MHA: Echoes of the Breach

AN: must say I'm excited for the next few chapters, but I have to ask mainly to those on fanfiction, review, please. this is my longest and oldest story and so far nothing, with a few exceptions on webnovel. other than that hope you enjoy.

Shinji glanced at the clock, 4:03 AM. The dim red numbers flickered faintly, casting a somber glow across the room. A sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed his face with his left hand. He didn't know how long he had been awake, but it didn't matter. He never fell back asleep, not really.

The silence in the room was deafening, suffocating, every second stretching into an eternity. He pushed himself off the bed, his stiff muscles protesting with each movement. His left hand steadied him as he moved toward the kitchenette. His right arm hung useless at his side, its weight a constant reminder of his limitations.

He poured himself a glass of water, the motion easy enough with one hand, but it only highlighted the helplessness gnawing at him. Simple tasks, ones that used to come so naturally, now felt like burdens. The frustration simmered just beneath the surface, a constant companion he could never escape. But he swallowed it, focusing on the mundane task, trying to keep the worst of it at bay.

The water in the glass reflected the faint light, its surface calming in its simplicity. But it wasn't enough. Nothing ever was. He set the glass down, eyes drawn to the window. The weight of the night pressed in on him again as he walked over, glass still in his left hand.

Outside, the campus was quiet. The dorm lights were off, likely because Nezu hadn't gotten around to them yet. It was a small comfort, knowing no one could see him in this state, but even that felt distant, fleeting.

He stared out into the dark, but the stillness wasn't calming. It never was. The thoughts, the nightmares that woke him in cold sweats, the memories that clung to him like a heavy fog, and that thing. The thing that haunted him in the silence. It was still there, lurking in the back of his mind, even if he couldn't see it now.

Shinji exhaled shakily, his breath uneven as the weight in his chest pressed harder. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the feeling didn't go away. His hand gripped the glass tighter, his left hand trembling with the force. And then, suddenly, there was something else.

A cold pressure curled around his fingers, like an invisible hand wrapping around his own. It started off subtle, a light touch at first, but quickly grew stronger, and tighter. He froze, heart pounding in his chest as a chill ran through him. It was like something was holding his hand, squeezing the life out of it, making it impossible to pull away.

No, not again. Not now.

Panic surged through him, and in his shock, his fingers tensed around the glass, the pressure too much to bear. The glass shattered in his hand, sharp fragments biting into his palm. He didn't even feel the pain at first, his mind was too consumed by the sensation of being gripped, as if something was crawling up his arm.

But just as quickly as it started, the sensation disappeared. Like a flicker of darkness vanishing into the night, it was gone. His hand was still shaking, but the force around his fingers was gone. The pressure had lifted. There was nothing there, no trace of it at all.

Shinji stood there, staring at his bloodied palm, the pieces of glass scattered across the floor. His breath came in ragged gasps as he processed what had just happened. His right arm remained useless at his side, the weight of it like a dead limb, but the thing he had felt, whatever it was, was gone.

Shinji's breath caught in his throat as he looked back at his palm, wide-eyed. The blood that had been dripping slowly onto the floor, the sting of the cut, gone. His hand, still trembling, looked as if nothing had happened, as if the glass had never shattered in his grip. He blinked rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

It couldn't have been real. The pain, the sensation of something gripping his hand, it had been so vivid, so real. He'd felt the pressure, the glass breaking, the sharp sting of it cutting into his skin. And yet now, there was nothing. No blood, no wound, not even the slightest trace of what had just happened.

His breath became shallow as he flexed his fingers, watching his hand move with a strange mix of disbelief and fear. The trembling wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop his mind from racing, trying to piece together what had just occurred.

No, this didn't make sense. It didn't fit.

He glanced around the room, but everything was as it should be. Silent. Still. Untouched by the strange, unreal sensation that had overtaken him moments ago.

His head spun, trying to make sense of it. The pressure. The grip. It couldn't have been his imagination. And yet, here he was, unscathed, with no trace of what had happened.

He took another deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his mind wouldn't calm. The panic lingered, the unease gnawing at him. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with him, with his perception, with... everything. He couldn't trust himself, couldn't trust the reality around him.

The air felt colder now, the shadows stretching longer as if the room had grown darker. Shinji took a step back from the window, his legs suddenly feeling weak. His right arm hung by his side like a dead weight, but it felt heavier now. Unwanted.

He needed to leave, to escape the feeling of suffocating isolation. But where would he go? He couldn't escape whatever was happening inside him.

He leaned against the counter, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness hit him. His left hand trembled as it pressed to his forehead, trying to steady his thoughts. He had to be losing his mind. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe it wasn't real at all.

"Why?" Shinji's voice cracked as the words slipped out, barely a whisper in the silence of the room. "Why..." he muttered again, his breath shallow. Everything had been fine earlier when he was with Yu. The conversation, the walk back, it had all felt like a rare moment of peace, something he hadn't had in a long time. For once, he'd felt like maybe things could be okay like he could keep moving forward.

But now, this, this overwhelming sensation, the panic, the disorienting feeling of something wrapping around him, of not being able to trust his own hands, his own mind. It felt like everything he'd tried to build, every small piece of normalcy, had just been ripped away in an instant.

He slammed his left fist down onto the counter, his frustration boiling over. "Is this it?" he spat under his breath, his teeth grinding. "Is this what I get for feeling okay for once? For just trying to have something... normal?"

Shinji dragged his hand down his face, feeling the smoothness of his skin, his eyes burning from the lack of sleep. The anger that had surged within him just moments ago wasn't aimed at anything specific. It was a storm of confusion, frustration, and deep-seated guilt, a futile attempt to lash out against something he couldn't understand or control.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to calm the chaos inside him, but it didn't work. Nothing ever did.

"Maybe I don't deserve it," he muttered, his voice rough, barely audible, as if he was trying to convince himself of a truth he didn't even believe. "Maybe this is just how it is now."

The words sank into him, a weight that made it harder to breathe. He could feel the sharp sting of his own self-doubt clawing at him. This was all he had left, wasn't it? A series of moments like this, lost, confused, alone.

The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but it wasn't enough to fuel him anymore. It had become hollow, just like everything else.

"Having trouble, are we?" A voice echoed through the stillness of the room, warped and unnatural like it was coming from a place far too close and far too distant at the same time.

Shinji's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. The voice sounded like it was inside his head, but his body reacted as though it had come from just behind him. The weight in his chest intensified, a rising panic clawing at his insides.

He spun around quickly, eyes wide, searching the empty space. His breath was shallow, his mind racing. There was nothing there, just the same dim-lit room, the same cold stillness. But the voice didn't go away. It lingered in the air, rippling the silence.

