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"Oh, we're seeing a flashback," Present Mic remarked, leaning forward.
"This time we must be seeing the second team getting recruited and deployed, just like Team One," Aizawa said. His colleagues nodded in agreement.
The music shifted, and someone wiped away the foam on the silver toilet. A black man appeared on screen—black hair streaked with white—moving methodically through the prison, cleaning different areas. Then, from the bathroom, Blackguard emerged. With his usual smug arrogance, he flicked a wad of toilet paper stuck to his shoe onto the floor, right in the man's path.
"It's Blackguard," someone muttered, and the reaction was instant. No one in the room—hero or villain—liked a traitor. The glare they gave him was unanimous.
The camera followed Blackguard as he walked off, only to spot Waller and the same pair of agents they'd seen in the monitoring room earlier. His head lowered, his pace shifted, and he tried to slip past with a muttered, "Excuse me."
Mina leaned forward. "It's her. Mr. Aizawa was right—she's recruiting Team Two. And… is he actually scared of her?"
Before anyone could answer, the bearded agent beside Waller broke the moment.
"Who the fuck is Bloodsport?"
"Robert Dubois," Waller said.
"That guy with the black-and-gold armor we saw earlier," Real Steel confirmed.
"Yeah, the one with the badass name," Kaminari added.
The footage rolled on, and Waller's voice narrated:
"A world-class marksman. In his hands, anything is a deadly weapon. His father was a mercenary who trained his son to kill from the moment he could hold a gun."
The weight of her words silenced several people. The thought of a father molding his child into a killer from birth made some shift uncomfortably.
"What kind of father does that?" All Might asked, his voice low but sharp.
That single question made Endeavor's stomach turn. Regret had been creeping in over his own past for months now, but hearing it put like that… His two sons exchanged a glance. They both thought the same thing—at least their father had never raised them to kill.
On screen, Waller continued,
"He's in prison for putting Superman in the ICU… with a kryptonite bullet."
The room changed in an instant. A crushing, predatory presence filled the air. Heads turned toward the source—Stain. He'd been silent for most of the viewing, unimpressed by anything he'd seen so far. The Suicide Squad meant nothing to him; they were just killers for hire. But this… this was different.
The name "Superman" and the fact that this so-called villain had hospitalized him—one of the true heroes of this world—ignited something primal in him. His glare locked on Bloodsport's image, the killing intent pouring off him like a blade's edge.
Until now, the only thing that had kept his attention was Seven's earlier explanation that heroes in this world acted out of a sense of right—not because the government paid them. That idea had pleased him enough to watch quietly, waiting for the moment he would see one of these "true heroes" in action. But the knowledge that such a hero had been struck down so brutally made his blood boil.
"Calm down, Stain. Superman's fine," Seven said evenly.
The tension in Stain's posture eased slightly. Knowing the hero had survived lessened the urge to move right then and there—but the image of Dubois lingered in his mind, burned in place. And yet… the name "Superman" gnawed at him. Something about it felt different, heavier than the title of "hero" usually did. He didn't know why, but he filed it away in the back of his mind, a truth to be uncovered later.
The only person unaffected by Stain's oppressive aura was All For One. While the others were unsettled, he alone was studying the line Waller had spoken—"kryptonite bullet." The term was unfamiliar to him, but it was intriguing. Without looking up, he made a note in the small, worn notebook tucked in the pocket of his chair—the same place he stored every fragment of information that might one day be useful.
Back on screen, Waller stood in front of Dubois.
"Dubois."
"Same answer as last time," he growled. "Piss off. I'm not joining your goddamn Suicide Squad."
"We'll see. You have a visitor," she replied.
That last line drew a flicker of surprise from the audience. Until now, they had assumed these villains were forced onto the team without any choice. The idea that someone could refuse—at least at the start—was a shock.
Hawks, however, frowned faintly. Something in Waller's tone felt too familiar. She reminded him of his own bosses—people who smiled while tightening the leash around your neck. Only difference was, in Hawks' mind, Amanda Waller could make the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission look like a child.
The scene cut again. This time, the camera revealed Bloodsport sitting in a metal chair, separated from a young girl by a thick pane of prison glass. Both of them held up the corded phones on their sides of the glass to speak.
