Chapter 5 - Shifting Trails & Rustling Leaves

Ochako Uraraka wished to be a hero—she needed to be one.

It wasn't just a dream whispered to the stars.

It was rooted in the rough calluses of her father's hands when he patted her head, and in the faint lines of exhaustion that framed her mother's smile.

As she grew, that resolve only deepened—shaped by the quiet pity she sensed in neighbors' kind voices and the awkward hesitations in her classmates' gazes.

But it was also strengthened by the gratitude of the workers at Uraraka Construction and the quiet, unshakable pride in her parents' worn, steady gaits.

Maybe that was why the exam cancellation announcement—read on her tiny flip phone in the Mustafu-bound train—had felt so crushing.

The disappointment and frustration in the cabin were suffocating, shared silently by every other hopeful around her.

But as the train rolled home, guilt crept in too, sharp and unwelcome. People had been hurt in that incident. While she'd lost an exam, others had nearly lost their lives.

So when her anxious parents greeted her at the door, she poured everything out. They only chuckled and ruffled her hair.

"Mochi," her mom said softly, "you feel that way because your heart's full of compassion. That's a hero's heart."

That same compassion didn't stop her mother from scolding her later for sneaking onto the construction site to help with her quirk.

Her father's amused silence and the crew's chuckling earned them all a weeklong boycott—no making tea, no bringing snacks.

It lasted until her next visit, when their exaggerated pleading and shameless flattery broke her resolve.

She blamed their tactical genius, of course.

Now, standing outside U.A. Station and staring up at the massive school building, Ochako breathed in the scent of metal, spring air, and anticipation.

"I'll do my best," she whispered. The words steadied her—an anchor against the rising tide of nerves.

Around her, the air buzzed with chatter about the new quirk description requirement. She remembered agonizing over hers on the family's old laptop, trying to capture both the wonder and the weight of Zero Gravity.

Then she saw him.

A boy with messy, green-tinted hair stood a little apart from the crowd, carrying a slightly scorched yellow backpack. His shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving, as if calling someone.

Nerves, maybe, she thought.

She shook her head inwardly. Focus, Ochako! Don't get distracted.

But her feet were already moving.

She carefully reached out, tapping him on the shoulder with just three fingers.

"Hey," she called out gently, "are you okay?"

He startled violently—leaping up—and her five fingertips brushed against his arm.

"Oh no—"

"Eep! Sorry, sorry! That's my Quirk!"

He was floating now, flailing slightly, and Ochako lunged forward, catching the strap of his backpack and tugging him gently back toward the ground.

"Don't worry!" she said quickly, cheeks pink. "I'll hold on so you don't float away again!"

He blinked, dazed. "T-thank you."

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Ah, that was my fault. You just looked… really troubled."

She brushed her fingertips together, releasing her Quirk. His eyes darted to her hand, then away again.

"Nervous, huh?" she asked, smiling. "Me too. My heart feels like it's about to float off."

She gave his pack one last reassuring pat before stepping back. "But it'll be fine. We made it here, right?"

She turned toward the plateau, trying to steady her pulse. "Well—good luck!"

A moment later, his voice followed her—small, but certain.

"Y-you too! Good luck!"

Warmth bloomed in her chest, light as the air around them.

Ochako smiled.

---

"He will die by HIS hand, too."

The tone was flat, almost cold.

Kudo stared at the incorporeal, dreamlike form of Izuku Midoriya touching the throne.

Across from him, Toshinori's golden vestige-flame surged, light flaring wildly before shrinking back to a dim, agitated glow.

"If the Demon Lord is truly aware of him now…" mused En, tension thrumming in his outline, "…then the odds—"

He stopped himself, glancing toward Yoichi, who had been the only one to felt the demon's hungry gaze.

"He's afraid," Hikage whispered, staring at his own translucent hands as if seeing old fractures. "Naturally so." He, more than any of them, knew the feeling of a body breaking under the weight of this power.

For the boy, that shattering had been a storm, not a slow decay.

Banjo let out a low whistle."Still… how's the kid even getting here like that? I thought there wasn't supposed to be any path open unless he sat on the throne, in a true dream-dive."

His words chased after the dissolving outline of Izuku's spirit,which flickered once—and vanished, its hand pulling away from the cold stone.

"The resonance effect," Nana said, glamcing at Toshinori's flickering light.

She remembered the pull, the way her heart had cried out through the boy to reach her successor.

"Even with all the changes, that link remains. He's reaching through that bond. He's found the door… but he's afraid to open it."

"It could also be the effect of Ultima," Bruce added, his tone smooth and clinical. His eyes swept the realm like an investigator studying a formula.

He then gestured to the throne. "Touching that is only symbolic—a ritual focus. It's not required to access the ember, but it helps him channel past the trauma."

Yoichi stood by a stream that shimmered with faint sakura petals drifting across its mirrored surface. Another ripple of green light streaked through it—familiar, restless.

"It is both," he said at last, his voice quiet, steady—like the pulse that held the realm together.

"You disapprove of my choice regarding the Ninth," Yoichi continued, his voice calm, eyes lifting toward Kudo. "But I have walked in his memories. I believe it's the best path."

Kudo said nothing.

Yoichi's gaze turn to the empty throne. A faint, knowing smile crossed his lips.

"Do not worry, my friend." The smile deepened, tinged with quiet conviction.

"There are reasons he was chosen… after all."

---

"Should I do some reconnaissance, Fumy? Go full ninja?"

The mischievous whisper reached Izuku before he even found his row.

Any anxiety about talking to a girl of his age for the first time; the thought of the kind, brown-haired girl he'd met at the station vanished.

Replaced by sheer amazement.

A few seats ahead, a boy with the head of a dark-feathered raven was sternly shoving a bird-like creature made of pure shadow that was poking out from under his shirt.

"Silence, you foul beast of darkness! This is not an examination for shinobi," the boy declared with grave, almost theatrical dignity.

Noticing Izuku's approach, both the boy and the living shadow froze—then turned to stare at him with matching, unblinking gazes.

Izuku recognized that expression instantly: the look of someone being stared at.

"Ah! I—I'm sorry!" he blurted, hands flying up in alarm. "I didn't mean to be rude! It's just… my first time meeting a fully sentient quirk manifestation, and I just—uh…"

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck in a familiar spiral of awkwardness.

The raven-headed boy and his quirk exchanged a long, silent glance—then nodded in unison, as if reaching some private understanding.

"Is your designated seat here?" the boy asked at last, crimson eyes flicking toward the exam ticket clutched in Izuku's trembling hand.

Izuku nodded, pointing to the desk next to him.

"Then, fellow trial taker," the boy intoned, gesturing solemnly to the empty chair beside him, "join us upon this perilous road that lies ahead."

Izuku blinked, completely lost.

"Don't worry about him," the shadow creature chirped, popping up again. "When Fumi is nervous, his edginess meter skyrockets. And believe me, he's very nervous right now."

"I said silence!" 'Fumi' hissed, his face flushing.

A small, genuine smile crept onto Izuku's face. The odd pair's energy—earnest, eccentric, and oddly comforting—eased something tight in his chest.

He nodded gratefully and took his seat.

Moments later, the murmuring hall fell into silence as a dozen Ectoplasm clones glided between the rows, distributing test papers.

The written portion had begun.

The questions mixed academic fundamentals with applied heroics. Izuku's pencil flew across the page, dissecting problems with clinical precision.

But his heightened senses—sharpened by nerves and the sterile quiet—caught every stray sound in the room.

Sip!

A few rows ahead, a girl with pristine white hair and glasses raised a thermos with ritual precision. A focus habit? Or part of her quirk? Maybe both.

Popp!

To his left, a fawn-haired girl chewed gum, utterly nonchalant. Either absurdly confident… or her quirk needs that action. Or maybe she's just chewing gum.

The sheer casualness of it all contrasted so sharply with the tension that Izuku almost laughed.

He forced himself to breathe, steady and slow. Focus.

His gaze dropped back to the question before him:

Q-29. What are the rules and regulations governing public quirk usage?

He thought for a moment, then began to write—

The Public Quirk Usage Act, Article 5, Section 3 establishes that the unsanctioned use of meta-abilities in public spaces is generally prohibited. However, this law functions less as an absolute ban and more as a flexible legal framework focused on intent and consequence—similar to jaywalking statutes.

The key enforcement standards are whether the quirk usage constitutes "villainy"— defined as using a quirk to cause harm, damage property, or incite panic.

Or creates a public nuisance—obstructing traffic, causing hazardous crowd gatherings, or disrupting order.

There are two primary legal pathways for authorized public use:

1. The Hero License: The most comprehensive authorization, granting permanent permission to use a quirk for heroic duty, self-defense, and rescue operations. It also allows the holder to temporarily deputize civilians during an active villain incident, shielding them from liability.

2. Provisional Use Permits: Temporary, situational licenses for non-heroes, similar to work permits. They require specific use-cases—construction, performance, public service—and expire after the approved duration.

Attendance at a licensed hero school is the most common route, but not the only one. A pro hero's direct sponsorship or recommendation can substitute formal education, provided the sponsor vouches for the applicant's character and competence—effectively staking their own reputation.

In short, the law prioritizes intent over power, punishing villainy while enabling discretion and authorized intervention. The Hero License remains the ultimate legal safeguard for proactive quirk use.

He sighed softly, setting his pencil down for a moment.

Then he flipped back to review a scenario question he'd already answered—

Q-25. Scenario C: The Collapsed Overpass

A highway overpass collapses during rush hour, trapping civilians in vehicles. A fuel tanker is pinned nearby, leaking steadily. A strength-type hero prepares to lift the main slab.

A) What is the immediate priority before the strength hero acts?

B) List the first three actions to organize the rescue effort.

Izuku had immediately spotted the hidden hazard—the tanker.

