Higawara Manor, Musutafu.

“Manual was already out in the city when I got a hold of him,” Sajin said, “The first thing he said to me was that Tenya Ida had up and vanished—the kid went looking for Stain.”

“Yes,” I said. “That does appear to be the case.”

“Manual was oddly tight-lipped about what happened, but I got some of the details,” Sajin said, “Keep all of this to yourself, but it wasn’t Endeavour who took down Stain—he wasn’t even involved in the fight—it was your three classmates.”

“There has been some speculation along those lines in the class group chat, though no one who was involved actually came forward to confirm it,” I said in understanding. “I imagine the fight went quite poorly, considering they were hospitalised in the aftermath.”

“That’s an understatement—all three of them ended up with multiple stab wounds each, and they couldn’t prevent him from killing Native either,” Sajin said, “I’ll give them credit for trying, though, because if they hadn’t shown up, he would have died without anyone knowing Stain was even involved.”

“It’s hard to imagine anyone defeating those three in a direct confrontation while they’re working together,” I said, considering it. “Stain must be exceptionally skilled.”

“He’s got a quirk that paralyses his opponents so long as he gets some of their blood first, and he attacks from stealth at the start of the fight, so it rarely lasts long enough to become an actual battle,” Sajin said, “Mind you, we didn’t actually know any of that until his file was updated last night—so that explains why he’s been so successful to date.”

“I see,” I said.

Sajin let out a tired sigh.

“That Ida kid can’t even say that it was a spur-of-the-moment decision either,” Sajin said, “The only reason he even picked the Manual Agency was because it was close to the Hero Killer’s last known location.”

There was a distinctly uncomfortable pressure in my chest at the disappointment and sympathy in his voice, the words simply too close to a negative evaluation of my own motivation and rationale for choosing Fukuoka. If he’d known about what I’d done there, would this have been his reaction, or would it have been something far more painful? If he’d known that I’d broken into a woman’s home in search of her dead son’s location, or if he’d come to realise how I’d engineered the situation to obtain Inaba’s forced cooperation and then help her escape from the city, evading an arrest by the Hawks Agency in the process. My actions had been undeniably criminal on both fronts, as had the ones I’d taken here in Musutafu in search of greater access to the Quirk Registrar and the ones in Shimoda in search of illegally obtained footage of my target.

“Uncle Sajin,” I said. “If the end result was an exceptionally violent criminal being arrested, would it really be so wrong to defeat them through unsanctioned means?”

“The man was a mass murderer, so trust me when I say I’m glad to see him off the streets, but your friend was still in the wrong,” Sajin said, shaking his head. “The actions of a hero are only considered valid while they act with the proper authority, but without that authority, they are reduced to vigilantism—something the matter?”

“Yes,” I said after a long moment. “I was considering whether or not my own actions were that of a vigilante.”

“You’re talking about what happened during your internship?” Sajin asked.

I wasn’t really, but it was as close to the truth as I could allow.

“The permission that Red Bird granted me wasn’t valid.” I said, “My actions were technically that of a vigilante—I suppose the same could be said for the Pasana Middle School incident and my return to the USJ.”

“All three were vigilantism at the time,” Sajin said in agreement. “But you were only trying to protect people, and you were cleared of any wrongdoing each time.”

If I’d failed to protect anyone, or if I’d caused more damage in the attempt, would I have still been cleared?

“Then it would seem to me that the actions of a vigilante are only wrong if the outcome is negative,” I said, thinking about it. “If the outcome is positive, then vigilantism can retroactively transform into an act of heroism—can the actions of Tenya Ida be considered wrong under that framework?”

Sajin let out a quiet hum at the words and then sat back in his chair.

“I can see what you’re getting at, but it’s still slightly off,” Sajin said, “It’s not if the outcome is negative or positive—because, trust me, there are times where good deeds still get punished—it’s whether or not it can be justified.”

I considered that for a long moment and found myself wondering if—after I finally found out what had happened to Nanami—any of my actions would be found justifiable or whether they would be reduced to the actions of a vigilante acting outside the law.

“What is it that makes an action justified or not?” I asked.

“I suppose that depends on the person, the action itself and the one who is actually judging it,” Sajin said, folding his hands behind his head. “Would you consider your friend’s motivation as seeking justice or chasing revenge?”

“I imagine it was a combination of both,” I said.

“Well, if he’d gone there with the intent to save Native’s life, then it would be easy to say he did the right thing,” Sajin said, holding his palm up. “But seeing as this was all premeditated, and he didn’t even know Native needed help in the first place, then I can’t see that being the case.”

“What if he went there with the intent to save all of the future victims that would succumb to the Hero Killer?” I asked. “Defeating Stain could just be an objective towards a greater, positive end.”

“Could be,” Sajin said, stressing the word. “But could he convince you that it was his primary motivator?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“The outcome for all of this is likely going to ride upon that question,” Sajin said, “I’d be curious to hear the answer—if you ever get the chance to ask him.”

#

Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu.

My second visit to the Bacta Medical Centre had been entirely without merit—none of the three names that Inaba had procured had been present within the Quirk Registrar. It wasn’t something entirely unexpected, given that I’d already seen something like this before with Kaito Habiki, but it was unfortunate. I would have liked more solid confirmation that at least one more of the people who’d been present during Nanami’s birthday dinner were involved in the trafficking ring. As it was, Kaito Habiki was the only one I could prove had been present at the Shimoda port on the day of the abduction.

The video footage of him rising out of the water and the active use of his quirk placed him right there during the time slot the police had determined them to have passed through the area, but that was all I had. The man wasn’t even alive any more either, and that was a state that would provide no further answers to my questions. Susumu Hoshi’s had a clear connection to Kaito, but her presence at I-Island wasn’t damning on its own, and I would need more than just a video of her eating dinner with a group of well-dressed men and women to convince anyone that she was involved in an abduction—all of which left me with the question of how exactly I was going to use my brief time at I-Island to actually discern the level of her involvement.

I knew enough about Susumu Hoshi to know that capturing her and containing her would be entirely without issue. While her quirk might have had some trivial utility for melee enhancement, there was little she could do to harm or escape me, and my deep dive into her personal history had revealed nothing to indicate she actually had any form of combat training to begin with. But attacking her or attempting to capture her outright was something that would put me in direct conflict with the infamous security system that protected every citizen of I-Island, and there were more than enough security cameras present that making an overt attempt would inevitably end with my arrest—I was willing to do that despite the consequences if it was the only method of forcing Susumu Hoshi to reveal the details of what had happened to Nanami, but if I was forced to capture her in that manner, then I would have a very limited amount of time to encourage her cooperation.

If I failed to gather a confession in the time it took for someone to notice either of us was missing, then I would be forced to make any further attempts at investigation from a prison cell. The method with the highest level of success would probably be to attend one of her public seminars and then use the opportunity to mark her. If I followed her back to her home, workplace, or somewhere out of public view, then I would have far more time available to interrogate her—it was unlikely that the security system extended into the privacy of a citizen's home or into an area that required privacy for patents or proprietary research. There were likely lesser forms of security in those places, manually triggered alarms, locked doors, or carded entry—but none of those would be capable of keeping me out for long.

There must have been some amount of irony in the fact that the vaunted level of security that had ensured the city had the lowest crime rate in the entire world was now serving to protect a criminal from justice—I found myself struck suddenly by the thought, my focus entirely derailed.

“Justice,” I murmured.

Was this justice anymore? Could I even say that it had been justice to begin with? Wasn’t I acting in the exact same manner that Sajin had asserted as motivation for Tenya Ida’s search for Stain? Was a vigilante even capable of finding justice or was it really just a well-dressed revenge? What was my primary motivator here? Finding Nanami had been where it had all started—but at some point that had changed, hadn’t it? Was I even trying to find Nanami anymore or was I only trying to find out what had happened to her so that I could judge an appropriate level of punishment for those who had taken her? When had that crept in through the time-wrought cracks in my conviction? When had I allowed myself to doubt? When had I allowed my certainty to erode? When had I allowed this to become nothing more than a belated search for the final chapter of her story?

