Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu.

I closed and locked the door to my apartment before making my way down the hallway to the internal staircase at the end of the building. The three floors of stairs were taken in silence, with most of my attention on the dozens of sand orbs that were arrayed around the outside of the building—it was odd seeing so many people. The Higawara manor was far outside of the central and most populated area of the city, so there weren’t that many people walking around the outskirts of it at any one time. This apartment building, however, was on the north side of central, and that meant that there were dozens of hotels, office buildings, and shopping malls in the immediate area.

I had three more minutes to make it to the subway terminal, which was two more than I really needed, considering I had long since mapped out exactly where I needed to go and calculated the time it would take me to do so. I observed two different students along the way who were wearing a uniform that matched my own, and when I actually entered the subway, I found myself in the same carriage as both. The first was a tall, older boy with spiky blue hair who had posted up directly beside the door to the next cabin, his face hovering inches from the corner as he did his best to hide from sight in a train filled with people.

Closer to my current position was a very short girl with large dark eyes and a mass of green hair that was twisted into an elaborate bow against her back—she had clearly noticed my presence because she had been staring straight at me since I had stepped onto the train. I stared back at her without concern, wondering if the unique size of her eyes and mouth were a heteromorphic trait brought on by her quirk or if they were entirely natural.

The journey from central to the terminal that was located just outside the walls of U.A. High School was a short one, taking only a handful of minutes instead of the hour and a half that I might have had to deal with. Despite the sheer height of the walls, there was a towering structure of glass and metal beyond it—this was the premier school for heroes in Japan and one that was respected across the world. As the train slowed down to a crawl, I could see the dozens of students on the path outside of the wall walking towards the monstrous set of gates that denoted the entrance. Once the train had come to a complete stop, the doors opened, and I threaded my way out onto the platform.

The boy with blue hair practically fled the train, his head down in a complete refusal to look at anyone, vanishing out of the station within a few short moments. I followed at a more sedate pace, passing out of the building and onto the path to join the mass of students. The gates were attended by a single pair of uniformed figures, each one wearing a full-face helmet that removed any chance of identifying them. They stood motionless, watching the students enter, most likely on the lookout for anyone who might attempt to sneak in. I passed between them without issue and immediately took note of the sprawling grounds that made up space beyond the wall. There were many buildings spaced out across it, some of which were towering and oddly shaped things, while others were walled off by barriers that were at least three times as tall as the wall outside of the school.

It was a ludicrously large place, and most of the area was simply grass, forestry or well-maintained garden areas. I entered the main building along with the rest of the students, swiping the lanyard that had been included in my acceptance letter across the security gate just inside the doors in a mimicry of what everyone else was doing. The mass of older students was already spreading out, vanishing down the many different hallways or up staircases that led in seemingly every direction—but I was far less aware of the floor plan. I moved towards the large map of the school that was set up in the lobby and removed my phone along the way, pausing to take a picture of it before moving on. Phone in hand, I found my current location marked out by a red dot and then started cataloguing each of the buildings. I found the correct floor and room number after a minute of searching and then adjusted my path, starting up a staircase to the left side of the room.

The girl who had been following me since I had stepped out of the train continued her slow pursuit, making no effort to approach the map. The hallways were all polished to a mirror finish, and each side was made up of large glass panels that stretched all the way to the vaunted ceilings. It resulted in a vast amount of light passing through, leaving everything brightly lit and sparkling. Despite how grandiose the construction was, it was also oddly clinical. I found the door to my classroom without issue, and I doubted that anyone could have missed it, given the sheer size of the massive door or the designation that had been stamped onto the face of it in red ink.

The girl with green hair came to a stop beside me, her own eyes locked on the massive 1-A that dominated it.

“Hello,” The girl said before making a strange noise in the back of her throat. “I’m Tsuyu Asui.”

I turned my head to look down at her to find that she was now staring at me once more, and I pulled a bland smile onto my face.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tsuyu; my name is Hisoka Higawara,” I said, “What was that sound just now?”

It was a risky start to a conversation with someone whose pattern I didn’t know yet, but I was curious. The question, or perhaps the use of her name, caused her to turn completely to face me, and I matched the motion to give her my full attention.

“First names already?” Tsuyu said, “It’s a side effect of my quirk.”

I nodded in understanding, having already made the assumption of its source.

“There was a boy in my second year of middle school who possessed a vocal tic,” I said, “His quirk had gifted him the characteristics of a parrot, so he would often say things out of turn or repeat phrases that were said to him.”

Tsuyu raised her eyebrows in interest, and the same vibration rumbled in her throat.

“Was he very popular?” Tsuyu asked.

“No,” I said, “The other students liked to make fun of him.”

There was a long pause before Tsuyu made that same noise again, but she suddenly looked far more unsettled by it than she had before.

“Oh.” Tsuyu managed. “I see.”

I nodded because she hadn’t made any further attempt to continue the conversation and then turned back towards the door—there was a small, partially concealed indentation on the side of it. I took hold of it and then slid the door open to reveal the classroom beyond. There were students already inside, one of whom was a tall boy with glasses who was standing near the door with his hands folded behind his back, his posture ramrod straight. He was tall enough that I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that he was actually from a year above my own, but his presence in our classroom made it clear enough that such a thing was unlikely.

Beyond him was a floating uniform with nobody visible inside of it, as if the very air had decided it would pilot a U.A. High School uniform and become a hero. Beside the empty uniform was a girl with bright pink skin, black sclera and a pair of crinkled, bone-like protrusions from her head. Further back was a boy with bright red hair, the spiky mass styled up into a peak. I stepped into the room, and more of the occupants were revealed. A boy covered in black feathers was present, heavily affected by the heteromorphic qualities of his quirk, and where a normal mouth should have been, now there was a sharp yellow beak.

Two of the students I recognised from the Recommendation Exam. The first was a boy with a prominent burn scar on the left side of his face, right over the top of his eye. He had two-toned hair, split right down the middle into distinct red and white sections. The other was a girl with a large amount of black hair pulled up into a high ponytail—it was the same girl who had questioned the validity of my solution to the obstacle race. Setsuna Tokage was missing entirely, which meant that the panel of judges had either failed to select her for the top six candidates or she was in another class entirely.

There was a seating plan posted at the front of the room beside the blackboard, so I moved towards it. Those who were already seated or who had been in the process of doing so as I arrived were easy to identify. Toru Hagakure, Mina Ashido, Eijiro Kirishima, Fumikage Tokoyami, Shoto Todoroki, and Momo Yaoyorozu, respectively. Those who were still standing, I had no way of identifying until they took a seat, so I removed my phone and took a picture of the seating chart to use as a reference. I located my own seat in the back row, next to Shoto, Momo, and somebody called Ochaco Uraraka. It seemed unlikely that all three of the recommended students were in the back row, but considering all three of us had been enrolled almost a month before the rest of the class, it was probably just a result of the order of enrolment.

The boy with glasses, whose name I wasn’t yet aware of, was now talking to Tsuyu, so I made my way past the both of them to my seat. Shoto watched me from his seat, tracking my progress across the room until he would have been forced to turn his head to continue, at which point he simply gave up entirely. Momo leaned back in her chair to maintain her own attempt to make eye contact with me as I came to stand at the desk directly beside her, and despite the fact that she had been displeased with me the last time we had met, she was now smiling.

“Congratulations on passing, Higawara,” Momo said, and then, as if compelled to explain, she continued. “I saw your name on the seating plan.”

“Thank you, Momo,” I said,” Congratulations to you as well.”

Momo seemed startled at the use of her given name, but she said nothing to dissuade me from using it, so I took the moment to sit down. Despite the words she had spoken, I didn’t feel like celebrating because getting here was the easy part—a single written exam and an obstacle race was nothing in scale compared to what was left to do. The difficult part would be attaining the hero’s license and actually learning what I needed to know to accomplish my goals. Shoto said nothing to either of us, so I was content to reciprocate the silence. The sand orbs I had left hidden high up in the corners of the hallways tracked the progress of the other students as they started to trickle into the classroom over the next few minutes.

Of note was the boy with spiky blonde hair who swiped the door open with a great deal of force, slamming it into the jam before striding straight to the front of the room—the action was a confident one, or perhaps aggressive was the more appropriate descriptor. He clearly intended to establish himself to his peers by showcasing just how comfortable he was in unfamiliar territory, and the behaviour continued as he raked his eyes across the seating plan and stomped over to his desk. The choice of seat placed him as Katsuki Bakugo, and the boy slumped down into his chair before kicking his feet up on top of the desk. It was a statement of defiance and a challenge to anyone who might contest his ownership of his immediate surroundings—one that was taken up by the tall boy with glasses.

“Excuse me,” The boy said, “Remove your foot from that desk; an action like that is insulting to those who came here before us, as well as the craftsmen who made it.”

“Huh—you got a problem, glasses?” Katsuki said, unaffected by the confrontation. “Which school did you come from, you damn extra?”

The sheer hostility and disrespect left the boy looking entirely lost, but it was only a moment before he managed to rally.

“I have come from Somei Private Academy, and I am not an extra,” The boy said with confidence. “My name is Tenya Lida.”

“Somei?” Katsuki said, laughing in his face. “A stuck-up elitist then—how about I blow you to bits?”

I tilted my head at the outright threat of violence and how quickly Katsuki had come to use it—if this scene had taken place outside of U.A. High School, I would have expected this all to have been an act. But this boy had clearly passed the exam and most likely possessed some measure of skill needed to back up the claim.

“Blow me to bits—you’re terrible,” Tenya said, stricken by the threat. “Do you even wish to be a hero?”

Katsuki had been balancing the chair on two legs since he’d first sat down, and the question caused him to drop it back flat on the ground in order to allow him to lean forward across the desk.

“I’m going to be the greatest hero in the world,” Katsuki said in clear warning. “I dare you to argue.”

The door opened again, disrupting the tension with its timing, and a boy with frazzled green hair stuck his head inside. Tenya stared down at Katsuki for a moment longer before sweeping away to greet the newest face. I ran the entire interaction over in my mind, wondering about the two of them. Tenya had been confident enough to scold the other boy without a hint of pause, but he had done so from some kind of perceived level of authority that didn’t actually appear to be present—had he been a class representative at his previous school? If he had, then that would have instilled the required behaviours to so readily confront someone over bad behaviour.

