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"You know Mr. Eraserhead, I find you to be a very...intriguing man." There was a look of amusement. One that Shōta could have gone years without seeing. "...Why must you be so damn rude, Mr. Eraserhead?"
Shōta gave the man before him a distasteful look, "Oh, I don't know...maybe it's due to the fact that I'm being bled out dry on the clock." He snarked at the man.
As per usual, it was a bad move on his end. He barely had enough time to blink before being bashed in the head with a blunt object. Blood began to roll in thin lines down the side of his face; dripping from his chin to his chest. The object struck him a few more times — the last blow nearly causing him to blackout.
"You must really want to die, Eraserhead."
'You wouldn't know the half of it...' Shōta thought to himself sarcastically. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He raised his head slightly, locking eyes with the man who had brutally beaten him.
A man who was angry with the world.
An anger that Shōta would never come to understand.
"Alas, that won't be happening. Not yet."
Unenthusiastically, he watched as the man walked away from him. It looked as if he were thinking deeply on something. Shōta clicked his tongue and looked towards the door.
There stood a man much larger than himself. He looked to be closer to the height of former number one Pro-Hero All Might. From head to toe, he was covered in fur and had the features of a grizzly bear. For the life of him, he couldn't recall the name of the man; he was sure he heard it several times.
Then again, he couldn't even remember the names of his torturers. And they came in almost everyday. He figured it was from being hit in the head far too many times.
"Isao."
'Oh, yeah. That's his name, Harima Isao. Gotta remember that when I wrap my capture weapon around his neck.' Shōta smirked at his thought and lazily watched as Isao approached the other man. They were speaking with one another, whispering; not wanting him to hear. It didn't matter much to him. He didn't care what they had to say to one another.
"...Well, seems our session must be cut short." Isao sighed and turned sharply on his heel. He frowned at the injured Pro-Hero before him, "Mr. Eraserhead you will have to excuse me. I have other matters that needs addressing. Again, I do apologize."
Shōta snorted and rolled his eyes as the man bowed. "Right...four hours is super short..." He grumbled to himself.
He was extremely relieved that his body was allowed a moment to breath. However, he was concerned as to where Isao was going and what he was about to do.
"My dear boy, Maze will come back to check on you." Isao started towards the open door and pointed towards the larger man. "I'll leave the lights on for now."
'As if you're doing me a favor. Right...' He rolled his eyes once again, listening as the door closed lightly.
At least the man had the decency to not slam the door.
Shōta craned his neck upwards, staring at the chains that bound his wrist together. He gripped one with his right hand and attempted to pull himself up. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Just following what his body wanted to do; which was to get loose from the chains.
Something he wouldn't argue with — even if he could.
He breathed in through his nostrils, his face contorting from the pain running along his left side. 'Ignore the shit. It'll be worth it in the long run...' He told himself quietly and continued to pull himself upwards. His teeth were clenched and his eyes shut tightly as he struggled.
"Ahhhh....!!!" Shōta released his grip on the chain. It caused him to start swinging from side to side. At that point he could feel the strain on his arms. He inhaled sharply and hung his head low.
Unable to handle the pain, his body decided that rest was the best thing possible. As uncomfortable as he was, he still managed to fall asleep in his position; hanging from the ceiling.
Groggily, Shōta began to awaken; his eyes peeling open slowly. He could still feel the pain from earlier. Taking note of the bright lights above — he shut his eyes immediately; not wanting to worsen his headache.
A groan escaped him as he fell into thought. '...You've really done it now, Shōta. If I don't lose my job this time, I'm hanging myself.' He thought sourly to himself.
He was sure this was his biggest screw yet. As if having one student kidnapped wasn't enough, the entire class including himself had to get kidnapped. On top of that, tortured.
At least he was the one getting tortured. Or so he hoped.
'Scrap that, kill these pieces of shit first and then hang myself. Murder-suicide. Classic...' He snorted to himself and gritted his teeth tightly. A sharp pain running through his side.
His thoughts began to drift to the events of earlier. He survived yet another torture session, which lasted at least four hours. One hour was spent breaking the bones in his left arm. Another was spent bashing him in his head. The final two hours involved thin layers of his skin being carved off. They managed to carve in deep — he was still bleeding from it.
'...I wonder if I'll just die here.' It was a bitter question he asked himself and he snorted once again; a crooked grin spreading across his face. Part of him really wished he would just die there but, he knew he had a job to do. His was to protect those kids at all cost and if being alive did the trick — then he would gladly suffer in their stead.
"...Could've at least turned the light off, right?"
Shōta jolted violently, finding himself caught off guard and completely startled. He groaned from the pain he caused himself and hung his head low. His chin was pressed tightly against his chest. '...That voice...Shirakumo...?' A halfhearted laugh escaped him and he shook his head. 'Must be going crazy already if I think Shirakumo is here...'
