The pale morning sunlight of July was not enough to dispel the bone-chilling cold that had taken root deep inside my chest.
Each step up the long slope leading to U.A.
High’s gate felt as heavy as if my legs were weighed down with lead.
My body was still screaming in protest after a night spent completely exhausting myself at Aldera Junior High.
Sneaking through dark corridors, straining my eyes to search through files, and having to stay alert the entire time with a wildly unpredictable Himiko from the moment we took action until dawn had drained the very last drops of stamina that Recovery Girl had painstakingly restored for me.
But my suspension had been lifted, and I couldn’t afford to miss the first period.
I had no choice but to return this morning.
The moment I passed through U.A.’s massive gate, I immediately sensed the shift in the atmosphere.
It was no longer filled with the admiration and excitement that usually surrounded the first-year Hero Course students.
Instead, there was an awkward, forced silence.
Along the tree-lined path, students from other departments – the General Studies Course, the Support Course, and even a few upperclassmen – instinctively parted ways the moment they saw me approaching.
Their furtive glances, the low murmurs passed from ear to ear, shattered in the wind yet still clearly reached mine.
“That’s him, right…?”
“I heard he burned a criminal alive…”
“A friend of mine in Class 1-B told me the screams that day were haunting.
He didn’t seem like a hero at all…”
“Stay away from him…”
I kept my face ice-cold, hands shoved deep into my pockets, and continued walking as if those whispers were nothing more than an unavoidable nuisance.
In a superpowered society wrapped in the sugarcoating of fake peace, a student using brutal flames to annihilate an enemy – even in self-defense – was still an unacceptable “heresy.”
Standing before the towering door labeled “1-A,” I took a deep breath.
The noise inside the classroom was quite lively.
Kirishima’s boisterous laughter, Mina’s bright voice, and Iida’s familiar scolding tone.
I placed my hand on the door handle and pulled it open hard.
*Whoosh.*
The sound of the sliding door was like a switch cutting off all power.
The lively space inside the classroom instantly fell into a deathly silence.
The clamor died out in a mere tenth of a second.
Every single pair of eyes turned toward the door.
Mineta flinched and shrank behind his chair.
Kaminari, who had been laughing, froze mid-smile and hurriedly looked away.
Tsuyu blinked rapidly, hand rising to her mouth.
Todoroki maintained his usual emotionless expression, but his gaze sharpened as if trying to pierce straight through me, observing my every tiny movement.
And in the corner of the room, Bakugo Katsuki had his feet propped up on his desk.
When he saw me, his crimson eyes narrowed.
There was no growling, no familiar insults, just a thick, heavy hostility so dense it felt like it could be cut with a knife.
Fear.
Wariness.
Avoidance.
That was the price of crossing the line.
I had predicted this, but facing dozens of eyes that looked at me like I was a monster still stung a little.
I withdrew my gaze, lowered my head, and walked toward my seat in the corner of the class.
“Good morning, Ryuga-kun!”
A clear, radiant voice rang out, shattering the glue-like tension in the air.
I paused.
At the row of desks beside mine, Uraraka Ochako was waving at me.
Her smile was as bright and cheerful as always, without the slightest hint of awkwardness or trembling—despite having witnessed my coldness when I confronted Bakugo that day at the hospital.
“Are you fully recovered?
We were really worried when you didn’t show up for a whole week!” she added, her round eyes sparkling with pure sincerity.
Before I could respond, a figure with green hair rushed up from the row below, clutching a thick notebook in his hands.
“Ryuga-kun!” Izuku stopped in front of me, breathing a little heavily but with extremely determined eyes.
He smiled, a gentle, kind smile that swept away all the darkness and suffocating pressure in the room.
“Welcome back to class.
How are you feeling?
I… I borrowed Iida-kun’s notes and copied all the lessons from last week, then organized them for you.
If there’s anything you don’t understand, I can explain it!”
I stood rooted in place, staring at the notebook being offered to me, then at Izuku’s smile and Uraraka’s warm welcome.
Around us, the other students of Class 1-A were exchanging bewildered looks.
They didn’t understand.
They couldn’t comprehend how these two could act so normally—even warmly—toward a “cold-blooded killer” like me.
This feeling… was truly strange.
In a world where I was gradually staining my own hands black, surrounded by ruthless schemes and suffocating nights with Toga, there were still people willing to reach out and take my hand, to trust me.
That conversation at Takoba Beach had truly saved everything.
I accepted the notebook from Izuku, the corners of my lips unconsciously curving into a faint smile – a real smile, without any pretense or calculation.
