Chapter 39: After the battle.
The roar of the crowd was a strange, distant thing. Gaara stood in the center of the ring, the sand settling around his feet, and watched as the two medical robots carefully loaded Midoriya's unconscious form onto a stretcher. The boy's mangled hands were a stark, brutal testament to the battle they had just fought. A battle Gaara had won, but in a way that felt nothing like victory. He watched them carry his opponent away, a silent, solitary figure, until the stretcher had disappeared into the dark mouth of the exit tunnel.
He turned and walked towards his own exit, his face an unreadable mask. The crowd's cheers, a mixture of respect and a lingering, fearful awe, washed over him, but he did not acknowledge them. The strange warmth he had felt earlier was now a complex, confusing knot in his chest.
In the stands, Uraraka Ochako watched him go, her hands clasped tightly over her own heart. Her first, overwhelming feeling was a profound, aching worry for her friend. Deku-kun… you have to stop being so reckless, she thought, her eyes misty.
But as she watched Gaara's retreating back, another, more complicated thought took root. She replayed the final moments of the fight in her mind: Gaara's overwhelming power, and his final, deliberate choice not to use it. He had him, she realized with a sudden, stunning clarity. He could have crushed him. He could have ended it with a single, brutal attack. But he didn't. She saw again the sand gently restraining Midoriya, not harming him. He stopped the fight without hurting him any more than he already was. That's… that's not something a true villain would do. Is it?
The designated seating area for the first-year hero course students was a cauldron of tense, buzzing energy. The students of Class 1-A and 1-B were seated in adjacent sections, the air between them thick with a new, potent rivalry. When Gaara arrived, walking with his silent, deliberate pace, a hush fell over his own classmates. He ignored their stares and took an empty seat at the far end of the back row, a solitary island in a sea of familiar faces.
It was the whispers from the section over that broke the silence.
"So that's him," a boy from Class 1-B muttered, not quite quietly enough. "The one they were talking about. Did you hear the rumors? They say he was one of the actual villains at the USJ."
"Seriously?" another voice replied, a girl this time. "And U.A. just let him enroll? Are they insane? No wonder his Quirk is so destructive… it's a villain's power."
The words, laced with fear and ignorant gossip, drifted across the aisle and struck the students of Class 1-A like a physical blow.
Yaoyorozu's posture stiffened, her expression turning from one of thoughtful analysis to one of indignant offense. Jiro and Mina exchanged angry, protective glances, their teeth gritting. Kirishima, who had been nervously replaying the race in his head, clenched his fists, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "That's not cool, man. They don't know what they're talking about."
A strange, unfamiliar, and deeply conflicted feeling rose within them. A desire to defend him. He was their problem. He was their terrifying, unpredictable, and silent classmate. And the idea of these outsiders, these rivals, talking about him with such simple, uninformed malice was, for some reason, infuriating. But what could they say? The rumors were, technically, true. So they remained silent, their frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
Neito Monoma, however, was uncharacteristically quiet. He wasn't laughing or delivering his usual mocking monologue. He was sitting perfectly still, his chin resting on his hand, his eyes fixed on Gaara with a look of intense, unnerving analysis. He was not mocking. He was studying.
It was Itsuka Kendo who finally acted. She stood up and turned to her chattering classmates, her expression stern. "That's enough," she said, her voice sharp and clear, instantly silencing them. "You all sound like gossiping fools. We are here to watch the matches and learn from our competitors, not to spread baseless rumors." She gave them all a final, warning glare before sitting back down. She glanced briefly, unreadably, at Gaara, and then her gaze settled on her strangely quiet friend. Monoma's never this silent, she thought. Something about that boy has truly shaken him.
In the quiet, sterile confines of the infirmary, Midoriya slowly awoke to the familiar, gentle scolding of Recovery Girl. His hands were completely wrapped in thick, white bandages, a dull, throbbing ache emanating from them.
The door slid open, and he looked up to see the skeletal, worried face of Toshinori Yagi.
"All Might," he croaked, his voice hoarse.
"Just rest, my boy," Toshinori said, pulling a chair up to the bedside. His face was a mixture of immense pride and deep, paternal concern. "You were reckless. You pushed your body far beyond its limits. Again."
"Is… is Gaara-kun okay?" Midoriya asked, his first thought for his opponent.
Toshinori's expression softened. "He is physically fine. You, on the other hand…" He let out a long, weary sigh, but his eyes were shining. "You did more than just try to win a match today, young Midoriya. You reached out to a soul that has been drowning in darkness its entire life. You tried to save him. That… is the absolute essence of heroism." His voice was thick with emotion. "I am so, so proud of you."
Tears welled in Midoriya's eyes, a mixture of pain, relief, and the overwhelming weight of his mentor's praise. "I had to," he whispered, looking at his own bandaged hands. "When I heard him… when I saw the pain in his eyes… I just knew. Winning wasn't the most important thing anymore."
He had broken his body, but he had, perhaps, helped to mend something far more important. And in that moment, the pain was worth it.