Chapter 66: An Echo, a Shadow, a Silence
A week had passed. The world had moved on, but the echoes of the U.A. Sports Festival still resonated in the hallowed halls of the academy. The mood in Class 1-A was electric, a vibrant and chaotic symphony of youthful energy. The finality of the tournament had been replaced by the thrilling, nervous anticipation of the next great step in their journey: the Hero Field Training.
The morning sun streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the classroom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and casting a warm, optimistic glow on the students' faces.
"I got over three thousand offers!" Kaminari boasted, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin. "Looks like the pros know a real star when they see one!"
"Yeah, but how many of them were just for your Quirk and not your grades?" Jiro teased from her desk, twirling an earphone jack around her finger.
"Hey! My grades are… improving!"
The classroom was alive with chatter. Mina Ashido, her bright pink skin almost glowing in the sunlight, was excitedly discussing the different hero agencies that specialized in rescue operations. Eijiro Kirishima, his red hair a spiky beacon of enthusiasm, was flexing his arms, talking about wanting to intern with a hero known for their manliness and street-level brawling. Even Bakugo was participating, in his own way, scowling at his own list of offers with a look of arrogant dismissal, as if none of them were truly worthy of his time.
"It is a great honor to receive so many nominations," Iida said, his voice carrying its usual formal authority as he chopped the air with his hand. "We must all choose wisely to best further our development as future heroes!"
"It's almost overwhelming," Midoriya muttered, staring at the staggering number of offers on his own desk, a look of pure, flustered shock on his face.
"That's because you were so incredible, Deku-kun!" Uraraka said, her voice full of genuine, cheerful pride. She then looked around the room, her brown eyes scanning the desks. "Speaking of incredible… has anyone seen Lee-kun? I thought he was supposed to be back today."
The lively chatter died down for a moment. All eyes instinctively turned to an empty seat near the back of the classroom. It was clean, ordinary, but its vacancy felt like a missing note in a familiar song.
"You're right," Kirishima said, a thoughtful frown on his face. "When I talked to him yesterday, he said he was definitely coming. He was excited."
The moment hung in the air, a small, quiet question mark in the middle of a bright and cheerful day. Then, the bell rang, and Mr. Aizawa entered the room, and the mystery of the empty seat was, for the moment, forgotten.
The alleyway was a jagged scar of shadow between two towering, grimy buildings. The air was thick and still, heavy with the smell of damp concrete and overflowing garbage bins. The only sound was the rhythmic, metallic plink… plink… plink… of water dripping from a rusty fire escape onto a discarded metal sheet below.
Rock Lee stood in the center of this forgotten space, his crisp, grey U.A. school uniform a stark contrast to the urban decay that surrounded him. He had taken this shortcut a dozen times before. Today, it was a trap.
Blocking the exit were two figures, their silhouettes dark against the bright light of the street beyond. One was a mountain of a man, his brutish frame stretching the fabric of his cheap leather jacket. The other was smaller, wiry, with a cruel, knowing smirk on his face and eyes that darted around like a cornered rat. Lee recognized them instantly. They were the two thugs from the convenience store, the very first real villains he had ever faced.
"Well, well," the smaller man said, his voice a slimy, condescending drawl. "Look what we have here. The little hero-in-training, all by himself."
"We've been watching you," the large man grunted, his voice a low rumble. He took a heavy step forward. "That power you showed at the festival… we saw a glimpse of it that night. The 'Eight Gates,' they call it. And we're here to collect its heir."
Their intention was clear. Their knowledge was terrifying.
Lee did not speak. He did not ask questions. He simply dropped his school bag to the ground with a soft thud. There was no hesitation. There was only action.
"Third Gate: Gate of Life! OPEN!"
A violent, explosive hiss of steam erupted from his body, the crimson aura of the Third Gate flaring to life in the dim light of the alley. It was a reckless, desperate move, a choice he knew his body would pay for, but he had no other option. He shot forward, a red and green blur of pure, righteous fury, his fist aimed directly at the larger villain's face.
He was fast. He was powerful. But he was not a strategist of Quirks.
As his punch was about to land, the smaller villain thrust his hand out. Lee felt an invisible, irresistible force clamp down on his entire body. It was a crushing, magnetic-like pull that arrested his forward momentum instantly and violently yanked him sideways, off his feet. He cried out in shock as he was slammed hard against the cold, unforgiving brick wall of the alley. The impact drove the air from his lungs, his head cracking against the brick.
The large man, having narrowly avoided the punch, recovered quickly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, metallic canister. "Night, night, little hero," he sneered.
With a sharp hiss, a thick, sweet-smelling, greenish gas billowed from the canister, filling the narrow space. Lee, still dazed from the impact, tried to hold his breath, but it was too late. The gas was in his lungs, a cloying, heavy presence. His vision swam, the dark alley blurring into a vortex of spinning shadows. His muscles, already strained, went limp. His consciousness, a bright, defiant flame, flickered and died. He collapsed to the ground, a silent, motionless heap.
The sun began its slow, graceful descent, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and purple. At the Dojo of the Resolute Fist, the evening class was in full swing. The hall, which had once been a place of echoing silence, was now filled with the energetic shouts of two dozen new students, their white uniforms a blur of motion.
Sora Aokawa moved among them, her presence a beacon of calm, focused authority. Her sharp blue eyes missed nothing, correcting a stance here, offering a quiet word of encouragement there. But beneath her serene exterior, a small, persistent knot of unease was tightening in her stomach. She kept glancing at the clock on the wall. School had ended hours ago. Lee was never, ever late.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She excused herself from the class, a feeling of cold dread washing over her as she saw the caller ID: LEE RESIDENCE.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice betraying none of her worry.
"Aokawa-san? Hello, this is Lee's mother," the voice on the other end was warm, but laced with a faint, maternal anxiety. "I'm so sorry to bother you during class, but… is Lee still with you? He hasn't come home yet, and he's not answering his phone."
The knot in Sora's stomach became a block of ice. "No, Mrs. Lee," she said, her own voice now dangerously quiet. "He is not here. He never arrived from school."
A moment of shared, horrified silence passed between the two women. The sounds of the happy, energetic dojo seemed to fade away, replaced by the frantic, panicked pounding of Sora's own heart. He wasn't at home. He wasn't at the dojo. He wasn't answering his phone.
He was gone.
~~~~
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