The Surgery
Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes as he carefully maneuvered a scalpel. The blade gleamed ominously, tainted with the crimson of his own blood. He had lied to Orochi about so many things.
The drugs he had injected to numb the pain only dulled it; the sharp, agonizing stabs of every cut and incision still reverberated through his body. He felt every moment of it.
The healing drugs he was using were barely effective, closing wounds with rough scar tissue rather than facilitating proper regeneration.
The stimulants that kept him awake for the grueling, two-day-long surgery were only partially effective, leaving him in a fog of sleep deprivation that blurred his vision and clouded his thoughts.
Twice already, his heart had faltered, the beeping of the monitor slowing to a terrifying rhythm that signaled the approach of death. Each time, he had managed to claw his way back, using a combination of sheer willpower and adrenaline shots to kickstart his failing heart.
Hiro's breathing was ragged, each inhalation a struggle as he fought against the mounting exhaustion. His hands shook uncontrollably as he worked, trying to piece himself back together, trying to restore the quirk that had been stolen from him. He knew the risks. The isolation chamber was not just for keeping him safe; it was a last resort, a containment unit designed to prevent any potential catastrophe. If he died and his quirk malfunctioned, it could release a cocktail of volatile drugs into the air, a deadly miasma that could endanger anyone nearby.
He knew that if he failed, if his heart stopped for good, this chamber would be his coffin.
He had just made a particularly deep incision when a wave of dizziness hit him. The world spun, and he had to grip the edge of the operating table to steady himself. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw double. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that radiated from every nerve ending. He bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood, using the sharp taste to ground himself.
With a shaking hand, he reached for another piece of equipment, a crude electrode device that he had rigged together from spare parts. His fingers fumbled, and he nearly dropped it. A curse slipped from his lips, a low, guttural sound of frustration and fear.
His mind was a whirl of plans and memories of anatomy lessons. He was cutting through his own flesh, reaching for the core of his being, trying to reawaken the dormant power within him.
He paused, his vision swimming, and forced himself to look at the monitors. His heart rate was spiking, his blood pressure dangerously low. Time for more stimulants and healing enhancers. His body convulsed, a violent shudder that wracked his frame.
Hiro's breaths came in ragged gasps as he prepared for the next phase of his self-surgery. He reached for the container that held the restored quirk, and prepared the pseudo-automatic assistance units.
These robotic limbs, equipped with various surgical instruments, descended toward him with an almost sentient precision. Controlled by a neural interface, they moved in response to his thoughts. More or less.
Hiro lay back, exposed and vulnerable, as the mechanical arms hovered over his body, poised for the delicate task of grafting the tissue samples imbued with his restored quirk onto his central nervous system.
The first incision was made by a scalpel-tipped arm, slicing through his skin with surgical accuracy. Hiro winced as the pain radiated through him, the numbing agents doing little to quell the sensation. He bit down hard again, tasting blood, as the next arm peeled back layers of muscle and tissue to reveal the intricate network of nerves beneath.
A claw-like appendage carefully positioned the tissue samples over the exposed nerves. Another arm, equipped with a micro-needle, began the painstaking process of stitching the samples into place, binding them to his nervous system with fine, almost invisible threads.
His vision blurred, dark spots dancing before his eyes as he fought to stay conscious. He could feel every thread, every cut, every connection being made, his nerves alight with burning pain.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the silence of the chamber. The beeping of the monitor was a distant, fading rhythm.
After the last thread was stitched into place the robotic arms retracted, leaving him lying on the table.
But as he lay there, his vision darkening, he found himself suddenly elsewhere. The isolation chamber vanished, replaced by an endless, pitch-black expanse. The darkness was so pervasive that it was impossible to tell where the ground ended and the sky began. He felt weightless, disoriented, as if floating in a void.
The ground beneath him was a featureless, black surface that offered no texture or detail. It was as if he was standing on nothing, an endless abyss that stretched out in all directions. He took a step forward, but the ground gave no indication of movement, no sense of direction or distance.
Brief glimpses of figures or faces flickered at the edge of his vision, vanishing when he tried to approach them.
