It had only been a week since Izuku had taken on the role of Prefect, but his name had already become infamous among the school's troublemakers. His reputation spread so quickly that many of them went out of their way to steer clear of him in the halls.
The weaker students—those who were often bullied or overlooked—were especially grateful for his presence. Before long, they began acting as his unofficial network of informants, tipping him off whenever someone started causing trouble. Depending on the situation, Izuku would either deal with the issue himself or relay the information to the Student Council, who would then take the necessary action.
Even the staff at Babyls couldn't help but be impressed, though not without a touch of exasperation. For the first time in years, the detention rate had skyrocketed. Unlike Ameri, who dealt with delinquents through sheer force, Izuku took a more methodical approach. He would restrain the offenders, calmly escort them to the staff room—often marching them there in full view of the entire school—and deliver a neatly worded report detailing their behavior and violations.
The only teacher who seemed to genuinely appreciate his efforts was Professor Kalego. While most of the faculty found the constant influx of troublemakers tiring, Kalego took visible pleasure in delivering harsh punishments. He was more than happy to pick up where Izuku left off, often adding extra penalties and clearly enjoying the misery of the students who dared break the rules.
At that very moment, a group of four particularly troublesome students had gathered at a small restaurant on the Magical Street. None of them dared make plans during school hours anymore—they were far too paranoid. It felt like the moment they so much as whispered a scheme, Izuku Midoriya would somehow catch wind of it and shut them down before they even got started.
"We've gotta do something about that damn Prefect," one of them growled, slamming his fist lightly against the table. "That bastard's sucking all the fun out of school!"
"Tell me about it," another grumbled, slouching back in his seat. "I can't even shake down the weaklings for spare change anymore—he's always just there. Like he's got eyes in the walls or something!"
"Quit your whining, idiots," snapped a third, more sharp-featured than the rest. "We didn't come here to cry about it—we're here to figure out a solution for our problem."
"If only we could overpower him," the fourth muttered, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "That'd make things a hell of a lot simpler."
"Yeah, well, good luck with that," the first said bitterly. "It's not like we can hire someone to take him out off-campus, either. No one's crazy enough to mess with Sullivan-sama. And the few who might? Way outta our price range."
For a moment, silence settled over the table, broken only by the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and the low hum of conversation from other diners.
Then the third troublemaker leaned forward, a sly smile creeping across his face. "Maybe... we don't need to fight him head-on," he said slowly. "In fact, if we play this right... we might be able to take down the entire Student Council while we're at it."
The others exchanged skeptical looks.
"Sounds like a load of crap," the fourth said cautiously. "What kind of plan are we talking about here?"
"What if, instead of going after that green-haired bastard directly, we go after the weakest link in the Student Council?" the third troublemaker suggested, a sly glint dancing in his eyes.
The first troublemaker slammed his hand on the table, scowling. "Ugh, quit speaking in riddles and just spit it out already! I'm not in the mood for your cryptic crap."
The third glanced around the restaurant, making sure no one was eavesdropping. Then he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Tell me... have you guys ever heard the name Ronove Romiere?"
******
The afternoon sun spilled golden light through the tall windows of the Babyls library, casting a warm glow across the polished wood floors and the endless shelves brimming with books. At one of the quieter corner tables—far removed from the usual bustle—sat Izuku, hunched over a thick tome, surrounded by a fortress of open volumes and neatly stacked notes. His green hair was slightly tousled, a result of running his fingers through it in concentration, and his eyes were locked intently on the page in front of him.
Beside him, Crocell Kerori slouched over her own textbook, her face a mask of growing despair. With an exaggerated sigh, she let her forehead fall to the table with a soft thud, her silver-blue hair spilling across the pages she was supposed to be reading. After a moment of dramatic silence, she lifted her head and turned to Izuku with a pout.
"I still can't believe how much material we're supposed to cover. It's not even just spells and incantations—there's demon history, contract theory, magical biology… This is way too much for one exam cycle," she groaned, her voice wavering between frustration and a whine.
Her sky-blue eyes narrowed slightly as she studied his focused expression. "And yet you just sit there like some perfect study machine. How are you not bored out of your mind? Don't you want to do anything else?"
Across from him at the table, Ix Elizabetta chuckled softly, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. Her voice took on a playful, teasing lilt as she leaned just a little closer. "Kero's right, you know. It's kind of unfair how dedicated you are. I mean, here you are, locked into your books while two very beautiful girls are sitting beside you," she said with a slow smile, her red eyes glinting with mischief. "You know, could be doing fun things with us instead."
The words had barely left her mouth before Crocell gasped, her face flushing scarlet in an instant. Her hands flailed for a moment before she smacked Elizabetta lightly on the arm, her eyes wide and panicked. "Eliza! D-Don't say things like that! That's not what—! I mean, how could you imply something so indecent in the middle of the library?! Someone could hear you!" she whispered harshly, her words tripping over themselves as she tried to recover her composure.
Elizabetta simply tilted her head and offered a sly smile in return. "Now, now, Kero, I never said anything specific. Sounds like your own thoughts went there all on their own."
Crocell opened her mouth to respond but found herself completely undone by the suggestion. Her cheeks burned even brighter, and she turned away with a muffled groan, sinking lower in her seat in an attempt to hide her mortification. Her fingers tugged nervously at the ends of her sleeves, unable to meet either of their eyes.
Izuku, watching the exchange, couldn't help but laugh. Crocell shot him a half-hearted glare, but it only made him laugh more. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he shook his head slightly.
"You two are really something else," he said, finally closing one of his books and setting his quill aside.
