"How long are you going to keep standing there?" the voice said. It was a girl's voice, echoing as if it came from a distant empty space yet also whispering directly into his ear.
The young man standing under the dim streetlamp slowly turned his head. In front of him stood a girl. However, instead of ordinary human facial features, there was a slowly spinning black hole where her face should have been. A miniature singularity that devoured the light around it. Or perhaps that surreal sight was the only reality visible solely to the Young Man.
Yet the young man did not move. He did not shout, nor did he feel afraid. He simply stared in silence at the faint reflection of himself on the edge of that spatial distortion. His signature oversized white shirt fluttered gently every time the cold night wind blew, the excessively long sleeves dangling like a white flag surrendering to gravity.
"What is your name?" the girl asked again, her voice now sounding like a chorus of millions of dying stars.
"Nabiel," he answered flatly. His voice broke the absolute silence in that pocket dimension.
Silence slowly crept back, enveloping the two of them. The streetlamp above Nabiel's head flickered with an irregular rhythm every time a virtual moth landed on its glass bulb, trying to find warmth from the artificial light.
"Why are you standing here?" the black-hole-faced girl asked again. Her tone was not judgmental, only pure cosmic curiosity.
Nabiel's deep black eyes stared blankly ahead. He remained silent for a long time, letting the wind play with his shirt fabric once more.
"..... I do not know."
***
Nabiel slowly opened his eyes.
His vision remained blurry for a few seconds before the familiar ceiling of his room gradually took shape from the shadows. He groaned softly, feeling an unpleasant throbbing in his temples. He raised his right hand and touched his feverish forehead.
Hot. Extremely hot.
He looked down and realized he was still wearing the black three-piece suit from the Yaoyorozu family party the night before. His shoes were still on, dirtying the edge of his bedsheet. The hair gel that had stiffened his hair last night had now fallen apart and stuck uncomfortably to the pillow.
Apparently, after escaping the crowded party and returning home, his social and physical energy had drained completely to zero. He had simply collapsed onto the bed and lost consciousness like a computer system undergoing a forced shutdown.
Nabiel slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. His head felt heavy, as if gravity in his room had suddenly doubled. His joints ached. As an Outer Observer from the highest hierarchy, this was a sensation he rarely experienced. Yet the human vessel he currently inhabited had very real biological limits.
"This is what I hate," he muttered hoarsely. "Being human… It reminds me of the time when I was also one of them."
He stared at his slightly trembling palm. The memory of the recent dream, or more precisely, a fragment from his past existence, still lingered. There had been a time when he was merely part of the narrative before he transcended everything and became the Observer. And now, trapped in a flesh-and-blood body susceptible to microorganisms called viruses, it was an exhausting irony.
He checked his temperature once more with the back of his hand. Definitely a fever. In any fictional world, staying up late at an unwanted social event always ended with a fatigue debuff.
For a normal person, this would be the perfect excuse to skip school. But for Nabiel, skipping meant missing today's chapter. Although he hated getting involved, his Observer instinct refused to let the narrative proceed without his supervision, no matter how minor it was.
With what little strength remained and a sigh that sounded like that of an eighty-year-old grandfather, Nabiel forced himself to stand. He dragged his feet toward the bathroom.
The warm water from the shower gradually washed away the leftover hair gel and the stiffness of his expensive suit. When he emerged from the bathroom, he put on his "oversized uniform" again, the white shirt twice his size, letting the long sleeves completely cover his hands. His black hair returned to its usual bird's-nest mess. This was his true form, the form in which he felt safest from the world's expectations.
In the dining room, he chewed a slice of toast at a pace that made a snail look like a marathon runner. His father had already left for the office early in the morning, leaving the large house in its usual silence. Nabiel swallowed a fever-reducing pill with a glass of water, hoping this low-grade healing item could at least keep his HP from dropping further.
The journey to U.A. felt like a survival game simulation. The morning sunlight that usually felt refreshing now stabbed his dark eyes like blinding lasers. By the time he finally stepped through the massive U.A. gates, his walk was sluggish, his shoulders slumped, and his face as pale as paper.
When Nabiel slid open the door to Class 1-A, the classroom was already quite lively. Midoriya was discussing something with Iida, while Bakugo sat with his feet on the desk, grumbling indistinctly.
Nabiel greeted no one. He walked straight to his desk like a disoriented zombie and immediately dropped his upper body onto the table. He used the long sleeves of his shirt as an emergency pillow.
Thud.
The sound was loud enough to draw attention from the neighboring desk. Yaoyorozu Momo, who had been reading a thick book, immediately turned her head. Her sharp eyes instantly noticed that something was wrong with her childhood friend.
"Nabiel?" Momo called softly. She leaned closer. "Are you all right? You look… even more disheveled than usual. And that says something."
Nabiel only let out a groan muffled by his shirt fabric. He turned his head slightly and looked at Momo with half-lidded, weary eyes. The boy's cheeks appeared slightly flushed, contrasting with his pale skin.
Momo frowned. Without asking permission, she pressed the back of her hand to Nabiel's forehead. Her eyes widened at once.
"Oh my, Nabiel! You have a high fever!" Momo whispered in panic, pulling her hand away. "Your temperature is burning up. Did you sleep in your suit all night after the party yesterday?"
"That… is none of your business, Miss Yaoyorozu," Nabiel mumbled, his voice muffled. "I am experiencing status effect: Burn. Let me go AFK for a while."
"Stop talking in weird terms while you are sick!" Momo scolded, her motherly aura activating immediately. She began rummaging through her bag, ready to use her Quirk to create a cold compress or medicine. "You should have stayed home and rested. Why did you force yourself to come to school?"
"Because…" Nabiel took a long, heavy breath. "If I did not come… I would not know what the main character and the supporting characters in this class would do. I have to… supervise."
Momo let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was used to Nabiel's words that often sounded like they came from someone living outside reality, but hearing them while the boy was seriously ill somehow felt even more heartbreaking.
"You are not a hero who has to carry the weight of the world, Nabiel. You do not even like being a hero," Momo said gently. She created a cold compress plaster from her palm and carefully placed it on Nabiel's forehead.
The cool sensation against his skin made Nabiel close his eyes, feeling a slight relief. "Thank you, Momo. You really are an S-rank Support Character."
"Stop calling me that and go to sleep before Aizawa-sensei arrives," Momo grumbled, though the corner of her lips curved into a small smile as she watched Nabiel fall asleep instantly under the touch of the compress.
Behind his closed eyelids, Nabiel could still feel the fever burning. Being human was indeed full of annoying vulnerabilities. Yet as he heard the faint voices of his classmates chatting and felt the coolness of the compress from his friend, the Outer Observer realized one thing.
Sometimes, stepping down from the spectator's seat and feeling the pain of being on stage… was not as bad as he remembered. At least for today, he would let the story flow without his analysis. Today, he simply wanted to be the sick background extra.