Chapter 15: A Dragon in a Limousine
The atmosphere in the monitoring room had settled into a relative calm following the conclusion of the Natsu vs. Team H match. However, the air was still thick with a new kind of tension. When Natsu walked back into the room, the students instinctively parted ways to let him pass. Their eyes held a new mixture of emotions: respect, awe, and a healthy dose of fear.
He was no longer just the "loud guy with the scarf." He was the beast who had dismantled a coordinated team with a single kick.
All Might stood before the main screen, his signature grin straining slightly as he processed the destructive potential his students had just displayed.
"Excellent work!" All Might boomed, giving a thumbs up. "Young Dragneel, Young Kirishima! You played the role of Villains to perfection! Natsu, your ability to exploit your opponents' weaknesses was outstanding. And that final kick... well, it was perhaps a bit excessive, but effective nonetheless!"
Natsu laughed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Thanks! They were good opponents, but they hesitated for a second. That was all the opening I needed."
Then, Natsu's smile faded. He scanned the room, looking over the heads of his classmates.
"By the way..." Natsu asked, his voice dropping. "Where's Midoriya? Did he come back?"
Uraraka answered softly, her hands clasped anxiously. "No... they took him to Recovery Girl's office. His arm was in really bad shape, and he passed out from exhaustion."
Natsu stared at the door as if he could see through the walls to the infirmary.
"I see..." Natsu muttered. "That idiot... he really doesn't know how to hold back, does he?"
"Aye," Happy agreed, floating above Natsu's head. "But he's got a fighting spirit, doesn't he?"
"Yeah." Natsu nodded firmly, a spark of respect in his eyes. "He definitely has that."
One Week Later.
The first week at U.A. High passed in a blur. The curriculum was a rigorous mix of normal academic subjects in the morning and intense Heroics in the afternoon. But for Natsu Dragneel, there was one morning routine that remained absolute.
7:00 AM.
The city streets were waking up. Natsu was running down the sidewalk, his yellow backpack thumping against his back with every stride, sweat glistening on his forehead. Beside him, Happy flew lazily, sipping from a small juice box.
"Natsu..." Happy groaned, letting his wings droop. "Are you seriously going to do this every single day? The school is miles away! My wings are cramping!"
"Stop complaining, Happy!" Natsu panted, but his pace didn't slacken. "Running is good training! And it's a million times better than riding inside those moving metal coffins! I will never step foot inside a vehicle as long as I live!"
"You're just afraid you'll puke up your breakfast," Happy quipped.
Meanwhile, on the main road beside them, a sleek, pitch-black limousine was gliding silently through the traffic.
Inside the vehicle, the world was a haven of luxury. The air was cool and scented with lavender. The leather seats were soft as clouds. Momo Yaoyorozu sat by the window, her posture perfect, gazing out at the passing city with a look of serene boredom. She rested her chin on her hand, watching the world blur by.
Another peaceful morning, she thought.
Then, something caught her eye. A blur of pink hair and a flying blue cat moving parallel to the car.
Momo blinked. "Driver, stop the car, please."
The long vehicle pulled over to the curb with barely a whisper of sound. The rear window rolled down.
"Natsu-san? Happy-san?" Momo called out.
Natsu skidded to a halt, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "Oh... Yao-Momo? Morning!"
"Good morning," Momo smiled politely. "Why are you running? Did you miss the train? The school is still quite a distance away."
"No," Natsu grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "We're running because I hate trains! And buses! And cars!"
Momo's eyebrows knit together in confusion. She looked at his sweat-drenched shirt and his heavy breathing.
"You do this... every day?" she asked.
"Yep! Every morning!"
Momo covered her mouth in shock. He runs this distance daily? He puts his body through this level of physical exertion before our Hero training even begins? No wonder he has such stamina...
"That is... incredibly dedicated," Momo said, her voice filled with admiration. "But you look exhausted, and we have a long day ahead. Please, get in. The car is spacious."
Natsu took a step back, his face paling instantly. "No, no, no! No way! I don't do cars! Thanks, but I'll run!"
"That is irrational!" Momo opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, determined to be a good classmate. "You are pushing yourself too hard. As your peer, I cannot leave you here in this state. My driver is an expert; the ride is incredibly smooth. You won't feel a thing! Come on!"
She grabbed Natsu's sleeve and began to pull him—gently but with the irresistible force of a rich girl trying to help.
"Wait! Yao-Momo! You don't understand!" Natsu tried to resist, digging his heels in, but he was tired from the run, and her grip was surprisingly strong.
"Thank you, Yaoyorozu!" Happy cheered, betraying his partner instantly as he flew into the air-conditioned paradise. "Finally, comfort! These seats are real leather!"
"Traitor!" Natsu screamed, just as Momo pushed him inside and closed the heavy door.
