Chapter 7: Invisible no longer
The sharp crack of wood meeting flesh echoed in the sterile room, impossibly loud after Mina’s raw sobs. Toru Hagakure shot upright with a yelp that was half-surprise, half-pain, her visible hands flying back to clutch at the assaulted area. On her previously unseen skin, now rendered opaque and shimmering faintly by the thin silver bracelet clamped around her wrist, two perfect, glowing handprints bloomed across the crests of her buttocks. They pulsed a deep, angry crimson, stark against her newly revealed skin, like brands applied with light.
"Whoa! They glow?!" Mina gasped from her chair, her voice thick with tears but laced with horrified fascination. She shifted carefully, wincing as her own punished backside made contact with the hard plastic seat. Her hands still hovered protectively near her thighs.
"Oh, Toru..." Momo murmured, her dark eyes wide. The sight was bizarrely intimate, Toru’s vulnerability amplified tenfold by the sudden, forced visibility of her reaction.
"Didn’t expect the light show, huh, Hagakure?" Midnight’s voice was calm, almost conversational, as she tapped the heavy oak paddle lightly against her own thigh. The sound was a grim counterpoint to the fluorescent hum. "The bracelet doesn't just make you visible. It heightens certain... physiological responses for clarity. So we all see the consequences clearly. Position."
Toru whimpered, a high, fluttering sound. Her entire body trembled, the glowing handprints seeming to vibrate with her fear. She stared down at her own hands, now clearly visible gripping the edge of the cold metal desk, knuckles white. Being seen, truly seen in this state, was a violation deeper than the sting. Her cheery facade had evaporated. "B-but... my quirk..."
"Is irrelevant to discipline," Midnight stated flatly. "Bend over the desk properly, Hagakure. Feet apart, back straight, cheeks presented."
With a shuddering breath, Toru slowly, agonizingly, lowered herself back down. The movement stretched the skin of her backside, making the two crimson handmarks pulse brighter for a second. Her invisible hair, still unseen, seemed to hang limply. She pressed her forehead against the cool metal surface, bracing.
Midnight didn’t hesitate. The paddle lifted, a dark blur, and descended.
THWACK!
The impact landed slightly lower, overlapping the first crimson prints. Toru’s scream was sharp, involuntary. Her legs kicked back reflexively, heels leaving the floor for a second. Where the wood struck, a third, larger handprint flared to life, vivid and hot, radiating heat she could practically see. The flesh beneath visibly jiggled from the force.
"Gyah! Hot! So hot!" Toru cried out, her voice cracking. Her visible hands scrabbled on the metal, searching for purchase. The three marks pulsed in unison, a constellation of pain glowing on her pale skin.
"Steady," Midnight commanded, her voice cool. She shifted her stance minutely. "Keep your feet flat." The paddle tapped, tapped against her leg.
Jiro flinched as if struck herself, her earphone jack cords coiling tighter around her neck. She stared at her own paddle, the one she’d carved from ash wood, sanded smooth as glass, with that small, experimental sound-hole near the base. It suddenly looked flimsy, stupid. Would it even work? Or would it just make the impact... wrong? Sweat beaded on her forehead.
THWACK!
The fourth stroke landed higher, on the tender undercurve. Toru’s body arched, a high-pitched keen tearing from her throat. A fresh, glowing oval flared, igniting the sensitive junction where cheek met thigh. She slammed back down onto the desk, her breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. Tears, visible now, tracked down her shimmering cheeks and splashed onto the metal surface.
"S'like fireworks... on her bum," Ochaco whispered, her Mie accent thickening with horrified awe. She glanced nervously at Momo, then down at her own sturdy, unadorned paddle. "Mine ain't got no hole... is that better? Worse?"
"Unknown variables," Momo whispered back, her voice taut. She gripped her own elegant maple paddle like a lifeline, her knuckles white. "Material density, surface area... Jiro's design might diffuse the impact... or concentrate it unpredictably." She sounded like she was analyzing a physics problem, but her eyes were wide with dread.
THWACK!
