MHA: Mortal Kombat System

The silence in Room 3C stretched longer than it should have. The air was heavy, charged not just with electricity but tension. Reiji met Aizawa's gaze, unwavering despite the current flickering at the edge of his gloves. Each small arc crackled faintly beneath the surface of the material, whispering the truth Reiji was trying to bury. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, a warning of the power simmering within.

The lights above hummed faintly, the only sound accompanying the charged atmosphere. Dust drifted through the still air, adding to the weight of the moment. It was the kind of silence that demanded answers.

"I'm waiting," Aizawa said, arms still crossed, his eyes narrowing slightly. His tone was low, unreadable, but it pressed down like a stone. Reiji had been on the receiving end of Aizawa's scrutiny before, but never like this.

Reiji took a slow breath. Keep it grounded. Partial truth. Enough to pass. But don't give him reason to dig further.

"There was a shift during the school festival," Reiji finally said. "My quirk... reacted strangely. I don't know if it was from stress or adrenaline, but I started experiencing a new flow—something like internal lightning."

Aizawa's expression didn't change, but the room suddenly felt colder, like the warmth had been drained by suspicion. His eyes remained fixed on Reiji, sharp as a blade.

"Is that what caused the discharge with Sero?"

Reiji nodded. "It's hard to regulate. The gloves help with suppression. Without them, I might lose control again."

He wasn't entirely lying, but he knew the system wouldn't like this vulnerability.

[System Notice: Deviation Detected – Narrative Stability Acceptable]

Aizawa remained quiet for a long moment. Then he walked slowly toward the desk, placing his hand flat on the surface as if weighing the tension with his palm.

"You should have reported this the moment it started."

"I wasn't sure what was happening," Reiji answered truthfully. "And I wasn't trying to hide anything dangerous. I just wanted time to understand it myself."

Aizawa's eyes narrowed further. "If you lose control again, I'll remove you from fieldwork. Understood?"

Reiji nodded. "Yes, Sensei."

"Fine," Aizawa said finally. "You can proceed with the internship. But if I even suspect you're becoming a threat—to yourself or others—I'll shut it down personally."

Reiji stood and bowed slightly. "Understood."

As he turned to leave, Aizawa's voice stopped him.

"One more thing."

Reiji turned back.

"Don't lie to me again."

Reiji froze for half a second, then gave a subtle nod before stepping out, the door shutting behind him with a soft, echoing click. The hallway felt a degree lighter, but the pressure inside his chest remained. A chill lingered beneath the collar of his uniform.

Later that evening, Midoriya paced in a corner of the dorm's common room, a half-filled notebook in hand. The pages were covered in diagrams, timelines, and quirk analyses, with Reiji's name underlined in red ink. He tapped his pen against the cover, brows furrowed.

Uraraka walked up behind him, glancing at the scribbled lightning diagrams. "Still thinking about Reiji?"

Midoriya nodded. "Something doesn't sit right. That energy he used with Sero—it didn't feel unstable. It felt... precise. Controlled."

"You think he's hiding something?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "But it wasn't a normal slip-up. He's changed since the festival. I'm worried it's not for the better."

Uraraka sat beside him, frowning thoughtfully. "You know him better than most. But maybe he's just dealing with something privately. You've been through changes too, right?"

Midoriya nodded reluctantly. "Yeah... but the difference is, I asked for help when it got too much. Reiji's closing himself off."

He stared at a sketch of Reiji's lightning arc. "It reminded me of when I lost control of One For All, but more... focused. It was like he meant to do it."

He closed the notebook slowly. "I'm not going to accuse him. But I'm going to keep watching."

Three days later, Reiji stood alone outside Room B-7.

Unlike the vibrant hero agency setups other students attended, this wing of the school felt abandoned. The hallway lights buzzed overhead, casting dim shadows on cracked tiles. Dust clung to the corners of the corridor, untouched. The air smelled faintly of old paper and stale metal.

Reiji's footsteps echoed as he approached the door. The silence was oppressive, wrapping around him like a coil. Every instinct told him this wasn't normal. No hero agency sent invitations like this.

He checked his system.

[Internship Location Confirmed: Room B-7 – Entry Now Permitted]

He hesitated. No hero name, no public identity. What kind of agency is this?

The door bore no plaque, no agency logo. It looked more like a storage room than a place to meet a pro hero. His fingers brushed the seam of his gloves, instinctively checking for a static buildup. The system was quiet—too quiet.

As he raised his hand to knock, he noticed a soft, almost imperceptible hum. A static pulse—faint, but present—emanating from inside. It wasn't his. Someone, or something, was in there.

He knocked once. The sound echoed unnaturally loud down the hallway, like it had been amplified by the silence itself.

The door creaked open slowly on its own, as if pushed by an unseen hand.

Reiji stepped forward, cautiously scanning the dim room. The lighting inside was lower than the hallway—only a single bulb swung faintly above, casting shifting shadows that danced across the walls.

Dust motes floated in the air. There were no chairs, no banners, no paperwork—none of the formalities other agencies displayed. It didn't feel like a meeting. It felt like a trap.

His body tensed. Instinctively, his posture lowered, eyes darting to every corner. His breath caught slightly as his foot instinctively shifted back.

A voice came from within, smooth and low: "We've been waiting for you, Reiji Carter."

He froze, eyes adjusting.

A figure stepped from the shadows. Cloaked, face partially hidden beneath a low hood. An armband was visible on their left sleeve—faint, but unmistakable. The symbol of the Meta Liberation Front.

Reiji's eyes widened as his mind raced. His pulse spiked. This isn't a hero agency.

The figure tilted their head. "You were never meant to blend in with them. You're meant to rise above."

The room, the mission, the so-called 'invitation'—it all clicked. Someone had orchestrated this. Not as an offer. As a test.

Reiji's fists clenched slowly. Fear mixed with anger. "Who are you really?" he asked, voice low.

The figure didn't answer.

To be continued.

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