Paranoia gnawed at him, a sense of being watched by unseen eyes.
Shadows moved and shifted, always just out of sight.
The silence was so complete that it felt like a physical presence, amplifying the slightest internal sounds—his heartbeat, his breathing. Each breath, each thud of his heart, echoed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence, creating a feedback loop of noise from his own mind.
He looked into the darkness, and a sensation of vertigo overwhelmed him, as if he were standing on the edge of a bottomless pit. His stomach churned, and he fought the urge to scream, the sound swallowed by the void.
This feeling of being drawn in, as if the darkness itself was pulling at him, kept increasing the more he looked at any given point of that abyss.
A voice cut through the blackness, familiar and grounding.
“Hiro.”
He turned, his heart leaping at the sight before him. Standing there, bathed in an ethereal light that seemed to push back the darkness, was his late teacher, Masanori Kitsmira, known to the world as the hero Hijack. The sight of him brought a rush of emotions—grief, relief, confusion.
“Sensei...?” Hiro’s voice trembled, his mind reeling with questions. But before he could speak further, Hijack raised a hand, his expression urgent.
“There’s little time, Hiro,” Hijack began, his voice steady and commanding. “Your consciousness has somehow entered Sandatsu’s inner world. Likely because he stole your quirk but you managed to survive.”
Hiro’s mind raced. “Sensei, what do you mean? How are you here?”
Hijack smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “When Sandatsu took my quirk, he was inexperienced. My specialty was manipulating quirks, and I managed to hide a fragment of myself away. It’s this fragment you’re speaking with now.”
“But why—”
Hijack interrupted, his tone softening. "You look like a mess. I can more or less guess what you've done to yourself." His eyes bore into Hiro’s, stern yet filled with concern.
“I didn’t know what else to do, Sensei. I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”
Hijack chuckled. "I know. You kids are all determined, even if your methods are foolhardy.”
the teacher's vestige sighed, shaking his head slightly. "You’re brave, Hiro. Sometimes too brave for your own good. Still, I guess taking risks like this comes with the territory of being a genius, right?
Hiro looked up at him.
"I really hope you avoid risks like this in the future. But either way, I’m proud of you. With or without a quirk, I always thought you'd make a fine hero."
Hijack smiled, a bittersweet expression on his face. "An that goes for your classmates too. I’m proud of all of you. I wish I could have done more, been there longer. But I’m glad I got to teach you, even if it was for a short time." He chuckled. "I really was a half-assed teacher, wasn't I?"
Before Hiro could speak up, Hijack's form began to slowly fall apart. "Listen Hiro, we don't have much time. I need your help. This... fragment of me is all that remains. I have one last request, my true final task as your teacher.”
“What is it, Sensei?”
Hijack’s expression hardened, his voice firm. “You must kill Sandatsu Owari. Relay this message to the other heroes, to your classmates. He’s too dangerous to be left unchecked. The only way to stop him is to end him, permanently.”
Hiro felt a chill run down his spine at the gravity of the request. “Kill him...” He had considered the idea of personal revenge, of course. But both the idea of besting the villain, and taking a life, still felt out of place in Hiro's mind.
Hiro swallowed hard, the weight of the task settling on his shoulders. "Is there really no other way?"
"No. Because-"
Outside the isolation chamber, Orochi sat on the cold floor, her back against the wall. She had been waiting there for the entire duration of Hiro’s surgery, the anxiety gnawing at her. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, and she was just starting to doze off when the sound of the door unlocking jolted her awake.
Her heart raced as she stood up, eyes fixed on the door. She looked inside. There, on the operation table, was Hiro, looking exhausted but alive. Relief flooded through her as she stepped forward.
"The surgery is done," Hiro said, his voice hoarse but steady.
Orochi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her eyes filling with tears of relief. "You’re alive."
Hiro nodded, giving her a weak smile. "Yeah. I’m alive."
Orochi carefully helped Hiro onto a wheelchair, her hands gentle yet firm. Hiro winced slightly at the movement, but managed a small smile. "I still can't get used to seeing you with red hair," he said, his voice tinged with fatigue. "I almost mistook you for Rosethorn-sensei."