He wiped his palm over his face, trying to calm himself, but his hand felt unsteady. He couldn't tell if his mind was betraying him or if something else, something he couldn't explain, was toying with him.

"Who's there?" His voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

The voice didn't answer. It wasn't the specter's voice, it was too human, almost familiar.

Do you even know what's real anymore?

Shinji's pulse quickened, his mind flashing with fragmented thoughts, his shattered glass, his cut hand, the overwhelming pressure. His body froze, terror coursing through him. Was this some kind of hallucination? A nightmare? A trick of his mind?

"And this is the thing that survived that place? It's sad, truly."

He froze, the world around him spinning as recognition hit like a jolt of electricity. He knew that voice. It was all too familiar, sending a chill down his spine. No... not now. He thought, his body tensing involuntarily. It was back.

The specter.

"Oh great, my resident jester is back," Shinji spat, his voice laced with venom. He clenched his fists, glaring at the space around him, the dark corners of his small house feeling like they were closing in. He knew it wasn't there physically, but the presence, he could feel it, like a shadow hanging over him.

The voice, still familiar, crawled back into his mind, mockingly amused. "You think you can fight me? You're nothing but a puppet, Shinji. Nothing more than a plaything, and I'm the one pulling the strings."

Shinji's chest heaved with ragged breaths, the pressure building in his head, but he refused to back down. His left hand shot out, gripping the counter tightly as he leaned forward, glaring into the empty air.

"You're not real," Shinji growled through gritted teeth, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade. "You're just a fucking figment of my imagination. My time in that hell, given form. You pull nothing but your own goddamn ego."

His left hand slammed down on the counter, the sharp crack echoing in the room. Shinji was mad, uncharacteristically so. His earlier demeanor had shattered the moment this thing showed up, replaced by something raw and volatile. The shift in his attitude was stark, a complete 180 as if the sound of that voice alone had flipped a switch in him.

Shinji's jaw clenched, his fury bubbling closer to the surface. "I'm not the same, and you know it," he shot back, his tone dripping with venom. "I made it out of that place. I'm still here, standing, fighting. You're just the last whisper of a nightmare that doesn't scare me anymore."

"Oh, is that what you think?" The voice sneered, dripping with disdain. "You call this fighting? Hiding away in your little house, afraid to sleep because of me? Face it, Shinji, you haven't escaped anything. You're still in my grasp, and you always will be."

Shinji's chest heaved, his breathing sharp and shallow. The words stung, as much as he hated to admit it. But he wasn't going to let this thing win. Not now, not ever. His gaze hardened, his anger cooling into something steadier, more focused.

"You can talk all you want," he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. "But I'm still here. I'm still alive. And that's more than you'll ever be."

The silence that followed felt heavier than the words that came before it as if the specter was weighing his response. Then, softly, it chuckled again, the sound fading into the shadows like smoke.

"We'll see, Shinji. We'll see."

And just like that, it was gone, leaving Shinji alone with the echo of his own pounding heart and the weight of his clenched fist still pressed against the counter.

The sharp, grating buzz of his alarm clock broke through the suffocating silence, snapping Shinji back to the present. His head whipped toward his bedroom, the sound muffled by the walls but unmistakable. The alarm always went off at 7.

His chest tightened. How long have I been here?

He glanced down at the counter where his hand still rested, the faint outline of his fingers pressed into the surface from gripping it so tightly. The glass he'd shattered earlier, or had he? Was gone. The blood, the cut, the voice, the presence... everything felt disjointed, like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together.

Had it really been hours? The thought unsettled him. It felt like mere minutes, the specter's mocking tone still ringing fresh in his ears. Yet, the alarm told a different story. Time had slipped past him, unnoticed, devoured by the weight of whatever had just happened.

With a sharp exhale, Shinji pushed himself off the counter, his legs stiff and unsteady. He needed to move, to do something, to prove to himself he was still grounded in reality. The persistent blare of the alarm was a cruel reminder that life outside these four walls was still marching forward.

He turned toward his bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Was this over? Or was it just waiting to creep back in when I least expected it?

The thought clung to him like a shadow as he reached for the alarm clock, silencing it with a decisive press of his finger. Silence settled once again, but it felt far from comforting.

Shinji stared at the alarm clock for a moment, its red numbers glowing faintly in the dim room: 7:01 AM. The faint hum of silence felt oppressive, pressing down on him as he dragged a hand through his hair. He'd been awake for hours, but now he had to look like he hadn't.

He shuffled to the small dresser near his bed, pulling out his uniform with slow, deliberate movements. The routine felt robotic, almost detached, as if his body was going through the motions while his mind remained elsewhere. His left hand struggled with the buttons of his shirt, fumbling awkwardly as he avoided looking at his useless right arm.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse with frustration. After a few attempts, he managed to get the shirt on, the fabric sitting slightly uneven on his shoulders.

He moved to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. The shock of it grounded him, if only for a moment. He stared into the cracked mirror above the sink, his reflection staring back with tired eyes and dark shadows beneath them.

"You look like hell," he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching in a humorless smirk.

Grabbing a towel, he dried his face and ran his hand through his hair again, smoothing it down into something passable. He didn't bother trying too hard; the uniformity of the school's standards would do the work for him.

His bag sat in the corner, already packed from the night before. He slung it over his shoulder, his left arm bearing the weight without complaint. Shinji glanced around the small house as if searching for something, anything, to stall the inevitable. But there was nothing.

The silence still hung in the air, broken only by the soft creak of the floor as he made his way to the door. His hand paused on the knob, his thoughts flickering back to the voice, the sensation, the shattered glass.

He shook his head sharply. "It's just another day," he said, trying to convince himself.

But as he stepped out into the crisp morning air, he couldn't shake the feeling that the shadows of the night were still following him.

Shinji walked the path to the main building in silence, the crisp morning air doing little to ease the unease still clawing at his chest. His footsteps echoed faintly in the empty hallways as he made his way to the classroom. The corridors were quieter than usual, devoid of the usual hum of students rushing to and fro.

When he reached the classroom door, he hesitated for a moment before sliding it open.

The sight inside made him stop. For the first time, he was the first student to arrive. The desks sat in neat, orderly rows, untouched since the day before. The windows let in the early morning light, casting long, golden streaks across the polished floor.

And there, seated at the teacher's desk, was Aizawa. The man was hunched over a stack of papers, his ever-present sleeping bag draped loosely over the back of his chair. His hair was slightly disheveled, though that wasn't unusual, and he seemed fully absorbed in whatever he was reading.

