It has only been a while, but Aizawa feels weird, coming home to an empty apartment. Arata left on a red-eye flight for I-Island with Todoroki yesterday, and since then, the living room feels a bit emptier. There isn't her soft hum to fill the silence. There isn't a clean detergent scent wafting in the air. There isn't a warm, home-cooked meal waiting to be eaten on the table.
And speaking of eating, once again, he forgets to get a take-out. Oh, darn it, he kicks his shoes off with his feet on the dark entryway, stomach rumbling in protest. Maybe he should have joined U.A. faculty's dinner outing—Principal Nezu's treat for their hard work to prepare the upcoming training camp.
However, a conversation he had with Recovery Girl that evening has prodded his curiosity, so Aizawa decided to go straight home to look into the matters himself. The phone on his hand is still ringing dial tones as he strides into the bedroom. He quickly scours every stack of papers on his desk.
After half a minute, the dial tone dies out. His screen returns to show his messages with Todoroki a couple of hours ago.
Is he still attending that reception party? This late? Aizawa grumbles as he fishes out a certain document. I thought he's the type to leave parties early.
Oh well, I hope they're having fun. I'll just wait until he replies back. Let's check Arata's case file first.
Quickly skimming the first few pages, he finally stops when he comes across the section he has been searching for. It contains the information on Arata's past with the Shirayuki, the one she confessed to Todoroki in the hospital, entirely transcribed in print.
And there it is, the part that Recovery Girl mentioned to him, right in the middle.
"The beatings didn't last long. After a year, they went back to ignoring me."
Aizawa sinks to his chair and takes a deep breath, thinking back to what Recovery Girl said.
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Recovery Girl sipped her tea and raised her eyebrows at him. "Has it crossed your mind that perhaps, Arata-chan wasn't being totally honest with you? With Todoroki as well."
"What are you talking about?" Aizawa frowned. "Is this about her past? If you thought she lied about it, why hadn't you said anything before we accepted her into U.A.?"
"No, not that kind of lying. More like, omitting a few truths from her confession. When I was recapping the result of her first Good Will examination, some things piqued my interest."
"Well, mind sharing them with me?"
"I'll start from the most glaring one first. I remember reading that she started receiving physical abuse right after her mother… Uh..."
"Massacred half the clan and abandoned Arata," Aizawa gruffly resumed her words, a bit impatient to get to the point.
"Gee, it won't kill you to tone down that apathetic choice of words once in a while, Eraser Head." Shaking her head, Recovery Girl continued. "Arata-chan admitted that the physical abuse only lasted for a year, then afterwards, the Shirayuki got less violent. You see, this is very strange, because in general, physical abuse escalates over time, not decreases.
"It often begins gradually. First, it could be a threat. A shove. Then, a slap. Next, a choke. In extreme situations where nobody interferes, it can grow into a literal torture. Possibly resulting in death."
What a meticulous observation... I could never... Aizawa rubbed the bridge of his nose, signaling her to continue with a nod of his head. Recovery Girl really has an eye for detail. Especially when it involves health and well-being.
"It doesn't make sense for the Shirayuki to have stopped, above all when they didn't have a change of heart." the nurse tapped her large syringe on the infirmary floor. "In fact, if they really hated Arata-chan that much, why didn't they… starve her to death? I don't want to sound cruel, but the easiest way to remove a threat, is to crush it from the very start."
Recalling Arata's strange views on food, Aizawa remarked, "Instead of starving Arata, it seems they had her fed. Not a lot, but enough for her to survive. And it seems like she mostly ate meat during captivity. She was particularly happy she could taste vegetables more often."
"Yeah, I also reached the same conclusion about her diet." Recovery Girl shrugged and pointed to her computer screen. "Look, I've seen Arata-chan speak and act during the Good Will examination. I think all that confession about her past— it's all genuine and true. But...
"Why did the Shirayuki stop abusing her? What happened?"
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Dark. Cold. Alone.
Sitting on the hard floor. Back slumped to a cupboard. Splitting ache tearing her brain apart. Throbbing sensation in both her arms—the right one as lifeless as a rock. Black spots in her sight that blend with the darkness surrounding her. Pain all over her body.
When did Arata last experience them all at once? A few years ago? Or was it a few months ago? Her time with the Shirayuki feels so far away despite it being only a few weeks ago.
Ever since she met Shoto and Aizawa, every day has passed with a little warmth, a little light, and a little company. Some days, it was even more. A lot more than she could have ever imagined.
It makes her return to this familiar darkness, coldness, and loneliness more difficult. Much, much more difficult. It is like she had tasted heaven, then suddenly exiled to hell again. This hell right here, with an incubus as her executioner.
"How many more times can you take this, Little Red Riding Hood? We've done this for quite a while now."
"..."
A large, chilly hand locks Arata's left elbow, pinning it to the metal rack behind her. More metallic tang sprouts in her mouth as another hand smacks into her right cheek. A searing pain comes alive on her skin, doused by silent tears.
A sob almost jumps out from her throat, but Arata bites her lips and swallows it back. No, not that pathetic sound. Don't give him the satisfaction, Arata.
You have to be strong. You have to survive. In this place, you have no one but yourself. Nobody can save you anymore.
