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chapter forty-five: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔢𝔩
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The fourth battle against the professors was about to begin. Witnessing Kirishima and Sato lose their battle was harsh and bitter, especially considering how it set the mood for the rest of the participants. However, watching both Tokoyami and Asui and Ojiro and Iida helped her to reassure that this was not an impossible task to achieve. Kyoko admired the battle while attempting to deceive a conceivable strategy. One that implied fighting alongside her friends but also taking into account the fact that they could run away. The problem was simple: Aizawa could erase their powers. That was killer. However, there was another factor that Aizawa hardly knew about: Kyoko was a black belt in martial arts. If they were unfortunate to have their powers erased, the girl could simply have a one-on-one, leaving Aizawa relentlessly debilitated, considering he would be fully focusing on her, allowing both Yaoyorozu and Todoroki to act. Discussing this, Todoroki quickly agreed, while Yaoyorozu, once again, stayed quiet.
The fourth arena was like the inside of a downtown suburbia. The inner city grew out of the cracked sidewalk like the jagged gap-toothed grin of an old junkie. The only splash of color in the grime came from the lurid graffiti, the occasional greens from the backyards of hidden houses and the sidewalks littered with injection paraphernalia. The narrow roads bordered on each side by a terrace of small houses. They were identical, with their small upper windows, narrow porches and square bays. Some few still showed the tell-tale signs of multiple occupation: dishevelled lawns, peeling paint and drawn secretive curtains. But these were succeeded by bright little bandboxes of social aspiration: newly painted doors, carriage lamps, an occasional hanging basket, the front garden paved to provide standing for the car. It was almost American in Kyoko's eyes. She hated America and its suburbia, she was an European-type person. She liked her roots in Spain and the delicacies of places like Prague and Rome and The Hague. American never appealed to her. She had visited California when she was younger and, although she had practically no memory of it, she hated it. Crowded places and her mother being cramped and harassed because, well, she was her mother, the number thirteen hero in the entire world, she was followed by paparazzi practically everywhere they went.
