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Chapter 112: The Key of Silence
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 23:11:15 +0000 UTCIn the observation room, the silence that followed Ochako and Toru’s victory was thick, heavy with an almost fearful admiration. The replay on the giant screen showed the cage of pipes suspended in the air, a testament to improvised engineering and sheer audacity. The image froze on the moment Thirteen was trapped, helpless.
“I still can’t believe it,” Kaminari muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. “Uraraka is completely amazing.
“And Hagakure,” Kirishima added, genuine respect in his voice. “She didn’t just hide. She created distractions, used the pipes as projectiles… She tricked a pro hero! That was incredibly manly!”
“It’s not just power,” said Todoroki, his voice a cool murmur that nonetheless captured the attention of everyone nearby. “It’s control. Uraraka isn’t just using her Quirk; she’s mastering it. She’s gone from a rescue specialist to a formidable combat force. Her growth is exponential.”
“It’s just cheap tricks!” Bakugo snapped, jumping to his feet. His chair scraped sharply against the floor. “That Round Face just got lucky that Thirteen couldn’t move! Any idiot could’ve done that!”
His words aimed for contempt, but his eyes betrayed a fury born not of disdain, but of a wounded competitive spirit. Watching his classmates reach new heights of power and strategy without him was eating him up inside.
“THE NEXT BATTLE IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!” All Might’s voice boomed from the speakers, cutting off any debate. “IZUKU MIDORIYA AND MOMO YAOYOROZU, TO THE PREP AREA!”
A new kind of tension settled over the room. All eyes turned to the pair as they rose from their seats.
“This is going to be tough,” Sero commented, running a hand through his hair. “Aizawa-sensei is their perfect counter. What can they do if they can’t use their Quirks? Their fighting styles depend entirely on them.”
“Midoriya has his analysis and his hand-to-hand combat,” Ojiro pointed out, “But will it be enough against an experienced pro like Aizawa?”
“And Yaoyorozu needs time and concentration for her creations,” Jiro chimed in, plugging one of her jacks into the wall to listen better. “Aizawa won’t give her either of those things.”
Izuku and Momo stood up without a word. They looked at each other, and in that shared glance was a universe of silent understanding, the weight of a strategy forged in hours of analysis and preparation.
As they walked down the long, sterile corridor leading to the arena, the echo of their footsteps was the only sound. Momo carefully held the sonic weapon they had designed, a complex-looking device with coils and a parabolic emitter. The enormity of the challenge finally seemed to settle on her shoulders.
“Izuku…” her voice was a barely audible whisper. “I went over all the data from his previous fights. His average reaction time to nullify a Quirk is 0.2 seconds. He’s a pro who specializes in neutralizing people like us. He’ll anticipate our moves.”
He stopped and turned to face her. His expression showed no nervousness, only the calm of a chess player who has already visualized the end of the game.
“I know. And that’s why we’re not going to play his game. Listen, he expects me to be the bait and you to be the support. He expects you to hide and create something big while I distract him. It’s the logical pattern.”
“And… isn’t that what we’re doing?” she asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.
“Yes and no,” Izuku replied. “We’re going to follow that pattern, but our every move will be a lie. The real plan isn’t based on what we do, but on what he thinks we’re doing. You don’t have to beat him, Momo. You just have to make him believe you can’t, that you’re on the ropes. He always goes for the piece he considers the most dangerous or decisive on the board. And today, that piece is you.”
She looked at him, processing his words. The logic was ironclad.
“He wants me to think I’m the queen,” she said, finally understanding.
“And when the hunter gets obsessed with the queen,” Izuku concluded with a faint smile, “he forgets about the other pieces on the board. That’s when we’ll win.”
She nodded, the doubt in her eyes replaced by steely determination. She gripped the sonic weapon tighter, now seeing it not as a tool, but as a disguise.
The testing arena was a replica of a desolate commercial district, with shops sporting broken windows and abandoned cars. Shota Aizawa was waiting for them in the center of the main plaza, standing with his capture weapon waving slightly.
“Thirty minutes,” his monotonous voice was more intimidating than any shout. “Handcuffs or escape. Pick your poison.”
The bell rang, shrill and final.
The instant the sound died, Aizawa vanished, moving through the shadows of the buildings with a predatory fluidity.
“Now, Momo!” Izuku shouted, running to the right to draw attention.
She raised the sonic weapon, aiming at a rooftop where she had sensed a fleeting movement. But before she could even pretend to pull the trigger, Aizawa’s capture weapon shot out from an unforeseen shadow to her left, wrapping around the device with pinpoint accuracy. With a sharp tug, he ripped the weapon from her hands. The device flew through the air and smashed against a wall several meters away, clattering to the ground in a heap of broken plastic and metal. It lay visibly damaged, inert.
In the observation room, Bakugo let out a contemptuous laugh.
“Pathetic! Their only weapon, their big plan, neutralized in the first second! They’re already finished!”
