Chapter 2: Documenting the Doomed
The cheap floral perfume Mina had sprayed couldn’t quite mask the underlying scent of nervous sweat clinging to the dorm room air. Morning light, harsh and unforgiving, sliced through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing over unnervingly neat beds. Kyoka sat rigidly on the edge of her mattress, fingers digging into the stiff fabric of her uniform skirt. The phantom weight of the maple paddle she’d carved yesterday pressed down on her consciousness, heavier than any amp she’d ever lugged. KYOKA JIRO. The engraving felt branded onto her palm, not just the wood.
"Okay, troops!" Mina chirped, her voice a fraction too loud, bouncing off the sterile walls. She held her phone aloft, screen glowing. "Operation: Before & After is a go! Gotta document the pristine canvas, right?" She forced a grin, but her eyes darted nervously towards the door. "Who's first? Ochaco? Show us what Midnight's gonna be... appreciating later."
Ochaco Uraraka flushed crimson, her Mie accent thickening as she stammered, "M-Mina! Do we gotta?" She fidgeted, hands smoothing her skirt compulsively over her hips. "It feels... weird."
"Totally necessary!" Toru Hagakure’s disembodied voice piped up from near the window. A pair of pink gloves gestured enthusiastically towards Ochaco’s backside. "Think of it as scientific data! Plus, it’ll be hilarious later. Probably." Her gloves framed an empty space where her own rear would be. "See? Easy peasy! Just a quick flash. Midnight won't even know where to aim properly on me anyway. It’ll be fine!"
Kyoka snorted, a harsh, brittle sound. "Yeah, Toru. Because wood cares about visibility." She pulled her Earphone Jack plugs tighter against her ears, trying to mute the frantic thrum of her own pulse. The memory of Midnight tapping her paddle, assessing its bite, sent a fresh wave of icy dread through her gut. Well anticipated. The words echoed.
Ochaco took a shaky breath. "Alright, alright." With trembling fingers, she gathered the hem of her skirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the curve of her cheeks clad in plain white cotton briefs. Her skin was smooth, unblemished pale. Mina snapped a picture. The flash was blinding, freezing Ochaco’s embarrassed flinch, her eyes squeezed shut. "There! Done!" Ochaco yanked her skirt down, face burning.
"My turn!" Toru declared. Her gloves tugged at the waistband of her invisible shorts, hiking them up slightly. Mina aimed the phone at the empty air where Toru’s backside theoretically was. "Get my good side!" Toru joked, her voice echoing with forced cheer. The flash illuminated… nothing. Just empty space framed by floating gloves. Mina giggled nervously. "Perfect! Totally incriminating evidence of… well, nothing!"
Mina then turned the camera on herself. She struck a playful pose, sticking her own rear out slightly, grinning with bravado that didn't reach her eyes. "Future masterpiece, coming right up!" The flash captured her pink cheeks, already slightly flushed with nerves beneath her confident facade. She lowered her skirt quickly. "Okay, Momo! Your turn! Don’t leave us hanging."
Momo Yaoyorozu stood near her meticulously made bed, posture impeccable, but her knuckles were white where she gripped her skirt seams. "This feels… undignified," she murmured, her voice low and controlled. Yet, understanding the morbid purpose, she turned. With precise, almost clinical movements, she lifted her skirt hem higher than Ochaco had, revealing the elegant swell of her backside beneath sensible black briefs. Her skin looked flawless, like polished marble. Mina took several pictures from different angles. Momo remained statue-still, her face a mask of stoic resignation, but Kyoka saw the rapid flutter of a pulse in her neck. Midnight’s assessment of Momo’s walnut paddle echoed: Remarkably memorable experience.
"Kyoka!" Mina swung the phone towards her. "Last one! Don’t be shy!"
Kyoka glared, the familiar heat of rebellious anger flaring, momentarily chasing the chill of fear. "Screw your pictures, Ashido." She crossed her arms defensively over her chest.
"Come onnn," Mina wheedled, bouncing slightly. "It’s tradition! Or… it is now! Gotta have the full set. Midnight’s gonna do her worst anyway, might as well have proof of what she started with." Toru’s gloves gestured encouragingly.
Ochaco offered a small, sympathetic smile. "It’s okay, Kyoka. Really quick?"
Kyoka looked away, jaw clenched. The locked grey cabinet in the woodshop loomed large in her mind. Her name etched onto wood inside it. Proof was already carved and waiting. But the pressure, the expectation, the sheer absurdity of posing for their own humiliation… it pressed in. With a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, she shoved herself off the bed. "Fine. Whatever." She turned abruptly, yanked her skirt up roughly to mid-thigh, revealing black leggings clinging to the taut curve of her rear. She stared fixedly at the wall, her purple hair falling forward to shield her face. The flash exploded against her eyelids. She dropped her skirt instantly, the fabric snapping back into place. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic!" Mina chirped, lowering her phone. She swiped through the gallery – pale Ochaco, invisible Toru, confident Mina, statuesque Momo, rebellious Kyoka. "Perfect. Tomorrow, we compare the… uh… artistic enhancements." The forced cheer faltered. Silence descended, thick and suffocating. The cheap perfume smelled cloying now. The neatly made beds felt like sarcophagi. The anticipation wasn't just mental; it was a physical weight settling low in their stomachs, a tension coiling in their thighs, a phantom sting already whispering across skin still untouched.
