The tests—and, by extension, the rest of the day—passed in silence.
The night had been uneventful. Shinji had already gone through the motions—more tests, more scans, more questions that had no answers. The hospital felt the same as always, sterile and suffocating, but he endured it. The results were the same. Nothing wrong. Nothing new. And eventually, they had let him rest.
Sleep had been restless, but at least it came.
Now, morning had arrived, and with it, the familiar routine of making his way back to U.A.
Shinji's pace remained steady, his footsteps blending into the city's morning rhythm. The scent of fresh rain lingered from the night before, the pavement damp beneath his shoes as he weaved through the quiet streets leading to U.A. He kept his gaze forward, letting the familiar sights and sounds settle into the edges of his awareness.
The doctor had wanted him to stay longer, to run more tests, to pick apart something that neither of them understood. But, in the end, there was nothing concrete to justify keeping him. No signs of deterioration, no lingering damage—just Shinji, standing there, whole in ways even he didn't fully grasp.
He could still see the doctor's frown, the way his fingers tapped idly against the clipboard as he gave the reluctant all-clear. Shinji had left before he could change his mind.
The city around him was awake now. Storefronts flicked on their lights, the smell of fresh bread and coffee drifting from a bakery on the corner. He could hear the distant murmur of workers heading off to their jobs, students shuffling toward their own schools, their voices carried by the wind.
Everything was moving, flowing, carrying on like it always had. Like it hadn't stopped, hadn't waited for him to catch up.
He didn't know how he felt about that.
Shinji exhaled, adjusting his bag's strap as he turned a corner. U.A.'s towering silhouette came into view, its presence as steady and unshaken as ever. A reminder of what was ahead, of the normalcy he was supposed to slip back into.
"For what it's worth… I'm sorry."
The Specter's voice was quiet, drifting into his thoughts like a whisper against glass. It lacked its old edge, its usual amusement.
Shinji's expression didn't change, but his fingers curled slightly in his pocket.
"Why?" His voice was just as quiet, almost lost beneath the hum of the city.
A pause.
"It's my fault for the tests, isn't it?" The Specter's voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge. "If I hadn't helped you, we wouldn't have to go through all that. No scans, no poking and prodding, no doctors acting like you're some kind of puzzle to solve."
Shinji didn't answer immediately. His fingers curled further in his pocket, pressing against the fabric, grounding himself.
"It wasn't just the tests," he muttered eventually, his voice low, steady. His steps didn't falter, his gaze stayed forward. "It's everything."
A pause. Then, "Because it moved."
Shinji inhaled slowly. He knew exactly what it was talking about.
Yesterday, his right arm had responded. Just for a second. But it had moved.
It wasn't supposed to. It never had before, not with that fluidity.
And now, it was just as useless as ever, limp at his side like nothing had happened.
"You're thinking about it," the Specter observed, not pushing, just acknowledging. "Wondering what it means."
Shinji clenched his jaw.
"I already know," he said simply.
The Specter didn't respond right away, giving him space to explain.
"My brain thinks my arm is gone." His voice was quiet, almost to himself. "That's why it doesn't work. Yesterday, I didn't think—I just acted, and for a second, it forgot."
The Specter hummed thoughtfully. "And that doesn't change anything for you?"
Shinji exhaled through his nose, a humorless sound.
"It doesn't fix anything," he replied. "It's not healed. Nothing's changed. I just… tricked myself for a second."
Silence stretched between them. The city continued on around him, the low murmur of traffic, the rustle of footsteps, the occasional distant laugh from a group of students ahead.
Then—
"I'm sorry."
Shinji's steps faltered for just a fraction of a second before he caught himself. His expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly.
"For what now?" he asked, his tone neutral, but there was a guarded edge beneath it.
The Specter hesitated. That was new.
"For everything, I guess," it finally said, almost thoughtful. "For the tests, for the doctors, for the way things are now, for making it worse."
Shinji let out a slow breath through his nose, his fingers tightening in his pocket. He wasn't sure what to make of that.
"You act like any of this is new." His voice was quiet but firm. "Like I should believe you suddenly care about what I go through."
The Specter didn't answer immediately. The weight of it pressed in the space between them.
"I do."
Shinji's lips pressed into a thin line.
He didn't trust that. He didn't trust it.
Maybe it was telling the truth. Maybe it wasn't.
