Being the center of attention was the last thing an Outer Observer wanted. Throughout his existence watching over various hierarchies and realities, Nabiel had always positioned himself in the darkest corners, the backmost seats of the audience, or simply as an anonymous extra passing through the background of a scene.
However, reality often failed to align with one's desires.
That was where the Observer found himself now. He sat slumped in his chair inside Classroom 1-A, wearing an oversized and messy white shirt with long sleeves that dangled over the thick bandages on both his hands. His deep black, weary eyes stared blankly at his desk while his ears were bombarded by the typical enthusiasm of noisy shounen characters.
"Bro! You were totally insane at the USJ yesterday!" Kirishima exclaimed, slamming Nabiel's desk with burning passion. "Holding off that fire villain all by yourself without using your Quirk at all? That was incredibly manly!"
"Right, right! You always look like you're about to fall asleep standing up, but it turns out you were hiding your fangs, weren't you?" Kaminari chimed in, leaning in so close that he blocked the air circulation around Nabiel. "I heard from Midoriya that you used a tactical knife? That's so cool! Just like a hitman in an action movie!"
Even from the usually quiet corner of the class, Tokoyami Fumikage slowly stepped closer. The silhouette of Dark Shadow peeked from behind his uniform. "Those who dwell in silence often harbor depths of an immeasurable abyss," Tokoyami murmured dramatically. "You proved that the darkness in your eyes is not merely an empty void, Nabiel."
Nabiel let out a long sigh. A very long one. His current human lungs were practically screaming for oxygen.
"Please... move back a little," Nabiel muttered in his lazy, raspy voice. "I can't breathe. And my hands are still throbbing. If you bump them again, I'll actually pass out and sleep until school ends."
"Ah, sorry, sorry!" Kirishima stepped back while scratching the back of his head, though his wide grin remained.
From the opposite desk, Yaoyorozu Momo stood up. Her beautiful face showed a blend of pride and motherly concern. "Everyone, please give Nabiel some space. He only just left the infirmary yesterday. The burns on his hands are quite severe, so he needs peace and quiet."
At the vice president's reprimand, the crowd of boys finally dispersed to their own seats. Nabiel gave Momo a lazy, grateful look, which the black-haired girl met with a soft sigh.
Nabiel looked down, staring at his hands wrapped in clean white bandages. Beneath the gauze, his skin was still red and blistered from his fight with Gabi. He could have used his absolute authority in Terra to heal these wounds in the blink of an eye, but he had promised himself that he would fully immerse himself in this mortal role. This pain was the anchor holding him to this world.
The classroom atmosphere, still buzzing with talk of the USJ incident, suddenly came to a brutal halt.
Sreeek.
The door slid open. The sound of heavy, dragging footsteps entered the room.
The students of Class 1-A held their breath. In the doorway stood a figure who looked more like a mummy from Ancient Egypt than a pro hero. His entire face, from forehead to neck, was wrapped in thick medical bandages. Only a small gap revealed his tired, bloodshot eyes. Both his arms were supported by cloth slings.
It was their homeroom teacher, Aizawa Shota.
"Sensei?!" the class shouted in unison, their eyes wide with horror.
"You're back at work already?!" Kaminari shrieked in disbelief.
"Such extreme professionalism!" Iida added, his hands moving stiffly as if chopping the air. "Sensei, are you alright?!"
Aizawa limped toward the teacher's podium. "My welfare is not important," his voice sounded muffled behind the layers of bandages. "Besides, your fight is not over yet."
Tension immediately choked the air inside Class 1-A. Bakugo tensed in his seat, Midoriya swallowed hard, and Kirishima clenched his fists.
"The fight isn't over?" Mineta murmured, his small body beginning to tremble. "Don't tell me... the villains are back?!"
Nabiel, who had been resting his cheek on the desk, only blinked slowly. His Observer instincts had already guessed the direction of this conversation. 'After a major life-threatening incident, the plot usually provides a break in the form of a school event to showcase character development,' he thought boredly.
"The U.A. Sports Festival is about to begin," Aizawa announced flatly.
"THAT'S A TOTALLY NORMAL SCHOOL EVENT!" the whole class yelled, exhaling in a mix of relief and shock.
"W-wait a second, Sensei!" Kirishima raised his hand, his face turning serious. "Is it really okay to hold such a big event so soon after villains infiltrated the school? What if they attack again?"
"Quite the opposite," Aizawa replied, his gaze sharpening through the gaps in the bandages. "By holding this festival, U.A. wants to show the world that our crisis management system is as solid as a rock. Security will be increased fivefold compared to previous years. More than that, this festival is your greatest opportunity."
Aizawa looked at all his students. "Top heroes from across the country will be watching. They will be looking for potential sidekicks. You only have three chances during your time at U.A. If you want to be professional heroes, this is a stage you cannot afford to miss."
The class erupted again. This time it wasn't out of fear, but a burning sense of anticipation. The spirit of competition ignited in every student's eyes. Uraraka pumped her fist, Iida nodded firmly, and Todoroki stared straight ahead with an intense, cold aura.
In the middle of that sea of burning shounen spirit, Nabiel buried his face deeper into the folds of his bandaged arms.
'The Sports Festival...' Nabiel groaned inwardly. 'A tournament trope. The most cliché and exhausting arc in every story. Everyone will be screaming, pushing their limits, and showing off new powers.'
Nabiel glanced at his injured hands. He couldn't use his physical strength to its full extent, and he certainly refused to use his Outer authority in front of thousands of spectators. If he stood out here, he would attract the attention of pro heroes, which meant more work, more responsibility, and goodbye to his nap time.
'Alright, the plan is set,' Nabiel thought, his eyes glancing toward the back of Yaoyorozu Momo, who sat upright in front of him. 'I'll do what I do best. I'll be a parasite clinging to Momo, pass the qualifiers without doing a thing, and then drop out in a perfectly natural way during the middle rounds.'
Satisfied with his perfect, lazy plan, Nabiel closed his eyes, letting the noisy voices of his friends become a morning lullaby. The story might be getting interesting, but that didn't mean he had to waste energy if he could avoid it.