The morning air in Class 1-A was thick with the mundane drone of English grammar. Present Mic, usually a whirlwind of sonic energy, was currently channelling his enthusiasm into explaining the difference between past participle and past perfect.
For most students, it was a standard Tuesday morning. For Shizuka Moriya, it was an exercise in sensory overload and agonizing boredom.
Shizuka sat at her desk, her posture deceptively perfect—a legacy of years of discipline—but her mind was several light-years away. Her silver eyes were fixed on a small, stray thread loose on the cuff of her blazer, but she wasn't seeing the fabric.
She was feeling the room because without a direct task to anchor her focus, her mind splintered.
One fragment of her consciousness was tracking the rhythmic thrum of the air conditioning unit, mapping the vibration of the screws until she could practically "see" the metal fatigue in the third bolt from the left.
Another fragment was tracing the path she had walked with Eri that morning as she took her daughter to school. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Eri's small, sticky hand against her palm—a grounding anchor that pulsed with a light so pure it occasionally made Shizuka's chest ache.
'Is she doing well at school? How is she doing with her schoolwork?" Shizuka wondered, a ripple of anxiety flickering through her, before she breathed in and out.
Then there was the static.
From several rows away, Izuku Midoriya was a beacon of chaotic energy. To Shizuka's Force-sensory perception, he felt like a young star trying to collapse into itself and go supernova. His new awareness of the Force was raw and untrained; he was inadvertently "leaking" his nervous anticipation into the local environment.
It was like a high-pitched hum at the edge of her hearing. She could feel his focus darting between Mic's lecture and the lingering sensation of the Force Speed she had demonstrated the day before.
'He's searching for the current, she thought,' her fingers twitching instinctively on her desk. 'But he's trying to catch it with his hands instead of letting it carry him.'
To pass the time, Shizuka began a subtle exercise. She focused on a single pen resting on the edge of Momo Yaoyorozu's desk. She didn't move it—that would be too conspicuous—but she "touched" it with the Force.
She felt the smoothness of the plastic, the weight of the ink reservoir, the microscopic tension of the spring inside. Slowly, she began to manipulate the air molecules directly above the pen, cooling them until a tiny, invisible pocket of high pressure formed.
She was so deep into the hyperfocus, the delicate "push and pull" of molecular vibrations, that the rest of the world became a blurred background of grey noise. The Force swirled around her, a tranquil, deep-blue ocean that she was slowly sinking into, further and further away from the scratching of pencils and the squeak of chalk.
"Moriya-san?"
The voice hit her like a physical impact. The pocket of air she was manipulating collapsed instantly, the sudden change in pressure causing the pen on Momo's desk to give a tiny, sharp click.
Shizuka's eyes snapped toward the front of the room. Her silver gaze was sharp, the pupils dilated for a fraction of a second as she transitioned from the vastness of the Force back into the cramped reality of a classroom.
Present Mic was standing by the chalkboard, his thumb pointing toward a complex sentence structure he'd just finished scribbling. He wasn't annoyed; he looked curious, his eyebrows raised behind his signature shades.
"I asked if you could identify the error in this sentence, listener!" Mic chirped, though he lowered his volume slightly, sensing he'd just startled her out of a deep trance. "You looked like you were in another dimension! Care to join us back on Earth?"
A few students snickered. Katsuki Bakugo scoffed, leaning back with his arms crossed, his gaze burning with a familiar, suppressed resentment. Izuku, meanwhile, looked at her with wide, expectant eyes, as if hoping she'd use some mystical insight to answer the question.
Shizuka took a slow, cantering breath. She didn't look at the board immediately. Instead, she let the Force ripple outward, catching the echoes of Mic's previous words that still vibrated in the air.
"The hero had ran towards the danger before the police arrived."
"The verb 'ran' is incorrect in that context, Yamada-sensei," Shizuka spoke, her voice dropping into that calm cadence that made the room seem quieter. "It is the past perfect tense. It should be 'had run,' not 'had ran.' The action was completed before another point in the past. Although, if the sentence was "The hero ran towards the danger before the police arrived." That would be fine in the context of it being present tense and not past tense."
Mic blinked, then let out a sharp, appreciative whistle. "Correct, Moriya-san! Excellent focus!"
As Mic turned back to the board to underline the correction, Shizuka felt the eyes of the class on her. Momo was looking at her with a look of intense analytical scrutiny, likely wondering how someone who seemed so distracted could be so accurate.
Shizuka simply lowered her gaze back to her desk, and slowly began to think back to how Izuku was Force-Sensitive.
