As the broadcast ended, the streets of I-Island were alive with chaos and whispers. People began to make their way toward the grim site of Izuku's bloody monument.
The towering crosses and grotesque display were now a gathering point, drawing a mix of curiosity, horror, and rage.
David Shield, battered and tied to a central post, was surrounded by a growing crowd. The once-respected scientist now looked like a man stripped of all dignity.
Blood from his wounds had dried, and his face was swollen from the earlier torment. But what truly weighed on him was the collective gaze of the people—eyes filled with anger, pain, and betrayal.
A woman in the crowd, her voice shaking with fury, stepped forward. "Is it true? Did you do what that man on the tv said?"
Her question hung in the air, and the murmurs around her grew louder.
"Answer us!" a man shouted. "Were you behind all those atrocities? Did you experiment on innocent children?!"
Tears streamed down the faces of people who's family members were missing, who had come to the site, their hands trembling as they pointed at him.
"I lost my daughter!" one man cried. "She went missing, I thought I did something which caused her to run away, and I never saw her again after that! All this time I blamed myself for my missing daughter. Was she in that hellhole you created as well?!"
"Speak!" another voice demanded. "Is what he said true?"
David Shield opened his mouth to respond but faltered. His lips quivered, but no sound came out. His eyes darted across the crowd, seeing the anguish and fury etched on their faces.
The silence was deafening.
The crowd's energy shifted. Murmurs turned to shouts.
"He's not denying it!" someone yelled. "That means it's true!"
"He's a monster!" another cried. "How could he do this?"
A stone flew through the air, striking David on the shoulder. The impact made him flinch, but he still said nothing.
"Speak, you coward!" a young woman screamed, tears streaming down her face. "Tell us why you did it!"
Another stone hit David, this time on the chest. The crowd's anger grew more fervent.
"You ruined lives!"
"You're worse than scum!"
"You deserve to rot in hell!"
David's silence was louder than any confession. Each passing moment confirmed Izuku's claims in the eyes of the crowd.
A child, barely eight years old, stood near the front, clutching her mother's hand. Her innocent voice broke through the chaos. "Why did you hurt the kids? Why did you hurt my brother?"
David's head hung low. He couldn't meet her gaze.
The mother pulled her daughter close, her own face twisted in anguish. "Because he's a monster," she said bitterly.
Stones and debris continued to fly toward David as the crowd's rage boiled over. People cursed his name, calling him vile things—"a demon," "a butcher," "a soulless monster," "a wolf in sheep's clothing." And many such names as they vented their anger on David.
Amid the chaos, a middle-aged man stepped forward, holding a picture of his wife and daughter. "Do you remember them? Their names? Their appearances?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Do you know what you did to them?"
David didn't respond. He couldn't.
The man's hands shook as he threw the picture at David's feet. "You don't even care, do you? You're nothing but a heartless bastard! I can't believe I considered you an ideal man."
The crowd's fury reached a fever pitch. Some tried to climb the makeshift monument, aiming to get closer to the man they now saw as the embodiment of evil.
"Enough!" a voice shouted from the back. It was an elderly woman, her face stern but calm. "We've heard all we need to. His silence is his answer."
The crowd slowly quieted, her words sinking in. David's head remained bowed, his broken spirit evident.
The woman pointed at him, her voice firm. "He doesn't deserve our questions. He doesn't deserve our mercy. Let him rot here as a symbol of what happens to those who betray humanity."
The crowd murmured in agreement, stepping back but leaving David to the harshness of their judgment.
The crowd, still seething with anger, began to disperse after the elderly woman's words. Her judgment resonated deeply with everyone. They no longer wanted answers from David; his silence spoke volumes. His fate was sealed in their minds—a broken, condemned man who didn't deserve their attention or mercy.
As the group moved away from the monument, their focus shifted to the dead men hanging from the crosses. The names and roles of these people had been exposed during the broadcast. It was no secret they had been just as complicit as David, monsters hiding in plain sight while profiting from suffering and death.
"These men lived like kings while innocent children died," someone muttered.
"They hoarded wealth stolen from others. It's time we take back what they don't deserve," another agreed.
The murmurs turned into action as groups broke off and started heading to the homes and properties of the dead men.
---
The first house belonged to a man known as Nathaniel Krane, one of David Shield's closest collaborators. His mansion loomed over the neighborhood, an arrogant display of wealth that now stood as a symbol of greed and cruelty.
