▓▓▓▓▓▓ #FalseIdentityWeekend ▓▓▓▓▓▓
▓▓▓▓▓▓ #ThemeWeekends ▓▓▓▓▓▓
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amino really said ‘yeah nah’ to featuring lots
of stuff for shinsou’s birthday huh :sleepy: :sob: :confounded:
oh well. i guess it can’t be helped. so your
boy is one of the main characters in pt. 2
of our little U.A. traitor story now...!
haven’t read pt. 1? click here
i hope you enjoy!~
—才子♡
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word coυnт • 3ᴋ
тιмe • 5.5 нoυrѕ on and oғғ
┏ ┐
“𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.”
└ ┛
𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰.
Denki Kaminari had been the talk of U.A. for weeks. A first year in the hero course gone rogue, or always had been— that was still one of the debating rumours continuing to float about long after his departure. The staff had been working tirelessly to keep the whole situation hush from the press, however more whispers had circulated about a missing boy who was supposedly taken by the League of Villains when they’d attacked Classes 1-A and B two Wednesdays ago. Like the villain attack at camp all those months ago, that was yet another issue that would more than likely require a formal televised apology. It was just a matter of how long until U.A.’s connections would wear thin, and some kind of news network would find their way onto campus to uncover the true story. Nezu had his hands—well, paws—full at this point and majority of the istrative and teaching staff were all doing their part to help the principal out in keeping the school in one piece.
And then there were the first-year hero course students that were actually there the day Kaminari had run away with villains. Due to their obvious distraught, Hitoshi Shinsou wasn’t given the warm reception he was exactly hoping for when he’d been moved into Class 1-A to fill seat 7.
Walking into Aizawa’s classroom was like walking into a funeral home; it stunk of the early stages of Kübler-Ross’s cycle of grief and loss, only this angsty class of teens exuded double the anger and triple the denial. It was clear to see that no one seemed too focused on actually learning, hell— even the class rep kid seemed to be more interested in staring at the lacquer coating his desk, brows pinched in deep thought. All of these kids seemed off and rightfully so, Shinsou supposed. As for their teacher, well he didn’t look like he was doing the best either, but for the sake of everyone else he needed to keep his head up and their spirits high— enter Shinsou. Sure, it was great that the staff finally considered him worthy enough to the hero course, but he didn’t want to be here under these… circumstances. ‘Just because there’s room’ is how he continually referred to it, much to Aizawa’s chagrin. The boy shifted uncomfortably as he stood in front of the classroom, nineteen faces peering up at him with expressions varying from confliction to despair before wandering around to aim their stares at literally anything else in the room. Well this was a nice start.
Welcome to Class 1-A, Shinsou.
Feeling a heavy hand rest on his shoulder, Shinsou’s iris hues flicked up to find Aizawa’s sombre countenance tinted with the slightest hint of what the boy could only assume was hope. Or pity. He was pushed towards his seat before he was able to properly decipher his teacher’s thin-lipped grimace. Not that he really needed directions to his new desk; it was the only one in the class empty after all.
The second row wasn’t too far from where he was standing, thank goodness. He made sure to avoid any eye with the livid-natured blond at the end of the row he’d been allocated, fiery molten orbs ablaze as they followed the boy’s form while his demeanour stayed stony to the point of being unreadable. There was rage, for sure considering it was Bakugou, but with the meagre glances the purplette would steal from his peripheral vision, Bakugou held himself a little taller with his chin jutted high and the ghost of a snarl curling his mouth. Midoriya, the ivy haired boy Shinsou had fought in his first and last round of battles at the festival, was the same, kind of. Hitoshi noticed how much more prominent the boy’s jaw became has he gritted and unclenched his teeth behind his taut frown. His rheumy shamrock eyes were wider than saucer plates, glittering under the light and on the brink of spilling tears. Yeah, he was definitely the type to get caught up over something like this. Shinsou barely even knew him and just from his ability at the sports festival and what he’d heard from Aizawa during their training sessions, he was a total troublesome shounen protagonist. He had a mom though, so Hitoshi wasn’t too sure on how great his story would turn out.
Hitoshi’s body froze as he hesitantly lowered himself to sit in Kaminari’s chair, pointedly evading everyone’s stares on him as he did so. The seat felt cold, and not just because no one had been sitting there. There was something about this particular spot that made Shinsou’s skin crawl, it was almost nauseating. The icy sensation snaking up the purple haired boy’s legs and back caused the goosebumps to raise on his skin, pallor paling further as a chill twisted his spine. The last person to sit in this chair was a supposed villain—or traitor, to clarify since no one seemingly knew the full truth as of yet. To Class A, the word traitor stung a whole lot more. The boy shuffled around in his seat, trying every and any position only to find no comfort. He didn’t belong there, not in that chair and not in that class. Not yet, for it was too soon for his new peers and too soon for him. It was odd actually how all of this nobility was shining through now. Thinking back to the sports festival when the Ojirou turned down his free into the final event, Shinsou had thought that tail guy was the dumbest person on the field. Why was he now feeling the same guilt, wanting to follow his moral code? Perhaps it was because Hitoshi Shinsou believed he owed something to this class, to these ostentatious brats his age that were blessed with heroic quirks unlike himself. Just maybe this was his way of proving he was going to be a better hero than them all— he had already beat one student in that category at least.
