Chapter 14: The Price of Order
The bell above the bakery door chimed with a soft, cheerful ring.
The heavy, suffocating heat of Ground Beta and the violent clashes of the training exercise felt like they belonged to an entirely different world. Here, the air was thick with the sweet, comforting aroma of roasted almonds, vanilla, and fresh dough.
Sakazuki stood behind the wooden counter, the dark brown fabric of his work apron tied neatly over his plain civilian clothes. His broad shoulders and imposing frame made the small bakery feel even smaller, yet he moved with a quiet, practiced efficiency. The same teenager who had terrified Todoroki into absolute submission hours earlier was now carefully placing a delicate strawberry shortcake into a pristine white cardboard box.
"Here is your order, ma'am," Sakazuki rumbled, his deep voice consciously softened to a polite, steady hum. He handed the box over the counter to an elderly woman, accepting her payment and returning the exact change with methodical precision.
The woman smiled warmly at him, thanking him before shuffling out into the evening street.
Sakazuki closed the register and picked up a clean cloth, turning his attention to wiping down the display glass. He worked in total silence, entirely focused on the mundane task. There was no ego in his movements, no lingering adrenaline from his overwhelming victory at the academy. To him, securing the nuclear payload and serving a customer were simply two different tasks that required the exact same level of absolute commitment.
"Sakazuki?"
He turned his head. His mother emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. She looked tired, the shadows under her eyes a permanent fixture, but a soft smile rested on her lips as she watched him work.
As she stepped closer to the counter, her eyes briefly caught the light. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her maternal instincts instantly zeroing in on a tiny imperfection on his otherwise stoic face.
She reached out, her cool, flour-dusted fingers gently hovering over his right cheek. There, just below his cheekbone, was a microscopic, thin red line—the remnant of the ice shrapnel that had grazed him during Todoroki's explosive blast.
"What happened here?" she asked, her voice laced with an immediate, quiet concern.
Sakazuki did not pull away from her touch. His dark eyes softened imperceptibly. He knew that if he mentioned the words 'explosions', 'icebergs', or 'collapsing walls', her anxiety would spike dangerously.
"It is nothing," Sakazuki replied smoothly, his tone perfectly even and reassuring. "A superficial scratch from a routine training maneuver. There is absolutely no need to worry. The academy's safety protocols are adequate."
His mother studied his eyes for a long moment, searching for any hidden pain, before finally letting out a soft, relieved sigh. Her hand dropped from his cheek. "Alright. Just... please be careful. You push yourself so hard."
"I will," he promised quietly, turning back to the display case to ensure it was perfectly spotless for the morning rush.
The next morning, the bright sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Class 1-A. The energetic chatter of the students filled the room, a stark contrast to the heavy, serious atmosphere Sakazuki preferred.
The door slid open, and Shota Aizawa shuffled into the room, holding a stack of printed papers. The class immediately fell silent, scrambling to their assigned seats.
"Good work on yesterday's combat training," Aizawa drawled, his tired eyes scanning the room from behind his messy black hair. "I saw the video feeds and reviewed your overall results."
He turned his gaze toward the blonde boy sitting near the front. "Bakugo. Stop acting like a seven-year-old child. You are wasting your own potential with these temper tantrums."
Bakugo slouched in his seat, his jaw clenched tight, and looked away with a sharp, angry click of his tongue.
Aizawa shifted his attention to the green-haired boy, whose right arm was currently wrapped in a heavy white cast. "Midoriya. You cannot keep using the excuse that you cannot control your quirk. Breaking your arm to win a single match is not heroism; it is a liability. Fix the issue."
Midoriya flinched, shrinking down into his seat. "Yes, sir."
Finally, Aizawa's dark, analytical eyes moved to the back of the classroom, locking directly onto the broad-shouldered teenager sitting perfectly upright in his unbuttoned gray jacket and white cap.
The class tensed, waiting for the underground hero to address the sheer, terrifying display of power they had witnessed.
Aizawa stared at Sakazuki for a long, heavy moment. He opened his mouth to speak. "Sakazuki..."
Aizawa paused. He looked at the teenager's unblinking, disciplined posture. He looked at the complete absence of arrogance or childish pride. Whatever lecture Aizawa had prepared regarding the rapid escalation of thermal force seemed to die in his throat.
Aizawa let out a slow, tired breath and shook his head slightly. "...No, never mind."
Sakazuki's dark eyebrows twitched downward a millimeter. What was he going to say? he wondered internally. It was a rare, unresolved variable, but Sakazuki did not press the issue. If the instructor had nothing actionable to provide, it was irrelevant.
"Now, on to classroom business," Aizawa announced, completely shifting the topic. "Sorry to spring this on you, but we need to pick a class representative."
The room instantly erupted into chaos.
"I want to be class rep! Pick me!" Kirishima yelled, throwing his hand into the air.
"The position belongs to me!" Aoyama declared, sparkling brightly.
"I will be the leader!" Ashido cheered.
Sakazuki remained completely silent, his arms resting on his desk. He watched the frantic, ambitious displays of his classmates with mild apathy. He did not desire the position. Being a class representative was a bureaucratic, administrative title. It did not offer a higher salary, it did not accelerate his hero licensing process, and it did not serve his ultimate goal of accumulating the necessary wealth for his mother's medical expenses. It was a distraction.
"Silence!" Tenya Iida shouted, standing up tall. "This is a position of immense responsibility! We should decide this democratically, through a secret ballot!"
Despite the initial protests, the class eventually agreed. Pieces of paper were passed around.
