Chapter 25

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍
⤷ they are both stubborn beyond belief

CONSCIOUSNESS CAME BACK to Katsuki Bakugo like a punch to the skull. In jagged pieces that slammed together until he could no longer pretend he was still out. The first thing he noticed was the weight. Not just the dull heaviness in his limbs, but something far worse and far more insulting. He tried to move and felt metal bite into his wrists and chest, cold and unyielding, pinning him flat against something solid beneath his back.

Concrete.

He sucked in a sharp breath and immediately regretted it when something rigid pressed down across his ribs, a thick restraint locking him in place. His wrists were cuffed in front of him, not standard police restraints but thick, industrial metal, wide enough that even his explosions wouldn’t crack them easily, if at all. His hands twitched on instinct, palms itching, but there was nothing there. No spark. No release. 

“Don’t bother,” a voice said calmly, far too close for comfort. “Those restraints are rated for heavy quirk output. You’d only hurt yourself.”

Katsuki snapped his eyes open.

The room was dim but not dark, lit by dying overhead lights that made the concrete walls feel even colder. It wasn’t a cell in the traditional sense, more like a converted underground space, half industrial, half surgical, with equipment lining the walls. Tables. Monitors. Syringes. Tanks humming softly.

And standing a few feet away from him was a villain he’d never seen before.

They were tall, posture relaxed in a way that made it obvious they didn’t feel threatened by him in the slightest. Their hair was split clean down the middle, one side stark white, the other a muddy brown, hanging loose around their face like they couldn’t be bothered to tie it back. One of their eyes had a perfectly round pupil, the other held a star-shaped pupil.

They tilted their head slightly when Katsuki glared at them, assessing him.

“Oh good,” they said mildly. “You’re awake.”

“The hell is this?” Katsuki snarled, testing the restraints again out of pure spite. The metal didn’t even creak. “Where am I? And who the hell are you?”

They smiled, but it didn’t reach either eye. “You can call me whatever. Names aren’t important right now.”

Katsuki’s teeth ground together. “You League freaks think you’re real funny, huh.”

Their smile widened just a fraction, like he’d said something amusing. “Funny isn’t the word I’d use.”

They turned away from him then, walking toward a second slab of concrete positioned parallel to Katsuki’s. That was when his stomach dropped.

Edogawa was there.

He was strapped down the same way Katsuki was, wrists restrained, chest pinned, black hair splayed messily against the concrete. He looked worse than Katsuki felt, which was saying something. His skin was pale, almost gray under the harsh lights, and his breathing was shallow and uneven, chest barely rising beneath the restraint. There was dried blood at the corner of his mouth and along his jaw, and more staining the front of his black hoodie.

Katsuki’s pulse spiked hard enough that the restraint across his ribs felt tighter.

“Ey,” he snapped, voice sharp. “Get away from him.”

The villain didn’t even look back. They picked up a syringe from a metal tray with careful precision, the fluid inside glowing a vivid, unnatural purple, faintly luminescent. The glow reflected off their star-shaped pupil in a way that made Katsuki’s skin crawl.

“This?” they said, holding it up between two fingers. “This is actually for his benefit.”

“Like hell it is,” Katsuki growled. “Touch him and I’ll—”

“You’ll do what,” they interrupted calmly, finally turning back to look at him. “Explode. Right. Under normal circumstances that would be concerning. These are not normal circumstances.”

They stepped closer to Edogawa, unfazed by Katsuki’s fury, and Katsuki strained uselessly against the cuffs, metal digging into his wrists as his muscles burned with the effort.

“What is that? You tryna kill him?” Katsuki demanded, voice low and dangerous. 

“He’s not dead,” the villain said flatly. “Annoyingly resilient, actually. But his internal injuries are extensive. Organ strain, micro-tears, hemorrhaging. You heroes really do treat your bodies like disposable weapons.” They tapped the syringe lightly against their gloved palm. “This is Purple.”

Katsuki’s eyes flicked to the glowing fluid despite himself.

“It accelerates cellular regeneration and stabilizes internal damage if taken in small doses,” they continued, tone clinical, almost bored. “Temporary relief, not a cure. Think of it as… buying time.”

“Why?” Katsuki spat. “Why the hell would you help him?”

The villain paused, the question clearly entertaining them more than it should have. “Because dead assets are useless. And because we didn’t go through all this trouble just to watch him internally bleed out on a slab of concrete.”

