The concrete halls of Tarsus stretched cold and wide, lit by harsh lights that cast long shadows behind the students. Aizawa’s voice echoed through the chamber as he moved steadily from cell to cell, his tone even and without frill.
“This one,” he said, pointing at a barred cell streaked with claw marks, “was known for tearing apart buildings with nothing but their voice. They could level half a city block before anyone even saw them.”
The students scribbled notes, shifting uneasily.
He continued on. Another name. Another monster. Stories lined the walls like scars, each one stitched with violence, failure, survival.
And then he stopped walking.
He stood in front of your cell.
He didn’t speak.
Not right away.
The others fell silent, glancing between each other.
He stared for a long while. Not with hatred. Not even with pity. Something heavier.
And when he did finally speak, it wasn’t for the class.
It was only for you.