She reached down, her hand brushing the cool metal of the lightsaber hilt clipped to her uniform before catching herself smiling.
The scratching of chalk resumed, but the "hush" Shizuka had commanded with her answer didn't quite dissipate. To her left, she felt the prickling heat of Bakugo's gaze—a jagged, sulfurous spike in the Force that refused to settle. He was a constant source of friction, like a stone in a shoe that had begun to draw blood.
Shizuka shifted her weight, the fabric of her chair feeling suddenly coarse against her skin. Her mind, denied the intricate puzzle of molecular manipulation, began to wander again. It latched onto the concept of Izuku's sensitivity.
'Midoriya-san is like a cracked vessel,' she thought, her fingers tracing a faint, circular pattern on her desk. 'The power pours into him, but he has no lid, no seal. He's drowning in the feedback of his own potential.'
She could feel the boy's heart rate—a rapid, syncopated rhythm. He was trying to "sense" the room, likely inspired by her lecture the day before. But without the proper meditative anchors, he was simply opening himself up to the ambient anxiety of twenty other teenagers
It was a recipe for a sensory collapse, and Shizuka felt a flicker of protective instinct. It was the same feeling she got when Eri tried to reach for a hot kettle—a sharp, pre-emptive warning.
To distract herself from the "Midoriya-static," Shizuka expanded her awareness beyond the walls of Class 1-A. This was the "Hyperfocus" at work—the ADHD trait that, when paired with the Force, allowed her to process massive amounts of data simultaneously.
She felt the heavy, grounded presence of Cementoss in his own classroom, his energy as solid and unmoving as a mountain. She felt the erratic, flickering sparks of the support department's workshop—hundreds of tiny "intentions" manifesting as machines and gadgets.
And further away, near the gates, she felt the "Void" again. Aizawa. He was moving toward the teacher's lounge, his presence a thumbprint of silence on a noisy canvas.
'Everything is so loud here,' she mused, a faint ache beginning to throb behind her silver eyes. The forest she had trained in had been quiet. The Holocron's had spoken of temples where the only sound was the waterfalls and chimes from rocks that existed that were calming. It allowed the Jedi to be at peace in the moment. To flow with The Force.
She herself often trained in places like those.
A soft thump startled her.
Izuku had dropped his pencil. In his haste to retrieve it, his Force-presence flared—a sudden, uncontrolled burst of "Need." Shizuka felt it like a physical shove against her shoulder. The pencil didn't just fall; it skittered across the floor with a velocity that defied gravity, coming to a halt near the feet of Mezo.
Izuku turned bright red, muttering apologies that were far too loud for the quiet room.
Present Mic didn't notice the anomaly, but Shizuka did. So did Bakugo. The blonde boy's chair creaked as he tensed, his knuckles whitening.
Shizuka didn't look at Izuku. Instead, she reached out with a thin, needle-like thread of influence. She didn't touch the boy's mind—that would be an intrusion of the highest order—but she "smoothed" the air around him. She projected a sensation of cool, deep water, a mental "shush" that acted like a blanket over his flaring energy.
Izuku's shoulders dropped. The emerald static around his ankles, barely visible to the naked eye but blinding in the Force, flickered out. He took a shaky breath, his gaze momentarily darting to the back of Shizuka's head.
'That was... easy.' She thought to herself, wondering why it was so easy to do it, but the answer arrived pretty quickly. Bonds in The Force were often generated between master and apprentice but this one had formed too quickly for that. Right?
She chalked it up to research she could do later.
"And that, listeners, concludes our look at the preterite-perfect!" Mic announced, slamming his textbook shut with a sound like a gunshot. "Next up: Mathematics with Ectoplasm. Try to keep your heads in the game! Plus Ultra!"
Shizuka just knew what came next.
Time Skip, Lunch: 12:35
The lunch hall was a cacophony of clattering trays and the high-pitched social energy of hundreds of students. To Shizuka, it felt like being trapped inside a giant, vibrating drum.
She sat at a corner table, purposefully choosing a spot with her back to the wall. She opened her bento—meticulously packed with grilled salmon, tamagoyaki, and steamed broccoli alongside other foods—when Izuku sat across from her, only having just gotten his food. He looked like he was vibrating on a frequency only Shizuka could hear.
"Moriya-san," Izuku whispered, his eyes darting around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. "In class... when the pencil fell... did you do something? I felt like I was falling into a cold pool. The... the static just stopped."