The anticipation wasn't just mental; it was a physical weight settling low in their stomachs, a tension coiling in their thighs, a phantom sting already whispering across skin still untouched. Mina stared at the glowing screen of her phone, the forced smile finally fading into something more analytical. "Okay," she announced, her voice dropping an octave, losing the chirp. "But these aren't right."
Kyoka’s head snapped up, plugs still pressed tightly to her ears. "What the hell are you talking about, Ashido? We did it."
"Not properly," Mina insisted, tapping the screen showing Ochaco’s flushed face peeking over her shoulder, the white cotton briefs clear. "As the resident expert here–"
"Resident what?" Momo interjected sharply, her composed facade cracking slightly.
"–on pre-spanking documentation," Mina plowed on, ignoring Momo. "We need true 'before'. Bare. To truly see the blank canvas." She gestured vaguely towards their covered backsides. "Otherwise, how can we really appreciate Midnight’s… artistry?"
Silence crashed down again, heavier this time. Ochaco’s flush deepened impossibly, spreading down her neck. Toru’s floating gloves fluttered nervously. Kyoka’s glare could have melted steel.
"Are you insane?" Kyoka hissed, pushing off the bed. "That’s–"
"Actually," Toru piped up, her invisible form shifting, "it kinda makes sense? Logistically? For the comparison?"
Momo closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep, steadying breath. The logic, however mortifying, held a twisted validity. Ochaco looked ready to vanish into the floorboards. "M-Mina…" she whispered, her accent thick with distress.
"Come on," Mina said, holding up her phone again, her own earlier bravado replaced by a determined pragmatism that felt eerily out of place. "It’s just us. Quick. Efficient. Like ripping off a band-aid before the real pain. Ochaco, you’re up."
Ochaco whimpered, hands clutching the skirt fabric at her sides. Slowly, trembling fingers moved to the waistband of her briefs. She hooked her thumbs under the elastic, squeezed her eyes shut, and pushed them down over the gentle curve of her hips. They pooled around her ankles, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of her bottom, soft and full, dimpling slightly under the tension of her clenched muscles. The skin was flawless, untouched, radiating a faint natural blush that crept down to her upper thighs. Mina snapped the picture quickly, the flash stark in the dim room, capturing the vulnerability in the slight hunch of Ochaco’s shoulders. Ochaco scrambled to pull her underwear back up, her breath coming in shaky gasps.
"Toru," Mina said, turning the phone towards the spot where Toru’s legs met empty air. "You know the drill."
A sigh echoed, followed by the soft rustle of invisible fabric. Toru’s gloves appeared near her waist, miming the action of sliding something down. "Okay! Ready!" she declared, too brightly. Mina aimed and clicked, capturing… nothing. Just empty space where a bottom should have been, framed by floating gloves resting on presumably invisible hips. "Perfect blank canvas!" Toru chirped, the sound brittle.
Mina turned the camera on herself next. Without preamble, she shoved her own bright pink shorts down to her knees. Her backside was firmer than Ochaco’s, toned from constant movement, the skin a deeper tan. It bore a faint, almost imperceptible lattice of faded, very old marks – the ghost of lighter punishments. She arched slightly, a parody of confidence, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed her. Flash. She yanked her shorts back up immediately.
"Momo," Mina prompted.
Momo’s expression was rigidly controlled, her spine impossibly straight. She turned, presenting her back to the room. With precise, deliberate movements, she unfastened her skirt, letting it fall to her feet in a dark puddle. Then, without hesitation, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her sensible black briefs and slid them down over the elegant swell of her hips. Her buttocks were high, perfectly rounded, the skin like polished ivory porcelain, utterly unblemished save for a tiny, almost invisible birthmark near the crease of her left thigh. It was sculpted, dignified, even in this humiliation. Mina took several pictures from different angles, the flashes stark against Momo’s pale skin. Momo remained motionless, staring straight ahead, only the rapid rise and fall of her chest revealing the turmoil within. She pulled her briefs and skirt back up with the same detached efficiency.
The phone swung towards Kyoka. "Last," Mina stated.
Kyoka stood frozen, arms crossed, radiating defiance mingled with raw panic. Her gaze darted from Mina’s expectant face to the floor, then to the door. The phantom weight of her own carved paddle, locked away with her name on it, pressed down harder. Toru’s gloves gave an encouraging wiggle. Ochaco offered a tiny, sympathetic nod. Momo just watched, waiting. Mina didn't speak, just held the phone steady.
"Fuck," Kyoka breathed, the word barely audible. Her chin jerked up, a final spark of rebellion flashing in her eyes before dying out. She spun around violently, back to the room. Her hands, trembling only slightly, yanked down her black leggings and underwear in one angry motion. Her rear was leaner, taut muscle defined under smooth skin like moonlight, a stark contrast to Ochaco’s softness or Momo’s curves. Two small, dark moles stood out near the base of her spine. She held herself rigidly, every line radiating tense, furious embarrassment.Flash. The light was blinding. She hauled her clothes back up roughly, the elastic snapping against her skin, and whirled back around, cheeks burning. "There. Are we fucking done?"
Mina lowered the phone, swiping through the final stark images: Ochaco’s softly blushing vulnerability, Toru’s surreal nothingness, Mina’s own falsely defiant tan, Momo’s dignified ivory perfection, and Kyoka’s angrily bared, moonlit skin. "Yeah," she whispered, her earlier pragmatism evaporating, leaving her looking suddenly young and scared. "We're done."