Chapter 4: Counting Down to Doom
The harsh glare of the training ground floodlights felt like an interrogation lamp. Kyoka squinted, the rough concrete abrasive under her palms as she pushed herself up from a sloppy roll. Dust clung to her leggings. Across the marked square, Ochaco hovered a dented training dummy a few centimeters off the ground, her brow furrowed in concentration that kept slipping. Her eyes flickered, involuntary, towards the large digital clock mounted high on Gym Gamma's wall. 2:37 PM.
"Focus, Uraraka!" Momo’s voice, usually crisp with command, held a thread of strain. She created a simple quarterstaff, its form shimmering into existence a fraction slower than usual. "Maintain altitude!"
"R-right!" Ochaco flinched, the dummy thudding back down. "Sorry, Momo. Just…" Her gaze darted to the clock again. 2:37 and 12 seconds. "Hot today, huh?" she added weakly, wiping nonexistent sweat from her forehead, her Mie accent thickening the vowels.
Nearby, Mina executed a series of rapid acid-slides around a cluster of pillars. Or rather, she tried to. Her trajectory was erratic, one slide ending with an uncharacteristic stumble that sent her skidding a meter too far. She righted herself with a forced grin. "Whoops! Slippery when… distracted!" Her laugh was too loud, bouncing off the cavernous gym walls. She didn’t even pretend not to look at the clock. 2:38.
"Distracted is putting it mildly, Ashido," Kyoka muttered, plugging one jack into the concrete floor. The vibrations she sensed were all wrong – frantic, skittering heartbeats instead of focused footfalls. She heard Ochaco’s pulse fluttering like a trapped bird, Momo’s usually steady rhythm jumping erratically. Even Mina’s, usually a vibrant drumbeat, was a staccato mess. She yanked her jack out, the internal noise amplifying her own anxiety. Floppy pancake. Haaaa out. Wiggle toes. Right.
"Looking good, team!" Toru’s cheerful voice called out from seemingly near a stack of crash mats. A pair of floating gloves gave a thumbs-up. "Embrace the focus! Channel that pre-paddle energy! Think of it as… anticipatory calisthenics!"
Momo sighed, tapping her quarterstaff lightly against her palm. "Toru, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but perhaps a more traditional application of focus would be beneficial right now. We are here to train defensive maneuvers." Her own hand strayed, almost unconsciously, to smooth the back of her skirt. Non-Newtonian fluid dispersion. Controlled exhalation.
Kyoka caught the movement. "Give it up, Ponytail. We're all just marking time until the maple massacre." She kicked a loose pebble. It skittered across the concrete towards Mina, who flinched as if it were a live grenade.
"Hey! Easy with the projectiles, Jiro!" Mina protested, trying to regain her bubbly composure. "Some of us are trying to maintain our dignity before it gets thoroughly rearranged!" She attempted a cartwheel, but her leg hooked awkwardly and she ended up in a clumsy heap. "See? Distracted!"
2:41 PM. Nineteen minutes. Kyoka felt the rough wood grain of the paddle she’d sanded imprinted on her palm memory. Too thick. Why had she made it so thick? Was it defiance? Stupidity? Midnight’s amused smirk when she’d selected the densest maple block flashed in her mind. Idiot.
Ochaco floated another dummy, her knuckles white on the control panel strapped to her wrist. "D-do you think… do you think she’ll make us all watch? Each… each one?" Her voice was small.
Momo paused, the quarterstaff vanishing in a shimmer. She took a slow, deliberate breath. "Protocol typically dictates a private disciplinary session, Uraraka. However…" She trailed off, her gaze drifting uneasily towards the viewing gallery high above. Empty now. "With Midnight-sensei… certainty is difficult."
"Probably depends on how much we squirm," Mina said, hauling herself up and dusting off her leggings with excessive vigor. "Entertainment value, you know?" Her attempt at nonchalance was undercut by the tremor in her hands. "Just remember the technique! Breathe, jiggle, wiggle. We practiced!"
"Hard to practice jiggling when your butt’s invisible!" Toru’s gloves appeared, patting the air where her hips presumably were. "But I’m confident! Positive vibes only! Midnight’s aim is probably impeccable!"