Shinji lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, unsure if he should say something or just head to his seat. Finally, he stepped inside, the sound of the door sliding shut drawing Aizawa's attention.

The teacher looked up, his tired eyes meeting Shinji's with mild surprise. "You're here early," Aizawa remarked, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Shinji shrugged, making his way to his usual seat. "Woke up early. Figured I might as well come in." He slung his bag onto the desk and sat down, his movements slow and deliberate.

Aizawa set the papers down, leaning back in his chair. "Not a bad habit to have. But judging by the look on your face, you didn't sleep much."

Shinji tensed slightly but forced a casual tone. "Just a rough night. Nothing worth worrying about."

Aizawa's gaze lingered on him for a moment, unreadable as always. "If you say so," he finally replied, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.

The silence between them stretched for a moment before Shinji spoke up, trying to deflect. "What's got you here so early?"

"Paperwork," Aizawa said simply, gesturing to the stack in front of him. "There's always more of it than you think, even this early in the year."

Shinji huffed softly, leaning back in his chair. "Sounds like a nightmare."

"You have no idea," Aizawa replied the faintest hint of dry humor in his voice.

The silence wasn't heavy anymore, the faint rustling of Aizawa's papers and the distant hum of the campus providing a grounding backdrop. It felt almost normal, something Shinji wasn't sure he could trust anymore. Still, he held onto the moment, letting the routine of the morning settle into his mind like a thin veil over the chaos from earlier.

He absentmindedly traced the edge of his desk with his finger, the tactile sensation helping to keep him grounded. His gaze flicked back to Aizawa, who was now flipping through a fresh stack of papers, his focus unwavering. The sight was oddly reassuring. No cryptic voices, no phantom sensations, just the steady monotony of a teacher preparing for the day.

Shinji exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now.

He glanced back at Aizawa, who seemed completely absorbed in whatever he was reviewing. The man's dedication to his work was oddly grounding, a reminder of normalcy in a life that often felt anything but. Shinji leaned back in his chair, letting the moment settle around him like a fragile bubble.

Minutes ticked by, the classroom gradually brightening as the sun climbed higher. Shinji resisted the urge to check his phone; he didn't want to break the rare tranquility. Instead, he allowed himself to simply be present, the monotony of the morning routine offering a brief respite from the chaos that seemed to follow him everywhere.

The door creaked open, breaking the fragile tranquility that had settled over the classroom. Shinji's purple eyes flicked toward the sound, locking briefly with the sharp, focused blue of Iida's gaze. His stomach twisted instinctively, an unwelcome pang of unease flashing through him. Before the memories lurking beneath the surface could stir, he quickly averted his eyes, pretending to focus on the papers in front of him.

Iida stepped in with his characteristic precision, his voice breaking the quiet. "Good morning, Aizawa-sensei! Good morning, Takeyama!" He punctuated the greeting with a deep bow, as formal as ever.

Shinji leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax and keep his tone light. "Forty minutes early, huh? Trying to break a record or something?"

Iida adjusted his glasses, his movements practiced and deliberate. "Punctuality is the bedrock of heroism, Takeyama! However," he added with a small smile, "I must point out that you arrived even earlier. Perhaps you're the one setting the new standard?"

Shinji blinked, caught off guard for a moment before a wry smirk tugged at his lips. "Guess that makes me the overachiever today."

Aizawa glanced up from his stack of papers, his tired eyes moving between the two. "Iida, less proclamations, more quiet. Takeyama, don't let it go to your head."

"Understood, Sensei!" Iida exclaimed, his voice unwavering as he gave another bow. He turned to Shinji, his tone sincere. "And Takeyama, I must say, your dedication is admirable. It's inspiring to see such commitment to early preparation."

Shinji shook his head, his smirk lingering. "Yeah, let's call it dedication," he muttered, his voice tinged with something unspoken.

As Iida meticulously arranged his desk, Shinji's gaze wandered back to the window. The soft morning light painted the classroom, chasing away the shadows that had clung to the corners. The faint rustle of papers and the distant sounds of the campus waking up created a fragile normalcy.

The minutes ticked by in silence, each one marked by the quiet scrape of Aizawa's pen on paper and the faint ticking of the classroom clock. Shinji leaned back in his seat, letting his gaze drift across the empty room. The others weren't as meticulous, or as "dedicated", as Iida and would show up at a much more reasonable time.

Shinji's fingers tapped lightly against the desk as he idly scanned the syllabus in front of him. His mind, however, wandered elsewhere. The quiet was a double-edged sword, giving him a moment to collect himself but also leaving too much space for his thoughts to creep in.

Iida, meanwhile, sat ramrod straight, his posture almost comically perfect as he reviewed his own notes. Every so often, Shinji could feel Iida's eyes flicker toward him, but he kept his own gaze firmly away, unwilling to risk another glance at that unsettling shade of blue.

Eventually, Iida spoke, breaking the quiet once more. "Takeyama, if I may ask, do you often arrive this early? Or was this morning a rare exception?"

Shinji shrugged, not looking up. "Exception. I should arrive earlier than most, but considering I live on campus, that should be a given."

Iida blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "You live on campus, Takeyama-kun? I wasn't aware of that!" His tone shifted into one of genuine curiosity. "I must say, that's quite the strategic advantage. It allows for punctuality and optimal preparedness!"

Shinji glanced at him briefly before quickly averting his eyes again, the flash of blue from Iida's gaze threatening to stir unwanted memories. "Yeah, it's convenient," he muttered, his tone neutral. "Guess I don't have much of an excuse to be late."

Iida nodded emphatically, oblivious to Shinji's discomfort. "Indeed! Living on campus must afford you significant flexibility with your schedule. I hope to see you maintain this level of punctuality, it's an admirable trait for a hero!"

Shinji didn't reply, instead letting his focus drift back to the syllabus in front of him. The words blurred slightly as he tried to ground himself, the seconds ticking by with heavy monotony.

The door creaked open again, and the soft murmur of voices filled the room as more students began to trickle in. Kaminari was the first, his usual carefree grin lighting up his face as he greeted Iida with a casual wave.

"Morning, Iida! And Takeyama!" Kaminari's cheerful tone made Shinji's name sound lighter than he felt.

"Good morning, Kaminari!" Iida replied with gusto. "You're early today! A promising sign of your dedication!"

"Yeah, yeah," Kaminari replied, rubbing the back of his head. "Don't get used to it. I couldn't sleep, so I figured, why not?"

Yaoyorozu followed shortly after, her calm demeanor adding a sense of balance to the room. She greeted everyone politely, her eyes briefly landing on Shinji, though she said nothing before moving toward her desk.

