Chapter 9: Admiral of Peace
The brass key turned in the lock with a soft, metallic click.
Sakazuki pushed the door open, stepping into the quiet darkness of the small apartment. He carefully removed his heavy boots, placing them neatly in the entryway. A deep, persistent ache settled in the dense musculature of his thighs and calves. It was not an unbearable pain—his body was thoroughly conditioned by years of relentless, punishing physical labor—but the sheer volume of the eight consecutive athletic tests, performed entirely without the cooling utility of his quirk under the afternoon sun, had left him severely dehydrated. His throat felt like rough, dry sandpaper.
He walked softly toward the kitchen. The apartment was completely silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator and the faint, flickering blue light spilling out from the living room.
Sakazuki opened the freezer, extracting a handful of ice cubes. He dropped them into a large glass, the sharp clinking sound seemingly magnified in the quiet room, and filled it to the brim with cold tap water. He drank the entire glass in a single, continuous draw, feeling the freezing liquid wash down his parched throat, extinguishing the lingering, uncomfortable heat radiating from his core.
Setting the glass down, he stepped into the living room.
His mother was sitting in her worn armchair, fast asleep. The television was on, its volume muted, casting shifting shadows across her pale, exhausted face. Her head rested awkwardly against her shoulder, a half-knitted scarf lying dormant in her lap.
Sakazuki did not wake her. He moved with a quiet, deliberate caution that stood in stark contrast to his heavy, imposing frame. He retrieved a thick, knitted blanket from the back of the sofa, unfolded it silently, and draped it gently over her shoulders. He paused for a fraction of a second, ensuring her breathing remained steady and undisturbed, before turning off the television and retreating to his room.
Sitting at his small, wooden desk in the dark, he opened the bottom drawer. He reached past his notebooks and pulled out a glossy, heavy-stock medical brochure.
It was a detailed prospectus from an advanced, highly exclusive overseas medical research facility. Sakazuki flipped it open to the financial section. The numbers printed on the page were astronomical. They were figures that a small-town bakery could not generate in three lifetimes.
He stared at the zeroes, the faint glow of the streetlamp outside illuminating the sharp, rigid lines of his face.
His mind drifted back to the dusty training field. Eighteenth place. He recalled the harsh, arrogant sneer on Bakugo's face as the blonde boy walked past him. "Even I expected something better from you." He thought of Momo Yaoyorozu, standing tall with her flawless, highly adaptable quirk securing the absolute peak of the leaderboard. And finally, his mind conjured the image of Izuku Midoriya—a frail, trembling boy who had intentionally shattered his own bones, turning his finger a sickening shade of purple, simply to prove he deserved to stand on that field.
Sakazuki offered no internal commentary. He made no excuses for his ranking, nor did he feel a burning, emotional desire to prove Bakugo wrong. He simply sat in the heavy silence of his bedroom, his dark eyes locked onto the medical bill.
The hero industry was not a game. It was not a childhood dream of wearing a cape and signing autographs. It was the highest-paying, most lucrative profession in the modern world. It was a job, and he would climb to the absolute summit of it to secure the capital required to save the woman sleeping in the next room. His resolve solidified into an unbreakable, volcanic rock.
The transition from the entrance exams to the rigorous rhythm of U.A. High School did not happen overnight. A full week passed, grounding the students in the demanding, mundane reality of their new lives.
The week settled into a strict, unyielding pattern. On Tuesday morning, a heavy spring rain battered the massive glass windows of the campus while the students struggled through advanced modern literature. On Wednesday afternoon, the sprawling cafeteria was a deafening ocean of teenage voices, where Sakazuki sat in his usual isolated corner, methodically consuming his high-protein meals while silently observing the shifting social dynamics of his peers.
By Friday morning, the sheer academic load had already begun to crush the initial excitement of the freshmen. Inside the classroom, the Voice Hero, Present Mic, was pacing energetically in front of the chalkboard, delivering a highly animated, painfully loud lecture on the complex grammatical structures of relative English pronouns.
Half the class was slouching. Denki Kaminari had his head resting on his desk, his eyes glazed over in sheer boredom, while Mina Ashido twirled a pencil absentmindedly.
Sakazuki sat perfectly upright, his posture mimicking a steel rod. His dark eyes were fixed on the board, his pen moving across his notebook in sharp, precise, immaculate strokes. Discipline was not a switch to be flipped only during combat; it was a constant, absolute state of being. He absorbed the information with the same ruthless efficiency he applied to his physical training.
The true shift in the atmosphere finally arrived after the lunch period.
The students were chatting idly in their seats when the massive classroom door suddenly rattled in its frame.
"I AM..." a booming, earth-shattering voice echoed from the hallway.
The door was thrown open with tremendous force.
"...COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"
All Might strode into the room, wearing his brilliant, brightly colored Silver Age costume. The sheer physical presence of the Number One Hero instantly sucked the air out of the room. The students erupted into cheers, their eyes wide with awe and disbelief as the towering, muscular icon marched to the front podium.