The pink-skinned girl on his right turned her head to give Shinsou a weak smile though it quickly faded as her yellow irises found the blunt pencil on her blank notebook more intriguing. He couldn’t manage to send one back, not that the girl gave him the attention to. It just didn’t feel right. Nothing about this was right. How could one person worm their way to utmost significance in all of these people’s hearts and then leave? That was the most evil thing about it, the deceit that is. In his mulling, Shinsou had almost pondered what it may have been like had he become acquainted with Denki Kaminari, if that was even his real name. They could have been friends. They could have been more. Would any of it be genuine? The two of them would never know. Snapping him right out of his thoughts was Aizawa, who had moved to the front row of the class and was now leaning on one of the empty spaces. All of the other students had cleared out, Shinsou had only now noticed, and by the time on the clock, class had been dismissed half an hour early. The confusion on the boy’s face must have been clear, for Aizawa’s gruff voice wasn’t blurred or blocked out as he spoke a second time.
“I dismissed class early so they could go back to the dorms. They were more distant today since you showed up.”
‘Great. That’s comforting that I caused your class to spiral into depression again.’
The fatigued rasp left the man’s throat in an almost slurred fashion, even more so than his normal drawl. He must have been assisting the principal with the majority of their current qualms and would probably be facing the most heat considering he was the teacher of… him. Shinsou had noticed it during their sessions but he knew better not to ask about it. It wasn’t his place to know, but apparently now it was.
“I’m going to need both of you to come with me. You’ll be useful in helping us gather some information.”
Indigo eyes trailed Aizawa’s line of sight. How had Shinsou been so zoned out to not notice the girl sitting right beside him? Her violet locks were choppy and slightly overgrown, bangs frayed, and bob style teased and unkempt as if it hadn’t been brushed. More than likely, Kyouka Jirou hadn’t been looking after herself, as the same disarray was reflected in her crinkled button up and puffy red under eyes. Seems like he had not only failed to notice the girl’s presence, but also neglected to hear her quiet sobs that lasted the duration of their class time. How observant of him.
“They’ve found him.”
Shinsou and Jirou travelled silently behind Aizawa as they meandered stiffly down the corridor of some official building they’d been escorted to. The whole place had been slathered in stark white paint, walls harbouring no blemishes and corners without a speck of dust. The same chilling sensation returned as they rounded corner after corner, unease setting in and growing overwhelming until Shinsou had to pause in his stride and remind himself to breathe.
‘Wrong wrong wrong wrong why does this all feel so wrong??’
Since their departure from U.A., Jirou’s silence had been the most deafening thing Shinsou thought he’d ever heard. Though she said nothing, and sat still and stared blankly, the aura radiating from her was the strongest white noise that said everything. But it was incoherent, despaired, confused, and frightened. Shinsou didn’t do anything to help, he couldn’t. He needed to help himself to escape the trepidation and rabbit-fast heartbeat pounding painfully against his rib cage as they approached the looming steel door that signalled their arrival to the cell where he was. What was Hitoshi doing here again, why did Aizawa need him? Why did his pulse spike so high in that moment that it leapt from the left side of his chest and crawled up his already raw throat to choke the words he didn’t plan on speaking?
The white noise continued to fuzz the room, Shinsou’s eardrums drowning in it as he watched Kyouka’s stoic demeanour finally morph into something legible— absolute heartbreak was easy to spot in swollen eyes, shallow gasps, and discoloured cheeks. When Kyouka entered the room first, the static noise had ceased, and Shinsou wasn’t too sure if he liked the silence better.
He sat outside of the room for what seemed like several hours, and though his ears strained to hear Jirou’s noise, any remnants of her presence in that bleak facility, his efforts fell short. The sound of the blood flowing through his head was louder than the buzz of the lighting fixtures lining the hall. Finally the door swung open and out walked Jirou, arms tucked into her chest and face whiter than a sheet. She briskly pushed past, and though she didn’t spare Shinsou a glance he assumed she wouldn’t have even been able to see him with the salty water dripping in thick raindrops from her eyes.
With the wave of the guard that had emerged after Jirou’s sudden rushing out and Aizawa’s ‘reassuring’ clap on the shoulder before following his other student out, Shinsou sucked in a sharp deep breath and walked into the room.
“We’ll be watching your interview from behind the glass. There’ll be two guards in there with you. His quirk is supressed, and he’s all chained up so there’s no way for him to hurt you. You’re only to use your quirk to get him to answer the questions we’ve given you; you’ll face punishment for improper quirk use if you try to use it to ask anything else.”
Honestly, Shinsou wasn’t too worried about that. Much. He promised himself not to be in there long enough for him to be caused any harm. It would go like this: ask the questions he’d been given, use his quirk to get the answers, and get out. He wasn’t sticking around longer than he had to.