Number five. Dead center. Toru’s shriek dissolved into broken sobs. The overlapping handprints merged into a single, searing patch of crimson light across the fullest part of her buttocks. The skin looked intensely inflamed, radiating visible heat waves. Her entire lower body trembled violently.
"Midnight-sensei, please!" Toru wailed, her voice muffled against the desk. "It's burning!"
"The lesson requires focus, Hagakure," Midnight replied, her tone unchanged. She raised the paddle again. "You encouraged this collective lapse in judgment. Shared responsibility means shared consequence. Hold still."
THWACK!
The sixth blow landed low again, igniting a fresh agony along the crease. Toru howled, her legs buckling. She caught herself, elbows slamming onto the desk, pushing her flaming rear even higher into the air, the glowing, mottled target fully exposed. The position was one of utter, desperate submission. Mina looked away, her own eyes filling with fresh tears of sympathy.
"Almost halfway," Midnight stated, the words landing like stones. The paddle tapped. Toru flinched at the sound alone, a full-body spasm that made the glowing welts pulse erratically.
Jiro couldn't tear her eyes away from Toru's punished skin. The glowing handprints were mesmerizing, horrifying. They made the pain visible, undeniable. Would her sound-hole paddle leave weird, glowing rings instead of hands? Would it whistle? The thought was absurd and terrifying. She clenched her jaw, a rebellious spike of anger warring with the cold fear in her gut. This was barbaric.
THWACK!
Seven. High on the sit-spot. Toru jerked, a choked gurgle escaping her. The new mark glowed fiercely. Her legs shook so violently she struggled to keep her feet under her.
THWACK!
Eight. Another overlapping strike on the central mass. The crimson light seemed to deepen, throbbing. Toru's sobs were constant now, a low, broken whine. Her visible skin glistened with sweat everywhere.
"Just two more, Toru! Hang on!" Mina called out, her voice rough with shared pain. It lacked its usual bounce, heavy with empathy.
"Deep breaths," Momo urged softly, though her own breathing was shallow.
THWACK!
Nine. Across the tender undercurve again. Toru screamed, a raw, scraping sound. Her knees gave out entirely, and she collapsed onto the desk, her glowing, devastated backside heaving with each gasping sob. The welts pulsed like angry beacons.
"Up, Hagakure," Midnight commanded, not unkindly but leaving no room for refusal. "Final stroke. Position."
With a Herculean effort, trembling like a leaf in a gale, Toru pushed herself back up onto her elbows, forcing her trembling legs straight. She presented her punished target, the glowing, overlapping handprints a map of agony lighting up the sterile room. Tears streamed down her face, dripping steadily. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Midnight drew the paddle back slowly, deliberately. It seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, catching the harsh light. Then it snapped forward.
THWACK-CRACK!
The sound was different – sharper, carrying an odd resonance as it landed with brutal finality across the center of Toru's glowing buttocks. The impact point flared blindingly crimson for a split second, seeming to absorb all the light, then subsided into the deep, throbbing scarlet of the surrounding welts. Toru didn't scream. She just folded forward over the desk with a low, animal moan, her body limp, wracked with silent tremors. The handprints pulsed rhythmically with her hitched breathing.
"Stand up, Hagakure. Face your classmates," Midnight said, lowering the paddle. Her gaze, cold and assessing, swept over the other girls. "Observe the required focus."
Toru pushed herself up, movements slow, stiff, agonized. She turned, still naked from the waist down, her shimmering skin flushed everywhere. Her hands immediately flew back, palms pressing flat against the burning, glowing landscape of her rear, fingers splayed wide over the pulsating handprints. She made no attempt to cover her front. Her tear-streaked face was blank, dazed, eyes unfocused, lost in a world of pure, radiating pain. The glowing welts on her backside seemed to cast a faint, eerie light on her trembling thighs.