They leaned over Edogawa, pressing two fingers lightly to his neck, checking his pulse with a familiarity that made Katsuki’s chest twist unpleasantly.

“Hold still,” they murmured, though Edogawa didn’t respond.

The needle slid in.

Edogawa’s body jerked faintly as the purple fluid was pushed into his bloodstream, the glow dimming as it vanished beneath his skin. For a moment nothing happened, and Katsuki’s heart hammered in his ears so loudly he could barely hear his own breathing.

Then Edogawa gasped.

It was shallow and ragged, but it was stronger than before, his chest rising a little more steadily against the restraint. Color bled back into his face in small, uneven patches, and the tension in his body eased just enough that Katsuki could see it.

The villain withdrew the syringe and disposed of it carefully, like they actually cared about procedure.

“There,” they said softly. “That should keep his organs from shutting down for now.”

Katsuki stared, chest heaving, fury tangled tightly in his chest. “If that stuff hurts him,” he said quietly, dangerously, “I’ll kill you.”

The villain turned back to him, star-pupil gleaming. “Such loyalty. You heroes are always so dramatic about each other.”

They stepped closer until they were standing directly beside Katsuki’s slab, close enough that Katsuki could see his own furious reflection in that strange, mismatched gaze.

“Rest,” they advised. “You’ll want your strength.”

And somewhere across him, just barely, Edogawa breathed.

They spent two days in that room, and time stopped meaning anything after the first night.

There were no windows. No clocks. Just the hum of machinery, the flicker of harsh overhead lights, and the constant awareness of restraints biting into skin. Katsuki learned the exact weight of the cuffs on his wrists, learned how long he could pull against them before his shoulders screamed. He slept in fragments, never deeply, jerking awake every time the air shifted or footsteps echoed down the concrete corridor.

Edogawa didn’t wake.

That was the part that crawled under Katsuki’s skin the most. Not the restraints. Not the villains. Not even the fact that he couldn’t blow the place apart. It was the stillness of the body across to him. Edogawa breathed, shallow but steady after the drug, chest rising and falling just enough to prove he was alive, but he never opened his eyes. Never twitched except when the split-haired villain came too close and pressed fingers to his throat to check his pulse.

Shigaraki came down twice.

The first time, Katsuki tried to tear his way free on instinct alone, veins standing out in his arms as he snarled and cursed and promised death in graphic detail. Shigaraki only laughed, a dry, broken sound, fingers scratching at his neck as if even Katsuki’s fury was boring him.

The second time, Katsuki didn’t waste the energy.

The other villain came down far more often, the one with the split hair.

They moved like they belonged there, pacing the room, leaning against walls, sitting on metal tables like this was just another job. They checked Edogawa obsessively, administering small doses of that glowing purple substance when Katsuki noticed Edogawa’s breathing falter. They never spoke while doing it, never explained themselves beyond the bare minimum, but they never let Edogawa slip too far either.

Standing guard. Watching. Waiting.

By the third day, Katsuki’s throat was raw from yelling and his body ached in places he didn’t know could ache, when they finally moved them.

The restraints came off only long enough to reattach them to something else.

They were dragged up a floor through winding corridors that smelled faintly of alcohol and dust, Katsuki snarling the whole way, heels digging uselessly into the ground as he was forced forward. Edogawa was carried. 

The new room made Katsuki’s skin crawl in a different way.

It was a bar.

Not a nice one. Just a long counter, mismatched stools, bottles lining the shelves behind it, some full, some empty, some cracked. A TV was mounted crookedly on the wall, wires exposed, buzzing softly. The lighting was warmer here, dimmer, almost cozy if you ignored the fact that this was where villains gathered.

Katsuki was shoved into a chair and strapped down again, the same heavy metal hand cuffs locking his wrists in front of him, another restraint cinched across his chest to keep him from lunging forward. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Edogawa was placed in a chair right next to him, restrained the same way, head slumped forward, completely out cold.

“You son of a—” Katsuki seethed, jerking against the cuffs as the split-haired villain leaned in to tighten them further.

“Listen to me very carefully.” The villain cut him off, eyes wide, mismatched pupils staring straight at him. “I’m going to tell you how my quirk works now. You remember that purple haired kid from the sports festival with the mind powers? My powers are like his. Only the trigger is when someone causes me bodily harm. Which means, if you set off an explosion here and it so much as nicks me, your mind is mine. So behave, will you?”