His response:

A) Contain the fuel leak and establish a safe perimeter. The kinetic shock from lifting the slab could create sparks. A single spark might ignite vapor and trigger a flash fire, endangering all responders. Deploy foam-based or cryokinetic quirks first to suppress vapor and establish a firebreak.

B) Designate a communication-type responder to set up a triage zone upwind of the tanker, sorting casualties by mobility (green: ambulatory, yellow: assisted, red: critical).

1. Assign a hero with barrier or earth manipulation to reinforce unstable debris and prevent secondary collapse.

2. Coordinate with the strength hero for a controlled test lift on smaller debris to assess structural reactions before attempting the main slab.

Izuku underlined the final point, double-checked the logic chain—then finally leaned back, exhaling.

Rustle! Rustle! "Die." "Die."

Rustle! Rustle! "Die." "Die."

The familiar, furious muttering of 'die' accompanied by the sound of an eraser being worked to death reached his ears.

He was profoundly grateful U.A. had the foresight not to seat candidates from the same middle school together.

He forced his focus back to the paper, tuning out the symphony of subtle distractions: the nearly silent footsteps of clones, the rhythmic drumming on benches, the anxious chewing of pencils.

Q-49: Citing at least two examples, explain the decline in national space-faring ventures in the post-Quirk era.

His pencil began to move again.

He wrote about the chaos of the early days, citing the 'Helios-7' incident where a villain with a teleportation Quirk attempted to claim the moon, and the 'Icarus Initiative,' a corporate-backed team with enhancement Quirks that tried to establish a private orbital weapons platform.

He concluded that the legal and logistical nightmare of Quirk-based territorial claims in space had made the ventures prohibitively risky.

By the time he reached the end of his paper, the hall had fallen into a deep, concentrated silence, so complete it was almost palpable even to his enhanced senses.

He looked at the final question.

Q-50: Name one winner of the Nobel Quirk Prize and the invention or discovery that earned them this recognition.

Izuku smiled.

He remembered a conversation with Principal Nezu just days prior.

—

"Thank you once again for the files, sir,"—

Izuku said, blowing on the hot tea in his cup.

Nezu's eyes twinkled. "Ah, knowledge—such a curious thing. The more you share, the more of it you have."

Izuku offered a faint smile.

His curiosity had been piqued by the neural scans during his second quirk test, and in response, the principal had granted him a glimpse into a realm of knowledge typically locked away from the public.

"You see, Midoriya-kun," Nezu explained, "information was far freer before the Age of Quirks. But when anyone could create hazardous matter from thin air, we had to start controlling knowledge as well as material."

Izuku nodded. He knew someone, after all, who secreted chemicals akin to nitroglycerin.

"So the Plus Alpha waves label is derived from Alpha waves in neuroscience," he said, steering back to the topic.

"Yes. Alpha waves. The dominant rhythm of a relaxed, conscious brain," Nezu confirmed.

Izuku continued. "Then the 'Plus Alpha' wave must be a supra-cognitive resonance—a frequency that links the subconscious mind directly to the Quirk Factor itself?"

"Exactly," Nezu said, his tail flicking with amusement. "That's why the quirk factor is sometimes called the Plus Alpha Element. By scanning these waves, we can analyze quirks without blood samples.

Izuku's eyes lit up as he voiced a theory he'd been contemplating. "Then, if Trigger enhances quirks by overstimulating the mind... couldn't a controlled resonance with the Plus Alpha waves amplify a quirk more safely?"

"A fascinating theory," Nezu nodded "But it would require technology capable of scanning and recalibrating to the frequency in microseconds. The waves are not stable; they are in a constant state of flux."

Izuku took a sip of tea, utterly lost in thought.

—

Back in the exam hall, Izuku looked at the final question on his paper.

He wrote down the discovery of the Plus Alpha wave, which had tremendously elevated the understanding of quirks.

And as an All Might fan, he definitely knew the name of one of the youngest people to ever win the Nobel Quirk Prize for that very work.

He put his pencil down and wrote the name.

---

"Mr. Shield."

The voice called from behind.

When David turned from the glowing data charts, the bags beneath his eyes were evidence enough of sleepless nights.

Power Loader entered, carrying a box of small, disk-shaped devices.

"All the units have been fitted with the contraptions," he said, setting the box down on the workbench.

David nodded, rubbing at his eyes.

It had been three days since his arrival in Japan. He had politely declined Toshi's invitation to stay at the tower, instead opting for U.A.'s research facilities — closer to the campus, and to the work that mattered.

"Heimdall, check full system readiness," he instructed, tapping his personal tablet.

"Yes, Dr. Shield," replied a voice — too smooth to be human, too refined to be robotic.

Power Loader gestured toward another screen displaying the schematic of a meter-tall, hexagonal device.

"The core Analyzer Matrix — able to scan quirks directly from mental waves, no need for blood or exotic quirk materials. It's astonishing."

David followed the gesture, then pointed toward the small contraptions resting nearby.

"Well, those bridge the gap. You know how quirk material samples differ slightly from their original bio-state. These correct for that."

Power Loader nodded appreciatively.

"Your gear designs are fascinating in their own right," David added. "Incorporating those same exotic composites—and you're both a licensed hero and a support engineer. Quite the résumé."

Power Loader chuckled, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

"Working at the foremost hero institute has its perks. But really, you're the one with the rare credential—best sidekick in history, and not even a licensed hero."

David smiled faintly.

"They said the same about Sir Nighteye. When we parted ways. That was around the time Toshi returned to—"

The thunder of approaching footsteps cut him off.

Wham!

"Papa! Look who I brought with me!"

Melissa burst into the workshop, perched atop the massive, musclebound form of All Might.

Before David could react, All Might had already set Melissa down and swept him up instead, laughing.

"My heart bursts with the enthusiasm of reunion!" Boomed the hero.

For a moment, David was too startled to respond — then genuine warmth softened his features, and he returned the hug.

When they parted, All Might's tone grew quieter.

"It's good to see you, Dave. Though I see you haven't slept. Again."

"Toshi," David said with a weary smile, clasping his best friend's arm. "You're one to talk."

Melissa had already drifted to the console. "Preparations complete, Dad? Need any help?"

David shook his head. "No, you've done more than enough already."

She hummed in satisfaction and began chatting easily with Power Loader, leaving the two old friends to their quiet reunion.

David watched her for a moment. She really had done more than enough — she and Sam had worked tirelessly in those first few days preparing the analyzer units for shipment.

He remembered Sam's last words before departure—

"I-Expo, that'll be the perfect timing, sir."

The thought tugged at him, but he brushed it aside with a small shake of his head.

As Toshi teased him about refusing the tower's hospitality, David discreetly keyed in a command to Heimdall — initiate a Plus Alpha Wave scan of the lab.

Nezu's words echoed faintly in his mind:

"Yagi needs your help."

He was excited to be part of the reformation Nezu had planned, but those words had been a large part of his motivation.

He'd long sought a way to aid the fading Symbol of Peace, to help his best friend.

The Resonance Crown project had been the answer — though the Committee had… reservations.

Ping!

A sharp ping! from the tablet broke his thoughts.

David frowned, scanning the data.

Something was wrong.

Most readings were stable — one blank, two normal — but the target's waveforms were chaotic, fluctuating faster than the Analyzer could interpret.

It was different from Toshi's previous scans.

The graphs appeared fragmented, as if something was interfering with the scan.

He stared. Was this what Nezu meant when he said "witness something interesting"?

"Papa," Melissa called softly. "You should rest a little."

All Might and Power Loader both agreed with a nod.

David exhaled, rubbing his eyes again.

"Perhaps you're right."

"Rest up, Dave." All Might smiled — a little wistful, a little proud.

"You're helping make history today, after all."

---

"Mesdames, Messieurs, bonjour!"

The greeting was crisp and theatrical, delivered with a flourish by a blond boy who slid gracefully into the empty seat between Izuku and a girl with pale, mint-green hair.

Startled, Izuku managed a quiet, "Ah—bonjour," a heartbeat after the girl offered her own softer echo.

The boy settled in with the ease of a dancer, flashing them both a glittering smile.

Izuku had already noticed that the seating seemed organized by their submitted Quirk descriptions—placing him, appropriately, in the very last row of the massive auditorium.

He picked up the handout pamphlet, trying to force his mind to focus.

But his senses—

Zawa-zawa...

Rustling of jackets.

Gii... gii...

Creaking of chairs.

Haa... haa...

Shallow, uneven breaths of anxious hopefuls.

Sawa-sawa...

Murmured whispers.

And beneath it all, one rhythm stood out.

Badump. Badump.

Compared to his own steady pulse—or the girl's fluttering nerves—the French boy's heartbeat was… uneven.

Badump. Badump… badump-badump—

An arrhythmic flutter that didn't match his confident, sparkling smile.

BADUMP!

The sound vanished as the massive doors slammed shut and the stage lights blazed to life, blinding them all.

"YO LISTENERS! WELCOME TO THE U.A. HIGH SELECTION! ARE YOU READY TO GET PUMPED?!"

Present Mic stood at center stage, arms thrown wide.

His greeting was met with a wall of utter silence.

"ALRIGHT, LET'S DIVE RIGHT IN!" Mic continued, undeterred, his voice somehow louder in the quiet. "YOUR MISSION—SCORE AS MANY POINTS AS POSSIBLE BY TAKING DOWN OUR BRAND-NEW VILLAIN LINEUP!"

The display behind him flickered to life, revealing four sleek, new robot designs.

Sighs and muttered curses spread across the room.

One came right from his side. From the girl.

"FIRST UP—THE BRAWLER!"

A standard two-legged bot filled the screen.

"YOUR BASIC TWO-POINTER! EASY PREY!"

"NEXT—THE SPRINTER!"

A wheel-legged bot, fitted with boosters, zipped across the projection.

"THREE POINTS! BUILT FOR SPEED!"

"THEN—THE JUGGERNAUT!"

A squat, heavily armored shape rolled forward.

