(A/N: Sorry about not posting for about half a year. I kinda had to focus on University now that my second semester is almost over, which resulted in me forgetting about writing this story. Don't worry, I do want to see this through, but it's just going to take a little bit longer before I get back to a regular writing schedule, as I have a final and a paper left, along with remembering the plans that I wrote for this fanfic. Otherwise, enjoy this half chapter!)
----------
[2 Weeks Later]
[Narrator's POV]
The hallways were bustling with rowdy children as they approached their homerooms. With only a couple more minutes on the clock until the bell signalled the end of lunch, the kids made their way to their respective classes to avoid getting scolded.
Izuku Midoriya clutched the straps of his backpack tightly as he squeezed his way through the crowded hallway of Aldera Junior High. The whole place buzzed with the usual early afternoon chaos — voices bouncing off the walls, lockers slamming shut, and the steady hum of chattering and footsteps.
As a group of taller students barreled past him, Midoriya found himself getting jostled to the side. He stumbled, his body half-spun by the push, but managed to catch his balance before completely falling over. He glanced back, muttering a quiet "sorry," though no one seemed to notice. A few nearby students snickered at his clumsy recovery, but the 10-year-old kept his eyes low and hurried forward.
When he finally reached the classroom, Midoriya discreetly slipped inside. Making his way to his seat all the way in the back, he hoped to stay out of sight as much as possible. His desk — located at the back corner of the class and next to a window — was the perfect spot for him. From there, he could stare outside at the clouds. Besides, seats like his had one less classmate next to him.
But something felt off today. Perhaps it was because it was finally snowing outside, but the quirkless kid couldn't put his finger on why he felt so. As Midoriya neatly tucked his yellow bag under his desk and took a seat, he couldn't help but overhear the conversations his classmates were having.
"It's been two weeks since that last trap of Jigsaws… gosh, I can't recall the last time a villain has been on the loose for so long…"
"My dad's reporter friend said the police don't even know who he is. He's like a ghost or something! You think that's why he hasn't been caught?"
"Probably. I just hope he gets caught soon… my mom hasn't been letting me go to the playground because of all the news she hears of the villain."
Midoriya shook his head lightly. Aside from All Might, Jigsaw was all anyone could talk about. The mysterious figure had been in the headlines for months as the Police Force had made countless statements and reassurances. Midoriya just couldn't help but hope that All Might could catch him and bring an end to his madness.
But before he could think about anything else, a familiar voice demanded the quirkless boy's attention. "Tch, whatcha thinking 'bout, quirkless Deku?" Bakugo sneered cheekily. "A-a-ahhh-ahhh… K-K-Kaachan!" Midorya stumbled as his fingers twitched with anxiousness. "Uhm… n-nothing really. Just the typical… ya know?"
"Ah, you're probably thinking about All Might again, and how he's going to catch that Jigsaw scum all over TV!" Bakugo huffed as he crossed his arms, making his way over to his seat, which was only a couple of rows away. "What a loser… probably hiding in a basement somewhere, too scared to show his face…" he muttered under his breath as he took a seat.
Midorya could only slump onto his desk as if he were sinking into the thing. But as he did, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friend reach out for a thick textbook. With a wide smirk, and without warning, Bakugo flung the book across the room, straight at Midoriya.
The quirkless kid flinched, his body moving on instinct to dodge the object, but he wasn't fast enough. The book clipped his shoulder as pain shot up through his arm. Its force certainly wasn't strong enough to seriously hurt him, but it did hurt nonetheless.
A few students laughed, stifling their amusement behind their hands as Midoriya could only awkwardly rub his shoulder to ease the pain. "Ahhh, to be a hero with those reflexes… good one Deku!" Bakugo barked as his voice dripped with mockery, leaning back on his chair and looking satisfied with the damage he inflicted.
Midoriya didn't respond. He never did. He couldn't. Talking back would only make things worse. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the clock that hung on the wall opposite him, counting the seconds until the bell rang and when class would begin.
3… 2… 1… ring!
The shrill of the bell cut through the classroom, but someone was missing. Midoriya blinked and looked around, his gaze meeting the confused faces of his peers. The seconds ticked by as more of the students began to notice one individual absent from their homeroom.
"Where's the teacher?"
[Scene Change]
A warm cauldron brewed ominously in the air, and its bubbling sounds were the only thing that broke the desolate silence in the poorly lit room.
