The next match loomed: Minoru Mineta and Hanta Sero versus Nemuri Kayama-Midnight, the R-Rated Hero, her Somnambulist quirk a seductive fog that could drop armies into slumber.
Mineta, the pint-sized pervert with his Pop-Off quirk's sticky balls, bounced on his toes below, his grape-head helmet gleaming. Sero, ever the chill tape-dispenser, cracked his elbows, Tape quirk ready to swing them to victory.
"We got this, dude! Tape her up before she gets all... sleepy-time," Sero joked, but his grin masked nerves. Mineta leered, eyes cartoonishly wide. "Oh man, facing Midnight? This is a dream come true-or nightmare!"
Up here, Uraraka giggled nervously beside me, her hand brushing mine. "They'll be fine, right, Deku? Mineta's... creative." Bakugo snorted. "Grape Freak better not perv out and blow it." Todoroki nodded faintly, Momo analyzing tactics in her notebook.
Aizawa's voice cut through the comms, his eyes heavy-lidded from the day's toll. "Mineta Minoru and Sero Hanta versus Midnight. Objective: defeat or escape in 30 minutes. Her quirk exploits weakness-stay alert."
Midnight struck a pose across the field, her black leather dominatrix outfit hugging every curve-whip coiled at her hip, skin glistening under the lights, her Somnambulist pheromone mist a latent threat.
"Darlings," she purred, voice like velvet over thorns, "let's make this... intimate. Show Teacher what you've got." The buzzer wailed, and the arena- a dimly lit mock red-light district, with alleyways, velvet curtains, and fog machines for ambiance-swallowed them whole.
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The Fight: Mineta & Sero vs. Midnight
Sero moved like a spider, elbows firing Tape strands to swing from a lamppost, pulling Mineta along in a makeshift harness. "Up, up & away, buddy! Keep her at range!" His quirk elongated, adhesive tape webbing across a narrow alley, forming a sticky net to block Midnight's path.
Mineta clung to his back, popping off purple spheres from his scalp-Pop-Off balls, bouncy and unyielding-hurling them like grenades to create a minefield on the ground.
"Take that, hottie! You're not getting past my sticky situation!" The balls scattered, adhering to the asphalt, ready to trip or trap.
Midnight laughed, a sultry trill that echoed off the faux brick walls, her whip cracking like thunder. She advanced with predatory grace, hips swaying, the air shimmering as Somnambulist began to seep-a faint, floral mist laced with sleep-inducing pheromones, invisible but insidious.
"Oh, boys, such enthusiasm. But Teacher knows how to handle... sticky boys." She lashed her whip, slicing through Sero's tape net with razor precision, the strands fluttering down like severed veins.
Sero countered mid-swing, firing a fresh line to yank a street sign free, hurling it like a battering ram. Midnight sidestepped, her body twisting in a fluid arc that accentuated her curves, the sign embedding in a wall inches from her thigh.
Mineta detached, tumbling to a fire escape, popping off a barrage-dozen balls arcing toward her like purple hail. They stuck to her whip mid-swing, gumming the leather, forcing her to shake it free.
"Ewww, grape-flavored? Naughty!" She blew a kiss, mist intensifying, the pheromone fog rolling thicker, carrying a sweet, hypnotic scent like overripe jasmine. Sero inhaled shallowly, swinging higher to evade, but the mist clung to his tape, weighing it down.
"Mineta, it's... heavy. Like breathing cotton." He fired a zip-line toward the escape gate, 200 meters distant through twisting alleys, but Midnight vaulted onto a balcony, her nails raking the tape, severing it with filed edges sharp as blades.
Five minutes in, momentum shifted. Sero looped back, tape forming a cocoon around a dumpster, launching it as a projectile.
Midnight shattered it with a whip crack, shards flying, but the distraction let Mineta close-scuttling low like a crab, balls popping to form a human ladder up a wall.
He perched above, raining spheres onto her path. One clipped her boot, sticking her heel, and she stumbled, cursing silkily. "Clever, little deviant. But playtime's over."