"ANOTHER THREE-POINTER! ALL MUSCLE, NO BRAINS!"

"AND FINALLY, THE ONE YOU'LL HATE THE MOST… THE VIPER!"

The image zoomed out to reveal a double palm-sized drone.

"FIVE POINTS! SMALL, STEALTHY, AND SMART! ALMOST-HALF THE BATTLE'S JUST FINDING IT!"

The crowd buzzed, half excitement, half anxiety.

Then, as students scanned the pamphlet, came the confusion.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

A familiar, explosive voice rang from the middle rows. Izuku didn't even need to look.

"YOU'RE GONNA PENALIZE US FOR FIGHTING?! THAT'S INSANE!"

Penalty points. Izuku found the clause buried in the fine print. So did many.

Disbelief rippled through the hall.

"How are we supposed to go all out?!"

"That's not fair! This is a hero exam!"

"NOW, LISTENERS, HOLD ON—!" Present Mic tried, but the uproar swallowed him whole.

CRACK!

A whip sliced through the air. The main lights dimmed. A single, dramatic spotlight flared to life. Standing in its glow, the R-Rated Hero, Midnight, strutted into view, hips swaying as she tapped her crop against her boot.

"My, my," she purred, her voice curling like smoke. "Such unrest. Is it really that hard to understand?"

She plucked the mic from a visibly relieved Present Mic, her painted lips curving.

"A hero's first duty," she continued, pacing slowly, "is to the public. Every building you topple, every crater you leave in the street—that's someone's home. That's taxpayer money. And as a pro hero, trust me, you pay for the damage."

Her eyes swept the audience, sharp and unreadable. "This test isn't just about power. It's about precision."

Crack!

The whip snapped again—clean, authoritative.

Then her grin returned, teasing but dangerous. "But because we're not total villains, we've added two new ways to score!"

She raised her whip. "First—Assist Points! Help another examinee take down a target, and you earn seventy percent of the bot's value. Teamwork, darlings, is very heroic."

Murmurs spread again, this time with curiosity.

"Second—Capture Points! Don't destroy. Incapacitate. Restrain your target without totaling it, and earn a twenty percent bonus. Control over chaos—that's what we're grading."

The tension in the room shifted. It was no less intense, but now it was tinged with thought.

Izuku's heart beat faster.

This… this setup simulates real pro hero works.

Then, from the center rows, a hand rose—trembling, but determined.

Midnight gestured with a faint smile. "Yes, dear. Speak up."

A girl with crimson hair and a serpentine, scale-flecked face stood up. "U-um… excuse me?" Her voice was shaky but carried through the hush. "You s-said this was fairer, but… it's still robots. My Quirk paralyzes people. It… it doesn't work on machines. The bot's wouldn't respond to it. How is that not… still unfair?"

Her voice wavered, but she held her ground. The hall went silent.

"Who said they wouldn't respond to you?"

The new voice cut through the hush—calm, measured, and with a faint American accent.

A man in a lab coat stepped into the light beside Midnight. His eyes were tired, but his smile was warm.

Izuku's breath hitched.

"Good morning," he said. "I'm Dr. David Shield."

Gasps of recognition erupted across the hall.

David looked toward the girl's row. "You're right to ask that. The old exam heavily favored destructive Quirks. That's exactly what we've changed."

He turned toward the massive, dark display screen. "Say hello, Heimdall."

The screen came alive, not with an image, but with pulsing, concentric rings of light, like a sonar wave.

—"Hello, Hero Hopefuls. I Am Heimdall."

The voice was smooth, fluid, and too clear to be human.

David continued, "Heimdall is the AI operating each testing ground through Central Quirk Analysis Matrix's. Every bot you face is linked to it. They will scan your Quirk in real time and adapt their response accordingly."

The room stilled, the implication sinking in.

"For minute actions, or subtle applications, Heimdall will cross-reference the data you submitted in your applications. You weren't just filling out forms—you were giving Heimdall the framework to understand you."

He glanced at the AI's pulsing light. "Heimdall, would you show them?"

"Of course, Dr. Shield," the voice replied. A soft, analytical spotlight fell on the serpent-faced girl.

Whap!

—"Scanning...

Quirk Type: Emitter.

Effect: Paralysis.

Emission Point: Ocular.

Response: Valid. Target unit will register as immobilized and initiate shutdown.

Cross-referencing Submitted Data...

Activation Requirement: Direct eye contact.

Simulated Duration: Three seconds."—

A ripple of genuine awe swept through the hall.

"Whoa."

"So that's why they needed such detailed Quirk descriptions…"

"It's real-time adaptation?"

David Shield smiled faintly. "We are no longer testing how hard you can hit. We are testing how well you can think, how you adapt, and how you act… like a hero. Whether that's with a punch, a plan… or a single, well-placed word."

Izuku listened in rapt attention as Present Mic start introducing the Zero pointer.

This was Nezu's vision in motion.

He straightened in his seat, exhaling slowly.

The nerves didn't fade; they refocused.

This was it.

Now, time to do his best.

---

"...this year's U.A. reforms led to an unprecedented 24% rise in applications."

The anchor's voice buzzed faintly through the haze of smoke—sterile, detached. It clashed with the room's thick, restless air.

Ikito Kaiya didn't look up from his glass.

Sip.

The whiskey was bitter today. Maybe it was just the company.

The bar was crowded—too crowded for midday—and the noise hovered just below irritation: low voices, muffled laughter, the scrape of chair legs against concrete.

Then again, this wasn't a normal bar. And these weren't normal patrons.

Crooks, smugglers, small-time villains. Men who treated the underworld like a day job.

And business was good today.

The broadcast droned on. Reforms. Hopefuls.

Ikito exhaled a quiet snort.

All those children, scrambling for a certificate that said it was okay to use their own power.

What a waste of time.

He wasn't here for money. His family already owned a string of beachside resorts.

He was a shark hunter by trade.

He became a criminal for the same reason he hunted: the thrill, the chase, the quiet pulse of danger beneath the surface. The rush of slipping past a hero patrol, the ocean's pressure closing around him, his breathing slow and solitary.

That was living.

The news about U.A. reminded him of a recent... liability.

Rintaro Nageki.

The kid was in custody now. Which meant Ikito's own civilian identity might already be compromised—or soon would be.

He'd recruited the boy half for the entertainment of that brooding angst, and half for the raw potential of his Roll-On Quirk.

A good carrier for small-batch contraband.

But like most kids, he got sloppy.

Ikito tilted his glass, catching the amber light as it swirled.

Sloppiness was death.

It didn't matter. The boy had been an experiment—an amusing one, admittedly—but a failed one.

His real work, his art, was his own.

His Quirk, Oxygen Generation, wasn't built for combat, but it gave him an edge no one could buy.

No tanks. No bubbles.

Just miles of black sea and his own breath for company.

He'd ferried Trigger through those depths for months now, dropping crates to rendezvous boats that appeared and vanished before dawn.

The pay was excellent. The clients—fanatics. Some kind of cult, judging by their symbols and sermons.

Ikito didn't trust zealots. They made poor business partners—and worse clients.

Still, business was business.

He was still considering that when a gravelly voice from the next booth cut through his thoughts.

"I'm tellin' ya—it's a big job. Giran himself is putting the roster together."

A second voice, sharper, skeptical. "Giran vouches for anyone who pays. Who's the client?"

"Dunno the name," the first man said. "Heard he's some pasty-faced kid. Weird hand fetish. But the job's huge. A 'debut,' he called it. A real statement."

Ikito leaned back, quiet, listening.

"I don't care about statements," the second voice snapped. "What's the payout?"

A rough laugh. "Money's good. Real good. But that ain't the kicker."

"Then what is?"

"The bonus. Aside from the cash—it's all the Trigger you can carry."

Ikito's fingers stilled on the glass.

'Trigger.'

Intriguing.

His former supplier—the new masked syndicate rising through the underworld—had cut him off cold.

Cautious, powerful, and suddenly silent.

He'd wait. Let the others bite first.

A true predator knew when to strike.

 ---

"Properly thank Izuku-kun the next time you see him, you ungrateful brat."

The old hag's order had been echoing in his skull ever since she'd figured out what happened with the Sludge Villain.

Now she was on her crusade about gratitude. About Deku.

Thank him? For what?

For getting in the damn way?

For being a useless?

Why the hell should he thank a useless pebble on the road?

But—

The suffocation. Breath fading.

The constriction. Sound warping.

The Uselessne...

And the old man, too—

"Ask after his health. Or at least don't trouble him."

Nagging in that pathetic wheeze of his, talking about how Deku had been released from the hospital after the train station incident.

Ask after him?

For what?

For getting himself injured in a situation he had no business being anywhere near?

And Trouble? What trouble? He'd only been teaching the damn nerd the reality of the world.

A Quirkless Deku trying to "help people"?

Please.

It wasn't even funny.

It was pathetic.

But—

The screeching Trains. The burning irritation.

The light up screen. Exam cancellation.

The murmuring passengers. The stare of pity.

The helplessn...

And—

When he'd spotted the stupid mop of green hair at the exam hall, he ignored him —The small pebble on the road.

It didn't matter what Deku did. Aiming for the bootless general course. Or being dumb enough to attempt the practical and failing miserably.

It was inconsequential. Meaningless.

Now, Katsuki thought, flexing his fingers as tiny sparks danced across his palms, it's time to blow this exam to kingdom come.

To establish his position.

To prove he's the only one who matters.

But—

Points Penalty: 1% of the participant's total score per 5,000 yen of property damage.

He'd spotted the fine print while that loudmouth hero droned on about robot classifications. As if any of that mattered. All you needed to do was kill them.

A penalty for damage. For collateral.

He was furious.

Then the stripper hero strutted onto the stage, purring about "real hero work."

Tch.

Like she had any idea what real power looked like.