Shizuka chewed slowly, swallowing before she spoke. Her silver eyes were steady. "I provided an anchor. You were drifting, Midoriya-san. You have the power, but you lack the philosophy to contain it. Without a code, you are simply a storm waiting to happen."
Izuku leaned in. "A code? Like the rules All Might follows?"
"Deeper than that." Shizuka set her chopsticks down. "Listen. The Force is not a tool; it is a living entity. And like any living thing, it has a shadow. We call it the Dark Side."
Izuku's expression grew somber. "The Dark Side... is that like being a Villain?"
"In many ways, that is the case. The Dark Side of The Force is fed by raw, unchecked emotions: anger, fear, jealousy, selfish emotions. It is selfishness incarnate borne from the desire for control. A Villain seeks to impose their will on the world, to create fear and pain after they too have suffered. Darksiders do the same to the Force. They stop listening to the current and force the current to go against itself, bending it to their own will." She articulated then added on, "The Dark Side is like a drug, a powerful narcotic akin to Heroin, however instead of getting one high, it gives one immense strength and power in The Force, like a shortcut to power. That's how it entraps you."
Izuku's hand gripped his water bottle so hard the plastic crinkled. "So... if I get angry at Kacchan, or if I'm too afraid during a fight... I could fall?"
"Fear is the path to the Dark Side," Shizuka quoted, her voice a low, resonant warning as she decided that the easiest way to explain it was to borrow Master Yoda's words. "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. For a Hero, those emotions can cloud your judgment. For a Force-sensitive, they can literally corrupt your soul. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."
She then switched, and let the mystery die out.
"It's seductive, Midoriya-san. It doesn't start with a desire for evil; it starts with a desire for justice or the fear of losing someone you love. You think, 'If I only had more power, I could have stopped that tragedy' or 'They've hurt others, they deserve what is coming to them.' But once you touch that power—once you let your anger give you that strength—it begins to consume you, twisting the mind until you can no longer distinguish between protecting the world and ruling it."
She watched the boy's reaction. He looked terrified—not of her, but of himself.
"The Jedi have a code we follow, it guides us." She took a breath, the words flowing from her as she recited the words like a prayer, "'There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.'"
Shizuka knew that the code was that strict, and she was testing Izuku on it. The ability to see what the code truly meant.
Izuku blinked, his brain—the one that had memorised every All Might interview ever recorded—immediately began deconstructing the words. "No emotion... but the Force comes from life, right? And life is full of emotion. All Might smiles because he wants people to feel safe. That's an emotion."
"The Jedi do not deny that." Shizuka stated the only hint she would give.
Izuku's brow furrowed. "So... 'There is no emotion' doesn't mean you don't feel things? It means you don't let the feeling drive the car?"
"Precisely." Shizuka felt a flicker of genuine approval. "A Jedi feels the same grief, the same joy, and the same fear as any other person. The difference is that we don't let them cloud our judgement. Emotions cloud one's judgement."
Izuku sat back, the half-eaten katsudon on his tray forgotten. "So, it's about... detachment? But if I detach myself from everything, how can I be a hero who connects with people? All Might says a hero is someone who meddles when they don't have to. That sounds like passion to me."
Shizuka watched a group of students laughing a few tables away. To them, the world was simple. To Izuku, everything was a heavy, interconnected web.
"It is the ultimate truth of our existence," Shizuka said softly. "When we die, we merge into The Force. It sounds religious because the Jedi are ultimately akin to a religion, but it is true."
The conversation shifted then, the weight of the universe pressing down on the cafeteria table. Izuku looked at Shizuka, really looked at her, noting the way she carried herself—not like a fifteen-year-old girl, but like someone who had lived a thousand lives in the span of one.
"Moriya-san," Izuku started, his voice hesitant. "Yesterday, you mentioned... you have a daughter? The class was... well, they were shocked. I was too. But you don't seem like... I mean..."
Shizuka's expression softened, the "Jedi Master" facade slipping for the first time. "Her name is Eri. And officially, on all the legal documents she is my younger sister."
Izuku blinked. "Your sister? Then why did you call her your daughter?"
Shizuka took a slow breath, and told the truth with a slight lie. "I took part in Vigilantism at 13. Eri is a kid I had saved from a Yakuza group for reasons I cannot say. I had taken part in Vigilantism because I felt her suffering in The Force. Actually... I almost turned to the Dark Side that day, I was using it... but pulled myself out from the edge."
