The silence in the private training room was almost a physical entity. There were no monitors, no stands, just a padded tatami floor and the cold, neutral light of the ceiling panels. The door shut with a heavy, metallic click, a sound that seemed to seal off the outside world, leaving them alone in their sanctuary of strategy and tension.
Momo Yaoyorozu turned, her arms crossed over her chest in a gesture that was half-defensive, half-expectant. A delicate blush colored her cheeks, belying the calmness in her voice.
"I've reserved the room. No one will bother us here. Are you… are you ready?"
Izuku nodded, swallowing hard. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of the proposal she had made in the classroom. The idea had come from him, but she was the one who had taken the initiative.
"I am if you are. Momo… we don't have to do this if you feel uncomfortable. We can find another way."
She shook her head, a small smile—a mixture of nervousness and gratitude—curving her lips.
"There is no other way, not one that guarantees we'll be ready for Aizawa-sensei. The logic is sound. It's just… the practical application is a bit more intimidating than the theory."
"Then… let me help it not be intimidating."
Izuku stepped closer, his footsteps soft on the tatami. There was no awkwardness in his movements, only the gravity of a shared moment. He raised his hand, not toward her body, but to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a tenderness that left her breathless. He leaned in, slow, deliberate, giving her all the time in the world to stop him.
She didn't. She leaned into him, closing her eyes.
The kiss was a whisper. Soft. Timid at first. Their lips barely brushed, a silent question. She answered by leaning in further, a sigh escaping her and mingling with his breath. Then the kiss deepened, but without losing its tenderness. It was slow, affectionate, as if he were savoring a delicate fruit for the first time. Izuku tasted her lips, the sweet, unique taste that was only Momo, and felt her melt against him, her hands rising to tangle in his hair.
His hands began a journey of their own, a reverent exploration. They slid down her waist, feeling the perfect curve of her hips, the firmness of her back. It was the body of an athlete, but also that of a goddess, and he worshipped it with every touch. A choked moan vibrated in Momo's throat as his fingers slid lower, squeezing the gentle, generous curve of her backside.
They broke apart for air, their foreheads resting against each other. Momo's eyes, now dark and clouded with desire, searched his with a silent question. He smiled, a smile so full of pure adoration it stole her breath away.
"You're… perfect," he whispered, as if it were the greatest secret in the universe.
That word, spoken with such sincerity, was the final permission she needed. With trembling but determined hands, she pulled off her uniform top, letting it fall to her feet. The sports top she wore underneath framed her breasts, pushing them up, a magnificent offering. He helped her take it off, his fingers clumsy but filled with a reverence that made her shudder.
And then he saw them. Her breasts were works of art, full, round, with skin as soft and pale as alabaster. Her nipples, two delicate peaks of pale pink, hardened instantly under his gaze, begging for a touch.
He did not disappoint.
His mouth descended, his lips replacing his hands. He kissed her, not with the urgency from before, but with the devotion of a worshipper. His kisses traced a fiery path down the curve of her neck, across her collarbone, until he reached the valley between her breasts. She arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips, offering herself to him.
He accepted the offering. His mouth claimed one nipple. He savored it. Slow. Deliberate. His tongue circled it, tracing wet, hot circles, before finally sucking gently, a softness that made her gasp. Her taste was sweet, intoxicating. It was the taste of trust, of surrender. He moved to the other, giving it the same adoration, while his hands continued their exploration, learning every curve, every inch of her skin.
A soft glow began to emanate from where his hands and mouth touched her skin, a warm, golden light that wasn't just from her Quirk, but from their synergy, from the connection they were forging.
"Izuku…" she moaned, her mind a delicious fog of pleasure.
He lifted his head, his lips wet and his eyes shining with an intensity that made her tremble.
"Now, Momo," he whispered against her skin. "Now, feel it. Create."
She didn't think. She didn't analyze. She just felt. She felt the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands, the energy flowing between them, the light enveloping them. And in the midst of that whirlwind of sensation, she visualized the weapon. Not as a set of parts, but as an extension of her own will.
Her free hand rose. Her skin shone, and the sonic weapon materialized in her palm. Instant. Perfect. Solid.
He pulled back, and she stood there, bare from the waist up, holding her creation, her chest heaving, her nipples still hard and wet from his kisses, her face flushed with a blush and triumph.
They looked at each other in silence. He, with a smile of overwhelming pride. She, with tears of gratitude and something more, something new and powerful, shining in her eyes.
"We… we did it," she whispered.
He stepped forward and kissed her again, a short, tender kiss on the lips, a seal for their shared victory.
"No. You did it. I just reminded you how incredible you are."
She laughed, a clear, happy sound, as she put her uniform back on. Her body was still vibrating from the experience. Izuku took advantage of the slight distraction and, with his hand still on her rear, gave it a light, playful squeeze, causing Momo to let out a brief, embarrassed gasp.
When they arrived, Ochako and Toru were waiting for them.
"So?" Toru asked, her tone filled with a mischievous curiosity. "Was the study session… 'productive'?"
Momo, for the first time, didn't blush. A small smile, full of a new, serene confidence, played on her lips.
"Extremely productive."
Ochako smiled at her, a mixture of relief and amusement on her face.
"I'm glad. Now get ready. Bakugo and Todoroki are about to start. This isn't going to be pretty."
In their group's prep room, the air was icy, and not just because of Todoroki's Quirk.
"I don't need your stupid plans, Half-and-Half," Bakugo snarled, stretching his arms. "The plan is simple: I blast All Might until there's nothing left of him. You stay out of my way."