“Nanami Kureta,” I murmured.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken her name out loud, though there wasn’t anyone I could have spoken it to—those at U.A. High School whom I shared most of my time, had no idea that a girl with that name had ever even existed, and making mention of her now to either Aunt Hayami or Uncle Sajin would be uncovering a painful wound that time was still trying and failing to heal. I’d allowed myself to forget that Nanami didn’t have anyone left in the world searching for her and that I was the only one who was still looking—and not just to dig up an explanation. Until I had undeniable proof. Until I had looked each and every remaining suspect in the eye. Until I had Nanami Kureta—dead or alive—standing right in front of me, then I couldn’t be sure that she had vanished from the world. That was what I had decided eight years ago. That was the fuel that had burned hot enough to carry me all this way, and I’d seen nothing worthy of allowing it to be extinguished.

There was no evidence that Nanami was gone. Nanami’s body hadn’t been found. Nanami wasn’t standing in front of me—and just like I’d told Hayami all those years ago, there should have only been two headstones in that graveyard.

#

Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu.

The application hung for a moment as it made the connection, and then I found myself watching an array of now-familiar video feeds.

“—kung-fu expert now,” Mina bragged, “Seriously, you should have seen Uraraka and me kicking ass all over the dojo.”

“But he literally has guns for hands,” Eijiro said, “How does he even do martial arts?”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Tsuyu mumbled, “I thought his name was Gunhead, not Gunhands?”

“That is his name, but it’s just a mask,” Eijiro said. “The quirk is his hands—”

“Listen, maybe he does have guns for hands—kind of,” Mina insisted, “But he’s actually really good at hand-to-hand combat—”

“Gun-to-hand combat?” Tsuyu wondered.

“—but all of that is beside the point,” Mina said, scrunching her face up at the interruption. “Because I know kung-fu.”

“After just a week?” Eijiro asked.

“I’ll show you ‘just a week,’” Mina warned, “First day back, right after class, you and me—it’s going down.”

Eijiro actually laughed out loud at the sudden call out, but he seemed entirely unintimidated as he made a show of smacking his fist into the palm of his hand.

“You want to do some sparring?” Eijiro said, “I’ll be there—Pinky.”

“Shut up,” Mina accused. “I can’t believe she wouldn’t let me use Alien Queen.”

“Hisoka,” Eijiro said, still laughing. “We were just talking about our Internships.”

“Yes, and some of us appear to have had far more success than others,” Momo said, scratching at her cheek in a gesture that was entirely sheepish. “Isn’t that right, Tsuyu?”

Tsuyu let out a groan that sounded as if she was in complete agreement, though I wasn’t entirely sure if it was intentional or not.

“Was the Uwabami Agency one of the more successful ones?” I asked.

“I—am still attempting to figure that out,” Momo admitted, “It wasn’t really anything like what I was expecting, though I did learn quite a bit about the public-facing side of being a hero.”

Uwabami was a hero who acted far more like a celebrity than most, at least from what I had seen of her in commercials, movies, and other media—though I’d seen enough footage of her heroics to know that she had well and truly earned her place amongst the pro heroes.

“Did it deviate from what the primer suggested would be taking place?” I said.

“There were patrols, and she did take the time to teach us some things—Itsuka Kendo from Class 1-B was also chosen by the same agency—but that was it,” Momo said, “She actually encouraged us to participate in a series of commercials, and the rest of the time was spent following her around to media interviews.”

“It could be worse—Tsuyu, tell him about the crazy lady,” Mina said, grinning now. “Wait until you hear this; it’s hilarious.”

“I’m not sure I want to when you say it like that,” Tsuyu said, slumping down a bit. “It sounds like you’re making fun of me.”

“I totally am,” Mina declared. “Now tell him so I can laugh at you again.”

Tsuyu let out a rumble of discontentment at the words—the model I’d built up of Mina was good enough to determine that while she was actually needling her, it wasn’t in a way that could be considered malicious.

“We spent the entire week working out at her personal gym, and then when she got bored of it, she would make me fight her with my arms tied behind my back, or she’d make me do dodge training while she tried to kick me,” Tsuyu said, sinking further down into her chair as she spoke. “We went on patrols once a day, in the mornings, but they only lasted for about an hour, and she never slowed down enough so that I could keep up with her—I hurt everywhere.”

That sounded remarkably close to what Mirko had theorised at the dinner event, and also what I’d relayed to both Tsuyu and Tenya when they had received an internship request from the newly created Battle Battle Agency—true to her word, Mina had begun giggling the moment she had started speaking.

“I made the mistake of telling her about the work-study program, and now she expects me to come back for that, too,” Tsuyu managed. “Then, at the end of the internship, she disbanded the Battle Battle Agency ‘because hero agencies are for losers’ and then told me to keep training or else.”

“It sounds like you had a very difficult week,” I said. “I wonder if she considers All Might, Endeavour and all of the other top heroes who maintain agencies to be losers?”

“I suppose she must,” Momo said, bemused. “How does she expect you to come back for work-study if she doesn’t have an agency? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I asked her that, too,” Tsuyu said, sounding entirely miffed. “She said she’d just make a new one whenever it came up.”

“The Battle Battle Battle Agency,” Mina cheered. “Amazing—I can’t wait for work-study.”

Tsuyu let out another mournful groan at the words.

“My internship was completely normal, at least I think it was, and Crust is actually way cooler than I originally thought,” Eijiro said, drumming his fingers on his computer desk. “He even let me direct some of his sidekicks in these little mock battles he does—I lost every time, but it was really fun.”

“Mock battles?” Momo asked.

“Yeah—kind of like what we did with the Battle Training, but way shorter and with really specific goals like get into the room at the end of the hall or prevent anyone from occupying a specific hallway,” Eijiro said, “His agency is in this massive building, and there are a bunch of floors to simulate different urban interiors so they run all these weekly training sessions with different goals.”

“That sounds really interesting,” Tsuyu sighed.

“It totally was, and because it was internship week, we got to do it every morning,” Eijiro said, stretching his hands up behind his head. “I feel like I learned a whole bunch about teamwork, positioning and how to do point defence—Crust really knows his stuff.”

“Fascinating,” I said. “That sounds like something very useful to know.”

“You bet,” Eijiro said, “What about you—was the Hawks Agency all it was cracked up to be?”

I considered the question for a moment, and everything that I’d spent doing under the guidance of Velcrow, Red Bird and Hawks.

“I learned a lot about dealing with citizen reports, categorising crimes, and organising appropriate responses,” I said before pausing. “I also spent a lot of time transporting captured criminals to the police, as Hawks liked to hand those tasks off to his sidekicks.”

“Another one for the normal internship group, huh?” Mina said. “Have any of you guys spoken to Midoriya, Ida or Todoroki yet—I’m dying to know what actually happened with all that.”

“I tried sending a message to Todoroki, but his response was vague, and if my impression is correct, he might have been told not to speak about it,” Momo said, furrowing her brow. “Midoriya’s messages in the group chat are all we really have to go on, I suppose—he seemed quite embarrassed by all of the attention.”

“Classic Midoriya—let’s just corner him after class,” Mina decided, “He falls apart around girls, so if the three of us combine our power levels, we should be able to overwhelm him.”

“I really do want to know what’s going on,” Eijiro said, sounding a bit lost. “But I also feel like I should be warning him.”

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

“I know you’re excited to see each other again, but at least wait until the bell rings,” Shota said, “There’s one last thing we need to go over before you can leave: the end-of-year tests.”

“Oh no,” Mina said in a voice that was far too concerned. “Teacher—that’s terrible news.”

“Yeah,” Denki said, throwing in his support. “Sir, I am humbly requesting that we do something else instead.”

“Your humble request is denied,” Shota said, without consideration. “The exact time and dates will be on the board tomorrow morning, but we can go over the broad details now—the final exam will be comprised of two main components: a written test and a practical one.”

I watched in silence as he sketched out a pair of large rectangles on the blackboard, the sound of the chalk skating across the surface almost lost beneath the vocalised suffering of the students present. The box on the left was divided up into three sections, while the one on the right remained untouched. Shota proceeded to write a word in every box on the left-hand side, each one denoting a category.

“The written test will be drawing on subject matter from all of your classes, so don’t expect the questions to be on a single topic—communications, threat estimation, quirk recognition, incident response and priority during emergencies,” Shota said, listing them beside the three boxes as bullet points. “These are the most important ones, so make sure you refamiliarise yourself with these chapters in the textbooks for each class.”

