Chapter 26: I must stay with him...
The single moniker hung in the stale air of the corridor, heavy and absolute. Magma Boy.
A suffocating silence immediately gripped the crowded hallway. The students from the General Studies and Support departments stopped laughing. They held their breath, their previous mockery replaced by a raw, burning curiosity. They were not expecting a display of arrogance or a fiery threat; they simply wanted to know. Was the rumor true? Did this battered, bandaged teenager really stand alone against a monster that had crushed a professional hero?
Sakazuki did not flinch under the weight of dozens of staring eyes. His exhausted features remained perfectly still. He looked at Neito Monoma with a cold, unwavering focus. He did not ignite his fists, nor did he raise his voice to defend his pride.
"Knowing the nature of a weapon," Sakazuki answered, his deep voice calm and intensely practical, "does not grant you the physical durability to survive its strike."
He adjusted the strap of his school bag, his intention to leave clear. But before he could take another step, Monoma's provocative smirk widened into a triumphant grin.
"It would have been better for you to deny it, at least," the blonde boy chuckled, crossing his arms. "I only had my suspicions, but you just confirmed them right now."
Smack.
A swift, sharp chop landed squarely on the back of Monoma's neck. Itsuka Kendo stepped forward, sighing in exasperation as the blonde boy stumbled forward, rubbing his nape.
"I told you not to pick unnecessary fights," Kendo scolded, offering a brief, apologetic nod toward the Class A students.
However, Monoma quickly recovered his balance. He ignored his class representative, his eyes locking onto Sakazuki with a fierce, competitive glare. "We are going to prove the superiority of Class B! At the Sports Festival, my classmates and I will definitely crush you and the rest of your pampered friends."
"Interesting!" a loud, metallic voice boomed from the back of the group. Tetsutetsu pushed his way forward, clashing his silver fists together. "I am participating too! Let's see who really has the iron will to win!"
A few paces behind him, Ibara Shiozaki gently shook her head, her vine-like green hair swaying slightly. "Such childish squabbles..." she murmured softly, displeased by the aggressive posturing.
The tension in the corridor spiked, the challenge openly declared. But before Monoma or Tetsutetsu could press their verbal assault any further, heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from the classroom doorway.
Eijiro Kirishima, Tenya Iida, and Mezo Shoji stepped out into the hall. They did not hesitate. Moving with a synchronized, unspoken resolve, the three students positioned themselves firmly in front of and beside Sakazuki, forming a solid, human wall between him and the crowd.
Kirishima hardened his forearms, his sharp teeth bared in a confident grin. "Don't think he is standing alone. Sakazuki has comrades right here."
Shoji crossed his multiple arms, his massive frame casting a wide shadow, while Iida adjusted his glasses, his posture rigid and uncompromising. The spontaneous display of unity from Class 1-A sent a clear message: attacking one meant dealing with all of them.
Standing on the periphery, Hitoshi Shinso observed the sudden shift in dynamics. The tired bags under his eyes seemed to lessen as a faint, lazy smile touched his lips. "Interesting," he noted, his voice calm amidst the rising heat. "Then, our appointment is the Sports Festival."
With the gauntlet thrown and the lines clearly drawn, the massive crowd slowly began to disperse. The students from the other departments backed away, whispering urgently among themselves about the upcoming tournament.
From the shadows of the classroom, Katsuki Bakugo watched the hallway clear out. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth ground together audibly. His pride violently rejected the scene he had just witnessed. The fact that his own classmates had instinctively rallied around the magma user, treating him as the undisputed pillar of their group, ignited a furious, silent vow within the explosive boy. He would tear down that pedestal at the festival.
Hours later, the sun had fully set, casting long, peaceful shadows over the quiet residential district.
Sakazuki unlocked the door to his cramped apartment. The familiar, comforting scent of sweet dough and old paper greeted him. He slipped off his shoes and walked toward the small living space.
At the tiny kitchen table, his mother was hunched over a stack of worn ledger books. A single desk lamp illuminated the deep exhaustion etched into her face. She was trying to balance the bakery's daily accounts, her fingers rubbing her temples in a futile attempt to ward off a headache.
Sakazuki stepped closer. Without a word, he reached out and gently took the pen from her trembling hand. He pulled the ledger toward his side of the table.
"Rest," Sakazuki told her, his voice losing its usual rough edge, softening into something protective and warm. "I will handle the calculations for tonight."
She looked up at him, noting the thick bandages around his head and the stiff way he held his torso. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that an injured student should be resting in bed, but the quiet, immovable resolve in his expression stopped her. She offered a fragile, grateful smile and slowly stood up from the wooden chair, retreating to her bedroom.
Left alone in the dim light of the kitchen, Sakazuki finished the bakery's math. Then, he pulled out a different folder. This one contained the mounting medical bills and the notices of outstanding debt. He stared at the numbers. The Sports Festival was no longer just a tactical exercise. It was a lifeline.
Across the narrow hallway, the door to his mother's bedroom was securely closed.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, facing the small, scratched vanity mirror. She reached for a wooden comb, slowly dragging it through her hair. She always forced a bright, reassuring smile whenever she was in the same room as her son, doing her best to hide the crushing fatigue that gnawed at her bones.
But here, in the isolated silence of her own room, the mask finally slipped.
She looked at her reflection. Her hair, once a vibrant, glossy black, was now heavily threaded with premature streaks of silver—a testament to years of relentless, unforgiving labor. Her warm amber eyes, usually so full of gentle affection, looked hollow and deeply tired.
Suddenly, her amber eyes widened in sheer terror.
The wooden comb slipped from her numb fingers, clattering loudly against the floorboards.
A violent, erratic throb seized her chest. It was a brutal, mechanical failure deep within her body, a sudden surge of pressure that felt as though her veins were on the verge of rupturing. She doubled over, gasping for air that refused to fill her lungs. Her hands flew to her chest, gripping the fabric of her sleepwear so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Cold, clammy sweat instantly beaded across her forehead. The room spun, the edges of her vision darkening into a terrifying gray. She bit her lower lip, fighting to suppress a cry of pain so she would not alarm the boy sitting just a few walls away.
"Not now..." she whispered, her voice a fragile, broken rasp as she fought through the suffocating agony. "Please..."
Slowly, agonizingly, the erratic pounding began to subside, leaving her gasping and shivering in the quiet room. She leaned forward, resting her damp forehead against the cool glass of the vanity mirror. She stared deeply into her own exhausted reflection, terrified by the fragile mortality staring back at her.
Tears welled up in her amber eyes, tracing warm paths down her pale cheeks.
"I need more time," she murmured into the empty room, her voice trembling with a desperate, heartbreaking plea. "I must stay with him... just a little longer."