"First…"
An explosion echoed off the padded walls of the gym. The first combat mannequin, made of reinforced steel, buckled inward.
"Second…"
Another detonation, louder this time. The second mannequin went flying, crashing against the back wall with a screech of protesting metal.
"Third…"
Bakugo's voice was a low, contained growl, a sound that barely escaped through his gritted teeth. He unleashed a third explosion at point-blank range, and the mannequin's head detached, rolling across the floor.
He was alone. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead and ran down his back, but he didn't care. The heat from his own explosions was nothing compared to the rage he felt inside.
"The plant girl… the blond extra… and some guy I've never even heard of…"
He whispered the descriptions of his opponents. Every syllable was an insult. Another mannequin flew to pieces, the twisted metal falling to the floor with a crash. He stopped, placing his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His lungs burned.
But the image replaying in his mind was Deku's calm, amused smile.
"And him… Deku…"
The name came out like a venomous hiss, filled with a confusion that burned him more than the nitroglycerin in his palms.
"Acting like he's the king of the world. Since when did he get so…?" He couldn't finish the sentence. He couldn't find the word. Confident? Arrogant?
"With those two protecting him… like he's important."
He remembered the way Melissa, the girl with the glasses, had stood between him and Deku. And Deku, just watching, as if it were all part of a plan.
How? How had a useless, Quirkless nobody like him gotten people like that to follow him? What had he told them? What had he promised them? It made no sense.
With a final roar that tore his throat, he clasped his hands together and launched a massive explosion. The miniature Howitzer Impact pulverized the last mannequin, leaving only a smoking pile of scrap on the floor.
******
He stood there, in the middle of the destruction he had created, his ragged breathing filling the silence.
In the U.A. faculty lounge, the atmosphere was considerably more cheerful, though no less noisy.
"Did you see that? Boom! The vines came out of nowhere! That Shiozaki girl was a total rock star! And that trio's rescue strategy was excellent! Pure youthful energy flowing through their veins!"
Present Mic gestured with an enthusiasm that made the papers on the coffee table tremble. He stood in front of a giant screen, where a slow-motion replay showed the moment Melissa, Ibara, and Ochako took down the Zero-Pointer.
"And the coordination! It's poetry in motion, I tell ya!"
All Might, in his imposing muscular form, occupied an entire sofa that looked tiny beneath his huge frame. He let out a booming laugh that made the teacups vibrate. "Hahahaha! You're right, Mic! Those girls showed the mettle of true heroes! Risking everything for a fallen comrade! That's the spirit we aim to instill! A lesson for all their classmates!"
"It was illogical."
The voice, dry and devoid of all emotion, came from the floor. It made the enthusiasm vanish instantly. Silence fell over the room. Shota Aizawa, wrapped in his yellow sleeping bag, hadn't opened his eyes. Only his voice had moved.
Present Mic turned, his finger still pointing at the screen. "What? Illogical? Did you watch the same fight we did, Shota? It was spectacular!"
"The applicant Shiozaki created an unnecessary risk by confronting another applicant instead of focusing on points. She could have been disqualified. An impulsive move based on a personal moral judgment in the middle of an entrance exam. It's a red flag." Aizawa still didn't move. "And the rescue team, as you call it, exposed themselves to a danger that was worth nothing in the initial scoring. They abandoned the search for villain points to save a single individual. In terms of optimizing results, it was a disaster. It was chaos."
Nemuri, sitting elegantly on a nearby sofa with her legs crossed, smiled mischievously. She set her teacup down on its saucer with a delicate click. "Oh, come on, Shota. Don't be such a bore. Admit it, it was impressive. They broke the unwritten rules of the exam and won. Sometimes you have to make a little chaos to get what you want."
Aizawa opened a single eye, his tired but incredibly sharp gaze landing first on Nemuri and then on the screen, where the giant robot was collapsing.
"…and it was the most rational decision I've seen in an exam in years."
The contradiction left everyone silent again. Present Mic tilted his head. "Huh? Dude, you just said it was illogical."