"Probably," Kyoka echoed flatly, her stomach churning. She scanned the gym again – the high ceilings, the echoing space, the stark shadows. Too many places for sound to bounce. Too much room for screaming. Don't scream. Don't give her the satisfaction. Her jacks twitched nervously against her neck.
Aizawa-sensei’s voice, dry as the dust motes dancing in the floodlights, crackled over the intercom. "Ashido. Your lateral movement resembles a concussed gecko. Uraraka, maintain altitude control or switch exercises. Yaoyorozu, faster creation. Jiro, situational awareness – you're scanning the exits, not your environment. Hagakure… try existing more tangibly. Five minutes left. Apply yourselves."
The reprimand, usually met with groans or determined scowls, landed like a physical blow. Ochaco gasped, fumbling the dummy controls. It dropped with a heavy thump. Momo flinched, her next quarterstaff materializing bent for a split second before she corrected it. Mina froze mid-step. Toru’s gloves vanished with a tiny squeak.
Five minutes. 2:55 PM. The clock's digital numbers seemed to pulse, burning into Kyoka’s retinas. The air conditioning hummed like a deranged insect, suddenly deafening. The smell of concrete dust and old sweat turned cloying. Kyoka’s throat tightened. She could almost feel the weight of the paddle in Midnight’s hand. Her paddle. The thick one.
Mina straightened up, plastering a wide, brittle smile on her face. "Okay! Five minutes! Time to… uh… really show our stuff! Let's run that obstacle course again! Full speed! Who's with me? Floppy pancake style!" She took off towards a low wall, her run more of a panicked scuttle.
Ochaco just stared at the downed dummy, her lips moving silently. Haaaa out. Haaaa out. Momo closed her eyes, taking another long, slow breath, her hands clenched at her sides. Kyoka braced herself against a support pillar, the cool metal doing nothing to quell the heat spreading from her chest to her cheeks. She didn't look at the clock. She didn't need to. The dread was a ticking bomb in her gut.
Toru’s voice, suddenly less cheery, piped up from near the crash mats. "Guys…? Is it just me, or is it getting… quieter?"
She was right. The gym’s background hum seemed to recede. The distant sounds of another class training in an adjacent bay faded. An unnatural stillness descended, thick and expectant. The only sounds were their own too-loud breathing and the relentless, low thrum of the air system.
Then, cutting through the silence, sharp and unmistakable on the still air – the crisp click of high heels on concrete. Slow. Deliberate. Echoing from the main entrance tunnel leading into Gym Gamma.
Click. Click. Click.
Kyoka’s breath hitched, locking in her chest. Ochaco made a tiny, choked sound. Momo’s eyes snapped open, wide and dark. Mina stumbled mid-stride near the low wall, catching herself with a graceless lurch. Toru’s gloves fluttered nervously, then disappeared entirely.
Click. Click. Click.
Closer now. A shadow stretched long and predatory from the tunnel mouth, preceding its owner. The scent hit them next – a complex, heavy perfume, expensive and cloying, layered over something sharper, like ozone and leather. Midnight’s signature fragrance. It rolled into the gym like a visible wave, carrying with it the promise of focused attention and unyielding discipline.
Ochaco’s dummy lay forgotten. Mina stood frozen by the wall. Momo had gone very still, her knuckles white. Kyoka pressed her back harder against the pillar, the cold metal the only anchor in a world tilting violently. Toru was utterly silent, a vacuum of presence.
The clicking heels stopped. Midnight stepped fully into the harsh light of the training ground, a figure of elegant menace in her hero costume. Her whip coiled at her hip. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips as her gaze swept over her immobilized students, lingering for a heartbeat on each pale, terrified face. She didn't need a paddle in her hand yet. Her presence was the weapon.
"Ladies," Midnight purred, her voice honey-smooth and carrying effortlessly in the sudden, absolute silence. "I believe we have an appointment." Her smile widened, a predator savoring the moment. "Shall we adjourn to somewhere… more suitable for our discussion?"
No one moved. No one breathed. The digital clock behind her flickered silently. 2:59 PM.