Katsuki, on the other hand, seemed to be in possession of a personality that I had seen before and one that was far more common as a result—it was the type that wielded aggression and threat of force to get what they wanted. Haru had been the first person I had encountered with that type of personality, although I hadn’t seen anywhere near enough of Katsuki to know which of the two was really worse. The green-haired boy hadn’t been alone in his arrival; a short girl with auburn hair had arrived alongside him, and with all of the other students already having taken their seats, it was clear that this was the missing Ochaco Uraraka—a thin-fingered hand appeared on the almost closed door, halting its slow progress back to rest.

The door slid to the side, revealing a man with a mess of long dark hair, a face full of stubble, and a tired, thousand-yard stare.

“If you’re here to socialise, then you may as well leave now,” The man said, “I don’t have time to waste on children—this is a hero course, not a playground.”

Uraraka jumped at the sound of the man’s voice, having not noticed his approach, and she fled from the threshold of the doorway with a squeak of apology. I watched as she slipped down into the seat beside my own and nodded in greeting when she flashed a smile at me.

“My name is Shota Aizawa, and I’m your homeroom teacher,” Shota said, “Pleased to meet you.”

The man came to a stop next to the desk at the front of the room and took them all in for a long while—something which was completely at odds with his previous statement of not wanting to waste time. He also looked anything but pleased as he gestured to the cabinets at the side of the room with the back of his hand.

“Your gym clothes are in there, so get changed and then head out to the grounds,” Shota said, “Use that room at the back to get changed, or take turns getting changed in here—I don’t care.”

The man turned and left the room without another word, vanishing back out into the hallway that he had only just come through. Nobody moved until the door clicked shut, and then a flurry of conversations broke out as everyone rose up from their seats. Each of the cabinets was stacked on top of one another, every one of them adorned with its respective student’s name tag. They pulled out from the wall, nothing more than a two-foot deep cubby with a freshly washed and neatly folded uniform in each. I waited until most of the others had retrieved their clothing before retrieving my own and joining the line to use the room at the back to change.

The clothing that had been provided was a simple two-piece tracksuit, blue and white, with the letters ‘U.A.’ forming a pattern that stretched from the shirt collar to the foot of the pants. I watched through a perspective that emerged from the back of my arm as the Toru Hagakure simply changed in the middle of the room, unhindered by the need for a changing room as she pulled the trousers of the tracksuit on her invisible legs—I considered using my own quirk to simply reform inside of the gym clothes, before dismissing the idea. While she could get away with doing so because her quirk seemed to be the passive type, the active use of my own quirk would be entirely without permission. I watched her leave the room far ahead of the others, unnoticed by most.

#

U.A High School, Musutafu.

I was the last one to change and, in turn, the last one to reach the field where the others had already gathered. Shota watched my approach with an expression that was empty of anything other than expectation. The rest of the class milled nervously about in front of the silent man, still unsure of what task the man had prepared for them. I came to a stop beside Mezo Shoji—easily the tallest boy in our class—and then turned my attention towards the teacher.

“You will all be participating in a test of your quirks,” Shota said, “The Entrance Exam was different, so it’s a waste of time to think about that any more—if you want to be a hero, focus on the present and the future.”

There was a quiet spread of muttering at the words as the class reacted to the stern words.

“You wouldn’t know it, but U.A. is known for its freestyle educational system, and that means you should expect different things from each teacher,” Shota said, “You could be asked to do any kind of task on any given day, so whining about it isn’t going to help you.”

Shota swept a lazy hand out in the direction of the field.

“Softball throwing, standing long jump, fifty-meter sprints, endurance running, grip strength, upper-body training, seated toe touch,” Shota said, one after another. “These are all perfectly normal exercises for normal schools, and you’ve probably done them all before in physical education.”

The man was frowning now, either from his own words or from something he didn’t feel the need to explain.

“In a normal school, quirk use is prohibited for all of those tasks so that we can get a baseline for everyone,” Shota said, “It tells us nothing about the extent of an individual’s talent or what their quirk-enhanced performance looks like—which means that it is completely irrational and a waste of everybody’s time.”

Between the exercises he’d listed off, the training equipment present, and his complaint about the standard system, I had a pretty good idea about where this was going. They had a good record of how we performed in those types of situations from our academic history, but because we’d been prevented from using our quirks in them, it didn’t show what we were really capable of.

“Bakugo,” Shota said, “How far could you throw in middle school?”

“Sixty-seven meters,” Katsuki said.

“Step up into position; this time, you’re doing it with your quirk,” Shota said, tossing the ball to him. “Stay in the circle, and don’t bother holding back.”

Katsuki caught it without issue before he let out a noise that could only be described as aggressive excitement, and without waiting for any more instruction, he stomped forward into the circle that had been marked out. I watched as Katsuki tossed the ball up into the air to gauge how heavy it was before he caught it again. He skipped forward a step until he was in the centre of the circle and then reeled back—

“Die,” Katsuki snapped.

—a wave of force and noise rocked the grounds as he launched the ball into the air, an explosion of fire and smoke washing outwards around it. The ball vanished from his hand in a crack, passing far into the distance and out of sight.

“Die?” Kyoka wondered. “I didn’t realise we were trying to kill it.”

The small tablet that Shota was carrying displayed a rising number that was blurring upwards as it tracked the distance. Once it had stopped entirely—long after the ball had vanished from sight, indicating that it must have had some kind of tracker embedded inside of it—he flipped it around so that we could see it.

“It’s important for us to know our limits, and whether you recognise it or not, quirks are a part of you, so you need to know what you can do with them,” Shota said, “This is the first step towards figuring out exactly what kind of heroes you will go on to become.”

“Seven hundred and five meters,” Eijiro said in clear amazement. “Dude, that’s crazy.”

Katsuki flashed a vicious smile at the reactions, more than pleased with the attention or perhaps simply to have unsettled them with his score. There was an uptick in the general noise as everyone started talking about the task.

“Why are you getting so comfortable?” Shota said, settling them down once more. “If you think this is just going to be all fun and games, then I’ll have to up the stakes.”

Shota reached up to his face, sweeping some of his hair up and out from in front of his eyes so they could get a clear look at his face for the first time—there were a pair of dark bags under each of his eyes, and his sclera was wrought with tiny veins.

“The person with the lowest score across all eight of these events will be dropped from the hero course,” Shota said, “In other words—if you lose, you’ll be expelled from U.A.”

“The lowest score will be expelled?” Uraraka said, alarmed, “It’s only our first day, but even if it wasn’t, this is totally unfair—we passed all of the tests to get in.”

Shota let out a quiet mocking laugh at the words and let his hand fall away from his face, allowing his hair to come free once more.

“Natural disasters, highway pileups, rampaging villains,” Shota said, panning his gaze across all of us. “Japan is full of unfair things, and calamity is always a single step around the corner—you’ll get used to it eventually.”

Uraraka looked stunned in the face of the uncaring words, and I could see that there were very few people in the class who weren’t affected by them—Shoto Todoroki was one of the few who seemed entirely unaffected, and though I couldn’t actually see her face, Toru Hagakure hadn’t moved or said anything in protest as much of the others had.

“Heroes are the ones who work to correct all that unfairness, and if you were hoping to spend your evenings hanging out with friends, braiding each other’s hair, or playing games on your computer, then you’re sadly mistaken,” Shota said, “If you can’t rise up to the challenge and perform when it really counts, then you have no reason to be here.”

All of the excited and positive energy that had pervaded the group was now gone, replaced by an anxious mess. It seemed unusual to me that a homeroom teacher would have the authority to expel someone in the first place. That was a job for the principal, or at the very least, a panel of teachers after a disciplinary hearing of some sort. Expelling a student for performing badly in a single class, at a single task, on the first day of the academic year seemed like a ludicrous stretch of power to gift to one teacher. Beyond that, it seemed entirely unlikely that they would go through all of the effort of testing, filtering, and sorting out the perfect choices for the hero course over a month, only for the homeroom teacher to overrule all that work in a snap decision—which meant that this was a trick of some kind. It’s purpose was either to ensure that each of us did everything in our power or push past our limits in order to get the highest scores we were capable of. This was a motivating factor that we couldn’t ignore and one that would bring out our best.

“We’ve wasted enough time already,” Shota said, “The first part of the test is the fifty-meter dash, so form up in two lines—you’ll be going in pairs.”

There was a series of white lines marking out the confines of the race, and I followed the rest of my classmates towards the area that he had indicated. I surreptitiously began shifting singular grains of sand towards the finish line, intending to use the exact same strategy I had used for the obstacle course. Tenya Ida and Tsuyu Asui were the first two students in place, having secured the front of their respective lines due to their initial proximity to the starting line.

“I expect you to use your quirks to complete these tasks, so make sure you give your best,” Shota said, “I’ll make you do it again if I’m not satisfied—start when you hear the horn.”

There was a sign already in place off to the side of the track, adorned with three lights and a flared circle on top that seemed reminiscent of a speaker. The first light turned on, and Tenya dipped down into a perfect running stance, eyes locked ahead of him. Tsuyu fell into a crouch that was even lower to the ground than that, legs coiled up beneath her in preparation for what could only be a jump of some kind. The second light went green, and they both tensed up. The third light went green, and in the same instant, the horn was set off.

Tenya burst forward at a ridiculous speed, skidding to a stop a dozen meters past the finish line. Tsuyu hit the ground a few moments later, landing a few feet past the finish line after having leapt the entire distance in a single go. Tenya was fast—very, very fast and I wondered if he could perceive the world well at those speeds. The engines on his leg were obviously responsible for the speed, but there was nothing to indicate that the rest of his body or that his eyes were also affected. Likewise, Tsuyu’s ability to jump that far was far beyond anything a normal human could ever have hoped to match, and it hadn’t looked as if she had gone anywhere near as far as she could have—she had lost some time in the race however, with too much height added to the jump instead of pure distance. I imagined that she would do extremely well in manoeuvring around the cluttered city and that the buildings would be nothing but a series of footholds for her. If Tenya could keep up those speeds for any significant time, then he’d do just as well racing around the streets of the city. I did wonder how well he could corner at speed and if he would be slowed down in complex or closed-in areas. The two of them both seemed happy with their performances, with Tenya praising Tsuyu’s time—he came across as both charming and well-mannered, if slightly high-strung. I wondered if that was a result of his private school education.