"The logic of the exam is to accumulate points. Their logic was different," Aizawa explained, and this time, he sat up a little, the sleeping bag crinkling around him. "The Zero-Pointer wasn't worth any points, but it was the biggest threat on the field. Ignoring it was the 'safe' option, the one all the cowardly applicants take. They identified it as the main obstacle to the safety of everyone present. They neutralized it and, on top of that, completed a successful rescue. Results. That's the only thing that matters in the field. Not how many small robots you destroy."
He closed his eye, having delivered his final verdict. He slumped back into his sleeping bag, ending the conversation.
Just then, the door to the faculty lounge opened with a soft hiss.
"Excellent news for everyone!"
Nezu's cheerful, high-pitched voice filled the room. The principal entered, walking on his hind legs with a steaming teacup held in his paws. His smile was so wide it looked like it would split his face. At his side, to everyone's surprise, were Yu Takeyama, better known as Mt. Lady, and a young man most of them didn't immediately recognize: Izuku Midoriya.
Yu looked nervous, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and avoiding eye contact. Izuku, in contrast, stood perfectly still, with an expression of calm professionalism that was strange on such a young face.
"As you can see from the final results and the performance analysis I sent you this morning," Nezu continued, hopping nimbly onto an empty chair, "the 'Potential Development Project' has been a resounding success. The candidate who received Mr. Midoriya's intervention not only passed but achieved the highest score."
Nezu glanced at Izuku, who simply nodded, his expression unchanging.
Aizawa sat up abruptly, the sleeping bag sliding down to his shoulders. He narrowed his eyes, first at the boy and then at Nezu. "So what now? We give the kid a medal and send him home? You've made your point, whatever it was."
"Oh, no, no! Much better than that!" Nezu said, his tail wagging with excitement. "Mr. Midoriya has demonstrated an unprecedented skill for training, Quirk analysis, and strategy. It would be an absolute waste not to utilize his talent within our walls."
He paused dramatically, taking a sip of his tea.
"Therefore, he will be assigned as your teaching assistant for Class 1-A, Mr. Aizawa."
The silence that followed was thick. All Might coughed, choking on his own breath. Present Mic was left with his mouth hanging open, mid-gesture. Aizawa simply stared at Izuku, a teenager with an expression far too serious for his age, and then looked back at Nezu.
"You're giving me a teenager to help me teach other teenagers," Aizawa said, his voice flat and without inflection. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"Not at all," Nezu replied with the same cheerfulness. "His perspective will be invaluable. And it will free up some of your time for… well, for your naps."
Aizawa let out a deep, tired sigh. "Another problem child. Great. Just what I needed."
"But that's not all!" Nezu continued, completely ignoring his head teacher's discontent. His gaze shifted to a nervous Yu Takeyama. "Mt. Lady," he said, his tone becoming even brighter. "Your recent victory against the robot was a flawless example of damage control and, more importantly, of brilliant handling of post-combat public image. It's been the talk of all the hero blogs for the last seventy-two hours."
Yu, who had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable under the gaze of so many pro heroes, blinked. "Excuse me, Principal? I just… did my job."
"Precisely. And I've heard that your… assistant… has a unique perspective on hero branding and how to manage it." Nezu gave Izuku a pointed look.
"Principal, I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this," Yu said, her voice a little shaky.
"It's quite simple. U.A. will be inaugurating a new mandatory seminar for all first-year hero course students. It will be called: 'Public Image Risk Management in the Digital Age'. And you, Mt. Lady, with your recent and successful firsthand experience, will be the head instructor."
If the first announcement had caused a thick silence, this one prompted a wave of disbelief. Yu's mouth fell open, but no sound came out. All Might looked completely lost. Aizawa, for the first time in a long while, looked genuinely surprised.
"With Mr. Midoriya as your teaching assistant, of course," Nezu added as if it were a minor detail, a simple footnote to the main news.
Nemuri, however, who had been watching the whole thing with growing amusement, lit up. She burst out laughing, a melodious and malicious sound.
"Oh, this is wonderful," she said, her voice pure delight. She stood and walked over to the group, casually draping an arm around Izuku's shoulders. "So not only will you be grumpy Aizawa's assistant, Izuku-kun, but you'll also be assisting in little Yu-chan's class. This is getting better and better."