“Thank you, Izuku.
And thank you too, Uraraka.
I’m fine.
I just need a little more time to get back into the rhythm.”
Izuku nodded vigorously, his eyes sparkling.
This connection was the only thing still anchoring the remaining “human” part of me in this school.
No matter how terrible things got later, I had to keep this boy safe.
Whoosh!
The classroom door was yanked open once again.
The entire class instantly fell silent as everyone hurriedly scrambled back to their seats.
Aizawa-sensei entered.
He still looked as miserable as the day I was suspended—his whole body wrapped in bandages like an Egyptian mummy, with only his tired eyes visible.
He dragged himself to the podium and set his materials down heavily.
“Everyone, take your seats.
Ten-minute homeroom is starting,” Aizawa’s hoarse voice rang out through the gauze.
His gaze swept across the class, and when it landed on me, he gave the slightest, almost imperceptible nod, a silent confirmation of my return.
“As you all know, the incident at USJ left a large scar,” Aizawa began, his voice flat and emotionless.
“But your battle is far from over.”
The class held its breath.
Bakugo leaned forward.
Izuku swallowed hard.
The shadows of villains flickered once again in the minds of these fifteen-year-olds.
“The U.A.
Sports Festival is coming up soon.”
One second of dead silence.
And then…
“THAT’S AN EXTREMELY NORMAL SCHOOL EVENT!!!” The whole class shouted in unison, the tension popping like a bubble.
Kirishima slammed his hand on the desk.
“Wait, Sensei!
Is it really okay to hold the Festival right after the school was attacked by villains?”
“The U.A.
Sports Festival isn’t something that can be easily canceled just because of a few rats,” Aizawa replied coldly.
“On the contrary, holding it on schedule is U.A.’s way of showing the entire world that our crisis management system remains rock solid.
Police and pro heroes will have security tightened fivefold.
Moreover…”
Aizawa’s eyes flashed with a sharp glint.
“…The U.A.
Sports Festival is the biggest opportunity in your lives.
Top pro heroes from across the country will be watching this event to scout potential sidekicks.
Miss it, and you’ll be narrowing your own futures.
Understood?”
Excitement immediately exploded.
Iida raised his hand high, lecturing about glory.
Momo’s eyes sparkled as she calculated strategies.
Bakugo smirked with a bloodthirsty grin, small explosions crackling proudly from his palms.
They were all looking toward a brilliant future, toward the spotlight.
I remained silent, observing the scene.
A perfect contrast.
While they thirsted to shine under the sun, I was plotting how to deliver a fatal blow to this system from the shadows.
Participating in the Sports Festival, at this moment, was not only a physical burden for me but also a strategic mistake.
I didn’t need to show off my abilities in front of pro heroes.
I needed time, needed to stay hidden, and needed to prepare a much bigger fire.
I slowly raised my hand.
Amid the noisy classroom, my raised arm carried a strange magnetism that gradually quieted the surrounding sounds until they died out completely.
Once again, all attention focused on the corner of the room.
“Onodera.
What is it?” Aizawa asked, his gaze indifferent.
I stood up slowly, keeping my voice as calm as possible, neither arrogant nor timid.
“Sensei, I’d like to request permission to sit out the U.A.
Sports Festival this time.”
My declaration dropped into the classroom like a silent bomb.
Izuku’s eyes widened to their limits.
Uraraka froze.
Kaminari and Mineta gaped.
Even Bakugo turned his head, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Reason?” Aizawa didn’t seem particularly surprised, simply demanding an explanation in a cold tone.
“My body hasn’t fully recovered yet,” I answered calmly, citing exactly what the old nurse had said to create a perfect cover.
“If I participate in the combat events, I won’t only become a burden to the class but also risk permanent damage to myself.
I choose to withdraw to ensure safety.”
Silence enveloped the room.
The gazes directed at me gradually changed.
A few showed regret, but I could clearly sense that most were breathing sighs of relief.
They were thanking the heavens they wouldn’t have to face the “demon” on the arena.
They feared my flames, feared the twisted cruelty they had already imagined.
Aizawa stared at me for a few seconds, seemingly weighing whether there was another reason behind this flawless refusal.
But the deep exhaustion etched under my eyes and my pale skin (from staying up all night with Toga) were undeniable proof.
“Understood.
I’ll submit your withdrawal request to the faculty.
Knowing when to advance and when to retreat is also a hero’s quality,” Aizawa nodded.
“However, you must still attend all theoretical classes.
Sit down.”
“Thank you, Sensei.”