"See the price of distraction?" Midnight's voice cut through the heavy silence. "See the absolute demand of consequence?" Her eyes, sharp as ice chips, locked onto Ochaco Uraraka. "Uraraka. You're next. Center position. Now." She tapped Toru's paddle once, sharply, against her palm. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the stillness as Toru stumbled blindly towards the empty chairs, her glowing hands still glued to her ruined skin. Ochaco flinched as if struck, her round face draining of all color, her knuckles white around the plain wooden paddle she held.
The paddle's sharp tap still echoed in Ochaco’s ears like a physical blow. Her own knuckles ached from gripping her plain wooden paddle, the grain rough against her skin. Across the room, Toru stumbled, a visible specter of misery, her shimmering hands plastered desperately over the throbbing, glowing welts lighting up her backside. Mina flinched on her plastic chair, her own hand sneaking back to press against her sore bottom, a futile attempt to smother the fire still raging there.
"Hands down, Ashido." Midnight’s voice cut through the heavy air, cold and precise as a scalpel. Her sharp blue eyes flicked from Mina’s furtive movement to Toru’s blatant clutching. "Both of you. Now. That includes you, Hagakure."
Toru froze mid-stagger, a choked sob escaping her. Mina’s hand jerked away from her skirt as if burned again.
"Your pussies need a breather too?" Midnight continued, her tone flat, almost conversational, yet carrying the weight of absolute authority. She gestured dismissively with Toru’s paddle. "Move your hands. Front and center. That glowing roadmap on Hagakure’s ass, Ashido’s stripes... they’re the lesson. Not your attempts to hide the heat. Let everyone see the price paid. Let it sink in." Her gaze, hard and unyielding, snapped back to Ochaco, who felt her stomach drop into her shoes. "Uraraka. Stop wasting air. To the desk. Feet apart, chest down, back straight. Position. Now."
The command hit Ochaco like a physical shove. The plain wood of her paddle felt suddenly slick in her sweating palm. Mina and Toru hastily dropped their hands, Mina biting her lip hard, Toru letting out another tiny whimper as the full, unobstructed agony of her punished skin radiated outwards, the glowing handprints pulsing angrily. Ochaco forced her leaden feet to move. One step. Two. The cold linoleum seemed to suck the warmth from her soles. The metal desk loomed, Toru’s tearstains still glistening faintly on its surface. She could smell the faint chalk dust, the fear-sweat, the lingering ozone tang of Toru’s punished skin. Her own heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
Her own heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The metal desk felt impossibly cold against her bare stomach as she pressed down, the chill biting through her thin top. Ochaco squeezed her eyes shut, bracing, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the smooth surface. Midnight adjusted her grip on the paddle, its wood dark and menacing. The fluorescent light glinted off its edge.
"Feet wider, Uraraka," Midnight instructed, her voice devoid of warmth. The tip of the paddle tapped Ochaco's trembling left thigh, making her flinch violently. "You need a stable base. Don't make me tie them."
Ochaco whimpered, shuffling her feet further apart on the cold linoleum. She felt absurdly exposed, bent over like this. Mina’s striped backside, Toru’s glowing, pulsating marks – they blurred in her peripheral vision, terrifying reminders. Just get it over with, she pleaded silently, pressing her forehead hard into her forearm. The scent of Toru’s tears and Mina’s fear-sweat hung thick in the air.
Midnight drew her arm back smoothly, the movement practiced and economical. The heavy oak cut through the stagnant air.
CRACK!
The impact exploded across the fullest part of Ochaco's backside, a white-hot brand of pure agony. It stole her breath, replaced it with a sharp, involuntary gasp that ripped from her throat. The pain was immediate, intense, radiating deep into the muscle.
Then, shockingly, her feet left the floor.
Panic surged, raw and blinding, eclipsing the throb. "N-Nani?!" she yelped, her Mie accent sharpening the word. She wasn't pushing off. She was floating, rising several inches above the desk, legs dangling uselessly, her punished bottom presented awkwardly in mid-air. Her Zero Gravity quirk had activated purely on instinct, a desperate, involuntary reaction to the sudden, shocking pain. Silence crashed over the room, thick and stunned.