She inhaled deep, exhaling a concentrated burst of Somnambulist-dense fog billowing like a lover's sigh, pheromones spiking to overwhelm senses.
Sero swung into it first, tape pulling him across an alley. The mist enveloped him mid-air, sweet haze seeping into lungs, eyes fluttering.
"Wha-feels... so... tired..." His body slackened, tape retracting involuntarily as eyelids drooped, and he plummeted, crashing into a pile of cushions-arena safety foam, but he was out, snoring softly, limbs limp. Useless.
Midnight's quirk had claimed him, Somnambulist's allure too potent for his casual defenses. Mineta yelped from his perch, "Sero! Wake up, you tape-head!" But his partner was gone, exam failure sealed in slumber.
Midnight turned her gaze upward, violet eyes smoldering, mist coiling like smoke from her lips. "One down, grape-kun. Your turn to... dream."
She prepared the full exhale-chest rising, a deeper breath to unleash a pheromone cloud that would blanket the alley, sleep claiming Mineta in seconds.
Time slowed, her whip discarded, hands poised at her sides, the fog gathering at her mouth like a storm about to break.
Mineta had no choice. Dirty, desperate, his perverted core twisting survival into sin. He leaped, Pop-Off balls firing in a desperate chain-sticky orbs linking like a zipper, pulling him down in a controlled slide toward her.
The arena's dim lights caught her form: leather corset straining against full, heaving breasts, pale cleavage exposed in a deep V, the fabric taut over curves that had starred in his fevered fantasies.
As she inhaled for the Somnambulist surge, Mineta collided-tiny frame tackling her midsection, momentum from his balls' tension slamming him against her chest. She gasped, fog dissipating in surprise, arms flailing to dislodge him. "You little-!"
But he clung, grape-like head buried in the valley of her breasts, hands popping balls to adhere to her back, pinning himself. Two minutes of depravity unfolded, Mineta's survival hinging on distraction-dirty, visceral, a line crossed in the fog of desperation.
His mouth latched onto the left breast first, lips parting over the swell where leather met skin, the exposed upper curve soft and warm under the arena's heat lamps.
He sucked-hard, insistent, cheeks hollowing as he drew the flesh into his mouth, tongue lashing the yielding mound in frantic, wet circles. The flavor bloomed: salt-sweat from combat, a faint floral trace from her perfume, leather's tang edging the softness.
Midnight stiffened, a sharp inhale turning to a moan-low, throaty, vibrating through her chest into his skull. "Ahh-grape-kun, you... daring...!"
One minute in: he switched, mouth releasing the left with a slick pop, saliva glistening on the reddened skin, before engulfing the right-lips sealing around the curve, sucking deeper, tongue probing the boundary where fabric constrained the fullness.
He pulled harder, vacuum-like, the breast's weight shifting under his assault, nipple-hidden but hinted-straining against leather as his teeth grazed the edge, nipping for sting.
Her moan escalated, louder now, a sultry crescendo-"Mmmph-oh, you naughty boy!"-body arching involuntarily, Somnambulist forgotten in the haze of sensation.
Her hands clutched his head, not pushing away but tangling in his hair, conflict warring in her violet eyes: teacher's shock, hero's restraint crumbling under the unexpected fervor.
Ninety seconds: alternating frenzy-mouth hopping between breasts, sucking left in rhythmic pulls, tongue swirling broad laps over the swell, then right, harder, deeper, drawing beads of sweat that he lapped greedily.
The leather creaked under pressure, her cleavage slick with his saliva, moans peaking-"Ahh! Yes-wait, no-grrrah!"-voice fracturing into gasps that echoed off the alleys, drowning any pheromone release.
Her body betrayed her, hips bucking faintly, the distraction absolute-Somnambulist mist dissipating harmlessly, sleep's edge blunted by ecstasy's spike.
Two minutes ticked over, Mineta releasing with a final, slurping suck on each-left then right, leaving twin blooms of red marks on pale skin, glistening trails cooling in the air.
