Yep.
If I had to be blunt, this is kidnapping.
Blatant kidnapping.
But honestly, I don’t know any better way.
“Talk no Jutsu” like in Naruto?
No.
Not with this girl.
And even less so if the one doing the talking is me.
So this is the only way.
House arrest her, somehow induce Stockholm Syndrome, thereby mindbreaking one of the 9 Lieutenants of the Paranormal Liberation Front, and ultimately keeping her alive until everything ends so she can be sent to rehab—it wouldn’t be too late.
It cripples the League of Villains in the future, lets her live, and allows me to empathize with her throughout the process…
Am I…
a scumbag?
Even if I am, so what?
I’d rather hurt someone so they can achieve happiness later, than let them corrupt themselves and ultimately suffer a bitter end.
If this makes me a scumbag, I’ll gladly accept that title for the rest of my life.
No sooner said than done.
I hoisted Toga’s limp body up, using my sleeve to wipe the blood trickling from her forehead caused by the Iron Headbutt earlier.
To avoid prying eyes, I used my Quirk to harden parts of my spine and knee joints to keep my posture straight, while slipping an arm around her waist, propping her heavily against my shoulder.
Right now, we looked exactly like an older brother dragging his dead-drunk little sister home from a karaoke bar.
Even though Toga was pretty light, the pungent metallic stench of blood wafting from her cardigan made my stomach churn, and more importantly, it could attract the attention of any patrolling hero or police officer.
I took off my outer jacket and draped it over Toga’s head and upper body, pretending she was slumped on my shoulder dead drunk.
My steps staggered—partly acting, partly because my body had genuinely reached its absolute limit.
That “Iron Headbutt” earlier consumed the very last ounce of material-conversion energy I could squeeze out.
My head was buzzing, my vision occasionally blurring into distorted streaks of light.
“Taxi!”
I waved down a cab that just pulled up.
The door opened, and I carefully shoved Toga into the backseat before climbing in myself and slamming the door shut.
“To the old apartment complex on the edge of Mustafu District.” I cleared my throat, forcing my tone to sound as calm and exasperated as possible.
“My sister drank way too much at her club party.
Sorry for the trouble…”
The middle-aged driver glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes skimming over Toga’s limp figure slumped against me, and clicked his tongue.
“Kids these days…
Just make sure she doesn’t puke in my car, the cleaning fee ain’t cheap.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The car rolled out.
For the entire twenty-minute ride, my heart pounded like it was going to smash through my ribcage.
My hand resting on Toga’s shoulder was stiff.
If she woke up right now and screamed, or if the driver caught a suspicious whiff and called the cops, or worse, if some Hero intervened…
it would all be over.
My future, my plans, my life.
Everything would go down the drain.
But luckily, my strike was hard enough to knock her out cold.
When the taxi stopped in front of the dark alley leading to my rundown apartment complex, I paid the fare, threw Toga over my shoulder, and dragged my feet up the creaky stairs.
The hallway was dead silent, save for the buzzing of a flickering fluorescent light.
Click.
I turned the key, kicked the apartment door open, and tossed Toga onto the thin futon laid out in the middle of the room.
I immediately locked the door and pulled the curtains completely shut, making sure not a single ray of light or prying eye could slip into this tiny twelve-square-meter room.
Now was when the real work began.
Looking at Toga lying there, breathing steadily, her sleeping face looking terrifyingly innocent, I took a deep breath.
Pity was a luxury.
If I went soft now, I’d be the one getting my throat slit tomorrow.
And there wouldn’t be a damn thing fun about that.
I pulled out the backpack stashed under my bed.
The specialized hemp Shibari ropes, leather handcuffs, blindfold…
the stuff that made the cashier look at me like a total pervert the other day, was now spread all over the floor.
But first, there was an extremely practical biological issue that kidnappers in movies always gloss over: Excretion.
If I tied her up tightly, and she woke up panicked, unable to use the bathroom…
she’d soil the whole room.
The stench would attract neighbors, the bacteria would cause an infection if she had any open wounds, and most importantly, it would shatter the absolute control I wanted to establish.