Mina gasped, "Ocha!" Momo’s analytical gaze snapped wide open. Jiro’s earphone jacks stiffened like wires. Even Toru paused her whimpering, staring through her shimmering tears. Ochaco flailed slightly, trying to grab the desk but only managing to rotate slowly in the air, her face flushed crimson with humiliation and confusion. The single, vivid stripe across her pale skin pulsed with fresh heat.
Midnight exhaled sharply, a sound of pure annoyance. "Down, Uraraka," she commanded, her voice like cracked ice. She reached out with her free hand, seizing Ochaco firmly by the ankle. The contact felt jarringly intimate. "Discipline requires grounded consequences. Not floating away from them. Control your quirk."
"I-I can't!" Ochaco stammered, tears welling. She tried to focus, to deactivate it, but the burning ache radiating from her backside short-circuited her concentration. She felt the firm pull as Midnight yanked her ankle downward, hard. Her other foot brushed the floor, then lifted again as her weightlessness fought the teacher's grip. It was a grotesque tug-of-war. "It just... happened! Honest!"
Midnight’s grip on her ankle tightened, knuckles white. She planted her own feet firmly, bracing against Ochaco’s unnatural buoyancy. "Try harder," she snapped, jerking downward again, forcing Ochaco closer to the desk. The paddle tapped impatiently against Midnight's thigh. "Focus through the sting. Consequences are meant to be felt, not avoided."
Ochaco screwed her eyes shut again, tears escaping down her temples. She took a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the heat blooming across her skin, trying to find the mental switch. Touch pads together. Release. The thought felt distant, slippery. Another sharp pull on her ankle brought her thigh crashing against the desk edge, making her yelp. "I'm... I'm trying!" she choked out, frustration mixing with the pain and terror. The glowing handprints on Toru’s backside seemed to pulse in time with her own frantic heartbeat.
"Evidently not hard enough," Midnight stated coolly. She abruptly released the ankle, letting Ochaco drift a few inches higher. Ochaco yelped again, instinctively curling in the air like a frightened shrimp. Midnight simply stepped back, observing the floating student with cold calculation. "Fine. Learn it this way. Your position is compromised. Your control is nonexistent. This changes nothing." She hefted the paddle meaningfully. "Plant your feet, Uraraka. Or the next strike lands while you're airborne."
The paddle’s heavy shadow flickered as Midnight adjusted her grip, eyes locked on Ochaco’s drifting form. "Airborne it is," Midnight stated, her voice devoid of warmth. She stepped forward, the oak whistling faintly.
CRACK!
The second strike landed precisely on the crest of Ochaco’s left cheek while she floated helplessly three inches above the desk. The impact lacked the solid thump of Toru’s punishment; it sounded sharper, more brittle, snapping through the air. Ochaco let out a strangled cry, her body spinning awkwardly from the force, legs kicking out in reflex. A second livid stripe bloomed beside the first, joining the angry constellation on her pale skin. Tears streamed freely now, tracing paths to her chin where they dripped onto the desk below.
"Feels... diff'rent!" Ochaco gasped, her accent thickening with pain and panic. "Hurts sharp!"
"Physics," Momo murmured, her analytical mind overriding her fear for a moment. "Less mass resistance... greater acceleration..." Jiro just stared, her own paddle feeling like dead weight in her hand.
Before Ochaco could react further, Midnight’s free hand shot out. Not to pull an ankle this time. The teacher’s strong fingers clamped firmly onto Ochaco’s bare shoulder, her other hand landing squarely between her shoulder blades. Midnight leaned her weight down, pressing with controlled, implacable force. "Enough floating, Uraraka," she commanded, her voice low and resonant in Ochaco’s ear. "Plant your feet. Now."
"S-sorry! I didn’t—" Ochaco’s protest was cut short by the sheer physical pressure driving her downward. Her squeak of surprise mixed with a grunt of effort as her toes scraped the linoleum. Midnight maintained the pressure, forcing Ochaco’s trembling legs to lock, her soles flat against the cold floor. The unnatural buoyancy fought back for a second, a faint resistance like pushing down a balloon filled with lead weights. Ochaco screwed her eyes shut, focusing desperately. Touch pads... release... ground... The burning stripes across her rear pulsed with each frantic heartbeat.