Midnight staggered back, chest heaving, moans fading to ragged breaths, her whip forgotten on the ground. "You... filthy... genius."
Dazed, off-balance, she clawed for composure, but Mineta seized the moment-popping balls to snag Sero's limp form, dragging him in a sticky trail toward the escape gate.
"Sorry, Teach! Dream on!" He hauled the snoring Sero across the boundary at 12 minutes, tape-boy's failure etched in drool.
Aizawa's voice crackled: "Mineta-pass by escape. Sero-fail, incapacitated." Midnight straightened, adjusting her corset with a flushed smirk, whip retrieved. "Well played, grape-kun. But we'll discuss... ethics later."
The deck erupted-Kirishima's awkward "Whoa, that was... intense?", Uraraka's blush, Bakugo's guffaw. I winced, Oceanus rumbling disapproval: The tide dirties its hands for survival. But purity erodes. Mineta's win was ugly, but effective-a hero's gray in black ink.
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Echoes in the Night
As the arena reset, Class 1-A dispersed, whispers of Mineta's "tactic" buzzing like static. Ochaco squeezed my hand, eyes wide. "Deku... that was weird, right?" I nodded, pulling her close.
"Yeah. But we all do what we must." Tomorrow, more matches: Tsuyu and Tokoyami versus Ectoplasm, others pending. I'd protect them, clean or dirty. No doubt.
__________________
Some time later
The other matches-Tsuyu and Tokoyami versus Ectoplasm, Kirishima and Sato against Cementoss, Jiro and Koda facing Present Mic-hadn't started yet.
Aizawa had called a late-night halt, his voice gravelly over comms: "Rest. Exams resume at dawn. Don't waste it."
Class 1-A dispersed to the dorms in weary clusters, Bakugo's explosions popping like firecrackers as he grumbled about "pervy shortcuts," Todoroki's silence a frozen wall, Momo burying her flush in her notebook.
I'd lingered, feigning a need to stretch my legs after the day's chaos, but truth be told, the shadows called. Aoyama's canon betrayal gnawed at me like a splinter-overheard whispers of his LOV ties weeks ago, his sparkling facade cracking under Stain's aftermath.
And now, with Mineta's filth fresh, paranoia bloomed. Oceanus rumbled low in my core: The sea whispers of riptides, young tide. Beneath the surface, predators circle.
I slipped into the underbelly of the training grounds, a maintenance corridor snaking beneath the arena-dimly lit by emergency strips, the air thick with the tang of oil and recycled mist.
My Saiyan senses, honed to 100% control, sharpened: ki internalized, green aura a subtle veil, water ki sensing moisture trails like invisible threads.
Footsteps echoed ahead-light, hesitant, two sets. I pressed against a rusted grate, hidden in the gloom, heart pounding. Voices filtered through, familiar yet laced with venom.
"...can't believe Sparkles pulled that off with the principal," Aoyama's voice, French-accented and theatrical, but edged with strain. "Nezu's mech fried like croissants in butter. But you, mon ami-your little capacitor trick? Shigaraki will eat it up. 'Ingenious sabotage,' he'll say."
A pause, then Denki's laugh-his usual wheezy, electric cackle, but forced, brittle. "Yeah, well, Pinky's acid did the heavy lifting. I just... zapped the right wire. LOV's gonna love the schematics I slipped in that drone feedback. U.A.'s defenses? Wide open for the camp."
My blood ran cold, ki flaring internally but silent. Denki? The class clown, the guy who'd short-circuit into "whey" mode and make us all laugh? 2nd Traitor.
I gripped the grate, nails digging into metal, Ocean's regional sense picking up their sweat-fear-salted, guilty.
Aoyama's tone dropped, conspiratorial. "Speaking of the camp... the Boss wants confirmation on One For All. Shigaraki's itching-says if Mirio Togata's the vessel, we need his progress report. You hear anything from your... sources?"
Denki's voice cracked, sparks audible in the dark-a faint zap against concrete. "Yeah. Mirio's got it. All Might passed the torch quiet-like, after the Kamino mess. Kid's a beast-Big Three material, but now? He's at 50% control. Unlocked other quirks: Blackwhip, Danger Sense, Float."