“That’s a lot of homework,” Eijiro sighed.

“Gunhead never gave us any homework.” Mina insisted, “Right, Uraraka?”

“I want to go back.” Uraraka groaned.

“You can wait until the work-study,” Shota said without mercy. “Listen, I’ve seen your coursework, so I know you’ll all have the ability to complete the written test.”

“What are we doing for the practical?” Kyoka asked.

“I’m not allowed to tell you the details, but you should consider it a combination of all the things you’ve done up until this point,” Shota said, “I suggest you work hard on sharpening your combat skills in your downtime because you are going to need them.”

“So we’re fighting something,” Hanta wondered. “What’s the bet it’s robots—again.”

“They do seem to enjoy throwing them at us in droves,” Momo said in agreement. “I could certainly see the final exam being something of that nature.”

“You can theorise about it later,” Shota said, scanning the room. “I do have one more thing to tell you—and you’ll want to pay attention to this.”

Shota sat back against his desk for a moment.

“Principal Nezu is taking the opportunity to provide additional motivation for all of you to pass the exam, and to that end, he has organised for a very prestigious training camp to take place over the summer break,” Shota said, “There will be guest instructors present—pro heroes that you’ll have seen in the news—and you’ll be interacting with them at a forest lodge that’s usually reserved for rich families and vacationers.”

“We’re going on a vacation with famous people?” Mina said. “Summer break was already going to be awesome, but now it’s something else.”

“He said training camp, not vacation,” Eijiro said, “But it does sound awesome.”

“What’s the catch?” Shoto murmured.

Shota took his time to pan his gaze across the width of the room, and there was a slow, gradual shift in his body language as the levity and casualness fell away, replaced by a far more curt demeanour—it was a pale shadow of what Shota Aizawa was like when he was truly serious, I knew because this deliberate affectation was nothing compared to what I had seen during the invasion—and yet there was also something distinctly familiar about the way he adorned it.

“The catch is that only those who pass both the written and the practical portions will be eligible to attend—everyone else is getting left behind,” Shota said, watching us. “Before you say it, I’m just relaying the information to you, and I have no authority to decide anything here; you’ll get there on your own merits or not at all.”

The familiarity of it meant that I’d seen this pattern of behaviour before, and when I turned my focus inwards, it only took a moment of introspection to actually figure out where I had seen it—it had been back during our very first day at U.A. High School. The sudden onset of seriousness he’d just undergone was exactly the same as when he’d threatened to terminate the enrollment of whoever had ranked lowest during the quirk assessment exercise to motivate everyone to apply themselves to a level beyond the norm.

“Hold on,” Denki started, “Exactly how hard is this exam, anyway?”

There was a round of similar questions as a wave of chatter broke out across the classroom, but my attention remained on figuring out exactly which part of the information Shota had just relayed was a falsehood.

“It doesn’t matter how hard it is,” Katsuki said, smacking his hand flat against the top of his desk. “I’m going to destroy this test—if you extras can’t keep up, I’ll do the training camp all by myself.”

“I’ll never let that happen,” Mina declared. “I’ll study so hard that you fall behind on the marking curve, and you’ll be forced to watch me go on vacation by myself.”

“Just try it and see what happens.” Katsuki threatened. “You damn Pinky.”

If my assessment was correct here, then Shota had just applied the same type of logical ruse he’d used against us once before—he’d outright stated that this was a reward for passing the exam, but the possibility of failure would mean that some members of our class could gain access to training materials or instruction that the rest would be gated off from; which was something that would create an artificial skill disparity in our class. Every other exercise, training session, lecture, or test up until this point had been standardised, and the sudden, deliberate injection of inequality here would act as a disruptive force for every subsequent lesson. It would also serve to ostracise the failures, which would foster a dislike between those who had passed and those who hadn’t. All of which went directly counter to creating a streamlined learning environment.

“The need to pass both halves of the exam means that focusing all of our time on studying could leave us unprepared for the physical requirements of the practical portion—and the reverse is likely also true,” Fumikage said, speaking up. “It would be more beneficial to take a balanced approach.”

“That would be the wisest course of action,” Shota said, folding his arms across his chest. “Make sure you’re in top shape on both fronts—or I can promise that you’ll regret it.”

The obvious conclusion here was that either the training camp didn’t actually exist, or everybody would be attending it regardless of the outcome of the tests—and that all of this had just been a way to provide an additional layer of motivation for everyone in the class to apply ourselves in a way that went beyond our standard level of academic and physical achievement.

“Sir,” I said, speaking up. “Are we the only class that will be attending this training camp?”

I couldn’t imagine a reason why only our class would receive the chance to win an additional reward when there were other classes in the Hero Studies course—so if he claimed that it was being offered solely to our class, then it would be clear evidence towards confirming the training camp was, in fact, a ruse.

“It’s being offered to the first-year students in the Hero Studies course, which means Class 1-A and 1-B will both be participating,” Shota said, meeting my gaze for just a moment. “The other courses and classes have their own summer plans as well, though I’m unaware of the details.”

“I’ve figured out the real catch,” Toru said, slumping back in her chair. “It’s a vacation with Monoma.”

“Damn,” Kyoka sighed. “Maybe we should all fail the test in protest?”

“You could try it,” Shota said as his eyes flickered up towards the ceiling in consideration. “Perhaps I’ll organise my own training camp just for the failures.”

“I don’t know what the opposite of a vacation is, but it sounds exactly like what you just said,” Uraraka decided. “We need to pass no matter what—”

The bell rang out, declaring the end of the homeroom period, and Shota waved us off, the man’s strides carrying him out of the classroom ahead of us. Everyone began to pack up their belongings and ready themselves for the next period. I was most of the way out of the door when Tsuyu fell in step beside me, though she didn’t actually speak up until we were halfway down the hallway.

“Hisoka,” Tsuyu said, “Can I speak with you?”

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

“During the internship, Mirko made me rewatch all of the fights that took place in the tournament phase of the U.A. Sports Festival,” Tsuyu said, wringing one of her wrists with her other hand. “Then she told me how she would have beat them all.”

“That sounds similar to the preparation we did in homeroom class prior to the festival,” I said, “Was it instructive?”

“It was—but it wasn’t,” Tsuyu started. “Mirko is very strong and very fast, so a lot of the strategies were quite straightforward.”

“I see,” I said with interest. “What was the strategy she would have used to defeat me?”

“I don’t want to say,” Tsuyu hedged. “If I told you now, then it wouldn’t work anymore.”

“Most likely,” I agreed.

“Hisoka, I already told you that she wanted me to keep practising my avoidance training, but to do that, I need someone to attack me,” Tsuyu said, “Aizawa also said that we should be practising outside of class for the practical exam—so I wanted to ask if you would be willing to help me.”

“I’m not certain of what help I can provide,” I said, “What exactly are you asking me to do?”

“I need you to attack me a lot,” Tsuyu said without fanfare. “My goal is to avoid the attacks and then counterattack.”

“Sustained attacks over a long period of time, or brief but high-intensity attempts to capture you?” I asked.

“Mirko did both,” Tsuyu said. “So it would probably be best to keep doing it like that.”

I considered the information for a long moment.

“Did Mirko explain what the goal of this training was?” I asked.

“To be able to dodge anything I can see coming, then launch a counterattack in the same instant, from any position,” Tsuyu said, “Mirko said that my strategy for fighting Shishida was perfect, but I kept getting in my own way—so I need to get way better at this kind of thing.”

To inflict damage without receiving any in return was about as ideal of a fighting style as could be found. If Shishida hadn’t been able to actually pin her to the ground, then it was certainly true that she may have been able to whittle him down—though he didn’t seem the type to fall to such a straightforward strategy, and it was a lot of durability to burn through to actually win in that way. My own combat style had been something I’d learned almost entirely from Sajin, though it had become clear very early on that many of the strategies he used were not so suited to me—or rather, the intrinsic differences between our quirks had allowed me to avoid some of the base limitations he was forced to contend with. The primary one had been that Sajin was only able to transform the top half of his body, and so the villains he’d encountered across the entirety of his professional career had sought to target the half that couldn’t.