She looked away, thinking. "After that, I got a new apartment for us both, since I started taking care of her as she had no one. Making a deal with the Police where in exchange for stopping my activities since I had only committed a crime once I would cooperate with the investigation into the Shie Hassaikai fully. I was given guardianship over Eri alongside a new ID for us both. Legally making her my sister, but she started seeing me as her mother and at one point called me Mama... I didn't correct her. Since then, she's been my daughter."
Izuku sat in stunned silence, his mind trying to reconcile the image of the stoic, powerful girl before him with the thirteen-year-old girl who had faced a Yakuza syndicate alone. He looked at her hands—steady, unmoving—and wondered how much blood had been on them that day.
"You... you almost fell?" Izuku whispered. The thought of a Dark Side Shizuka sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. "What did it feel like?"
Shizuka leaned back, her silver eyes clouding with the memory. "It felt like being the centre of a star, Midoriya-san. Everything was cold until it was suddenly, blindingly hot. One moment I was feeling great pain from the suffering Eri suffered and then it turned into a cold, hard knot of hatred for the man who held her. I didn't want to just stop him. I wanted him dead, badly... to torture him to death. To make him suffer for everyone he had hurt. I almost did just that until I pulled myself out. Remembering my teachings though I did kill him in the end."
"So you chose the Light," Izuku murmured.
"I chose The Force," Shizuka corrected. "The Light is just The Force and it is a constant choice. Every morning when I wake up, every time , I have to choose to let the Force flow through me rather than trying to own it. That is why you must learn the Code. Not because it's a list of chores, but because it is your lifeline."
Izuku gripped his chin, his eyes darting as he processed. "But what about the parts that don't fit? 'There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.' Does that mean we have to know everything before we act?"
"It means to expand on what you know. To always seek further knowledge." Shizuka explained, "One is never too old to stop learning. Failure is a good teacher that is why you must conquer defeatism and must not become arrogant. There is no ignorance, simply room to grow. Simply room to become more knowledgeable. In essence, 'There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.'"
Izuku scribbled frantically into a small, palm-sized notebook he'd pulled from his blazer. "So... if 'no ignorance' means we always have room to grow... what about passion? You said it's the obsession behind the action. But isn't a hero's drive a passion?"
"Passion is a fire that consumes," Shizuka said, her silver eyes tracking a fly as it buzzed near a window, her focus unwavering. "A Jedi must stay calm and collected, not letting the fire of passion guide them. Passion can make one biased and fixated. Which might be counter-intuitive to me considering my ADHD but I still remain in the Code despite that."
Shizuka watched Izuku's pen fly across the page, the ink bleeding through the paper as he pressed down with the intensity of a scholar discovering a lost civilization.
"If the Code says 'there is no passion, there is serenity,' how do you manage that with your ADHD? My mind already feels like it's running a marathon. For you... if your brain is wired to hyperfocus and jump between ideas, isn't 'serenity' almost impossible?"
Shizuka allowed a small, knowing smile to touch her lips. "It was the greatest challenge of my training. For many Jedi, serenity is a quiet room. For me, serenity is the eye of a hurricane. I don't try to stop the thoughts, Midoriya-san. If I tried to force my mind to be empty, I would be fighting against my own nature and that conflict would create the very 'chaos' the Code warns against."
She picked up a single grain of rice with her chopsticks, holding it up between them. "Instead of letting my mind jump randomly, I anchor it to the Force. I don't seek a void; I seek the connection. When my mind wants to move a mile a minute, I let it move through the Force. I track the breath of everyone in this room, the hum of the lights, the flow of the air. By acknowledging everything, I am distracted by nothing. That is my serenity."
Shizuka then ate the rice.
Izuku nodded, his eyes wide. "So it's not about being a robot. It's about... being a conductor. You're directing the noise instead of letting it deafen you."
"Exactly." Shizuka's smile grew. "The next bit of the Code isn't literal either, as it just means we shouldn't create chaos only to seek balance in all things. Much like The Force itself."
Izuku's pen finally slowed. The ink was a dense thicket of kanji and diagrams on the page. He looked at the final line of the Code he had scribbled: 'There is no death, there is the Force.'
"That last part," Izuku whispered, the sound of the bustling cafeteria fading into the background. "It sounds... lonely. If there is no death, only the Force, does that mean you don't mourn? If I lost someone... if I lost my mom... the Code says I shouldn't feel that loss?"
Shizuka set her bento lid down with a soft clack. "It is the hardest lesson for any living being to grasp. To a Jedi, mourning is natural, but attachment is the danger. We celebrate those who have moved on because they have returned to the source of all things. To cling to them, to try and hold their spirit back or to let their absence break your will to protect others... that is the path of selfishness. It is wanting them back for your sake, regardless of The Force's will."
