CHAPTER 28: THE CALM BEFORE THE VOID
The observation room was a sanctuary of flickering blue light, dominated by a wall of high-definition monitors. Sherlock stood at the back, his posture rigid, eyes darting between screens as he cataloged the performance of his peers. Beside him, Momo watched with bated breath, her fingers interlaced.
"The attrition rate is higher than anticipated," Sherlock noted, his voice a low hum.
On the primary screen, Sato and Kirishima were being systematically buried. They were the "Power Group," yet against Cementoss, their strength was a liability. Every punch they threw was met with a new, thicker wall of concrete.
"They're trapped in a linear feedback loop," Sherlock whispered. "They strike, the environment adapts, and they strike harder, consuming their stamina. Cementoss isn't fighting them; he's simply outlasting them."
Soon, the monitors shifted to Asui and Tokoyami vs. Ectoplasm. This was the match Sherlock had been waiting for—the "Silent Group." Having tutored Tokoyami and Shoji, he felt a personal stake in the outcome.
"Dark Shadow is struggling with the spatial density," Momo observed.
Ectoplasm had flooded the industrial zone with clones. It was a sea of grey, ghostly figures. Tokoyami stood his ground, Dark Shadow roaring as it swiped through the apparitions, but for every one it dissipated, two more emerged.
"Tokoyami is focused on the macro-threat," Sherlock analyzed, his eyes narrowing. "But the solution to Ectoplasm isn't volume; it's precision. He needs to find the anchor."
Suddenly, Asui—using her camouflage and agility—swallowed the capture handcuffs. In a coordinated burst of speed, she leaped through the air while Tokoyami provided a massive "Abyssal High Five" to clear a path. Asui spat the handcuffs directly onto Ectoplasm's leg while he was distracted by Dark Shadow's wingspan.
"Success," Sherlock muttered, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "They prioritized the objective over the confrontation. The silent ones usually hear the solution first."
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly when the final match appeared. The monitor flared with the golden light of All Might descending upon the urban ruins like a falling star.
"This isn't a test of skill," Sherlock said, his voice dropping an octave. "This is a test of psychological fortitude. Aizawa-sensei paired the two most volatile variables in the class against the one constant they both worship."
The screen was a chaos of emerald sparks and orange explosions. Midoriya and Bakugo were failing—not because they lacked power, but because their vectors were in total opposition. Bakugo wanted to conquer the Symbol of Peace; Midoriya wanted to survive him.
"Look at Bakugo's stance," Sherlock pointed out to Momo. "He's ignoring the weighted cuffs. He's treating All Might as if he's at 100% capacity. It's a tactical error driven by ego."
All Might's "New Hampshire Smash" leveled a building, the shockwave visible even through the camera feed. Bakugo was slammed into the dirt, coughing blood, yet he screamed at Midoriya to stay away.
"They're falling apart," Momo gasped.
"No," Sherlock corrected, leaning forward. "The ego is breaking. Look."
On screen, Midoriya punched Bakugo—not as a rival, but as a teammate demanding cooperation. The dynamic shifted. They began to trade blows with All Might, a frantic, desperate dance of "Blast and Dash." Bakugo took a point-blank hit from All Might's palm, a strike that would have incapacitated any other student, just to give Midoriya the window to reach the escape gate.
"He's sacrificing his 'Victory' for the 'Team's Success'," Sherlock whispered, his admiration for the calculation evident. "Bakugo has finally factored someone else into his equation."
As Midoriya dragged a semi-conscious Bakugo through the gate, the observation room remained silent for a full three seconds before erupting in cheers.
"The verdict," Sherlock said, pushing off the wall. "Is that they are alive. Barely. But the data shows they've finally acknowledged each other's existence as a tool for success."
The atmosphere in Class 1-A was thick enough to choke on. The morning sun, usually a symbol of a fresh start, felt like a spotlight on a crime scene. For some, the wait for the final results was a mere formality; for others, it was a slow-motion walk to the gallows.
At the very front, Mina Ashido and Denki Kaminari looked like they had aged forty years in a single weekend. Their eyes were hollow, their skin a shade of grey that defied biological logic.
"Everyone... I'm looking forward to hearing your stories about the training camp..." Kaminari moaned, his voice a ghostly rasp.
"Don't say that!" Midoriya stammered, trying to be the anchor of optimism. "We don't know for sure yet! There might be a last-minute twist!"
"Midoriya," Ashido whimpered, her head slumped on her desk. "Once you fail the practical, you fail the exam. We didn't even get to the escape gate. We're stuck here in remedial hell while you guys are off playing in the woods. It's over. My summer is a wasteland."
Sato and Kirishima weren't faring much better. They sat in a stupor, the memory of Cementoss's infinite walls still haunting their tactical nightmares. Even Sero looked dejected, his head propped up by a bandaged hand.
"When the bell rings, be in your seats," a cold, gravelly voice echoed.
