The U.A. observation room existed in perpetual twilight, its cathedral-high ceiling lost in shadow. Banks of holographic displays cast shifting blue light across the assembled faculty, each screen a window into chaos unfolding across five battle centers. The only warm light came from a single desk lamp illuminating Principal Nezu's workspace, where steam rose from a delicate porcelain teacup painted with cherry blossoms.
Nezu sat motionless in his high-backed chair, white fur pristine against the dark leather. His circular black eyes reflected the dancing images on the screens, but his expression remained serene. The scar across his right eye caught the light as he lifted the cup to his lips.
"Pressure, my dear colleagues," he said, his voice carrying the gentle cadence of a bedtime story, "does not build character. It reveals it."
Beside him, Cementoss stood like a living monument, his concrete form casting a blocky shadow across the floor. His intelligent eyes moved methodically from screen to screen, cataloging each student's performance.
"Some are architects," the hero rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of settling stone. "Building their response brick by brick. Others are lightning, striking without thought of consequence."
In the room's furthest corner, Toshinori Yagi hunched against the wall like a scarecrow forgotten by its farmer. His gaunt frame barely filled the oversized suit that hung from his shoulders, and his sunken eyes remained fixed on a small secondary monitor displaying Battle Center A. The skeletal fingers of his left hand drummed against his thigh—a nervous habit he'd developed since his injury.
Nezu gestured toward the main display bank, his small paw moving like a conductor directing an orchestra.
"Observe, if you will, the various approaches to our little examination."
The central screen shifted to Battle Center B, where Tenya Iida moved through the mock city like clockwork given flesh. His engines roared as he launched himself at a two-pointer, his leg connecting with the robot's torso in a perfectly executed kick that sent mechanical parts scattering across the asphalt.
"Engine," Nezu murmured, reading from a tablet. "Exceptional academic scores, excellent physical conditioning, impeccable family pedigree. A flawless execution of the fundamentals." He paused, watching Iida dispatch another robot with surgical precision. "He would be a valuable asset for any agency that provides an instruction manual."
The feed switched to Battle Center A, where the camera struggled to track a blur of dark violet and silver that wove between buildings like liquid shadow. The lens caught glimpses—a flash of steel, an explosion of sparks, the collapse of a three-pointer that had been whole moments before. The point counter in the corner ticked upward at a steady, relentless pace.
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"HPSC recommendation," Nezu noted, consulting his files. "She moves like a predator, doesn't she? An interesting variable in our equation."
Another gesture brought Battle Center C into focus, and the room's ambient temperature seemed to rise. Katsuki Bakugo carved a path of destruction through the urban landscape, explosions blooming from his palms as he launched himself from building to building. His grin was a feral slash across his face, all teeth and violent joy. The point counter spun like a slot machine hitting the jackpot.
A teacher somewhere in the darkness whistled low. "That power output is off the charts. His raw talent is—"
"Indeed," Nezu interrupted, his tone remaining conversational. "He is a sledgehammer in a room full of sculptures. Effective for demolition, but prone to causing a great deal of dust."
The principal's paw moved again, centering the main display on Battle Center B. His smile widened, revealing small, sharp teeth.
"Ah, but this... this is a performance."
The screen showed three figures moving through the mock city with the kind of coordination that usually took months to develop. Mashirao Ojiro anchored the formation, his martial arts training evident in every pivot and strike. Kyoka Jiro provided reconnaissance, her earphone jacks extended as she called out enemy positions. And on a nearby rooftop, Yukio Murano was the maestro, turning the street into his own private orchestra of chaos.
A charged playing card left his fingers, kissed the corner of a building, ricocheted off a fire hydrant, and detonated inside a three-pointer's chest cavity. The explosion painted the street in violet light, and Ojiro was already moving to engage the next target before the smoke cleared.
"Teamwork," Cementoss observed, his approval evident in the way his posture straightened. "They have recognized that the sum can exceed its parts."
At her console near the room's center, Midnight leaned forward like a cat spotting movement in tall grass. Her blue eyes fixed on Yukio's image as he reloaded his ammunition with casual precision, and her lips curved into something that was part smile, part promise.
"Murano Yukio," she purred, her voice carrying the kind of warmth that could melt steel or freeze blood, depending on her mood. "He was in my testing hall. Such delicious, unearned confidence. He sees the whole board, not just the pieces." Her tongue darted across her lower lip. "It's a flavor I quite enjoy."
"Analyzing teenage bravado is hardly a new frontier, Kayama."
The voice cut through Midnight's reverie. Dr. Tae Takemi sat hunched over her biometric tablet, her black hair falling across her face as she tracked vital signs across all five battle centers. Her lab coat bore coffee stains and what might have been blood, and her glasses reflected the glow of her screen.
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"It's the psychological equivalent of candy," Takemi continued without looking up. "Sweet, simple, and it rots the teeth."
Midnight turned in her chair, her hero costume creaking softly against the leather.
"Oh, forgive me, Doctor," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "I sometimes forget that not everyone appreciates the artistry of building a student's confidence. Some only see them as fascinating projects after they've broken."
Takemi finally raised her head, and her dark eyes held all the warmth of a winter morgue. She pushed her glasses up her nose, a gesture that somehow managed to convey complete disdain.
"You don't 'build.' You accessorize. A persona is just another costume. When real trauma hits, a brand is as useful as a bandage on a sucking chest wound."
While the two women traded barbs, Toshinori remained lost in his private vigil. His secondary monitor showed a different story—a green-haired boy racing through the streets, dodging falling debris and robot attacks but never engaging. The point counter beside Izuku Midoriya's name remained stubbornly fixed at zero.
Toshinori's skeletal fingers clenched into fists, the knuckles standing out like mountain peaks beneath his pale skin. The boy's analytical mind was his greatest asset, but analysis didn't register on scoreboards.
Come on, my boy, he thought, his internal voice carrying all the weight of his diminishing power. Think. Your heart is your greatest weapon, but they can't see that in these numbers. Show them something... show them anything...
Nezu clapped his paws together, the sound cutting through the room's tension like a bell. Every head turned toward the principal, whose smile had taken on the quality of freshly sharpened steel.
"Excellent! We have established our baseline." His black eyes moved across the displays, cataloging each student's performance like a chess master studying the board. "We have observed the planners, the predators, the powerhouses, and the performers. The overture is complete."
His paw hovered over a section of his control panel that had been cordoned off by red tape. A single button sat beneath a clear dome, larger than the others and labeled with a simple symbol: [0].
"We have seen how they perform when they are hunting," Nezu mused, his voice carrying the same gentle tone he might use to discuss the weather. "Now... let us see how they perform when they are hunted."
The room fell silent except for the soft hum of electronics and the distant sound of explosions from the battle centers. Even Midnight and Takemi had stopped their verbal sparring, their attention drawn to the principal's theatrics.
Nezu's smile stretched wider, revealing more of those sharp, white teeth. His paw descended toward the button like a judge's gavel seeking its target.
"Let us see who breaks..."
The button clicked.
"...and who breaks through."
Alarms began to wail across all five battle centers, their electronic shriek cutting through the sounds of combat. On every screen, emergency lights bathed the mock cities in hellish red, and the ground began to tremble.
From hidden bays built into the battle centers' foundations, something massive began to rise.