She saw the flicker of pain in Izuku's eyes. He was a boy who wore his heart on his sleeve; the idea of "letting go" was antithetical to his entire nature as a protector.
"But," Shizuka continued, her voice softening, "That doesn't mean we don't love. It means we love without possessiveness. I love Eri more than the stars in the sky, Midoriya-san and I would mourn her death, but I would have to let go. The Jedi Grandmaster of the Intergalactic Order didn't understand the attachment rule either until her husband died and she was shown how to love with attachment."
Shizuka noticed Izuku's hand tremble. The mention of a "husband" and a "Grandmaster" had thrown him. It challenged the image of the Jedi as cold, ascetic monks.
"Her name was Isyra Lume," Shizuka added, her voice dropping into a historical resonance. "She was the bastion of the Light, yet she struggled with the same things you do. She realized that the Code is not a cage; it is a compass. If you use it to suppress your humanity, you become brittle. And brittle things break when the Dark Side strikes."
Izuku looked down at his notebook, his eyes landing on the word Attachment. "So... I can love my mom. I can want to save people. I just can't let that desire become an obsession that makes me do something... villainous?"
"Precisely. If you would burn the world to save one person, you are no longer a Hero. You are a Darksider in a Hero's cape. And inevitably that leads to becoming a Villain yourself. Let's eat whilst I explain more Jedi philosophy to you."
As they ate, the Force began to react to their proximity. It wasn't just a flow; it was a braid. A resonant hum developed between them, like two tuning forks finally finding the same pitch.
Izuku: The Seeker, the Initiate. Shizuka: The Guardian, the reluctant Master.
The Force had recognised them. It didn't matter that Shizuka still hadn't passed the last trial. In that quiet corner of the cafeteria, the ancient bond of Master and Padawan had sparked into existence, tying their destinies together with a knot that neither would notice.
Timeskip: 3:20; Shizuka's POV
The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, golden parallelograms across the floorboards of Class 1-A. The energy in the room had shifted from the lethargic post-lunch slump to a buzzing, nervous anticipation.
We had 'Hero Basic Training' next.
I sat in silence, my hands folded on my desk, simply breathing. I was tired. Not physically—my stamina was forged in forests and fuelled by the Force—but socially. Explaining the Jedi Code to Midoriya had been necessary, a planting of seeds I hoped would take root before his power shattered him, but it was draining.
Teaching was a burden I hadn't expected to shoulder so soon. I was supposed to be the Padawan here, not the Master.
Suddenly, the Force spiked.
It wasn't the subtle ripple of Aizawa's arrival or the chaotic static of the students. It was a sun. A blinding, roaring supernova of presence that felt less like a person and more like a celestial event crashing into the atmosphere.
It was warm, overwhelmingly positive, and sickeningly bright. But beneath that blinding charisma, deep in the core of that sun... there was a void. A cold, jagged wound in the Force that felt like dying embers.
"I AM..."
The door slid open with a force that rattled the frame.
"...COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"
All Might marched into the room, his Silver Age cape fluttering in a wind that didn't exist.
"It's All Might!" Kaminari shouted, nearly vibrating out of his chair.
"Wow, he really is a teacher!" Kirishima added, grinning.
To my eyes, he was a giant of a man in red, white, and blue. To my senses, he was a walking contradiction. The Symbol of Peace was dying. The Force clung to him desperately, like water circling a drain, trying to fill a vessel that was cracked beyond repair. It was tragic.
I kept my face impassive as he marched to the podium.
"I teach Hero Basic Training!" All Might announced, striking a pose that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. "It is a subject where you train in different ways to learn the basics of being a hero. You'll take the most units of this subject! Let's get right into it! This is what we'll do today..."
He flexed, producing a card with bold letters.
"COMBAT TRAINING!"
"Combat..." Bakugo breathed the word like a prayer, the Force around him sparking with jagged, red aggression.
"And to go with that are these!" All Might pointed to the wall, where shelves began to slide out, revealing numbered cases. "Costumes made based on your Quirk registrations and requests you sent in before school started!"
The class erupted into cheers. I felt a small hum of satisfaction. My own request had been... specific.
"Get changed and gather at Ground Beta!"
Later
The locker room was a chaotic mess of excitement and spandex. I ignored the chatter, moving to the corner to open my case: Number 19.