Sajin was capable of reconstructing any wound or injury that occurred to the top half of his body, but any damage that was inflicted on his lower body would need to be treated at a hospital. That fact had led to him maintaining a strict defence of his legs, and it also informed the way he positioned himself on the battlefield—but I didn’t share that same trait as my entire body was capable of undergoing the transformation. It had become increasingly clear to me over the years that my adoption of his style would likely always feel incomplete and that no matter how long I practised, it would never be as perfect of a match for me as it had been for Sajin. The combat training I’d undergone since coming to U.A. High School had served to fill in some of those gaps, as had the brief, but instructive experience I’d gained from the invasion. But the thing that had been the most beneficial towards refining my combat skills had undoubtedly been the U.A. Sports Festival.

In that single day, I’d been placed against an array of incredibly talented heroes in training, some of whom had possessed what might have been the most powerful quirks of our entire generation—and perhaps this was a chance to once again place myself against another bright mind. Attempting to target a relatively small, notably intelligent, and fast-moving target would most likely serve to hone my own skills. The fact that Tsuyu would most undoubtedly learn, improve and adapt during the process only heightened the potential value that was on offer.

As she grew more skilled at avoiding my attacks, so too would my strategies need to be adjusted to maintain the ability to target her—and perhaps amidst that symbiotic evolution, I would find a way to alleviate some of that incompleteness I’d been feeling.

“I know it’s a strange thing to ask,” Tsuyu said, sounding a bit hesitant. “Do you not want to?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I do not have any real desire to attack you, but I am willing to help you to the best of my ability,” I said, speaking up. “Would one hour every day after our last period be sufficient—or do you require a larger allotment of time?”

“That’s way more than I was expecting,” Tsuyu said, seemingly a bit startled. “Are you sure you want to give up that much of your free time just to help me?”

“Yes,” I said without having to think about it. “I assume these sessions will take place on school grounds, and if so, we will need to obtain permission from one of our instructors to use our quirks—do you have someone in mind?”

Tsuyu linked her hands behind her and then rocked back on her heels, noticeably pleased with the outcome of her request.

“I was going to ask Aizawa, but he left before I could,” Tsuyu said, smiling now. “I’ll ask Midnight after our next class—Hisoka?”

“Yes?” I said.

“Thank you,” Tsuyu said.

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

I watched as Izuku stepped over the threshold and into the cafeteria, his eyes locked on the beaten-up old notebook held open across the span of both of his hands—Mina, posted up on the inside of the door, surged forward the moment she spotted him, lunging out from behind the boy and snaking her arm around his neck in a partial headlock. Izuku let out a cry of surprise at the suddenness of it, and his book was launched skyward as some primal instinct to cover his face took hold. Momo managed to snatch hold of it before it could hit the ground, though she leaned so far forward in the attempt that she almost stumbled all the way to the cafeteria floor. Tsuyu actually managed to catch hold of her shoulder, but by that point, she had already steadied herself for the most part—

“I feel like I’m watching a pride of lions mauling a sheep,” Eijiro said with a wince. “Look at the poor guy—he’s gone almost as pink as Mina.”

The mottled red of Izuku’s flushed face wasn’t anywhere near a match for the shade of pink that made up her skin, and I was certain that if Hayami had heard the comment, it wouldn’t have avoided a verbal correction. Still, the boy did look rather pressed by the proximity. Izuku made only one pale attempt to lever Mina’s arm free from around his neck, but Momo swept in and hooked her arm around the crook of his elbow—at which point he just about collapsed from embarrassment.

“It’s interesting that a killer of heroes would give him little pause,” I said, in consideration, “Yet this is enough to render him defenceless.”

“You think you’d do any better in a situation like that?” Eijiro asked.

The two girls had already dragged him towards one of the nearby tables and then crowded him into the bench seat, ensuring he was trapped between them. Tsuyu slipped down into the seat directly opposite the trio before leaning forward until she was staring at him with her chin planted on her palm—and with that, the encirclement was complete. The careful positioning left Izuku without any real direction to turn in order to avoid eye contact other than to stare down at his own lap—but Mina hadn’t removed her arm from around his shoulders, and so she had the leverage to make even that small retreat a difficult venture.

“Against Stain?” I wondered.

“Against those three,” Eijiro said, nodding his head towards them. “I’m not going to lie—that would probably work on me.”

They hadn’t done much of anything to intimidate him yet, and as far as I could tell, the only reason it was actually effective against Izuku was that he seemed to possess some odd fear of proximity with the opposite sex. To the best of my knowledge, Eijiro didn’t share that fear—or at least, he had shown no instance in which that was evident in the past—so the same tactic shouldn’t have worked on him.

“I think I can confidently state that it wouldn’t,” I said. “Uraraka appears to be positioning herself for a rescue attempt.”

“We need to buy them as much time as possible,” Eijiro said, punching a hand into his palm. “Which means it’s our turn—let’s put our boyish good looks to work.”

I followed in his wake as he charted an intercept course across the room and wondered if I’d ever had anything like that to begin with. Uraraka spotted Eijiro just before they crossed paths and then blinked as the boy slid directly in front of where she had been about to move—

“Fancy seeing you here,” Eijiro said with a brilliant smile. “I never really see you outside of class, Ochaco, so why don’t we eat together—”

“Sorry, Kirishima,” Ochaco said, clapping her hands together in apology. “I’m super busy right now.”

Ochaco stepped past the boy without another word, and Eijiro seemed absolutely flabbergasted by the complete lack of success—

“Uraraka,” I said, speaking up. “The truth is that Eijiro needs your help, and paying for your lunch was his attempt at securing your assistance.”

Ochaco seemed to stumble for a moment before she came to a stop, partially hunched over as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted to turn around or keep on going—it was almost the exact same reaction I’d seen back during the first week when Momo had offered to pick her up a drink from the vending machine.

“You’re going to buy me lunch?” Uraraka managed. “Like—the whole thing?”

Uraraka’s eyes remained locked on the still-trapped Izuku, who seemed to be trying his hand at some kind of blink-based morse code, the message growing more and more desperate as Momo gave him a friendly pat on the arm.

“It’s the least I can do for the girl who’s going to help me,” Eijiro said, throwing his wallet into the sacrificial pyre without a hint of hesitation. “Whatever you want from the premium menu—it’s completely on me.”

“Lunch sounds great,” Uraraka beamed. “Let’s go before they close the kitchen.”

Eijiro stumbled as he was summarily dragged off in the direction of the counter, and I was left to witness the crushing betrayal on Izuku’s face as Mina leaned all the way in to block his line of sight. I turned away from the sight of it, then moved to stand near the counter as Uraraka made her selection.

“What do you need my help with, anyway?” Uraraka asked.

“Uh,” Eijiro tried. “That’s a good question—isn’t it, Hisoka?”

“Mina has recently challenged Eijiro to a sparring match, and he accepted without giving it much thought,” I said in answer. “Since then, he has learned that the two of you have received personal instruction from Gunhead, a known martial artist.”

“Exactly—so I’m hoping you can give me a few tips,” Eijiro said, catching on. “Just so she doesn’t kick my ass too badly.”

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

A mannequin rose up from the ground, easily as tall as a full-grown man and in possession of limbs that were far too long. Its arms rose up in front of its face as it settled into a loose guard, then it surged forward across the grass, moving quite a bit faster than I was capable of moving unaided—its right fist lanced outwards, the unusual length of its arms allowing it to strike all the way to the ground while leaning only part of the way forward. Tsuyu touched down half a step to the side of the impact zone, having kicked off in a short but agile side step. The statue twisted its upper body, dragging its still extended fist up in an arc that passed through the space directly above her head as she dropped down into a crouch—the thing’s thigh exploded in a shower of sand as the flat of her foot smashed into it.

I directed it into a backward stumble that would mimic the destruction of its leg, then had it lash out at her from its toppled position. Tsuyu performed another tight hop to the side, putting her just out of range of the arm before she circled around behind it as it fought its way back up to its feet. It spun on one leg, arm flashing outwards, and once again, it passed directly over her head as she went underneath it—and then its faceless head exploded as the side of her foot crashed into it.

“Can you make it faster?” Tsuyu asked.