Shota made a short comment praising both of their times before prompting the next two to take place at the starting line. Mashirao Ojiro and Ochaco Uraraka moved up in response, taking up similar stances to Tenya but nowhere near as refined. Mashirao was visibly affected by a heteromorphic trait, as he was in possession of a massive, muscular appendage that had the fundamental characteristic of a tail, albeit of a type I had never seen before. I’d already seen him moving it in a range of agile motions in the short time that I’d been aware of him—it was interesting to see such flexibility in something so thick. Ochaco showed no physical manifestations of her own quirk other than an odd discolouration at the tip of each finger. I watched as she reached down to touch both of her shoes and then her clothing in a very deliberate motion, potentially bestowing some kind of invisible effect on them.

The race started just as the other one had, and Mashirao immediately took the lead, using his thick tail to propel him far faster than he could have run with just his legs. Ochaco ran, visibly unaided by any kind of quirk effect, and set the first time that was within a normal range for a person our age. Whatever the effect of her quirk, it was minor or perhaps even incompatible with this specific exercise. The third pair took their place, and I watched with interest as the girl whose appearance had been entirely changed by her quirk stepped up to the starting line. Mina Ashido had numerous heteromorphic traits, and every single one of them would have drawn the eye on their own—it made her almost impossible to ignore, and I’d found myself glancing over whenever I caught sight of the pastel pink in my peripheral vision.

Yuga Aoyama was just as energetic as he spun in place to face the completely wrong direction, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he beamed a smile back to the rest of us. The race started, and Yuga jumped backwards into the air before a sparkling surge of light burst out of his stomach in a line of energy. It propelled him backwards, crossing half of the distance before falling flat on his back and then struggling to stand back up. Mina was far faster than I would have expected, but it was only the speed borne of athleticism and nothing that drew on enhancements from whatever her quirk actually was. The two of them crossed the finish line at almost the same time, with Yuga landing far better on his second attempt and then rolling back to his feet. Whatever that surge of light had actually been, it had enough kinetic energy to send him about thirty meters and score a deep line into the ground.

“Interesting use of a quirk,” Shota said, without judgment. “Next pair.”

Denki Kaminari and Eijiro Kirishima ran the race unaided by quirks, sprinting the distance in a display of friendly competitiveness that had them both laughing at the end. Eijiro stuck his hand up into the air in a pose that was stolen from All Might, and Denki accepted his loss with good grace. Koji Koda and Rikido Sato followed straight after the pair, with both boys running on foot. Koji ran unaided by his quirk, and I couldn’t begin to guess what his quirk was. Rikido popped something in his mouth that I hadn’t quite been able to see, but whatever it was, it allowed him to secure third place in the current rankings, usurping Mashirao’s previous place. Each step left a visible, sunken footprint in the ground, and it was clear that whatever he had eaten had somehow increased his strength to a significant degree.

Mezo Shoji and Kyoka Jiro were next in line in what was a complete mismatch of running ability. Kyoka ran the entire thing unaided by her quirk and only managed a time that was a few seconds faster than Ochaco. Mezo, on the other hand, destroyed the third-place time by almost five seconds, the combination of his impressive height and what had to be a baseline physique that far exceeded everyone else in the class. Hanta Sero and Fumikage Tokoyami both ran without use of their quirks, and I was starting to recognise a flaw with this entire test. Of the listed exercises that we were going to complete, all of them favoured the students whose quirk fell into the physical enhancement category—which meant that those who had secured their place at U.A High School with quirks that didn’t directly translate to that niche, were at an insurmountable disadvantage.

It also meant that the bottom portion of the rankings would be filled with those who couldn’t find a way to use their quirks to solve the test. With the false threat of expulsion in place, the pressure on that subset of people whose skill or talent lay elsewhere would be massively disproportionate. Shoto Todoroki and Toru Hagakure stepped up to the starting line, and I had a feeling that the latter was going to be one of those who settled at the bottom of the ranking. Invisibility had a vast number of uses, but increasing your baseline physical score was not one of them. It was possible that she could have cheated the race by removing all of her clothing and then starting earlier than the horn, but the instructor had already told them that he would make them redo it if he wasn’t satisfied.

Shota Aizawa must have known that this test was lopsided, and if he had, then it had been designed this way to accentuate the fundamental fact that not everyone had a quirk that was useful in every situation. Was this the lesson that he was trying to convey? That no matter what quirk you had, you would eventually encounter a situation where it was rendered next to useless? Perhaps it was better to learn that here, in a controlled condition, safely behind the walls of U.A. High School, rather than out on the street in the middle of a dangerous situation where lives were on the line. The race went exactly as I had predicted it would. Toru ran it unaided, her passive invisibility conveying no benefit here. Shoto used the same method he had in the Recommendation Exam obstacle course by propelling himself forward across a growing path of ice. It had only managed to secure him a second place back then—I’d noticed that the boy with the monstrously powerful wind quirk had been entirely absent from class 1-A, but it was likely that he had taken one of the other three slots that were designated for class 1-B.

Katsuki Bakugo and Izuku Midoriya stepped up to the line next, and it was clear that there existed some kind of bad blood between the two. I wondered if they had had a prior relationship before arriving at U.A. High School or if they had encountered each other during the Entrance Exam. Katsuki had already revealed his quirk in the earlier demonstration; it revolved around the ability to generate explosions, but the mechanism of exactly how that occurred was a mystery. Izuku was yet another boy who had no visual markers that indicated what his quirk might be, but he was visibly nervous about the upcoming race. Katsuki started the race with his hands behind his back; the force of the twin explosions emanating from his hands sent him rocketing forward. Before his momentum could bring him back to the ground, he let off another blast, working to keep himself afloat with a series of rapid repetitions. He passed over the finish line with a time that was only a few seconds slower than Tsuyu, securing himself third place.

Izuku’s quirk remained a mystery as he simply ran the distance while contending with the force of the explosions washing over him. Katsuki stomped off without waiting, his hands jammed in his pockets and looking pleased with himself. Izuku looked beyond panicked, and I had to assume that he was still labouring under the pressure of the threat of expulsion. Nobody said anything about the not-so-friendly fire that Izuku had needed to fight through to finish the race, and the boy never spoke up for himself either. I assumed that he would want to rerun it on his own, without the interference, but perhaps he planned to make up for the loss in the next exercises.

It was at this time that I found myself at the front of the line, and when I stepped up to the starting line, Momo Yaoyorozu appeared beside me alongside the same electric scooter that she had created in the Recommendation Exam. Of all of the quirks I had observed in our class so far, hers was by far the most versatile. She was somehow able to create complex objects, ones with designs that were complicated enough that I was left wondering just how good her memory was for her to be able to remember all of the individual components. The creation of the battery alone would have required extensive knowledge. It had also given me further ideas for my own training. I had been attempting sand replications of complex objects with moving parts ever since I had first seen her solution—I turned to face her, no longer facing the track.

“I’m sorry, Momo,” I said, deciding to preempt the potential fallout. “I’m going to cheat again.”

“You didn’t cheat in the Recommendation Exam,” Momo said, drawing in a sharp breath. “I am the one who needs to apologise for causing those rumours to start—”

The first of the lights went green, and Momo was forced to turn forward before lowering her stance on the scooter in what was probably an attempt to minimise wind resistance.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Momo said, eyes forward. “I was just worried that I was going to fail, so I reacted poorly.”

The second light went green, but I remained in place, still facing her, even as I studied the teacher’s face from a perspective that emerged from the palm of my hand. The man was frowning now, and I wondered how good his hearing was.

“I understand,” I said, “Momo, I believe the threat of expulsion is a lie.”

“Yes,” Momo said, “I think so, too.”

The third light went green, the speakers came to life—and I stepped over the finish line, reforming throughout the motions of a step. Momo came tearing across the track a few seconds later, the lack of rapid acceleration causing the loss of several seconds. I watched as she stepped off the scooter and removed her helmet—this time, she was smiling.

#

U.A High School, Musutafu.

The second and third tests were very straightforward—a grip test and a standing long jump. The results of both were entirely predictable based on the previous test, with the physically aligned students rising to the top while those without enhancements continued to fall to the bottom of the rankings. It wasn’t until the final exercise of the day that something unexpected happened. The return of the pitching exam had given the rest of the class a chance to match, exceed or fall short of Katsuki’s earlier demonstration. Surprisingly, Ochaco had out-shined everyone almost immediately by making her ball completely weightless—it had simply continued on, disappearing far from sight and earning her the highest score.

That had been unexpected, but the thing that had unsettled the entire class had been when Izuku Midoriya had stepped into the circle to make his own attempt. Shota had broken his stoicism and disinterest for the first time by interfering right as the boy had started to pitch—the man’s hair detached itself from gravity, rising up into the air around him and revealing glowing red eyes as he used his quirk for the first time in their presence. The ball tumbled to the ground a few feet outside of the circle, the interference robbing it of any kind of momentum and leaving Izuku visibly stunned.

“What were you just about to do?” Shota asked.

“I—I was going to use my quirk,” Izuku managed, “But it didn’t work.”

“That’s because he’s the hero Eraser head,” Mina said, speaking up. “He can nullify a quirk just by looking at you—it’s dangerous, Toru.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Toru said as she crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m fully clothed.”

“I witnessed your performance in the Entrance Exam, Midoriya,” Shota said, sending a look of warning at the chatter. “You destroyed your own limbs in the process of trying to use your quirk—do you think it’s perfectly fine to hurt yourself right now?”

I turned my attention to Izuku, curious about his quirk—what kind of power would end with the destruction of his own limbs?

“I—I don’t—” Izuku tried. “You said we had to give it our all.”

“Giving it your all doesn’t mean you can incapacitate yourself whenever you please or send yourself to the emergency room,” Shota said, “Do you expect that someone will just come out and heal you—you’d be completely useless for the rest of the day.”