Maybe it was just another manipulation. Another layer to the game it had been playing since the beginning.
Or maybe it was real.
And wasn't that the worst part? That, he didn't know. That he couldn't tell.
"You still talk like you're separate from me."
"I am. Kind of."
"You're not," Shinji said flatly. "You're in my head. You're part of me. So that means either you're lying, or I'm lying to myself about what you really are."
The Specter didn't argue.
It didn't try to convince him, didn't push, didn't twist its words into something pretty.
It just sat with the silence.
Shinji hated that.
He hated how different it felt from before. How it didn't try to sink its claws into his mind, how it didn't mock him, didn't taunt him.
Because if it wasn't doing any of those things…
Then maybe it really had changed.
And that was more unnerving than anything.
"You're almost at the gate," the Specter noted instead, voice even. "Better put on the usual face."
Shinji exhaled slowly, forcing himself to release the tension in his shoulders.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Wouldn't want anyone to think too hard, huh?"
The crowd of students thickened as he stepped onto U.A. grounds, and whatever lingering thoughts he had about the Specter, about its words, about what any of this meant—
He pushed them aside.
For now.
Shinji fell into step with the morning flow of students, slipping through the entrance gates of U.A. The familiar hum of activity surrounded him—the clatter of shoes on polished floors, the distant chatter of different class years mingling in the hallways, the occasional burst of laughter from a group of first-years still riding the high of being here.
He kept his pace even, his shoulders relaxed, his hands tucked into his pockets. A calculated sort of ease, something that kept people from looking too closely. From wondering too much.
Not that it stopped the occasional lingering glance.
Shinji ignored them.
He wasn't stupid. He knew what he was—what he'd become in the eyes of the public, in the eyes of his classmates. A legend, a mystery, a question mark. He was the kid who had disappeared into the Breach, the one who had fought Kaiju and come back breathing. The one who should be dead but wasn't.
And yet, no reporters. No scientists knocking at his door.
That fact itched at the back of his mind as he moved through the halls, but he shoved it aside for later. It wasn't important right now.
Right now, he had to make it to homeroom.
The halls of U.A. were the same as ever—spacious, lined with glass-paneled windows that let the morning sun streak in at sharp angles. Occasionally, a support course student rushed past, arms full of blueprints, or a teacher strode by with papers tucked under one arm, nodding at passing students.
Shinji walked the familiar path to Class 1-A, his footfalls steady, his mind already shifting gears.
—
The door slid open smoothly as he stepped into the classroom, the usual buzz of conversation hitting him in full.
"Takeyama!" Mina was the first to call out, leaning forward over her desk with an exaggerated sigh. "About time! We thought you were gonna be late for real this time."
"Like I'd give Aizawa an excuse to lecture me," Shinji muttered as he moved toward his desk, letting his bag slide off his shoulder and onto the floor.
"Smart," Kaminari said, propping his chin on one hand. "Dude looks like he's in one of those moods today."
Shinji glanced toward the front of the room, where Aizawa was already at his desk, slumped against it with his capture scarf draped lazily over his shoulders. His eyes were barely cracked open, dark circles even more pronounced than usual.
Yeah. Definitely not a morning person.
"Hey," Kirishima called, a grin splitting his face. "Feeling any better?"
Shinji lowered himself into his seat, stretching his left arm behind his head with a lazy shrug. "More or less."
Kirishima's gaze flickered to his right arm, resting motionless on the desk. His smile faltered, but he didn't say anything.
Good.
The last thing Shinji needed was that conversation in the middle of homeroom.
Across the room, Midoriya was watching too, but with that quiet, calculating concern of his—the kind that meant he'd probably ask about it later.
Shinji sighed through his nose.
"Alright, settle down." Aizawa's voice cut through the chatter, gravelly and already carrying the weight of exhaustion. The classroom noise dwindled as students straightened up, sensing that their homeroom teacher wasn't in the mood for delays.
"Until the Sports Festival, your schedules will be changing," Aizawa continued, his sharp gaze scanning the room. "You'll have more time during school hours dedicated to training. That means less classroom work, but don't take that as an excuse to slack off."
Shinji's interest was immediately piqued. More training? That was… actually good. He had been worried that U.A. would be overly cautious with him, that they'd try to limit his participation given everything he'd been through. But if they were giving everyone extra time to train, then that meant he wasn't getting special treatment. He was being treated like everyone else.