As the minutes passed, the once-quiet room grew livelier with conversation. Iida, in his usual fashion, had taken up the role of informal host, engaging each new arrival in an enthusiastic discussion about their morning routines or upcoming plans.

Shinji, meanwhile, remained silent, his focus drifting back to the syllabus in front of him. The words were no clearer than before, but he let them fill his vision, a distraction from the chatter growing around him.

The noise of the classroom continued to rise as more students arrived, laughter and chatter filling the once-quiet space. Shinji barely registered it, his focus on the syllabus in front of him more out of habit than interest. Aizawa had begun speaking from the front of the room, his tone steady but monotonous, going over what sounded like reminders or instructions.

Shinji wasn't really listening. The words blurred together, their meaning slipping past him as his mind wandered.

He hated when this happened, when his thoughts pulled him back, unbidden, to memories he wished he could bury. A flash of that endless, oppressive gray. The suffocating weight pressing down on him. The echo of distant screams, some his own, some he couldn't place.

Shinji's hand tightened on the syllabus, crumpling the edge of the paper slightly. He forced himself to breathe, his left hand trembling as it moved to his lap. He wasn't there anymore. He knew that, but his body hadn't caught up with the truth.

"Hey, Takeyama!"

The voice and the sudden clatter of something being placed in front of him snapped him out of it. Blinking, Shinji looked down to see a bowl filled with small slips of paper.

Kirishima grinned down at him, holding out a pen. "Vote for class rep! You're the last one!"

For a moment, Shinji stared at the bowl as if it were some foreign object. His mind struggled to switch gears, the memory lingering at the edge of his consciousness. He reached for the pen slowly, the action grounding him as he scrawled a name on one of the slips without really thinking about it.

"Thanks, man!" Kirishima said, grabbing the bowl and heading off to the others, his upbeat energy contrasting sharply with Shinji's stillness.

The conversation buzzed around him again, but Shinji stayed rooted in his seat, the memory refusing to fully fade. He exhaled shakily and turned his attention back to the window, pretending to look outside while his mind wrestled with itself.

As the classroom buzzed with the usual chatter, Iida stood at the front, an air of seriousness about him as he wrote on the board. He quickly drew up a list of votes, each name carefully written in order, with tally marks next to them. The sound of the chalk scratching against the board was the only noise as the class quieted, waiting for the results.

Shinji glanced at the list, his focus wandering. He hadn't expected to be part of the voting process, and he wasn't exactly invested in it either. But as his gaze passed over the names, his eyes lingered on the one next to his own: Momo Yaoyorozu.

A murmur rippled through the class when Iida turned to face them, a frown of concentration on his face.

"Looks like we have a tie," Iida said, his tone a bit more serious than usual. "Both Takeyama and Yaoyorozu have received an equal number of votes."

Shinji blinked, not quite processing what he was hearing. A tie? Between him and Momo?

The room shifted slightly, a ripple of whispers spreading, and the students exchanged curious glances. Momo's face remained calm, though there was a hint of surprise in her eyes.

Shinji didn't know how to feel. Part of him expected Momo to be more popular; she was confident, well-spoken, and organized. But this? This was unexpected. He glanced at her briefly, noticing that she wasn't showing any signs of disappointment or frustration. Instead, she appeared as collected as ever, just waiting for the next steps.

"Uh, why... Why was I voted?" Shinji asked, his voice laced with confusion. He glanced around at the others, his eyes lingering on board, still unsure of how he'd ended up in this situation.

Iida, who had been standing by the board, looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Takeyama, you're an exemplary student! You've been calm and collected in every scenario so far, and you showed excellent skills during the battle trials. Plus, you're also a teacher. It makes sense to have someone with your experience take the lead, you already know what it takes to guide others."

Shinji's voice trailed off, and he quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling his throat tighten. "I wouldn't really say I'm a teacher, not in the proper sense," he muttered, his gaze drifting to the floor. "And I really don't think I, of all people, can guide others... I'm only a few months out of a... three-year solitary... experience."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and as soon as they left his mouth, he realized how much of a raw, unfiltered truth they were. He barely noticed the change in his posture, as if the weight of the confession was pressing down on him, sinking deep into his bones. He tried to brush it off, but there was a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind.

Why had he said that?

It felt ridiculous, really. Here he was, in a room full of potential heroes, and all he could think about was how unworthy he felt. He didn't belong in a position of leadership, and every time someone complimented him or gave him responsibility, it just reminded him of his past, of the time spent in the breach, alone, with nothing but his own thoughts and the roars of kaiju to keep him company. There wasn't anyone there who cared about him, about what he was, or how he felt. No one had helped him understand the mess he'd become.

But here, in this room, it was different. People did rely on him, did look to him. And it felt... wrong. Like he wasn't worthy of their trust. Like it would all fall apart if they knew what he was truly capable of.

He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting to the others. "I don't really know how to guide anyone," he added quietly, almost to himself. "I'm just... still trying to figure things out for myself."

Shinji's stomach churned, and a knot tightened in his chest as the words left his mouth. Why? Why? Why? He repeated to himself, frustration bubbling up. Why had he let that slip? Why couldn't he just keep his thoughts in check for once? All he did was ruin the mood, take a moment that should have been light, exciting, and full of energy, and turn it into something uncomfortable, something heavy.

These kids were excited to elect a class president, their eyes bright with the thrill of taking the next step in their hero journey. They didn't deserve to be reminded of his failures, of his doubts. They deserved someone who could stand tall and confident, someone who could inspire them. But he wasn't that person. He never had been.

The weight of it hit him like a physical blow. He could practically feel the eyes of the others on him, the awkwardness creeping in as the silence stretched too long. He was ruining everything. The atmosphere had been warm, full of promise, and now, it was suffocating, heavy with his self-doubt.

Stop. Just stop. His mind screamed at him, trying to put an end to the mess he'd made. But the words were already out, and it was too late to take them back. He was the one who ruined it. He was the one who messed up.

Shinji's gaze flicked over the others again, and he couldn't help but notice the confused glances, the uncomfortable shifts in their expressions. They didn't want to hear about his problems. They didn't want to see him fall apart. He wasn't one of them. He never would be.

"Just give it to Yaoyorozu," Shinji muttered, his voice barely audible, before he turned his gaze back to the window. His words hung in the air, detached, as if he were speaking to no one in particular, or perhaps to the silent, unforgiving thoughts that were swirling in his mind.

