Noisy.
Sweltering.
And reeking of people.
That was what I felt as I sat among the massive rows of seats in U.A.’s colossal stadium.
The harsh May sunlight beat down relentlessly, piercing through the roof and blazing onto the colorful banners and the hoarse, screaming faces of the crowd.
The U.A.
Sports Festival – the event that replaced the old Olympics – where the future Heroes showcased their power to court management agencies.
And here I was, Onodera Ryuga.
Different.
Out of place.
And bored to the point of irritation.
I lightly touched the black leather choker wrapped around my neck.
It was slightly tight, the leather rubbing against the bite marks and reddish scratches Himiko had left the night before, creating a faint stinging sensation.
Wearing a full uniform in this weather was pure torture, but sweating buckets was still better than exposing a body covered in the marks of a perverted masochist to the entire world.
“Hey, see that guy?
The one in black sitting in the corner.”
“Isn’t he from Class 1-A?
Why isn’t he competing?”
“Oh my god, haven’t you heard?
He suffered severe psychological trauma after the U.S.J incident.
They say when the villains attacked, he got so scared he went completely insane.”
“Bullshit.
I heard from the Support Course kids that his Quirk is too dangerous.
Like… anyone he touches explodes or something.
The school forced him to withdraw because they were scared there’d be casualties live on air.”
“Look at his eyes… Pitch black.
He looks more like a villain than a hero.”
Whispers and murmurs rose from the seats behind me, mostly from General Studies and Management Course students.
They pretended to whisper, but didn’t bother hiding their curious and wary glances directed straight at me.
What a noisy bunch, I thought.
Quirk that makes people explode, my ass.
If I had a Quirk like that, the first thing I’d do is hunt criminals like Yoshikage Kira hunts hands.
No way I’d be stuck here doing jack shit.
Rumors were always the most ridiculous weapon of the masses.
Just because I was the only student in Class 1-A who didn’t step onto the field, they automatically spun dozens of dramatic stories.
Some called me a ticking time bomb, others said U.A.
was secretly punishing me.
The reality was far more boring.
I had withdrawn voluntarily to keep my cards hidden and to conveniently direct a much larger drama from behind the scenes.
Being the subject of these rumors amused me more than it annoyed me.
The shrill sound of the end-of-round whistle blasted from Present Mic’s speakers, cutting off my thoughts.
“AAAAAAND!
THE CAVALRY BATTLE HAS CONCLUDED!
THE TEAMS ADVANCING TO THE NEXT ROUND HAVE BEEN DECIDED!”
The stands erupted.
Confetti exploded into the air.
I closed my notebook and leaned back in my seat.
Second round done.
Soon, the eliminated students would start heading up here.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for some awkward conversations.
Class 1-A must have heard all those rumors by now.
As “future Heroes” overflowing with justice, it was perfectly understandable if they looked at me with pity, alienation, or cautious wariness.
After all, the distance between me and them had been clearly drawn ever since that incident.
“Yo, Onodera!
You’re sitting way back here – we had to search forever!”
I froze.
A can of ice-cold oolong tea was pressed straight against my cheek.
I blinked and looked up.
Kaminari Denki stood there grinning, his spiky blond hair as wild as ever.
Right behind him were Ojiro Mashirao, Jirou Kyouka, Shoji Mezo, and Sato Rikido – the Class 1-A students who had just been eliminated from the Cavalry Battle.
“Yo.” I replied in a flat tone, showing none of the surprise swirling inside my head.
“Thanks for the drink.”
“Man, we fought so hard and still couldn’t make it to the finals,” Kaminari groaned, flopping down into the empty seat right next to me.
“You’re the real winner here, Onodera.
Just sitting back, watching everything, and eating popcorn.”
Jirou pulled up a seat in the row in front of me and turned around.
Her gaze flicked briefly across the choker on my neck before smoothly moving on.
“Don’t listen to this idiot.
We know you’re still recovering.
How are your injuries?
I saw Aizawa-sensei working you to the bone at Gamma Gym the other day, so I wasn’t sure if you were doing any better.”
“Better now,” I said, taking a sip of tea.
“Just not recovered enough for this event.
I tried, but it is what it is.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ojiro smiled gently, sitting down beside Kaminari.
He patted my shoulder.
“Take it slow.
We know what you’ve been through.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly, my pitch-black pupils sweeping over the faces around me.
Normal.
Too normal.
Suspiciously normal.
No excessive pity.
No wary looks like they were staring at a bomb about to explode.
They spoke to me naturally, as if the horrifying Nomu slaughter at U.S.J had never happened – or rather, as if they had completely accepted it.
“Hey, Onodera, what were you writing just now?”
Hagakure Tooru’s voice rang out – or at least I assumed it was her, judging by the floating P.E.
uniform hovering in mid-air.
Before I could hide it, Kaminari had already craned his neck over.
“Whoa!
Your handwriting is so tiny!
Wait… ‘Tokoyami’s blind spot is 45 degrees behind his left back when Dark Shadow expands’?