And now—on the bus to the testing zone—extras were buzzing around like flies, whispering, planning, "strategizing." As if teamwork could make their trash Quirks mean anything.

He was still irritated by All Might's American sidekick's advice echoing in his head—adaptation, precision, control.

Weak words for weak people.

One of the extras, some bandana-wearing idiot, even approached him.

"Hey, wanna team up? Y'know—cover each other's—"

"Fuck off."

The extra scowled. "Arrogant prick."

Katsuki's lips curled up. Good. Let them hate him. Let them stare. He'd steamroll them anyway.

The bus hissed to a stop. They poured out into the shadow of the mock city—steel, concrete, and towering artificial skylines.

A voice blared . "AAAND START!".

Spark! Spark!

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FO...

Bang! Bang!

Katsuki launched himself forward in a shockwave that sent dust and extras tumbling backward. He slipped through the narrowing gate before it was fully open.

He shot down the first street like a missile, palms blazing.

TARGET LOCK-ON. ENGAGE.

A two-point Brawler rolled into view, it's forearmes hissing Open.

He didn't even blink.

A twist in the air, propulsion screaming—

Woosh.

His right hand cocked back, heat swelling.

"DIE!"

A breath. A spark.

BOOM!

The robot was gone in a burst of flame and twisted metal.

"Easy two points."

But—

Creeeeeeak…

Behind the wreckage, the lamppost was bent nearly in half. Its base cracked. Shrapnel embedded in concrete.

"Tch. Damn it."

Fine. Let them dock the points. He'd just smash three bots for every one they stole.

TARGET: ISOLATED. ENGAGE: CAPT...

Another one. A Sprinter in full speed.

Katsuki grinned, feral.

No hesitation.

"BOOM—DIIIIE!"

---

"AAAND START!"

The sudden cry from Present Mic was met with a collective, confused, "EHHH?!"

The examinees, clustered before the massive gates of Battle Zone B, stood frozen.

Huf.

Izuku took a single, steadying breath. His legs moved before anyone else's.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" Present Mic's voice thundered from the broadcast tower, the sheer volume making half the crowd jolt.

Thump.

A memory snapped into his mind—Gran Torino, looming over him as he lay sprawled on the mat—

"What do you mean, a 'warning'? You don't get a countdown when a villain attacks! MOVE!"

Woosh!

Izuku shot past the starting line, a green-tinged blur weaving through the stunned crowd. He passed the kind, brown-haired girl, her hand half-raised in surprise. He passed the elegant blond boy, frozen mid-pose, eyes wide.

"CONSIDER THE BATON TOSSED! RUN! RUUUN!"

Then the herd woke. The ground trembled.

"Hey—wait up!"

"H-How is he already inside?!"

Only a few seconds had passed, but Izuku was already deep within the mock city. He skidded to a halt between two tall buildings, forcing the storm of adrenaline into sharp focus.

He closed his eyes and listened.

Hum. Whirr. Clank.

Robots. Multiple. Active.

A nervous smile tugged at his lips. He inhaled.

"Aurora Cowl."

Green lightning flickered along his arms and spine—bright for a heartbeat before settling into a controlled thrum.

WOOSH!

He sprinted toward the closest cluster of metallic noise.

Footsteps in rhythm.

Wind slicing past.

The aurora humming against his skin.

He rounded a corner—

Three Brawler bots. Glossy, Green, broad-shouldered.

Their red sensors glowed like predatory eyes. Each one swiveled, locking onto him.

TARGET ACQUIRED. ENGAGE.

Their big frames shadowed him.

Badump—Badump—

For a split second, he was just a small boy in the playground again—staring up at an impossible, overwhelming threat, his heart seizing in panic.

Haaah—

He dragged a breath through his teeth, forcing it down.

No. Not anymore.

Their forearms snapped open, unleashing a hail of high-velocity rubber bullets.

P-THWACK! P-THWACK! P-THWACK!

"Use the terrain or I'll kick you through it, zygote!"

Zip!

He moved—not forward, but sideways.

His right foot planted at hip level, pushing him into a diagonal wall run to break their targeting.

Thwak! Thwak! Thwak!

Bullets peppered the concrete where he'd been.

He pushed off the wall, springing high and landing—Thunk—on the first Brawler's shoulder. The whirr-clank of its hip actuator ground right beneath him.

There.

Knees raising high, then dropping—stomping down with the steel-toed industrial safety boot.

'Thanks for the idea, Ayumi-san!'

CRUNCH!

The hip joint snapped. The leg went limp. Stabilizers shrieked. The Brawler collapsed sideways.

One down. Two points. Plus capture bonus. A thrill sparked through him.

The next bot swung, a massive metal fist slicing the air.

"Footwork is the foundation, young Midoriya!"

Izuku didn't retreat.

He slid inside the punch, the metal fist whistling past hair.

Pivot on the front foot—there, the back-knee actuator exposed.

Heel driving forward in a snapping hook—Torino's drill exactly.

CRACK-SHATTER!

Too much force. He'd misjudged the 3%.

The joint didn't just break; it burst. The bot toppled—

CRASH!

—right through a glass bus-stop shelter.

Izuku winced. "Noo—penalty!"

The last Brawler froze. Its sensors flashed.

ADAPTIVE TACTICS. ENGAGE: DEFENSIVE POSTURE.

It tucked its limbs inward, protecting every weak point.

Hahhh. Izuku exhaled. Fine.

Feint left.

The bot reacted instantly.

Dash right—drawing its pivot. Not attacking. Positioning.

Heavy armor. Slow rotation.

Slipping low—hooking the supporting calf, pulling swift and clean.

WHOMP!

It toppled like a felled oak, flailing uselessly.

Clean capture. No collateral.

"Gah! God dammit!"

Izuku's head snapped toward the cry. Points forgotten. He vaulted over a car and rounded a corner.

A black-haired boy was being driven back by a Juggernaut.

FOOOSHTH!

Its massive hydraulic shield blasted forward in brutal, rhythmic bursts.

WHOMP—SHATTER!

A refractive curve of bending light—the boy's Quirk—warped around him, but it was buckling under the pressure. He tried to sidestep—

—and a Sprinter zipped in from a side alley.

TARGET: ISOLATED. ENGAGE: CAPTURE.

FSSSH—THWIP!

A capture net shot toward him.

The black-haired boy dodged both the shield-bash and the net, but just barely. He was pinned.

Izuku's mind whir.

'Move.'

He scooped up a broken metallic sphere from the ground—the sensor-eye of destroyed Brawler.

"Gap in the defense—when the shield extends!" Izuku shouted.

The black-haired boy's eyes widened in understanding.

Then—

Arm drawing back, hips rotating. A sharp breath.

Huf!

Focus narrowing to the sprinter's net launcher.

Hah!

Arm snapping forward—sphere released.

WOOSH... PING—CRACK!

The launcher's casing shattered, gears spilling out.

And the black-haired boy didn't waste it.

He fired a precise beam of curved light. At the Juggernaut's full extension, the shot hit the exposed primary actuator.

HISS—SPRRK—CRACK!

The Juggernaut staggered, its shield collapsing.

Izuku didn't slow down. The Sprinter spun, recalculating its new, unarmed target: him. He darted past, pulling its focus.

Whirr!

The bot pivoted, its single wheel whining as its thruster flared.

Izuku led it through a tight, impossible turn.

Its wheel skidded on the pavement—too sharp.

Perfect.

He pivoted. Bracing one hand, and delivered a targeted heel-kick to the outer wheel housing.

PING—SKRRRRTCH!

The housing dented. The wheel warped. Not destroyed. Unstable.

The Sprinter spun out and collapsed, disarmed and immobilized.

No property damage.

He exhaled softly and looked back. The black-haired boy had disabled the Juggernaut completely. He looked up, his breath shaky but his eyes clear.

"T-Thanks! That was a hell of a throw."

Izuku just smiled. "You're welcome. Nice shot."

A single nod was exchanged.

Then Izuku shot forward again, vanishing down an alley.

Toward the next cluster of sounds.

---

"Stop."

The word slipped out on pure instinct—a reflex forged by years of quiet frustration, a remnant of a dream that refused to die.

The two-point Brawler rolling toward him… stuttered.

Its red sensor flickered violently.

TARGETING PROTOCOL… CONFLICT

A burst of buzzing jittered out.

TARGET REQUIRED… Beep…—

Its wheels locked.

It froze.

Shinso's breath caught. The noise of the exam—the shouting, metal, and detonations—faded into a dull blur. All his senses tunneled toward the stilled machine.

It heard me.

Or rather… it performed like it had.

His thoughts snapped into motion.

It's simulating an override. Not mind control. The AI is role-playing a compromised will.

A sharp, reckless spark of hope ignited in him.

He tested it. "Turn around."

The bot whirred, beginning an obedient pivot—

Crash!

Another Brawler barreled into it. The collision shattered the illusion. The first bot rebooted instantly.

TARGET ACQUIRED.

Ah. The weakness were also simulated.

The system was being honest with him.

He drew a slow breath and scanned the battlefield.

A Juggernaut unit was hammering down on a boy with spiked dark-brown hair, its hydraulic shield crushing the boy's round, transparent barrier.

"Hey, Tin Can!" Shinso barked.

The Juggernaut's sensor swiveled toward him.

NEW PRIMARY TARGET.

Good.

"Stop. Your target is the Sprinter to your left. Destroy it."

The Juggernaut paused—hissed—then rotated.

BOOM!

Its shield smashed the Sprinter into a wall in a shower of sparks.

A surge of triumph hit him like a punch. His voice sharpened, his cadence accelerating as something inside him finally clicked.

"Hey, you! Look at me!"

TARGET ACQUIRED.

"Freeze. Assist that examinee by the blue car."

…SCANNING… NEW COMMAND RECEIVED.

He wasn't just fighting.

He was conducting.

Bots under his influence froze mid-charge, opening escape routes for examinees who never noticed him. A brainwashed Brawler suddenly tackled another, clearing space for a terrified kid.

