for who, indeed. yūga isn't sure, himself. maybe it's more self-serving, these sort of pitiful talks he's been having with himself. maybe it's best if i'm left here to rot, maybe it's best if i never see UA again, maybe maybe maybe— when yūga smiles next, he can feel the tackiness of all the previous time before where he had had to force it. not that he meant to, but more so because he's practised it for so long. to be normal, to feel... like he belonged. an ordinary boy with an ordinary quirk.
how things have changed indeed, he thinks sardonically, a dark voice in reminiscent of uncle's disastrous whispers coiling inside his head.
nearly a year ago, shinsō hitoshi had emerged in the sports festival, unravelling how his quirk could easily be perceived as villainous, which had not helped when he has used them so tactically to have the upper hand in his battles. aoyama was a victim then, he remembers. a victim turned volunteer, because like monsieur shinsō, he was willing to do anything to gain some... some sort of recognition. some sort of further proof that he's earned his place and power. funny then, aoyama thinks now, that monsieur shinsō is one who came out of the war a hero, and aoyama the traitor.
he presses his hands together, aoyama, unsure and anxious. the war is weeks over, but the prosecution of crimes committed have only just begun. he wonders quietly why aizawa-sensei's prodigy is here. perhaps to further investigate how far deep aoyama's traitorous deeds have gone, or maybe to reconfirm the details. whatever it is, aoyama sits, shoulders hunched. ❛⠀ufufu, i wonder ... ❜ he manages then, light-hearted, a meek shadow of who he'd been. ❛⠀though, monsieur, if i am no longer enrolled in UA, there will be an opening in 2-A. i am more than certain you would be qualified, non ? ❜
@fighterbound / continued