With a final, decisive shove between the shoulders, Midnight pushed Ochaco fully down. Her stomach slammed back onto the unforgiving metal desk, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her feet stayed planted, heavy and real. The faint shimmer of her quirk vanished completely, leaving only the harsh reality of her position and the radiating pain. Midnight kept one hand flat, heavy on Ochaco’s upper back, pinning her securely. "Stay," she ordered, the single word brooking no argument. She tapped the paddle lightly against Ochaco’s punished skin, making her flinch violently. "Grounding achieved. Let’s continue. Properly." She removed the pinning hand, hefting the paddle deliberately.
CRACK!
The third stroke landed low, igniting fire along the sensitive undercurve where cheek met thigh. Ochaco’s knees buckled, but her feet, still obeying the command to stay planted, held firm. She pressed her face hard into her forearm, muffling a high-pitched wail. The impact point throbbed fiercely.
"Tha’s it, Ocha!" Mina called out, voice tight with shared agony. "Feet down! You got this!" Her own hands twitched near her still-smarting bottom before she forced them away, remembering Midnight’s order.
CRACK!
Number four struck high on the right cheek, overlapping the first blow. Ochaco’s body spasmed, a choked sob escaping. Sweat slicked her forehead where it pressed against her arm. The scent of her fear, sharp and salty, mingled with the lingering ozone-tang from Toru’s glowing marks. Toru herself watched silently, her shimmering hands now clenched in her lap, the crimson handprints on her backside pulsing faintly as she shifted.
Midnight paused, letting the echoes fade. She examined the four distinct, angry bands crossing Ochaco’s skin. "Better control," she acknowledged flatly. "Now maintain it." The paddle rose again. Ochaco tensed, every muscle rigid, her knuckles white where they gripped the far edge of the desk. Her ragged breathing was the loudest sound in the room.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The next three fell in rapid succession: high left, dead center, low right. Each blow forced a sharp gasp, a grunt, a bitten-off cry from Ochaco. Her body jerked with each impact, but her feet remained glued to the floor, trembling violently. Her breathing hitched, turning into desperate, shallow pants. Seven stripes now painted her skin a burning, uniform crimson.
"Almost there, Ochaco-chan," Momo whispered, her voice strained. "Just three more."
"Focus on your breathin’," Mina added, softer now. "In... out..."
Midnight drew the next stroke back slowly, deliberately stretching the moment. The paddle hovered. Ochaco whimpered, anticipating the blow. It landed with brutal force across the sit-spots, igniting fresh agony on the tender flesh closest to her thighs. Ochaco arched, a raw scream tearing loose, her body straining against the invisible anchor holding her feet down. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably.
CRACK!
Number nine. Another searing blow across the central mass. Ochaco collapsed forward, her strength failing, her punished rear end quivering. A low, continuous moan vibrated against the metal desk. Midnight let her rest for only a heartbeat. "Up, Uraraka. Final position."
With a shuddering sob, Ochaco pushed herself back onto her elbows, legs shaking but feet still planted. She presented her target again, the nine stripes pulsing dark red. Midnight tapped the paddle once against the most inflamed area, eliciting a fresh whimper. Then she swung.
CRACK!
The tenth blow landed with finality, perfectly overlapping several existing marks. Ochaco slumped forward, utterly spent, her body wracked with silent tremors. Tears dripped steadily onto the desk. Midnight lowered the paddle. "Stand. Face them." Her gaze swept the room, landing unerringly on Momo. "Momo. Your turn. Prepare your instrument."
Ochaco pushed herself upright, movements stiff and pained. She turned slowly, hands instinctively starting to rise towards her blazing backside before she forced them down to her sides, fingers clenching into fists. Her face was tear-streaked and flushed, eyes glazed. She stumbled towards the chairs, her gait awkward. Momo flinched as Midnight’s stare pinned her.