Sakazuki observed the hero from beneath the brim of his white cap. He did not cheer. He looked past the theatrical entrance, past the bright colors, and past the trademark, booming laugh.
The conqueror of villains, Sakazuki thought, his dark eyes locking onto the massive man. The Symbol of Peace. Behind that bright, commercialized smile lies a terrifying, overwhelming monster that makes the entire criminal underworld tremble in absolute fear. It is not his laugh that maintains order. It is his undeniable, crushing strength. "Hero Basic Training!" All Might announced, striking a dramatic pose. "The class that will put you through all sorts of special training to mold you into true heroes! And today, we are doing... Combat Training!"
The word sent a visible jolt of electricity through the room. Bakugo's eyes widened, a fierce, predatory grin instantly splitting his face.
"And to go with that!" All Might pointed a massive finger toward the side wall.
The wall suddenly hummed, large mechanical panels sliding outward to reveal twenty heavily reinforced, numbered metal briefcases. "Costumes made based on your quirk registrations and the request forms you sent in before school started! Get changed and gather at Ground Beta!"
Thirty minutes later, the dark, concrete tunnel leading out into the artificial cityscape of Ground Beta echoed with the heavy, overlapping footsteps of Class 1-A. The students stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, completely transformed. The standard school uniforms were gone, replaced by an explosion of vibrant colors, heavy armor plating, utility belts, and high-tech support gear.
They stood together, a diverse, chaotic gathering of aspiring heroes, chatting excitedly about their new equipment.
A moment later, a slow, heavy, rhythmic thud echoed from the shadows of the tunnel.
The chatter slowly died down as the students turned their heads.
Sakazuki stepped out of the darkness and into the light.
He did not look like a superhero. He wore a meticulously tailored, immaculate white double-breasted suit. The fabric was crisp, dense, and entirely devoid of any flashy, colorful insignias. Beneath the white jacket, a dark, blood-red dress shirt was buttoned neatly, contrasting sharply against the pristine white. A single, small, dark red rose was pinned meticulously to his left lapel. Thick, black leather gloves tightened over his large knuckles, squeaking softly as he flexed his hands. The crisp white military cap sat firmly on his head, casting a dark shadow over his stoic eyes.
But what truly commanded the air around him was the heavy, dark brown cloak draped over his broad shoulders. It possessed no armholes, simply hanging off his frame like a mantle of absolute authority, its thick fabric billowing gently in the artificial wind of the mock city.
He did not look like a student participating in a training exercise. He radiated the overwhelming, heavy aura of a high-ranking military commander stepping onto a live battlefield.
Ochaco Uraraka, wearing a pink and black spacesuit-inspired costume, blinked in surprise, unconsciously taking a small step back. Denki Kaminari, adjusting the collar of his black jacket, let out a low whistle.
"Whoa, Akainu," Kaminari said, his voice laced with genuine, intimidated respect. "You look incredibly sharp. Super formal, man."
Uraraka nodded quickly. "It is very intimidating! But it looks really amazing."
Sakazuki stopped walking. He looked at them with a flat, unreadable expression. "Your outfits appear highly functional as well," he replied smoothly, his deep voice perfectly calm.
As he stood there amidst the colorful heroes, his mind briefly drifted away from the mock city, flashing back to a quiet evening weeks ago.
He was sitting at his small, battered laptop in his dimly lit bedroom. The screen displayed a blocky, pixelated 3D rendering of his costume request form. He heard the soft padding of footsteps, and his mother leaned over his broad shoulder, looking at the glowing screen.
"Why this specific look, Sakazuki?" she had asked softly, a curious tone in her voice as she took in the white suit and the heavy cloak."It projects absolute commitment," Sakazuki had replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "It represents unwavering discipline. A hero should not look like a clown in a circus."
His mother tilted her head, a warm, affectionate smile spreading across her tired features. "It makes you look like a naval admiral from those old history books."
Sakazuki paused, considering her words. He nodded slowly. "It does. In a world that relies entirely on a Symbol of Peace to maintain order, I will be the Admiral of Peace."
Her smile widened, the genuine warmth finally reaching her eyes, making her look years younger. "Admiral of Peace... I think it suits you perfectly."
"Now then!" All Might's booming voice snapped Sakazuki's attention back to the present reality of Ground Beta. The massive hero stood before the class, holding a bright yellow lottery box. "It is time to determine your partners and your opponents! The situation is a two-on-two indoor battle! Villains guarding a nuclear weapon against Heroes trying to secure it!"
Sakazuki stepped forward with the rest of his classmates to draw his lot. As he reached out, his black leather glove contrasting sharply against the bright yellow box, the wind shifted through the mock city. The heavy, dark brown fabric of his cloak caught the breeze, rustling loudly behind him like the unfurling of a war banner, as he prepared to learn whose operation he was about to systematically dismantle.