Messy. Imperfect.

Utterly exhilarating.

A brief lull appeared. Shinso slumped against a wall, throat raw, breath shuddering.

Across the street, a muscular boy with thick lips smashed a bot that one of Shinso's "puppets" had shoved straight into his path. The boy didn't thank him. Didn't even realise.

And yet—

A warm, heavy pressure filled Shinso's chest.

This… this is what it feels like to be measured correctly.

For once, he wasn't being punished for what he couldn't do.

The system had given him a voice—and for the first time in his life—

he was heard.

But—

Is that really it? Or is the system being kind? Accommodating?

The warmth soured.

But only a little.

He pushed off the wall, eyes locking onto a Brawler closing in on a struggling examinee.

Simulation or not.

Generous or not.

The door was open.

And he wasn't going to miss it.

"Hey," he called out, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Your mother was a toaster."

---

"Revelry in the Dark."

The words left not as a war cry, but as a whisper.

Creature of shadow rose, broad and alert—a storm coiled tight, awaiting permission.

"At last," Dark Shadow rumbled, buzzing with anticipation. "May I… break a few things?"

"We're here to earn points," Fumikage reminded calmly. "Not penalty."

A Brawler clanked toward them. Dark Shadow lifted a claw, hesitated, then reshaped it into a narrow spike. One clean jab to the knee joint—

THUNK.

The bot collapsed intact.

"That is acceptable," Fumikage said.

Dark Shadow shifted restlessly. "You always choose the quiet way."

"The quiet way preserves our score."

A Sprinter darted across their path, wheel-leg whining. Fumikage didn't raise his voice.

"Thrusters. Disable, don't destroy."

Dark Shadow expanded—not as a fist but as a dark snare—catching the bot mid-leap and pinning it with controlled pressure. No crushed frame. No excess force.

Fumikage felt the rhythm settle between them… and the tension beneath it. Dark Shadow wanted more—bigger swings, harder hits.

A cluster of Brawlers rounded the corner. Dark Shadow straightened, eagerness crackling.

"I can handle this cluster."

"Moderation."

But the pull had already taken hold.

Dark Shadow surged, sweeping its arm in a broad arc. Two bots shattered cleanly. But the leftover force slammed into a building façade, cracking concrete.

Dark Shadow shrank immediately. "I… overreached."

"Awareness is the first step," Fumikage replied, already watching the next street. "We adjust."

Dark Shadow nodded, forming a smaller, calmer shape.

Then—head tilted.

"Fumi. Above."

Fumikage looked up.

High overhead, a pair of floating hands clung to a Viper. One hand held it steady while the other delicately extracted a bundle of wires. The drone flickered and fell—presumably toward its unseen user below.

"Unusual technique," Fumikage murmured. "But effective."

The ground trembled.

A Juggernaut entered the plaza, shield scraping a slow arc.

"Together," Fumikage said.

Dark Shadow's voice was firm. "Yes."

When the Juggernaut's shield extended to strike, Dark Shadow flowed, wrapping around the bot in smooth, constricting coils. No unnecessary destruction. No wild flailing.

"The panel," Fumikage said. "Beneath the housing."

A single, narrow talon jabbed the exposed actuator.

Hiss—sputter—

The Juggernaut powered down.

Captured intact.

As Dark Shadow recoiled, Fumikage caught motion across the plaza.

Two examinees were pounding another Juggernaut with uncanny rhythm:

One coated in gleaming steel, the other touching his shoulder—

Copying the metal sheen instantly.

Together, they shouted—

"ORA! ORA! ORA! ORAAA!"

---

"Ah, Mr. Heimdall, how is the situation proceeding?

Nezu asked, sipping his tea as he watched the bank of screens.

The main observation room hummed with quiet purpose, every hero and support specialist absorbed in their respective feeds.

The AI's voice drifted through the speakers, smooth and measured. "Processing is within expected parameters, Principal. All eight battle zones remain operational. Quirk-adaptation protocols are active and stable."

David Shield nodded without looking up, eyes scanning the sheets of data flowing past. "The system's handling the diversity well. Some quirks are… tricky to model in real time, but the pre-submitted data is bridging the gaps."

His gaze paused—just for a second—on one anomalous graph pulsing in a pattern unlike anything he'd seen. Nezu had warned him about "interesting cases," but that analysis would have to wait.

He noted Heimdall was assigning slightly more processing capacity to those cases.

Cross-referencing submitted quirk data with the failed real-time scans, no doubt. The system was working harder to make sense of what it couldn't read.

Well... it should be fine. A little extra challenge never hurt anyone.

"Excellent work, gentlemen," Nezu said, then glanced at the man in the excavator helmet. "You as well, Majima."

Power Loader scratched the back of his head. "Barely made the deadline, but we pulled it off. Support Course kids and crew deserve hazard pay for this. Or at least a bonus."

Nezu's grin flashed, all teeth. "Already approved."

Power Loader jerked his chin toward Melissa, who was studying a screen with a designer's intensity. "This prodigy solved a dozen power-distribution bottlenecks I've been wrestling with for weeks."

Melissa's cheeks reddened. "I—I just adjusted a few subroutine behaviors."

Cementoss leaned closer, blocking out half a monitor with his broad frame. "Given everything, isn't the practical far more difficult than in previous years?"

"But the reward structure scales up, don't it?" Snipe replied without taking his eyes off a feed of a narrow alley melee.

Thirteen nodded. "The bots themselves aren't high-grade. It's the adaptive programming that makes them formidable."

Melissa lit up, slipping into comfortable analysis. "Exactly! The capture nets are designed to be brittle—they tear under sustained force. They immobilize for moments, not minutes."

Power Loader snorted. "Her brittle-polymer idea saved us lot of time, on making and retrofitting."

Melissa continued, gesturing lightly in the air. "Brawler rubber rounds shatter on impact—stagger, don't injure. And Juggernaut shields have a hard three-second extension limit to guarantee exploitable openings." Her brow furrowed. "But I still don't fully understand the bonus-point restrictions."

Midnight's voice curled through the room like velvet. "Assist points require active cooperation, sweetheart. You can't leave your quirk by itself—like a patch of ice—and wander off. You need to be present and coordinating."

Melissa nodded, filing that away. "Okay. And the capture thresholds? Some immobilized bots look a little… dented."

Before anyone else could answer, a dry, gravelly voice cut in.

"The bots are hard to subdue without any damage. There's a three-percent structural tolerance before capture points are voided."

Aizawa strode in, capture scarf hanging loose around his shoulders. He joined David at the console, eyes glinting with their usual exhaustion. "Every bot personality-simulates quirk responses across all zones?"

David brought up a schematic with a few keystrokes. "Four central analysis units, each running two zones. Every bot has its own transmitter. For a first deployment… the system's holding."

Aizawa's gaze drifted across feeds until it found one: a boy who commanded the bots around him like a lich leading an army of the undead.

"Better than I expected."

"Oh, he's happy," Snipe drawled. "This is the exam overhaul he's been pushing for."

Aizawa said nothing, but the corner of his mouth quivered—almost.

Midnight grinned wickedly. "That's his 'cartwheels in the hallway' face."

Melissa blinked at Aizawa's flat expression. "Happy…?"

"Utterly," Midnight assured her. "See that tiny shift? Shoulders relaxing one millimeter? Pure euphoria."

Melissa nodded slowly.

Then she looked to the one quiet figure in the room.

"Uncle Might? You've barely said anything."

All Might startled, then forced a small smile. "Ah—just… taking it all in."

But his eyes never left a single screen.

It's feed flickering with green sparks.

---

He slid to a stop, the Aurora Cowl humming.

Izuku closed his eyes for half a breath and listened—really listened—past the distant booms of other examinees, past the hollow wind threading through the mock skyscrapers.

He searched for the wrong sound.

Found it.

Three at once, converging.

A heavy CLANK-CLANK-CLANK… from the main intersection.

A high-speed Screeech.. of wheels slicing through a side alley.

And the faintest click… click… click… from somewhere above.

His eyes snapped open.

The Juggernaut lumbered into the intersection, hydraulic shield already expanding with a grinding whine.

TARGET PRIORITY: HEAVY ARMOR. SUBDUE.

At the same instant, the Sprinter shot out of the alley, its net launcher targeting him.

TARGET: ISOLATED. ENGAGE.

Together, they were the pincers.

But the true fangs were the clicks.

FSSHHH!

A canister mounted on a wall burst, triggered by a hidden drone. A thick, acrid smoke billowed outward, swallowing the gap between him and the two approaching bots.

A trap within a trap.

Izuku didn't panic. He cut his breath off instantly. Thanks, augmented lungs.

THWIP! THWIP!

High-tensile capture lines lanced through the smoke toward his legs.

He moved.

He dropped into a sliding dive, slicing beneath the Sprinter as it lunged. Its capture net skimmed the empty air where he'd been an instant before.

PIVOT—PLANT—SPRING!

Using the momentum of his slide, he launched upward, emerging behind the Sprinter. Its net launcher was exposed.

Anchoring a foot, rotating hip, extending first straight.

Impacting with index and middle knuckles then retreating.

A clean punch.

PING—CRUNCH!

The mechanism seized. The Sprinter jerked, recalibrated, and peeled off, primary weapon disabled.

He then glance at his arm for a moment. Warped in bandages for protection. Mom had insisted.

He smiled. They are indeed helpful.

Then—

A glint of metal.

The Viper wasn't on the roof. It was clinging to the underside of a fire escape, camouflage flickering. The clicks had been the trap deployment.

Exposed, the drone dropped and dove, rotars screaming.

Izuku dashed forward to bait it in. Then—woosh!—he feinted left at the last moment. The drone snapped its trajectory after him.

He stepped onto a fire hydrant—light touch only—and launched upward, passing just beneath the drone's line.

For a split-second, they were eye level.