"Or maybe I am here."
"...Shut the hell up," Shōta grumbled and lifted his head up, his eyes squinted in the light. "I know you're just in my head. So I don't wanna hear a damn word from you."
"But you do."
Annoyed, Shōta shook his head and stared at the teenager across from him. Much to his shock it was his old high school friend, Shirakumo Oboro. He was wearing his hero costume, his blue gi with a black belt and a brown aviator jacket with his hero name stitched into the front of the right side. On his hip was his gourd speaker; it showed wear and tear.
The same wear and tear that Shōta remember fifteen years back.
"I know you don't really want to die, Shōta."
Shōta found himself pulled away from his darkest memories. He blinked at his longtime friend and frowned, "What would you know. You aren't real."
"Yeah, you're right. I'm not real." Oboro stated happily with a smile wide across his face. He raised his arms up and folded them behind his head, "I'm just a figment of your imagination. Created by you so you could cope better."
Shōta raised an eyebrow at the white haired teenager. "A hallucination that's truthful...nice."
"Only if you stay truthful to yourself." Oboro shot back at him quickly, flashing a smirk at him. "Keep on going Shōta and don't stop. These kids need you."
"...I know..." He grumbled weakly and hung his head low. "I know they need me..."
Oboro nodded, "That's right. And it isn't just class A but, Shinsō and Eri. They need more than you think they do." His smirk fell from his face, "Stop selling yourself short, Shōta."
"But...I—"
"So what, you failed a few times before! It's all apart of being a hero. No pain, no gain. You did it at USJ, so why not here? Show these idiots what you're made of." Oboro removed his arms from behind his head. He leaned against the wall as he smiled at Shōta.
"Hmph..." He found himself thinking back on the beginning of the school year. It was a wonder that he even survived taking on so many villains at once. Also a miracle that he could still walk after having almost every bone in his body broken. He didn't even want to think about how badly his eyes could have been damaged compared to what they actually sustained. "...Do you think Hizashi will notice?"
"Yes." Oboro answered quickly, "Anything you think will happen, I think will happen. It's how this whole thing works Shōta."
"Smartass...but," Shōta paused for a moment, "You aren't lying."
Oboro nodded, "If I were, that'd mean you're lying to yourself."
Silence had fallen between them. It was calming. Giving Shōta a moments rest — he found himself falling back into his thoughts.
"...You won't leave me right, Shirakumo?"
It was a pathetic question to ask. Knowing that this was all in his mind. That he imagined his deceased friend was there with him and comforting him. Even so, he didn't want him to leave. To disappear and be gone once again.
"Keeping thinking hard enough and I won't leave you." Oboro pushed away from the wall and started towards Shōta. "Remember back in our second year at U.A. when you found that kitten?"
"Yeah...I left the umbrella for her..."
"Yes! That's it. Remember when you said you're no All Might?" Oboro pressed as a smile appeared on his face.
"I do..."
Oboro reached a hand out and patted his shoulder lightly. It felt so real to him. "Well...you might not be All Might but, that was a heroic thing you did. You gave it your umbrella and walked all the way to school in the rain. And while you didn't take the kitten with you, you still did something good." Shōta nodded weakly. "Plus, all that stuff you did at U.S.J? That was All Might level stuff right there. Remember what you said to Midoriya?"
"No good hero is a one trick pony."
"That's it! And what did you do?"
"Showed 'em that even as a stealth hero...I could hold my own against large numbers..."
"That's it, Shōta. That's it. Right there," Oboro raised his opposite hand and placed it on Shōta's shoulder, "That was it. You don't need me anymore. You can do this. You're THE Erasure Hero, Eraserhead."
Shōta nodded, a smile spreading across his face as he looked Oboro in the eyes. It reminded him of when he took down his first major villain and the very day his best friend died. Even if it was just all in his head — he was glad that he imagined Oboro saying those things. He couldn't imagine those sort of encouraging words coming from anyone else.
"...Thanks, Oboro. I..." He paused for a moment. His vision blurring as he fought the tears, "I needed that. I really did. Even if it's all in my head..."
Shōta blinked away his tears and once he did — Oboro was gone. It saddened him that his source of comfort had to leave. The most saddening thing of all was that none of it was real; he was all alone in that room.
All alone, talking to himself. It was ironic — he never minded being alone. However this loneliness was different. It was so much heavier.
At least it had been. After getting everything out — he felt renewed.
He sighed as he closed his eyes. 'I can do this...I'll survive this. And so will those kids of mines.' He laughed to himself; feeling far more content that he was earlier. Much more lighter.