I didn’t have time to clean up a mess like that, not even once.
Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the pack of adult diapers I’d bought at the supermarket.
“Sorry, Himiko.
I don’t have any weird intentions with your body,” I muttered, sliding my hands under the skirt of her seifuku, pulling off her underwear and putting the diaper on her.
Hopefully, everything would be fine.
Next was tying her up.
Well, the tutorials online were pretty straightforward, so I didn’t struggle much with the technique.
The hard part here was my willpower.
With every knot I pulled tight, I felt my humanity chipping away a little more.
I was tying up a fifteen-year-old girl.
I was stripping away her freedom.
I was making her dependent on me like some adult movie script, all just to ensure the future of Japan would breathe a little easier.
But that didn’t make me feel much better.
Physical part done.
Now for the psychological part.
I opened the closet and pulled out the dark blue t-shirt with “Sometimes Tuesday” printed on it from the corner.
It was Saito’s shirt – the twin brother of this body, Toga Himiko’s first victim.
I took off my sweat-soaked shirt and pulled it over my head.
I can’t believe he actually left this shirt at home…
Standing in front of the cracked mirror in the bathroom, I stared at my reflection.
Black hair, brown eyes, pale skin, and this shirt.
I looked exactly like Saito.
So identical it even gave me the creeps.
What did she crave the most?
Love.
And for Toga, Love = Blood.
I took off my dirt-covered uniform and slipped the t-shirt on.
Standing before the cracked mirror in the corner of the room, I slicked back my messy black hair.
Exactly the same.
A flawless, perfect replica.
If there was anything that could deliver a devastating psychological blow to Toga’s unstable mind the second she woke up, it was seeing her “first love” materialize right in front of her eyes.
I walked back into the room, pulling the only wooden chair over to sit right in front of Toga.
On the table, I’d already prepped a small shot glass, a bottle of 96% Spirytus, a pitcher of water, and a razor-sharp paring knife.
I reached out, gently patting Toga’s cheek a few times.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty…”
Toga’s eyelashes fluttered.
Her golden eyes with narrow, cat-like pupils slowly opened.
The grogginess was still there, but the moment she realized her body couldn’t move, her killer instincts instantly flared up.
She gritted her teeth, muscles tensing as she tried to snap the ropes, but the knots immediately tightened, making her let out a soft groan of pain.
“What…
did you do to me?” Toga hissed, the fake sweet tone from earlier completely gone, replaced by a snarling madness like a cornered beast.
“Let me go!
You bastard!
I’ll slit your throat, I’ll drain your blood until you’re dried up!”
I didn’t reply.
Instead, I leaned forward, letting the sallow light from the desk lamp fully illuminate my face and the t-shirt I was wearing.
Toga’s eyes suddenly widened.
Her pupils shrank.
Her frantic rage slammed the brakes, giving way to absolute shock.
She blinked rapidly, her breathing turning erratic.
“Saito…?” she rasped, her voice trembling.
“No…
That’s impossible…
What is…
going on…”
“Let’s just say it is, little sugar cube.” I mocked, my voice dripping with venom.
“You crave my blood so much, don’t you?
But look at you…
trembling like a scared little girl.
Are you too afraid to take what you want?
Or are you just weak?”
“Shut up…!” Toga screamed, her face flushing red.
“I’m not weak!
I’ll slit your throat…
I’ll…”
Before she could finish, I decisively grabbed the knife, sliced my palm, and let the blood slowly drip straight into her mouth along with the diluted alcohol.
Her struggling faded almost instantly.
The tension in her body melted away, replaced by uneven, shaky breaths.
Her eyes widened and glazed over, sparkling with something bizarre the moment those two liquids spread across her mouth.
Was she…
enjoying this?
Probably, who the hell knows.
This was a gamble.
If her mind didn’t break right now, she’d bite through my tendons.
But then, a single tear rolled down from the corner of Toga’s eye.
She stuck out her soft tongue, carefully and shakily licking the cut on my hand.
No biting.
No tearing.
Just reverent, greedy licks, like a stray cat licking the wounds of the person who took it in.