"The right angle, boy! Not brute force!"

Gran Torino's voice flashed through his mind.

Izuku stabbed against the drone's left rotar joint with two fingers.

CRACK—tik-tik-tik—

The joint seized. The Viper spiraled out of control, tumbling end over end until it crashed into the street and skidded harmlessly into a dumpster.

Five points. Plus capture bonus. Zero collateral.

Only the Juggernaut remained.

The heavy bot marched forward, shield pulsing with measured intent. Izuku remembered the tactic he'd suggested earlier, to the black-haired boy.

—Wait for full extension.

He circled the Juggernaut, forcing it to rotate. Heavy armor meant slow pivots.

FWHOMP!

The shield extended to maximum reach.

There—the actuator. Exposed for less than a second.

He sprinted, leaped onto the extended shield, and used it as a platform. His steel-toed boot came down on the actuator with force.

CRUNCH—HISSSSS!

The mechanism collapsed. The shield buckled inward, dragging the Juggernaut down with a ground-shaking THUD.

Izuku landed lightly as the Aurora Cowl's glow settled around him. The smoke cleared.

The only damage in the street was what the bots themselves had caused. His attacks had left nothing behind.

He turned toward the next cluster of sounds, tightened his stance—

—and sprinted straight into the fray.

---

FAATHANG.

A gossamer-thin carbon-fiber net burst from the handheld launcher, unfurling mid-air before cinching tight around a Sprinter.

The bot strained, thrusters whining against the tensile mesh, then toppled—fully immobilized.

Momo Yaoyorozu was already shifting to her next task, assembling a compact pneumatic launcher as she arranged its chemical structure in her mind.

—C6H5CH=CH2. Polymerization.—

Movement in the plaza caught her eye.

A flock of sparrows and starlings descended in a swirling cloud—fluttering chaos with purpose. They mobbed a Viper, pecking sensors, jamming rotors, until the machine wobbled and dropped harmlessly.

A boy with pointed rock head peaked from behind a cracked pillar, hands covering his face.

Efficient, she noted.

Vipers were worth five points, but their traps and camouflage made them irritatingly troublesome to neutralize.

She lifted her launcher.

THHWUMP.

A glob of pink, quick-setting polymer splattered across a Brawler's leg, fixing it instantly to the asphalt.

Nets for distance. Foam for mid and close. Simple and reliable.

A tremor rolled beneath her boots. Across the plaza, two Brawlers hammered at a concrete wall that… had not been there a moment ago. One swung wide, crashed into its partner. Sensors scrambled.

Nearby, a fawn-haired girl with watched with a faint, knowing smirk.

Illusion-based, most likely.

Three Sprinters rounded the corner.

TARGET ACQUIRED. ANALYSIS: THREAT LEVEL: VERSATILE.

They fanned out with mechanical precision.

Momo inhaled.

HISSSSS—THHWUMP.

A burst of pink foam engulfed the first bot, locking limbs instantly. The other two lose traction on the slick surfaces and crash in a tangle of legs and chassis.

"Ah! Excuse me—a little assistance!"

She turned. A small round-faced boy with white hair was being shoved back by a Juggernaut. He struck the armor—once—then a second impact shuddered through the metal as if delivered by an invisible fist.

Amplification Quirk. Secondary delayed impact. Requires initial touch point.

Solution: A tool to focus the blow.

Weighted knuckle-dusters materialized in her palm, tungsten-carbide cores gleaming.

"Use these! Your second strike should channel more effectively."

He caught them, eyes wide at the perfect balance. The Juggernaut charged.

First strike—solid.

Second—amplified through reinforced carbide—

CRACK-BOOM!

The armor plate buckled. The Juggernaut collapsed.

Momo steadied her breath.

A burst of popping sounds caught her ear—"Bababababap!"—as a speech-bubble-faced boy disoriented a squad of bots while a green-scaled boy fired razor-disk projectiles, sniping joints and destabilizing their coordination. A tail-wielding boy punched an opening through the chaos.

Coordinated. Useful.

She'd considered forming a team too but… nerves had intervened.

Another lesson for later.

She turned to the white haired boy—

"My name is—" Momo began, smiling—

RUMBLE!

A heavier tremor shook the plaza. A Juggernaut lumbered out behind a crushed bus, shield primed.

BRACE— its AI began.

Before it could charge, its chassis bloomed with small mushrooms—hundreds—clogging vents and joints until the machine groaned and toppled sideways.

A petite girl in a wide-brimmed hat peeked out, breathless but proud.

"Shroom!"

---

The air tasted of burnt rubber and ozone.

Habuko pressed herself against the rough brick of a mock-alleyway, chest heaving, fingers trembling against her scaly palms.

CRASH-Boom.

A slab of concrete skittered past her boots. Students with showy, action Quirks tore through the battle zone.

She stared down at her hands. Scaly. Clammy. Fragile.

No laser beams. No pavement-splitting punches. No firestorms.

Then she remembered—

"My Quirk paralyzes people. It… it doesn't work on machines. The bot's wouldn't respond to it.

"Who said they wouldn't respond to you?"

Whirr—clank!

A Sprinter rounded the corner. Its sensor swept—not to her—and a cactus-headed boy was cornered on a dead end.

"H-Help! I'm stuck!"

The Sprinter revved.

Habuko didn't think. She moved.

She stepped into the open, feet planted.

"HEY!" she shrieked, voice cracking into a hiss. "OVER HERE!"

The sensor snapped toward her.

TARGET ACQUIRED.

It lunged. Habuko inhaled sharply, grounding herself. The world narrowed to a pair of yellow eyes.

Enfeeble.

Ten meters. Five. Three.

Every instinct screamed run.

The bot's arm rose—

ANOMALY DETECTED. NEURAL INTERFERENCE SIMULATION… ENGAGED.

The wheel locked. Momentum dragged the machine to a stop inches from her boot. Its red optics dimmed to a soft orange pulse.

STATUS: PARALYZED.

Habuko sagged. It worked.

"Whoa…" the cactus-boy breathed. "You stared it down! That was awesome!"

Warmth bloomed under her scales. She wasn't useless. She wasn't a liability.

"G-Go! Get to cover!"

She turned—

And froze.

CLANG—FWOOOM.

A Juggernaut thundered toward her—three meters of armored plating.

Habuko lifted her chin. Nictitating membranes slid open. Pupils narrowed to predatory slits. She hissed, pouring all her terror into that glowing red visor.

Freeze.

The Juggernaut's shield whined—then halted.

ALERT: VISUAL INTERFERENCE DETECTED. INITIATING MOTOR SHUTDOWN.

A sprinter crashed into it.

CLANK.

The two bots dropped into the previous paralyse one, like a felled tree.

CRASH!

Heat surged in her chest—relief tipping into pride.

She sprinted forward, past a boy turning the asphalt to mud. A Sprinter darted out—she hissed—it froze and crashed.

Ahead, a dark-haired boy grappled a Juggernaut while panicked, floating clothes flailed near him.

"It's too tough!"

Habuko stepped forward. "HEY!"

The Brawler turned toward her. Eye contact.

PARALYSIS DETECTED.

It froze mid-punch. The dark-haired boy drove a hardened fist through its chest.

"WHOA!" he barked. "Nice eyes. Manly eyes!"

"Thank you for the save!" added the floating clothes.

They turned to each other—

"Let's team up!"

 ---

Pop!

The vacuum-sealed cap of a sleek thermos released a tiny plume of steam.

Perched atop a rooftop, Saiko Intelli surveyed the growing chaos below.

The streets were a beautiful disaster.

"Barbarians," she sighed. "Trying to out-muscle a hydraulic press. How… quaint."

Across the plaza, a tall orange-haired girl expanded her hands to swat a Brawler away while a blonde girl launched horn-missiles into a Juggernaut's knee.

Crude teamwork.

Functional.

They would pass.

She lifted the thermos.

Sip.

Warmth spread. Pupils dilated. Breathing steady. The noise reorganized into neat information bundles.

Simulation start.

Countless equations dance behind her eyelids.

Juggernaut F-4:

Shield cycle 3.2 seconds active, 0.8 retraction.

Two Vipers linked—blind-spot compensation detected.

Saiko opened her eyes—cold, sharp.

"Checkmate in four moves."

She pointed toward a boy with rocky hands. "You. The one flailing like a frightened Geodude."

"M-Me?!"

"Step three meters left and strike the hydrant. If you prefer your torso intact, I recommend haste."

He scrambled, punched.

HISSSSSH!

A geyser erupted.

—Amidst this she caught glitter in her highten pereception.

A Viper's camouflage sputtered out in a narrow alley.

A girl with earphone-jack earlobes stood above it, jacks speared deep into the chassis, holding the disabled drone like a gutted fish.

A sensory quirk, Saiko assessed. Precise, but single-purpose. Low scalability.

Saiko refocused.

The Juggernaut near the hydrant extended its shield—

Shield active.

Water slicked across metal.

Saiko nudged a loose rebar with her toe—clang—knocking a sign free. It swung and smacked a Viper drone, sending it spiraling past the Juggernaut's extended hydraulic shield directly into the actuator.

Crunch! Hiss!

The shield arm went limp, its mechanisms seizing.

"Now, simpleton! The floor is wet—topple it!"

He slammed both fists down. Wheels skidded.

CRAAAASH!

The Juggernaut pitched sideways.

"Whoa… we did it?" he gasped.

Saiko recapped her thermos with delicate precision. "We? Don't be absurd. You were a pawn."

A beat.

"But even pawns have their uses."

She turned—only to pause.

On a rooftop, a buzzcut boy unleashed a cyclone, clearing an entire cluster of bots.

Area denial via brute force. No nuance.

Her gaze flicked to a cluster of Sprinters converging in a tight, intersecting knot.

Sip.

"Probability of chain-reaction collision: seventy-nine percent."

A small, sharp smile.

"Easy enough."