I pulled out the fabrics, running my fingers over the material. It wasn't the traditional Jedi robes, but it was certainly Jedi-like.
I stripped down and began to layer up.
First came the undertunic, a lightweight, cream-coloured mesh-armour. It looked like cloth but felt like woven impact-resistance, designed to disperse energy and minor ballistic damage. Over that went the brown overtunic that held my hood.
Instead of robes, my overtunic had a hood. Jedi often removed the robe part before taking part in a fight, I removed that useless bit by adding a hood.
I pulled on the loose, dark brown trousers that gathered at the ankles, tucking them into high, soft-soled boots made of hardened leather designed to be silent.
I tightened an sturdy brown obi around my waist moving onto the belt soon after. A sturdy piece of brown leather with empty pouches and a metal clasp for my lightsaber. Speaking of which I took my lightsaber from my school uniform and placed it on the clasp.
The click was the most comforting sound I'd heard all day.
I pulled the hood up, shadowing my face.
"Woah, Moriya-chan!" Mina Ashido chirped from across the room. She was wearing a purple and turquoise acid-proof bodysuit that left... very little to the imagination. "You look like a space monk! It's so cool! But isn't it a bit... brown?"
"Functionality over fashion, Ashido-san," I replied, my voice muffled slightly by the hood. "Colours attract attention. I prefer to remain unseen until I strike."
"So mysterious!" Toru Hagakure giggled. I couldn't see her, obviously, as she was completely naked save for her gloves and boots, but her presence in the Force was a bubbly, effervescent shimmer.
"Hagakure-san, you should probably consider getting a proper hero suit. Some villains might be capable of nullifying quirks."
'I really couldn't let this one stand,' I thought, thinking back to how Togata-senpai's suit was made, I decided to help Hagakure get her proper one.
Toru's gloves hovered mid-air as she tilted her head. "Nullifying? You mean like Aizawa-sensei? But that's super rare, isn't it? Besides, the whole point is that they can't see me coming!"
I adjusted the bronze clasp on my shoulder, my gaze turning towards the floating gloves. To others, she was a void, but to me, the Force outlined the warmth of her body, the frantic beating of her heart, and the sheer enthusiasm radiating from her.
"Over-reliance on a single advantage is a shortcut to defeat, Hagakure-san," I said, my voice soft but firm. "If you encounter a villain with infrared sensors, or someone who can manipulate dust or rain to outline your silhouette, your current 'costume' becomes a liability. Not to mention the lack of physical protection. One stray piece of shrapnel and you're out of the fight."
Mina leaned over, poking her finger into the air where Toru's shoulder likely was. "She's got a point, Toru-chan. It's a bit... drafty, isn't it?"
"I... I guess so," Toru's voice went a little small. "But what else can I do? Anything I wear just covers me up and makes me visible."
"There is a third-year student, Togata-senpai," I noted, stepping towards the locker room door. "His costume is made from fibres infused with his own hair. It allows his clothes to react to his Quirk. You should speak to the Support Department about something similar."
"Got it!" Toru chirped, her gloves punching the air in a victory sign.
Ground Beta
We emerged from the dark, concrete tunnel into the blinding afternoon sun of Ground Beta.
The transition from the dim locker room to the mock city was jarring, but magnificent. Towering buildings of concrete and glass stretched upwards, casting long, geometric shadows across the pristine streets. It was a movie set on a colossal scale, a playground built for gods and monsters.
As my eyes adjusted, I took a moment to observe my classmates.
The variety was staggering. Hero costumes were, by nature, expressions of the ego and the Quirk. Yuga Aoyama was practically a disco ball in shining armour and a cape. Tenya Iida looked like a high-end vehicle that had transformed into a knight, engines gleaming on his calves. Ochaco Uraraka was rubbing the back of her neck, looking flushed in a skin-tight pink and black suit that she clearly hadn't expected to be quite so... fitted.
"I should have been more specific with my request," she muttered, trying to adjust the fabric. "This is really tight."
"It suits your zero-gravity needs, Uraraka-san," I offered, stepping up beside her. "It minimises drag and prevents loose fabric from snagging if you're floating in debris fields."
"Oh! Moriya-san!" She jumped slightly, then looked me up and down. Her eyes widened. "Woah. You look... intense."
I adjusted my hood, ensuring it sat comfortably over my forehead. "I look prepared."
Then, a green blur caught my attention.
Izuku Midoriya walked out, tugging at a mask with long, rabbit-like ears. His suit was a full-body green jumpsuit with a red utility belt and knee pads. To the untrained eye, it looked a bit goofy. To anyone with a brain, it was a blatant, worshipping homage to All Might's hairstyle and colour scheme.