“I—It’s not like that,” Izuku said, staring at the ground. “I wouldn’t have been useless.”

“Even if you weren’t, we would have had to stop the exam, and everyone around you would have been inconvenienced,” Shota said, “I’ve seen others like you before, Midoriya, with that same hot-blooded streak that leads to completely reckless behaviour.”

If he felt this strongly about it, he probably should have talked to Izuku in private before the test. What was the purpose of doing this now, in front of all of his peers? Was this just another excuse to instil a lesson into all of them?

“How are you going to become a hero with that power of yours?” Shota said, staring down at the boy. “Get it under control, or you won’t be able to save anybody.”

It was interesting that this entire test had been designed towards forcing each of us to do everything in our power to secure victory or else see our careers ended—and then the very moment someone showcased the desire to apparently harm themselves in order to meet that expectation, they were shut down and made an example of. It was entirely contradictory to the prompting he’d given us. Had he not accounted for Izuku in the initial lesson plan, and this was his attempt at moderating it?

“You’re aware of the consequences now, so you can make the choice,” Shota said, “Use your quirk or don’t—it’s up to you.”

Shota Aizawa was a harsh man, but he clearly cared enough about his student’s health to step in to prevent injury. Izuku was left standing in the circle and staring down at the ball for a long while, trapped by the rules and expectations that had been placed on him—I could understand how that must have felt. The path forward was a tangled mess, and sometimes, it was hard to keep going, but so long as there was something waiting at the end of it—that was enough.

“Are you worried about him?” Yuga said, suddenly speaking up. “You shouldn’t be—I’m not worried at all.”

The words seemed callous in a vacuum, but there was a note of something odd in the boy’s tone that suggested that there was something else beneath them. It wasn’t that he wasn’t capable of feeling concern for the other boy; it was that Yuga didn’t think it was warranted—was this another student who had ties to Izuku before they had come here?

“Why is he receiving personal instruction at this time?” Tenya said, hand cradling his chin. “This is quite unusual.”

“It’s an instruction for him to leave the school,” Katsuki said before raising his voice. “Deku—just throw the damn ball already.”

Izuku’s eyes flickered over to the blonde boy for a moment, and oddly enough, his posture seemed to shift into something far more resolved. I watched with interest as he bent down to pick up the ball before he retook his position in the middle of the circle. There was a moment where he seemed to close his eyes in concentration before he stepped forward and reeled back into a telegraphed overhand—the instant before the ball left his fingertips, there was a vicious crack, and a wave of force washed over me, sending my clothes whipping about. I watched as the ball vanished into the distance, turning the situation over in my mind—Izuku Midoriya had a monstrous strength-enhancing quirk.

It was the exact type that should have allowed him to dominate in this exam, more so than just about everyone else here—and yet, until this moment, he hadn’t used it a single time. Shota had actually gone to the effort of stopping him from using it, the implication being that he would have hurt himself in the process—the sight of his rapidly swelling finger said that even with the extra caution, he still had. A quirk that injured the user wasn’t entirely unusual, but most quirks came with an inbuilt method to mitigate that harm to some extent. Stronger bones, strengthened muscle fibres, immunity to cold or hot temperatures—or at the very least, resistance—and all sorts of other secondary effects.

There was a reason that Katsuki Bakugo could let detonations strong enough to send himself flying through the air without blowing off both of his hands or burning the skin off his palms. But for Izuku, the strength-enhancement component of his quirk clearly outstripped the level of inbuilt durability that came with it. If he’d been capable of using a minor expression of that strength, he would have been able to increase his scores across all of the events—but he hadn’t done anything like that. Perhaps he couldn’t moderate the force at all and, instead, was left with an all-or-nothing approach. The fact that he had decided to become a hero anyway, despite the dangerous nature of his quirk, showed a high level of commitment and the determination needed to willingly destroy your own finger just to pass a test was far beyond what I would have expected from the meek boy—Izuku Midoriya was someone who would go to extreme lengths to accomplish his goals.

“Teacher,” Izuku said, clenching his injured hand into a fist. “I can still move.”

“This kid,” Shota muttered.

“What the hell is this—” Katsuki hissed, stomping towards the other boy. “You had a quirk all this time?”

Izuku’s iron resolve crumbled in an instant, and he flinched back from the approaching boy—Shota swiped his hand past his scarf in a blurring movement that sent the bandages that had been previously hanging there lashing out in complete defiance of their apparent weight. The white material pierced through the air in a way that a bandage couldn’t have and looped itself around Katsuki’s face. Shota reeled the boy in with enough force to drag him up and off the ground before settling him down in a writhing, tangled mess.

“Stop making me use my quirk,” Shota said, eyes burning red. “There will be absolutely zero fighting unless I permit it—understand me?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Katsuki thrashed in the binds for a moment longer, and when he couldn’t seem to break free, he gave up.

“Fine,” Katsuki managed.

“What a waste of time—get back into the group,” Shota said as his hair fell back to hang around his shoulders. “Damn kids.”

Izuku slipped past Katsuki while the boy was unravelling himself, and I studied the furious expression on his face. The words they had exchanged made it clear that they hadn’t just met. They had known each other for quite some time—but if that was the case, then why would he be unaware of Izuku’s quirk? Had Izuku been actively hiding it for some reason? Furthermore, if he disliked the other boy so much, why did he even care? The last of the exercises was finished soon after, and then, Shota spent several minutes tallying up the respective scores on the tablet. Once he was finally done—a process that seemed to take far longer than it should have—he spoke up to get their attention.

“It’s time for the results; your total scores simply reflect your performance in each of the events,” Shota said, “Explaining how I’ve scored them would be useless to you all, so all you get is the final ranking.”

There was a clear distinction between those who were certain they had done well and those who knew they hadn’t—I found myself watching Toru Hagakure in particular, trying to estimate exactly what expression she might have been making and failing entirely.

“I was lying about expelling someone—that’s just stupid; I have no part in those types of decisions,” Shota said, without any build-up. “Though, if you do piss me off, I’ll see how far my sway with the principal actually goes.”

“What—” Mina cried out, her already pink face growing red. “You tricked us.”

Toru’s posture—visible only through the set of her clothing didn’t shift even an inch—which made me wonder if she had discovered the lie prior to its revelation. Kyoka’s relief was far more visible, hunched over with her hands pressed against her knees as if she was considering vomiting.

“It was a trick to motivate you into working harder,” Shota said in agreement. “I’m surprised it worked as well as it did—I wonder if they’ve sent me a defective bunch this year.”

“You can’t trick us,” Mina accused, planting her hands on her hips. “Was that seriously just a lie?”

“Of course it was a lie, Ashido,” Momo said, sounding bemused. “Disciplinary hearings are what decide expulsions, not individual teachers—they can only bring the incidents to the attention of the school.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Mina cried out in disbelief. “Teacher—this was way too mean.”

Shota just nodded at the criticism, entirely unfazed by being called out by a student.

“We’re done out here, so it’s time to head back inside—your booklets are on my desk, so make sure to take one and look through it,” Shota said, “Midoriya, you’re going to the medical wing first so Recovery Girl can fix your finger.”

“Yes sir,” Izuku said.

Shota turned and walked away without another word, eyes locked onto the tablet in his hands.

“That was crazy,” Mina said, “I thought you were a goner for a minute there, Toru.”

“So did I,” Toru said before turning and pointing directly at Izuku. “Midoriya—I thought I was safe, and then you suddenly pulled that out?”

“I—” Izuku squeaked.

“You scared me,” Toru said, taking a step closer to the boy. “You were trying to assassinate me, weren’t you?”

“I’m sorry—I really wasn’t trying to do that,” Midoriya managed, falling into a bow that was far too low. “This is farewell.”

Izuku fled without waiting for her response, his head down and his eyes clenched shut, leaving the invisible girl standing in front of the now-empty space that he had just occupied. Mina started cracking up in response to his sudden disappearance.

“Farewell,” Toru said, stumped. “Isn’t that a bit too final?”

“He totally just apologised for trying not to get expelled,” Eijiro said, “Midoriya is kind of a strange guy.”

Eijiro glanced over to make eye contact with me, bringing with him the expectation that I would join the conversation, so I spoke up in turn.

“I think he was simply being polite,” I said.

“Probably,” Eijiro agreed.

Despite the fact that Toru had been at the very bottom of the rankings and that she had taken the time to speak with Izuku about the last-minute position switch, I had seen no hint of concern in her posture throughout the entirety of the test. The lack of visible expression and the filter preventing me from accurately reading her body language was making it difficult to get a proper read on her—but even with all of that, I had the feeling that Toru Hagakure hadn’t been at all worried about the result of the test.

“Mina, congratulations on not getting kicked out on the first day,” Eijiro said, grinning. “I was surprised.”

“Shut the heck up,” Mina laughed, “That’s my line.”

#

Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu.

There was a massive amount of ships that had left the dock on the day in question, but there were several ways to frame that data to reduce it to something more useful. There existed a snapshot map of the ocean for the required date, and the area of the shipping route that intersected with the currents that would carry the body of Kana Kureta to its final resting location was a very small area. The first step was to eliminate all of the smaller ships that didn’t possess the storage area to hide three living people from the multitude of cameras at the docks. The second was to remove all of the ships that had left the docks but had lingered in the bay before ever reaching the threshold where the current had been. The third was to eliminate all of the vessels that had passed through that current, but at a time that was so far outside of the time slot that it couldn’t have aligned with the time of death for both Hiroshi and Kana—those three steps reduced the hundreds of ships to exactly six.

Those few remaining ships were made up of one fishing vessel, one high-population passenger ship, one cargo ship, one absurdly expensive private yacht, and two ships that were a part of the Japanese Coast Guard. It seemed a safe enough bet to clear the last two ships for now, and if I ended up clearing the others without a new lead, then I would revisit the idea. That left four ships to investigate, and of those four, the one that felt intuitively more suspicious was the fishing vessel—but it had only taken a very short amount of time to clear it. All of its expeditions were scheduled ahead of time, on both their public social media presence and on a more niche blog that was kept strictly by the captain of the vessel. Their entire business model revolved around taking paying customers on fishing trips with them, and the entire thing was filmed with an array of cameras. There was even an archive of footage for the exact date that I was interested in, and I had already watched everything that was available, including all of the unedited videos. There was a possibility that Kana, Hiroshi and Nanami had been on that ship—in some undocumented place that didn’t show up on the cameras. With enough paranoia, I could have assumed that the entire business was a facade to hide the movements of an entire quirk trafficking ring, but it seemed unlikely.