The statue, still in the process of toppling backwards onto the ground, froze an inch before its back could actually make contact, and its body roiled for a moment as I reconstructed the missing sections—it snapped back upright, then stormed forward at twice the pace, it’s too-long legs eating up the ground with each stride. The smoothness of its animation began to suffer, and the difficulty of preserving its fluidity increased alongside the speed of the motion. Maintaining such a complicated series of movements at this speed and in a form that was more than just a mass of formless sand was something I had very little practice with.

The inhumanity and stiltedness of it seemed for a moment unbearable to me, as my own inability was put on display for another to see—Tsuyu threw herself to the side as it crashed down where she was standing, the motion far less graceful and controlled than what she had been managing up until that point. The statue scrambled across the ground, its stumbling lope utilising its arms when it overbalanced from the speed of its ungainly pursuit. Tsuyu made a series of rapid backward hops, the pattern erratic but also visibly practised, and she quickly hit her stride, growing more comfortable with the pace—the statue's right hand swung upwards, over its head, and then down towards her, the arc of the attack telegraphed, but also faster than anything else I’d done so far.

Tsuyu barely moved, shifting to the side at the last second and allowing the attack to pass her by completely. The moment it had hit the grass, she twisted to her left, her right leg coming up off the ground in a rising kick that tore all the way through the side of the statue’s body, sending its grainy lifeblood scattering up into the air. The upper and lower sections of its body were rent apart, but the moment they crashed down onto the grass, they reformed themselves—and then there were two.

“You better be careful using that kind of force out in the field,” Midnight said, “If you kick a person that hard, I can guarantee you that it isn’t sand that is going to come out.”

“Right—” Tsuyu managed.

Tsuyu’s precise positioning was already starting to falter, and as I watched her from a dozen different nodes spread out around the field, the answer to why made itself known to me—all of the experience she’d accumulated over the Internship week had been obtained in great struggle against a singular overwhelming opponent. The timing of her dodges, the pattern of evasions, and the way she angled her body were all optimised for someone coming after her from the front—but with two different vectors of attack, she was forced to diverge from the muscle memory she had managed to build up.

“The monsters are starting to look less detailed,” Midnight wondered. “Why is that?”

I frowned at the comment and the confirmation that all of the flaws I was witnessing first-hand were just as visible to outside observation. Two realistic and animated constructs moving at these kinds of speeds were currently beyond my ability—the fingers had been the first thing to be sacrificed, first to a permanently closed fist, then to a simple geometric outline that looked more like a mallet than a hand. The rounded joints that had separated the forearms and biceps were gone now as well, the limbs becoming a single long tube with a sharp, angular bend that served as a facade of an elbow.

“I am unable to maintain complex shapes at anything approaching this level of speed,” I said, raising my hands. “It’s not something I’ve had a reason to practice prior to this moment.”

A third statue joined the fight, the three of them now reduced to a size that was equal to that of Tsuyu’s own height, and most of the detail fell away entirely as I coordinated them to attack her in an alternating pattern—it left her in a constant state of motion, unable to stop for even a moment, and any form of long-term strategy had been stripped down to pure, thoughtless reaction. Tsuyu was a blur of scrambling motion as she fought to maintain her avoidance of the incoming array of attacks. There was a small moment of contact in which I felt the statue’s hand brush against her ankle—and that was all it took for everything to come tumbling down. Tsuyu landed awkwardly, her footing only slightly off, and in the moment it took her to regain her balance, all three of them managed to latch onto her well enough to drag her down to the grass beneath them.

“If this is the extent of what you two are going to be doing, then I think I can sign off on it,” Midnight said, speaking up. “Be careful about how hard you attack with these things—there were a few hits that looked like they were probably a bit overboard, and it only takes one mistake to inflict a lasting injury.”

Tsuyu went slack as she realised that there were too many limbs to contend with, and I considered that her declaration that the round was now finished. The sand retreated to my side, slowly transforming from rough, vaguely humanoid blobs into the larger, more highly refined statue that I’d started with—it did little to wash away the discontent at realising just how unskilled I was at this specific task.

“I understand,” I said.

“Good,” Midnight said, “Asui—how often do you two intend on practising?”

Tsuyu was still flat on her back on the grass and panting for breath, unready to make any kind of verbal response as she began the struggle up into an actual seated position.

“Once—a day—for about—an hour,” Tsuyu managed, “If that’s—okay.”

“It is,” Midnight said, “I just need to make sure we log down how much training you’ve done outside of regular classes because everything that happens on school grounds needs to be accounted for—especially when it involves quirk usage.”

Midnight spent a moment marking something down on her tablet before she tucked it under her arm and then bid us both good luck. I watched as she cut a path across the grass, back in the direction of the main building, and then turned my attention back to Tsuyu as she finally managed to find her feet.

“Given that this was our first real attempt at the exercise, I was attempting to ramp up the level of difficulty until you would find it challenging,” I said, “It was clear that you were handling a single opponent rather easily—would you like me to start with two?”

“I actually really liked how that went,” Tsuyu said, shaking her head. “Can we do it the same way again?”

The statue fell back into its initial combat stance, making it clear that I had no issues with her request and that the exercise was about to begin anew. Tsuyu shifted in place for a moment, bouncing from foot to foot as she prepared herself for the upcoming exertion—and then we began.

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

“I’ve barely even been taking notes this semester,” Denki managed, “With the Sports Festival and the Internship, it feels like there hasn’t been any time to crack open a book.”

“It’s criminal,” Mina insisted. “They should push it back until we’re actually ready.”

“While it is true that we haven’t had very much free time while those events were taking place, that isn’t the case now,” Fumikage said. “What have you two been doing for the last week?”

“Studying—damn it,” Denki complained. “But it still feels like I’m playing catch up.”

“It’s totally not fair,” Mina said, horrified. “I can feel my summer vacation fading away.”

“Don’t lose hope, you guys; there’s still plenty of time to study,” Izuku tried, “If we try our best, I’m sure we’ll all get to go to the training camp together—right?”

“Yes, we need to do everything we can,” Tenya said, breathing out. “The pride of Class 1-A and U.A. High School is on the line.”

“It’s pretty hard to fail if you just pay attention in class—” Shoto said before furrowing his brow. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to hear that from a genius, the class president, and the guy with two hundred different notebooks,” Denki said, slumping back in his seat. “Try to see it from the point of view of someone who’s actually normal.”

“I don’t—there isn’t two hundred of them,” Izuku protested. “That’s way too many.”

“I wouldn’t mind catching you both up on the important topics if you like,” Momo said, smiling. “We could even turn it into a study session—Mina, I’m going to fall.”

The chair hovered up on two legs for a precarious moment as Mina practically fell upon the other girl, and Momo scrambled to keep her grip on the desk as she completely failed to heed the protest.

“Thanks, Momo,” Mina said, “You’re the best.”

“You’re going to help me too—” Denki started, falling down onto his knees in the aisle. “You’d really do that?”

“I’d like for all of us to pass, so the invitation is open for everyone,” Momo said, resigning herself to patting Mina on the back when she couldn’t free herself. “I’m afraid I won’t be of any help for the practical exam, though; I’m not even sure if I’m going to do very well on that.”

“I’ve been studying,” Kyoka hedged, “But could you help me out?”

“Tutor me too,” Hanta said, clapping his hands together in prayer. “Classical Japanese is killing me.”

“I’ve been feeling as if I’m falling behind a little as well,” Mashirao admitted, “Is there room for one more?”

“Oh, how wonderful; if you’re all so motivated, then I can’t help but want to do everything that I can—we can have the study session at my residence over the weekend,” Momo said, seeming to come alive at the idea. “I’ll have to call my mother and ask her to prepare the Great Hall; it’s the perfect spot for something like this.”

“Seriously?” Mina said, impressed. “I’ve been wanting to see your big fancy place since forever.”

“I need to brush up on everything,” Eijiro said, ruffling his own hair for a moment. “So you can count me in on it—anyone else want in on this?”

“Yes, please,” Tsuyu said, joining the discussion. “Toru?”

“There’s a few things I’ve been getting stuck on lately,” Toru said after a moment of consideration. “Maybe I’ll come as well.”

“Fantastic—and when we’re finished, you’ll all be model students,” Momo said, “I’ll make it my personal duty to push you all forward.”

