Chapter 6: The Weight of the Badge
A full week had passed since the entrance exam, yet the atmosphere within the small bakery remained entirely unchanged. The sweet, heavy scent of caramelized sugar and roasted almonds filled the air, mixing with the rhythmic hum of the display refrigerators. Behind the counter, Sakazuki moved with his usual, unwavering efficiency. He wiped down the espresso machine, restocked the paper cups, and calculated the afternoon receipts without a single wasted movement.
He did not pace the floors at night. He did not stare anxiously at the mailbox. Emotion, specifically anxiety over an outcome he could no longer control, was a useless expenditure of energy. He had executed his strategy perfectly. He had neutralized the threats, secured the civilian, and demonstrated his tactical value. The mathematics of his performance dictated an acceptance.
The sharp chime of the front door bell broke the afternoon lull. The local postman stepped inside, tipping his hat to Sakazuki's mother, who was arranging a tray of fresh fruit tarts near the window.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. Heavy delivery for you today," the postman said cheerfully, handing over a stack of envelopes.
She thanked him with a warm smile, but as she sifted through the generic bills and advertisement flyers, her hands suddenly stopped. Her breath hitched. Sitting squarely in the middle of the pile was a thick, pristine white envelope, sealed with the unmistakable, crimson wax stamp of U.A. High School.
"Sakazuki!" she gasped, her voice trembling with a sudden, overwhelming surge of adrenaline. She abandoned the fruit tarts, rushing through the swinging wooden door into the backroom where he was currently kneading a fresh batch of dough. "It is here. The letter is here."
Sakazuki looked up from the stainless steel counter. He did not rush. He carefully dusted the white flour from his large, calloused hands, grabbing a clean towel to dry them. He took the heavy envelope from her shaking fingers.
He tore the top edge with a single, clean motion and tipped the envelope upside down over the prep table.
Instead of a stack of printed papers, a small, heavy metal disk slid out, clattering against the steel surface. For a fraction of a second, the room was silent. Then, the disk hummed to life, projecting a vibrant, high-definition holographic screen into the dimly lit backroom.
"I AM HERE AS A PROJECTION!"
The booming, larger-than-life voice of All Might echoed off the tiled walls, rattling the baking sheets stacked on the nearby racks. The Number One Hero stood on the screen in his bright yellow pinstripe suit, his trademark smile blindingly bright, striking a dramatic pose for the camera.
Sakazuki's mother gasped, pressing both of her hands over her mouth in sheer disbelief. To have the Symbol of Peace speaking directly within the walls of their humble bakery was an honor she could scarcely comprehend.
Sakazuki, however, watched the hologram with an entirely stoic, unreadable expression. As he looked at the massive, muscular figure on the screen, he did not see the smiling entertainer the media loved to portray. He saw the apex of physical force. He saw the man who had spent decades ruthlessly hunting down the corrupt, dismantling criminal empires, and showing absolutely no mercy to those who possessed a heart dedicated to evil. All Might was the living embodiment of absolute justice, a man who crushed villainy under the sheer, undeniable weight of his power. That was the aspect of the hero Sakazuki respected.
"Young Sakazuki!" All Might's voice boomed from the projection, leaning forward slightly. "You performed flawlessly on the written exam! But the hero course requires more than just academic brilliance. You demonstrated overwhelming offensive capability, destroying targets with terrifying efficiency. You scored an incredible seventy-four villain points!"
The screen shifted, showing a replay of Sakazuki ordering the Beast Boy to save the girl before lunging into the Zero-Pointer.
"But that is not all! A hero does not just destroy; a hero protects. Your tactical assessment of the battlefield, your delegation to save a civilian in imminent danger, and your decisive action to neutralize the ultimate threat earned you an additional forty rescue points! Giving you a grand total of one hundred and fourteen points! You placed first overall!"
All Might extended a massive hand toward the camera. "Come, Young Sakazuki. This is your Hero Academia!"
The hologram flickered and vanished, plunging the backroom back into its normal, quiet lighting.
For a long moment, the only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator. Then, a soft, broken sob broke the silence. Sakazuki turned his head. His mother was crying freely, tears streaming down her pale cheeks as a wide, incredibly radiant smile broke across her face. The years of exhausting labor, the constant fear of her declining health, the dark shadow of his father's legacy—all of it seemed to wash away in the flood of her joyous tears.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his broad shoulders, burying her face in his chest.
Sakazuki stood perfectly still, a solid, immovable pillar against her emotional wave. Slowly, he raised his large, heavy right hand—the same hand that had melted military steel only days ago—and placed it gently on the top of her head, patting her hair with a surprising, deliberate softness.
