𝔹ℕℍ𝔸 𝕆ℂ 𝕊𝕋𝕆ℝ𝕐
In the shadows of tragedy, Mahou Murasaki's life takes a dangerous turn. Betrayed and kidnapped, she escapes only to be thrown into a world of heroes and villains. By now, anyone would have accepted that their fate was to be alo...
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The sound of her alarm buzzed through the sterile silence of the apartment.
Murasaki opened her eyes slowly, lids heavy with a mix of exhaustion and dread. The dim light filtering through the blinds painted pale stripes across the unfamiliar ceiling. Even after a month, this place still didn't feel like anything close to "home."
She didn't move right away.
The silence in the apartment felt heavier today. Her first day at U.A. was here. Not that she'd asked for it. Not that she had a choice.
She finally sat up, her limbs stiff, the thin blanket slipping off her shoulders. Her uniform — neatly folded and creased — sat on the small table near the window. Delivered just last night. White shirt, grey skirt, green trim. Standard. Lifeless.
She stared at it for a moment.
Another uniform. Another role to play.
Murasaki stood slowly, mechanically brushing her fingers through her messy hair and padding to the bathroom to wash her face. Cold water bit against her skin, jolting her into full awareness. She didn't bother with eyeliner or gloss. What was the point?
When she stepped back out, she found her bag already waiting by the door, packed the night before out of habit, not enthusiasm. The HPSC left nothing to chance.
There was a knock. She tensed instinctively, before a familiar monotone voice called through the door.
"It's Aizawa. Let's go."
Her eyes narrowed. Right. The Erasure Hero. One of the only people she'd spoken to during the transition. She didn't trust him, but at least he wasn't like the Commission agents. He didn't smile when he asked questions. She opened the door without a word. He stood there in full gear, holding a simple folder under his arm.
"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Your schedule and ID card."
She took it wordlessly, slipping it into her bag.
"You ready?" he asked.
"No," she replied flatly, locking the door behind her.
He didn't respond. Just turned and started walking.
Murasaki followed, not because she wanted to, but because there was nowhere else left to go.
The car ride was quiet for the most part.
Murasaki sat with her eyes fixed on the passing scenery, but her mind wasn't really seeing any of it. Her fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the folder Aizawa had handed her — her schedule, her ID, and the rules she'd already skimmed a dozen times. Everything felt clinical. Organized. Controlled.
