Downfall Of The Stars

Indroduction of the Key Component

I know I have so many other stories going that I should work on, but this idea hasn't let me sleep for months now and has made all my other writings seem infinitely dull, so here, this is something new, something dark, to fill my silence.

This first chapter is quite soft, but be prepared for this to get terribly dark, gruesome and violent in the near future.
~

"Mon ami?!"

Half of 1A startles, all turning to the owner of the shout. Though not a word is spoken, they sit with wide-eyed surprise as the elegant and sophisticated Aoyama Yūga lurches half out of his seat, shock set into his features. 

Aoyama's expression is briefly returned with a look of concern from the teen who walked in behind their teacher, a wan smile quickly taking over the features of the boy standing before 1A. The stranger is almost the same height as their teacher, with dark and curly shoulder-length hair that is streaked with small patches of white and pale green, shining like an emerald galaxy when he walks under the fluorescent lights. He wears a UA uniform, and tied around his neck is a scruffy grey scarf that has obviously seen better days, frayed and torn.

Though they aren't easy to see, the front row picks up on the pale scars lining freckled cheeks and marring twitching fingers. How there seems to be a dark red, almost fresh , starburst scar on the lower right cheek and a paler pink one cutting almost vertically over his nose and up between his eyes, eyes that are shadowed and heavy with bruises, and with the averted eye contact, look like tinted obsidian.

He's an odd lookalike and difference to their teacher, despite how similar their outward appearances are, their mannerisms are the opposite. Aizawa slouches, but radiates control and keeps a powerful, almost challenging glare on his face. Whereas the boy is respectfully quiet, but appears anxious and closed off.

Aizawa stands shoulder to shoulder with the teen, almost close enough to touch, and he glances at Aoyama, who is back in his seat, "it seems you're not as unknown as I thought you were, kid." And the man states it emotionlessly, casting an almost-glare at the teen. 

The boy shuffles on the spot, as if the attention makes him skittish, his fingers flexing and thumbing over the hems of his sleeves in a more desperate way than before. Aizawa glances away. "Huh, um. Yūga-kun and I go back many years, Aizawa-sensei. I- I helped design his new belt to withstand longer quirk usage." He didn't twitch any less, but he met the class' stares for a moment, revealing bright, viridian green eyes, though they are quickly hidden behind a shallow bow. "Bonjour, Yūga-kun. Good morning, class 1A." The smile the blonde receives is sweet and caring, and Ashido and Ururaka coo at Aoyama's gentle blush of embarrassment.

Aoyama had long since removed any discomfort from his face, offering a flamboyant wave and wink, "bonjour, mon ami! You have not yet fixed your hair, weren't you meant to be taking care of those beautiful locks?" All of a sudden, there are hair supplies across the table, as if Aoyama had them stored beneath his desk, and as he opens his mouth to speak again, he's cut off by a tired drawl.

"I will interrupt now before you derail the point of your peer's presence," and with that, the hair supplies disappear as fast as they appeared, "this is Midoriya, he's a third-year Support Course student and has been brought here to provide details for the changes some of you have to make to your suits." The hero sighed, briefly moving away from Midoriya (who swayed as if to follow, that is before rooting himself back in place) to pull his yellow sleeping bag from behind the podium and set it up next to the older student. "Got this kid?" Aizawa proceeded to ask while zipping himself into the bag.

Midoriya gave him a resolute nod, before taking a deep breath, and the class wondered if he was just anxious, or if it's a big speech he's preparing for. But with that breath, eyes of fiery passion meet theirs, and it's like there's another hero in the room. His presence is stronger, and no one misses it when his shyness seems to melt away. 

"Good morning, first years, as you now know, I am Midoriya Mikurei." Mina waves enthusiastically and shouts her name, Midoriya laughs a little and compliments her appearance, which she squeals about for longer than truly necessary. At least she doesn't see the envious glare Aoyama points at her. 

The giggles are cut off when Aizawa raises his voice, despite his guise of sleeping, "to make this easier on Midoriya, state your names and then your Quirks, and it's probably best if you get through this quickly, i'm only giving you eighteen minutes, which will run into Japanese by five minutes."

"You just took up a minute of my talk time, Aizawa-sensei."

The snark catches them off guard, and there's a quiet gasp and loud snort from the opposite sides of the classroom. The snotty, "get on with it Problem Child," though grouchy, is laced with quiet fondness, something that stuns the class back into quiet, yet, when prompted, they get on with their introductions. 

(That doesn't mean the class won't go to their group chat later in the day to discuss theories, and from one person, the chances of Aizawa being a parent.)

Through their varying degrees of enthusiasm, Midoriya listens with one ear, splitting his attention between the speaker and making notes in a notebook that appeared out of nowhere. It seems he and Aoyama had a mutual similarity in that regard. 

Soon, they are all acquainted and he hums, pulling his lower lip as he quietly writes in the notebook. He only speaks when he starts flipping through more pages, "I have been analyzing and designing support gear since before even joining UA, and all of you must know your quirks are as adaptable as the things around you. You will be heroes within a few years, but it's going to be tough. Preparing now, whilst you're learning, is the best approach to take for this, and as such, I'm here to introduce you to specialized support gear." 

As if to demonstrate something, he pulled up the sleeve on one arm. This time, everyone in the room can see the thick bands of scarring, some not quite hiding their shock, but all staying quiet. They have classmates with scars, and they understand it's probably best not to acknowledge or ask about them, scars typically come from bad situations, and to have so many at such a young age does worry some of them. However, their attention is quickly pulled to a band that fits snug at his wrist, it's discreet, and appears harmless as the boy removes it with a click.

He holds it in his other hand, and runs it over a single bandage wrapped around the tip of his thumb. "This is an example of my work." He plops the item onto the podium with a dull thunk, and picks up a stray piece of paper that doesn't seem to have any purpose on their teacher's desk. "In simple words, it cancels quirks. Eliminating the effects of the quirk factor while in contact with a person." 

There are gasps then, alongside some disbelieving exclamations and what was likely the start of some accusations. He cuts off the clamor with a single hand, and they listen. 

"Most of you will think I'm insane to take away someone's power, their tools, their very being, but I don't need your approval. Nor your opinions." At the dumbfounded silence, he leans on the podium, not a single look towards the heroics teacher who's listening. 

"All I need to know is that people have dangerous abilities, and these powers in the hands of children have caused death many times before. Your quirks can kill." He lets the words hang in the air for too few seconds, quickling transferring the piece of paper to his other hand, and they watch, stupefied, as it turns grey at the points of contact, then black-brown, which continues to flake apart in morbidly slow decay. The particles seem to disappear into nothingness, not even ash left behind. His fingers hang loosely when the last of the paper disappears, but his dark eyes are taking in their reactions.

"My quirk is decay. It can easily be used to kill."