Aizawa-sensei shuffled into the room, his eyes scanning the carnage of morale before him. He dropped a thick stack of manila folders onto the podium with a thud that sounded like a hammer on a coffin.
"Morning," he said, sounding like he hadn't slept since the Quirk Dawn. "Regarding the final exams... unfortunately, there were those who failed. Therefore..."
Kaminari and Ashido squeezed their eyes shut, bracing for the impact.
"Everyone is going to the training camp!"
The silence that followed lasted for exactly one second before the room exploded into a cacophony of confusion and screeching joy.
"ALAST MINUTE TWIST?!" Kaminari and Ashido screamed, their tears of despair turning into fountains of comedic relief. They hugged each other, jumping up and down like they'd just won the lottery.
"Wait, Sensei!" Iida stood up, his arm chopping the air with mechanical precision. "You told us that those who failed the practical would be forced to stay behind for remedial lessons! Was that a 'rational deception'?"
Aizawa's eyes flickered to Sherlock, who was leaning back in his chair with an unreadable expression. "Not entirely. The failures were real. Sato, Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido, and Sero... you all failed."
The five of them froze mid-celebration.
"The school's logic is simple," Aizawa continued, a thin, predatory smile appearing on his face. "In a real fight against villains, failing doesn't just mean a bad grade—it means you're dead. However, for this training camp, we need everyone to get stronger. So, you're coming. But..."
He paused, and the air in the room suddenly turned ice-cold.
"The ones who failed will be doing remedial lessons at the camp. While the others are resting or eating, you'll be in the pits of hell, pushing your Quirks and your brains until you vomit. It will be much harder than staying here."
Kaminari and Ashido paled, their joy instantly replaced by a different kind of dread
Sherlock smirked. Optimization through suffering. Typical UA logic.
Sherlock , watching the chaos unfold. He looked at the folders on Aizawa's desk. He had already calculated this outcome. UA was an institution of growth; leaving the weakest links behind during a crucial training camp would be a systemic failure.
Momo leaned over toward him, her voice a hushed whisper. "You don't seem surprised, Sherlock-kun."
"The logistics of leaving five students behind while the rest of the faculty is at the camp would be a nightmare, Yaoyorozu-san," Sherlock replied, his emerald eyes tracking Aizawa's movements. "It's more efficient to bring the failures along and use the forest as a high-pressure crucible. It's not a reward; it's a focused correction of their variables."
"Still," Momo said, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm glad they're coming. It wouldn't feel like Class 1-A without them."
Aizawa cleared his throat, silencing the room. "The camp is meant to be a secret. Do not post about it on social media. Do not tell people outside your immediate family the location. The safety of the staff and students depends on the obscurity of the coordinates."
As the class began to chatter excitedly about the shopping trip, Sherlock remained seated for a moment, staring at his hands. He thought of the "100 Sheets of Blast" he had used against Aizawa—a mere fraction of his potential.
The remedial class wasn't just for the ones who failed the practical. In Sherlock's mind, they were all in a remedial state until they could face a villain without the safety net of a teacher.
"Sherlock-kun?" Momo's voice broke his train of thought. She was standing by his desk, her bag clutched to her chest. "The group is leaving for the mall in the Kiyashi Ward in twenty minutes. Will you be joining us?"
Sherlock stood up, sliding his deck of cards into his tactical pouch. "I suppose I have a few gaps in my inventory that require filling. Let's go, Yaoyorozu-san."
To prepare for the camp, the class decided to head to the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall. The atmosphere was light, a rare moment of normalcy for teenagers who had spent the year fighting for their lives.
As they entered the massive, multi-storied complex, the public's reaction was immediate.
"Look! It's the UA students!"
"The ones from the Sports Festival!"
"Hey, isn't that the kid who uses the paper cards?
Sherlock, feeling the weight of the gazes. He didn't enjoy the attention; it felt like being a specimen under a microscope.
Momo walked beside him, her eyes bright as she looked at the directory. She had been planning this all morning. "Sherlock-kun, I heard there is a specialized outdoor shop on the fourth floor that carries high-density tactical gear. Perhaps we could look at the—"
"Hey, Yaoyorozu! Come with us!" Ashido suddenly grabbed Momo's arm, pulling her toward a clothing store. "We need to find cute swimsuits for the camp! Come on, Hagakure, Jiro!"
"Wait! I was... Sherlock-kun!" Momo called out as she was dragged away, her face a mask of tragic disappointment.
Sherlock watched her go, a small, amused huff escaping him. "It seems the social variables have taken precedence over the tactical ones."
Soon, the group dispersed into different directions. Within minutes, only two people remained standing in the central atrium: Izuku Midoriya and Sherlock Sheets.
"Well," Midoriya said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I guess it's just us, Sheets-kun. I need to find some heavy-duty hiking boots. What about you?"