Sakazuki did not hesitate. He picked up his pen and wrote a single name: Momo Yaoyorozu. He remembered her flawless, objective, and unemotional analysis of his own flaws during the combat training. She possessed a rational, analytical mind. That was the only acceptable criteria for leadership.
A few minutes later, the results were tallied on the chalkboard.
The room gasped.
Momo Yaoyorozu sat at her desk, her hands covering her mouth in genuine shock. Beside her name on the board was the number 3. Below her, Izuku Midoriya had received 2 votes. The rest of the class had largely voted for themselves.
"Three votes?!" Momo whispered, utterly bewildered. She had voted for herself, of course, but to receive two others? (Mina Ashido had voted for her out of admiration for her maturity, and the third, entirely unknown to the class, was a silent endorsement from the most intimidating boy in the room).
"Then it is decided," Aizawa said, zipping himself up into his yellow sleeping bag and collapsing onto the floor. "Yaoyorozu is the class representative. Midoriya is the deputy."
The lunchtime rush in the massive U.A. cafeteria was a deafening, chaotic affair. Hundreds of students from various courses packed the long tables, eating, laughing, and shouting.
Sakazuki sat alone at a table near the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. He methodically consumed a high-protein meal consisting of grilled white fish, brown rice, and a massive pitcher of ice water to maintain his hydration levels. He chewed his food slowly, his posture impeccable, ignoring the wide berth the other students instinctively gave him.
Suddenly, a piercing, high-pitched siren shattered the ambient noise. Red emergency lights began to flash violently across the cafeteria ceiling.
"Security Level 3 has been broken. All students, please evacuate outdoors promptly." The automated, robotic voice echoed through the massive hall.
For a single second, there was silence. Then, absolute, unadulterated panic erupted.
Thousands of teenagers surged out of their seats simultaneously. Trays of food were knocked to the floor, chairs were sent flying, and screams echoed off the walls. The students rushed the narrow hallways leading to the emergency exits, instantly creating a terrifying, crushing bottleneck. They shoved, pushed, and trampled over one another in a blind, terrified stampede.
Amidst the swirling vortex of screaming, panicking students, Sakazuki Akainu did not move a single muscle.
He sat perfectly still at his table. He picked up his chopsticks, picked up a piece of grilled fish, and placed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, his dark eyes scanning the sheer, pathetic display of mass hysteria unfolding before him.
Why are they rushing? Sakazuki thought, his expression flattening into a mask of pure, disappointed disdain. This is a hero academy. It is the absolute stronghold of justice, the most prestigious institution in the entire country, filled with professional heroes.
He took a slow sip of his ice water. If a villain is foolish enough to step foot inside these walls, there is no need to run. I will simply melt them into the pavement.
Because of his proximity to the large windows, Sakazuki turned his head and looked down at the main entrance of the school. He did not see an army of villains. He saw a massive, disorganized swarm of reporters and cameramen pressing against the security gates, demanding interviews about All Might.
It was a media intrusion. Nothing more.
Before Sakazuki could even consider the annoyance of the situation, a loud, metallic clanking echoed above the din of the panic.
Sakazuki looked up. Floating high above the crushing sea of students was Tenya Iida. The tall boy with glasses had utilized Uraraka's zero-gravity quirk and his own engine legs to launch himself over the crowd. Iida spun in mid-air, slamming violently back-first into the wall right above the main emergency exit sign.
"EVERYONE, EVERYTHING IS FINE!" Iida roared at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing through the hallway and cutting through the panic. "IT IS JUST THE PRESS! THERE IS NOTHING TO PANIC ABOUT! YOU ARE AT U.A.! LET US CONDUCT OURSELVES IN A MANNER BEFITTING THE BEST OF THE BEST!"
The effect was instantaneous. The screaming died down. The pushing stopped. The students looked out the windows, saw the reporters, and collectively breathed a massive sigh of relief, their panic evaporating into embarrassed murmurs.
Sitting at his table, Sakazuki set his chopsticks down. He looked at Iida, who was still plastered awkwardly against the wall above the exit sign.
Sakazuki gave a slow, deliberate nod of approval. The boy had assessed the situation, utilized his assets perfectly, and seized control of a panicked crowd with absolute authority. That was true leadership under pressure.
Later that afternoon, the sunlight cast long shadows across Class 1-A.
Momo Yaoyorozu stood at the front of the classroom, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked toward Iida, who was sitting at his desk. She remembered the sheer terror of the stampede, and she remembered how easily Iida had taken command, risking his own safety to restore order while she had been frozen in the crushing crowd.
"Actually," Momo began, her voice clear and humble, "I would like to step down from the position of Class Representative."
The class looked at her in surprise.
Momo smiled warmly, gesturing toward the tall boy with glasses. "Iida proved today that he possesses the natural instincts, the loud voice, and the courage to lead people in a crisis. I believe he is far better suited to guide this class. I would be honored to serve as his Vice Representative instead, if he will have me."
Iida stood up abruptly, his robotic posture rigid with honor, tears of pride practically welling in his eyes. "If the class wills it, I, Tenya Iida, will accept this monumental duty!"
Sakazuki sat in the back of the room, his white cap casting a shadow over his eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment, a profound sense of internal satisfaction settling over him. The hierarchy had naturally corrected itself. The right person had been placed in the right position based purely on merit and performance under pressure, not on a random, emotional vote.
From the front of the room, Aizawa sighed, squirming slightly inside his yellow sleeping bag on the floor. "Whatever. Just decide quickly. We have more important things to deal with. Your real hero training is about to begin."