The growing group sought to drag the rest of the class into the study session, and while the vast majority of them accepted—Izuku, Uraraka, Fumikage, Tenya, and Shoji being those who were asked—there were some notable standouts. Shoto deflected all attempts to pull him into the session quietly and without much in the way of explanation. Katsuki outright refused to have anything to do with it, though Eijiro gave it his best attempt to actually get him to accept—Yuga Aoyama, however, took advantage of the spirited argument to leave the room entirely. It was something I’d seen many times before, though this time, it was clear to me that he was attempting to avoid an invitation of his own. It was an action that was at odds with the bright, sunny demeanour that the boy had carried with him to his enrollment at U.A. High School—unfortunately, I could pinpoint the exact day on which it had begun to erode.

Yuga looked back for just a moment as he stepped out into the hall, and I caught sight of the tired expression written into the lines of his face—

“Hisoka,” Eijiro said, “You’re coming to this thing, aren’t you?”

“I would prefer to study for the written test alone,” I said as the blonde boy vanished. “But thank you for the invitation.”

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

As the timer approached the end of our allotted time, more and more members of Class 1-A began turning their tests over—though the reactions and dispositions of each of them varied greatly. Katsuki seemed to be at war with his test, and despite having been one of the very first people to finish, he’d gone back to make several furious adjustments during the last fifteen minutes. Denki seemed far more relaxed, with one leg kicked up onto his other knee as he leaned back into his chair, and if he was at all worried about the outcome, it didn’t show on his face. Izuku hung over his desk like a lizard sticking to a wall, his face inches above his booklet as he frantically flipped back and forth between the pages—I could just hear the faintest edges of his mutterings, though they were completely indecipherable.

Mina had both of her hands buried in her hair and seemed to be staring down with a sort of frustrated and pale-faced horror. My own test lay complete but still face up on the surface of my desk, its contents already behind me and no longer something in need of my attention. This was only the first of three tests, but it was clear that this one had been weighted far more heavily towards the communication side of being a hero—talking to citizens, summarising reports for hero agencies, marking out the boundaries of our authority to act as a hero-in-training and the appropriate way to verbally structure after-action reports. There were even some questions regarding dealing with journalists and the compartmentalisation of information with regard to causing panic among the general public. Exactly as Shota had told us, it had only covered topics that had been a part of our existing studies.

There was nothing that was particularly difficult, though there had been an oddly high amount of poorly written prompts and particularly misleading multiple choice questions—the worst of which had been a combination of the two problems and what I thought might be currently causing Mina to attempt to pull her hair out—and while it had served to artificially increase the difficulty of the test, I wasn’t sure it had been the test-makers original intent to outright confuse us.

“You can put your pencils down now,” Shota said, watching us with a frown. “Ashido, that means you.”

Mina let out a mournful sigh of frustration at the sound of her name and then smacked her pencil down on top of the test paper in a not-so-silent protest. Rather than hand our tests forward as we were usually asked to do with the numerous pop quizzes that had made themselves known throughout the year, Shota took his time collecting each of them in turn.

“Kaminari,” Shota said, pausing halfway between picking the next one up. “Sign your name in the spot at the top of the last page.”

“Whoa—thanks, teacher,” Denki started. “Someone might have stolen my good marks.”

“I’m sure,” Shota said, voice dry. “Everyone else had better check that you’ve done the same.”

I took a moment to check, even though I was beyond certain that I had, in fact, signed my name in the required place, then sat back—if the other two tests were as straightforward as this had been, then the only thing we would really need to worry about was the practical exam.

“Teacher,” Mina said, refusing to let go of her paper when Shota tried to take it. “I really want to go on vacation—please remember this when you mark them.”

“I’m not the one marking them,” Shota said without an ounce of sympathy. “But even if I was, a request like that wouldn’t help you.”

“Don’t worry, Ashido—Yaoyorozu trained us for this,” Denki said with complete confidence. “We’ve got this thing in the bag.”

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

The centre plaza acted as a beautiful frontage—and a functional gatehouse—to the sprawling city beyond it, and it was there, in the cross-section of a simulated city, that we would be undergoing the final exam. I adjusted the neckline of the bodysuit that made up my costume until it was sitting high up, tucked just below my chin, as we approached the array of teachers that stood in front of the entrance. Every single one of them was wreathed in their own costumes. But unlike all of us, they shouldn’t have had a reason to be wearing them, which meant that the likelihood that the practical exam was made up of robots—as Itsuka Kendo of Class 1-B had passed on to us several days ago—was most likely incorrect. I listened as half a dozen conversations broke out at the sight of them and took note of the fact that Toru had shifted to the complete opposite side of the group—

“All of our teachers are here except for All Might,” Toru said, speaking up. “I wonder why he’s always the only one who turns up late to these things.”

The boy she had fallen in step beside seemed to come alive at the comment, Izuku’s previous quiet excitement devolving into a sudden, overwhelming panic.

“That—it’s not always,” Izuku defended, speaking quickly. “I’m sure he just wants to make a big entrance.”

“It’s literally every single time,” Toru said in disagreement. “He either arrives right as the lesson starts, or he’s a few minutes behind.”

“He’s the most famous man in Japan,” Izuku tried, “I’m certain he has a lot of people trying to contact him.”

“You’re saying he’s taking phone calls before class?” Toru pressed.

“I—it’s not like I’ve seen him taking them,” Izuku tried, “But—what else could it be?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Toru said, working to keep the conversation alive. “It’s not just being late to classes either; have you noticed that he’s always the very first person to leave the room—and when he does, it’s always in a rush or like he’s not feeling well?”

“I don’t think—“ Izuku managed, “Maybe he’s expecting a—”

“A phone call—is that really what you were just about to say?” Toru wondered, “You don’t even know if it’s that or not.”

“It could be,” Izuku said.

“But you don’t actually know,” Toru said, “Midoriya, why are you always trying so hard to make up excuses for him?”

“I’m not making up excuses for him,” Izuku swallowed.

“Yes, you are, and you seem really jumpy about it,” Toru said, “You know what the real reason is, don’t you?”

“There isn’t a real reason—” Izuku said before cutting himself off. “I mean, how would I know if there even was one?”

“Because you’ve got ‘All Might in your corner, helping you out,’” Toru said, jamming her gloved hand over her shoulder. “That’s what Todoroki said to you at the Sports Festival, right?”

Shoto glanced over at the sound of his name, but it was clear that he wasn’t anywhere close enough to have heard enough of the ongoing conversation to derive the context for why it was being invoked. I watched the interaction out of the corner of my eye, curious at how oddly focused Toru seemed to be in pressing for an answer to her question. The fact that All Might was late to most of our lessons was something that had been spoken of many times before, though the speculation as to what the cause was had ranged from the mundane to beyond the absurd. Toru had been a part of those very same conversations, but she had never seemed as motivated to discover the true reason as she was right now.

“Just because Todoroki said that,” Izuku said, eyes locked on the ground ahead of him. “Doesn’t mean it’s actually true.”

“But it is true, isn’t it?” Toru said, “All Might always seems to pull you aside in class, and I’ve seen you speaking with him after school is out—he doesn’t do that with anyone else; it’s just you.”

Izuku went silent at the words, but the panic and strain he was experiencing were just as visible as every other expression that had ever passed over the boy’s face.

“It’s obvious that you know him from outside of school,” Toru said, “I just want to know why he is always late to class and why he seems to rush to leave once he actually gets there.”

The answer was obviously that All Might was struggling to maintain his transformation, and in order to lessen the strain of it, he was minimising how much time he had to spend in that form. Ergo, coming to class a few minutes late and then leaving as quickly as possible. Toru was also correct that the two of them had failed to hide the fact that they had some kind of connection outside of school hours. The problem here was that she had noticed that something was wrong, and instead of brushing it aside like most everyone else in the class, she had suddenly decided to pursue an answer—an answer All Might was still trying to keep from reaching the public. It seemed too late on that front—considering that hundreds of villains were already aware enough about his injured state to have staged an invasion of the school—but I’d already told the man as much.

“There are many possible reasons for both his serial lateness and his tendency to rush around,” I said, speaking up. “Though I imagine that there is a significant amount of his time being requested by parties outside of U.A. High School.”

