guy panicked and tried to get up and run away, but his legs were glued to the cobblestones with a quirk.
— I have no money. Rob me as much as you want, — the youth tried to get up without flinching, but he didn't notice the dark figure standing next to him and the robbers.
— Leave him alone, — Izuku said in a low voice, but the robbers were not deterred, and they pulled out knives in greeting. Taking a stance, Izuku prepared to use all the skills he had learned today. He got ready to fight them in hand-to-hand combat. The robber lunged at him with a knife, trying to stab him; before he could swing, Izuku landed two punches to the face, sending the first robber into a knockout. The second, realizing who it was, dropped his knife and ran away from Silent Phantom.
— Are you okay? — Izuku asked the young man, but as soon as he turned around, his trail had already vanished. Venom inside him grumbled discontentedly about the young man's actions. Sighing heavily, Izuku jumped onto a wall and climbed it, searching for new adventures.
— Not even a thank you. Ungrateful, — Venom grumbled.
The rain continued to pour without ceasing, as if washing away the dirt from the city. Izuku moved across the rooftops; his movements were precise and quick. Venom's tentacles stretched out, gripping cornices and pipes, helping him cover distances that would be impossible for an ordinary person. His black coat with a hood blended into the darkness of the night, and the neon lights reflected off the wet surfaces, illuminating his white lenses.
On the next street, he spotted three men surrounding a girl near an abandoned store. One held her by the arm, another stood with a knife, and the third rummaged through her bag.
— Here they are, — Venom said with disdain. — Real scum.
— An ideal opportunity to test my skills, — murmured Izuku and jumped down. He landed softly, right behind the men.
— Hey, let her go, — he said in a low voice that sounded threatening. The robbers turned around, their faces twisted in surprise. One of them laughed, thinking Izuku was just an ordinary guy trying to play hero.
— Who do you think you are? You think just because you're in a mask, you can scare us? — sneered the one with the knife.
— I warned you, — Izuku said, clenching his fists.
The first attacker lunged at him, but Izuku leaned to the left, letting the knife glide past his head. At that same moment, he delivered a short side punch right to the attacker's ribs. The punch was so strong that the man fell, gasping for breath.
The second grabbed a metal pipe and swung it, but Izuku stepped forward, dodging the blow, and using the technique of the Soviet boxing school, delivered an uppercut that knocked the pipe from his hands. Following that, he added a right straight to the jaw, sending him into unconsciousness. The third man, witnessing his friends being taken down, grabbed the girl by the shoulder, trying to use her as a shield.
— Don't move, or she's done for! — he shouted.
Izuku didn't waste time. He took a sharp step forward, simultaneously launching a tentacle that knocked the knife from the robber's hands. Then, sliding towards him, he delivered a series of punches — short hooks to the body and a final straight to the face. The opponent fell, losing consciousness. The girl, freed, looked at him in fear.
— You don't need to be afraid, — Izuku tried to reassure her, but she, grabbing her bag, hurried away without even saying thank you.
— Again, ungrateful, — Venom grumbled. — People are not worthy of you.
Sighing heavily, Izuku headed toward the alley's exit when he saw several frightened faces of city residents.
— That's him, Silent Phantom, — said a man.
— We should call the police.
— He looks like a villain, — they said as Izuku disappeared from their sight, leaving the tied-up criminals at the entrance.
The night was long; the rain intensified, mixing with the neon light of the streets of Mustapha. Izuku, hiding in the shadows, continued to patrol. His heightened senses, amplified by the symbiote, picked up on the faintest sounds — arguments, footsteps, shattered glass. This was his territory, and he wouldn't let anyone destroy it.
A sharp sound of a siren pulled Izuku from his thoughts. From the roof, he saw a group of masked men running out of a small convenience store with stuffed backpacks. They were armed, and their quirks allowed them to easily break through obstacles and escape from the police.
Izuku didn't hesitate. Jumping from the roof, he released two tentacles that grabbed the nearest fugitive by the legs and knocked him to the ground. The others turned around, seeing a dark figure approaching them at terrifying speed.
— Leave it, or you'll regret it, — Izuku said calmly, though his voice sounded like a thunderous growl.
— Damn, it's Silent Phantom! — shouted one of the robbers, and they opened fire.
Izuku dodged; his movements were quick and precise. Jumping forward, he knocked the gun from one of the attackers' hands and then delivered a series of punches using the techniques of the Soviet boxing school. The opponents, unable to recover from the first encounter, were disarmed in a matter of minutes. When the police arrived at the scene, Izuku had already vanished. But even having disappeared from the convenience store's territory, he left the criminals tied up at the entrance.
— Why hasn't the police caught him? He is breaking the law too! — shouts could be heard.
— It would be better if he let them escape since he's just as much a criminal. — The words cut into his soul as he heard such insulting remarks directed at him from passersby.
Having prevented a few more crimes, Izuku felt satisfied with his new skills that he had acquired during his self-training.
— It's not the best day, — Venom grumbled, soaked just like Izuku. Straightening up and standing tall, Izuku heard someone start shooting a weapon.
— A new challenge, — Venom whispered. Izuku ran toward the alley and noticed several groups of people. Specifically, six individuals with malicious intent.
— Do you think he will come? — asked the arms dealer, frowning as rain dripped from all angles.
— Yeah, he will come; according to the information, he often patrols these areas, — said the buyer, pulling a weapon from the dealer. Hearing their conversation, Izuku frowned, unsure if they had decided to hunt him or not. As he approached the edge of the roof, Izuku heard them loading their weapons, inserting magazines.
— It's an ambush, — Venom whispered, watching the villains.
Next chapter
The goal of Silent Phantom 2/3