"Presentation is a form of psychological warfare, Ibara."
Izuku's voice was calm and serious, a focused whisper in the silent training room. It was the day before the U.A. entrance exam, and their final ritual wasn't strenuous exercise or last minute strategy reviews.
"Tomorrow, when you walk onto that battlefield, you don't just have to be strong. You have to look strong. The state of your vines is the first message you'll send before you move a single muscle. They have to shine. They have to look healthy, powerful. They have to scream 'I am a force of nature, don't mess with me'."
Ibara sat on a cushion on the floor, her back perfectly straight and her eyes closed in a state of serene meditation. Behind her, Izuku held a soft bristle brush and, with the meticulousness of a craftsman, brushed her long vines. It wasn't a hurried act, but a methodical process. He carefully untangled the small knots that formed at the tips, removed specks of dust invisible to the common eye, and ensured the nutrient treatment they had applied that morning was evenly distributed, giving them a healthy, vibrant sheen.
For Ibara, the sensation was both strange and deeply comforting. The blush on her cheeks was constant when Izuku was near, but it was no longer from panic or embarrassment like it was at the beginning. It was a gentle warmth, a reaction to the overwhelming and almost clinical sincerity of his attention. No one had ever treated her Quirk with such respect and scientific detail.
The Coach's touch is a blessing, she thought, feeling the gentle but firm pull of the brush. A purification rite before the sacred trial. Every stroke removes impurities, not just from my vines, but from my spirit. It prepares me for combat. I must be a vessel worthy of his guidance and his trust.
She opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder. Her expression was a mix of pure devotion and an unbreakable determination.
"Understood, Midoriya-sensei. I will not fail you," she said, her voice sounding like a vow in the stillness of the gym. "Tomorrow, my goal isn't just to pass. It's to get the highest score. It will be the only fitting tribute to your teachings."
Izuku did not stop the steady, methodical rhythm of his brushing. His eyes were fixed on his task, analyzing the texture and color of each plant strand.
"Good," he replied calmly. "I'm proud of you."
*****
"Look at that. It's almost sweet, if you look at it sideways and squint."
In the adjacent observation room, Nemuri leaned against the console, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee as she watched the strange scene through the one way glass. Beside her, Yu watched with her arms crossed, a complicated expression on her face that shifted between amusement and genuine anxiety.
"Who knew our little mad scientist with a fixation on butts would turn into such a… maternal coach," Nemuri continued with a teasing smile. "Almost makes me forget his whole career started with him searching the internet for 'how to train a hot twenty meter girl'."
Yu suffered a full body twitch. She squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples with two fingers.
"Please, do not mention that phrase. I'm begging you, Nemuri," she said, her voice a muffled groan. "I've managed to lock it away in a very dark, dusty corner of my mind. If I hear it again, I might actually need therapy. Or more coffee. Probably both."
She paused, opening her eyes and taking a long sip of her own coffee. "And for the record, I check his search history once a week. For security purposes. Now he only looks up things like 'best fertilizers for botanical Quirks', 'stamina recovery protocols for elite athletes', and, my personal favorite from last week, 'is it legal to use a student as a human shield if they fully trust you'."
Nemuri let out a laugh. "Well, at least he's thinking about trust."
"It's progress," Yu conceded with a sigh. "Very slow and worrying progress, but it's progress. The bar was practically in the basement, so any upward movement is a victory."
Nemuri laughed softly again. She turned to face Yu, her eyes sparkling with an analytical mischief that made her a formidable hero and a dangerous friend.
"You seem very invested in the plant girl's success. A few weeks ago, you looked ready to use her vines as kindling. What changed, Yu-chan? Did her spirit of camaraderie rub off on you? Or has little Izuku finally managed to soften that cynical heart of yours?"
Yu snorted, taking another sip of coffee to hide the small smile that threatened to appear. She adopted an expression of false selfishness, one she often used when she didn't want to admit her true feelings.
"It's simple self defense, Nemuri. Pure, unadulterated survival," she said, her dramatic tone barely concealing the truth. "Think about the consequences. If that girl fails tomorrow, Izuku will be unbearable. I don't mean a little sad, I mean a domestic catastrophe level of unbearable."
She straightened up, gesturing with her coffee cup.
"He'll be depressed and overanalyzing everything around the apartment for weeks. My ass won't be safe. He'll create spreadsheets titled 'Post-Mortem Failure Analysis: The Shiozaki Case'. He'll burn dinner because he'll be too busy recalculating whip trajectories in his head. And worst of all, he'll forget to take out the trash."
She looked at Nemuri with dead seriousness.
"I cannot handle that level of existential pessimism. My peace of mind, my domestic safety, and most importantly, the quality of my food, all depend on that girl crushing a few hundred robots tomorrow. It's a matter of national security. My national security."
Nemuri looked at her, a genuine, warm smile on her lips. The elaborate excuse didn't fool her, but she decided to play along. She knew Yu genuinely cared, for both the girl and Izuku, but admitting it openly wasn't her style.
"Ah, survival," she said, nodding with feigned seriousness. "Of course. Such a noble and selfless motivation, Yu-chan. You're not doing it because you've grown fond of them and want them to succeed. You're doing it to protect your palate. A true hero to your own stomach."
Yu narrowed her eyes. "Exactly. Someone has to be."
*****
Back in the gym, the brushing session had ended. Ibara's vines gleamed under the overhead lights, each one seeming to vibrate with a healthy, contained energy. Izuku crouched in front of her for his last instruction of the day. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. The air between them suddenly charged with intensity.