The words sank in like ice water.

The villain stepped back then, gaze flicking briefly to Edogawa before they turned away, as if satisfied.

“Are they secure, Que?” a voice asked.

Katsuki looked up to see another villain, this one with a patchwork, burned face, skin stapled together like he’d been put back wrong.

“Yep.” the split-haired villain, Que, answered easily.

The room was full now.

Kurogiri stood near the bar, mist curling lazily around his collar. Shigaraki lounged against the counter, one hand hanging uselessly at his side, the other scratching absently at his neck. 

There was a guy in a black and grey bodysuit who spoke in two tones at once, a girl in a school uniform sitting at the bar, a person with shoulder-length hair and sunglasses on inside, the magician villain who’d caught them, and a lizard-looking one, looming near the wall.

The TV was talking.

“It’s perfectly obvious to me that there’s some sort of problem with UA’s current management,” a male reporter said smoothly. “If I had a child who wanted to become a hero, there’s no way I’d enroll them in a school that’ll—”

The TV clicked off.

Shigaraki cackled, the sound sharp and unhinged. “I’m so grateful to the media for all the free publicity lately,” he let out. “Right? Isn’t it nice? Katsuki Bakugo.”

Katsuki glared at him, jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

They talked.

They talked and talked and talked on the third day they were stuck with these lunatics, voices overlapping, Shigaraki circling the same points again and again like a broken record with a purpose. How UA didn’t understand him. How heroes were hypocrites. How strength should be acknowledged, not suppressed. How Katsuki didn’t belong in a system that would cage him.

They tried to convince him to join the League of Villains.

Katsuki said nothing.

“I’ll ask you one more time, Katsuki Bakugo. Aspiring hero. Will you join the League of Villains?” Shigaraki asked for what felt like the billionth time, his voice dripping with false patience as his fingers crept up to his face again, nails scraping lightly at his skin in that irritating, restless way he never seemed able to stop.

All Katsuki did was sneer, baring his teeth like a cornered animal that still very much intended to bite. “Go throw yourself into traffic.”

The room seemed to tighten around them at that, the air growing heavier as Shigaraki’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly. His eyes narrowed behind the hand covering part of his face, and for just a fraction of a second Katsuki could tell he’d pissed him off.

The television crackled, then came back on.

“We are here, to apologize.” Mr. Aizawa’s voice filled the room, flat and tired in a way Katsuki had never heard before. The screen showed him standing stiffly behind a podium, wearing a suit that looked wrong on him, his hair pulled back instead of hanging loose around his face. “A recent incident allowed harm to come to 28 first year heroes. And we staff were ill prepared. We take responsibility for any trauma caused by our negligence. It’s our duty to train heroes but also to protect heroes in training.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened as he watched, eyes locked on the screen despite himself.

“I’ll take the first question,” a smug reporter said, leaning forward with barely disguised eagerness. “Since the beginning of the year, UA students have had four encounters with villains. This time there were students who were gravely injured. How did you explain this to their families? And what are some of the specific steps you’re taking to ensure their safety in the future?”

“We will increase patrols around the school grounds and review security measures within the school.” Principal Nezu answered smoothly, sitting beside Aizawa with his paws folded. “The safety of UA students is our main priority, make no mistake about it.”

Shigaraki let out a low, amused sound, half laugh and half scoff, as he turned his head toward the screen. “Isn’t that strange?” he said, voice carrying easily over the broadcast. “The heroes are becoming the bad guys. Seems like they’re not dealing with this very well at all. So much criticism. But everyone makes a mistake or two, right? It’s not like they’re supposed to be perfect. Modern-day heroes sure have it rough. Don’t you think, Bakugo?”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He stared straight ahead, hands clenched as tightly as the cuffs allowed, feeling the metal bite into his wrists as if to remind him exactly how powerless he was in this moment.

“Once a hero receives payment to protect people, they aren’t a real hero anymore.” The lizard villain spoke up from near the wall, “That’s what Stain’s actions taught us.”

The words washed over Katsuki in a blur of noise and self-righteous garbage, his focus drifting despite himself to the figure slumped beside him, restrained just as tightly, head bowed forward, breathing shallow but steady. Edogawa hadn’t moved in so long that Katsuki had started counting breaths again, the way he had in that first room, just to make sure.