For once, that was a relief.
"Wait, so—more time for training?" Kirishima asked, already grinning. "That's awesome!"
"More time for getting our asses kicked, you mean," Jirou muttered, but even she didn't seem entirely opposed to the idea.
"Yeah, but still!" Kirishima said, practically vibrating in his seat. "Gotta get stronger for the festival, right?"
"Exactly," Aizawa nodded. "The festival is your chance to stand out—to show agencies what you're capable of. If you want good internships, you take this seriously."
The room immediately filled with quiet murmurs, students exchanging glances, some looking determined, others nervous. Shinji found himself tapping his fingers against his desk, his mind already running through possibilities. More training time meant more opportunities. More chances to get a better grasp on himself, his limits, and what he could do now.
Aizawa let the murmurs carry on for a few seconds before continuing. "Your schedules will be adjusted accordingly. You'll receive individual training plans based on where your weaknesses lie, and I expect all of you to follow through on them. That includes combat readiness, quirk development, and endurance training."
"Ah, so we get beaten up more," Kaminari deadpanned.
"You were going to get beaten up regardless," Aizawa said flatly, not even looking up from his papers.
Kaminari slumped.
Bakugo, who had been sitting with his arms crossed, finally spoke up. "Tch. As long as we get to fight, whatever."
Shinji smirked slightly. Bakugo was right about that. This was a good chance.
He wasn't worried about standing out—he already did, whether he wanted to or not. But he wanted to…Prove at least to himself that he was more than whatever the specter wanted, more than a broken boy. And if the Sports Festival was going to give him the space to do that, then why not take advantage of it?
Shinji leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping against the desk again.
This could actually be fun.
Aizawa sighed as another round of chatter started. "Before we move on to today's lesson, does anyone have questions?"
As expected, Midoriya's hand shot up first, his expression serious, eyes already brimming with a million questions. "Will we have access to the same training facilities as before, or will new areas be available for quirk-specific exercises?"
Aizawa didn't even look up from his papers. "You'll be informed when necessary."
"Ah, right, of course," Midoriya muttered, quickly scribbling down notes anyway.
Iida cleared his throat and stood up in his usual stiff, proper posture. "Sensei, will we still be expected to maintain our academic studies alongside training?"
Aizawa finally looked at him, eyes half-lidded. "You think we're letting you skip all schoolwork? Do I look like an idiot?"
Iida immediately shook his head, hands chopping the air in front of him. "No, sir! I was merely confirming our obligations!"
"You'll still have written assignments. They'll just be lighter for now." Aizawa rolled his shoulder, stretching slightly. "Any more obvious questions before we get on with things?"
A hand shot up from the back.
It was Kaminari.
"So, uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "when you say 'endurance training,' you don't mean like, running marathons or anything, right? Because, uh, that's kinda not my thing, y'know?"
"Then it's exactly what you need," Aizawa said without missing a beat.
Kaminari groaned, slumping over his desk. "Why do I even ask?"
Mina leaned over, poking him in the side. "Gotta get those stamina points up, man. Can't just be zapping people and passing out after two seconds."
"I last more than two seconds!" Kaminari protested.
Silence.
Then, in the most unimpressed voice possible, Jirou muttered, "Uh-huh."
Laughter erupted around the room as Kaminari sputtered. Aizawa, thoroughly unimpressed with all of them, simply sighed and stood up. "You're all getting too comfortable. Let's fix that."
He stretched, popping a joint in his neck. "Since your schedules are shifting, you'll have the rest of today to focus on training. Use it wisely."
That got everyone's attention. Excitement rippled through the room—some students immediately discussing what they'd work on, others already pumped for sparring.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Kirishima grinned, punching his palm. "Time to get some real training in!"
"Finally," Bakugo muttered, standing up with an eager glint in his eye. "About time we stopped wasting time sitting around."
Shinji stood as well, rolling his shoulders. Yeah. This was good. More time to focus, more time to push himself, to get a handle on everything again.
—
The rest of the class passed quickly. Aizawa went over a few more details regarding the layout of the training fields and how their adjusted schedules would work. There wasn't much to discuss beyond that—most of the information was straightforward.
When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the academic portion of their day, the class wasted no time getting up. It wasn't really a choice—Aizawa had made it clear they were heading to the training grounds whether they wanted to or not. A day of free training until school was over.
