My Mangekyo Sharingan Can't Save My Hero Academia

Chapter 193 190 Tales Of The White Fang 3

"The entire framework depends on public trust," Midnight said. "If people start believing the institutional structure is optional rather than necessary .." She stopped. "We've seen what happens when that kind of sentiment takes hold."

"I understand, however this narrative is hard to dismiss." Nezu replied with a slight sigh.

"Honestly, I almost feel admiration for her. By simply comparing outcomes. It forces readers to draw their own conclusions." Nezu's smile returned.

"And people are remarkably protective of conclusions they believe they reached themselves."

Several teachers grimaced. That was true. Painfully true.

"It is unfortunate to say, but Hero society has yet again another crisis on its hands. This may just cause a fracture on people's trust in heroes."

"It's already fracturing," Snipe grunted, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "You give civilians a curfew, you tell 'em they can't use their quirks to protect their own properties, and then you let 'em watch regional hero offices take forty percent casualties on the nightly news. If things don't change soon, some people aren't going to just sit tight and wait for the government to save them."

"Surely it can't be that bad, right?" Midnight frowned.

Everyone turned to Nezu who, unfortunately shook his head. "I'm afraid it is."

He showed another page.

This one showed mentions of civilian self-defense groups.

Neighborhood patrol proposals.

Online organizations. Volunteer watch groups.

The numbers were increasing. It was a slow but steady grind. Vlad's expression darkened.

"...That's bad."

"Potentially catastrophic."

Nezu agreed. "Most of these groups will accomplish nothing."

"Some will hurt themselves. Some will hurt others. And a few will inevitably encounter actual villains."

The room understood the implications. Dead civilians. Injured civilians. Escalating violence. Chaos.

Individuals with strong quirks who've been law-abiding their entire lives deciding that the law is no longer binding because the law demonstrably isn't protecting them

"The irony," Nezu continued, "is that the White Fang himself does not appear to be advocating any of this."

That surprised several teachers.

"He isn't?" Midnight asked.

"No."

Nezu shook his head.

"From everything we've observed, he has never made a public statement."

"Never given an interview. Never released a manifesto. Never attempted to gather followers. Never even taken credit."

That earned several thoughtful looks.

Because it was true. The entire phenomenon existed despite the vigilante remaining completely silent.

"Which means," Aizawa said slowly, "the movement is forming on its own."

"Or. Someone is helping it form."

Nezu nodded. "And it's worth noting, because it means his intent and the effect of his actions are operating independently of each other. He isn't trying to undermine institutional hero society. He may not even be aware of the degree to which he's become a symbol for that argument." He paused. "That doesn't change the effect, but it does complicate the response."

Because you can't negotiate with someone's symbolism. You can only respond to the person. In this case, the person was uncontactable.

"Has the commission said a word about these articles at all?" Present Mic asked. "I mean, they've got to have said something official by now, right?"

"No statement yet. Which is itself a decision. My assessment is that they'll continue to stay quiet as long as the discourse remains online rather than translating into organized street-level activity."

"And when it does translate," Snipe said.

"Then they'll have a much larger problem than an inconvenient journalist."

Nezu's ears twitched. "At present? They're observing.But if this trend continues..."

Midnight finished the sentence for him.

"...they may eventually decide he's become a bigger threat than the criminals he's captures."

"Indeed. That would be the worst possible outcome right now. Making an enemy out of someone who's been doing their work for them, in the middle of a crisis, in front of a public that's already questioning whether heroes are necessary. Japan does not need that fight right now."

"So can he be stopped if it comes to it?" Aizawa asked. "You've been tracking him. Have you made an estimate?"

The room fell completely silent. The teachers all turned their attention to the small principal. Nezu set his teacup down with gentle click, his dark, bead-like eyes shifting across the faculty table.

"I have done some extensive calculations," his voice was entirely devoid of its usual whimsical cheer. "While his public appearances prior to the Tokyo incident were sparse and difficult to quantify, his recent endeavors provide a much clearer analytical picture. Given the villains he's faced and the ease at which he did it .."

He paused. "I would estimate that within the current domestic borders of Japan... only Mirko could defeat him in a direct, uninhibited confrontation."

A collective breath hitched around the table. "Are you certain of that, Principal?" Vlad King asked, his voice strained with disbelief. "Only Mirko?"

"You're serious?"

"Entirely."

Nezu nodded.

"Prior to Tokyo, that number would've been larger."

"Now?"

He shook his head.

"Outside of this school, Mirko is the only currently active hero I'd confidently favor."

Aizawa slowly exhaled. "If that's true..."

His visible eye narrowed. "...then making an enemy of him would be a disaster."

Nezu nodded. "Fortunately, I doubt the President is eager to repeat her previous mistakes."

That earned several uncomfortable expressions.

"The President may be desperate, but she is not entirely blind to her own limitations. Following the massive blunders at Kamino and Tokyo, which are now matters of public record despite her best efforts, the professional hero community is highly sensitive to her directives. No licensed agency is going to willingly risk their top talents to pursue an unauthorized peacekeeper just to satisfy a Commission PR campaign. Especially not when the last major operation sent dozens of their colleagues to the hospital or left them stripped of their quirks entirely."

That earned several nods. "And that brings us directly back to the mandate on our desks. The President is well aware that she cannot force the active heroes into a controversial hunt. Therefore, she has pivoted to the only variable she can still legally manipulate under the Emergency Security Act: the educational institutions."