The window's glass was cold beneath his fingertips as he leaned his forehead against it, trying to clear his head. The outside world felt distant, separated from the tension inside the classroom. He could hear the murmurs of the others, but they seemed muffled, like distant echoes. It didn't matter anymore. The whole situation was spinning out of control, and all he wanted was the silence to return, to let everything fade into nothingness again.

Yaoyorozu deserves it, he thought. She's the one who's capable. She's the one with the leadership qualities. Shinji's chest tightened at the thought, the nagging feeling that he wasn't cut out for any of this, that he wasn't meant to be anything more than what he was.

He could hear Iida's voice picking up again, trying to steer the conversation back to normal. But Shinji had already checked out, his mind drifting, the harsh reality of his own inadequacy weighing him down more with each passing second.

The world outside shifted, the open grass and distant walls of the campus melting away into a landscape of towering trees and jagged, broken rock. The serene view was replaced by an eerie, twisted version of nature, the ground cracked and uneven, as if the earth itself had been torn apart.

The bright morning sun bled into an endless field of gray, and in an instant, Shinji wasn't sitting in the classroom anymore. He was back, inside the cockpit of Striker. The cold metal panels pressed against him, the dim flickering lights casting harsh shadows, and the heavy hum of machinery filled the confined space. It all came rushing back with suffocating familiarity. The sharp smell of metal and circuits filled his nose, clawing at his senses.

He knew where he was. He was back on that cliff.

Yet, even amidst the ruin and the relentless tension that gripped him, Shinji could see it now. There was a certain beauty to it all, a grim serenity. The cliff had been more than a perch or a battlefield. For a brief, fleeting time, it had been something resembling a home.

Striker mirrored his posture, its massive frame hunched as if weighed down by the same invisible burden. The neural uplink made it impossible to distinguish where Shinji ended and the Jaeger began. The suit responded to even the slightest shift in his movements, its steel body bending and resting with him, as though it too were trying to find peace in the chaos.

Striker's visor was cracked but he had learned to see past it. His breathing slowed as he watched the distorted shapes below, shadows twisting in the mist, their movements unnatural and deliberate.

He knew the peace wouldn't last. It never did.

The cliff, for all its perceived safety, was no true refuge. He was sitting on a Kaiju, the biggest he'd ever encountered. Of course, at the time, he hadn't known that.

The jagged surface beneath him, the uneven terrain he had thought was just another shattered piece of the world, wasn't rock or earth. It had taken him hours, maybe days, he couldn't remember anymore, to realize the slow, rhythmic tremors beneath him weren't aftershocks or distant battles but the steady breathing of something alive.

He had frozen when the realization struck, every nerve in his body screaming for him to move, to run, to fight. But he didn't. Part of him knew that no amount of distance or preparation would have made a difference. This thing was colossal, ancient in its stillness, and far beyond anything he could comprehend.

At first, he wondered why it didn't attack. Why it hadn't swatted him and Striker away like a fly? The neural uplink fed him no answers, only amplifying his unease as Striker remained motionless, the Jaeger's sensors unable to detect anything but the faint hum of life beneath them.

Maybe it was sleeping. Maybe it didn't care. Maybe it was toying with him, letting him linger in his false sanctuary before striking. He didn't know. He didn't want to know.

The irony wasn't lost on him. The one place he had found a semblance of peace, of stillness, was perched on the back of a monster that could end him without a thought. And yet, he stayed. Not out of bravery, but because the alternative, a world of constant fighting and endless chaos, was somehow worse.

The Kaiju's surface stretched endlessly, its massive form blending seamlessly with the broken terrain around it. Veins of glowing energy pulsed faintly beneath its skin, resembling cracks in stone, and its ridged back rose and fell with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Shinji sat there, the weight of Striker pressing down on the creature's unmoving form, as though testing its limits. The Jaeger's servos whined faintly, its massive frame slouched in a mirror of his own exhaustion.

He wondered, not for the first time if the Kaiju even knew he was there. And if it did, why it allowed him to stay?

Did it even matt-,

"Takeyama!" Aizawa's voice sliced through his thoughts like a blade, shattering the illusion in an instant.

The gray sky dissolved into a crisp, clear blue. The jagged rock gave way to polished wood. The massive. The comforting stillness of the cliff evaporating into the quiet hum of the classroom.

Shinji blinked, his surroundings reasserting themselves with disorienting clarity. Morning light streamed through the windows, golden and soft, casting long shadows across the empty room. Aizawa stood near the front, a stack of papers in hand, his perpetually tired eyes fixed on him.

Aizawa stood at the front, a stack of papers in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. His perpetually tired eyes were fixed on Shinji, though his expression betrayed no particular concern, just the usual mild irritation that seemed permanently etched into his face.

"You've been zoning out for a while," Aizawa said, his voice as flat and dry as ever. "I thought you'd be sharper than this, Takeyama."

Shinji straightened in his seat, swallowing the knot in his throat. "I-sorry. It won't happen again."

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Don't apologize. Just fix it. If you're like this during training, it won't end well, for you or anyone else."

Shinji nodded, but Aizawa didn't let the silence linger. He set the papers down on the desk with a soft thud and leaned against the edge, folding his arms.

"Whatever's going on in that head of yours, deal with it after class. Today's about teamwork and focus, not...whatever that was," he added, gesturing vaguely toward Shinji's seat.

Shinji stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Well, at least you'll get your wish. You've been itching for a change of pace, right? Today's rescue training," he said, his tone as monotone as ever, though there was a faint edge of amusement in his voice. "The others are already outside. You're the last one."

Shinji blinked in surprise, glancing at the clock. He hadn't even noticed how much time had passed.

Aizawa pushed off the desk and started toward the door, motioning for Shinji to follow. "I told you before school even started, I won't go easy, Get moving. You're already behind, and I'm not letting anyone slack today"

Shinji stood, his legs feeling stiff as he followed Aizawa out of the classroom. The bright morning sun greeted him once again as they stepped outside, the distant chatter of his classmates filtering through the air.

Rescue training. Shinji felt a flicker of anticipation, a rare spark of something other than the usual unease. He was actually looking forward to this, a scenario where he didn't have to fight, where survival wasn't determined by who could hit harder or faster. This was different. It was about saving, not destroying.

As he walked alongside Aizawa, the sound of his classmates grew louder, their voices carrying through the crisp morning air. Shinji's thoughts churned as he approached the training grounds, wondering how he'd fare in this setting.

He wasn't sure what to expect. Would it be simulated disasters? Collapsed buildings? Flooded areas? His mind ran through the possibilities, trying to anticipate the challenges ahead. For once, the uncertainty didn't feel oppressive. It felt...refreshing.

"You're smiling," Aizawa said, breaking the quiet.