The cargo ship and the passenger ship were both owned by the exact same company, and the two had the exact same destination—I-Island, a technological marvel of a city that was the home to thousands upon thousands of scientists. It prided itself on having the lowest crime rate of any city in the entire world, and it could only be placed at the foot of a world-renowned security system. All of the ships would have been thoroughly scanned upon arrival, a process that had previously caught dozens of smuggling attempts—although none of those had been people. Both ships had been scanned with a remote utilisation of the same security system that prevented illegal entry, and nothing had been flagged on that specific trip. The passenger ship also had several thousand people on board at the time; each of those people had been required to first purchase the ticket and pass through a facial scan upon boarding and onboarding—again, nothing was flagged. There were far too many barriers in place to obstruct a smuggling attempt with three living people, and in the case of the passenger ship, they would have arrived at their destination with two fewer passengers, considering that Kana and Hiroshi had been killed.

That left a single ship as the most probable candidate for the abduction: a private yacht that had been on an unscheduled pleasure cruise. Its ownership was tied to an extremely wealthy and politically powerful man—Minato Yaoyorozu.

“I did see him,” I said, splitting my focus between the phone and the monitor. “All Might is a very large man; he seems even taller in person.”

“I should think so,” Hayami said, “Did you do any—I’m not quite sure what you would call it—hero training with him today?”

The yacht was beautiful, and though I held no desire for it, there was something about the aesthetics of it that touched an unusual place in the back of my mind. There were three visible floors above water level, and two of them were open air, while the topmost floor was completely enclosed. The schematics detailed two floors below water level, one for cargo and the other dedicated quarters for living. The front of the yacht opened up into a flat deck that must have folded outwards from the ship somehow because I couldn’t see how it could move without scooping water inside and then flooding the lower levels—there was even a swimming pool. I stared at it for a long moment, trying to understand why they would need a pool when its entire purpose was to be surrounded by water.

“Today was made up of introductions and explanations for the different classes we would be taking in our first year,” I said, “We did have to take a practical test in the morning, but it wasn’t very different from a regular physical education class.”

There was more than enough space in the lower levels to hide three people, and though it seemed audacious, there was enough window tinting on the top floor that they could have hidden them there as well. Either option would have blocked the sight of the cameras at the dock, but the method by which they had been transported onto the ship remained unknown.

“I’m sure tomorrow will be far more engaging,” Hayami said, “Did you know anyone from your class?”

The next pertinent question that I needed to learn the answer to was who exactly had been piloting the yacht when it had left Shimoda—the simplest answer was that it had been Minato Yaoyorozu himself, but I currently had no proof of that. It was possible that the man had lent the ship to someone for a short trip, perhaps as a political favour or for some other purpose. There were several ways I could go about discovering the answer to that question. The quickest would be to approach the man and ask, but that had a very obvious failure mode in that if the man was involved in this, he would deny it, and I would already reveal to him that I had been looking into the abduction.

“There were two girls and one boy from the Recommendation Exam that I recognised, but only two of them are in my class,” I said, “Shoto Todoroki and Momo Yaoyorozu are the ones who are in 1-A; Setsuna Tokage is in class 1-B.”

“Oh, now that is a familiar name,” Hayami said, sounding startled. “I made several commissions for Ume Yaoyorozu, although it was quite a few years back—little Momo was just an absolute darling.”

I paused in my study of the yacht as what she had just said slotted into place within my mind, and the half a dozen unfinished and vague plans for having Momo introduce me to her father suddenly expanded threefold. Pressing Momo socially for that meeting would have been difficult to have naturally occurred without a good foundation for why I would need to speak with him, but if Hayami already had an existing connection to the man’s wife, then I could use that. If I could engineer a situation where I could naturally ask the man questions—in private and away from the man’s family—then I could observe the man in person. If I could speak to him alone, and if I could see his face—

“A Todoroki as well? I suppose that would be one of Endeavour’s children,” Hayami said, sounding thoughtful. “What an interesting class that must be.”

“I haven’t had a chance to speak with Shoto yet, but I have spoken with Momo several times—she is very pretty,” I said, keeping the focus of the topic locked. “What pieces did you make for Ume?”

Hayami’s voice went bright at the calculated interest I had shown in her art, and I used that as the basis to begin constructing a plan—Minato Yaoyorozu might not be the one responsible for taking Nanami from me, but there was only one way I was going to find out.

#

Train, Musutafu.

I took notice of the same blue-haired boy standing in the corner of the cabin as the day before, studiously avoiding so much as a single instance of eye contact with anyone. The body language alone was enough to establish that the boy had some kind of anxiety in regard to socialising with those around him—although perhaps I was projecting my own distaste for large groups onto him, and his own struggle was something different. A fear of germs may have fit, given that he was actually leaning away from those who were nearest to his position. Tsuyu Asui—standing directly behind me and staring at the back of my head—seemed to be working herself up to some kind of action. It took almost an entire minute for her to come to a decision, but once she had, she pressed through the people around her to come to a stop beside me.

“Good morning, Hisoka.” Tsuyu said.

That same rumbling noise rose up within her throat, either triggered by the action of speaking or an expression of nervousness from having started a conversation with a relative stranger. I turned to face her, pleased at her use of my given name—that was a good indicator that our brief talk in the hallway outside of the classroom yesterday morning had gone well.

“Good morning, Tsuyu,” I said, “Are you excited for today?”

“I think I am,” Tsuyu said. “Today should be interesting.”

I nodded to acknowledge the statement—there had been several offhanded comments made by All Might that indicated that we would be doing something physical in his class today. There hadn’t been enough information to deduce what kind of task it would be, but that had probably been intentional to avoid giving us the opportunity to solve it before the class even started. Standing this close, it was easier to notice the spread of her features and how they had been affected by her quirk. Tsuyu’s mouth was wider than average, her eyes both rounder and larger than what I had come to expect. When she spoke, I had seen several flashes of a tongue that was far longer than what I had known to be possible. With consideration for her phenomenal ability to leap massive distances with ease, the tongue, and the noise in her throat, I felt it safe to assume that her quirk gifted her the characteristics of a frog—I wondered if there were other heteromorphic qualities that had been captured by her quirk.

“Hisoka,” Tsuyu said as the silence stretched. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, “Tsuyu, are you capable of absorbing water through your skin, or did you not receive that mechanism?”

There was a long moment where Tsuyu didn’t say anything, and the two of us stared at one another in silence.

“Um,” Tsuyu said, “Nobody has ever asked me that before.”

I found it hard to believe that her quirk doctor hadn’t asked her that during her examination, but perhaps she had said nobody but hadn’t really meant it—perhaps nobody, in this case, indicated a subset of everybody that was actually made up of her peer group, and that nobody her age had asked her that before. It seemed strange to me that nobody had ever asked her this question because her quirk was very visible, and there must have been an interest—

“I can absorb a level of moisture through my skin that is far greater than a normal person, but it’s not anywhere near the level of efficiency needed to stay properly hydrated,” Tsuyu said, “I have to drink slightly more water than everybody else, as well.”

Something to do with thermal regulation, or did her skin simply dry out faster? Frogs had a range of temperatures that were acceptable for them, and below a certain temperature, they grew sluggish and would eventually fall into hibernation; below even that, they were unlikely to recover. Likewise, heat over a certain threshold was likely to affect her far differently than it might a person with a normal constitution.

“Your body is fascinating, Tsuyu,” I said, “Did you retain warm blood, or has your quirk left you cold-blooded?”

Tsuyu let out a rumble that sounded different than earlier.

“I’m cold-blooded, and I can’t self-regulate my temperature,” Tsuyu said before swallowing in what was a clear attempt to stifle another rumble. “I have to dress carefully for the weather, or I’ll start to be affected by it—particularly when it is cold.”

I wanted to keep asking her questions, but I was starting to think that I was making her nervous, and that wasn’t really something that I wanted to do—I paused as a thought struck me, and then, unable to help myself, I spoke up.

“Are you able to lay—” I started.

The train stopped right outside of the U.A. High School terminal, and the doors opened—and I wondered exactly when it was that I had lost track of my surroundings.

“Oh,” I said, “We’re already here.”

Tsuyu fled the cabin, slipping out of the doors and onto the platform—and I followed after her at a much more sedate pace, wondering at her sudden display of energy.

#

Class 1-A, Musutafu.

The morning classes passed in a blur, but as soon as lunch had passed and they had reassembled in their assigned classroom, an invisible and impatient energy seemed to come over the class. That charge continued to grow as All Might didn’t show up on time, and I started moving my sand orbs further down the maze of hallways in an attempt to see if he was on his way—I glimpsed a man in an empty hallway two branches away, heading in the direction of our class. The man’s hair and eye colour were the exact same shade that All Might possess, but everything else about him was the polar opposite.

Whereas All Might was massive, muscular, and imposing in frame, this man was rail-thin with sunken and sickly facial features—he was so emaciated that I wondered if he was somehow having difficulty finding enough food to maintain a normal daily caloric intake. His body language was also strange, head swivelling around and searching every inch of the hallway as he moved as if he was on edge and waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows and find him. The man stopped at the corner of the hallway that connected to the one outside of our classroom and then drew in a deep breath—he erupted outwards, transforming into a figure that nobody in the world could have failed to recognise.

The patch of sand I’d pressed deep into the corner of the vaunted ceiling stared down at the man as he strode around the corner and approached the doorway to our classroom—was the man who had stood in our classroom yesterday, smiling brightly and emanating a presence that had been so convincing actually a fake? Had U.A. High School really hired an actor with an appearance-transforming quirk to pretend to be All Might? I found myself frowning as I eyed the door to the classroom that the man was now standing directly outside of—the door was swept open in an instant, each of his massive arms long enough to reach both sides of the huge door frame without even straining for distance.

