The roar of the stadium was alive—throbbing like a heartbeat in Itami's ears.
He walked onto the starting field with the rest of Class 1-A, hands tucked in his pockets, head low. Wind whipped through banners bearing the U.A. crest. Massive screens cycled overhead, flashing aerial shots of the crowd—thousands of faces blurred into a wall of color and noise.
Itami barely looked up.
Around him, the energy was electric. Kirishima shadowboxed the air, grinning wide. Kaminari waved at the crowd like he already had merch deals. Even Bakugo, all crossed arms and simmering anger, stood tall near the front, unbothered by the spotlight.
Itami stayed toward the back, his presence quiet and controlled. He didn't need cheers. He didn't want any more attention.
He was here to move forward. That was it.
Present Mic's voice blasted from the speakers, hyped as ever.
"GET READY FOR THE ULTIMATE TEST OF SKILL AND GUTS—THE OBSTACLE COURSE IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!"
The crowd roared. The volume made Itami flinch slightly. His jaw tensed.
Too damn loud.
Midnight strutted into view, hips swinging, voice sultry but commanding as she took over the mic.
"The first round will push our fledgling heroes to their limits!"
Itami's mind wasn't on the announcement.
His temples pulsed in rhythm with the crowd's noise. His thoughts pressed in like static—Akuma's voice over the speakers, the flashing of the Wyrm-Crest logo, the new "Hero Agency" attached to the clans name.
Why now? Why?
The students began moving to the starting line. Some joked. Some cracked their knuckles or exchanged strategies.
Itami moved with them, steps even, shoulders loose.
He wasn't tense. He wasn't rushing.
He was waiting.
Midnight cracked her whip overhead.
"READY—SET—!"
The alarm blared.
Chaos erupted.
Students surged forward like a wave crashing onto the course. Explosions burst in the distance. Screams of excitement mixed with the heavy clang of metal. The crowd fed the frenzy with cheers and chants.
But Itami didn't run.
He walked.
Eyes low. Breathing calm. The chaos blurred around him like white noise.
Just another test. Just get through it.
A shadow fell over him—then a thunderous crash. A zero-pointer landed ahead, its bulk crushing into the ground. One of its arms twitched, gears grinding.
Covered in ice.
Itami didn't break stride.
He raised a fist, flame spiraling around his knuckles—and punched clean through the core.
The machine spasmed, sparked, and collapsed into scrap.
Another robot skittered in from the side—smaller, faster. It opened fire.
Itami sidestepped, sliding across the ground. A burst of fire from his heel launched him forward into a spin. His foot connected with the robot's head, crumpling it with a metallic crunch.
One more. He didn't slow down.
A stream of fire erupted from his left palm, searing through a third bot's chest. With his right, he flung a fireball—clean, compact. It detonated midair, ripping the sensor array off the machine's head.
Within moments, he stood alone, surrounded by mangled wreckage and burning steel. Smoke curled lazily in the air.
And for a moment, everything was quiet.
Itami exhaled slowly.
I needed that.
Present Mic's voice tore through the speakers again:
"LOOK AT THAT DESTRUCTION! CLASS 1-A'S ITAMI IS CUTTING THROUGH THESE BOTS LIKE BUTTER! THIS KID'S ON FIRE—LITERALLY!"
In the observation booth above, Ectoplasm narrowed his eyes, arms folded. "That's not just raw strength. That's control. Calculated aggression."
All Might nodded beside him. "He's not letting his emotions control the fight—he's channeling them."
Ahead lay the second stretch—Balance beams, and suspended platforms that zigzagged above an open drop. A challenge built for mobility, not muscle.
He saw flashes of classmates up ahead—Todoroki freezing paths, Sero swinging, Tsuyu hopping through like a breeze. The less athletic students struggled, clinging to beams and wobbling across the ropes.
Itami stood at the edge, calculating. The gaps were long, but manageable.
With a flick of fire under his heels, he vaulted onto the first platform. Then the next—boosting, flipping, pushing just enough to clear the gaps. No wasted movement.
He landed lightly on the far side, one step ahead of a falling student who face-planted behind him. He adjusted his sleeves and kept moving.
The last stretch came into view—a wide, open minefield. Dozens of circular plates scattered across the ground, blinking red under thin layers of dirt. The markers were obvious. Almost too obvious.
What is this, a joke?
Then he noticed motion ahead. Dust kicked up from the minefield—and in the middle of it, crouched low, was Midoriya.
Itami's brow furrowed as he approached.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, tone flat.
Midoriya looked up, startled. His face was flushed, hair messier than usual, but his grin still flashed through.
"I'm improvising," he said, holding up one of the mines. "They've got propulsion force—if I chain a bunch together, I can launch myself over the final stretch."