Shinji blinked, startled. He hadn't realized his lips had curved upward slightly. "I guess I am," he admitted, his voice subdued.

Aizawa gave him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. "Good. Just don't let that optimism crash and burn the moment things get tough."

Shinji nodded, his thoughts already shifting back to the training. This was a chance to prove something, not just to his classmates or teachers, but to himself.

As he followed Aizawa down the hall toward the bus waiting outside, Shinji's thoughts churned, wondering how he'd fare in a setting like this.

The early morning sunlight bathed the campus in a soft, golden glow, and the chill in the air was just enough to keep him alert. The faint murmur of his classmates grew louder as they approached the bus, the group already gathered and buzzing with energy.

"About time, Takeyama," Kaminari called out, grinning as Shinji appeared.

Shinji ignored the comment, keeping his expression neutral as he filed onto the bus. He found a seat at the front, right next to Aizawa. The bus jolted to life, pulling away from the main entrance of the school. As it rolled down the campus, Shinji began to take in his surroundings, but what struck him most was just how large U.A. was. The further they drove, the more expansive the campus seemed to stretch, fields, training areas, and even forested patches that seemed to go on forever. It was impressive, but it also made him question just how much he really knew about the place.

He had always seen U.A. as a place full of hustle and bustle, but it wasn't until now, as they drove farther down, that he began to realize just how vast the property actually was. It was almost as if the school itself was a miniature city, sprawling, self-contained, and with corners he'd never imagined. The buildings rose like silent giants, towering structures interspersed with wide open fields and areas that looked like they'd been designed for every conceivable type of training.

Despite all the movement outside, Shinji's mind drifted back to the classroom. He felt unsettled by the way he'd reacted earlier. What had made him so... disconnected? Was it the memory? Or something else entirely? His thoughts were interrupted by the hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of students behind him, but the unease still lingered, thickening in the back of his throat.

Aizawa, who had been observing him for the past few minutes, suddenly spoke. "What happened back there?" His voice was calm, but there was an underlying curiosity. "You're not usually like that."

Shinji hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the window as they passed a large training dome in the distance. "I had a rough night last night, and it's just followed me, I guess." His voice was low as if the words themselves carried weight he didn't want to acknowledge.

Aizawa didn't react immediately, but Shinji could feel his gaze on him, sharp and perceptive. There was a pause, and then Aizawa nodded once as if accepting the explanation without pressing further. He seemed to understand, perhaps not the specifics, but the weight of unspoken things.

"You don't have to explain," Aizawa said quietly, his tone devoid of judgment. "Most heroes, seasoned ones anyway, know what it's like."

Shinji glanced at him briefly, surprised by the lack of reproach in his voice. Aizawa had seen something in him and understood a bit more than Shinji had anticipated. Maybe it was that unspoken connection, the weight of experience that Aizawa carried in his own way.

The bus rolled on, the noise of the engine humming softly beneath their words. Shinji let the silence settle between them, his mind still buzzing with the remnants of the nightmare. But, for a fleeting moment, the tension loosened. Maybe there was something to the idea of being part of a team after all. Maybe it wasn't as foreign as he had thought.

"Still," Aizawa continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as the bus turned a corner, "try not to let it affect you today. You can't let your head be elsewhere in this kind of environment." He gestured toward the front, where the training grounds loomed larger. "Rescue training's different, but you need to be present for it. Focus. It's easy to slip when you're not paying attention."

Shinji nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. He hadn't realized until now how much he needed to hear something like that. A reminder that, no matter what, there were things he couldn't afford to ignore.

Shinji turned his gaze back to the window, watching the sprawling campus slowly give way to the more isolated training grounds. His mind still wandered, but now there was a slight shift, a quiet understanding that maybe he could try to move past it, at least for now.

"I understand," he muttered, his voice low, "Like I said yesterday, all I went through, and yet it feels like even the smallest breeze is enough to beat me."

Aizawa's expression remained neutral, though there was a slight shift in his posture, less of a judgment and more of a quiet acknowledgment. "That's how it works, Takeyama," he said, his voice calm. "You carry everything with you, and it doesn't always stay in one place. The smallest thing can set you off." He paused, his tired eyes focusing on the road ahead. "But it doesn't define you. How you move past it, that's what matters."

Shinji let the words settle in his mind as the bus continued down the winding path. A quiet hum filled the air, the other students mostly silent as they neared the training grounds. He knew Aizawa was right, fighting his past was a constant battle, but he couldn't let it keep him chained. He had to keep moving forward, even if it meant taking things one moment at a time.

"Yeah," Shinji finally replied, his voice quieter now. "I guess you're right. Doesn't make it easier, but... I get it."

He glanced at Aizawa again, trying to find some comfort in the man's calm demeanor. Maybe there was something to be said for enduring without always needing to fight.

"Is there any way to make it easier?" Shinji's voice was quiet, almost hesitant as he spoke, the words weighing heavily on him. "Yesterday, after lunch, I had a genuinely good time with my sister. Sure, there were some bumps, but for a moment, it felt... normal. And then everything just went downhill. It's like the universe is punishing me for trying to enjoy something other than pain."

Aizawa's gaze softened, just for a moment, before he returned his attention to the road ahead. His voice was quiet, but firm, as if weighing each word carefully. "Life doesn't work that way. It's not about being punished for trying to have something better. It just... doesn't work in neat little packages. You get moments of peace, but you also get the shit that comes with it. The trick is to not let it crush you."

Shinji's mind latched onto the words, his thoughts churning. "I keep telling myself I'll be fine. That I'll push through. But it feels like every time I try, it gets worse."

Aizawa let out a deep sigh, his eyes still fixed on the road. "That's what being a hero is about. You keep going, even when it seems pointless. You don't get to pick what life throws at you, but you get to choose how you deal with it. And maybe... maybe you won't feel fine for a while. But that doesn't mean you won't get there eventually."

Shinji's fingers tightened against the edge of his seat, still staring out at the training grounds as they got closer. The words felt heavy, like a weight that sat on his chest, but they weren't dismissive. They didn't offer easy comfort. They just... were.

"I'm not going to lie," Aizawa continued, "It's going to be hard. But the fact that you're even asking, shows that you're not as lost as you think."

Shinji remained lost in thought, his eyes tracing the passing scenery. The hum of the bus and the faint chatter of his classmates blurred together, but he couldn't help overhearing their discussion about Quirks.

"Don't you guys think Midoriya's Quirk is similar to All Might's?" Iida's voice carried over, his tone eager with curiosity

Tsuyu, ever thoughtful, responded, "Well, it's not exactly the same, but there's definitely something about it that reminds me of All Might, especially how Midoriya gets stronger the more he pushes himself."