“I have—” Fake Might said, “—entered the classroom like a normal person?”

The class, fooled by the impossibly perfect recreation of the greatest hero in the world, broke out into a mess of excited chatter, and Fake Might strode into the room, booming out a bright laugh with all of the exactness of the man he was imitating. He reached the desk, took something out of a drawer, before spinning in place—and then brandished a sign with the word Battle written onto it in bright red block letters.

“My adorable students, there is no time to waste.” Fake Might said, “The focus of today’s lesson will be—Battle Training.”

There was another excited outburst across the class as everyone fell into the man’s stolen charisma, and I had to wonder how this man could impersonate All Might so well. He had the act down completely, and even after having seen the man change outside, I was almost inclined to doubt what I had seen.

“Battle training?” Katsuki said with audible glee. “Hell, yes.”

What was actually going on here—was the real All Might not available, so they had sent this one in his place? Had he been called out into Musutafu or somewhere beyond it to stop some kind of threat or disaster that the other heroes couldn’t handle on their own? Was this Fake Might the equivalent of a stunt double that would be taken out whenever the same kind of situation came up?

“I’m sure you all remember filling out those exhaustively detailed forms upon your enrolment,” Fake Might said, hand raised up in the air. “Because if you are going to be undergoing basic heroics training, then you are all going to need your costumes.”

The system was clearly voice-activated because, at his command, a series of cabinets slid out of the wall. Each of them contained a sealed case adorned with a number—one to twenty—that was written in large white letters. It was obviously tied to the seating plan system, and I found myself eyeing the case with my number stamped across it.

“We will be heading to training ground Beta, so please change with haste,” Fake Might said before striding straight back outside. “I will await you all there.”

The door slid shut behind him, and I watched as Fake Might slumped against the door for a moment, shrinking back down into his sickly form, beset by some kind of strain—given the sheer difference in body mass, I could only assume that it was a taxing transformation to maintain. The man left quickly, hunched over and vanished back the way he had come.

“Out of my way, you damn extras,” Katsuki demanded.

The boy snatched his case off the rack and then pressed through the rest of the class to get to the changing room at the back.

“Someone is in a rush,” Denki said.

“I suppose he does not wish to waste any of the time we have been given,” Fumikage said.

Momo took her place in the line with far more patience, unaffected by Katsuki cutting her off to reach the changing room. I took my place directly behind her, holding my case in a loose grip as I considered whether now was the best time to initiate the plan. Shoto stepped up behind me, his own case in his hand, and Momo turned slightly at the noise; the two of us made eye contact—

“Momo,” I said, studying her face. “Are you aware that you have met my aunt?”

Momo’s shoulders shifted as she straightened up, the angle of the question catching her entirely off guard.

“I have?” Momo said, drawing in a breath. “I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten—when did I—”

“Your mother commissioned several full-body statues and a bust from Hayami Higawara seven years ago,” I said, smiling. “I discovered this yesterday when Hayami mentioned Ume Yaoyorozu and someone she referred to as little Momo.”

Momo reached up to touch the back of her hair, visibly flustered at the name making an appearance—but she was smiling now.

“Of course—the statues in our library,” Momo managed, fanning her face a bit. “I’m so sorry; I actually do remember Hayami; she was very kind.”

It seemed to me that she was more flustered by having forgotten Hayami than anything else, which was odd considering that this event had taken place almost a decade ago. Perhaps she held some amount of pride in her memory, and to have missed something was cause for additional concern.

“I’m surprised that you do remember her,” I said, “It was a long time ago.”

“My mother invited her to stay for dinner, so it was quite memorable,” Momo said, “Wow, I see those statues every day—Hayami actually remembered me?”

“Yes, and she seemed quite happy when I told her we were in the same class,” I said before making a deliberate pause. “Momo, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I would like to ask a small favour regarding Hayami.”

I had made it clear that we were connected to some limited degree, and she was already primed to accept because she felt embarrassed for not having recognized that connection—however impossible it would have been for her to do if she hadn’t immediately connected the last name. Asking for a favour was a very efficient way to strengthen the connection between two people, and it would give Momo the opportunity to address her perceived mistake.

“Of course you can,” Momo said, leaning forward slightly. “What did you need, Hisoka?”

I smiled at the use of my name and then spoke up to address her question.

“I’ve been working on a photo album made up of all of my aunt’s previous works, and I intend to give it to her for her birthday,” I said, ducking my head slightly. “The vast majority of those works are already accounted for, but there are several that she does not have existing photos of.”

Momo was already nodding along with the words, and it was clear that she had already figured out where I was going with the request.

“I discovered this when I asked to see the statues she made for your mother, and she seemed upset that she had no way to show them to me. I was hoping that you could ask your mother to grant me permission to take some photos of them,” I said, pressing my hands together. “I know this is an awkward request from a new classmate—”

“Don’t be silly, Hisoka,” Momo said, holding up her hands as if to ward it off. “This isn’t awkward at all, and I would be happy to help, really—I will talk to my mother tonight; I’m certain that she will agree.”

It was just like clockwork.

“Thank you, Momo,” I said, bowing my head. “That is very kind of you—”

The door to the changing room shot open before slamming back against the opposite wall, and Katsuki emerged transformed entirely from his normal self; his costume made him look genuinely dangerous, a red and black undersuit vest adorned with a bright red cross on the chest. Both of his hands were covered in massive patterned gauntlets that had been shaped to represent grenades, and his face was covered by a spiky, multicoloured tie that ringed his eyes.

“Wow,” Rikido said, sounding impressed. “That looks awesome.”

Katsuki preened at the comment, and without responding, he stormed straight out of the room to give chase to Fake Might. Momo, now at the front of the line, gave an apologetic smile for their conversation being cut off so abruptly before she vanished into the changing room. I stepped forward into her place without a word, satisfied with how everything had fallen into place.

“A photo album,” Shoto said, voice quiet. “Do people like that kind of thing?”

“I believe so,” I said without turning. “Memories tend to fade over time, but having an unchanging representation of a happy moment, an accomplishment, or even just a person whom you are fond of can be uplifting.”

“Uplifting,” Shoto murmured.

Momo returned soon after, wreathed in her own costume; two strips of skintight red material ran down either side of her torso—leaving a very bold amount of skin exposed down the middle—before it vanished beneath a skirt that was made from two very thick belts. Both her arms and legs were entirely uncovered and without armour, a decision that wasn’t hard to figure out. It was clear that her quirk required greater surface areas of exposure in order to create larger objects, and a bodysuit of any kind would stop anything from coming out of her skin, leaving it trapped and unable to be used. The scooter that she had created during the previous day’s test had required her to move away from the entire class in order to obtain the privacy needed to actually make it—the full tracksuit we had been given for exercise had been overtly obstructive for her.

“Looking good, Momo,” Mina said with a whistle. “I’m totally jealous.”

There was a lot more whispering from the other students—particularly Denki, who seemed to be trying to drag Rikido down into a headlock in order to whisper into the taller boy’s ear—but Momo didn’t pay them any mind. In fact, she looked completely at ease with how she was dressed and untouched by the glances of her peers. I stepped through to the changing room and closed the door—I fell apart. The case came open with a simple manipulation of the handle before sand rushed inside. My costume was simple when compared to something like what Katsuki had designed. It was nothing more than a bodysuit. I reformed inside of it, and it clung to my skin, leaving only my hands, feet and head uncovered.

From there, all that was left was to generate enough sand to create a ragged semblance of a skirt to dangle around my waist to maintain my modesty, a mask of solid sand to cover my face from view, and a matching hood to conceal my hair—it left me standing in a singular block of colour, and one that would render me indistinguishable from the rest of my sand. There was not much point in creating anything more elaborate because whenever I dissembled myself completely, anything I was wearing would be left behind until I retrieved it—a bodysuit like this was easy enough to drag around with me. I stepped straight back out of the changing room without waiting, and Shoto glanced up at my quick reappearance. There was a moment where he looked as if he was going to say something—and then I stepped past, clearing the space for him to enter the changing room himself.

“That’s a pretty cool costume, man,” Eijiro said, smacking his fist into his palm. “Damn, this is getting me pumped up.”

“Thank you, Eijiro,” I said. “I look forward to seeing yours, as well.”

“You got it,” Eijiro said.

I angled for the door, noting that, once again, Toru was missing, and when I checked, I found her case sitting on her desk. The sleeve of her uniform caught in the seam of it, indicating that she had once again changed before any of the others and likely before even Katsuki had. It was remarkable just how quickly she could fade into the background when the attention was drawn elsewhere—I would have to keep a closer eye on her in the future.

#

Training Ground Beta, Musutafu.

If you took a cross-section of the downtown Musutafu sprawl, vanished everyone who lived within it, and then surrounded it with a massive concrete wall, you would have something that looked identical to Training Ground Beta. It was such a ludicrously large area that I had to wonder just how much it could have cost for U.A High School to actually build. Fake Might was already waiting for me when I arrived at the entrance to the zone, with Katsuki, Momo, and Toru arrayed before him. As I approached the group, I sent out a dozen grains of sand to creep up over the walls and begin an investigation into the area beyond it. The gloves and shoes that made up Toru’s non-costume shifted slightly in response as I came to stand beside her.

“A single colour?” Toru asked.

“It is the same colour as my quirk, so it should act as camouflage,” I said, nodding. “I suppose I could say that I am following your example.”

“Are you?” Toru wondered.

“Looks like you fell into a bucket of paint,” Katsuki said without care. “What’s the point of camouflage? Neither of you is cut out to be a hero if all you can do is hide.”

That was probably true, in the strictest sense, because the skillset demanded of a hero was far more well-rounded than simply stealth, but in turn, neither of us had suggested that was all we intended to do; that was an assumption he was making without much of a foundation. Toru must have crossed her arms at the aggression because her gloves had made a rather large adjustment.

“There is no reason to be so rude,” Momo said, sounding pained. “The tactical advantage of stealth is well understood.”

“I can’t imagine him doing any kind of sneaking around,” Toru said, not even addressing the boy directly. “Whatever bush he tried to hide in would probably just end up exploding anyway.”