Shinji had no complaints about that.
He was the second one to the door, right behind Bakugo, who moved with his usual impatient energy, practically shoving his way to the front. Not that Shinji minded—he wasn't particularly interested in getting in the way of whatever storm Bakugo was brewing in his head at any given moment.
Bakugo didn't hesitate. He reached for the door handle and yanked it open—
Only to stop.
Shinji, standing just behind him, narrowed his eyes at the sight that met them.
A wall of students.
Not just Class 1-B—though Monoma was right up front, smug as ever—but students from General Studies, Support, and even Business. The hallway was packed with them, all standing in their way.
For a moment, there was silence.
Shinji's gaze flicked across the crowd. He didn't miss the way some students were studying them, evaluating them. Others just looked amused. Some, like Tetsutetsu, radiated determination.
Iida adjusted his glasses. "This is certainly… unexpected."
Bakugo scoffed, already stepping forward. "No, it's not. They're scouting the competition," he said, his voice edged with something between annoyance and amusement. His gaze swept over the gathered students, unimpressed. "They wanna see the class that survived a villain attack firsthand."
His stride was confident, unshaken, only breaking slightly when he reached the wall of students blocking the doorway. He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. "At least you know what a future pro looks like. So do yourselves a favor—get out of my way."
Shinji rolled his eyes at Bakugo's comment. He wasn't wrong, but he still hated the kid's arrogance; he just hoped it was tempered before someone died because of it
Before anyone else could respond, a relatively tall student stepped forward from the crowd. His messy, indigo-colored hair flared out in large tufts around his head, giving him an almost unkempt look. His tired, purple eyes—thin, slightly triangular, and pointed downward—held a sharp glint despite the heavy eye bags beneath them. He regarded the scene with an expression caught between boredom and mild disappointment, his posture relaxed but confident.
"I thought you guys were supposed to be impressive," he said, voice dry, unimpressed. "But you're just an ass."
"Is everyone in the Hero Course like you?" the indigo-haired student continued, his tone still dripping with disinterest. "Makes sense, I suppose—for you all to be a bunch of egomaniacs."
That jab struck a nerve. A few students from Class 1-A visibly bristled, some shifting where they stood, their irritation clear, but no one spoke up. Whether it was out of restraint, disinterest, or the simple fact that they didn't want to prove him right, no one rose to the bait.
No one except Shinji—though not in the way the student might have expected. His left eye twitched. Just the slightest movement, but for anyone paying close attention, it was telling. An instinctual reaction, fleeting but unmistakable, as if something about the comment had scraped against an old wound. His fingers flexed once, then stilled.
Still, he said nothing; he wanted to see where the kid was going with this.
The student didn't seem bothered by the lack of response. If anything, the silence only encouraged him to keep going.
"You know, I wanted to be in the Hero Course." His voice was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something sharper beneath it—bitterness, maybe, or something close to it. "But it turns out luck plays a pretty big role in who gets in and who doesn't. You guys ever think about that? How much of this is just handed to you?"
His gaze swept over the gathered students, watching for any sign of reaction.
"I wonder what'll happen when you run into people who actually had to work for their spots."
Bakugo barely got a word out before he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, firm and unyielding. His eyes flicked downward, catching the sight of Shinji standing beside him. There was no mistaking the shift in the air—the way the space around them seemed to tighten, the weight of something simmering just beneath the surface.
Shinji's eyes were sharp, dark, and filled with something just shy of murder. Not the loud, explosive fury that Bakugo was used to dealing with, but something colder, something that burned slow and deep.
For a second, Bakugo considered just ignoring it and speaking anyway. But then a smirk curled at the edges of his lips, sharp and knowing.
"Tch," he scoffed, rolling his shoulders as he let Shinji's grip fall away. "Fine. Go nuts."
He stepped back just slightly, giving Shinji the field. Whatever was about to happen, Bakugo had no doubt it was about to get interesting.
The air around them shifted as Shinji's voice cut through the gathered students, low and measured. He didn't raise it; he didn't need to. There was a weight behind it that made people listen.
"I'm sorry, but did you say they didn't work for their spots?" His gaze settled on the student who had spoken, eyes dark and unreadable. "That luck was the deciding factor?"
