𝔸 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕍.𝟚 💥𝔹𝕜𝔻𝕜💥

Chapter 61

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A Shadow of Swirls and Whirls 

The fallout from that meeting was nuclear.

Katsuki's exit had ripped through the Hero's Association like a detonation, sending shockwaves across the country, carving deep fractures into the already crumbling foundation of public trust. The controversy surrounding Izuku exploded overnight, fueling relentless debates that spilled onto every news station, every social media feed, every goddamn street corner.

Some saw what Katsuki saw—a hero betrayed, wronged, cast aside by the very world he swore to protect. They listened to his defense, heard the fury in his voice, and believed.

But others?

Others swallowed the government's bullshit narrative whole. Lapped up the carefully curated lies, the carefully placed headlines, the carefully fucking orchestrated assassination of Izuku Midoriya's name, branding him as a fugitive, a traitor, a murderer.

And Katsuki? He was done talking.

If the public couldn't trust the word of their Number One Hero, then who the hell could they trust?

For three sleepless days, he had chased ghosts.

With the bombings crippling communication networks across Japan, the entire country was flying blind. The Internet was down in places. Phone lines overloaded. Heroes were scrambling through the dark, operating on nothing but secondhand reports and desperate guesses.

So, Katsuki had done it the old-fashioned way. Boots to the ground.

Every whisper, every half-baked rumor, every lead ran cold before he could even sink his teeth into it. But in the end, there was nothing but silence.

No new sightings. No confirmed reports. No digital trails to follow.

The city had become a goddamn graveyard.

Whole blocks lay flattened, streets cracked open like old scars. The skyline—jagged, broken—bared its teeth in a permanent snarl. Buildings gutted, their steel skeletons left to rot in the open air. Firefighters still battled smoldering wreckage, emergency sirens wailing like the ghosts of the dead. Musutafu wasn't just wounded. It was bleeding out.

The nerd had vanished into the wreckage, slipping through the cracks like smoke, leaving only silence in his wake.

So now he was here.

Standing outside Shoto's apartment, staring at the door like it might have the answers he needed. He'd never set foot in this place before, never needed to. But with nothing left but dead ends and a growing pit in his gut, he figured fuck it—if anyone had a shot at knowing where Izuku was, it was Shoto.

The soft click of the lock broke through Katsuki's thoughts, and the door creaked open.

Shoto's gaze flicked over him—sharp, assessing. He took in every bruise, every burnt edge, every sign of the last few days grinding Katsuki into the goddamn dirt. He hadn't expected to find Katsuki standing outside his door.

Katsuki probably looked like absolute shit, he sure as hell felt like it, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Shoto didn't comment, didn't ask questions, and didn't do that infuriating thing where people tried to dance around the fact that he was barely holding himself together. He just stepped aside, wordlessly inviting Katsuki in.

Grateful that Shoto had never been one for small talk, Katsuki crossed the threshold without a word, exhaling sharply as the door clicked shut behind him. The moment he stepped inside, muscle memory kicked in. Without thinking, he toed off his boots, setting them neatly by the door.