Itami blinked. "You're digging up bombs to ride them."
Midoriya laughed, shrugging. "Kind of. Yeah. Not the safest plan, but if it works, I can make up the distance."
Itami stared for another beat, then shook his head slightly. "You're insane."
Midoriya just grinned. "Sometimes that's what it takes."
Itami turned without another word.
"Good luck with that," he muttered, then stepped forward. Seeing the field littered with mines, he easily stepped through them, catching up with some of his classmates.
Making his way through the field with ease, he stopped as a loud explosion came from behind him. Wind rushed past. Looking back to see how Midoriya's experiment went, only for him to whiz on by with extreme speed.
Well, damn. It actually worked.
Midoriya soared over him, trailing smoke like a rocket. Present Mic screamed in awe as the crowd exploded.
"WHAT A MOVE!! MIDORIYA ROCKETS INTO FIRST PLACE WITH A BLAST STRAIGHT OUTTA NOWHERE!!"
Itami smirked to himself as he looked ahead and heard the announcement of Midoriya winning first place. He then exploded off the ground using his flames under his foot, boosting him to finish the race, qualifying him for the next round, getting placed 15th.
The stadium buzzed with energy as the first event concluded. Itami stepped off the track, still filled with lingering doubts and simmering frustration, but he choose to ignore it for now.
Walking towards the rest of the students he waits as more and more fill in the area. Then Midnights voice echos through the arena congratulating everyone on who passed.
A screen appears behind her as she announces the next round. The screen spinning then finally stopping on Calvary Battle.
Huh interesting choice I guess
Then the screen change to show the scoreboard and point system of the game.
Midoriya... ten million points?
The stadium erupted again—students buzzing, laughing, others panicking as they realized Midoriya just became the biggest target on the field.
Damn. That's a hell of a number to carry.
Midnight's voice echoed again, playful but clear. "The top scorer will carry a ten-million-point headband in the next round—make your alliances wisely!"
Students scattered across the staging area as the rules sank in. Some bolted straight for Midoriya, others clustered in tight circles, whispering plans and forming teams fast.
Itami stayed back.
He watched. Measured.
As he moved towards the back, several classmates approached him.
"Yo, Itami!" Kaminari called out, jogging up. "That was some intense firework display back there. You thinking about teaming up for the cavalry battle?"
Itami gave a noncommittal shrug. "Haven't decided yet."
Mina Ashido chimed in, "Come on, with your firepower and our quirks, we'd be unstoppable!"
Itami gave an awkward smile as they came up to him "Sorry just let me think for a minute."
They drifted off, leaving Itami alone near the back. He found a quiet corner, arms crossed, gaze scanning the arena. The energy buzzed all around him—excitement, nerves, raw desperation—but none of it touched him.
His mind was elsewhere.
On Akuma. On the cameras. On the voice that said "Wyrm-Crest Hero Agency" like it was a punchline. He then saw Akuma in the crowds, laughing and taking pictures with people. He exhaled slowly.
Not the time to spiral.
Then—
"Hey. Itami, right?"
The voice was calm. Neutral. Almost too neutral.
Itami turned.
A student approached with messy purple hair and tired, unreadable eyes. His posture was casual, but his gaze was locked.
"Yeah?" Itami said.
"You planning your team?" the boy asked. His tone was even, but something about it crawled under the skin—too flat, too measured.
"Something like that," Itami replied, watching him carefully.
The student stepped closer. "It's interesting how fast alliances form in situations like these. Survival. Strategy. Trust."
Itami narrowed his eyes. "You're not just making small talk."
Before the boy could reply, something hit Itami's mind like a slow wave.
Not a sound.
Not a flash.
Just... fog.
Thick, heavy, creeping in from the corners of his consciousness. His thoughts dulled. His limbs felt distant. He tried to speak—but the words stuck.
What... the hell?
"Just like before," a deep voice hissed in his mind. "So easy to manipulate."
Images flashed—memories not his own. A dragon's eyes, glowing with malice. Flames consuming everything. A sense of helplessness. Corpses burning.
No... this isn't real. Not again.
With immense effort, Itami shook his head, breaking free from the mental grip. He staggered back, eyes wide.
Shinso looked surprised. "You resisted? Impressive."
Itami's breath was ragged. "What... was that?"
The fog came again, as the deep voiced laughed louder. "Again? You really are guilabe."
Itami wasn't in the arena anymore. He was floating in an endless void, the red glowing eyes staring at him. Someone grabbed his shoulder, turning him—it was his Doppelganger.
But instead of an exact replica, he was different. The skin was a mixture of flesh and scales. Mimicking how a lizard sheds its old skin. Then the same black mass from before ruptured from his skin.
The black mass then shot straight at him, holding him with a chokehold slowly entering his body. "This is going to be fun"