CHAPTER 35: THE PRICE OF THE PEAK
The silence that followed the explosion was more deafening than the blast itself. On the shattered plateau, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and the fine, white dust of pulverized paper. It looked as though a localized blizzard had struck the mountain, coating the scorched rocks in a layer of artificial snow.
In the center of the crater, Sherlock Sheets remained motionless. He was a statue of ash and bone, his knees pressed into the grit, his head bowed. The vibrant emerald of his eyes was hidden behind closed lids, and his skin—usually pale—was now a ghostly, translucent white. Every pore had been drained; every biological reserve had been spent to fuel the Thousand Paper Blast.
Kota Izumi stood a few feet away, his small hands trembling. He looked at the mountain of meat, Muscular, who was pinned like a broken insect against the cliff face, and then back at the boy who had stood between him and the void.
He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the remnants of Sherlock's cards. He reached out and touched Sherlock's shoulder. It was cold—frighteningly cold. Sherlock didn't flinch. He didn't breathe. He simply tilted forward, his body losing its rigid form and slumping into the dirt like a discarded marionette.
A flash of green electricity flickered at the edge of the plateau.
Izuku Midoriya skidded to a halt, his breath coming in jagged, desperate gasps. He had run through the gas, pushed through the fear, guided by the light of the massive explosion that had momentarily turned the night into day.
Midoriya burst into the clearing, his hero costume shredded and his breath coming in jagged, desperate gasps. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the crater, his eyes widening as they took in the devastation.
"Sherlock-kun! Kota!"
Midoriya's eyes widened as he took in the scene. The crater, the defeated villain, and the fallen form of his friend. He sprinted across the clearing, his heart hammering against his ribs. He ignored the unconscious Muscular and knelt beside Sherlock, his hands hovering over the boy's chest, terrified of what he might find.
Midoriya clenched his teeth, a wave of guilt washing over him. I should have been here. I shouldn't have let him face this monster alone. Sherlock calculated the risk and took it all on his shoulders.
"Sherlock! Sherlock, answer me!"
"No..." Midoriya whispered, rushing forward. He dropped to his knees beside Sherlock, his hands hovering over his friend's shoulders, afraid that if he touched him, the boy would simply crumble into ash.
Midoriya pressed two fingers to Sherlock's neck. For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then, a faint, rhythmic thrum. It was weak—dangerously so—but the heart was still beating.
"He's alive," Midoriya said, though his voice was thick with dread. "But he's in total collapse. He's reached a level of exhaustion I've never seen. His Quirk... it didn't just use his energy, Kota. It used his body."
He looked at Kota, who was staring at him with hollow eyes. "He saved me," the boy whispered. "He told me about his mom. He said heroes prove the world is worth fighting for. He... he did it all by himself."
Kota just nodded, his eyes never leaving Sherlock. "He's... he's just like them. He really is a hero."
"You did great, Kota," Midoriya said, his voice hardening with resolve. "But we have to move. This mountain is a target."
As Midoriya hoisted Sherlock's limp body onto his back, securing him with a makeshift harness of torn cloth, and took Kota by the hand, a voice echoed through the forest—a voice that vibrated with the authority of a hero pushed to the brink.
Midoriya ignited One For All: Full Cowl.
"Hold on tight!"
He leaped from the plateau, descending the mountain in a series of jagged, bone-jarring bounds. Every time he landed, he felt Sherlock's head loll against his back, a reminder of the price paid for their survival.
As they neared the lower treeline, the telepathic voice of Mandalay rang out again, vibrating with a new, frantic urgency.
"THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM UA HOMEROOM TEACHER SHOTA AIZAWA! TO ALL STUDENTS OF CLASS A AND CLASS B! YOU ARE PERMITTED TO ENGAGE IN COMBAT! USE YOUR QUIRK TO PROTECT YOURSELVES AND OTHERS! USE THE POWER YOU'VE BEEN! TRAINING FOR! DEFEND THE CAMP!"
Midoriya felt the weight of that permission. It wasn't a gift; it was a desperate necessity.
"Sherlock... hold on," Midoriya whispered. He ignited One For All, the green lightning dancing across his skin as he leapt from the plateau, carrying the unconscious Magician and the traumatized boy toward the temporary safety of the facility.
Halfway down the mountain, Sherlock's eyes flickered open. He didn't gasp or scream. He simply breathed—a shallow, rattling sound.
"Midoriya..."
"Sherlock! Don't talk, just save your strength!"
"Listen to me," Sherlock rasped, his fingers feebly clutching Midoriya's shoulder. "The list..... his words... They aren't just here to kill. They're here to harvest. Bakugo is the target. They want the explosion. Tell... tell Mandalay."
Midoriya's blood ran cold. The chaos made sense now. The gas, the fire—it was a smoke screen for a kidnapping. "I've got it. I'll tell her. Just stay with me, Sherlock!"
"Mandalay!" Midoriya screamed.
The hero turned, her eyes widening as she saw the battered Midoriya carrying the unconscious Sherlock. "Midoriya! You found him! Is he—?"
"He's in critical condition! But Mandalay, listen to me!" Midoriya's voice cracked. "The villain Sherlock fought... he told him. They aren't just here to cause chaos. They have a list! They're after Kacchan! Bakugo is their primary target!"
Mandalay's expression shifted to one of pure horror. "Bakugo? Why him?"
"I don't know! But you have to tell everyone! Tell them to protect Bakugo at all costs!"
Mandalay didn't hesitate. She closed her eyes, broadcasting the message to every student in the forest.
"EVERYONE! WE HAVE NEW INFORMATION! THE VILLAINS ARE AFTER ONE OF YOUR OWN! PROTECT THE STUDENT 'KATSUKI BAKUGO'! DO NOT LET HIM BE TAKEN!"