"Come on, just faint already." Ephialtes's long, cold fingers tilt her chin, his yellow eyes looking right into her stern green ones. "Geez, this is why I prefer using a sleeping drug. Getting physical only adds to the ache for you. The more hurt you are, the more difficult it is for you to collapse. The pain disrupts your body's relaxing state. See? Now you can even see my eyes without getting seduced."
"W— Why..." she croaks out, voice shaking. "Why are you... doing this?"
"It's just how I was born. My quirk burns through my dormant potential thrice as fast a normal human does. That means, I had the body of 45 years old when I was your age. Can you imagine that abomination? Between myself and others, of course I choose to prioritize myself."
"Even by... violating the girls?"
"It's not a violation. It's not even illegal." Ephialtes laughs darkly. "Do you know the best thing about my quirk? It all happens in a dream. All that pleasure, pain, experience— it is all a dream. You can't report it, because the act itself never took place in reality. It's not real."
"Dream or not, you have ruined their lives..." Arata whispers weakly, trying to stay awake albeit the heaviness weighing her mind. "They have... to spend their whole lives with that nightmare. With that memory... You can't— You can't erase that fact."
"I agree with you. Humans are memories embodied as flesh. But, you know the funniest part? We make multiple, layered laws for offense performed on the flesh. Yet, we don't regard the ones that affect the memories. It's not my fault that there's no law to cover it."
Not his fault. Not his fault, he said? It's not other people's fault either he grew old so fast.
"Heh..." she scoffs, letting out a soft snicker, as she references his own words back to him. "There's no law to cover your wrinkled face too."
Arata winces as the grip on her arm clenches harder. A powerful slap strikes her cheek, flooding her eardrums with a loud buzzing sound. For a moment, she almost thinks she will turn deaf, but fortunately the sound starts to lessen bit by bit.
"Maybe I've been too nice on you." A dark undertone lurks in Ephialtes's voice as he clasps her right shoulder with one hand. "Say it again. If you dare."
His nails are digging into her flesh, clamped around her upper right arm. The bruises are writhing horribly, screaming in white-hot pain. Even so, Arata forces herself to smirk and retort back, "You've got a nice pair right there... smooth brain and wrinkled face."
"Shut up, you bitch!" Roaring in anger, Ephialtes lifts Arata by her arm and hurls her with all his power. A loud crack echoes in the room as her back smacks into the wall a few meters next to him.
Under the veil of darkness, he sees that she tries to get up for a moment, but ultimately her head slumps to the floor. A thick liquid oozes from her right shoulder, trickling down her right arm, seeping into the fabric of her dress like roses.
"Finally. At last, she's knocked out," Ephialtes sighs, quivering in excitement as he walks up to her limp body. "Let's fix your position first before we dream, shall we?"
Crouching, he is about to reach for her when her eyelids fly open all of a sudden. Arata launches herself on him, sending both of them rolling on the floor. Silver glint gleams from the syringe in her left hand as she aims at his shoulder.
This girl— She faked fainting! Did she throw those insults to get this chance?
"Ugh!" Ephialtes swiftly snatches her wrist, just an inch shy from pricking his shirt.
"Please! Come on!"
Arata growls in something akin to agony and presses deeper, trying her best to use her weight to drive the needle to his skin. Her wrist is trembling in his grasp and he clenches tighter, eliciting a cry of pain from her as the syringe tumbles to the floor.
In one move, Ephialtes wrenches her under him. He chuckles amusedly at the wilting hope in her gaze. "Nice try, Little Red Riding Hood. You never disappoint. That ploy might have actually worked if you could use your right arm."
"No, no, no..." Arata thrashes right and left, struggling to get him off her, but he doesn't budge.
Why? Why is he not moving? I've given my all here, but he isn't budging!
The demon merely cackles, having no problem to hold her down with one hand. "Oh, don't cry. That was truly your last trick, wasn't it? If not, you wouldn't be this devastated. Now tell me, how did you sneak the syringe here? I saw you stomped on it back then."
"..."
"No answer? You give me no choice then."
Arata blanches when his other hand begins to slither on her dress. It sends a jolt of desperation up her spine, drenching her being in indescribable fear. Even the slightest touch makes her reel. The moment it creeps to her chest, she yields.
"S— Stop! I'll explain!" she whimpers, plea saturating her timbre. Ephialtes pauses his activity, then raises his eyebrows in question. "It was only ice! I stomped on ice shards, okay? I— I had been keeping the syringe... in this dress' hidden pocket the whole time..."
"I see." Ephialtes whistles, spinning the syringe on his hand. "Sadly, by doing that, you're returning the syringe back to my hand. Let's not waste more time. I'm sure the anticipation is killing you as well."
"Please— Please let me go—"
"Little Red Riding Hood, you know I can't do that."
Arata lets out a pained shriek as the needle penetrates the back of her thigh. It makes way for the thick, purple sedative liquid to enter her system. Each second is agonizing, and she sniffles as she senses the growing presence of the sleeping drug in her body.
It's all over. I don't have any trick up my sleeve anymore. I have nothing. I have nothing to fight back with.
"This way, you won't wake up until morning." Ephialtes pulls out the syringe roughly, tosses it over his shoulder, then casts an eerie smile at her. "That is, if you wake up... All the more reason to enjoy this whole night with me, right?"