I felt a second-hand cringe ripple through the Force, but underneath it, I sensed Izuku's pride. He was wearing his mother's love. The suit had been made by her.
"Deku?" Uraraka chirped. "That looks cool! But... really down to earth?"
"It's... uh... my mom made it," Izuku stammered, his face turning the same shade as his mask.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. "It is distinctive, Midoriya-san. A symbol doesn't need to be armoured to be effective."
"Thanks, Moriya-san," he breathed out, relaxing slightly.
"AH! LOOK AT YOU ALL!"
All Might stood at the centre of the plaza, his hands on his hips, his cape billowing dramatically despite the lack of wind. His presence in the Force was still that strange, tragic dichotomy: a blinding outer sun masking a collapsing inner void.
"YOU LOOK SO COOL! NOW, SHALL WE BEGIN!"
He scanned the group, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on Izuku—fighting back a laugh or a sob, I couldn't tell—before landing on me. His gaze dropped to the hilt on my hip, and he gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Now! It is time for combat training!"
"Sensei!" Iida raised his hand, his voice stiff. " This is a battle centre from the entrance exam. Will we be conducting urban battles again?"
"No, we're going two steps ahead!" All Might held up two fingers. "Most villain clean-up happens outdoors, but statistically, the most heinous villains appear indoors! Imprisonment, house arrest, backroom deals... In this society filled with heroes, truly clever villains hide in the shadows!"
He dropped his hand, his expression turning serious.
"For this class, you'll be split into villains and heroes and fight 2-on-2 indoor battles! The situation is this: The villains have hidden a nuclear weapon somewhere in their hideout. The heroes are trying to dispose of it. The heroes must either catch the villains or get the nuclear weapon back in the allotted time. The villains must either protect the nuclear weapon for the whole time or catch the heroes."
A classic scenario. Simple objectives, infinite variables.
" Teams and opponents will be determined by drawing lots!" He produced a yellow box.
"Is that really the best way?" Iida asked.
"Pros often have to team up with heroes from other agencies on the fly," Izuku muttered, his analysis mode engaging. "So maybe that's the point?"
"I see! Please excuse my rudeness!" Iida bowed.
"It's fine! Let's do this!"
I reached into the Force as the lots were drawn, sensing the threads of destiny—or just random chance—tangling and knotting.
The teams were announced rapidly.
Team A: Tsuyu Asui and Fumikage Tokoyami.
Team B: Ochaco Uraraka and Denki Kaminari.
Team C: Rikido Sato and Shoto Todoroki.
Team D: Tenya Iida and Mashiro Ojiro.
Team E: Eijiro Kirishima and Izuku Midoriya.
Team F: Katsuki Bakugo and Koji Koda.
Team G: Yuga Aoyama and Momo Yaoyorozu.
Team H: Mezo Shoji and Kyoka Jiro.
Team I: Toru Hagakure and myself.
Team J: Mina Ashido and Hanta Sero.
"I guess we're partners!" A pair of gloves waved enthusiastically in front of my face.
"Indeed," I said, offering a small bow. "I look forward to working with you, Hagakure-san."
"And the first teams to fight will be..." All Might plunged his hands into two boxes labelled 'VILLAIN' and 'HERO'.
He pulled them out.
"Team F as Villains! And Team I as Heroes!"
The air in the plaza instantly changed. The temperature seemed to spike.
I turned my head slowly. Across the group, Katsuki Bakugo was staring at me. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't making explosions. He was just vibrating with a silent, concentrated malice that felt like a pressure cooker seconds away from structural failure.
Next to him, poor Koji Koda looked like he wanted to dissolve into the concrete. The gentle giant was trembling, casting fearful glances at his volatile partner.
"Everyone else, head to the monitor room!" All Might commanded.
"Good luck, Moriya-san!" Izuku whispered as he passed, his eyes darting nervously toward Bakugo. "Kacchan is... he's really fixated on you right now. Be careful."
"Fixation is a form of tunnel vision, Midoriya-san," I replied calmly. "And tunnel vision is easily exploited."
As the class cleared out, leaving only myself, Toru, Bakugo, Koda, and All Might, the silence stretched taut.
"Young Bakugo, Young Koda, head inside and set up your weapon! You have five minutes!" All Might instructed. "Young Moriya, Young Hagakure, you wait here until the timer starts."