“A hero in this current system only cares about money and glory.” Shigaraki agreed, pacing slowly now. “And since society buys in to those idiotic rules, anyone deemed a loser is shoved aside. So, we want to pose some questions. What is a hero? What is justice? Is this society truly fair? Soon, everyone will be asking. That’s when we’ll know we’ve won. And you like winning, don’t you?”

“God. Do you ever stop talking?” a hoarse voice suddenly cut through the room.

Edogawa raised his head with visible effort, black hair falling away from his face only to stick damply to his forehead again as he did. The movement looked like it cost him far more than it should have, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the thick steel cuffs as he lifted his head, only to slump back against the chair a second later. “Talked so much I think you beat the drugs.”

Katsuki blinked, genuinely startled, his head snapping toward him before he could stop himself. Edogawa was awake. Pale as hell, but awake, eyes narrowed in familiar irritation even through the haze. 

Relief hit Katsuki hard enough that it almost made him dizzy, followed immediately by anger that the bastard had chosen now of all times to wake up and start running his mouth.

It took Katsuki a moment longer to notice what was off.

Edogawa’s eyes weren’t pitch black like they normally were. In the dim, golden light of the bar they looked gray, almost blue, reflecting the glow of the overhead lamps in a way Katsuki had never seen before. 

He stared, frowning slightly, trying to make sense of it. Was it because of whatever Que had injected him with, that glowing purple crap, or was it something else entirely?

Either way, Edogawa was awake.

Shigaraki laughed, the sound hollow and stripped of any real humor, “Dabi.” He turned his head slightly toward the patchwork-skinned villain. “Let them go.”

Dabi didn’t move at first. He tilted his head just enough to glance at the two restrained students. “You know they’ll just fight,” he said flatly, voice low and unimpressed.

“It’s fine.” Shigaraki waved him off with careless confidence, “We’re recruiting them, so we should treat them as equals. Besides, the gravity one will tear himself apart if he tries to use his quirk, and Bakugo is smart enough to know he can’t take us all, right?” His grin widened beneath the hand creeping back toward his face. “After all, UA students are so clever.”

Dabi studied the teenagers for another long second, eyes lingering on Katsuki’s tense posture and then on Edogawa’s slumped, unsteady frame, before he clicked his tongue in annoyance and shifted his attention to the man in the gray and black bodysuit. “Hey, Twice. You do it.”

“Sure thing! No way,” Twice answered instantly, his two voices clashing with each other as he flailed one arm in protest.

“Do it.” Dabi snapped.

“Aw man,” Twice groaned, shoulders slumping as he shuffled forward anyway. 

He moved quickly after that, hands darting to the restraints with practiced ease. He released Edogawa first, the heavy cuffs falling away with a dull clang. Edogawa sagged immediately, shoulders collapsing inward as he slumped back against the chair, glaring through half-lidded eyes but clearly unable to stand or even fully straighten. 

Watching that, really watching how unsteady Edogawa looked now that nothing was holding him upright, made something cold settle in Katsuki’s gut.

That was when Katsuki realized just how screwed they actually were.

“I do apologize for such forceful methods,” the magician said smoothly as Twice moved on to Katsuki’s restraints, his tone polite to the point of mockery. “But please understand that we aren’t some kind of unruly mob committing crimes without a third act in mind. We didn’t kidnap you by accident.”

The metal cuffs snapped open, the pressure on Katsuki’s chest vanishing all at once. He sucked in a sharp breath, muscles screaming as sensation rushed back into his arms, his fingers twitching.

“Even though our backgrounds are different,” Shigaraki said, pushing himself up from the bar and starting toward them at an unhurried pace, “everyone here has suffered. Because of people. Because of rules. And heroes, who try to hold us back.” He spread his hands slightly, as if offering understanding. “I’m sure you’re the same.”

It didn’t matter.

The instant Katsuki was free, his body moved on instinct, rage and adrenaline overriding every warning bell in his head. 

His foot shot up and connected hard with Twice’s face, the impact snapping the villain’s head back as he went down with a startled yelp. Katsuki didn’t even pause. He twisted, palm already sparking, and launched an explosion straight at Shigaraki’s face, carefully angling it away from Que. 

The blast tore through the air, smoke and heat filling the room as the disembodied hand flew off Shigaraki’s face and skidded across the floor.

“Shigaraki!” Twice cried from where he lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his face.

Katsuki landed in a low crouch, one hand braced against the floor, the other smoking faintly as his chest heaved. His eyes burned as he looked up at the villains through the thinning smoke, teeth bared in pure defiance. 