The mob stormed the gates, some using tools and makeshift weapons to break through the locks. Inside, they found luxury at every turn—golden chandeliers, priceless paintings, and rooms filled with expensive furniture and valuables.
"This is where all their blood money went," one man said, holding up a golden vase.
People started grabbing everything they could carry—jewelry, cash, electronics, and anything of value. For many, this was not just about taking revenge; it was a desperate attempt to reclaim what had been taken from them.
---
The next house was even larger, belonging to a scientist named Viktor Hale. He had been in charge of many of the horrific experiments that had cost so many lives. His estate was filled with treasures from around the world—rare artifacts, stacks of currency, and vaults containing even more wealth.
"Look at this," a woman said, holding up a bag of diamonds. "While we people on the outskirts struggled to feed our families, they lived like royalty when they didn't deserve this royalty at all."
Anger fueled the looting. People tore through the mansion, taking everything they could find.
---
One by one, the homes of the dead collaborators were stripped bare. The mob showed no mercy. To them, these homes were nothing more than tombs of greed and cruelty.
But as they moved through the city, looting and reclaiming what they saw as justice, they avoided one place: David Shield's house.
---
The crowd stood at the gates of the Shield residence, their expressions torn between anger and hesitation as they looked up at the grand house. The tension was thick in the air, but no one moved forward.
"Why aren't we going in?" a younger man asked, gripping a makeshift sign in his hand.
An older man stepped forward, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Because Melissa Shield isn't her father. She didn't know about his crimes. You all know her reputation—she's always been a sweet girl, always helping others."
A woman in the crowd nodded. "She's not the type to be involved in something so vile. Melissa's the kind of person who puts everyone else before herself.
Remember when she organized that fundraiser for the orphanage? And what about the time she helped rebuild the community center after the fire? She's done more for people than most of us standing here."
The murmurs of agreement grew louder as more people shared their thoughts.
"She's kind," another woman added, her voice soft. "Always smiling, always looking out for others. I can't believe we even thought about blaming her for this. If anything, she's probably the one feeling the most betrayed right now."
The younger man who had spoken earlier frowned, guilt washing over his face. "You're right. Her father… He's the one who's responsible for all this. But she didn't deserve this. Losing her mom when she was just a kid, and now… this? Her own father turning out to be a monster?"
The crowd fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in.
"She must be devastated," someone else said quietly. "Imagine finding out that the person you trusted most—your own family—was capable of something like this. She's probably blaming herself even though she had nothing to do with it."
A middle-aged man in the back of the crowd spoke up, his tone firm but compassionate. "We'd only make things worse if we did anything to her. She doesn't deserve our anger. She deserves our support. We should be helping her, not punishing her for something she had no control over."
A woman with tears in her eyes wiped her face and nodded. "You're right. I feel terrible for even thinking about confronting her. She's probably sitting in there, feeling alone and betrayed, wondering if the whole world is against her."
The crowd shifted uncomfortably, their anger now replaced with guilt and compassion.
"We've done enough damage here," the older man said, his voice softer now. "Melissa doesn't need us to make her life harder than it already is. If anything, we should be showing her that she's not alone, that we know she's not like her father."
The group collectively took a step back, some lowering their signs, others letting out heavy sighs.
"Let's leave her be," someone suggested. "She's already going through enough."
"She's just a kid," another person added. "A good kid. We all know that. Let's not take our anger out on her when she's probably already hurting more than any of us can imagine."
The crowd began to disperse, people whispering words of regret and reassurance among themselves.
"She'll get through this," a woman said as she walked away. "Melissa's strong. And she's kind. She doesn't deserve our anger—she deserves our support."
One by one, they left the gates of the Shield residence, their hearts heavy with guilt but their minds resolute in their decision. Melissa Shield would not suffer for her father's sins. Not from them.
---
By the end of the day, the streets of I-Island were filled with chaos and activity. People carried stolen goods, their faces a mix of anger, relief, and desperation. For some, it felt like justice. For others, it was a small consolation for the pain they had endured.
Back at the bloody monument, David Shield remained tied to the central post, his body weak and broken. Stones and debris lay scattered around him, remnants of the crowd's earlier fury.
A/N: If my story brought even a hint of a smile to your face, drop a comment—I'd love to hear it! Knowing I brightened someone's day fuels my creativity! My only goal is to make people smile and find happiness in this dull world. Not to mention I want to reach Oda sensei's level of storytelling.
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