His words hung in the air, pressing down like a storm about to break. The students from other courses—those who had been watching, waiting for some kind of reaction—suddenly found themselves uneasy. It wasn't the same explosive anger Bakugo would've unleashed. It wasn't loud or reckless. It was something colder, sharper.
Shinji took a slow step forward, and the tension thickened. "You must have some real nerve to stand here and act like this course—this school—hands things out for free." His head tilted slightly, almost as if he were examining something small and insignificant. "Let me ask you something. You think luck is what got them here? You think luck is what put them in a position to fight for their futures? Because if that's the case…"
A humorless chuckle left him, his lips curling slightly, but his eyes remained deadened, unreadable. "Then I'd love to see how your definition of 'hard work' holds up when it actually matters."
The student's expression flickered, his earlier confidence faltering just slightly under Shinji's gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, but for a moment, his words seemed to catch in his throat. There was something in Shinji's eyes, something cold and unyielding, that made him pause.
But the silence didn't last long.
"Hard work, huh?" The student finally scoffed, his voice tinged with condescension, though it was clear he was trying to regain his bravado. "Yeah, sure, they worked hard. But come on. Luck's a huge factor in getting into the Hero Course. You think it's just about pushing yourself? Nah, it's about who you know, what connections you have, and what quirk. That's the real game." He sneered, crossing his arms over his chest as if to reinforce his words. "Some of you may have earned your place, but not everyone here is as deserving as they think."
He glanced around at the others in his class, nodding toward them with a smug, almost self-satisfied grin. "I just find it funny how you all got so lucky to be in the Hero Course. No offense, but if luck weren't a factor, I'd be where you are right now."
The moment the student finished speaking, the entire area seemed to freeze. The chatter from the other students died off, and all attention shifted to Shinji. The air was thick with anticipation, the only sound being the low hum of the distant city and the rustling of clothes.
Shinji stood motionless for a moment, his fingers still curled into fists at his sides, a slight tremor running through his body. His face remained impassive, but the slight shake in his hands didn't go unnoticed by anyone.
The students from Class 1-A who had been watching from the sidelines now noticed something they hadn't before—the way his jaw tightened and his body tensed as if trying to hold back something far more dangerous.
They understood.
This wasn't just about the arrogant words from a single student; this was something deeper, something personal. The mention of luck, of someone questioning the validity of their hard-earned places in the Hero Course, seemed to trigger something in Shinji. It wasn't just anger—it was something darker, something unsettling.
Bakugo, who had initially been smirking, narrowed his eyes, his posture stiffening as he realized the shift in the atmosphere. Kirishima's usual loud and confident demeanor seemed to falter, his eyes shifting uneasily from Shinji to the student. Even Todoroki, usually so reserved, looked at Shinji with a mix of concern and understanding.
The student, still smug, didn't seem to fully grasp the gravity of his words. "What? You think I'm wrong? Do you think the Hero Course is all about work and not luck? It's the truth. Some of you don't deserve to be here." He chuckled, thinking it was just a jab, a way to get under their skin.
Shinji's hand shot up, gripping the student's collar in a vice-like hold before shoving him back against the wall. The impact was sharp, the sound of it cutting through the dead silence that had fallen over the gathered students.
If it weren't for the sheer intensity in Shinji's eyes, the scene might've been almost comical—a real-life David and Goliath, the shorter boy manhandling someone taller with unsettling ease. But there was nothing funny about the tension in the air.
Shinji hadn't let go. His fingers curled tighter into the fabric of the other student's uniform, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.
"Don't deserve to be here?" Shinji's voice was low, each word deliberate, edged with something dangerous. His stare bore into the boy in front of him, the weight of it suffocating. "You're going to stand here, in front of us—" his breath was steady, controlled, "—in front of me—and say we don't fucking deserve to be here?"
A flicker of movement—his grip twitched, tightening for a split second.
"Shinji, calm down." The Specter's voice came, almost pleading, its tone cutting through the haze of simmering anger curling in Shinji's chest.
He didn't acknowledge it. Didn't even blink.
Shinji's voice didn't rise, but the sheer force behind it made the air feel heavier.
"We nearly died," he said, his grip on the student's collar still unrelenting. "Two pro heroes nearly died. We fought something made to kill All Might—and you have the audacity to stand here and tell me we don't belong here?"
A slow, controlled inhale. His fingers twitched, but he didn't lash out further.
