Chapter 22: Whispers in the Light
The final bell of the day did not bring its usual cacophony of relief. It was a sharp, jarring sound that merely broke the thick, suffocating tension that had filled Classroom 1-A for the final hour of instruction. The lecture on modern hero ethics had been a surreal experience, the words floating meaninglessly over a classroom of students who were not listening. They were all, every single one of them, acutely, painfully aware of the silent, still figure sitting at the new desk in the back of the room.
He had not moved. He had not spoken. He had not so much as shifted in his seat. He simply sat there, his back perfectly straight, his gaze fixed on the back of Shoji's head. His stillness was a gravitational force, a black hole of quiet that pulled all the energy and noise in the room into itself. The students tried not to look, but this only made them more aware of him, a phantom presence felt in their peripheral vision.
When the bell finally rang, it was Gaara who moved first. Without a single wasted motion, he packed his empty notebook and a single pencil into his new school bag. He stood, his chair making no sound on the floor, and walked towards the door. The entire class held a collective breath as he passed, a wave of silence following in his wake. He did not look at any of them. He slid the massive door open, stepped into the hallway, and was gone.
The door slid shut with a heavy thump.
For a full five seconds, the classroom remained utterly silent. Then, as if a spell had been broken, a collective, shuddering exhale swept through the students.
The eruption began not as a shout, but as a flood of panicked whispers.
"I can't believe it," Kaminari Denki breathed, his usual cheerful demeanor completely gone, replaced by a pale, wide-eyed shock. "He's really here. Aizawa-sensei wasn't kidding."
"His eyes…" Mina Ashido whispered, hugging herself. "Did you see his eyes? They're so… empty. It was like he was looking right through us."
The fear and confusion, now given voice, quickly began to curdle into anger. It was Katsuki Bakugo who gave that anger its explosive form. He slammed a fist on his desk, the sound making several of his classmates jump.
"BELIEVE IT!" he bellowed, his voice a raw, furious roar that filled the room. "THAT BASTARD IS REALLY HERE! AND THOSE DAMN TEACHERS EXPECT US TO JUST SIT HERE AND PRETEND IT'S A NORMAL TUESDAY?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
"Bakugo, your language…" Iida began, his hand chopping the air, but his voice lacked its usual commanding force. He too was deeply unsettled.
"SHUT UP, FOUR-EYES!" Bakugo snarled, turning on the class. "What are we all waiting for? For him to go psycho and bury us all in sand again?! We should just beat him down until he gets the message that he isn't welcome here and crawls back to whatever hole he came from!"
"Whoa, dude, hold on," Kirishima said, standing up and holding his hands out in a placating gesture. His face, usually a mask of manly confidence, was troubled. "I get that you're angry. We're all freaked out. But… ganging up on the new guy? Even if he is… you know… that's not heroic. That's what villains do."
Kirishima's words hung in the air, a simple but powerful moral challenge. Bakugo scoffed, but had no immediate retort. The class fell into an uneasy silence. He was right. They were heroes-in-training. They couldn't just resort to back-alley violence. But what, then, were they supposed to do? How could they possibly feel safe? They looked to the unofficial leaders of their class, their expressions a mixture of fear and pleading.
It was Shoto Todoroki who spoke, his voice as calm and cold as the ice he wielded, cutting through the emotional turmoil.
"Kirishima is right," he said, his heterochromatic eyes sweeping over the room. "Beating him is illogical. It would get us suspended and would solve nothing. But," he paused, his gaze briefly meeting Bakugo's, "your objective is not entirely wrong. His presence is a problem. A variable that threatens the stability of this class."
The students listened intently. Todoroki's calm logic was a lifeline in a sea of emotional chaos.
"Attacking him physically is crude," Todoroki continued, his voice low and deliberate. "But we are students at the top hero academy in the nation. We have other, more effective weapons at our disposal. We have the U.A. Sports Festival."
A new wave of whispers went through the room as they began to understand.
"Aizawa-sensei said he would be participating," Todoroki stated, his eyes becoming sharp and focused. "It is the ultimate stage for overwhelming power. If we demonstrate, collectively and individually, that he is completely and utterly outclassed… if we make it clear through legitimate, sanctioned competition that he cannot hope to function at our level… the psychological pressure will be immense. He will understand that he does not belong here. He may choose to leave on his own accord."
The plan settled over the classroom. It was cold. It was calculating. And to a group of terrified teenagers who felt powerless, it was perfect.
"It is a structured, logical solution," Iida said, pushing his glasses up his nose, latching onto the plan as a way to restore order. "We would be using an official school event to establish the hierarchy of power. It is not bullying; it is competition!"
"Yeah!" Kirishima chimed in, a relieved grin spreading across his face as he found a way to reconcile his morals with his fear. "We'll just show him our fighting spirit! A fair and square challenge on the biggest stage! That's a manly way to handle it!"
Yaoyorozu, who had been listening with a troubled expression, finally nodded. "It is… a way to address our concerns without resorting to vigilantism. I can agree with this course of action."
The idea spread like wildfire. It was a "heroic" way to be cruel. It was a way for them to channel their fear and anger into a unified goal, to ostracize and reject their new classmate under the acceptable banner of school-sanctioned rivalry.
Only two students remained completely silent. Uraraka Ochako looked across the room at Izuku Midoriya. His head was bowed, his fists clenched on top of his desk, his expression a mask of inner turmoil. She could see the silent, vehement disagreement in the tense line of his shoulders. She saw him glance towards the empty desk at the back of the room, a look of profound, sorrowful dread on his face. He did not agree. But against the unified, determined will of the entire class, he did not have the words or the courage to speak up.
The frantic, fearful energy in the room had been replaced by something new. A cold, unified purpose. They were no longer just a class of scared students. They were a hunting pack that had just chosen its prey.
The sun was beginning to set, its long, orange rays slanting through the massive windows, casting long shadows into the classroom. The battle for Gaara's place at U.A. had already begun. And it would not be fought with explosions and ice in the heat of the moment, but with whispers in the light, with cold shoulders in the hallways, and with the unified, crushing weight of their collective rejection.