---

"A strict time limit and a vast battlefield…"

Zzzzt.

Multiple holographic screens flickered to life, their cool blue light illuminating the faces of the observers.

One screen displayed a wall of metal and stone enlarging abruptly, crushing a cluster of Sprinters into scrap.

Nezu's whiskers twitched pleasantly. "Nothing quite like it to draw out an examinee's true spirit."

Another screen shifted to focus on a boy with a bandana, kneeling as he anchored several Brawlers to the pavement.

Nezu nodded with satisfaction. "The bot variety allows us to assess a wide range of essential heroic skills. An ideal configuration, wouldn't you agree, Miss Melissa?"

Melissa Shield, focused on a feed of a black-haired girl calmly constructing object after object, blinked and looked up.

Her eyes were bright behind her glasses. After a thoughtful pause, she nodded. "Absolutely."

Nezu continued, bringing up a neatly organized chart of bot types and evaluation metrics.

BRAWLER — Evasion, Combat Fundamentals

"Basic but essential," Melissa added, tapping her stylus against the holographic chart. "Can they fight when fighting becomes unavoidable? Or do they panic?"

SPRINTER — Mobility, Precision Under Pressure

Midnight lounged back in her seat, smirking as a blue-haired teen with engines for calves cleanly intercepted a trio of Sprinters, redirecting their momentum until they crashed. "A hero who can't catch villains," she purred, "is just a very strong bystander."

JUGGERNAUT — Power Management, Teamwork Instincts

Power Loader folded his arms as he observed a bulky tail boy, a scale-projectile user, and a student with a speech-bubble head working in sync to needle a Juggernaut off balance. "Forces the brash ones to think before smashing," he muttered approvingly. "Teamwork is key."

VIPER — Reconnaissance, Strategic Intelligence

Melissa zoomed in on a Viper's camouflage module, studying the flickering distortions across its chassis. "Most expensive unit per pound," she noted.

"Still," Snipe quipped, his gaze fixed on a silver-haired girl using an invisible force to dismantle a Viper's trap, "testing how these greenhorns handle a close call, a stealth skirmish… it's quite worth it."

"Worth it?"

Tap!

A cane struck the floor—sharp, echoing across the observation room. Recovery Girl pushed herself up from her chair, her expression sour.

"Think about that," she huffed, "after you see the injury report I'll be compiling."

With a small 'harrumph,' she adjusted her shawl. "I need to prepare for triage. These youngsters won't patch themselves."

Ectoplasm offered a reassuring nod. "Do not worry. As always, my clones are positioned throughout the battle zones."

Power Loader grunted. "And the automated rescue bots are deployed as well."

Recovery Girl only gave a noncommittal grunt.

David Shield cleared his throat, raising a hand politely. "Ah—actually, I took the liberty of making some upgrades to the medical bots' sensor arrays and diagnostic scanners. They should react more efficiently this year."

Power Loader turned, eyes wide. "What? When did you even have the time?"

David smiled sheepishly. "Well… right after I finished updating the exam bots' programming."

Nezu's eyes gleamed. "Very much appreciated, Mr. Shield." He glanced toward the doorway—Recovery Girl was already halfway out. "And even if anything unexpected happens," Nezu added lightly, his voice carrying, "Yagi can reach the scene in a few seconds."

Recovery Girl paused. She gave him a long, flat look… then left without a word.

Melissa straightened in her seat, looking up form a feed of a green haired boy.

Eyes flicking first to Nezu, then to her Uncle Might—who remained silent, his gaze fixed firmly on the monitors.

Nezu smiled, inwardly delighted.

'Sharp girl.'

She had caught it—the discrepancy.

It should have been: "one second." Or even a millisecond.

Not "a few seconds."

'Is that a common trait among the quirkless? 'he mused, amused. 'This heightened perception?'

He reached forward and lifted the transparent casing covering a recessed red button on the console.

"Well then," Nezu announced, his tone bright, "only one matter remains to be evaluated."

All Might exhaled slowly. "Is it time to release the Zero Pointer?"

"Mmm. And like all the other units, it's received a few… upgrades," He informed, a hint of sadistic glee in his voice.

Click!

Nezu pressed the button.

"After all, with all the incentive for helping and cooperating, they need a new, bigger stimulus to test their courage."

A deep bass rumble vibrated through the observation deck.

"And for the bot," he said cheerfully.

"let us call it by it's designation."

"GIGANTES."

---

GROOOOM!

A low-frequency tremor rolled through the entire testing ground.

Bots trapped in ice cages wobbled and toppled where they stood.

A blond boy electrifying a Juggernaut flinched, his sparks stuttering as he glanced over his shoulder in panic.

BOOOOM!

A thunderous impact cracked through the mock city, detonating a shockwave that punched out windows in a cascading line of shattering glass.

A column of dust erupted upward, swirling, and for a moment internal lights flickered inside it—brief flashes outlining a silhouette:

Broad. Towering. Moving with impossible weight.

Two girls—one projecting hard-light screens, the other directing vines around a pair of Vipers—pulled back instinctively, retreating from the open street.

KUH-THAAAAM.

A massive foot—gunmetal, angular, and larger than a compact car—drove into the street. The ground cratered beneath it.

CLANK! CLANK!

Thick, long arms pressed against buildings for leverage. Metal claws snapped open and shut.

Farther away, a girl with long green hair froze with a captured Viper still dangling from her tongue. She managed a single, confused croak. "Kero…?"

The dust thinned.

A colossal chassis emerged—layer after layer of armor plating sliding into view.

GURRUNGURUN.

A massive, angular head rotated on a piston-thick neck, its "mouth" a cavernous port lined with interlocking steel plates that ground against each other like gnashing tectonic teeth.

BUZZ. BUZZ.

Twelve crimson sensor arrays flickered alive in staggered arcs around the grinding maw: six above, six below, like predatory eyes set in hinged mandibles.

Forty meters tall. Heavy enough to crush its own shock absorbers into the pavement.

It emitted no roar. No announcement. Only the grinding rumble of internal power moving dense machinery.

Then—

CRAAACKLE!

A sheet of frost raced across its frame. The entire giant seized up.

Frozen.

---

He had found him.

The boy from the station.

The boy he wanted to thank.

But not now. It was still the exam.

Mezo Shoji stood on a high rooftop, multiple eyes and ears sprouting like strange flowers on the fleshy branches along his arms and shoulders.

A captured Viper was clutched beneath one hand.

Sight and sound flowed into him from every direction—layered, tangled, rushing, but coherent.

Tap! Tap!

A brown-haired girl tapping Juggernauts.

Fwoomp! Fwoomp!

They floated, flipped, immobilized in a soft series of motions.

Drrn! Drrn!

A blue-haired boy rocketed down a street, engines screaming.

Crash! Clang!

Chasing—kicking—dismantling Sprinters cleanly.

"M-mm… Magnifique!"

A blond boy moaned theatrically, thrusting his hips as a laser fired from his navel.

Wizzz! Wizzz!

Piercing bots precisely at their weakest joints.

And then—

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Him.

The green-haired boy, shrouded in a corona of emerald lightning, weaving between a cluster of bots like a storm.

Clank! Crack!

Kicking—jabbing—striking with startling finesse, dropping machines one by one.

Shoji checked his timer. Eighteen minutes since the exam started. Two minutes left.

Still no sign of the mentioned zero-point obstacle. He turned, preparing to hunt for more Vipers—

GROOOOM.

The ground shook. His amplified senses told him instantly: this wasn't local.

All the battle zones were shaking.

A section of pavement in the distance split open. Bots toppled. A half-collapsed building slid inward as a behemoth pushed up from beneath.

Not one behemoth.

He could spot the eight giants with his extra nine eyes.

One for each battle zone.

Instant panic and pandemonium ensued. Tiny figures scrambled back in every district.

"Hey! Hey, let go! Aaaahh!"

The giant in his zone scooped up the brown-haired girl in its huge metal fingers.

CRAAACKLE!

In the distant—another zone—a giant froze solid in an instant.

Shoji's eleven eyes widened at both sights: horror at the girl's capture, and sheer awe at the display of raw, elemental force that froze a monster that size.

But—

Crack! Shatter!

The ice around the distant giant fractured as it started to march again, shaking off the frost.

And—

The bot in front of him stretched it's arm high, holding the girl aloft while its head tilted back.

GRUNGRUNGRUN!

A horrific grinding noise roaring from its opening mouth.

Examinees in his zone, and probably all zones, were fleeing, clearing a wide berth around the titan that held the girl captive.

Shoji was far away. But he was still overwhelmed by the scale of the chaos.

His eyes went wide again.

SRRING!

A massive, spiked glacier punched clean through the distant giant's torso.

But—

Whooooosh—

His focus was in the green zooming blur.

While everyone else ran, that boy—the one he wanted to thank—was already sprinting toward it.

Towards the danger. Once. Again.

---

Why?

Why am I running toward it?

Toward the metal giant swallowing the skyline.

Toward the thing making his heartbeat slam against his ribs like it wanted out.

Badump! Badump! Badump!

Huf—huf—huf—

Each breath scraped his throat raw.

When?

When did my legs even start moving?

They were shaking—full-body tremors that should've dropped him to the pavement.

And still, somehow, they kept pushing forward.

"Run—run—get out of here!"

"What IS that thing?!"

"It's the zero-pointer! We're supposed to avoid it!"

Voices rushed past him as students streamed the other way, but he kept fighting upstream.

What?

What am I even going to DO when I get there?

This wasn't a bot.

This was a calamity on legs.

A walking landslide swallowing blocks at a time.

Metal plates ground together as the claw lifted.

DUUUGH! CLAANG!

"Hey! Hey, let go! Aaaahh!"

The girl—the brown-haired girl—struggling inside the metal grasp, her voice stretched thin with panic.

"I'll hold on so you don't float away."

A breath hitched in his chest.

Haaah!

Mind whirring.

Eyes scanning.

