Cold metal bit through the thin fabric of Ren’s dark trousers, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth of her oversized knit scarf.
Slouching deeper into the plastic chair, she buried her nose in the dark wool, hoping to disappear entirely. Black hair fell in messy, unbrushed tangles around her pale face, obscuring her heavy-lidded eyes from the three figures watching her from across the metal table.
Sweat slicked her palms inside her deep pockets, but she kept her breathing slow, rhythmic, and deceptively lazy. Appearing bored was her shield; if they thought she was too exhausted to care, they might overlook the frantic pounding of her heart against her ribs.
"Please, Miss Carter, there is no need for such tension," Principal Nezu said, his high-pitched, polite voice echoing off the concrete walls of the UA interrogation room. He sat on a raised booster seat, a delicate porcelain teacup held between his white paws. Despite his pleasant smile, his black eyes held no warmth.
Across the table, Vlad King stood with his massive arms crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle leaped beneath his skin. His glaring eyes remained fixed on Ren, radiating a deep, instinctual distrust.
"A formality," Ren muttered, her voice barely a low rasp behind her scarf. "Usually, job interviews don't take place in a soundproof bunker with two pro heroes standing guard."
"Given your family history, you are lucky we are even letting you set foot on campus," Vlad King growled, his voice vibrating with barely concealed hostility. "Your parents are currently serving life sentences in Tartarus. You expect us to just trust you?"
"I don't expect anything," Ren murmured, her eyelids drooping as if the conversation itself were an unbearable chore. "I just want a quiet place to work. I clean, I file papers, I stay out of the way. That was the deal."
Nezu set his teacup down with a soft click that sounded like a gunshot in the tense room. "And it is a deal we are willing to honor, provided you demonstrate your capabilities. We must ensure the safety of our students. Slide the jar forward, Vlad."
With a rough movement, the large hero pushed a heavy glass jar across the metallic surface. Inside, a giant cicada battered its wings frantically against the glass, producing a harsh, grating buzz that filled the small room.
"Show us your Quirk," Nezu requested, his black eyes shining with a terrifying intellect. "We want to see the Blackout Web in action. Simply silence the insect."
Staring at the glass jar, Ren felt a cold, familiar dread coil in her gut. Her hands trembled inside her dark sleeves, the memory of her past clawing its way to the surface of her mind.
Images flashed behind her eyelids: a rain-slicked alleyway, a hero's boots twitching on the wet asphalt, and her mother’s freezing grip on her wrists, forcing her to spin her threads over the dying man's mouth to choke out his final cries for help.
*Breathe,* she commanded herself, biting her inner lip until the sharp tang of blood filled her mouth. *Just focus. It's just a bug.*
Slowly, she pulled her hands from her pockets. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights of the ceiling.
Ink-black threads began to seep from her fingertips, drifting upward like tendrils of dark ink suspended in water. They were physical, solid, and completely devoid of light, appearing to swallow the very air around them.
"Go on," Vlad King muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the dark fibers emerge.
Directing her hands toward the jar, Ren wove the threads forward. They spun through the air with liquid grace, wrapping around the glass cylinder in a tight, interlocking web.
Sound began to die.
First, the sharp, rhythmic scraping of the cicada’s wings softened. Then, as the black threads completely encased the jar, the sound vanished entirely.
Silence descended upon the room, but it was not a natural quiet. It was a heavy, suffocating pressure that pressed against the eardrums like deep water. The low hum of the ventilation system disappeared. Even the sound of Vlad King's heavy breathing was completely swallowed within a three-foot radius of the table.
Nezu leaned forward, his whiskers twitching as he observed the phenomenon. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound escaped. The absolute void of noise was unsettling, a physical force that seemed to thin the oxygen in the room.
Ren kept her eyes half-lidded, maintaining her slumped posture despite the cold sweat dripping down her spine. Her heart was beating like a trapped bird, but she refused to let her face betray her terror.
With a lazy flick of her wrist, she dissolved the threads. They melted away into nothingness, disappearing like smoke.
Instantly, the frantic buzzing of the cicada rushed back into the room, accompanied by the low hum of the air conditioner. The sudden return of sound felt like a physical blow to the ears.
"Fascinating," Nezu murmured, rubbing his chin. "An absolute sound vacuum. It does not merely muffle; it completely obliterates acoustic vibration."
"It's a villain's tool," Vlad King spat, his fist clenching on the table. "Perfect for stealth assassinations. Perfect for making sure no one hears the victim scream."
Ren flinched inwardly, but she kept her expression completely blank, burying her face deeper into her scarf. "Any tool can be used for bad things. I just want to use it to keep things quiet."