Katsuki scoffed at the words, entirely unimpressed. Fake Might said nothing to our chatter, simply beaming out at the world with his hands planted firmly on his hips—if he had an opinion on the current stealth-vs-no-stealth discourse, he kept it entirely to himself.

The rest of the class began trickling in over the course of the next few minutes; every thirty seconds or so, a new group would arrive until everyone was finally present. In that time, I’d scoured the first few blocks inside of Training Ground Beta and found that all of the buildings were real, and not at all the facades that I had initially assumed them to be—all of the buildings were accessible, each one had electrical wiring, lighting, windows and lockable doors. It was about as real of a simulated city as one could get.

“This is the same field we used in the entrance exam,” Tenya said, voice echoing within the confines of his full-body armour. “I wonder if we will be hunting down robots once again.”

Was that what they had been required to do for the physical portion of the Entrance Exam? A direct combat exam was far outside of what the Recommendation Exam had asked of them. It made me wonder exactly how some of the students who had non-combat specialist quirks had managed to pass.

“This is indeed the same field,” Fake Might said in agreement. “Today, however, you will not be fighting those disposable robots. Instead, we will be moving on to step two—that is the Indoor Anti-Personnel Battle Training.”

“Indoor combat?” Shoji said.

“It is true that battles against villains are most commonly seen outdoors; however, statistically, the most heinous of crimes—and those who commit them—are far more likely to be found indoors.” Fake Might said, “Murder, illegal detainment, abduction, trafficking, and the black market; in this society of ours, the most dangerous of villains will not be out in the open.”

A pretender or not, this man clearly knew the coursework well enough to do this off the cuff and without the need to read off of a script—and he’d managed to hit upon a topic that was intensely close to my interests. I felt a genuine spark of excitement rise up as I realised that right now, I was finally starting to receive the training I would need to fulfil my goal. I’d made so many mistakes on the way to this moment, but I had still made it, and this was exactly where I needed to be.

“This exercise will be performed in teams of two, with a villain team and a hero team,” Fake Might said, “You will be pitted against one another and face off in a two-on-two indoor combat scenario.”

“We aren’t doing any practice first?” Tsuyu asked.

“Practical experience is the greatest teacher of them all,” Fake Might said, clenching his fist. “I want to see first-hand exactly what each of you is capable of.”

Tsuyu’s question seemed to embolden the rest of the class because a series of new ones were spoken in a mess of noise that quickly overwhelmed the man as he attempted to answer them all at once.

“One at a time, please,” Fake Might said, “I’m afraid I do not possess super hearing.”

“Can I just blast everyone into dust?” Katsuki demanded.

“Absolutely not,” Fake Might said without pause. “Next question.”

“All Might,” Yuga said, speaking up. “How fabulous is my cape?”

“I love the way it sparkles,” Fake Might beamed.

As sparkly as the boy’s cape was, the question seemed out of place for the current discussion—I was far more interested in the upcoming exercise and what exactly we would be required to do. Momo must have been feeling the exact same way because she spoke up a second before I did.

“I would like to know more about the exercise.” Momo said, “What are the criteria that determine victory, and what are our exact objectives?”

“The villains will have a nuclear weapon hidden inside of their hideout, and they must keep it out of your hands for a set duration in order for it to be successfully launched,” Fake Might said in answer. “The heroes must take possession of this device within the time limit—simply making physical contact with it is enough to win the scenario.”

“So it’s like capture the flag,” Eijiro said before pausing. “But with a nuclear weapon?”

“Precisely, but there is an alternative method for both teams to win the scenario—and that is by engaging in direct combat,” Fake Might said, “More specifically, if you can capture and restrain both members of the opposing team with the capture tape I will provide each of you with, then your team will have found victory in this exercise.”

“How do we decide who is placed on each team?” Tenya asked, “Is this to be a task where our own ability to organise is also under review?”

Fake Might laughed out loud at the words before sweeping his cape to the side to reveal a box with the word ‘lots’ written on the side of it.

“There will be exercises in the future where that will be the case, but for today, your battle partner will be decided at random by drawing lots,” Fake Might said. “Form up into two lines in the order of class ranking and approach.”

That was a pretty specific order for something that was supposed to be randomly selected, which immediately made me think that the pairs that would come about would be far more carefully chosen than what was being expressed. Fake Might brought each of us up to check the result, marking each of them down on a little booklet while going out of his way to shade it from view—I watched him scribble nonsense onto the pad from the sand I’d threaded through the air above. The man wasn’t noting down anything, and all of this was a farce, the pairs likely chosen long before we had ever arrived here.

“Perfect, now let us begin with our first two teams,” Fake Might said, “Team A, the heroes, Izuku Midoriya and Ochaco Uraraka. Team B, the villains, Katsuki Bakugo and Tenya Ida.”

I caught the flash of genuine horror that wrote itself onto Izuku’s face at the result and the matching onrush of glee that had taken Katsuki—and it became even more clear to me how the teams had been chosen. The continued tension between Katsuki and Izuku had been noticed, and this was some kind of controlled attempt to give them an outlet for it before it could grow into something that disrupted the class entirely—except Izuku didn’t look at all excited about being forced into the situation.

“Villains, you will be entering the Training Ground Beta first, so please follow the arrows to your starting destination; you will find a headset for each of you on-site. Make certain to equip yourself with it,” Fake Might said, “The heroes will be sneaking into the building once you are already established, and the five-minute timer will start immediately upon their entrance.”

Katsuki cracked the knuckles of his hand as he clenched them into fists.

“You boys will need to adopt the mindset of a villain,” Fake Might advised, “This is merely a practical exercise, but you are all expected to give your best efforts—so go all out, and don’t hold back.”

Izuku’s uneasiness was quickly turning into a general sort of panic at the words.

“Keep in mind that you are attempting to capture each other, not seriously injure one another, so if any of you go too far, I will stop the exercise at once,” Fake Might said in warning. “The rest of us will be watching via the cameras that are set up all throughout the building, so be aware that you will be under surveillance, so you should act accordingly.”

Fake Might waved them on, and Katsuki stomped off through the gates of the false city without waiting for anything else. Tenya set off in pursuit of the boy, looking flustered at being left behind so readily.

“Team A, you will wait here until the arrows change colour, and then you should follow after them,” Fake Might said, “The rest of you, please follow me.”

Fake Might set off through the entrance before turning to the direct right, and the rest of the class trailed along after him. Izuku stared down at the road as he was left behind; the well-wishing and good-natured remarks seemed to wash over him without effect. Ochaco seemed more receptive to the attention, but there was enough tension in her face that it was clear that she wasn’t at ease with the situation. If my rationale about Izuku not having the inbuilt durability needed to protect himself from the backlash of his own quirk, then the heroes were at a distinct disadvantage here. Tenya was fast, and if even a portion of that translated into combat speed, then he was going to dismantle the competition.

Beyond that, the quirk test had shown that Katsuki had enough attack power to overpower just about everyone inside Class 1-A. It was possible that Izuku had combat training outside of his quirk, which might be enough to bridge the gap, but even then, the person who was most crucial in this test was going to be Ochaco—she possessed the ability to hinder Tenya and Katsuki immensely with nothing more than a touch of her hand. Cutting off their ability to maneuver on the ground could be enough to ruin Tenya’s ability to give chase entirely. Katsuki had far more aerial maneuverability at his disposal, but that didn’t mean he would be unaffected by such a drastic weight change—I needed more information about all of them than what was currently available to make an accurate prediction of the outcome.

Fake Might led us to the basement of a building not very far from the entrance. The room was dominated by monitors, and there were enough seats arrayed for everyone present to be comfortable, along with a table set up across one side of the room covered with bottled water. The monitors were already on when we arrived, and the nuclear device the teams would be fighting over was visible on one of them. Katsuki and Tenya were also present, having posted up in the same room as the massive rocket.

“All of you have been given an advantage by being able to witness the exercise play out before your own attempt takes place, so I expect you to pay close attention to the tactics being used here,” Fake Might said, brandishing a notepad and pen like a weapon. “Try to learn something from your peers, and then integrate it into your own strategy.”

In a decision that seemed entirely one-sided, Katsuki outright abandoned both Tenya and the objective as soon as the timer began counting down. He vanished from the room without paying heed to the taller boy’s attempt to stop him and then down the staircase in search of the two heroes. He began systematically searching every floor from the top down, head swinging from side to side to check the corners he passed by. Tenya remained directly beside the rocket, arms crossed and facing the door.

Izuku and Ochaco were much more careful about their approach, the two of them staying low to the ground and listening for footsteps before advancing—it was an appropriate amount of stealth given the presence of a nuclear device that had the potential to threaten the lives of everyone in the false city, but it was costing them a lot of time. Katsuki had already searched half of the building by the time they had reached the second floor, and it was obvious that he was going to encounter them both within the minute.

“They’re going to run into each other,” Denki said, whistling. “This is going to be crazy.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Kyoka asked. “Two-on-one doesn’t look good for Bakugo.”

“Didn’t you see that guy blowing up robots in the exam?” Mina said, blinking. “He had the highest score at the end of it.”

“What of it?” Yuga said, sounding amused. “Midoriya took down the zero pointer with a single attack.”

“What?” Mina said, sounding baffled. “Those things were huge—how could he do something like that?”

I had no real context for what a zero-pointer was, and it was clear enough that neither Momo nor Shoto did either. Izuku had used his quirk inside of the entrance exam, which meant that I could most likely find an opportunity to simply ask one of the others about what they had seen. My focus shifted back to the monitors as the two teams grew close to one another—Katsuki must have heard the two of them because he broke out into a sprint before leaping around the corner, his hand already raised up in the air in preparation for an attack. Izuku reacted before the other boy had even cleared the corner, tackling Ochaco out of the way of the explosion that consumed the hallway and shattered the wall.

The two of them tumbled across the floor and rolled to their feet. When Izuku came up into the frame of the camera, it was revealed that half of his mask had been burned off by the power of the attack. Smoke and dust swirled through the hallway, thick and oppressive, as Katsuki swayed back to his feet. The blonde boy looked almost possessed as he pressed his hand flat against the wall to brace himself there—I regretted not moving sand into the building in advance because the camera feed was entirely without audio, and it was clear that the two groups were speaking to one another.