“Hey. You’re the guy from the sports festival. Shinsou, right? Cool quirk. Kind of handy if you ask me. I mean, it would’ve made my job easier.”
The blood in Hitoshi’s veins ran colder than the arctic, and upon hearing the purple haired boy’s breath hitch, Kaminari lips curled into a crooked smirk.
‘Just breathe. Calm down, and breathe. Start the conversation. Ask the questions.’
He made a subtle attempt to swallow before letting his mouth twitch into a slanted grin that mirrored the other’s.
“You got caught out. If you only lasted until this long, you probably weren’t doing a great job in the first place.” He simply shrugged in response.
“Maybe.”
Shinsou shifted his weight to his left leg while he stood, and though he was tempted to get a closer look from the other side of the glass, the boy with the indigo hair didn’t dare lean in or show his budding curiosity. Kaminari seemed to follow suit, only he cocked his head to the left as the rest of his body was bound in some rubber-like substance, just like Aizawa had informed. Right now, Kaminari looked bored, spurring the distracted Shinsou back onto task.
“So? Aren’t you going to ask me any questions and use your quirk? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” In being prompted by the traitor to do as he was asked, Shinsou suddenly didn’t want to do it anymore. He could ask the questions he was supposed to later, but right now he was interested in what exactly was driving this guy to do what he had done. Aizawa could yell at him after.
“You had a lot of friends in that class.”
“I did.”
“They really liked you.”
“It was hard to tell sometimes with how much they called me an idiot.”
“And who’s fault was that?”
Their casual banter ceased, Kaminari’s reply to Shinsou’s question absent. Though it may not have been the question Aizawa and the other adults wanted him to ask, the girl that had run out of this very cell earlier continued to nag and gnaw at his mind. He parted his lips a few times as if debating whether or not he should say what he wanted to say. He’d already come so far, what was the harm? How long could he last in this ‘conversation’ without using his quirk?
“And Jirou?”
“What about her?”
Kaminari had answered a little too quickly for Shinsou’s taste. Intrigued, the boy didn’t activate his quirk. He rubbed the back of his neck and decided to lay it on thick— stirring people up was his specialty, after all.
“Well you’re kidding me if you say that there was nothing between you two, that you felt nothing for her.”
The blond boy guffawed, throaty scoff bouncing against Shinsou’s skull.
“I infiltrated the top hero school in the country and managed to feed intel to the League of Villains, all while raising no suspicions and making everyone love me.” The lazy smug grin the blond wore widened with each point he listed off, and his building ego crushed Shinsou like a pile of bricks. He really, really didn’t like that look on his face. “You tell me if I liked Kyouka the way she liked me.”
And there it was, the tell. Shinsou could have been mistaken, but he highly doubted it. Why was Kaminari still using her first name? He wanted to blame it on his taunting nature, to fortify the absolute monstrosity that was him in a brag of how close he managed to get to everyone, especially the broken girl.
If the blond had noticed his minor slip-up, he certainly made sure not to show it, though the façade was slowly and gradually cracking with each prod weening its way under Kaminari’s skin.
“I’d say you do. Tell me, what exactly did you say to Jirou when she came in here to talk to you? Because she was crying a fair bit saying stuff about you before we got here.”
Hook. Jirou hadn’t spoken a single word to Hitoshi ever. Two could lie in this game. Kaminari may have been smart enough to betray U.A., but how hard would he fall for a bluff?
Line. Orbs of electric yellow blew wide, piercing into Shinsou’s frame like a deer in the headlights. There was a trace of something brewing, not quite concern but perhaps panic maybe? The boy honestly wasn’t too sure. What it did hold, however, was urgency, and straining his neck from his confines, Kaminari arched himself as close as he could to the glass to observe Shinsou with a renewed placid expression.
“What did she say about me..?”
In reply Shinsou shrugged just as he had, smirk mirroring the other boy’s smug demeanour almost as if to mock him. His brow twitched the slightest fraction, though it was enough of a movement to indicate to the purplette that he was continuing to hit more nerves and receiving answers without even having to use his quirk.
The indigo haired boy fought the simper tugging on his lips, straightening his lips and blotting them with his tongue to feign disinterest.
“I don’t . But… things might start coming back to me if you tell me all you know about the league and what you’ve got to do with them.”
Now, Denki Kaminari was bright, and cunning, and actually one of the sharpest tools in the shed, but he was still human. As much as he tried to hide them, he was capable of feelings. Maybe that’s why Shinsou was so set now on calling him a ‘traitor’ rather than a ‘villain’. His gaze, panicked and darting towards the glass of the surveillance window, raked skittishly over Hitoshi’s face, Kaminari’s shoulders tensed under his bindings. A shaky exhale fanned across the glass of his cell’s confines and strands of blond and black shaded his eyes from the other boy like a curtain.
“Alright, fine.”
Shinsou let his smirk curl at his lips.
Sinker.
“Go on then, spare no detail. We both have the time.”
“Talk.”
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𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊!~ ♡
тagѕ
Comments (18)
Cool (≧▽≦)
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nooo
yes
.........
??????