Kirishima chimed in with a grin, "Yeah, but All Might doesn't injure himself like Midoriya does." He chuckled, but his eyes sparkled with the same kind of determination he always carried. "Honestly, I wish I had a Quirk that was flashier, something that would get me more attention and recognition."

"I think you underestimate your own Quirk, Kirishima," Midoriya countered, his voice full of encouragement. "Your Quirk is perfect for taking on any opponent. It's strong and durable, and you'll be a great hero with it."

Kirishima scratched the back of his head, still unsure. "I mean, sure, it's cool and all, but look at Bakugo and Todoroki. Those two have Quirks that practically scream 'Pro Hero,' right?"

Tsuyu's voice rang out again, teasing, "Well, Bakugo's temper might get in the way of him becoming popular."

Bakugo, sitting a few rows behind, immediately shot back, "I'm not angry, damn it! I just don't have time for weaklings!"

Kaminari, ever the joker, added, "Yeah, but Bakugo's personality could definitely use some work if he wants to be a people person."

The others laughed, and for a brief moment, Bakugo looked taken aback. The usual tension around him had lifted, and he looked, if not relaxed, at least a bit more tolerable. Izuku observed the change, surprised at how things had shifted. It wasn't so long ago that Bakugo was the one dishing out the teasing. Now, the tables had turned, and the class was the one joking about him.

As Shinji listened to this exchange, Tsuyu's voice suddenly reached his ears.

"Takeyama," she began, turning to him with a soft curiosity. "Your Quirk would be perfect for pro-hero work. You've been through some real battles, right?"

Shinji blinked, taken off guard by the question. He had never really spoken much about his Quirk, but Tsuyu had picked up on it.

"It's called Shatterdome," Shinji replied, his voice uncertain. "It's pretty straightforward. You saw what it can do during class."

Tsuyu tilted her head slightly, clearly intrigued. "It's a powerful Quirk. You've already fought on a big scale. You'd make a great pro-hero."

Izuku, overhearing the conversation, immediately chimed in. "He's basically already one, isn't he? I mean, with that kind of power, and his past it's no surprise, it's probably also why he's one of our teachers."

Shinji's mind shifted back to the conversation before the breach, the one that had set everything in motion. He could still hear the words clearly in his mind. The reason he was even on that mission, why he was here, sitting on a bus full of future heroes. The government had approached him with an unexpected offer, one he hadn't known how to refuse.

It was the Anti-Kaiju Initiative. A new program designed to bolster the country's defense against the ever-present Kaiju threat. The government set out to find someone with the perfect anti-Kaiju Quirk, someone who could stand up to these towering beasts that ravaged cities without hesitation. And, after a long search, they found him.

Shinji had been the perfect candidate. His Quirk, raw and powerful, had the potential to deal with the Kaiju in ways that no conventional weapon or hero could. He wasn't just another soldier or hero-in-training. The program didn't want to groom him for typical hero work; they wanted something else. They saw in him the ability to take on the monsters head-to-head.

They had offered him a chance that few others could have, skipping the long, traditional path to heroism, bypassing the tedious years of school, testing, and rankings. Instead, they wanted him to be a specialized fighter, someone who could fight Kaiju without the normal red tape. It was clear from their proposal that they wanted him not just as a soldier, but as something more, a proactive force in the war against the Kaiju, with a Quirk that was already strong enough to tackle the threat.

They assured him it wasn't about making him a weapon. They had no intention of molding him into a mindless fighter. The Anti-Kaiju Initiative was about utilizing his skills and abilities to their fullest extent, giving him the training and resources he needed to fight the monsters that no one else could handle.

At the time, it had seemed like an opportunity, a chance to make his name known, not just as another hero, but as something more. Something beyond what any regular hero could achieve. It was an offer of distinction, one that promised recognition not just from the public, but from the world. The government didn't want him to go through the motions of the traditional hero path. They saw him as a special asset, someone who could bypass the limitations of long-term training and make an immediate impact.

"That's actually not far off," Shinji said, letting out a short laugh, barely more than a quiet chuckle, but it was genuine. The sound caught the attention of a few nearby students, but they didn't interrupt.

"I, uh, kinda was one for a bit before everything," Shinji continued, his voice steady for once as he referred to the breach. It was rare for him to speak of it without a tinge of unease, but this time, the words came out with a strange sense of resolve. "I was the test run for a program that wanted me to basically skip most of the process required and go straight into fighting Kaiju."

The students nearby turned their attention toward him, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. Even Aizawa, seated at the front of the bus, glanced back briefly as Shinji spoke.

"They called it the Anti-Kaiju Initiative," Shinji explained, leaning back slightly in his seat as he continued. "The idea was to find someone with the right kind of Quirk to handle the big stuff, the stuff normal heroes couldn't touch, and then train them to do it as quickly and efficiently as possible. They didn't want me to skip school because I wasn't good enough. They wanted me to skip it because they thought I could handle more."

A brief silence settled over the group before Kaminari broke it with a low whistle. "Whoa... so, like, you were already a pro in training?"

Shinji shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I wouldn't say that. More like... a work in progress. They gave me resources, training, a plan, but it wasn't exactly a smooth ride. And then... Well, the breach happened."

The weight of those words settled over the group like a shadow. For a moment, no one spoke, the mention of the breach carrying an unspoken gravity that no one dared challenge. It was Tsuyu who finally broke the silence, her voice soft but steady.

"That sounds like a lot to put on one person. Even for someone strong like you."

Shinji blinked at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. He let out a small laugh, this one lighter but still real. "Yeah, maybe. But honestly, I didn't think about it much back then. It just felt like... what I had to do."

Midoriya leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. "Do you think you'll go back to it someday? To the initiative?"

Shinji shook his head, his gaze fixed on Midoriya. "Couldn't even if I wanted to," he said quietly. "My incident wasn't just bad, it was a catastrophe. Turns out secret child soldiers sacrificing themselves, on a mission that wasn't even approved, is really bad."

The weight of his words hit the group like a falling stone. Even Katsuki, who typically had a retort for everything, said nothing, his expression unreadable as he glanced toward the window.

Tsuyu's eyes widened slightly. "You were sent in without approval?"

"Yep," Shinji said, his voice dry as he leaned back in his seat, eyes flicking briefly to Midoriya. "The breach had been inactive for, what was it? Two weeks or so. And they thought, 'Hey, let's go check it out.'" He shrugged, the motion almost too casual. "Brought me along because, not only can I actually fight those things, but I can also do it underwater. That and it was as they called it a 'learning experience', Perfect candidate, right?"