The principal tapped his screen, bringing up the regional deployment maps again. "They need every available ounce of manpower to quell the chaos outside. If the official hero network can re-establish visual dominance over the districts, the public will have less reason to look outward for hope. The children are being deployed to fill the holes in the wall before the water completely rushes through. Though, from my analytical projections, it is highly unlikely to achieve stability in the short term."

"Child soldiers is what you mean," Vlad said flatly.

"It is unfortunate but unavoidable," Nezu agreed. "Though I'd note that no hero in this building is going to follow an order they find unconscionable, and the other institutions are in the same position. Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu are being subjected to the same directive. Their faculty will make the same calculations we are."

"Are their students ready for this?" Cementoss asked.

"Ours should be better prepared in many respects."

"So we're stuck playing defense for the state's public image," Present Mic sighed, slumping in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "Man, that leaves a distinctly bad taste in my mouth."

"We aren't doing it for the state, Yamada," Aizawa uttered. "If the districts go down, our students' families go down with them. We can only hope for the best, utilize the time we have left to drill them, and seek out the hero agencies with the sturdiest reputations to take them in."

Midnight looked deep in thought. "It would seem that's the only thing we can do. By the way, were there any leads on the giant that attacked the camp?"

All Might raised his head at that. "Huh ... No, not really. I talked with Tsukauchi and there wasn't any match in the criminal database unfortunately."

"So yet another unmatchable villain." Vlad muttered. "I hate to say it but things are just taking a turn for the worst."

"Forget that now. There's nothing we can currently do." Aizawa leaned forward, looking toward the head of the table. "Let's see the draft list, Nezu. We need to start matching the students to the safest available jurisdictions. We'll have to hope experienced agencies with solid track records are willing to take on students during all of this. Not everyone is going to want the liability."

Nezu looked around the room, his black eyes suddenly turning exceptionally bright, a small, completely unreadable expression stretching across his face.

"Oh yes. About that particular topic." The entire faculty blinked, sensing a shift in the wind.

"There are a few developments within the registry that are... significantly different from our usual academic procedures," Nezu murmured.

"Huh?"

_

Meanwhile, Several hundred kilometers away. An abandoned logistics warehouse sat near one of the many secondary ports that had fallen into partial disuse following the transportation lockdowns.

The building should have been empty.

Instead it was busy. The industrial skeleton on the coast of Shizuoka served as a perfect blind spot. Here, where the salt air rusted towering cranes into skeletal monuments, the local authorities rarely patrolled.

They unfortunately couldn't afford to.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the chemical stench of volatile chemical compounds and cheap tobacco. Generators hummed in the damp dark, powering string lights that illuminated several metal crates stamped with overseas shipping insignias.

"The price went up twenty percent since Tuesday," a man with a jagged, crystalline quirk protruding from his jaw spat, shoving a small, reinforced vial filled with a dark, swirling liquid across a rusted table.

Across from him stood a middle-aged civilian, his hands trembling, wearing the rumpled salaryman suit of someone who had likely spent his life avoiding conflict. The man stared at the vial of Trigger like it was an explosive device.

"Twenty percent?" the civilian whispered, his voice cracking. "You said the price was fixed. I barely scraped this together."

"Then you get what you can afford." The man rolled his eyes. "It's that simple, ain't it? What's the problem?"

"... Bu ... But that's not enough." The civilian said through clenched fists. "There's no way we can afford the original quantity at these rates. The neighborhood watch ....we just need enough to secure the three blocks near the elementary school. The regional heroes evacuated their sub-agency last night!"

"Then you'd better go ask the regional heroes for a discount," the crystalline dealer sneered, leaning back. Beside him, three heavily built men in tactical vests chuckled, their hands resting on imported assault rifles. "Supply and demand, pal. Japan is bleeding, the borders are porous, and everyone suddenly wants to know what it feels like to have their quirk multiplied by ten. If you want to keep the local looters out of your neighborhood, you pay the premium. This stuff doesn't grow in Tokyo. It takes a lot of effort to ship it across the Pacific when the Coast Guard is on high alert."

In the background, perched on a stack of plastic pallets, a small battery-powered television flickered through static, broadcasting a late-night news panel.

"—the medical documentation remains terrifyingly consistent," the analyst on screen spoke, her voice tinny over the speaker. "...cervical or lumbar impact indicating a deliberate method. The vigilante known as the White Fang is intentionally ensuring that these individuals will never walk again. It is a calculated, systematic execution of absolute violence—"

One of the guards turned his head, spitting a glob of phlegm onto the floor before laughing. "Look at those idiots on the news. Terrified of one guy with a hard-on for spinal cords. The media's treating him like the goddamn boogeyman."

"He's a local freak," the head dealer said, dismissively waving a hand as he counted the civilian's crumpled yen notes. "Guys like this are are dime a dozen. One disaster and they suddenly want to play hero. Another fool doing pointless charity if you ask me."

The group operating out of this specific Shizuoka sector weren't standard domestic street thugs. They belonged to a cell of the Rising Dawn remnant, but their true value lay in their connections to a larger, continental smuggling ring. Since the Tokyo incident shattered the Hero Public Safety Commission's strict maritime tracking grid, international syndicates had begun moving into Japan's porous ports like parasites feeding on a dying whale.

Their primary commodity was Trigger—specifically, an off-shore, unrefined variant synthesized in industrial batches abroad.

With local hero agencies folding under heavy pressure and the government enforcing strict, paralyzed curfews, the demand had shifted from underground criminal syndicates to terrified everyday citizens. Ordinary people were now actively seeking the drug to defend their homes, turning a black-market narcotic into a desperate neighborhood defense strategy.