╰┈➤ 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ━━ ❝All these worries about villains and heroes... about quirks and the quirkless... when they should be worried about something far worse... me.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you, the once powerful and feared Control Devil, find your...
⌜❝Unleash war... Your hate will always be my guide.❞
— WAR, Brutus⌟
━ ⭑─⭒━
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━ ⭒─⭑━
The forest stretched endlessly around you, the morning air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows over the uneven dirt path beneath your boots. Distant voices and rustling leaves drifted through the trees, but you barely paid them any mind.
Your arms ached slightly from the weight of the stack of manila folders digging into your forearm as you adjusted your grip. It wasn't a strenuous task, but after morning training with Ragdoll, the added burden was unwelcome. You had barely caught your breath when Kan had approached, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Akuma, take these to Aizawa."
There was no room for negotiation—not that you had planned to argue. The folders contained performance reports, notes, and progress sheets. Mundane, administrative work. Not worth his time. So now, it was your job.
You exhaled through your nose, keeping your pace steady but unhurried. The well-trodden dirt path crunched lightly beneath your boots, twigs snapping in the underbrush as small creatures darted away. Sweat lingered on your brow from training, but the cool shade of the trees offered some relief.
Then—
"Ashido! Lower your stance, shift your weight forward!"
A voice rang out ahead, sharp and commanding.
"Kaminari! Focus—don't just throw your quirk around!"
Before you could process the voices, the dense treeline gave way to a massive clearing.
The sight before you was nearly identical to what Class 1-B had been doing all morning.
The spacious training ground stretched wide, its perimeter framed by towering trees. Sunlight poured down unhindered, illuminating Class 1-A's scattered figures, each locked in their own training.
Across the field, Mandalay and Pixie-Bob stood alongside Aizawa, their gazes sharp as they observed the session.
Your eyes flickered over the students, taking in the controlled chaos. Some were locked in sparring matches, others honing their quirks, sweat dripping as they pushed themselves under the relentless morning sun.
It was structured—but barely. A barely contained mess of power and motion, training regimens colliding as students threw themselves into their exercises with varying degrees of success.
