Chapter 27: Whispers in the Hallway
The two weeks leading up to the Sports Festival were a grueling, monotonous cycle of pain and progress. Each day, Rock Lee would wake before the sun, push his recovering body through his own morning regimen, attend a full day of classes at the most demanding high school in Japan, and then go straight to the dojo to endure hours of Sora's torturous, Gate-control training. He would return home late at night, a ghost of himself, and collapse into bed, only to repeat the cycle mere hours later.
The toll of this relentless schedule began to show. It was a slow erosion, a quiet chipping away at his usually vibrant persona that his classmates began to notice.
At first, it was subtle. The boundless energy he had displayed upon his return to class was replaced by a quiet, intense focus. He was always the first to arrive, but he spent the moments before class began not with light stretches, but with his eyes closed, his breathing deep and measured, as if gathering what little energy he had for the day ahead.
By the end of the first week, the signs became undeniable. Dark, purplish circles had taken up permanent residence beneath his eyes, a stark contrast to his youthful face. He still sat with a perfectly straight back in class, but his classmates would sometimes see his head dip for a fraction of a second before he would jerk it back up, his eyes wide, silently chastising himself for the momentary lapse. A slight, almost imperceptible tremor had developed in his hands, one that he tried to hide by keeping them clasped in his lap.
He was a ghost haunting his own desk, his spirit burning with a fierce determination while his body screamed for rest.
During a lunch break, as Lee was methodically picking at a large bento box, forcing himself to eat every last grain of rice, Mina Ashido and Eijiro Kirishima sat down opposite him, their expressions etched with genuine concern.
"Okay, for real this time, Lee-kun," Mina said, leaning forward on the table, her cheerful demeanor gone. "You look awful. Like a zombie. A really determined, well-mannered zombie, but still a zombie."
"She's right, man," Kirishima added, his voice low and serious. "We all know you're training hard for the festival, but this isn't manly. It's dangerous. You're going to burn yourself out before the first event even starts. You have to take care of your body."
Lee looked up from his food and managed to produce his signature "nice guy" smile, though it was strained and didn't quite reach his exhausted eyes. "Thank you for your heartfelt concern!" he declared, his voice attempting a boisterousness his body could not support. "A hero's training must be rigorous and without compromise! This is merely the fire of youth burning brightly! I am in peak physical condition!"
His declaration was so transparently false that it only made them worry more. They exchanged a look. They knew they wouldn't get a straight answer from him.
Others noticed as well, each processing his condition through the lens of their own personality.
After English class, Tenya Iida approached his desk, adjusting his glasses. "Lee-kun," he began, speaking with the structured cadence of a textbook. "While I admire your dedication, I must caution you against the principle of diminishing returns. Adequate rest, specifically a full REM cycle, is scientifically proven to be essential for muscle recovery and peak neurological function. To neglect it is illogical and counterproductive to your goal of victory."
Later, in the hallway, Ochako Uraraka saw him stumble ever so slightly, catching himself on a wall before straightening up as if nothing had happened. Her heart went out to him. She recognized the look in his eyes—the look of someone running on sheer willpower, long after their body had begged them to stop. She gave him a small, encouraging smile as they passed, a silent gesture of solidarity.
Shoto Todoroki watched him from across the classroom, his observations silent and intense. He saw the tremor in Lee's hands, the deep-set exhaustion, the sheer force of will it took for him to simply pay attention in class. He connected this visible, physical decay to the memory of that monstrous, brilliant blue aura he had witnessed at the USJ. He didn't understand the source, but he understood the equation: that impossible power demanded an equally impossible price. His intrigue was slowly solidifying into a cold, hard respect for Lee's fortitude.
The most poignant observation, however, came from Izuku Midoriya. He, more than anyone, understood the pain of a body breaking under the strain of a power it could not contain. He watched Lee with a worried, analytical gaze, seeing a reflection of his own struggles.
One afternoon, two days before the festival, Midoriya had stayed late in the school library, poring over old hero fight analyses. The library was nearly empty, the setting sun casting long, golden shafts of light through the tall windows. He heard a soft, rhythmic breathing and, curious, he followed the sound to a secluded corner between towering bookshelves.
There, he found him. Rock Lee was slumped over a desk, fast asleep, his head pillowed on a thick, open book titled Quirk Law and Heroic Ethics. His usually intense face was completely relaxed in sleep, making him look younger, more vulnerable. His breathing was deep and even, the breathing of a body that had finally, forcibly, shut itself down. The sight was startlingly human. All the monstrous power and unbreakable will were gone, and in their place was just a very, very tired boy.
A deep pang of sympathy and kinship struck Midoriya. He knew this level of exhaustion intimately. He saw the slight trembling that continued in Lee's hand even in sleep. He thought of his own broken bones, of the constant pain, of the overwhelming pressure to succeed. He and Lee were on completely different paths, but for a moment, he felt they were walking in the same direction.
Looking around, Midoriya noticed a cool draft coming from a nearby air conditioning vent. Without a second thought, he quietly slipped off his own U.A. blazer. He hesitated for only a second before gently draping it over Rock Lee's shoulders, taking care not to wake him. He then turned and walked away as silently as he had come, leaving Lee to his much-needed rest.
In his sleep, Lee stirred slightly, a subconscious frown on his face as he dreamt of falling, of blue fire, of a voice commanding him to get up. Then, he felt a faint, unfamiliar warmth settle over his shoulders. The frown softened, and for the first time in two weeks, his sleep became a little deeper, a little more peaceful. He was not as alone on his path as he thought.