‘Iida’s reaction speed drops by 0.3 seconds during sudden direction changes’?” Kaminari’s eyes widened as he stared at me like I was some alien.
“Are you analyzing everyone’s weaknesses?!”
Jirou laughed and shook her head.
“You’re just as much of an analysis nerd as Midoriya.
You two really are alike.”
“Exactly,” Ojiro nodded in agreement.
“Except Midoriya mutters everything out loud, while Onodera doesn’t say a word.
The two extremes of loud and silent.”
Like Izuku?
I curled my lips into a faint smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
Appearance-wise, maybe.
After all, Saito was my twin, and he resembled Izuku in an almost copied way, so by extension it made sense that I looked somewhat similar.
But personality?
Hell no.
And what I was writing had absolutely nothing in common with Izuku’s notes.
Izuku’s notebook was the “Hero Analysis for the Future.” He recorded things to learn and to save people.
My notebook, if anyone read the detailed margin notes, would reveal cold, ruthless bullet points on the most efficient and brutal ways to neutralize and destroy each of their abilities.
I didn’t record things to learn.
I recorded them to know how to kill them – if one day they stood in my way and I had no other choice.
But I said nothing.
I simply slipped the notebook back into my jacket pocket.
“Just a habit,” I replied curtly.
“The tournament matches are starting.”
Everyone’s attention immediately snapped toward the center of the stadium.
The massive concrete arena had been raised.
Midnight cracked her whip, her sharp voice echoing across the venue.
The matches unfolded with the fierce intensity the media had hoped for.
I observed Izuku closely.
He had truly grown, at least to some extent.
The one-finger Air Force flick to minimize damage, his stubbornness against Shinso, and especially his deathmatch against Todoroki Shoto.
Izuku had destroyed his own body just to break through Todoroki’s psychological barrier.
Stupid.
Emotional.
But… dazzling enough to blind anyone watching.
That was the brilliant light of the original story that I was trying to protect from within the shadows.
And then, my focus shifted to another target.
Bakugo Katsuki.
The match between Bakugo and Uraraka ended.
The match between Bakugo and Tokoyami ended.
Followed by the final between Bakugo and Todoroki.
Bakugo fought with terrifying intelligence.
His natural talent and monstrous reflexes were undeniable – even I would likely be hunted down and killed in a hit-and-run if I faced him up there.
But what irritated me wasn’t his strength.
It was the overwhelming arrogance, violence, and selfishness that flowed through every single one of his strikes.
He crushed Uraraka without holding back in the slightest, not even treating her as a real opponent until the very end.
He defeated Todoroki, yet screamed in rage like a mad beast because he couldn’t win the way he wanted.
Bakugo Katsuki believed the world revolved around him, that his powerful Quirk gave him the right to trample on anyone’s dignity.
“You fought well, firecracker,” I muttered under my breath, my voice so light that even Kaminari sitting right beside me couldn’t hear.
“You have the makings of a champion.
But you’re also a piece of shit with the soul of a bully.
Enjoy this moment at the top of glory… Because soon, you’re going to learn how to behave.”
I slipped my hand into my pocket, lightly touching my phone.
Timing was perfect.
The media bomb had already been handed to Gentle Criminal.
That mediocre content creator just needed to pull the trigger and upload all the dark files from Aldera Middle School the moment the award ceremony began.
The internet would explode.
U.A.
would be forced to respond.
Bakugo would have to face his sins under overwhelming public pressure and reshape his personality.
Everything had been meticulously calculated according to a perfect modern “cancel culture” script.
…
The award ceremony began.
The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, filled with cheers.
But the scene that greeted everyone’s eyes was so ridiculous it was almost comical.
The champion, Bakugo Katsuki, was tightly bound to a stone pedestal, his hands cuffed in metal restraints, and even muzzled like a wild beast because he wouldn’t stop roaring and thrashing, refusing to accept his medal.
“AND NOW, TO PRESENT THE MEDALS TO OUR WINNERS, WE HAVE…” Midnight raised her hand dramatically toward the sky.
“ME!”
All Might’s signature hearty laugh thundered across the arena.
The Symbol of Peace descended from above, landing spectacularly on the stage.
The entire stadium exploded in cheers.
The crowd went wild.
The Class 1-A students around me jumped up in celebration.
I pulled out my phone, already on the video platform, waiting for the notification from Gentle’s channel.
One second.
Two seconds.
Nothing.
Did that old man fall asleep?
I frowned as unease began to creep in.
And then, the incident happened.
It wasn’t a small incident.
It was an earthquake.
The moment All Might picked up the gold medal and walked toward the raging Bakugo, the entire U.A.
stadium sound system suddenly let out a deafening electronic screech.
Tens of thousands of spectators clutched their ears in pain.
“Ugh!
What the hell is that?!” Jirou covered her ears tightly – her enhanced hearing turning the screech into pure torment.
I jerked my head up.
The four massive LED screens hanging at the corners of the stadium, which had been showing close-ups of All Might, suddenly flickered and went black.
But it didn’t stop there.