Mirio Togata, the smiling sun of U.A.'s third year, heir to All Might's legacy. 50% control. The words ignited memories I'd pieced from shadows: Mirio's permeation quirk, his unbreakable spirit.
But One For All at half-mast? Blackwhip's shadows, Danger Sense's prickle, Float's weightless grace-unlocked, weaving into his arsenal. I leaned closer, hidden in the grate's shadow, ki cloaking me like mist.
They didn't know I was there. No one would. This burden-two traitors in our midst-I'd carry alone, for now. Confrontation could shatter everything before the camp's claws closed.
Aoyama pressed, voice a whisper-shine. "Details, Denki. Shigaraki doesn't do 'good enough.' How'd Mirio hit 50%? What's it look like?"
Denki sighed, a static hum underscoring his words. "Alright, alright. Pulled this from a Big Three briefing-overheard it phasing through a wall, courtesy of my... contacts. Mirio's been grinding since Kamino. All Might's mentorship's intense: simulations, quirk dissections, the works. Hit 50% last week, during a mock villain raid in Ground Gamma."
The air thickened, my mind flashing to the scene Denki painted-vivid, unwillingly detailed through his reluctant retelling. I could see it, imagination bridging the gap.
__________________
Mirio Togata's Ascendance: 50% Control
Mirio Togata, the ever-smiling third-year, stood at the epicenter, his hero costume-a white-and-blue ensemble, cape fluttering like a banner of unyielding optimism-scarred from prior spars.
All Might watched from a reinforced observation booth, his skeletal form hunched but eyes alight with paternal fire.
"Young Togata," he'd boomed, voice echoing through the trees, "One For All isn't just power-it's legacy. Hearts stockpiled, quirks entwined. You've got the spirit; now claim the stockpile!"
Mirio grinned, that trademark beam splitting his face, blond hair tousled under his visor. "You got it, Sensei! Let's make 'em proud!" His base quirk, Permeation, shimmered-body turning ethereal, phasing through solid matter like a ghost in the machine.
But One For All thrummed beneath, a golden ember in his veins, inherited in a clandestine ceremony post-Kamino: All Might's embers passed in a rooftop hush, Mirio's vow sealing the chain.
At 0%, it was raw inheritance-flickers of strength, speed, but volatile, like a dam cracking. Months of training had pushed him to 49%, muscles aching from quirk-factor surges, bones reinforced through adaptation. Today, the threshold.
The simulation roared to life: fifty drones, each a hulking facsimile of Nomu-claws whirring, energy blasts charging, programmed to adapt mid-fight.
Mirio blurred forward, Permeation activating in bursts-phasing through a drone's slash, re-solidifying inside its chassis to shatter circuits with a ki-infused punch. One For All at 49% amplified it: his fist glowed faint gold, impact crumpling alloy like foil.
But numbers overwhelmed-drones swarmed, blasts scorching earth, forcing him to phase evasive, breath ragged. "Come on, Mirio! Dig deep!" All Might urged, monitors beeping his vitals-heart rate spiking, quirk factor straining at 49.9%.
A drone clipped him mid-phase, its claw grazing his shoulder-solid too soon, blood welling. Pain lanced, but Mirio laughed, defiant. "Not today!" He centered, All Might's lessons flooding: Feel the stockpile-seven wills, one fist.
The ember ignited, golden ki surging through meridians, muscles swelling subtly, hair glinting with ethereal light. Control ticked-50%. The dam burst, not in chaos, but harmony.
First unlock: Danger Sense. A prickle erupted at his nape, precognitive itch like static before storm-All Might's seventh user's gift, raw intuition honed to prescience. The air hummed warning: three drones converging from blind spots, blasts priming.
Mirio twisted, Permeation flickering, phasing through the lead's fire while Danger Sense guided his dodge-instinctive, flawless, a spider-sense without webs.