She winked at Izuku. "And, of course, don't forget you'll also be helping me in my 'Heroic Aesthetics and Quirk Application' classes. I need an analytical perspective to optimize this year's costume designs."
Izuku seemed utterly unaffected by the physical contact. He glanced at his phone, which had just buzzed with three new calendar notifications on the lock screen. "Wow," he said, surprised. "This is more than I expected."
Yu finally found her voice, though it was a choked, desperate thread. "A… a teacher! Me? Principal, with all due respect, I'm not qualified! I'm a rookie! I just debuted! I still have to pay my agency's insurance!"
Nezu gave her a smile that allowed for no argument. "Nonsense. You have the most recent and relevant practical experience in the entire country in handling a complicated debut and turning it into a media victory. You will be an excellent and much-needed addition to our faculty. Your perspective is fresh, unlike some of us old fossils." He shot a playful glance at All Might.
"But…! What am I supposed to teach them?" Yu pleaded.
"Your experience," Nezu said. "The first class is in two weeks. I'm counting on you. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Midoriya and I have to finalize the details of his contract. What an exciting day for U.A.!"
And with that, the principal turned and left the room, leaving behind a chaos of confused heroes, a terrified new teacher, and a teenage teaching assistant who was already reviewing staff files on his phone.
*****
Later that night, the apartment was a scene of controlled panic. Or rather, one-sided panic.
"A teacher! A teacher, Izuku! I'm going to be teaching at U.A.! Do you understand what that means? U.A.!"
Yu paced in circles around the living room, waving her hands frantically.
"I don't know anything about teaching! Nothing! People go to college for years to learn how to do this! I learned how to do giant kicks! That's the extent of my pedagogical skill!"
She stopped and stared at him. Izuku was sitting calmly on the sofa, legs crossed, completely ignoring her as he reviewed the detailed profiles of the Class 1-A students on his tablet. The screen's light reflected off his glasses.
"The students are going to be vicious! They're teenagers! Teenagers are cruel! They're going to ask me questions I can't answer! What if they ask me about the Quirk Regulation Act of 1987? I have no idea! Nemuri is going to make fun of me forever! She's going to sit in the back row of my class just to watch me suffer! My life is over!"
Finally, her tirade ran out of fuel. She stood there, breathing heavily, and glared at him.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He finally looked up from the tablet, his expression completely serene.
"Yes. You're experiencing a panic response."
"Of course I'm panicking! I've been ambushed into becoming a teacher! And you're not saying anything? You're in on this too!" she accused, pointing a finger at him.
"Don't worry," he said, returning his gaze to his tablet. "I've already designed a draft of the curriculum."
Yu blinked. The flood of panic stopped abruptly, replaced by total confusion. "What?"
"For your class. The 'Public Image Risk Management in the Digital Age' seminar," he specified, as if there were any doubt. "I've been working on it since we left the meeting with Nezu. It's quite comprehensive."
He turned the tablet to show her a perfectly formatted document, filled with bullet points, sub-points, and learning objectives.
"The first lesson," he continued, his tone that of a university professor presenting his thesis, "will be titled: 'Lesson 1.1: Why Googling 'how to train a sexy sixty-five-foot girl' is a poor personal branding strategy and a level-seven public relations risk'."
Yu froze. The blood drained from her face. It couldn't be.
"We'll use your case," he explained, without a hint of irony in his voice, "as the primary practical example of what not to do during a public debut. We will analyze the initial incident, the lack of damage control, the failed press management, and the eventual image recovery through an unplanned heroic action. It will be a very instructive lesson for the new students."
He looked up from the tablet and met her eyes, waiting for her opinion.
"I've also prepared a module on handling derogatory nicknames on social media and how to turn them into part of your brand. Yours is a perfect example."
She didn't answer. She just stood there in the middle of her living room, staring at the boy who had just turned her most humiliating and embarrassing moment into the opening topic of her new and terrifying career as a teacher.
"What do you think?" he asked, with genuine curiosity.
Yu opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
"I'm… I'm going to need a drink," she finally whispered, heading to the kitchen with slow steps and a vacant stare.
Her nightmare had only just begun. And her assistant, it seemed, had already planned every single detail of it.