"Alright, Ibara. Last piece of advice for tomorrow. And it's the most important one. It's the key to the entire plan."
His voice dropped, losing its coaching tone and becoming an almost conspiratorial whisper.
"Forget everything I've taught you."
Ibara blinked, completely bewildered. Her mind, which had been reviewing defensive strategies and whip movements, went blank. The command was so contrary to her training that her brain refused to process it for a second.
"Coach? I… I don't understand. The katas, the breath control, the defensive barriers...?"
"Forget control. Forget defense. Forget precision," he repeated, and his green eyes gleamed with a calculated madness. "All of that is useful for being a competent hero. For saving people, for neutralizing villains. But the exam isn't a real situation. It's a performance. The judges don't just want to see a competent fighter. They want to see a star. They want to see raw power. So here's the real plan."
He leaned in even closer, his breath nearly brushing her cheek.
"As soon as the starting bell rings, I want you to ignore the robots. They're a secondary objective. I want your first move to be finding the biggest, loudest, most arrogant-looking competitor you can. The one who walks around like he's the main character. The one who yells the most. The one with the most confident smirk. You'll know him when you see him."
Ibara stared at him, her eyes growing wider, her mind struggling to follow his logic.
"And I want you to humiliate him. Totally and utterly."
The suggestion left her breathless.
"But, Coach! That seems… impious!" she protested in a horrified whisper. "It would be an act of vanity and needless aggression! We must treat our peers and rivals with respect! It's unsportsmanlike!"
"It's not aggression, it's resource optimization," he corrected her instantly, his logic relentless and cold. "It's large scale psychological warfare. Think about it. If you eliminate the biggest perceived threat in a spectacular fashion in the first thirty seconds, the other competitors will be so terrified of you they'll get out of your way. They'll create a vacuum around you. They'll leave all the robots for you. No competition. Maximum points. Efficiency. It's the most logical move."
His plan was brutally simple and ruthless.
"I want you to capture him," he continued, his eyes shining with the excitement of a strategist. "Don't hurt him. Injuring him is inefficient and creates complications. Just immobilize him. Disarm him. And leave him hanging upside down from the tallest lamppost you can find, wrapped in your prettiest, sturdiest vine. Make an example of him. A warning. An ornament for the battlefield."
Ibara processed the command. Her morality was in conflict. It was brutal. It was ruthless. It was… brilliant. And, coming from her coach, it had to be a form of wisdom she didn't yet understand. Perhaps humiliating the arrogant was, in itself, an act of piety. A lesson that could only be taught through a demonstration of power.
A new light appeared in her green eyes, replacing the initial shock. Her expression became serene, but with an edge that wasn't there before.
"Understood, Coach," she said, her voice quiet, but loaded with a new and formidable resolution. She bowed her head slightly. "I will pray for his soul... as I hang him."
*****
That night, the apartment was strangely quiet. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but the calm before the storm. The dinner dishes were clean and put away. There was no music, no television. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of city traffic. Izuku and Yu were sitting on the sofa, a cushion's space between them. They weren't talking. They were just there, sharing the same expectant tension.
Yu was the first to break the silence. She turned to look at him, her face, usually playful or irritated, was full of genuine concern.
"Are you sure about that 'psychological warfare' advice?" she asked, her voice low, stripped of its usual sarcasm. "You might have accidentally created a garden themed supervillain. What if she actually hangs Bakugo from a lamppost? Knowing that kid, he'd probably try to blow her up."
Izuku, who was calmly eating a bowl of strawberry ice cream, didn't seem worried.
"Don't worry," he said, with a calmness that Yu found almost irritating. "I've analyzed both of their profiles. Bakugo's aggression is reactive and direct. Ibara's strength lies in control and containment. If he tries, she'll just reinforce her bindings. He'll exhaust himself long before she does. Besides, she wouldn't hurt him."
Yu frowned, not entirely convinced. "That's not what I'm worried about. What if your plan gets her disqualified? What if the judges see it as unprovoked aggression?"
"They won't," Izuku answered with total confidence. "They'll see it as a demonstration of overwhelming power and control. She neutralized a threat without causing harm. It's the epitome of heroic efficiency. The calculation is solid."
Despite the logic, Yu was still uneasy. "What if she picks the wrong person? What if she chooses some kid who just looks arrogant but is actually terrified?"
Izuku set the ice cream aside and turned to look at her directly. His analytical expression softened.
"Because she has the purest heart I've ever known," he said quietly. "Her version of 'total and utter humiliation' will probably be to catch him, lower him gently to the ground, and give him a very polite lecture on the importance of humility. And honestly," he added with a half smile, "I think that's far more terrifying for someone like Bakugo. It'll work."
He looked at Yu, who still seemed anxious.
"Besides," he added, his voice losing all trace of analysis. "I trust her. I trust her judgment."
The simplicity and honesty of that sentence, not as a data-based prediction but as a declaration of faith, seemed to calm Yu's anxiety. It was true. He trusted his student. And she trusted him. She nodded, an almost imperceptible movement of her head, and leaned back on the sofa, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
The silence returned, but it was comfortable this time. The stillness of a team that had done everything they could and was now just waiting for the outcome. The weight of anticipation was still there, but now it was shared.
Izuku glanced at the digital clock on the wall.
"It's almost time," he said, more to himself than to her.
Yu followed his gaze to the red numbers glowing in the dim light. The invisible second hand seemed to pulse in the quiet, each beat a step closer to dawn.
11:59:58.
11:59:59.
00:00.
The Eve was over. The day of the exam had arrived.