Chapter 22: The Recovery Room
Silence was a harsh, jarring contrast after the roaring chaos of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint.
The blaring sirens of the police cruisers and the flashing lights reflecting off the shattered glass dome had faded into a dull, distant memory. The massive surge of adrenaline that had kept Sakazuki's fractured body moving had long since burned out, leaving him adrift in a heavy, dreamless dark.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first sensation to register was the smell. It was a sharp, clinical blend of rubbing alcohol, bleached linen, and artificial citrus floor cleaner.
A rhythmic, steady beep echoed near his right ear. Sakazuki blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights humming on the ceiling. He tried to draw a deep breath, but a sudden, stabbing agony pierced his chest, forcing him to cut the inhale short and release a slow, controlled hiss through his teeth.
His torso felt stiff, bound tightly in thick layers of medical gauze and rigid braces to stabilize his cracked ribs. A dull, relentless throbbing radiated from his temples, matching the pulse of his heart. He could feel the snug pressure of bandages wrapped securely around his head, right where his skull had collided with the concrete wall. An intravenous drip was taped to the back of his left hand, slowly feeding a steady stream of cool saline into his severely dehydrated system.
The hospital ward was quiet.
Sakazuki slowly raised his unencumbered right hand, bringing it into his line of sight. The skin was rough, calloused from years of maintaining a furnace within his veins, but right now, it was just ordinary, fragile human flesh. He stared at his palm, the lines illuminated by the overhead light.
A bitter, corrosive sense of inadequacy twisted in his gut.
He had always viewed his quirk as an apex weapon. It was a force of nature, capable of turning solid rock into liquid slag. Yet, when faced with a truly engineered nightmare, his ultimate strike had only resulted in a mutual takedown. Worse, he had been swatted aside by a single, blunt-force blow. One punch from the monstrous creature had been enough to shatter his bones, rattle his brain, and leave him helpless.
Am I still this far away? Sakazuki thought, his jaw clenching as a deep wave of shame washed over him. To fall so easily. To be incapacitated by a single strike.
He closed his hand into a tight fist, ignoring the protest of his bruised muscles. The route to securing the financial stability he needed for his family was a mountain far steeper than he had calculated. Relying purely on the lethal output of his quirk was a fatal flaw. His physical vessel was still too fragile. If his bones shattered upon impact, his magma was useless.
The soft click of the door handle turning broke him from his harsh internal critique.
The door pushed open with a quiet creak. A frail woman stepped into the room, her shoulders hunched, holding a worn cloth handbag tightly against her chest. Her face was pale, the dark circles under her eyes seemingly deeper than the night before.
She stopped near the foot of the bed. Her breath hitched as she took in the sight of her son. The intimidating, stoic teenager was currently tethered to a heart monitor, his chest wrapped in stiff braces, and an IV line piercing his skin.
Sakazuki pushed his own shame and physical agony aside. He forced his muscles to obey, ignoring the sharp stab in his ribs as he pressed his elbows into the mattress and shifted into a slightly elevated position. He swallowed hard, suppressing the wince that threatened to cross his features.
"You didn't need to come all this way," Sakazuki spoke. His voice was dry and raspy, lacking its usual deep rumble.
His mother walked closer, her steps hesitant. She set her bag on the small bedside table and reached out, her trembling fingers gently hovering over the bandages wrapped around his head, afraid to actually touch him and cause him more pain.
"The school called," she whispered, her voice fragile, fighting tears. "They said villains attacked the training facility. They said you were injured."
"It was a chaotic environment," Sakazuki replied, keeping his tone as steady as his dry throat allowed. He reached up with his right hand and gently took her trembling fingers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "I took a bad fall against a wall. It looks worse than it is. I will be discharged soon."
She did not argue. She knew her son well enough to recognize when he was actively shielding her from the grim reality of his life. She pulled a plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down, keeping both of her hands wrapped around his calloused one. She didn't scold him for fighting. She didn't beg him to quit the hero course. She just rested her forehead against the edge of the mattress, the tension draining from her weary frame now that she could confirm he was breathing.
They sat together in a grounding silence for a long time. The rhythmic hum of the machinery felt less intrusive with her steady presence anchoring him to the room.
Eventually, a nurse in light blue scrubs entered quietly, carrying a digital clipboard. She offered a sympathetic smile to the resting mother before moving to check the fluid levels in Sakazuki's IV bag and noting the numbers on the monitor.
"Your vitals are stabilizing nicely," the nurse murmured, tapping the screen. "The doctor will be in later this evening to discuss your ribs, but you are out of the danger zone."
Sakazuki looked at her, his dark eyes tired but focused. "The homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa. And the green-haired student. How are they?"
The nurse paused, her professional smile softening. "Your teacher is in the intensive care unit. He has multiple fractures and a severe break in his arm, but his condition is stable. He is resting. As for your classmate... Midoriya-kun is in the orthopedics wing. His legs suffered severe breaks, but Recovery Girl has already started his treatments. He will need time, but he will heal."
Sakazuki nodded slowly, the movement sending a dull ache to the base of his skull. "Understood. Thank you."
The nurse nodded and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving Sakazuki alone with his thoughts once more.
He leaned his head back against the pillows. A fresh dose of painkillers from the IV line began to seep into his bloodstream, making his limbs feel heavy and his thoughts slightly foggy.
Midoriya. The name drifted through his tired mind. Sakazuki's rational brain rejected the boy's actions. To plunge into a hostile engagement without any control over one's own weapon, resulting in the crippling of one's own limbs, was a massive tactical failure. It made the boy a liability on the battlefield.
Sakazuki closed his eyes, the image of the blinding green lightning flashing behind his eyelids. The boy was incompetent. Yet, he had jumped. He had thrown himself into the line of fire, turning his own fragile body into a human shield without a second of hesitation. It was reckless. It was stupid.
But it was brave. A quiet, reluctant respect settled in Sakazuki's chest, mingling with the pain of his ribs.
His medicated thoughts shifted, drifting toward his homeroom teacher. Mr. Aizawa had fought fiercely. He had thrown himself into a horde of armed criminals to buy his students time to escape. He had held onto his quirk even as his face was being crushed into the concrete. Aizawa was a genuine guardian.
A sudden, sharp throb pulsed in Sakazuki's temples. He winced, shifting slightly on the bed.
He fought hard, Sakazuki reasoned, his mind struggling to focus through the haze of the medication. But he broke.
The image of the Nomu standing over the fallen teacher played on a loop in his head. A guardian who breaks leaves the gates undefended. The villains had walked right over Aizawa to reach the students.
Sakazuki's breathing slowed as the painkillers pulled him deeper into a state of heavy lethargy. The world needed a pillar that didn't crack. A fortress. A noble effort was not enough to deter true evil. The Symbol of Peace was effective because he was an untouchable summit.
I cannot be swatted away again, Sakazuki promised himself, the thought slipping away as the edges of his consciousness began to blur. I need to be iron. A wall of iron and heat.
The hours ticked by. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital ward were eventually turned off by the nursing staff, replaced by the warm, bruised orange hues of the setting sun filtering through the window blinds.
His mother had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep in the plastic chair, her head resting near his hip, her hands still lightly holding his.
Sakazuki did not move, unwilling to disturb her much-needed rest. He watched the sunlight slowly fade into dusk. The battle was over, but the long, agonizing road to forging his body into an unbreakable weapon had only just begun. He closed his eyes, finally letting the dark, medicated sleep pull him under.