“Sneak attacks are so unmanly,” Eijiro said, clenching his hand into a fist. “That’s low, man.”

“Not at all,” Fake Might said, shaking his head. “Sneak attacks are a valid strategy and a core part of combat—ignoring such a useful advantage would be folly.”

“Oh,” Eijiro said, blinking. “I guess.”

“Oh, I guess—idiot,” Mina teased, nettling the boy. “Midoriya is pretty good at dodging—see how fast he reacted?”

Mina was right; the boy’s evasive action had actually started before the attack had—and when Katsuki took off towards them, Izuku stepped into the attack, sliding into position before capturing the blonde boy’s arm. Izuku dragged him up off the ground, over his shoulder, and then smashed him back first into the ground in a perfectly executed—

“One-armed shoulder throw,” Mashirao said, impressed. “That was clean.”

“Holy crap,” Mina said.

“He started moving before Katsuki attacked,” I said, speaking up. “Izuku predicted which attack he would lead with.”

“They know each other from before, don’t they?” Mashirao wondered, “I wonder if that comes from doing a lot of sparring together.”

“Sparring?” Rikido said. “I’m pretty sure they hate each other—that hole in the wall says at least that much.”

Katsuki rolled out of the slam, but it was clear that he hadn’t managed to brush off any of the impact, and he came to his feet far slower than he had been before. I stared at the monitor—how Izuku could show such overwhelming competence only to follow it up by not pressing his advantage was insane. I couldn’t believe that he would give Katsuki a chance to get back to his feet without doing anything to capitalise on his downed state—it seemed entirely too arrogant to match the boy’s nervous demeanour, which made me think he’d allowed it out of some kind of attempt at inappropriate fairness. Ochaco seemed struck more by the level of violence that was taking place in front of her, the explosions and the aggression catching her off guard. They were on a time limit, so why weren’t any of them doing anything—were they seriously just talking? Katsuki ripped his earpieces out before tossing the transceiver across the floor.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?” Fumikage asked.

“They are in the middle of a situation where civilian lives are at stake—an entire city worth of people given the potential yield of the warhead—the timer is counting down, and they are talking to one another.” I said, “Izuku allowed him to get up unobstructed, and right now, Ochaco is standing directly behind Katsuki, and she isn’t using the opportunity to attack from outside of his line of sight.”

“They have clashed several times in class already,” Fumikage said, in consideration. “They may be using this time as a way to vent those frustrations at each other.”

“That might be true, but they are doing it at the expense of civilian lives,” Shoto said, “This isn’t a game or a therapy session—it’s a training exercise, and they aren’t taking it seriously.”

“I agree with you both,” Fumikage admitted, “I am simply guessing at their motivations.”

“They really are just screaming at each other,” Kyoka said, speaking up. “I think I understand how Ochaco feels—wouldn’t you feel awkward about being there while it’s happening?”

“They shouldn’t be doing that in the first place,” Momo said, “This is extremely inappropriate.”

“Ah, monsieur Bakugo seems as if he is now sick of talking,” Yuga said, “Perhaps he has finally remembered that we are watching?”

Ochaco broke away from the two of them without warning, heading for the stairs before Katsuki let off a massive explosion behind himself—it propelled him forward into the air. Izuku was already moving, but this time, Katsuki swung his arm forward and prematurely let off a second explosion, halting his forward momentum before he crossed the entire distance. Katsuki spun into a kick, but once again, despite the sheer suddenness of the attack, Izuku had already prepared a counter for it—the capture tape, provided by Fake MIght as a way to end the fights, grew taut in the air as Katsuki’s foot passed into the trap. The restraint began to close around the trapped limb before Izuku abandoned it entirely, throwing himself away as an explosion washed outwards from Katsuki’s palm, passing through the space the other boy had just occupied—was there some kind of predictive facet to his quirk that worked without involving his dominating strength, or was his ability to predict the blonde boy a result of their prior history together?

“Midoriya really is amazing,” Rikido said, shaking his head. “He’s going head-to-head with this kid, and he’s not even using his quirk.”

Izuku broke off from the close combat, retreating around the corner and out of sight. Katsuki gave chase, looking somehow even more furious at what he probably perceived as cowardice—had he forgotten about Ochaco entirely? Why would he just let her go without trying to stop her?

“Uh,” Denki said, “Why is he so angry—it’s kinda scary, honestly.”

“Maybe his explosions are powered by his unrelenting rage,” Mina said with false seriousness. “The more powerful his emotions, the more explody he becomes?”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Koji tried.

“Yeah,” Rikido said, amused. “He’s probably just an angry kind of guy.”

Ochaco was quickly making her way to the top floor and the room that Tenya was keeping a close guard over. Either by luck or design, she managed to enter the room by the side that his back was facing, but she only made it a few feet into the room before Tenya spun on his heel to catch her—Tenya seemed to be the only one who was taking this seriously right from the start, and he made no attempt to distance himself from the objective. Instead, he moved to place himself in front of it. Everything that had been in the room at the start of the match was gone now, dumped into the side rooms, and though there was no way to check on his rationale, it seemed likely that he was attempting to clear the space of things that would obstruct his speed. Ochaco seemed unwilling to approach the tall boy, and in turn, he seemed unwilling to leave the objective undefended—it was a situation that favoured the villains, allowing them to run down the clock while preventing the heroes from reaching their goal. Katsuki caught up to Izuku, and—they started talking again.

“Bakugo, refrain from using your support item—” Fake Might said before pausing. “Oh, he took out the earpiece.”

Katsuki had already lifted his gauntleted hand up; his other hand rested on the ‘pin’ that I had previously assumed was simply decorative—the pin was pulled free, and a monstrous explosion burst forth from the gauntlet, filling most of the corridor with fire and force. Izuku covered his face with his armoured hands, but he had no chance against the attack and was sent careening backwards through the hall as the majority of the attack carried past over the top of him. It hit the wall behind them, ripped the entire back wall of the building apart, and sent concrete crashing down into the streets below.

“What the hell was that?” Eijiro managed, “I thought this was just for practice.”

Fake Might made no response to the words. Instead, he was gripping the desk with white-knuckled hands—it was clear enough that the explosions had been aimed upwards on purpose to avoid the full brunt of it from impacting Izuku, but even still, it left the boy visibly damaged. The force of the explosion had shaken the entire building, and Ochaco had taken advantage of it by diving into the air, apparently already under the effects of her own quirk. Tenya skidded to a stop beneath her, having also tried to use it as cover to initiate his own sudden attack, and the moment he realised he had failed, he twisted in place before bursting forward. He crossed the room in an instant, caught hold of the nuclear rocket, and then carried it towards the opposite side of the room in a flash of furious movement.

Ochaco passed through the space where it had been, unable to touch it in time, and then dropped her quirk as she touched the ground before rolling back to her feet. Katsuki burst forward up the hallway, and just like the other times, Izuku moved into a counter before the attack had even started—this time, it didn’t work, as Katsuki let off an explosion directly in front of him, using the force to spin himself over the top of his opponent. He landed directly behind him—another explosion erupted from his hands, this time straight into Izuku’s unprotected back. It sent him crashing across the room, most of his costume now gone, hanging in tatters around him.

“He baited out that counter by using the same telegraphed right overhand as before,” Mashirao said. “His striking form could use some work, but his battle IQ is high.”

“Obstruct his vision, use the moment to reposition, and then attack from a place of superior leverage,” I said, “I wonder if he’s making those decisions intentionally or if he’s chaining it all together through instinct.”

“Bakugo doesn’t give the impression of being such a deep thinker on the surface,” Momo said, “But that was an incredible plan of attack.”

“I’m not sure how Midoriya keeps getting back up,” Kyoka said. “That’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Tsuyu said before pausing. “He is also becoming more naked with every exchange.”

Naked or otherwise, Izuku couldn’t seem to get himself together after that, and the fight quickly became one-sided. Katsuki dragged the other boy into a mirror of the same throw he had been on the other end of earlier, and when Izuku finally managed to climb back to his feet, his costume was barely hanging together—something changed in the air, and the two boys tensed up on the monitor. All at once, the two of them took off at a sprint towards one another. A trail of dark smoke followed along behind Katsuki’s hand as he prepared to finish the fight, and a spark of light raced across Izuku’s skin, flashing up his arm in a tracery of translucent lines as he drew it backwards.

Fake Might hunched forward at the sight of it, muscles bulging all across his body as he prepared himself to do something—I couldn’t imagine what that might be because while he possessed the look of the greatest hero in the world, he didn’t have any of the powers that came with it. Izuku’s arm came upwards into an uppercut at the last moment, the attack serving as both a guard against the monstrous explosion and an offensive tool—a massive wave of pressure lanced upwards from his fist, deflecting the explosion off course and then crashing into the ceiling. The force broke through the ceiling without slowing down at all, tore through everything in its path and shattered every single floor on its journey upwards. It broke through the top floor, sending everything up into the air, and Ochaco smacked her hand flat against one of the shattered pillars—she swung it up off the floor, her arms wrapped barely halfway around the thickness of it, and the broadside of the pillar made contact with the debris still falling through the air.

Tenya was forced to raise his guard in an effort to protect himself from the onslaught of projectiles that were sent his way, and by the time it was safe for him to raise his head, Ochaco was already wrapped around the rocket. A robotic voice spoke up in the aftermath, announcing the hero’s victory, but my own attention was locked entirely on the space where Fake Might had just been standing. The fading wave of air pressure that denoted the man’s departure washed over the class, rustling clothing like a gust of focused wind. I found the man half a block away, depicted on the same monitor feed that showcased the aftermath of Izuku’s attack.

The class was now bursting with energy, excitement, outrage, and a hundred different emotions, but I was left untouched by all of it. Fake Might hadn’t left my sight at any point since I’d seen him this morning, my sand tracking his progress unerringly across the campus, so I knew with absolute certainty that no switch had occurred between the actual hero and the actor that I had been sure was playing him. The gaunt, sickly and emaciated man that had approached our classroom this morning hadn’t been a fake after all.

If this really was the greatest hero in the world, then I was left with only one question—what was wrong with All Might?