“You really think that’s all it is?” Toru said.

“The All Might Hero Agency, guest roles in talk shows, interview panels and podcasts, brand deals, business offers and requests for permission to use his likeness in articles and for marketing purposes,” I said in consideration. “Charity work responsibilities and appearances, lesson planning, familiarising himself with the curriculum, the crime-fighting he’s still doing before and after class—and if he has a family outside of his heroic duties, then he would probably want to optimise for time spent with them.”

“Right,” Izuku said, breathing out. “He’s just really, really busy.”

“I get that he’s busy, but there’s something else going on here,” Toru said, sounding frustrated. “He was even coughing the other day as well—it’s like he’s sick or something.”

“He might just have a cold?” Izuku tried.

Toru scoffed at the weak suggestion, and for a moment, I could clearly imagine her face twisted up into an expression of frustration—but in her defence, if someone had made the same arguments to me about this topic, I wouldn’t have believed them either. The fact of the matter was that All Might was sick, and it was becoming more apparent with every passing day. Eventually, there would be little he could do to hide his sickly state, or if he was particularly unlucky, he’d fail to hold up his transformation in a moment of weakness, and everything would come tumbling down. Toru never had a chance to continue her crusade, as the front of the group came to a stop in front of the amassed teachers.

“Now that you’re all here, we can begin the last test,” Shota said in greeting. “Remember, it’s possible to fail this final, so if you want to go to camp, don’t make any stupid mistakes.”

“Why are all the teachers here?” Kyoka murmured.

“I expect many of you have worked hard to gather information,” Shota said, “You no doubt believe that you have some idea about what you’ll be faced with today—”

“We’re fighting those big old metal robots,” Denki cheered.

“We’ve got this handled,” Mina cried out, “Fireworks, smores—here we come camp.”

Principal Nezu clapped his paws together to draw everybody’s attention down to where he was standing and then spoke up.

“Actually, this year’s test will be completely different,” Nezu said, “It wasn’t a rushed decision, I assure you, and there are various reasons why this is the case.”

“You’re changing things now—” Momo said, entirely startled. “But we’ve all spent so much time preparing for them.”

“Yes, the test will have a new focus, and there will be hero work, of course, but also teamwork and combat between actual people,” Principal Nezu said, “You students will be working together in pairs, and your opponents will be one of our esteemed U.A. Teachers—isn’t that fabulous?”

“We’re fighting the teachers?” Ochaco managed.

“Yes, and additionally, your partner and your opponent have already been chosen; they were determined at my discretion based on fighting styles, grades and interpersonal relationships,” Shota said, retaking control of the discussion. “There are only two methods of passing this test; you will either restrain your opponent with these capture-cuffs, or you must flee the area through the exit gate—why don’t we get started.”

#

U.A. High School, Musutafu.

The PA system came to life from the corner, and Shota Aizawa’s voice rang out through the room.

“The first round of the final exam is about to begin,” Shota said, “Eijiro Kirishima and Hisoka Higawara, please make your way to the starting area.”

I stepped forward from my place by the wall, angling for the door on the other side of the room. Eijiro was far closer to the exit, so he made it outside before I’d even crossed half of the distance. I stepped over the threshold and found him waiting for me on the other side.

“It’s us two, huh?” Eijiro said, spinning the capture cuffs on his extended finger. “They may as well pass us right now.”

I nodded at the confidence as I fell in step beside him, and the two of us followed the flashing arrows out of the building and then into the sprawling city beyond. My sand began to spread outwards, singular grains passing along the smooth surface of the road and into the surrounding streets before splitting further—

“Your opponent has been decided, and the countdown timer has begun,” Shota said over the PA system. “You have ten minutes until the exam begins, but feel free to start whenever you’re ready.”

“Someone’s way up ahead of us,” Eijiro said, squinting his eyes in an effort to see. “Is that Mister Cementoss?”

“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

“Damn, I’m going to be useless then,” Eijiro said, snatching the cuffs out of their next spin, “I was hoping it would be one of the close-range types like Aizawa or Vlad King.”

“We could always ask for a rematch against All Might,” I said.

“No thanks,” Eijiro said with a laugh, “I’m a get-in close and hit-things kind of guy, but that’s a bit much for me.”

The two of us fell silent for a while, and I considered the structure of the exam—the exit gate was directly behind the man, on the far side of the city, and my sand was already moving to position itself close. By way of the rules, it would be possible to reform myself beside it and then pass through to clear the exam. But that would ruin the nature of the test, which was to use teamwork to reach one of the win conditions, and it would completely vanish any chance Eijiro had of showcasing what he had learned throughout the year.

“I’ve seen videos of Cementoss fighting, and he’s definitely no pushover, so I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to get in close enough to do anything here,” Eijiro said, hanging the capture cuffs on his belt loop. “It’s probably easier to head for the exit gate—”

“Nine minutes left,” Shota said.

“Eijiro,” I said, speaking up. “If I could get you into melee range—could you capture him?”

“You bet I can,” Eijiro said, “You think you can actually get me past all the concrete he’s going to be throwing at us?”

I considered the hero standing in the middle of the street, and everything I knew about him—the man had a level of control over his quirk that few could match, though I had no way of telling if that was hard-fought or if he’d always possessed that level of finesse. I’d seen him manipulate concrete in scale, weight and mass that eclipsed what most people were capable of. Beyond that, I knew that he was capable of changing the state of it on contact—liquefying and solidifying—though all of the manipulations I’d seen had occurred while it was in its liquid form, which spoke of a possible limitation in controlling it while solid.

The videos that Eijiro had spoken of were ones that I’d also seen after I’d researched all of our teachers during the week after my enrollment had been accepted—Cementoss manipulated cement on contact, but he did not produce it. He focused on creating barriers, walls, and obstructions to hem in his opponents, leaving them trapped and unable to escape. Despite his height and build, he completely avoided close combat, sticking to his favoured range of medium-to-long distance. He possessed no sensory upgrade that was tied to the material he controlled, and so any time he manipulated a mass of concrete, he was, in fact, blocking his own line of sight and reducing the information he could acquire from the battlefield—and that was how we could defeat him.

“Eight minutes left,” Shota said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then I’ll follow your lead,” Eijiro said, smacking his fist into his palm. “Let’s do this thing.”

My sand climbed up the walls of the surrounding buildings, clinging to the steel, glass and concrete as it ascended high above us and our opponent. The man shifted to look upwards, no doubt catching sight of the vanishing reflections in the light of the sun. Sand rose up in front of us in a small but steadily growing wave, and in a moment it had reached level with our eyeline—

“Stay low to the ground and out of his line of sight,” I said, “I’ll pull his attention to the left—be fast, Eijiro.”

Eijiro took off without waiting for any other direction, chasing after the mass of sand and accelerating to his full speed. The wave was gaining momentum now, rising higher as it went. I watched from high above the buildings as Cementoss reached down to plant his hands against the surface of the road, a green glow rising from the contact. Cement flowed outwards in a wave as the material that made up the entirety of the road fell under his authority. A series of five barriers rose up out of the ground, each one two meters thick and dozens high. The wave crashed into the first of the barriers, and the force of it was enough to tear the foundation of the wall off right above where it met the ground. The impact took a significant chunk of momentum out of my attack, and while it had enough left over to brunt through the second barrier in turn, the third one held strong.

I switched tactics, unwilling to fall into a power struggle with the man when the path of least resistance was still available. The wave ripped itself apart under my direction, shifting into a dozen different streams that rose up and over the barrier entirely. They twisted downwards towards the next barrier, aiming to collide with the very top of it at the same time, with the intention of snapping the entire structure off at the base—the fourth barrier liquidised without warning, and then a series of pillars struck out from the face of it, each one crashing headlong into each of my attacks and scattering them. The sand of the failed attack hit the road and then swept inwards, growing up into a group of four humanoid statues identical to the ones I’d been using against Tsuyu for most of the week. The four of them slipped through the newly formed gaps in the recycled barrier and then dragged themselves forward towards the final one.