Body committed.

Then—

WHOOSH!

He surged forward, ember flaring through his limbs.

THUMP!

A final driving step. The momentum took over.

FOOSH!

He vaulted past the shattered storefront canopy.

THUD!

Fingers scraped concrete—catching a third-floor window frame of a half-collapsed building.

FOOSH!

A pull. A heave. A swing upward—

THUMP!

Crashing through the broken fourth-floor wall, shoulder smashing into unstable flooring.

TUMBLE—

Knees bend. Chin tucked. A rolling recovery. Up again. Moving before the dust settled.

VRRRRRR—

The titan's machinery groaned. Massive actuator joints—each the size of a car—pivoted toward him.

BUZZ! BUZZ!

Lower mouth's sensors caught sight of him, glowing crimson.

But—

Behind those sensors was the weak point:

the brain.

—The central control cluster.

CRUMBLE!

He bent his knees and launched upward—floor cracking under the push.

WHOOSH!

Dust and wind slapped against his skin. The world tilted.

THUNK!

A hand found the scaffolding jutting from the giant's torso. Pulling with force, propelling up.

THUNK—

Scrambling onto the broad chest plating. Just a little higher—

CRRNK!

A warning threw himself sideways—

FOOOOWSH!

The giant's free arm swept past, claw open, the sheer wind pressure hurling him off the torso.

WHOOSH!

He was airborne, spinning. No handholds. Nothing in reach.

Haaah—

Everything slowed. Mind Rippling.

—'The wind pressure.'

He opened his palm. Flooded it with every bit of ember he could.

SLAP—

Palm striking the air infront.

FOOSH!

Bursting wind pressure hurling back.

THUNK!

Slamming down onto the titan's shoulder.

SCREEEK!

Boots skidding on the plating.

Using the momentum—channeling every spark left into his opposite hand—

SMASH!

His fist drove into the neck armor.

CRACK! CCARCK!

Metal fractured. A meter-long split tore open across the plating.

But—

Only the plating.

No breach. No exposed internals.

No meaningful damage.

No.

Not enough power.

He gazed at his hand. Green spark flickering down.

He did have the power. The core storm of One-for-all.

But—

CRRAACK!

Ribs tearing—power knifing up his spine—hot, white pain that swallowed the world whole.

WAAAHHH—!

Echoes of a crowd screaming.

THRRRMMM—

The echo of that storming vortex.

BOOOM!

Power exploding out of him, wild and monstrous.

Nightmare still clung to him.

Then—

CRRNK!

A warning grind. Danger. Eyes widening. Diving sideways.

FOOOOWSH!

The titan's arm cut through the air, a wall of force sweeping past again.

Thunk!

His fingers caught the edge of the titan's shoulder plating, leaving him dangling over a yawning drop.

A close call. Too close.

All because he let his mind slip—again.

Huff! Huff!

The breaths ripping out in panic.

Not in exhaustion.

Enhanced stamina. Reaction speed. Heightened Sense. Aerial balance.

'All the power and abilities I'd somehow gained.'

Grrunnggrrun! Grinding metal thundered from the titan's open maw.

"Uuugh! Aaaagh—!"The kind girl's terrified voice.

"I still couldn't even save one single person."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat.

kaleidoscope of thoughts and memories flashed through him—

Aldera School

Sludge Villain

The station

The chaos

No Quirk

Now too much Quirk

Hurting people

Failing people

—Like falling shards of tinkling glass.

Then...one shard caught light, ringing like a clear bell, cutting through the chaos—

"What kind of hero do you want to be?"

Does he want to be a hero who always smiles, like his mentor? A proper vessel? For One For All? A powerful one? So no one, especially Mom, has to worry anymore?

"I… I don't know."

But he again—

tinkle!

Saw: A quiet smile shared between mentor and student.

tinkle!

Hear: "When you're ready, we'll be here."

tinkle!

Felt: The shared serene silence between mother and son.

And—

'I don't have to be any of those things right now.'

—The answer came to him as simply as breathing:

He just wanted to help people.

Dangling from steel, scraped and bruised, he smiled a trembling smile.

Eyes closing.

The fear didn't vanish, but something steadier rose beneath it.

Multicolored stream flowed behind his eyelids.

...Thump...

A faint pressure of stone under his back and hip.

Quiet.

Unnoticed.

The voices flooded in—overlapping, distinct, yet strangely unified.

Vestiges. Obviously.

"Oho!" a rough, boisterous voice barked in his skull. "The boy actually sat on the throne! How about that lousy diagnosis now, Bruce?"

Izuku shut them out, forcing his eyes open.

He could feel it now—the true weight of the power. The weight that would surely shatter him as it had once before.

"I was talking about the use of the power, not the access," a smoother, analytical voice retorted.

His body shuddered.

Pain—splintering,blinding—rose from memory like a ghost trying to dig its nails into him.

The station.

White heat ripping through his ribs.

But—

He looked up.

Saw the girl trapped in the metal grasp above.

And everything aligned.

"The kid shouldn't be able to overcome the block this fast," the analytical voice pressed on. "The trauma that created it was severe… Right, Chief?"

HUUF!

Izuku inhaled sharply.

He held onto the memory of the Trigger-junkie being subdued amidst the chaos of his own agony.

The channeling of the power.

Concentrating it.

Minimizing the damage.

"Hmm… yes."

The third voice was cold,steady.

Izuku focused on the middle finger of his left hand, the one hooking the ledge.

At the fingertip,green sparks converged—glittering embers swirling with a tinge of rainbow, their energy occasionally bursting into fleeting threads of flame.

He pulled.

Swung.

Drove his legs upward.

Then—

BOOOM!

A focused, concussive blast erupted from his finger. The air shattering. Metal caving.

The force flung him upward, defying gravity, like a launched parabola.

Crack!

A single finger shattered. Violet bruising blooming.

"What?"

"This kid

"Hmm!"

THUNK!

He landed on the Gigantes' upper jaw, narrowly avoiding a grinding piston.

He was close now. Close enough to destroy. Close enough to rescue.

Pain throbbed through his hand in sharp, white spikes.

But worse was the sensation flooding his veins—electric, shuddering, overstimulating.

His nerves buzzed like exposed wires.

His chest tightened around his heartbeat.

"The boy didn't overcome his mental block," the analytical voice sounded grim now. "He tore through it forcefully. But it's a Quirk-induced block... How is he even—" There was a tremor in the voice.

Izuku ignored them all.

His eyes locked on a thin seam in the cage's plating.

There.

The seam line on the cage frame.

"Didn't I say?" A gentle voice cut through the dissonance. Yoichi. "He was chosen for a reason."

He jammed his good fingers into the gap. Two fingers. Leverage.

"It's the Madness."

Izuku focused. The metal groaned under his grip.

"Madness we all shared," Yoichi continued, his voice growing louder, overlapping with reality. "In one shape or another."

Then the barrier between present and memory blurred—

Flicker of lives not his own:

—A frail white-haired man in chains, looking calmly at his captor.

—A man with a cross scar smiling serenely as the devil held him by the throat.

—A silver-haired, ponytailed man skewered by a giant spike, staring defiantly.

—A fawn-haired man, gazing at his own shattering body in the reflection of a lonely forest lake.

—A bald man laughing under the weight of rubble, as the life bled out.

—A man with a high collar, covered in purple smoke and blood, smiling grimly, extending a hand.

—A black-haired woman lifted by the neck, facing death with a wide, genuine smile.

—A muscular man—All Might—swinging his fist with a hole torn open in his torso, refusing to fall.

—And, lastly. A skinny green-haired boy, himself, running toward chaos.

"The madness to try and do the impossible," Yoichi whispered.

Izuku paused for a microsecond, the weight of the legacy settling into his bones. The images were fleeting, but the feeling remained.

Then—

BOOOOM!

The Zero Pointer's head smashed.

The impact force propelled Izuku violently upward, straight toward the lifted hand holding the girl.

"Madness," Yoichi continued, as if flipping pages in a diary. "To get blasted in the face. To keep getting back up. To reach out a hand."

Another memory surfaced. His own.

—Little feet following behind a boy he saw as the symbol of victory.

"I am gonna catch you, don't worry!"

The girl's voice snapped him back.

She had timed it—using the impact to break free from the bot's loosened grasp, pushing herself toward him in zero gravity.

Clasp!

They grasped each other's hands mid-air.

WOOSH.

The bellowing wind pressure from the Titan's movement surged, sweeping them away from the wreckage.

His mind went still for a moment. All the chaos of his body muted. Below, through the dust, he could see two people—a bluenette and a boy with multiple arms—rushing toward the wreckage to help.

He looked at the girl. Her face was pale with nausea, but her grip was iron-tight.

Taking a deep breath, he asked—

"Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?"

They both asked at the same time.

A beat of awkward silence passed, hanging in the air, and then they both started to giggle—a hysterical release of tension.

They drifted near a five-story building. Izuku pointed at it, and she nodded.

As they hovered over its roof at a height of two or three meters, she let go of his hand and touched her fingertips together to release her Quirk.

"Release."

But—

They didn't fall.

She gasped. Dust, pebbles, and small metal wreckage were rotating around him, caught in a silent orbit.

Izuku was hovering, and she was floating within his two-meter gravitational circle.

"What happened?" the girl asked, touching her fingers again, confused. "I released it…"

"We… are still floating?" Izuku asked, staring down at his boots.

Haha!

A feminine laugh rang in his mind, clear as a bell.

"Yes, yes you are floating, Izuku."

The voice came with a warmth that felt like a hug. Then, it became teasing.

"But it was just an exam, you know. You didn't have to go that hard. Trying to impress a girl so soon?"

Izuku, realizing who it could be, felt a blush creep up his neck.

Then—

"It cannot be helped. You see," Yoichi's voice floated in. His tone was soft, fond and final.

"When people need saving…

Izuku Midoriya moves before thinking."

-- --