"Whoa-got a tingle!" he quipped, countering with a golden-charged elbow that caved the drone's core. The sense layered seamlessly, not overwhelming but augmenting-his permeation now predictive, phases timed to split-seconds.Drones adapted, formations tightening, but 50% flowed.
Next: Float. Daigoro Banjo's fifth-user legacy, anti-gravity grace unlocked in a buoyant rush-Mirio's body lightened, boots lifting from soil as if gravity bowed. He ascended, 10 meters, then 20, drones firing futilely below. "Up, up, and away!"
Permeation blended: phasing mid-float, ghosting through a drone swarm, re-solidifying to drop like a meteor-One For All's amplified mass cratering three in a shockwave.
Float wasn't flight, but levitation-sustained, directional, stamina-draining at first, but Mirio's optimism fueled it, stabilizing the hover. He weaved, Danger Sense prickling flanks, Float carrying him in evasive arcs, punches raining fury.
The capstone: Blackwhip. Koichi Haima's sixth-user shadow, tendrils of dark energy uncoiling from his arms like living ink-writhing whips, prehensile and versatile, born of the stockpile's emotional core.
As a drone latched onto his leg mid-float, Mirio felt the pull-will manifesting as shadow. Blackwhip erupted, ebony lashes snapping from his elbows, coiling the drone's neck and crushing it with golden-reinforced grip.
"Gotcha!" Four whips now-two lashing drones, ensnaring and slamming them into ruins; one anchoring his float for momentum, swinging him like a pendulum to phase-strike another.
Danger Sense synced, warning of incoming blasts, Blackwhip deflecting them mid-air. The whips were extensions of intent: extendable to 15 meters, durable as steel cables, but hungry-50% control leashed their wildness, preventing backlash.
The simulation peaked: twenty drones left, encircling in adaptive helix. Mirio hovered at the apex, aura flickering-hair wilder, eyes sharp with stockpile focus.
Blackwhip lashed in a web, ensnaring five, crushing them in a whip-crack chorus. Float propelled him downward, phasing through the helix's core, Danger Sense threading the needle-re-solidifying amid the heart, One For All's 50% punch-a golden Detroit Smash variant-erupting in a radial burst.
Drones vaporized, circuits frying, the field clearing in seconds. Alarms blared: simulation end. Mirio landed lightly, Float dissipating, Blackwhip retracting to wisps, Danger Sense fading to a hum.
All Might burst from the booth, clapping his successor's shoulder, tears in his eyes. "50%, Young Togata! Blackwhip's shadows, Float's freedom, Danger Sense's whisper-they're yours.
But remember: the rest-Smokescreen, Fa Jin, Gearshift-wait for 100%. Temper it with heart." Mirio beamed, sweat-soaked but unbroken.
"We did it, Sensei! For everyone-for the smile that saves!" The unlocks weren't just power; they were synergy-Blackwhip enhancing his grapples, Float amplifying mobility, Danger Sense sharpening instincts.
At 50%, One For All was a toolkit, not a bomb, Mirio's permeation the glue binding it all.
__________________
Back in the corridor, Denki's voice yanked me from the vision. "See? 50%-Mirio's a monster now. Blackwhip's got him swinging like a shadow ninja, Float's got him dancing on air, Danger Sense? Kid's untouchable. But Shigaraki wants the full map-how to counter it at camp. You in, Sparkles?"
Aoyama's laugh tinkled, hollow. "Oui. But careful, Deku's been... off. That tidal crap against the faculty? He's hiding something." Footsteps retreated, their whispers fading into the night.
I slumped against the grate, hidden still, ki cloaking my gasp. Denki-a traitor. Aoyama's partner in poison.
And Mirio... One For All's beacon, 50% forged in sweat and smiles, Blackwhip's lash, Float's lift, Danger Sense's guard.
Unlocked, but the rest veiled till mastery absolute. My fists clenched, green ki flickering suppressed. No telling- not All Might, not Aizawa, not even Ochaco.
Alone, I'd watch, weave tides against their storm. The exams waited, dawn's light a false promise. Traitors in our house. I'd drown them in silence, sooner or later