The battle began in earnest. Izuku, fulfilling his role as bait, ran through the center of the street, deliberately making noise. Aizawa landed silently behind him, his red eyes glowing with the power of Erasure. His gaze locked onto Izuku.
“Your analysis Quirk is useless if you have nothing to analyze, problem child.”
The capture weapon shot out, but Izuku slid across the ground, dodging it by millimeters. The perfected agility he had copied from Ochako and the near-precognitive reflexes from Toga moved under his skin like a second nature. Aizawa clicked his tongue, frustrated by the boy’s unexpected skill even without his power.
He switched targets in a split second, lunging toward Momo, who was already backing away to create distance. But Izuku intercepted him, blocking his path and forcing the teacher into a dance of hand-to-hand combat. Aizawa’s punches and kicks were fast, economical, and brutal. Izuku parried, deflected, and dodged, unable to counterattack, entirely on the defensive.
Every time Aizawa blinked to moisten his eyes, Momo seized the sub-second window. Small, purpose-built objects sprang from her hands, designed to interrupt, not to harm. A thin layer of oil suddenly appeared on the ground, forcing Aizawa to adjust his footing. A low-level plastic barrier sprang up, forcing him to leap. A handful of steel ball bearings scattered across the asphalt.
Aizawa overcame them all with insulting ease, but each interrupted creation, each dodge, cost her precious lipids and cost him a fraction of a second of focus.
“They’re not fighting, they’re just running away!” Kaminari complained in the observation room. “They’re just getting slaughtered slowly!”
“No,” Ochako said, her voice firm and filled with absolute confidence. Her hands were clenched into fists. “They’re setting the pace. They’re forcing him to play by their rules without him even realizing it. They’re wearing him down.”
She was right. After ten minutes of relentless harassment, Izuku was panting, multiple bruises marking his arms. Momo, leaning against a wall, looked pale, clearly at her lipid limit. They needed a game-changer, or their war of attrition would consume them first.
Aizawa, believing they were desperate and on the verge of collapse, saw his opening. He lunged for the final blow, momentarily ignoring Momo to focus on incapacitating Izuku. He caught the boy with his capture weapon, pinning his arms and torso against his body.
“It’s over, problem child. You overestimate yourself.”
At that moment of contact, trapped and helpless, Izuku turned his head and looked directly at Momo. And he smiled. It wasn’t a smile of desperation, but a genuine one, full of pride and confidence. It was the signal.
That smile was the spark. Aizawa, seeing the gesture, read exactly what Izuku wanted him to read: a signal for one last, desperate attack. Anticipating a final, massive creation from Momo, he snapped his gaze toward her, his eyes glowing red to erase her Quirk before she could form anything.
But Momo created nothing. Her skin didn’t glow. Instead, she pulled a small remote control from her pocket, one she had discreetly created at the start of the test. Her thumb was already on the single button.
“Checkmate,” she whispered to herself.
She pressed the button.
The broken sonic weapon across the plaza let out a faint beep. It wasn’t the weapon. It was the detonator. And the hundreds of steel ball bearings Momo had been scattering across the entire arena weren’t meant to make him slip. They were sonic resonators.
A low-frequency vibration field, inaudible but physically devastating, was instantly activated. Aizawa, whose fighting style depended on inhuman balance and agility, was hit by an overwhelming wave of vertigo. The world tilted violently. A sudden nausea clouded his judgment. His concentration shattered. For an instant, his Quirk flickered and died.
That instant was all they needed.
His strength restored, Izuku tensed his muscles and broke free from the now-inert capture weapon. He didn’t run to attack his weakened teacher. He ran to the handcuffs Momo had discreetly dropped near an overturned car, snatched them up, and, before Aizawa could recover from the paralyzing dizziness, snapped them onto his wrists with a decisive, metallic click.
The alarm blared, declaring the end of the match.
Aizawa, bracing himself on one knee as the world stopped spinning, looked at the broken weapon, then at the small resonators scattered everywhere, and finally at the two students standing, panting. A genuine smile of respect, a rare sight, formed on his face.
“The weapon… was never the weapon,” he said, his voice devoid of all frustration, replaced by a tone of professional appreciation. “The entire arena was the trap. Well played, you two. Very logical.”
“PROFESSOR AIZAWA HAS BEEN HANDCUFFED! VICTORY GOES TO TEAM MIDORIYA AND YAOYOROZU!”
In the observation room, a second of stunned silence was followed by an explosion of cheers. Ochako and Toru leaped from their seats, screaming in euphoria. Bakugo just clicked his tongue and turned away, refusing to look at the screen and the celebration. The rest of the class erupted in applause, not just for the victory, but for the sheer genius of the strategy.
Izuku and Momo stood in the middle of the arena, breathing hard as the adrenaline left them. They looked at each other, and a smile of pure relief and shared satisfaction spread across their faces. He offered her a hand. She took it, and he helped her stand steady.
The last and most difficult exam was over. And they had won it, not with power, but with intelligence.