The cast instantly assumed who she was.
That's his daughter, someone whispered.
"They told me you got into trouble," Bloodsport began flatly.
"I stole a style watch," she replied without hesitation.
"You stole what?" His brow furrowed.
"A style watch. You can watch TV on it," she repeated.
He didn't scold her—he leaned back and offered the kind of "lesson" that made the heroes grit their teeth. "Next time you want to nick something, you take a partner. They can be your lookout."
"That's your advice?" she shot back, half in disbelief, half in annoyance.
"Mr. Dubois, you can't give your daughter advice like that,"Ida said sharply from the viewing seats. "You should be telling her to stop committing crimes entirely."
His two friends nodded in agreement.
"What's the point?" Bakugo cut in with a scoff. "She's the daughter of a villain. What did you expect her to get from home—moral lessons?"
The blunt remark shut Ida up mid-sentence, though his frown deepened.
Before anyone could respond, Seven lifted a hand. "Quick note before we go further—keep in mind, in America they usually prefer to be called by their first names. Very few stick to last names. Just so you don't get confused later."
The movie rolled on.
"You're a terrible father," the girl said bluntly into the receiver.
Bloodsport didn't flinch. "Hey, I didn't ask to be a father."
"You made that perfectly clear," she snapped. "Your mother sprung that one on me."
"Well, she isn't around anymore," Tyla retorted, her voice shaking with anger, "so you can lay off her now."
"I tried to lay off her," he said, leaning forward slightly, "but she dragged out the paternity test—"
"FUCK YOU!"
"NO, FUCK YOU!"
The sudden escalation made almost everyone in the viewing room freeze. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife, and no one—not even the villains—had a snarky comment ready. They were just… watching.
"Fuck you," she hissed again, giving the glass a glare sharp enough to pierce steel.
"I can't believe you don't care that I told," she went on, "but only that I got caught."
"I don't care that you got caught," he shot back, his voice low but heated. "I care that you got caught stealing something as stupid as a fucking TV watch."
"It does other things!" she screamed into the phone.
"It's stupid," he said coldly. "It's embarrassing."
"No—what's fucking embarrassing is having you as my father," she said, each word like a blade.
The line hung in the air like a thunderclap. Even the audience watching in the room shifted uncomfortably. A couple of students exchanged glances, but nobody dared say anything. This was the kind of wound you didn't poke.
Bloodsport didn't blink. "Yeah, well… I told you, Tyla. When I came here, any goodness I ever had in me was wrung out bare by my old man. And I also told you to go out there, do your own thing, and stay away from me—or anyone like me. Didn't I?"
"Then why am I here?" she challenged.
"I was hoping you'd answer that for me."
"Because my court date is coming up," she finally said. "And Miss Waller said maybe you could help me out."
That name made the viewers perk up.
"Miss Waller?" Midnight echoed.
Some of them were sure they'd heard it before, but the chaos of the beach battle had buried the memory. Now, though, there was no mistaking it—they'd be hearing more about this woman soon.
"To get me to lead your shite fucking mission, you're gonna send my fourteen-year-old daughter to prison?"
The blunt statement hit everyone in the theater like a slap. Several students' eyes widened, the casual noise of popcorn munching dying down. No one had expected the heavy implication behind the girl's earlier mention of trouble—most had brushed it off as a mild offense or a misunderstanding. Even the pro-heroes in the room had still clung to the idea that this world's government, for all its flaws, wouldn't go that far.
"No, your daughter is sixteen, Dubois," Waller corrected sharply.
"Wow… really the father of the year," Snipe muttered dryly.
"He doesn't even know his daughter's age?" Sue scoffed, shaking her head.
"She must be really lonely," Momo said quietly, her brow furrowing. She thought about how different her own relationship with her parents was.
On the screen, Bloodsport's face twisted into something between frustration and bitterness. "Fine, you know what? Tyla needs to grow up anyway—'cause she's a little ditzy, like her fucking mother. So, a year in juvie? No fucking problem."
Shoto's jaw tightened. He had been slowly learning to forgive his own father after years of resentment, but seeing a parent speak about their child like that—with such cold detachment—reignited something in him. Even if it was obvious Bloodsport was lashing out in anger, it still made his stomach churn.