"Your approach is inefficient and suicidal," Todoroki replied with his usual coldness. "All Might won't fall for predictable frontal assaults. The key is containment and coordinated attack."
"Containment? The only restraint I need is the one keeping me from killing you right here, right now!"
They didn't have a plan. They had two individual plans clashing with each other. It was a recipe for disaster.
"THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE PRACTICAL EXAM IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!"
Present Mic's voice echoed in the observation room. On the giant screen, they saw Eijiro Kirishima and Rikido Sato enter a replica of an urban district. In the center, Cementoss waited for them, arms crossed.
The battle was a testament to brute force and tenacity.
"We can't break through his walls!" Kirishima yelled, punching a concrete wall that regenerated instantly. "It's like hitting a ghost!"
"Then we'll just hit harder!" Sato replied, his muscles swelling with sugar.
From the observation room, Izuku shook his head.
"That's a mistake."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"They're playing Cementoss's game," he explained, his eyes analyzing every detail. "It's a battle of attrition, and Cementoss has infinite stamina. His energy doesn't run out like Sato's. They aren't fighting his walls; they're fighting against the clock. And they're losing."
"So what should they do?" Mina asked, genuinely concerned.
"Stop trying to break the wall. They should go around it. Use Sato's speed and Kirishima's climbing ability to flank him, force him to defend from multiple angles. Split his attention. But they're too focused on brute force."
His words were prophetic. After ten minutes of brutal and futile effort, Kirishima and Sato collapsed, exhausted, trapped in a prison of cement. The alarm sounded, signaling their failure.
The next pair to enter was Fumikage Tokoyami and Tsuyu Asui. Their opponent, Ectoplasm, greeted them with a polite smile before multiplying into a dozen identical clones that surrounded them.
"They have us surrounded, kero!" Tsuyu said, her tongue shooting out to catch a clone, which dissolved into ectoplasm.
"The darkness is our ally," Tokoyami replied. "Dark Shadow, create a diversion on the west flank. Tsuyu, I need you to use your camouflage to get to the exit gate. I'll hold them off."
"A solid plan," Momo commented from the stands. "Divide and conquer."
But Ectoplasm was more than just a simple army.
"Do you think I haven't analyzed your patterns, young Tokoyami?"
The hero's voice echoed from all directions. The main clone, indistinguishable from the others, appeared right behind Tokoyami and caught him in an expert hold.
"Dark Shadow, help me!" Tokoyami cried out.
The shadow creature turned, but was met by three more clones that bombarded it with ectoplasm projectiles, distracting it. Ectoplasm's coordination was perfect. With Tokoyami neutralized, Tsuyu was quickly surrounded. The test was over in less than five minutes.
Panic began to spread among the students in the observation room. The teachers weren't holding back. They weren't testing their strength; they were dismantling their strategies.
"This is a massacre," Kaminari said, his face pale.
It was then that the screen announced the next battle.
Ochako Uraraka and Toru Hagakure vs. Thirteen.
Ochako and Toru looked at each other, a new determination shining in their eyes.
"Our turn," Toru said.
"Let's show them what we're made of," Ochako replied, clenching her fists.
They left the observation room and headed for the testing grounds. As they walked down the hall, Ochako stopped and turned to her partner.
"Toru-chan, I have an idea. It's crazy. And it will probably get us in trouble. But I think it's our only shot."
Toru's voice was filled with a confidence that Izuku had helped her build.
"I'm listening."
Back in the observation room, Izuku watched the screen. His heart beat with a mixture of pride and anxiety.
"They're not going to try to escape," he said, more to himself than to the others.
"What do you mean, Midoriya?" Kirishima asked.
"Thirteen is a rescue specialist. Her Quirk is defensive. She'll wait for them to make a mistake. The logical strategy is to wear her out, force her to use her Black Hole until she gets tired. But that takes time. And I don't think Ochako wants to wait."
His words hung in the air as the battle began. The testing ground was an industrial zone filled with pipes and metal structures. Thirteen waited in the center, near the exit gate.
"Give up, girls!" the space hero said through her helmet. "You can't beat me!"
Instead of advancing, Ochako smiled at her.
"We're not going to beat you, Thirteen-sensei!"
And then, to everyone's astonishment, she touched the ground. Not to levitate a few rocks. She touched the ground with both hands and yelled.
"Time for some remodeling!"
The entire central section of the battlefield—a steel plate fifty meters in diameter—peeled away from the ground. It didn't float. It rose, slowly, like the lid of a monstrous box, with Thirteen still standing on it, completely thrown off balance.
"WHAT IS SHE DOING?!" Present Mic screamed from somewhere. "SHE'S LIFTING THE ENTIRE BATTLEFIELD!"
While Ochako held the steel plate in the air, sweat pouring down her forehead, Toru sprang into action.
"My turn!"
Using her control over light, she created a blinding flash that disoriented Thirteen. Then, using the pipes that Ochako was launching to her as makeshift projectiles, she began to build. Not a barricade. A cage.
The battle had turned into a large-scale construction project.
Bakugo, who had been watching with disdain, leaned forward for the first time, a flash of genuine interest in his eyes.
"That damn Round Face… she's not as dumb as she looks."
Thirteen stared down from her makeshift prison of pipes, trapped on a floating steel platform, as Ochako and Toru waved from the ground below—exhausted, but victorious.
"VICTORY GOES TO URARAKA AND HAGAKURE!" All Might declared, his voice a mixture of astonishment and overwhelming pride.
Izuku and Momo looked at each other. The pressure had just increased exponentially. Their turn was about to come.