Aero (a BNHA OC story)

Chapter 2

...

Kenzo raised a fist into the air, the muscles in his arm rippling beneath the fabric of his slightly transparent shirt, as the deafening roar of the crowd washed over him. In the underground world of Tokyo Thunder Pit, he had earned the title of the golden boy. The regulars in the audience had come to expect a thrilling performance every time he stepped into the ring.

Their cheers were like a symphony of encouragement, spurring him on as he took his place in the spotlight. The arena's harsh fluorescent lights gleamed off his sweat-slicked skin, and the air was electric with anticipation. In that moment, Kenzo's transformation from a former hero to an underground sensation was complete.

He scanned the sea of faces in the crowd, some familiar and others new, but all united in their shared enthusiasm for the bouts that took place within these hallowed walls. Kenzo could feel their energy, their hopes and excitement. It was a stark contrast to the responsibilities and expectations that had once weighed him down at UA Academy.

Kenzo glanced down at his bruised and bloody opponent, and for a brief moment, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. The guy possessed a mutation quirk that had given him swords for hands, and it had been a formidable challenge to face in the ring. During the fight, those razor-sharp blades had sliced at Kenzo's bicep, leaving a shallow but stinging wound. However, Kenzo had chosen not to rely on his own quirk. Instead, he had used his honed physical strength and skill to overpower his opponent. With a powerful move, he had managed to break one of the swords off completely.

Kenzo extended a hand to help his defeated opponent up, a gesture of respect for the challenge he had posed. Despite the fierce competition and the brutal battles, there was a unique camaraderie among the fighters, a shared understanding of the sacrifices and determination that brought them to the Tokyo Thunder Pit.

Kenzo's attention shifted towards the ringside, where Mr. G observed with an inscrutable expression, a tendril of smoke curling from his cigarette.

Without hesitation, Kenzo swiftly ducked under the ropes and navigated through the bustling crowd, positioning himself in front of his manager.

"What do you think, Mr. G? I'd say I put on quite a show, didn't I?" he asked, a touch of anticipation in his voice, eager for his manager's assessment.

Mr. G regarded Kenzo with a steely gaze, taking a long drag from his cigarette before finally responding.

"You've got skill, kid. No doubt about it," he said, his gravelly voice carrying an air of measured approval. "But don't let it get to your head. There's always room for improvement."

Kenzo nodded, absorbing the feedback. He respected Mr. G's no-nonsense approach. It was a stark contrast to the accolades and cheers he had once received as a hero-in-training.

"I'll keep that in mind," Kenzo replied, a sense of determination burning in his eyes. He knew he couldn't afford complacency in this world. The fights were brutal, and the competition was fierce.

Mr. G turned to Kenzo. "Good work tonight. But remember, tomorrow's another day. You can't afford to let up."

Kenzo nodded, the weight of those words settling on his shoulders. In this world of underground fights, there was no room for rest. It was a relentless climb, one he was determined to conquer.

With a final nod to his manager, Kenzo left the ring and made his way back to the locker room. As he peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and began to unwrap his hands, he couldn't help but reflect on the path he had chosen.

It wasn't the one he had envisioned, but it was his reality now.

Kenzo extended his arm, carefully examining the shallow wound on his bicep where his opponent's blades had made contact. Blood trickled down his arm, forming small droplets that fell to the floor. The sensation was oddly satisfying, almost like a badge of honor.

Entering the shower, Kenzo allowed the warm water to cascade down his face as he leaned his head back. With the immediate adrenaline rush of the fight behind him, he finally had a moment to gather his thoughts. Yet, there was an unsettling unease gnawing at the back of his mind.

During the match in the ring, he had experienced a strange sensation, a prickling at the nape of his neck, as if someone was watching him who shouldn't have been there. It had caused him to hesitate for just a split second, and in that brief moment of vulnerability, he had earned the wound on his arm.

After his shower, Kenzo dressed in fresh clothes, the fabric clinging comfortably to his well-defined physique. He checked his phone, half-expecting a message from Shin, but there was nothing. It seemed his friend was preoccupied, or perhaps he understood the unspoken rule of giving Kenzo space on fight nights.

Kenzo made his way back to the locker room, the atmosphere noticeably quieter now that the night's bouts had concluded. He could hear the distant echo of cheers and conversations, a reminder that the Tokyo Thunder Pit never truly slept.

As he sat on the bench, lacing up his sneakers, Kenzo couldn't shake off the strange feeling from earlier. The sensation of being watched lingered in the back of his mind, a subtle chill against the warmth of the locker room. He wondered if it was just a product of his heightened nerves after the fight, or if there was something more to it.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Kenzo stood up, his determination resolute. He had chosen this path, and he wouldn't let doubts or unease deter him. With a final glance around the locker room, he made his way towards the exit.

As he stepped out into the night, the cool air washed over him, momentarily clearing his mind. 

...

The following morning, Kenzo awoke with a start, his body drenched in a cold sweat. Nightmares had become a persistent part of his life, especially after the traumatic incident that had brought his hero career to an abrupt end. But professional help was financially out of reach, and he had been forced to find his own means of coping.

He swung his legs out of bed, his mind still haunted by the shadows of his dreams. It was then that he decided to follow his tried and tested ritual for finding solace: early morning jogs. This simple act had become his sanctuary, a way to clear his thoughts and reclaim some semblance of control over his life.

Dressing in his running gear, Kenzo ventured out into the still-sleeping city. The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the dawn's early light. He took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling his lungs as he began his jog.

Each stride carried him farther from the weight of his past and closer to the promise of a new day. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement served as a meditative cadence, calming the turmoil that raged within him.

Kenzo understood that he might never fully escape the scars of his past, but in these moments of solitude, he found a measure of peace.

As Kenzo's morning jog continued, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was being watched. A prickling sensation at the back of his neck hinted at an unwelcome presence, one that seemed to tail him discreetly. He quickened his pace, his heart rate increasing not just from the exertion of the run but also from a growing unease.

Every time he glanced over his shoulder, there was nothing to see but the empty, dimly lit street. Whoever was following him was adept at keeping themselves concealed. A sense of paranoia settled in as Kenzo's breaths quickened.

He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but this was unlike his usual morning jogs. The familiarity of these streets, typically comforting, now felt oppressive. Kenzo's instincts, honed from years of training to be a hero and his current underground life, were screaming at him.

He decided to test his intuition. Slowing his pace slightly, he feigned exhaustion, his chest heaving as he pretended to catch his breath. Kenzo cast a sly, sidelong glance behind him.

There, partially concealed behind a parked car, was a fleeting shadow. It was a figure trying to maintain their stealth, their presence known only to the vigilant.

His heart pounded in his chest as the realisation settled in. Someone was indeed following him, and they were adept at the game of shadows. This morning jog had just taken a dark and unexpected turn.