Orochi chuckled, shaking her head.
Hiro sighed, his eyes drifting to the various medical equipment scattered around the room. "You know, now that the surgery is done, I really want to study your awakened quirk. It's fascinating, and I think we could—"
"No way," Orochi interrupted firmly, crossing her arms. "You need to recover first. You've just put yourself through hell and back. The research can wait. No more work for now, you damn workaholic."
After a moment of silence, Hiro looked up at Orochi, his expression more serious. "I saw Hijack-sensei."
Orochi's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and concern flashing across her face. "What do you mean?"
Hiro took a deep breath, recounting the conversation he'd had with the vestige of his late teacher. "He told me we have to kill Sandatsu."
"Not really surprised about that. There's probably already a few people planning that, even in out class."
"And there was something else... something he said that’s been bothering me."
"Hm?"
"He said Sandatsu isn’t human."
He glanced up at Orochi, managing a tired smile. "Now comes the hardest part of this whole thing."
Orochi raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Cutting yourself open wasn’t the hard part?"
Hiro shook his head, his expression serious. "No, because now I have to tell the others."
Inigo was the first to break the silence inside the lab. "I can't believe you actually did it, Hiro. Restored your quirk. That's some badass stuff right there! El Capo is back, baby!"
Nene stepped forward, her eyes scanning Hiro's tired face. "Hiro, you look terrible. You must’ve gone through hell to pull this off."
Yui nodded. "You're crazy, you know that? But... respect."
"But hey, don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone about this. Your secret’s safe with us." said Inigo, with Gigan letting out a chirp while perched on his shoulder.
Hiro shook his head, his voice firm. "dude, why would I keep this a secret. I'm going to tell everyone. Given the dire situation, we can’t afford to hide anything. I want to help."
Inigo blinked, surprised. "Wait, seriously? You're going to tell them?"
Hiro nodded, his expression resolute. "Yes. It’s not the time for secrets. Sharing information is key. The more people know, the better prepared we’ll be."
Yui leaned against a nearby table, folding her arms. "So, have you actually tried out your restored quirk yet?"
Hiro nodded slowly. "Yeah, I've produced some painkillers internally. Otherwise, I wouldn't even be able to stand here and talk to you guys. Anyway, space, I need to get changed before I talk to the principal. I'll talk to you after I'm done."
Hiro dismissed his classmates.
Nene, already at the door with Yui, called back, "Take care, Hiro! Let us know how it goes with the principal!"
"Yeah, keep us posted!" Orochi added before they left the room. The girls left off with Nene talking about how sad it was that team "white hair girls" had lost a member, seeing Orochi's new look.
Hiro waved them off, then turned to Inigo. "Dude? I need to get changed."
"Oh don't mind me man."
Hiro sighed, making his way until a room divider was between him and the dragon boy.
But seriously, I'm glad you're sticking around. We need all the help we can get."
Hiro shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, yeah, pass me my gym bag, will you?"
Inigo grabbed the bag and tossed it over. As Hiro changed his shirt, Inigo caught a glimpse of his scarred back. It was more scar tissue than skin, with some wounds still not fully healed. A drop of blood oozed from a particularly large cut, held together by surgical staples and bits of scar tissue.
Inigo hesitated for a moment, then spoke up. "Hey, Hiro... Are you sure you're okay?"
Hiro finished changing and zipped up his bag. He turned to Inigo with a weary smile. "I'm as okay as I can be, considering. Just need to see this through."
Inigo nodded slowly, concern etched on his face. "Alright, man. Let's get you to the principal."
As they walked out of the lab, Hiro couldn't shake the nervous feeling gnawing at him.
The truth was, he hadn't tried using his restored quirk yet.
He was scared—scared of finding out if the procedure had worked, scared of facing the consequences if it hadn't. Deep down, he feared that he had put himself through all that pain and risk for nothing. He feared having overestimated himself and his genius. And most of all he feared being dead weight.