Chapter 18: Soulless Steel
The steel door to the second section was twice as thick as the first.
Tsukauchi punched in a six-digit code. The heavy bolts retracted with a loud, echoing clank.
"The items in the first room were dangerous because of the people who wielded them," Aizawa explained, his voice low in the sterile, brightly lit hallway. "The items in here are dangerous because of what they are."
I walked in. My right hand rested naturally on the white hilt of the Wado Ichimonji. My left hand hovered near the Sandai Kitetsu. I could still feel the cursed blade purring against my hip, like a chained beast waiting to be let off the leash.
The lights flickered on.
There were no dusty wooden crates or rusty chains here. Only sleek, titanium cases and glowing biometric locks. It looked more like a high-tech laboratory than an evidence room.
Tsukauchi walked over to a long metal table. He pressed his thumb against a scanner. The case hissed, releasing a cloud of cold, pressurized vapor.
"Villain tech," Tsukauchi said, stepping back. "Confiscated from high-tier underground brokers. If you want something that won't break under your physical strength, this is it."
I looked inside the case.
It was a sword, technically. But it looked like a science experiment. The blade was thick, wired with glowing blue filaments along the edge. The hilt was bulky, fitted with a heavy battery pack and a mechanical trigger.
"High-frequency vibro-blade," Aizawa noted, looking down at the weapon. "The edge vibrates at tens of thousands of times per second. It cuts through solid concrete like warm butter. It doesn't rely on the user's Quirk. It's pure, devastating technology."
I stared at it. I didn't feel a dark aura. I didn't feel a thirst for blood or the heavy weight of history.
I felt absolutely nothing.
I reached out and picked it up. The balance was entirely off. The grip was molded for a gloved hand, not a true swordsman's palm. I pressed the trigger. The blade hummed with a loud, obnoxious electric whine. The air around the edge blurred with artificial heat.
I turned to Aizawa. My face was completely deadpan.
"This is a toy."
Tsukauchi blinked, looking offended. "A toy? Kid, that thing can slice a police cruiser in half."
I turned off the electric hum and dropped the weapon back into the titanium case. It landed with a hollow, careless clatter.
"It's a tool. Not a sword," I said, wiping my hand on my pants.
"What's the difference?" Aizawa asked. His dark eyes narrowed. He was analyzing me again.
"A sword has a will," I stated flatly, turning my back on the millions of dollars worth of advanced technology. "It breathes. It has a soul. If you rely on a battery to do the cutting for you, the blade will betray you when you need it most. I'm a swordsman, not a mechanic. Keep your toys."
Tsukauchi sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "I told you this was a waste of time, Eraserhead. The kid is crazy."
But Aizawa didn't look annoyed. He actually smiled. It was a terrifying, dry smirk that barely reached his tired eyes.
"A blade with a soul..." Aizawa muttered, burying his hands deep in his pockets. "You know, you sound exactly like an old ghost I used to know."
I paused, looking back over my shoulder.
"A rogue Support Item Maker," Aizawa continued, looking up at the ceiling lights. "The Hero Commission revoked his license a long time ago. He refused to build tech. He hated Quirks. He believed true strength came from pure, terrifyingly sharp steel. He always claimed he forged 'living' blades."
My eye widened a fraction of an inch. "What was his name?"
"Shimotsuki," Aizawa said. "Shimotsuki Kozaburo. But don't bother looking for him. He vanished into the underground years ago. He's a ghost."
Shimotsuki.
The name echoed loudly in my head. I looked down at the white hilt of the Wado Ichimonji. A blade forged by a Shimotsuki. Was it just a coincidence? In this bizarre world of heroes and Quirks, there was a man forging true swords.
I grinned. A real, feral grin.
"I'll find him eventually," I said, stepping toward the heavy exit door.
"And what about your third sword?" Aizawa called out, watching me leave. "You're still short one weapon for the school year."
"I'll buy a cheap piece of junk from a pawn shop," I waved my hand dismissively without looking back. "Two real swords and one piece of junk will be enough to deal with a bunch of hero students."
The Entrance Exam was over. I had my blades.
Now, it was time for U.A. High.
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