While Midoriya raced toward the clearing, the rest of the villains were systematically dismantling the camp's defenses. The "Null Zone" was now a gallery of nightmares.
In the center of the swirling purple fog stood a small figure in a middle-school uniform and a gas mask. Mustard stood calmly, a revolver in his hand, controlling the currents of the toxic cloud.
The two Class B students Itsuka Kendo and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu were struggling, their lungs burning as they tried to find the source. Kendo used her Big Fist to fan away the fumes, while Tetsutetsu charged forward, his steel skin his only protection against the gunman's bullets.
At the entrance to the facility, blue flames licked the sky. Dabi stood with a cold smirk, his skin stitched together with staples. He blocked the exit, preventing the teachers from reaching the students in the forest.
The Eraserhead was engaged in a high-speed dance of capture cloth and erasure, trying to shut down the blue fire before the entire facility was turned to ash.
In the bushes near the girls' path, a high-pitched giggle rang out. Himiko Toga, equipped with her blood-sucking apparatus, lunged from the shadows.
The girls Uraraka Ochaco and Asui Tsuy were in a desperate struggle, Toga's knife-work surgical and fast. "I want to be like you," Toga whispered, pinning Tsuyu to a tree. "I want to see what your blood tastes like when you're scared!"
Miles away, in the heart of the purple gas, Todoroki and Bakugo were standing back-to-back. The air was thick with the scent of rotting meat and the metallic clinking of blades.
Moving through the shadows was a nightmare made of leather and steel. Moonfish, a high-rank escaped convict, was lashing out with teeth that had been elongated into razor-sharp, prehensile blades.
"Flesh... so much fresh flesh..." Moonfish hissed, his blades snapping against the trees.
Todoroki unleashed a wave of fire, but the villain moved with a twitchy, erratic speed that defied logic. Bakugo was snarling, his palms popping with sparks, but he was forced onto the defensive.
"Did you hear that?" Todoroki asked, his voice low. "They're after you, Bakugo."
"Let them come!" Bakugo roared, though his eyes were darting around the dark canopy. "I'll blow every single one of them to hell! I don't need a damn bodyguard!"
"You're not thinking clearly," Todoroki countered. "If they have a specific goal, they'll be coordinated. We're in a disadvantageous position."
Suddenly, a massive crash echoed from the thicket. Tokoyami burst into the clearing, but he wasn't alone. Dark Shadow had grown to a monstrous size, fueled by the absolute darkness of the forest and the primal fear of the attack. It was out of control, a weeping, shrieking titan of shadow that was tearing the forest apart.
"STAY BACK!" Tokoyami screamed, his voice raw. "I can't hold it! Get away from me!"
Dark Shadow lunged at Moonfish, the shadow-beast's sheer power overwhelming the villain's blades in an instant. The hunter had become the prey, but in the process, the forest had gained a new, indiscriminate monster.
Shoji was desperately trying to lead the rampaging shadow away from the other students, his multiple arms torn and bleeding as he sacrificed himself to keep the "monster" at bay.
Back at the edge of the forest, Midoriya was still running. He found a Iidanear the infirmary clearing.
"Midoriya!" Iida rushed forward, his face pale. "You're injured! And is that... Sheets-kun?"
"He needs help, Iida! Now!"
They laid Sherlock down on a patch of grass. Recovery Girl wasn't there, and the Pussycats were still fighting. It was up to the students.
In the bushes Sherlock finally slipped back into unconsciousness. He had delivered the final variable. He had saved the boy. Now, he was just a passenger in the war he had tried so hard to calculate.
Momo, who had just arrived with a group of Class B students and Kyoka Jiro, dropped to her knees beside Sherlock. Her hands were shakining
Momo stopped a few feet away, her breath hitching in her throat. She looked at Sherlock—the boy who had shared tea with her just days ago, the boy who had told her she looked "aesthetically superior" in a cream dress—and saw a ghost.
"Sherlock-kun?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Yaoyorozu-san!" Midoriya looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "He's alive, but he's unconscious. He's completely drained. His skin is dry and cracked... he saved kota life fighting alone to muscular the man who killed kota parents.
Momo knelt beside him, her hands hovering over his chest. She didn't need a medical degree to understand the math of his condition. Sherlock had explained his biological limits to her during their study sessions. He had told her that his paper production was a chemical process that drew directly from his lipid reserves and blood salinity.
He was a masterpiece of architecture that had been demolished to build a shield for a child.
"Jiro, help Iida and Midoriya coordinate the defense," Momo said, her voice dropping into a low, steady tone that commanded attention. "I'm taking him inside the infirmary."
"Inside?" Iida protested, stepping forward. "Yaoyorozu-kun, the villains are surrounding the camp! Staying in the infirmary makes you a sitting duck! It's too dangerous for you to be alone in there while we're being hunted!"
Momo stood up, pulling Sherlock's limp arm over her shoulder with a strength born of pure adrenaline. She looked Iida in the eye, and the hesitation that had plagued her during the early days of the semester was nowhere to be found.
"I won't be alone," Momo said, her gaze shifting to Sherlock's peaceful, pale face. "And I won't be defenseless. Someone told me... someone I trust with my life... that I am an Architect. He told me that I don't just react to the world—I design it. Right now, the world needs a medic, it needs supplies, and it needs someone who understands the molecular structure of the Paper Magician's survival."
As Midoriya handed Sherlock over to the safety he prepared to dive back into the forest to find Kacchan, the sky over the training camp turned a sickly, bruised purple. The Vanguard was closing in, and the Paper Magician's absence left a hole in the class's tactical defense that would be felt in every coming minute.
The night was far from over. And the forest still had more blood to take.
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