“I’m done listening to your endless talking,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Can you not get the point or do you just like your own voice? Basically, what you’re saying is you wanna cause some trouble and you want us to join you. Well, screw you.”

He rose to his feet, shoulders squared despite the odds stacked against him, gaze locked on Shigaraki without an ounce of fear. “I like to win. I wanna win just like All Might. No matter what you have to offer me, that will never change, do you understand?!”

Shigaraki didn’t move for a long moment. 

He just stared at the empty space where the hand had been knocked from his face, fingers twitching slightly as if the absence itself irritated him more than the explosion had. The bar was quiet except for the low hum of electricity and the faint buzz of the television mounted behind him, its glow painting the cracked walls in pale, flickering light.

The news broadcast cut back in, the reporter’s voice sharp and insistent as it filled the room.

“You spoke about keeping the students safe, Eraser Head,” the same reporter from before said, his tone dripping with accusation. “But according to our information, you encouraged them to fight during the attack on the training camp, putting them in grave danger. What was your reasoning for this?”

“I concluded that because we didn’t know the full situation,” Aizawa answered evenly into the mic, “allowing them to use their quirks would help avoid the worst possible outcome.”

“And what would that outcome be?” the reporter pressed. “Do you think twenty-six victims and two kidnapped children is a win for UA High?”

Aizawa leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I assure you that things could have gone much more poorly. I feared every student would be tortured and killed in the end.”

Principal Nezu appeared next on the screen, “Most of the victims were harmed by the gas attack,” he said. “We’ve determined it to be the result of a poisonous quirk used by one of the villains. It’s thanks to the quick actions of Ms. Kendo and Mr. Tetsutetsu that injuries were kept to a bare minimum. Additionally, we’re providing mental health counseling to every student, though at the moment, we do not see any signs of serious psychological trauma.”

“So you’ve found a bright spot in this tragedy?” the reporter scoffed, clearly dissatisfied.

“We’re relieved that an entire class of burgeoning heroes still has a future,” Nezu countered without missing a beat.

The reporter didn’t hesitate. “Can you say the same thing for the abducted, Katsuki Bakugo and Odasaku Edogawa?” His eyes gleamed as he leaned into the question. “Katsuki Bakugo, especially, who enrolled at your school with excellent marks and went on to come in second at the sports festival. Before that, he survived the attack of a powerful sludge villain who eventually had to be taken down by All Might. The boy’s obviously strong and heroic.”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched as his name echoed through the room, broadcast to the entire country like a headline.

“On the other hand,” the reporter continued smoothly, “the violence he displayed in the finals and his attitude at the awards ceremony both showed that he cannot control his temper. What if this is the real reason the villains have kidnapped him, and Odasaku Edogawa, who won the sports festival with a frightening display of power? What if they’re brainwashing them right now, pulling them toward the path of evil? How can you sit there and tell us they still have a future?”

Aizawa stood up fully and bowed, the movement sharp and deliberate. “As Katsuki Bakugo’s teacher, I take full responsibility for not taming his violent behavior,” he said. “However, his actions at the sports festival were born of his deep-seated convictions. He’s trying harder than anyone in his pursuit to become the top hero.”

“And as for Odasaku Edogawa, that boy is of sound body and mind. He won’t be fazed by this. They are both stubborn beyond belief. I think the sports festival showed that. If the villains think they have a chance with either of them, then they are grossly mistaken. I can guarantee you that much.”

“Hah!” Katsuki barked out a sharp laugh, the sound cutting through the bar as he glanced sideways at Edogawa slumped beside him. “Did you hear the teachers? They get us more than I thought.” 

He snapped his gaze back to the villains, eyes blazing, fists clenched at his sides. “And we’re not joining your league of bastards!”

Shigaraki’s fingers curled slowly, the hand creeping back toward his face, the television’s glow reflecting off his eyes.

They had gone through the trouble of mounting a massive attack, burning resources, exposing themselves, drawing heroes, police, and the media into a frenzy, all just to bring him and Edogawa here. 

Katsuki could see it clearly now, the longer he sat in this filthy bar. The idiots had even said what they wanted outright. They wanted Edogawa and him to join their pathetic little group. Not ransom. Recruitment. Which meant one thing:

They weren’t going to kill them.

They were just a bunch of amateurs playing revolution.

author’s note-

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