Below the cauldron and another unknown container that accompanied it was a slumped, unconscious man in his late 40s. With short blonde hair, a receding hairline to accompany it, semi-formal attire with a badge that read 'Mr. Kichiro' and the logo of a middle school paired with it, the man was none other than a teacher.
But it didn't take long for the man to slowly regain his senses. The sedatives that were used on him were only meant to last an hour at most, giving Kramer ample time to finish setting up his contraptions.
"Gmmhmhhm…" the teacher groaned as he slowly woke up from consciousness. "What the hell… where's my damn coffee…" Blinking several times, Kichiro instinctively raised his hands to rub his eyes.
Clang!
"What?" Kichiro darted his eyes toward his hands, which he now found bound to metal restraints on the armrest of the chair he sat on. His legs were equally bound, too, giving him barely any wiggle room to move his body.
But what stood out to him the most was the peculiar lever that rested at the very end of the right armrest, which almost seemed just out of arm's reach for Kichiro. Attached to that lever were a couple of wires, which Kichiro's curious eyes followed as they climbed up the side of the wall, ultimately leading to the contraption above him that he now took notice of.
"What the FUCK?!" he shouted as he yanked on his metal restraints that made a 'clang' sound every time he pulled at them. If there was a time he had wished for a strength-related quirk, it would have been now. It wasn't like changing the colour of his eyes could do him any justice here, could it?
The teacher wailed and screamed for help in the desolate room for what could only be a couple of minutes. If it wasn't for the television in front of him abruptly turning on that the man would have been screaming for longer.
"Hello, Matsui Kichiro, I want to play a game."
The television glowed an ominous and deathly white, almost blinding Kichiro. But it didn't take long for the teacher to recognize the figure he saw on screen. Adorned in a black tuxedo was none other than a puppet. An infamous one at that. One he saw in the news quite often.
He knew the name of Jigsaw—who didn't by now? But the chilling realization that he was now one of Jigsaw's chosen didn't feel real. He pulled futilely at his bindings again, as the metal bit into his wrists.
"For years," the puppet started, "you've hidden behind your authority as a teacher, wielding it to cast judgments and mock those who didn't fit your narrow ideals. Online, you become bolder, where you believe anonymity grants you power. Racist words typed in dark corners of chat rooms and forums—places where you thought no one would ever see—reveal the ugliness you hide from those who look to you for guidance."
Kichiro's face drained of colour, his breathing quickening as the words sank in. "How do you know? HOW DO YOU KNOW?!" he screamed at the puppet as if it was going to reply to his questions, but it simply continued with the recording.
"The young minds you teach, the same minds you wound with quiet cruelty, have felt the weight of your hidden disdain. You've laughed at their struggles, dismissed their worth, and twisted their hopes into scars that will follow them long after they leave your classroom. You believed you could act without consequence, that your prejudice would remain hidden. But today, the power you use to harm will not protect you…"
"Today, you face a choice."
His mouth went dry as his fingers started to jitter in fear. "In front of you is a lever, just beyond your reach. To release yourself, you must pull it. Simple—except that in doing so, you will trigger the device above you." The teacher subconsciously moved his head to take another look at the contraption being described to him as the puppet continued to ramble.
"Above you sits a vat of tar, heated to a modest 60 degrees Celsius. It won't be enough to kill you, but it will leave a lasting mark. You see, this is no ordinary punishment, Kichiro, but one that reflects the ugliness within you. Like those who used this very tar centuries ago to humiliate, today it will be a permanent reminder of your actions. This is the weight of your own hatred, distilled and given form. Each time you look upon the marks it leaves, you will remember the words you spewed so freely, the people you dismissed so easily."
Kichiro trembled with fear, the restraints binding him rattling as he struggled against them. The tar's fumes thickened in the small room as he bit his lips before erupting into a fit of momentary rage.
"FUCKING LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME RIGHT NOW! THIS IS NOT FAIR! THIS IS NOT JUST! I DEMAND YOU LISTEN TO ME!"
"Escape is possible, Kichiro. Reach for the lever on your right armrest, and you trigger the trap. But right after, your restraints and the door to escape this room will open."
"FUCK YOU!"
"But if you run out of time, you die where you sit. The clock is ticking, Kichiro, for you have to choose wisely: remain bound here in the safety of your old self, or reach forward, confront your prejudice, and accept the mark of the cruelty you've inflicted on others…"
"Live or die, make your choice."