I sat down, deliberately ignoring Izuku’s puzzled stare fixed on me.
*Sorry, my friend.
My battle isn’t on the arena, but in the filthiest corners of this society.*
The ten-minute homeroom passed quickly.
But it was only the beginning of the physical torture.
First period: Present Mic’s English.
Second period: Midnight’s Hero History.
With every passing minute, my body protested more violently.
The pain from muscles that hadn’t fully healed was torn open by the cold air conditioning.
My head spun, my vision occasionally blurred with tiny black spots, and an extreme fatigue threatened to drain my vitality into the negatives.
The moment the bell signaling the end of the second period rang, I collapsed onto my desk, cold sweat beading on my forehead.
“Ryuga-kun!
Are you okay?!” Izuku was the first to notice, rushing over.
“You look so pale!” Tenya cried out in worry.
I weakly waved my hand and pushed myself up from the desk.
“I’m fine… Class Rep, could you please ask the teacher for permission for me… to go to the infirmary for a bit.
Just leave me be.
You guys prepare for the next class.”
With that, I staggered toward the door, ignoring the scrutinizing gazes of the rest of the class.
I needed Recovery Girl’s soft bed right now, or I would collapse in the hallway.
U.A.’s hallways during break were uncomfortably crowded.
Students from other classes poured out, gathering in small groups to chat about the upcoming Sports Festival.
The news spread at the speed of light.
The fact that I – Onodera Ryuga of Class 1-A – had withdrawn from the Festival had already spread throughout the entire first-year cohort after just two periods.
I leaned my back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing, and slowly walked past the hallways of Class 1-B and the General Studies Course.
“…Hey, see that guy coming?
It’s him.”
A blond male student pointed and whispered to his friends.
“Onodera from Class A?
I heard he got scared and asked to withdraw from the Festival.”
“Scared of what!
Haven’t you heard the rumors from USJ?
He used some kind of chemical to burn a monster to ashes.
Not even a cut left, just burned into charcoal!”
“Oh man, that’s brutal?
Then it’s good he withdrew.
I sure as hell don’t want to fight a psycho who enjoys burning people alive.
What if he snaps…”
“Keep your voice down, he might hear you right now!”
The whispers and gazes mixed with disgust and fear were thrown my way.
They feared me, but curiosity and the habit of gossip won out over that wariness.
They stood on the high ground of safety, judging someone who had to bathe in blood to protect his classmates.
Know what?
Fuck you guys.
You bastards have finally reached the end of my limit.
I stopped walking.
The group of students immediately froze.
A few stepped back, swallowing hard.
I didn’t say a word.
I simply stared straight into the eyes of the one who had called me a “psycho.” My gaze at that moment probably held no warmth whatsoever.
Without waiting for any response, I took out a sticky note from my jacket pocket—one I had originally planned to use for a shopping list.
In the crowded hallway, all noise died out.
Dozens of eyes focused on my every move.
I lowered my head and, with slow, calm hands, began folding.
Fold in half… press firmly.
Create the angle… flip over.
The rustling sound of paper was crystal clear in the suffocating silence.
They didn’t understand what I was doing, but my eerie composure unintentionally created terrifying psychological pressure.
No one dared move.
No one dared breathe loudly.
More than a minute later, a small, neat paper crane rested perfectly in my palm.
I raised my head and stared at the group of chatty boys from earlier.
My eyes were as still as the surface of a dead lake.
I lifted my hand, holding the paper crane up to their eye level.
Right before dozens of students, my Quirk activated from my fingertips.
There was no flame, no loud sound.
The pure white paper suddenly turned ashen gray, then cracked.
Starting from the wings, then the body, the paper crane rapidly disintegrated, crumbling into thousands of fine grains of sand and ash that slipped through my fingers and scattered onto the spotless floor.
The process took only three seconds, but it was enough to drain the color from the faces of those in front of me until they were as white as sheets.
A few girls covered their mouths in horror.
The boy from earlier stumbled back until his spine slammed into a locker.
They understood the meaning of that action.
My silence was not tolerance.
It was a warning.
“Say one more word about me, and you’ll disappear into a pile of ashes just like this paper crane.
I’m not joking.”
I didn’t need to say those words out loud, as the psychological message had already been planted perfectly.
Brushing the remaining ash dust from my hand, I shoved it back into my jacket pocket, coldly turned around, and walked toward the infirmary, leaving behind a hallway frozen in silent terror.
It’s best if you all obediently shut your mouths and enjoy your little Sports Festival.
The real entertainment… is still waiting ahead.