The others exchanged glances, unsure whether to press further. Before anyone could respond, Shinji shifted again, this time with a slight smirk. "Anyway, enough about me. Kirishima, you were saying something about 'flashy Quirks'? Let's hear it."

Kirishima perked up, his eyes lighting with excitement. "uh ... .Oh, right! Yeah, I was saying how I wish my Quirk was more, you know, showy. Something that could really grab people's attention, like Bakugo's or Todoroki's."

"Or blow people's eardrums," Kaminari quipped, earning a glare from Bakugo.

Shinji's smirk lingered as he leaned back further, folding his arms across his chest. "Flashy doesn't always mean better," he said, his tone dry but not unkind. "Trust me, I've seen plenty of loud things that don't last long."

Kirishima grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, I know. It's just... you know, sometimes it feels like the bigger the splash, the more people notice you, you know?"

"That's true," Midoriya interjected, his voice thoughtful. "But your Quirk is already incredible, Kirishima. It's strong, reliable, and perfect for protecting others. Isn't that what being a hero is really about?"

Kirishima blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. "Huh... I guess I hadn't thought about it like that," he admitted.

"Yeah, yeah, great speech, nerd," Bakugo muttered, glaring out the window. "Doesn't change the fact that some of us have Quirks that are naturally better for grabbing attention."

"Like yours?" Kaminari teased, smirking. "Explosions are hard to miss, but, uh... maybe you could work on the 'heroic personality' part?"

Bakugo turned his glare on Kaminari, who immediately raised his hands in surrender. "I'm kidding! Totally kidding!"

Shinji leaned back in his seat, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "Personally, I don't care," he said casually. "But it's kinda hard to miss a 76.2-meter robot."

The bus went silent for a moment, the sheer precision of the number catching everyone off guard.

The others looked at him in stunned silence. A few moments passed before Bakugo let out a sharp laugh, his tone mocking. "That's some weird shit, Takeyama. What, you can measure them in your sleep too?"

Shinji tilted his head slightly, an almost imperceptible smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Something like that. The measurements just stick with me. It's all in the data. Not just height either," he added, voice steady. "Weight, build, capabilities. I can tell you all of it. Even how much damage they can take before they're down."

Tsuyu, always the more thoughtful one, leaned back slightly, her expression pensive. "So, it's not just your fighting ability, it's like you're connected to them on another level..."

Shinji nodded once. "Exactly. It's more than just piloting. It's knowing every inch, every system. Like I said, it's all in my head."

Midoriya's eyes were wide with awe. "That's incredible... You can strategize so much faster than anyone else with that kind of information."

"Hey, which one's your favorite?" Kaminari asked, his curiosity piqued.

Shinji paused, looking down at his hands for a moment as he considered the question. "Favorite?" he echoed, more to himself than anyone else. "Striker easily, but I suppose he's not fair to pick. He's the one I've been through the most with."

He almost said more, about how picking Striker was easy because he and the Jaeger had been linked for nearly three years, but he stopped himself. This was a rare moment of normalcy, a chance to just be a kid talking about the usual things. He didn't want to ruin it by diving into the weight of that connection. Not right now. Right now, he was just one of them, talking about normal things with his classmates.

Shinji took a deep breath, pulling himself back into the present, away from the darker thoughts that threatened to creep in. He forced a half-smile, trying to shift the conversation to something lighter. "A fairer answer would probably be Titan Redeemer after that," he said, his tone a little more casual now. "Big, powerful, and built for sheer destruction, and a weapon that's hard to lose."

Kaminari leaned forward, a curious look on his face. "Titan Redeemer?" he asked, brow furrowed. "I don't think I saw that one in class yesterday. Which one's that?"

"Huh, guess I didn't," Shinji said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "To be honest, I didn't think of him when I was setting up for the class." He glanced around at his classmates, a slight glint in his eyes. "Wanna see his coolest feature?"

Kirishima immediately leaned in, his excitement palpable. "Yeah! Show us!"

Shinji's smirk widened as he extended his arm, focusing for a moment. resonating hum echoes through the air as green plating began to grow around his arm, and it quickly morphed into a rough, armored texture. The transformation was smooth, but the effect was nothing short of impressive. His hand began to grow, its shape distorting as his fingers melded into a massive, rounded form. In a matter of seconds, his hand transformed into a massive wrecking ball, about the size of a basketball, but clearly far more dangerous.

The spherical mass was wrapped in the same green armor-like plating, and it swung slightly in the air, its weight shifting with a low, heavy thud.

"That's Titan Redeemer's wrecking ball arm," Shinji said nonchalantly, his voice calm despite the intimidating form. "Pretty cool, right?"

Kaminari stared, wide-eyed. "That's insane! It's like something straight out of a movie!"

Shinji shrugged, his expression unphased. "Yeah, like I said, kinda hard to lose the weapon when it's attached to me."

Shinji's smirk faded slightly as the bus came to a slow stop, the tires grinding against the asphalt. He turned his attention toward the window, watching as the familiar scenery outside began to shift, signaling the end of their ride.

Aizawa's voice cut through the buzz of conversation that had begun to swell on the bus. "We're here," he stated bluntly, standing up from his seat and moving toward the door. His tired eyes swept over the students as if daring anyone to act up now that they were close to their destination. "Off the bus, now."

The students began to shuffle, gathering their things and preparing to disembark, but not without a few last glances at Shinji, still processing his reveal. Kirishima was the first to speak up, his usual high energy back despite the somewhat somber tone of the conversation.

"Dude, that was seriously wild. I still can't get over that wrecking ball arm!" he said, giving Shinji a thumbs up. "You gotta show us more of that stuff, seriously."

Shinji gave a small shrug, his gaze flicking briefly to Aizawa, who was already stepping off the bus without waiting for anyone else. "Yeah, maybe," he replied to Kirishima, his tone lighter but still reserved. "We'll see."

Midoriya stood up next, hesitating for a moment before offering Shinji a kind smile. "You doing okay, Takeyama? It must've been a lot to talk about."

Shinji nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, almost reassuring smile. "I'm good. Just... don't expect me to turn into the class mascot or anything." His words were accompanied by a subtle shift in his tone, distant but not unkind.

He stretched slightly as he got to his feet, his movements relaxed but purposeful. "Let's just focus on the training, yeah? We've got work to do."

Midoriya nodded, his smile unwavering. "Right. Let's do our best."

With that, Shinji stepped toward the door, blending into the steady stream of students leaving the bus. While his words still carried that air of distance, there was something almost welcoming in his demeanor, like a door left slightly ajar for those willing to step through.