Quirkless Mastermind

𝗖𝟯𝟯:𝗦𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲

Blood, fear, and death. All three invoked a sense of dread, a feeling that had become all too familiar. And now, Manual, the 18th murder and the 25th victim.

His body lay there, strewn in blood, a brutal reminder that this world was steeped in filth, hollow and unrelenting. The stench of iron mixed with decay clung to the air, as if the darkness had woven itself into every corner of the room. It was a visceral scene, one that scraped at the edges of the soul and forced a chilling truth to the surface: nothing in this world would spare anyone, no matter how noble.

In that moment, Manual's death wasn't just the loss of a hero, it was proof, that this world of ours was a hellscape of quirks...

Everything was silent as my mind traced back. How did we reach here? I could feel the memories uncoiling, pulling me backward, unravelling the twisted path that had led to this moment.

It all started with a discharge letter, crisp and final, placed in my hands after Recovery Girl patched me up with a terse scolding. As I stirred back to consciousness, she was there, watching me with a gaze that carried both warning and concern.

"Don't take our care for you lightly," she said, her voice sharp yet somehow warm. "You're a very strategic person, aren't you? Then keep this in mind, dearie: never underestimate my care, or your classmates' care for you."

The words echoed in the room, but to me, they were empty. I knew too well the truth hidden beneath illusions of camaraderie. Death is a solitary affair. When the time comes, everyone is alone. The White Room had seared that lesson into me, etched it into my bones. No one would bat an eye if I fell; the world would keep turning, indifferent and relentless.

"Yes, I apologize, Recovery Girl," I replied, not bothering to mask the detached tone in my voice.

She studied me for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "Don't apologize," she said, softer now, almost like she understood something I didn't. "Just... be careful."

Her words lingered, carrying a strange weight that I couldn't quite place.

To break the silence, I asked, "Where are the rest?"

"Ah, dearie, they're all gathered in the waiting room for your discharge. Come on now, get up." She tapped her staff against my ribs, a gentle but firm nudge back to reality.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the floor cold beneath my feet, and made my way to the door. Outside, the scene caught me off guard—Sir Nighteye and Principal Nezu were seated together, engaged in a quiet but intense discussion.

"Yes, I understand—"

"Oh, no, you don't," Nedzu interrupted with a knowing smile, as sharp as it was unyielding. "It's not that I don't trust you, Nighteye-san, but my students mustn't get hurt under your watch. That was my only condition. It's why I didn't interfere when you requested Ayanokouji for your expedition."

Nighteye paused, his expression unreadable. "I see... so you kept watch."

"Of course I did! I watched every single student's live feed—I have surveillance all over Japan!" Nedzu's tone was light, almost playful, but his eyes held a glint that was anything but. The smile on his face felt predatory, a reminder of the power he wielded without needing to flaunt it.

"So, what now?" Nighteye asked, his gaze steady.

"Simple!" Nedzu clapped his hands together, his tone bright but his intention clear as a shot. "I'm transferring his work-study placement to me for the remaining three days!"

The words landed like a bombshell, reverberating in the sterile hallway. This was something even I hadn't foreseen. A principal taking a student directly under his supervision? It was a decision that would raise eyebrows, maybe even spark outrage.