His classmates watched, frozen, the weight of his words sinking in. Even those who had been ready to jump to his defense had gone silent, their own pride momentarily overshadowed by the brutal truth of what Shinji had endured.
Then, without taking his eyes off the student he had pinned, Shinji called out.
"You know what?" His voice was quieter now but no less commanding. Measured.
"Hagakure, come here."
Hagakure hesitated for a second before stepping forward, her usually chipper energy subdued by the tension in the air. The light shuffling of her footsteps was the only sound as the gathered students held their breath, waiting to see what Shinji would do next.
Shinji finally released his grip on the student's collar, letting him slump back against the wall, but he didn't move away. Instead, he lifted a hand and gestured toward Hagakure.
"Her Quirk is Invisibility," he stated flatly, his eyes still locked onto the other student. "No super strength. No flashy energy blasts. No overpowering force of nature. Just Invisibility. And yet—" he turned his gaze briefly toward her before looking back at the student, his expression unreadable—"She made it into the Hero Course."
He let the words settle, the implication hanging thick in the air.
"So tell me," Shinji continued, his voice sharp as a blade, "what's your excuse?"
The student's mouth opened, but no words came out. The confidence—the smug arrogance he had carried just a moment ago—was gone. Now, faced with the undeniable truth, all he could do was stare, searching for an answer that didn't exist.
Shinji took a step back, just enough to ease the immediate tension, but his eyes remained locked onto the other student with an unrelenting intensity. The weight of the moment pressed down on the crowd, suffocating the usual bravado that filled the halls of U.A.
"Shinji Takeyama." His voice was level, almost calm, but the quiet in it was more terrifying than any shout. "That's my name. That's the person you just said doesn't deserve this spot."
The student's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
"I won't deny that luck played a part," Shinji continued, his tone sharpening as he went on. "I know it does. But luck alone didn't keep me alive for three years. Didn't bring me back here."
His fingers curled slightly, a flicker of something old and heavy in his expression.
"You say we don't deserve to be here, that we didn't work for this?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "I fought things out there that would turn your blood to ice. I walked through a hell none of you could imagine and survived. And you?" His head tilted ever so slightly, voice dropping lower. "You stand here, talking about luck. About deserving. If you had been in my place—"
He let the words hang, but the implication was clear.
Would you have made it?
"Let's go."
Shinji's voice cut through the silence like a blade, final and absolute. Without another glance at the student still pressed against the wall, he turned on his heel and walked away.
The crowd that had gathered, once filled with murmurs and quiet scoffs, now stood frozen. As he moved, the students parted instinctively, stepping back as if afraid to be caught in his path. The weight of his presence lingered, heavy and unshaken, and not a single word was spoken as he passed.
Even Bakugo, normally the first to reignite a conflict, simply smirked and followed suit, his hands stuffed in his pockets. One by one, the rest of Class 1-A fell in line behind Shinji, leaving behind only stunned silence and a lingering chill in the air.
The atmosphere remained heavy as Class 1-A moved through the halls, the tension from earlier still clinging to them like a thick fog. No one spoke—not even Kaminari, who would normally crack a joke to break the silence. It was rare for anyone to see Shinji snap like that, and even rarer to see him so openly furious. Most of them still weren't sure how to feel about it.
They arrived at one of the larger indoor training grounds, a spacious facility built to accommodate the wide variety of quirks among the hero students. The walls were reinforced, the floor marked with sections for different types of exercises, and a row of lockers lined one side of the room for students to store their belongings.
The moment they stepped inside, Shinji didn't hesitate. He shrugged off his blazer, yanked his shirt over his head, and tossed both onto the nearest bench without a word. Then, without waiting for instructions or acknowledging anyone else, he took off at a steady pace, beginning to run laps around the perimeter of the training area.
Bakugo snorted, crossing his arms. "Tch. Guess that's one way to blow off steam."
Kirishima nodded, though his expression was more thoughtful. "Yeah… can't blame him, though. That guy really pissed him off."
"That's an understatement," Jirou muttered.
Shinji didn't slow down, didn't even seem to hear them. His strides were measured, each footfall hitting the ground with practiced precision. His breathing was steady, controlled, but there was a sharpness to the way he moved—like something was burning underneath the surface, something he wasn't willing to voice.
The rhythmic pounding of Shinji's feet against the floor echoed through the training ground, steady and controlled, but inside his mind, there was no such stability.
"You know, you didn't have to slam the guy into a wall."