His smile faded a little as he straightened up, fingers absently brushing the golden Prefect badge on his chest. "But seriously… I have to take this seriously. It's not just about passing exams for me. If I screw up, it doesn't just reflect on me—it reflects on my grandfather, too." His tone was calm but firm, every word steady with quiet conviction. "And now that I'm wearing this badge, I'm supposed to be someone others can rely on. If I fail… it gives people a reason to doubt that. And I'd really rather not give them the chance."
"Wow," Elizabetta said with a soft chuckle. "You really think a lot, don't you? Maybe even overthink a little."
"Yep, guilty as charged," Izuku replied with a sheepish grin.
Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, and the smile faded from his face. He picked it up and answered, listening quietly. The call was short—just a few clipped words exchanged—but by the time it ended, a frown had taken hold.
"Izuku? What's wrong?" Crocell asked, noticing the sudden shift in his expression.
"I'm not sure," he said, already stuffing his notes into his bag. "But something's come up. I have to go."
He slung the bag over his shoulder and gave them a quick, apologetic smile. "Well, girls… I'll catch you later."
With that, Izuku turned and left the library at a brisk pace, the echoes of his footsteps fading behind him.
******
After rushing out of the library, Izuku made his way quickly down the corridor, his footsteps echoing sharply against the stone floors of the school. He was expecting trouble of some kind, but what he wasn't expecting was the strange atmosphere that hit him the moment he turned the corner near the Student Council office. There was an unnatural stillness in the air, punctuated by a faint floral aroma that grew stronger with each step, and when he finally reached the door, his hand hesitated on the handle, as if instinctively warning him that something deeply bizarre was waiting on the other side.
The instant he opened the door, he was hit by a swirl of rose petals and a wave of perfumed air so thick it made him squint. The usually neat and functional Student Council office had been utterly transformed—bathed in soft golden lighting, petals strewn across the floor like confetti after a wedding, and curtains fluttering theatrically as if responding to an invisible breeze. It was a scene out of a fantasy play or a romance drama, and for a brief moment, Izuku genuinely questioned whether he'd stepped through the wrong door.
At the center of the over-the-top display stood a tall, bronze-skinned demon with flowing lavender hair that shimmered under the light like silk. His eyes, gold and gleaming with self-assured flair, locked onto Izuku with a kind of radiant glee. His outfit, a flamboyant blend of rich fabrics, tailored cuts, and excessive flair, practically screamed for attention.
As Izuku froze in the doorway, the demon turned with practiced elegance, delicately brushing a single rose petal from his perfectly styled bangs as though he did this every morning. "Ah! At last," the demon cried, spreading his arms in a dramatic flourish. "You must be Izuku Midoriya—the infamous killjoy of Babyls!"
Before Izuku could say a word, two girls leapt from behind the council's velvet couch, dressed in rhinestone-covered uniforms that glittered with every movement. In perfect unison, they cried, "Ronove-samaaa!" and tossed yet another batch of rose petals into the air, sending a fresh cloud cascading across the room—and directly into Izuku's face.
"Wait—what the hell is going on here?" asked, trying to blink through the petals clinging to his lashes.
Izuku surveyed the scene in stunned disbelief. The usual order and professionalism of the Student Council had been entirely drowned in glitter and cologne. His eyes quickly found the other council members scattered around the room, each with their own unique expression of horror, annoyance, or resignation.
Kimaris Quichelight stood by the bookshelf, massaging his temple like a man enduring a migraine. Zagan Johnny Western leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes narrowed with clear disdain. Gusion Sunny Grave remained as impassive as ever near the window, though his foot was tapping ever so slightly, betraying a level of irritation. Astaroth Smoke looked about ready to hurl someone—possibly Ronove—through a wall.
And then there was Ameri Azazel, seated awkwardly on the far end of the couch, her usual sharp composure fraying. Her fingers were laced tightly in her lap, and her gaze shifted uneasily between the intruder and Izuku, with worry itched on her face.
Finally, Kimaris spoke, his tone dry and tight. "Izuku… this is Ronove Romiere. He's the president of the Disciplinary Battler."
"The Ronove Romiere," the flamboyant demon interjected, flipping his hair with an effortless flourish that unleashed another wave of petals into the air. "Let's try that again, with more reverence."
Izuku blinked, genuinely unsure whether he was caught in an elaborate prank or some strange Babyls tradition no one had warned him about. "...The Disciplinary what now?"
"They're a student group that claims to rival the Student Council," Kimaris explained with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of several headaches. "They do similar things, in theory, but mostly, they just cause chaos and draw attention to themselves. Think of them as overly dramatic wannabes."
"And what does that have to do with barging into the Student Council office and turning it into a petal-filled love nest?"
"Love nest!" Ronove gasped, hand flying to his chest. "How crude. This is an artistic statement! A declaration of intent. I, Ronove Romiere—student idol, disciplinary godsend, fashion pioneer, and future overlord of fabulousness—am here to claim what is rightfully mine!"
There was a beat of silence.
Izuku blinked. "...Which is?"
"The presidency, of course!" Ronove shouted, spinning dramatically once more. His followers let out a synchronized gasp and flung more petals into the air, several of which landed squarely in Izuku's hair and mouth. He coughed and batted them away with a growing scowl. "For too long, the Student Council has ignored my letters, shunned my calls, discarded my custom-embroidered declarations of leadership intent! But no more! The people of Babyls deserve radiance—and I intend to deliver!"
Then, in one fluid motion, he turned sharply and extended a finger toward Ameri, his golden eyes now blazing with theatrical intensity. "Ameri Azazel, with your reputation in tatters and your authority weakened, I now formally challenge you to a Dissolution Election!"
To be continued...