One pair of them went straight up and over the wall, scrambling up over it with their too-long limbs, while the others went left and right, respectively. Cementoss noticed them just as they cleared the top of the final barrier, his own line of sight having been obstructed by the defences, but he made no attempt to move from his crouched position—if the staggered and coordinated attack from three different sides phased the man, I couldn’t see anything in his body language to hint at it. Cement erupted around his still-glowing hand, two pillars lancing outwards at the statues falling towards him, destroying them and scattering sand all around the area in the process. The two remaining statues came around from both sides with their loping strides, and this time, I managed to shift their positioning enough to avoid the initiated counterattack.

The concrete pillars skated over each of their shoulders as they closed in on him, and Cementoss moved for the first time, rising to his feet with his hand pressed flat against a slowly rising altar of cement. Its purpose was obvious, in that it would act to keep him in contact with the road even in a standing position while also allowing him the opportunity to evade if he—Cementoss twisted on his heel, then raked his glowing hand across the top of the altar and an arcing splash of cement followed in the wake of the motion, striking outwards and passing through both of the statues. It left them buried inside the mass of thick grey liquid, their forms visible as it began to solidify around them.

The discarded sand from the first two defeated statues that had been littering the road burst upwards directly behind him, rising to reform itself into a monstrous form that towered over even the barriers around it. It took a single step forward, and sand washed outwards from its deformed foot, spreading out to coat the surface of the road. Cementoss spun on his heel to face the new threat, a mass of cement already spreading outwards from the altar to contest my control over the area—which is exactly when Eijiro came tearing around the corner at a dead-on sprint. Eijiro crashed into his hip shoulder first and then drove the man off his feet and down onto the ground with all of his weight and momentum. The two of them hit the road in a mess of limbs that left them rolling half a dozen meters away from the point of impact—and straight into the field of sand that I’d covered the road with. The monstrous distraction I’d built up fell apart, and the field of sand spread further outwards, stretching out until every source of cement was coated in a thick layer of it.

Cementoss managed to temporarily break free of the scuffle, but Eijiro went with him, advancing at twice the rate as the larger man was capable of retreating while moving backwards. Cementoss blocked the first strike with a visible wince and then kept on falling back as three more followed right behind it. I reformed amidst the field of sand, my bodysuit abandoned near our starting position, and joined the attack—I came in from an angle behind him, and Eijiro shifted the moment he caught sight of me, forcing Cementoss to turn in order to keep facing him. The man was over six feet tall, and given his sheer bulk, I was certain that he must have weighed more than both of us put together—I crashed into his left leg in a sliding tackle, and he collapsed down onto one knee.

Eijiro gave a cry of effort and then tackled the man again, this time managing to keep enough control over it to remain on top. I dove on top of the man’s blocky right arm, fighting hard to pin it down with my entire body weight as he attempted to keep the capture cuff from locking around his arm—and then Eijiro gave a cry of dismay as he realised it was too small to even fit around the man’s abnormally thick wrists, and even then, the four weight bands he’d been wearing as a handicap were blocking the thinnest part of his arm.

“I believe that it would be in poor taste for me to continue the fight at this point,” Cementoss said with a deep laugh. “I surrender.”

“Eijiro Kirishima and Hisoka Higawara,” Shota said over the PA system. “Pass.”

Eijiro fell back off the man and onto the sand, breathing heavily from the exertion but already celebrating the victory. I took a moment to assist Cementoss in getting back up into a sitting position, then made an effort to retrieve my bodysuit from where I’d left it.

“The moment you chose for your surprise attack, Kirishima,” Cementoss said, “Were you two working together towards that end, or was that just a moment of fortuitous timing?”

“Hisoka said he would make an opening for me to get in close, so my job was just to attack from the right side while he kept your attention away from me,” Eijiro said, brushing some of the sand out of his hair. “I couldn’t really see anything behind all those walls, though, so I was counting on him to have everything ready for when I arrived.”

“Higawara?” Cementoss asked.

“I was tracking his position while the two of us were fighting, and that large mass of sand was designed to be eye-catching enough to draw your attention away from where he would emerge,” I said, speaking up. “It was all part of the plan we came up with.”

Cementoss nodded at the explanation.

“I hadn’t expected this to come down to a close-quarters engagement, and preventing me from making contact with the ground isn’t something someone has tried against me before,” Cementoss said, in consideration. “I may have to start carrying a personal source of cement with me in the future.”

If he’d had anything like that on him, then my attempt to limit his quirk usage would have failed outright—the force he could imbue with the cement would allow him to puncture through such a thin layer of sand. It just wouldn’t be enough to prevent it, and it would have only taken a single link between him and the road beneath us to reestablish control over the area.

“As Aizawa said, you have both passed the practical exam, so it would be best for us to return to the Center Plaza for now,” Cementoss said, dusting his pants off. “There will be a more thorough debriefing once we return, so please do consider how you will respond to our questions—it will contribute to your overall grade, after all.”

#

Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu.

“—that jackass, he did even worse than I did.” Mina managed, “I can’t believe I failed one of the written exams and the stupid practical.”

“I think it’s understandable considering how terrible some of those questions on the first test actually were,” Momo said, picking the battle that she could actually get some traction on. “I wrote a letter of complaint last night, though I’m not sure anything will be done about it.”

“It’s not like either of them really ended up mattering all that much,” Tsuyu said, “I suppose we should have expected that Aizawa was going to pull another trick on us.”

“He’s the teacher that cried wolf,” Mina accused, “The next time he threatens to punish us, I’m going to call his bluff—actually, on second thought, he carries through on those threats sometimes, doesn’t he?”

Mina kind of trailed off at the end, apparently developing a hesitancy about setting anything in stone, and I spoke up in response.

“He tells the truth more often than he lies,” I offered.

“It would probably be better not to risk it,” Tsuyu agreed. “At least we all get to go on the training camp together.”

“Yeah,” Mina decided. “I suppose that’s what really matters.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves; we still have our pre-vacation-vacation to get through first,” Eijiro said, “Speaking of, I’ve been trying to look it up, but are there flights to I-Island actually included with these tickets?”

“Yes, there are flights to, and from the island included with the ticket,” I said, “I apologise for not explaining that sooner.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Eijiro said, “I’m happy so long as we don’t have to swim there.”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak to all of you about this as well,” Momo said, “My father has extended an invitation to everyone to ride along with us to I-Island aboard our private jet.”

There was a pause in the voice call as everyone came to terms with what she had just said.

“Aboard your what?” Eijiro blinked.

“You have a private jet as well?” Mina said as if she couldn’t believe it. “Momo.”

“Don’t say it like I’m in trouble,” Momo said, feathers ruffled. “It’s my father's—but yes, we do have one.”

“I had my heart set on swimming,” Tsuyu said, with a rumble in her throat. “But a private jet sounds nice, too.”

Standard plane fare or private jet—it made absolutely no difference to me how I reached the island, only that I could do so legally. Beyond that, it was entirely unlikely that Aunt Hayami would decline an invitation like that, so there was little reason nor grounds for me to take any kind of real action here.

“I am certain that Aunt Hayami would want to meet with your parents as soon as possible,” I said, “So I will tentatively accept on behalf of the both of us.”

“I’m glad,” Momo said, smiling now. “My mother did mention that she has already sent your aunt a message about it, so she is most likely aware of the offer.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Sure, sure, all of that is great—but let’s get down to the real question here,” Mina said, interjecting, “How often do you take the jet to school?”

“I’ve never done that,” Momo insisted. “There wouldn’t be anywhere to even land—not to mention the distances involved would make it completely wasteful.”

“Tell the truth, rich girl,” Mina accused, “It’s like a taxi to you, isn’t it?”

“Mina,” Momo protested.

“Careful,” Tsuyu said, “Momo might buy U.A. High School next and then force them to make the exams even harder.”

“She wouldn’t—would she?” Mina breathed. “That’s too cruel.”

“If she did that, then they’d probably start serving a bunch of expensive tea at the cafeteria,” Eijiro decided. “Like that hairy one you made for us at the study session.”

Momo puffed up her cheeks at the teasing, but it was clear that she was struggling to keep a smile from touching her lips—I was forced to pause for a moment to actually consider what he’d just said.

“Hairy tea?” I wondered. “Perhaps I made the correct choice by studying alone, after all.”

“It was Harris tea,” Momo managed. “There wasn’t any hair involved.”