"I require a specific brand of specialized adhesive tape for my card-storage units," Sherlock replied. "And perhaps some high wrist and legs weights. Let's proceed."
● THE SHADOW IN THE LIGHT
The mall was crowded, a sea of faceless shoppers. As Sherlock and Midoriya walked toward the escalator, a tall figure in a heavy black hoodie drifted through the crowd toward them.
The person seemed to stumble, leaning into them. A pale, scarred hand reached out, wrapping its long fingers around Midoriya's neck. Simultaneously, the other hand reached for Sherlock's shoulder, but the Paper Magician's instincts flared. Sherlock stepped back, his hand darting to his sleeve, but he froze when he saw the grip on Midoriya's throat.
"Don't move," a raspy, dry voice whispered. "If you try to use your Quirk, or even make a sound... I'll crumble his neck into dust. Four fingers are down. One more, and he's gone."
Midoriya turned pale, his breath hitching. Sherlock's eyes locked onto the face beneath the hood. It was Tomura Shigaraki. The skin was cracked, his lips pulled into a grotesque, thin smile, and his eyes—red and hollow—were filled with a nihilistic void.
"Tomura... Shigaraki," Sherlock whispered, his voice cold. He didn't reach for his cards. He knew the math. At this range, even the Paper Magician wasn't fast enough to stop the decay if the villain decided to close his hand.
"Ah... the Magician," Shigaraki rasped, his eyes flicking to Sherlock. "The boy who thinks he can calculate the world. And the brat who thinks he can save it. What a wonderful coincidence."
He led them toward a nearby bench, looking like three friends sharing a quiet conversation.
"What do you want?" Midoriya asked, his voice trembling but remarkably steady.
"I just wanted to talk," Shigaraki said, his grip tightening just enough to be felt. "I'm frustrated. The Hero Killer... everyone is talking about him. Why? He and I did the same thing. We both destroyed what we hated. But everyone looks at him with awe, and they look at me like a common thug. What's the difference?"
Sherlock watched Shigaraki's hands. He was looking for a weakness, a lapse in concentration, but the villain was completely focused on his own hatred.
"The difference," Sherlock said quietly, "is conviction. Stain had a philosophy, however warped. You? You just want to break the toys you aren't allowed to play with. You're a child with a god-complex and a Quirk that rewards your tantrums."
Shigaraki's eyes flared with a murderous red light. His fifth finger twitched. "A child? Is that what your math tells you? Maybe I should show you how 'childish' I can be."
"Stop!" Midoriya hissed. "Don't... don't do it here. There are so many people."
Shigaraki let out a dry, rattling laugh. "Exactly. So many people. All smiling, all trusting the 'Heroes' to protect them. It makes me sick. But you know... I think I understand now. The problem isn't the Hero Killer. It's All Might. As long as that smiling trash exists, people will stay weak. My mission is simple: I'm going to destroy the smile."
He slowly released his grip, his hands retreating into his pockets. He stood up, looking down at the two students.
Shigaraki turned and vanished into the crowd, his black hoodie swallowed by the sea of people.
● THE REPORT AND THE RECKONING
The both informed the police then Sherlock and Midoriya were taken to a private room for questioning. Detective Tsukauchi was there, looking grim as he took their statements.
"He didn't hurt you?" Tsukauchi asked, his eyes moving between the two boys.
"No," Midoriya said, his hands still shaking. "He just... he wanted to talk."
Sherlock sat in the corner, his gaze fixed on a point on the wall. His mind was running through the encounter a thousand times, analyzing every twitch of Shigaraki's fingers.
"We're aware," Tsukauchi said, sighing. "But we can't stop the education of the students. We'll be increasing security, but keep your guard up."
As they were escorted out, they met the rest of the class. Momo rushed toward them, her face pale with worry.
"Sherlock-kun! Midoriya-san! We heard what happened! Are you alright?"
Sherlock looked at her, and for a moment, the clinical coldness in his eyes softened. "We're alive, Momo. But the peace we had... it's officially reached its expiration date."
Far away, in a hidden bar shrouded in shadows, the air was thick with the scent of cheap liquor and something far more ancient.
Tomura Shigaraki sat at the bar, his fingers scratching at his neck until it bled. "Sensei was right," he muttered. " the Brat.... If I break them, I break the future."
In the corner, a massive, television screen crackled to life. A voice—deep, distorted, and radiating a terrifying authority—filled the room.
In the shadows, a group of figures stood waiting. A girl with a crazed grin and a syringe of blood. A man in a scarred, purple suit. A towering monster made of muscle.
tension is at an all-time high, the villains are moving, and Sherlock is more focused than ever.
_________________________________________
I have decide the topic for my new Mha Fanfic it will release Tomorrow on 9 feb
If anyone wants to read The paper magician chapter in advance please tell it will cost 2 dollars you will get 5 advance chapter
Thank you
IamOne