The day begins wrong.Too still. Too bright. The kind of quiet that feels staged.
From the dorm window, I can see the outer gates of U.A. — closed.That never happens during daylight.
The alarms aren't blaring, but I can feel them.An undercurrent in the air, subtle pressure where none should be.The world tightens when danger is close.
By the time I reach the courtyard, teachers are already moving.Aizawa's scarf coils around his shoulders like a living thing.Present Mic speaks into a communicator, voice sharper than usual.
Nezu stands on a balcony above, eyes fixed on the horizon.The students are gathered in clusters, confusion spreading faster than orders.
I catch snippets of panic:
"Are we under attack?""Evacuation drill?""What's going on?"
I find Aizawa first. "Who's here?"
His answer is simple. "The Commission."
They arrive in formation — black vehicles, tinted glass, silence instead of sirens.No chaos. No shouting. Just the calm of people who already believe they own the ground they walk on.
A dozen agents step out, identical in posture and uniform.At their center: a woman in a gray suit, calm, immaculate, eyes sharp as glass.I've seen that face once before — in another alley, through the rain.
She smiles faintly. "Mr. Arashi. We meet again."
"I didn't invite you."
"You didn't need to. You exist in our jurisdiction."
Aizawa steps forward, voice level. "This is private property."
She looks at him the way a surgeon looks at a patient who doesn't realize he's already on the table. "And you're harboring an unlicensed power. You know what that means."
"It means you're scared," I say.
Her gaze flicks to me. "Scared? No. Responsible."
She gestures. Several agents lift sleek devices — portable dampeners, humming faintly. I feel the air tremble as they activate.
The storm inside me recoils. The pressure of the field is heavy, like invisible chains tightening around my chest.
"You came prepared," I say.
"Preparation keeps people alive," she replies smoothly. "Come quietly. We'll discuss your options."
Students watch from behind the barricades, faces pale, uncertain.Midoriya takes a step forward before Aizawa's arm stops him. "Don't," the teacher warns.
The woman's voice carries across the courtyard. "You're an anomaly, Mr. Arashi. But anomalies can be corrected."
"You don't correct storms."
"Storms end eventually," she says. "One way or another."
The dampeners tighten their hum. My lungs burn. My skin feels too heavy for my bones.It's not pain — it's insult. A denial of existence.
Aizawa moves, stepping closer to the agents. "You're overstepping. He's under U.A. protection. You'll need an official order."
The woman tilts her head. "Already approved."
She holds up a datapad. My name flashes across the screen — bold, clinical letters stamped with the Commission's insignia.
APPREHENSION AUTHORIZED.
Aizawa's hand clenches around his scarf.Nezu's voice drifts down from above — calm, deliberate. "If you take him, you'll be violating at least three sections of educational independence law."
The woman smiles. "We wrote those laws."
The air fractures. Not physically — but in intent.The students sense it. A low murmur spreads through the crowd.
Midoriya whispers, "They can't just—"
"They can," I say quietly. "Because people let them."
I step forward. The dampeners whine in protest. My knees want to buckle; the storm thrashes under my ribs.
The lead agent raises a hand. "Resist, and we'll treat you as a threat."
"I am a threat," I say. "That's why you're here."
Her jaw tightens. "Then this ends now."
The first agent fires a containment net — silver threads crackling with electric restraint.
The world slows.Pressure burns through my veins, pain blooming like fire.
And still — I move.
Air fractures around me. The net veers sideways, crushed by invisible force. Electricity fizzles harmlessly into the ground.
The other agents shout, raising weapons that hum with blue light.
Aizawa's voice cuts through the chaos. "Stop!"He steps between us, scarf snapping out like a blade. "You'll destroy the field!"
"Then control him!" the woman shouts back.
Nezu's voice pierces the noise. "Enough!"
But the line has already been crossed.
I could break them all.The dampeners. The agents. The vehicles.The entire system that thinks it can name me.
I feel it — the power clawing for release, the storm screaming to prove itself.Aizawa's eyes meet mine. No words, just the quiet demand of someone asking me to choose.
Freedom or consequence.
The wind roars in my ears. The field flickers. The dampeners crackle.For a heartbeat, I stand on the edge of everything — the line between control and violence so thin it hums like wire.
Then I exhale.
The storm collapses inward, folding itself back into silence. The pressure breaks, but the world stays intact.
The woman lowers her hand, wary but satisfied. "Wise choice."
Nezu's gaze from above is impossible to read. Aizawa just exhales — equal parts relief and warning.
The agents step forward, moving to restrain me.I don't resist. Yet.
"Where will you take him?" Aizawa demands.
The woman's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Somewhere safer than here."
"For him?"
"For everyone."
As they lead me to the car, students watch from the sidelines.Faces full of confusion, fear, admiration — things I've seen before in every world that worships power.
Midoriya calls out once. "Arashi!"
I turn.
He doesn't shout advice or defiance.He just says, quietly: "Don't let them write your story."
I almost smile. "I won't."
The door closes. The sound is final.
Inside the armored car, the hum of the dampeners fills the space like static.Outside the window, U.A. grows smaller, its clean glass and bright banners fading into gray.
The woman across from me studies a tablet. "You could've made this difficult."
"I still might."
Her lips twitch. "I believe that."
"You think you're winning," I say. "But you just gave me a reason."
She glances up. "A reason for what?"
"To stop pretending I belong here."
Her smile fades. For the first time, she looks uncertain.
The sky darkens overhead. Clouds gather — not natural, not weather, but response.Outside, the air bends, pressure building where there shouldn't be any.
The driver curses under his breath as the car jolts.
The woman looks out the window, eyes wide. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," I say softly. "Just remembering what freedom feels like."
The glass shatters.