~BNHA~ Burning Hunger Within

Chapter 18

Warning: explicit chapter

Katsuki's attention was laser-focused on the fight unfolding below, each of Izuku's moves under a microscope. He caught the subtle differences, the shadow of hesitation where there should have been instinctual aggression. Something's off, he realized, his fists tightening as though he could somehow lend Izuku a bit of his own ferocious energy from afar.

Down in the pit, the crowd was a beast all its own, their cheers crashing over one another like tumultuous waves in a stormy sea. Among the chaos, Katsuki noticed the black pins on their lapels - a symbol of Tomura's chosen few.

Though the hushed tones of Tomura's cohort didn't reach his ears, the weight of their exchange was not lost on him. No words needed; the significance was loud and clear, underlining the urgency of his mission. His focus shifted back to Izuku, whose once powerful strikes now seemed to lack their usual conviction.

Tomura's momentary lapse in attention was all Katsuki needed. He had faith in Izuku, a seasoned brawler, to weather this storm. He's got this, he has no other choice, Katsuki steeled himself, the certainty of his decision reverberating in him as potent as the crowd's frenzy. With a last glance, he slipped away from the VIP room.

Katsuki's footsteps were a silent testimony to his resolve as he maneuvered through the dimly lit corridors of the manor. He didn't need the echo of his own movement to remind him that this wasn't the place where sound carried honesty. The raucous laughter and music of the party had faded behind him, now just a shallow memory as he focused on the task at hand.

The manor was a warren of excess and false fronts, but he wasn't here to play critic. Each step was a mental check against the blueprint he'd memorized, a blueprint that led him to Tomura's office. Lock-picking was a trickier business than he'd expected, a fact he acknowledged with a scowl, but the lock gave way with a satisfying click.

Inside, Tomura's sanctuary was just another room, lined with self-important trinkets and the stench of conceit. Katsuki's eyes didn't linger on the ostentation. Instead, they roamed, sifting for the chink in the armor, the slip that would unravel the facade. He riffled through the desk with a critical eye, searching for the thread to pull.

Katsuki halted, his gaze ensnared by a photograph. In the picture, Katsuki could see the jovial way they captured Izuku, laughing with Tomura, alongside an older man who strongly resembled Tomura.

Katsuki instantly recognized him as AFO.

As he scrutinized the picture, his brows knitted together, betraying an internal skirmish. This Izuku, one who could share a joke with Tomura, clashed with the image of the Izuku he imagined during his time with them.

And AFO, the infamous boogeyman, took on an ironic humanization, resembling that of a doting father.

Katsuki's scoff pierced the hush of Tomura's office. "What kinda crap is this?" he growled, his voice laced with a caustic mix of suspicion and scorn for the facade of normality the photo portrayed.

The image was evidence, yes. But as his thumb hovered over the phone, poised to capture the image, he silently acknowledged its significance. It was a disquieting hint at a truth he hadn't acknowledged — an Izuku that didn't align with the stories he'd been told, or the narrative he had fed himself.

"It doesn't freakin' matter," he muttered, tucking away his phone, now a vessel of cold data — a tool for use, not comprehension. His mission was clear: collect intelligence, devise a strategy, triumph. Not to dissect Izuku's psyche or unravel the threads of his past that led to that unfettered smile amidst villains.