"A noble sentiment," Nezu said, though his eyes remained sharp. "However, given the power of your Quirk, you will be kept under strict supervision during your employment here. You will assist with Class 1-A's administrative needs, but you will be monitored at all times."
Shadows in the far corner of the room suddenly shifted. Ren's eyes darted toward the dark recess beside the heavy steel door, where a tall, disheveled figure stepped into the light.
Shota Aizawa stood there, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His long, messy black hair hung around his tired face, and his capture scarf was draped loosely around his neck. Yellow, bloodshot eyes stared down at her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.
"Aizawa," Nezu acknowledged, bowing his head slightly. "I trust you observed?"
"I did," Aizawa rasped, his voice low and scraping like sandpaper on wood. He walked forward, his heavy boots making no sound on the linoleum. He stopped just a foot away from Ren's chair, looking down at her like a predator examining a curious new prey.
Ren held his gaze, refusing to look away despite the sheer pressure of his presence. She recognized him instantly. The underground hero, Eraserhead. He was known for his efficiency, his cold pragmatism, and his absolute lack of tolerance for villains.
He looked remarkably like her. The dark, functional clothing, the tired eyes, the oversized scarf hiding his lower face. They were two creatures of the dark, forced to exist in a world that demanded bright light.
"Your threads," Aizawa started, his eyes narrowing as he leaned down slightly. "They don't just absorb sound. They absorb light, too. They vibrate at a specific, ultra-low frequency that dampens air molecules."
Ren felt a cold sweat break out along her spine. She kept her posture loose, her shoulders slumped, but her muscles were coiled tight, ready to spring. "It's just a Quirk. I don't know the physics."
"I do," Aizawa said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He reached up, slowly adjusting his capture scarf. "Six years ago, a pro hero named Loud Cloud was cornered during a raid. He died because his distress signals never went out. When we found his body, there were microscopic traces of a light-absorbing polymer on his throat."
Panic flared in Ren's chest, a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline that threatened to shatter her lazy facade. She gripped the fabric of her pants beneath the table, her knuckles turning white.
"My parents were active six years ago," Ren said, keeping her voice as flat and uninterested as possible. "They did a lot of terrible things. I was a child."
"You were fourteen," Aizawa countered, his yellow eyes flashing with a dangerous, cold fire. "Old enough to weave a web. Old enough to stifle a man's final breaths."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, even without her Quirk active.
Nezu watched them both, his expression unreadable. "Miss Carter has agreed to work under strict supervision, Aizawa. She will be assisting Class 1-A with administrative duties and basic training logistics. You will be her direct supervisor."
"Fine," Aizawa said, though his eyes never left Ren's face. "I'll keep her close."
"Excellent," Nezu cheered, clapping his paws together. "The paperwork is finalized. You may show her to her quarters, Aizawa."
Ren stood up slowly, her long limbs moving with deliberate, lazy grace. She adjusted her dark scarf, pulling it higher to ensure not a single inch of her face below her eyes was visible.
"Lead the way," she muttered, stuffing her hands back into her sweater pockets.
Aizawa didn't move immediately. He watched her for a long moment, his capture scarf hovering slightly around his shoulders as if responding to his unspoken irritation.
Turning on his heel, he walked toward the door. Ren followed, her soft-soled shoes making quiet pattering sounds behind his heavy thuds.
---
Walking through the polished hallways of UA felt like walking through a minefield. Students in bright uniforms passed them, laughing and talking, completely unaware of the darkness walking right beside them.
Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, geometric patches of bright gold across the polished floors. Ren squinted, the glare irritating her tired eyes. She pulled her scarf tighter, feeling the stares of several passing teachers prickling against her skin. They didn't know her name, but they knew her lineage. Rumors traveled fast in a place like this.
Ren kept her head down, her black hair falling forward to block out the world. She didn't belong here. This place was too bright, too loud, too full of hope.
"Don't look at them," Aizawa warned, not turning around. "They are heroes in training. You are here to work, not to socialize."
"I have no interest in children," Ren replied smoothly. "They are too loud anyway."
"Good," Aizawa muttered.
They reached a heavy metal door at the end of a secluded corridor. This was the staff residential wing, a quiet place away from the bustling dorms.
"This is your room," Aizawa said, stepping aside to let her pass. "You will report to my office at 0600 every morning. If you are a minute late, I will assume you are up to something."
Ren stopped in front of the door, her hand resting on the cold handle. She turned her head slightly, looking at him over her shoulder.
"Understood," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't like waking up early, but I like trouble even less."
Aizawa stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the narrow hallway. The shadows seemed to cling to his dark clothes, making him look even larger, more imposing.
As Ren turns to leave, Aizawa leans close and whispers, 'I know the exact pitch of those threads, Carter. I suggests you watch your neck,' leaving her with a devastating choice: run now, or step directly into the lion's den.