Back on the screen, Waller's tone was calm and surgical. "Not juvie," she said. "Being sixteen in the state of Louisiana means that, under the right circumstances, she could be tried as an adult. And if convicted, she could be sent all the way here… to old Belle Reve. And in here… "Well, you don't know what might happen to a real young thing like that. Shame to say, we have the highest mortality rate in the entire U.S. prison system."
Bloodsport fell silent, his expression tightening.
The theater went quiet. Heroes and students alike stared at the screen in shock—not just at Waller's words, but at the casual way she'd said them.
"Why would they threaten the death of a sixteen-year-old girl?!" Beast demanded, looking toward his homeroom teacher for an answer.
Vlad King shifted uncomfortably. He glanced at Aizawa, at Midnight, at the other staff members—none of them spoke. The unspoken truth was that they had no answer. In their world, they had grown up with an ingrained trust in the system, with faith that the government and heroes acted in the people's best interest. Seeing this side of another world's leadership made them uneasy… and made them wonder if similar rot existed back home.
One person didn't have to wonder. Hawks leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing. He knew this game all too well—the manipulation, the leverage, the careful use of family as a weapon to force compliance. He had worked under Japan's own shadowy government wing, and while they were ruthless, he could already tell that Amanda Waller was a predator of an entirely higher tier.
On the villain side, the reactions were darker. They didn't need convincing about the corruption of governments—they had seen it firsthand in their own world. Seeing a system take advantage of someone by slapping the label "villain" on them, then using that as free license to manipulate and control, only fueled their anger.
Stain's eyes narrowed, his voice low but cutting. "This is one of the reasons I despise 'heroes' who serve the state. If the government decides this is acceptable, then the so-called heroes will let it happen. They won't interfere."
On the screen, Bloodsport suddenly moved. In a blur, he grabbed a pen and pressed it against Waller's neck.
Several gasps echoed through the theater.
"Whoa—" Kaminari's eyes went wide. "That escalated fast!"
All around Bloodsport, agents drew their guns, leveling them at him. None of them had expected him to make such a reckless move.
Then, without warning, the screen froze. Waller's image remained still, the pen at her throat. Her name appeared beside her in bold letters, and the colors on the screen Brighton slightly.
"Uh… what just happened?" Kirishima asked.
Present Mic grinned from his seat, pulling a card from a seemingly endless stack. "Amanda Waller. Director of A.R.G.U.S. A firm and terrifying woman—never underestimate her. If she wants something, she'll get it, no matter the cost. She hates heroes, thinks they believe they're above the law, and she's determined to enforce her own idea of justice, even if the world disagrees." He held the card up for emphasis.
Meta power/quirk.
none. Quirkless."
The room buzzed with surprise.
"Quirkless?!" Mina blurted.
"How does someone without powers get to a position like that?" Jirou wondered aloud.
"Normally you'd need big political connections to climb that high without a quirk," Midnight said thoughtfully. "But… with that personality and the way she operates, I can believe she got there on pure ruthlessness."
They talked about the biggest floor in the world normally like it's not a big deal and the two people who don't have a quirk or used to not have one treated it like normal
Seven shook his head slightly. "They still haven't considered the possibility that in this world, powers aren't nearly as common as back home," he muttered. "Guess they'll figure it out soon."
Back on the screen, the moment unfroze.
"You are threatening my fucking daughter!" Bloodsport roared.
"I'm protecting my country. Everyone, stand down," Waller ordered, her voice iron-clad.
"Miss Waller—" a blonde agent began, but Bloodsport cut her off.
"Stand down!" she snapped again, making the surrounding agents lower their weapons.
"I wouldn't take such extreme measures—" waller tried to continue.
"Oh, extreme? Oh yeah, a little extreme," Bloodsport shot back bitterly.
"If this mission weren't more important than you could possibly imagine," Waller said coolly.
"Fuck your mission," he growled.
"You have the experience necessary. And everything in your psychological profile tells me you have what it takes to be a leader," she pressed.
"No. I'm no fucking leader!"
"Then I'll meet you at one. Are you in or are you out?"
Bloodsport glared at her for a long moment… then backed off, his silence speaking for him.
"Good. Let's meet your team," Waller said, turning to leave.