The specter's voice slithered into his thoughts, disturbingly casual. Shinji's jaw tightened, his breath coming sharper through his nose, but he didn't respond.
"I mean, I get it. Really, I do. He said something stupid, and you made sure he knew it. But does it still bother you that much?"
Shinji's teeth gritted, his breath coming in sharper bursts as he pushed himself further. "Ironic. Who was it that told me to kill Mineta when he made a stupid comment like that kid did? You sure didn't mind when it was my fists handling things back then."
The specter was silent for a beat, then responded, "It's different now. I'm different now."
Shinji's pace didn't slow. He could feel the weight of the specter's words pressing down on him, but it didn't stop the frustration from building up. "Is it? Because I don't think it is." He pushed his legs harder, the sound of his feet slapping the floor echoing in his ears. "People still talk. They still judge. And I still have to prove I belong here, just like I did when I fought my way back from the Breach."
"I know," the specter's voice softened, "but you're not the same anymore. You don't have to do this all alone."
Shinji's breath hitched as he swallowed, the pressure in his chest only tightening. But he refused to slow down. The specter might've changed, but Shinji didn't feel like it had. Not yet. Not until he could get his body under control. Until he could find a way to fix this.
"And who's going to be with me, you?" Shinji's voice rose just slightly, the tension building in his chest as his feet pounded the ground. His stride didn't break, but the words were sharp, each syllable heavy with doubt. "Is that when you strike? When you finally reveal that all this change was just some attempt to get me to let you in further? So you can mold me into that perfect weapon you wanted?"
The specter's response was almost immediate, but it lacked the usual ease of its tone, as if it was trying to find the right words. "No, Shinji. That was never the goal."
Shinji's stride faltered for the briefest of moments before his frustration shot up again. "You said it yourself!" His voice, usually so controlled, cracked in anger, causing several of his classmates to glance over, some with raised eyebrows. His gaze shot toward the floor, his jaw clenched tight, but the heat of the moment had already spilled out. "When we made that deal—just before it—you said it yourself. You wanted me to be the perfect weapon. Just like I was back in that hellhole, so don't sit there, or whatever the hell you're doing in MY mind and tell me an obvious lie."
The words hung in the air, harsh and biting. There was no denying it now—the specter had said those things to him. Had made it clear that it wanted to mold him, to shape him into something dangerous, something deadly. A tool, nothing more.
For a moment, the specter said nothing. A long, unnerving silence stretched between them. The only sounds were the rhythmic pounding of Shinji's shoes against the ground and the occasional rustling of the others as they moved around the training area, feeling the weight of the moment.
Then the specter's voice came again, quieter this time, almost as if it was struggling with the weight of its own words. "I know what I said, Shinji. And I was wrong. I thought that was the only way to make you strong, but I see now… I see now that I was wrong. You are strong, even without that. I don't want to force you to be something you're not anymore."
Shinji's right hand twitched slightly, the phantom sensation of it brushing against his side, aching to move. He clenched his left hand tighter, fingers digging into his palm as if willing it to stop shaking. "Then what do you want from me?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, raw and full of a vulnerability he wasn't ready to admit.
For a second, the specter was silent, and Shinji could almost feel its presence just behind him, watching. "I want you to be you. No more lies, no more pretending. I want to help you, Shinji. I want to see you grow, not as a weapon, but as someone who chooses their own path."
The words hung there, heavy in the silence. Shinji's steps grew slower, a slight hesitation creeping into his rhythm. Part of him wanted to shut it out, to dismiss it as another attempt to control him. But the specter was speaking differently now, quieter, almost pleading.
Shinji's teeth ground together, the frustration mounting inside him. He wanted to lash out. He wanted to scream at the specter, to tell it how much he hated this feeling of uncertainty, of not knowing who he was anymore. But instead, all he could do was push forward.
"Don't think that makes everything better," he muttered, more to himself than to the specter. "I'm not buying whatever you're selling."
Shinji's frustration only grew. His arm—his right arm—continued to hang useless at his side, a constant reminder of everything he couldn't control, of all the things that made him feel like he wasn't enough.
Finally, the specter's voice came, quieter but resolute. "I'm not going anywhere, Shinji. I'm with you. If you're ready to hear it, I want to help you become the same kid you used to be, I want to help you be normal again."
"Then you're going to be left wanting for a long time."