“I know you’ve been so lonely…” I said, my tone softening, gently pulling her closer to tear down whatever walls she still had up.
“Like…
always, right?
And you’ve buried your true feelings deep down inside for years, haven’t you?”
It was toxic.
It was manipulation at its highest level.
I had turned a chemical reaction into a soulmate connection.
But looking at her agonized expression, a part of me actually wanted to comfort her.
I let her do it for a while.
Saito’s appearance, the smell of my blood, the alcohol, combined with the helplessness of physical restraint and the unconditional biological compromise—that was probably enough.
And once she was drunk, everything was truly fine.
This wasn’t a madwoman.
Right now, she actually seemed as normal as any other girl when drunk.
There was crying, rambling, and agonizing confessions about how much she loved me – in the guise of Saito – along with thoughts so sick it’d be hard for any girl to come up with them.
Typical stuff like wanting to stab me to death and wanting to become one with me at the same time.
How disgusting.
But if you overlooked all that, this drunken state was actually…
kinda cute.
That high-pitched voice babbling away, sometimes slurring because she was wasted, her face flushed red as if she were embarrassed, that bright smile and eyes full of affection…
It was…
pretty much my type, actually…
Wait, motherfucker, why am I finding her pretty???
Well, yeah she’s pretty, but it’s probably because I let her drink a bit too much of my blood, so I’m starting to feel off too.
…
The first thing I did after waking up from passing out was stumble into the bathroom, letting the hot water wash away the dirt, sweat, and the lingering traces of last night when she lunged up and gave me a clumsy but sloppy kiss.
I changed into a fresh U.A.
uniform, feeling a little better, and then shifted my attention to Toga.
She was still unconscious, still tied up, and now curled up on the floor shivering from the cold.
Carefully, I wiped her face, hands, and legs with a warm towel to clean off the dirt and dried blood on her skin.
I laid out some of my spare shirts on the table – they’d be a bit baggy on her, but they’d do – and gently moved her to the sofa before loosening the ropes.
I prepped some food in the fridge for when she woke up, left a bag of my blood nearby just in case her Quirk lost control and she needed it to keep from hurting anyone, and stuck sticky notes everywhere with instructions so things wouldn’t go off the rails.
I even set up a pager for her to contact me – untraceable, with my info and clear instructions on how to use it.
After everything was thoroughly set up, I could finally head to school.
I just hoped she wouldn’t wreck the place while I was gone, otherwise the lock would be smashed to pieces.
…
The road to U.A.
felt endlessly long today.
Normally, it only took me about 20 minutes to walk from the subway station to the school gate.
But today, my legs felt like they were made of lead.
The morning sun should have been revitalizing, but right now it felt like it was scorching my pale skin.
Cold sweat ran down my spine.
Blurry black spots started creeping into my vision.
The pain from my slashed hand throbbed in rhythm with my heartbeat.
“Damn it…” I muttered, trying to force my Quirk to activate, trying to alter my leg bones into light metal to make walking easier, but my brain instantly revolted.
Overload.
Using a Quirk requires focus and physical energy.
I had neither right now.
Weeks of sleeping only 1-2 hours a night hunting Toga, the pressure from the U.A.
entrance exam, the psychological toll of pulling off a mind-manipulating kidnapping, and finally, slicing my own hand to let her drink my blood.
This human body, despite being frantically trained for the past 10 months, was ultimately still just a 15-year-old kid made of flesh and blood.
The giant H-shaped U.A.
building loomed faintly ahead.
The main gate was bustling with students going in and out.
I could hear their laughter, their hurried footsteps.
Only about ten meters away from the gate.
“Onodera-san!”
A familiar voice called out.
It was Midoriya Izuku.
He was waving from afar, walking alongside Uraraka Ochako.
I meant to smirk back, meant to wave my hand like usual.
But the exact moment I opened my mouth to speak, an icy chill shot up from my heels to the top of my head.
The ground beneath my feet seemed to suddenly vanish.
The bright blue sky started spinning wildly.
I couldn’t feel my feet touching the ground anymore.
All the surrounding sounds, students calling out, traffic, footsteps, abruptly died out, fading into a void of nothingness.