Click.
The car began to move. It was a masterpiece of engineering—silent, vibration-free, perfect.
"See?" Momo smiled, opening a book. "It is very comfortable. The suspension system is top-tier, so you won't even notice we are mov—"
She stopped. She looked to her right.
Natsu was sprawled across the leather seat. His skin had turned a vibrant shade of green. His eyes were spinning in opposite directions. His cheeks were puffed out as if he were holding back a tidal wave.
"Urp..." Natsu made a strangled, dying noise. "The world... is spinning..."
"Natsu-san?!" Momo gasped in horror. "Driver! Drive more carefully! He's dying!"
The driver, a stoic man in a uniform, glanced in the rearview mirror at the boy drooling on the expensive upholstery. He didn't say a word, but his eyes narrowed with a single, judgmental thought:
What a pathetic commoner.
"He just got in!" Momo panicked, waving her hands. "How is this even possible?!"
"That's Natsu for you," Happy said, relaxing on the seat and taking a bite of a cookie Momo had offered him. "He's hopeless."
Class 1-A.
The scene in the classroom was pitiful.
Natsu was sitting at his desk—or rather, his upper body had completely melted onto the surface. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides. His face was pressed flat against the wood. He looked like a deflated balloon.
A group of students gathered around him, looking concerned and amused.
"I am so, so sorry!" Momo was bowing repeatedly, her face flushed red with embarrassment. "I truly didn't know his condition was that severe! I thought I was helping him!"
"Don't worry about it, Yaoyorozu," Kyoka Jiro said, twirling her earphone jack while looking at Natsu with pity. "This happened before. On the day of the entrance exam, he almost puked his guts out on the bus. It seems he has chronic, severe motion sickness."
"Dude..." Kaminari stared at the slumped figure of Natsu. "Who would have thought? The monster who took out Shoji with one kick gets defeated by a limousine?"
"He's not invincible after all, huh?" Sero laughed, sounding relieved.
"Every man has a weakness!" Kirishima stated firmly, patting Natsu's back (which elicited a low groan of pain). "And that makes him manlier! He fights against his own nausea every day!"
"Manliness?" Minoru Mineta scoffed, popping up from behind the crowd with a smug grin. "What kind of manliness is that? Seriously? His weakness is transportation? What a childish—"
THWIP.
Before Mineta could finish his sentence, a strip of tape shot out from Sero's elbow, wrapping perfectly around Mineta's mouth and silencing him.
"Mmph!!" Mineta muffled.
"You talk too much, buddy," Sero said with a vengeful grin, looking at Natsu with respect. "Don't poke the Dragon while he's down."
Suddenly, the classroom door slid open.
"Quiet."
Shota Aizawa walked in. He looked clean, without bandages, but his eyes were tired as always.
The students scrambled to their seats. Even Natsu slowly peeled his face off the desk, the green color fading from his skin, though he still looked groggy.
"I reviewed the video of last week's combat training," Aizawa said dryly, leaning on the podium. "Generally, it was acceptable. But there is room for improvement."
He scanned the room.
"Today, we have a special homeroom activity."
The class tensed up. Another test?!
"You need to decide on a Class Representative."
"A TOTALLY NORMAL SCHOOL ACTIVITY!" the class shouted in relief.
Chaos erupted instantly. Everyone started raising their hands and shouting.
"Me! Me!" Kirishima shouted.
"Pick me so the class can sparkle!" Aoyama posed.
"I want to be the leader!" Mina jumped up.
Amidst the noise, Aizawa looked toward the desk where Natsu was resting his chin on his hand, looking half-asleep.
"Dragneel," Aizawa called out, silencing the room. "You're unusually quiet. Aren't you interested? You had the top score in the practical exam. You have the standing for it."
Natsu looked at the teacher. He yawned, a small puff of smoke escaping his mouth.
"No, not interested," Natsu said lazily, pointing a thumb at himself. "I'm good at breaking stuff, fighting, and eating. But organizing? Writing reports? Making everyone stand in a line? That's not my job. I'm not a leader, I'm a fighter."
He pointed a finger toward Iida, who was raising his hand with perfect posture while vibrating with intensity, and then at Momo, who sat with dignity.
"Give it to someone who likes rules, like Glasses-Guy or Yao-Momo. I'm going to take a nap."
Aizawa smirked—a tiny, fleeting expression. "Good. The students probably wouldn't want to entrust their safety to a reckless guy like you anyway."
"Hey!" Natsu sat up, offended. "I take offense to that, even if it's true!"
"Then," Iida boomed, standing up. "I propose we hold a democratic vote to decide the best candidate!"
The election began, and Natsu happily put his head back on the desk, content to leave the responsibility to anyone else.
.
.