"There is no need to cry," Sakazuki said, his deep, rumbling voice exceptionally gentle in the quiet room. "I already told you I would be accepted. This is just the beginning. I still have a long way to go."
As she continued to weep into his shirt, holding onto him as if he were the most precious thing in the world, the rigid, severe lines of Sakazuki's face softened. A faint, microscopic smile—a rare, almost imperceptible curving of his lips—appeared on his face. He would protect this peace. He would burn the world down to ensure she never stopped smiling like this.
The alarm clock on his bedside table clicked softly to 6:00 AM.
Sakazuki opened his eyes. The room was dark, but he rose instantly. He had completely restructured his morning routine. The punishing, isolated 4:00 AM runs to the coastline were no longer a viable tactical option. U.A. High School was renowned for pushing its students to their physical breaking points on a daily basis. Expending his internal thermal reserves and dehydrating himself before classes even began would be a foolish, self-sabotaging maneuver. He needed to conserve his energy and maintain his core temperature for whatever the academy's instructors had planned.
He moved to the kitchen, silently preparing the morning meal. He set out the grilled fish, the rice, and the small cup containing his mother's daily medication. Beside it, he placed a freshly written note: Eat your breakfast. Take your medicine. Do not overwork yourself today.
Returning to his room, he picked up his newly arrived school uniform.
He dressed methodically. The gray jacket was impeccably tailored, designed to accommodate his broad shoulders and dense musculature. However, he had implemented his own strict modifications to the standard attire. Instead of the plain white dress shirt provided by the school, he wore a dark, blood-red dress shirt underneath, leaving the gray jacket completely unbuttoned to allow for better ventilation of his naturally high body heat. He adjusted his collar, his expression hardening as he transitioned from son to soldier.
Finally, he picked up a crisp, white, military-style cap. He placed it firmly on his head, the brim casting a permanent, dark shadow over his stern eyes and sharp, severe facial features. He looked at himself in the mirror. He did not look like a high school freshman. He looked like a veteran officer preparing for deployment.
The commute to the academy was entirely uneventful. He sat on the crowded morning train with perfect, rigid posture, his dark eyes focused straight ahead. The carriage was packed with students from various schools chatting loudly, yet an invisible perimeter of silence seemed to form around Sakazuki. He was not a giant, but his sheer presence—the dense, uncompromising aura of absolute discipline and lethal seriousness radiating from him—made the other passengers instinctively avoid his gaze and give him a wide berth.
When he finally passed through the towering security gates of U.A., the campus was bustling with life. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, casting soft pink petals across the paved walkways. Sakazuki ignored the scenery, navigating the massive, winding corridors of the main building with a steady, heavy stride.
He reached the hallway dedicated to the first-year hero course.
Ahead of him stood a colossal door, painted with a massive red "1-A." The door was already propped wide open, allowing the chaotic, overlapping voices of his new classmates to spill out into the quiet hallway.
Sakazuki did not pause to take a deep, nervous breath. He did not hesitate at the threshold. He simply adjusted the strap of his heavy backpack over his shoulder and walked inside.
The classroom was spacious, bathed in the bright morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. Sakazuki walked down the aisle with a measured, heavy step. His resting facial expression naturally carried a severe, almost antagonistic weight, making him appear intensely unapproachable.
He located his assigned desk near the back of the room. He pulled the chair out silently and sat down, placing his bag neatly by his feet.
The desk directly in front of him belonged to a girl with long, black hair tied in a spiky ponytail. Momo Yaoyorozu had been organizing her stationary, but the moment Sakazuki sat behind her, her posture underwent an immediate, involuntary change. A heavy, rigid pressure seemed to settle over her shoulders. She did not panic, nor did she turn around to stare, but her spine stiffened into a perfectly straight line. She could practically feel the intense, silent heat radiating from the boy sitting behind her, an overwhelming gravity that made the simple act of breathing feel suddenly deliberate and cautious.
Sakazuki paid no attention to the girl's stiffened posture. His dark eyes beneath the brim of his white cap scanned the room, passively evaluating the environment.
A few rows away, the ambient noise of the classroom was dominated by a loud, escalating argument. A tall boy with dark blue hair and rectangular glasses was chopping his arms through the air in rigid, robotic motions. He was strictly reprimanding a boy with spiky, ash-blonde hair who had carelessly thrown his combat boots up onto his desk. The boy with glasses barked about disrespecting the academy's upperclassmen and the foundational rules of decorum, while the blonde boy merely scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an explosive, arrogant sneer, daring the other to do something about it.
Sakazuki rested his forearms quietly on his desk, watching the display. The sheer immaturity unfolding before him was grating. He remained entirely silent, his unreadable gaze fixed on the argument, waiting patiently for the true nature of U.A. High School to reveal itself.