From the phone in my hand, from Kaminari’s phone, Ojiro’s, and everyone else’s in the stands… every device simultaneously lit up with notifications.
On the stadium screens, the static gradually cleared, replaced by a deep crimson velvet background.
A figure appeared – wearing a black coat with a high collar and long tails, baggy white pinstripe pants, brown laced leather shoes, and two brown belts with golden buckles.
His white hair was slicked back, complemented by a handlebar mustache and meticulously trimmed beard.
His sharp eyes were heavily lined in black, like dark circles.
Gentle Criminal.
He sat casually with his legs crossed on an old sofa, holding a steaming cup of tea and smiling as if challenging the entire world.
“What… the actual fuck?!” My heart skipped a beat.
My pupils contracted.
“Greetings, citizens of Japan, basking in the false brilliance of fabricated peace,” Gentle’s dramatic, magnetic voice echoed throughout the stadium, drowning out all other noise.
“I am Gentle Criminal.
Forgive me for rudely interrupting this glorious award ceremony.
However… as a seeker of truth, I cannot stand by and watch you all applaud a monster hiding beneath the guise of a Hero.”
The stands fell silent.
A terrifying, suffocating silence spread.
Down on the field, All Might froze.
Aizawa and Present Mic rushed out from the commentary booth, faces pale with panic, yelling into their comms to cut the power.
“They’ve hacked directly into the national broadcast frequency!” Kaminari stared at his phone, face drained of all color.
“All… all national TV channels have been hijacked!”
I sat frozen.
My entire body went ice-cold, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
Cold sweat beaded along my temples and trickled down beneath the leather choker.
National television?
That bastard wasn’t just uploading my information on his channel – he had hijacked the fucking national broadcast!
And where the hell did he get the resources and technology to hack Japan’s national TV system?!
Seriously… La Brava… Is her skill this terrifying?!
“The U.A.
Sports Festival Champion… How truly admirable,” Gentle took a sip of tea on screen, his gaze sharpening.
“Bakugo Katsuki.
A prodigy.
A flawless Quirk.
But look, oh society of Heroes… what exactly are you nurturing here?”
Gentle’s image shrank, giving way to a video.
It wasn’t the raw footage I had provided.
Gentle had edited it.
With masterful media technique, he layered tragic, slow music over it.
The giant screen clearly displayed the grounds of Aldera Middle School.
The image of Bakugo Katsuki with his familiar arrogant face snatching a notebook from a small, cowering student.
The dialogue rang out sharp and unfiltered:
“You think a Quirkless piece of shit like you can stand on the same level as me?”
The image of the notebook exploding in Bakugo’s palm, charred black.
The stands began to fill with shocked whispers.
I could hear Uraraka’s broken voice: “Bakugo…?”
Down on the field, Bakugo’s eyes widened.
His raging aggression suddenly froze.
All Might stood there stunned, turning to look at his champion student.
But Gentle wasn’t done.
Another video appeared.
“If you want to be a Hero so badly, I’ll give you a way.
Jump off the rooftop and pray you get a Quirk in your next life!”
That line echoed across the entire stadium.
A clear, cold, malicious suicide encouragement.
Immediately after came a series of images: falsified report cards, disciplinary records covered up by the Aldera principal, money changing hands to hide school violence – all to keep a “clean record” for a student with a powerful Quirk applying to U.A.
“Do you see it, everyone?” Gentle reappeared, his face dramatically sorrowful.
“A school that nurtures violence.
A rotten education system that covers up evil, all because the perpetrator possesses a ‘superior Quirk.’ And the height of absurdity… U.A., the cradle of Heroes, welcomes such a person with open arms and crowns the one who encouraged suicide as the National Sports Festival Champion!
Oh, where is justice?
Is the Symbol of Peace, All Might, nothing more than a dirty rag covering up this corruption?!”
The screen suddenly cut off while he was still speaking.
The broadcast returned to normal.
But the damage had been done.
Perfect.
Brutal.
Irreversible.
One second… Two seconds…
Then the entire U.A.
Stadium – from the stands to the streets outside via large screens – exploded.
Not with cheers, but with a tsunami of chaos, rage, and shock.
Boos and jeers rained down on the awards platform.
Dozens of reporters frantically lifted their cameras, lenses pointed straight at Bakugo’s stunned face.
“W-what the hell was that just now?” Ojiro stammered, taking a step back.
“Bakugo… told someone to… die?” Hagakure cried out in disbelief.
Kaminari trembled as he looked down at the field.
The way he stared at Bakugo now held no admiration – only pure disgust.
I sat completely still on my seat.
My hand hidden in my jacket pocket was ice-cold, gripping the fabric so tightly that my nails dug into my palm, drawing blood.
Shit… How the fuck could they find the CCTV video?
My plan was just a small spark thrown into a pile of firewood – to let public opinion force Bakugo to reflect and learn how to behave.
But Gentle Criminal… that bastard didn’t throw a spark.
He dropped a fucking nuclear bomb!
This was bad.
I had turned a personal matter into a full-scale national crisis…
Damn it.
I had severely underestimated that madman’s insanity…