Bakugo walked past me. He didn't look at me, but as he passed, he slammed his shoulder into mine. It was petty. Childish.
"Prepare yourself, Space Jesus," he growled, his voice low and gravelly. "I'm gonna turn that 'Force' of yours into smoke."
He stomped into the building. Koda gave me a terrified, apologetic look and scurried after him.
I stood still, brushing the dust off my shoulder where he'd bumped me.
"Moriya-chan..." Toru's gloves came together nervously. "Bakugo-kun is really scary. He's going to blow everything up, isn't he?"
I turned to my invisible partner, lowering my voice. "Fear is natural, Hagakure-san. But we will use his aggression against him."
I pulled a small laminate sheet from my utility belt—a map of the building's layout All Might had provided.
"Here is the plan," I said, tapping the paper. "Bakugo-san is a combatant. He defines himself by victory in battle. To him, this exercise isn't about the bomb; it's about proving he is superior to me. He feels threatened because I bested him in the Quirk Assessment."
"So... he's going to come straight for you?" Toru deduced.
"Precisely. He will abandon the objective to hunt me down. He will likely leave Koda-san alone with the weapon."
I looked at the floating gloves.
"I will be the anvil. You will be the hammer. Or rather, the ghost." I pointed to the upper floors. "When we enter, I will draw his attention. I will be loud. I will engage him. While he is focused on trying to incinerate me, you will slip past. You are invisible, silent, and he won't be looking for you."
"But Koda-kun will be there," Toru whispered.
"Koda-san is timid. If Bakugo leaves him, he will be anxious. He relies on his voice to command animals, but there are no animals in a concrete building except maybe insects and rats, which takes time to gather. If you approach him silently and capture the weapon before he realises you are there, we win without fighting him."
"Capture the weapon..." Toru sounded determined. "Okay. I can do that. I'm good at sneaking!"
"I know you are. Trust in your stealth. And trust that I can handle Bakugo-san."
"But... can you?" She sounded worried. "His explosions are huge."
I moved my hand to my hip, my fingers brushing the leather of my lightsaber.
"Size matters not," I quoted softly.
Five minutes later
"HERO TEAM, ENTER!" All Might's voice boomed over the loudspeakers.
I took a deep breath, centring myself. The Force flowed through me—the cool concrete under my boots, the stale air of the building, the distant, burning knot of rage that was Katsuki Bakugo waiting on the third floor.
"Let's go," I signalled.
We entered through a ground-floor window. The interior was dimly lit, a maze of pillars and corridors.
"Remove your gloves and boots, Hagakure-san," I whispered. "Full stealth."
"Right!"
The floating apparel vanished as she stripped them off and placed them in a corner. Now, she was truly invisible to the naked eye. But in the Force, she was a bright, nervous spark.
"Go," I commanded softly.
I felt her move away, heading toward the ventilation shafts we had discussed.
I stood in the centre of the main hallway. I closed my eyes and reached out.
There.
Third floor. Leaving the bomb room. He was moving quickly using his explosions to propel himself down the stairwell.
"STUPID DEKU! STUPID SPACE GIRL!"
I could hear him screaming even through the concrete.
I didn't hide. I walked calmly to the centre of the atrium, a large open space that connected the lower floors. I stood there, arms loose at my sides moving my hood down, my hair spread down once more.
The sound of explosions grew louder. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Then, a shadow appeared on the stairs.
"FOUND YOU!"
Katsuki Bakugo launched himself off the railing, flying through the air with a manic grin plastered on his face. His right hand was pulled back, the gauntlet sparking.
"DIE!"
The Force screamed a warning at me yet I didn't flinch. I waited until the last possible fraction of a second.
As his hand came down, I pivoted on my heel and thrusted my hand forwards. The kinetic explosion of energy send him hurling backwards with his back smashing against the pillar.
He recovered instantly, using an explosion to flip himself back onto his feet. He spun around, smoke curling from his palms.
"You think a little push is gonna stop me?!" He roared.
"I thought the objective was to protect the weapon, Bakugo-san," I said, my voice calm, echoing slightly in the large room. "Leaving your partner alone seems tactically unsound."
"SHUT UP!" He lunged again. "I don't need help to crush a pebble like you! You think you're better than me with that 'Force' crap? I'll show you what real power is!"
He fired a massive explosion from his left hand. A wall of fire and concussive force rushed toward me.
I simply raised my hand erecting a barrier of The Force that absorbed the impact with ease then I removed my lightsaber from the clasp, igniting it in it's low-power mode with a soft pshew.
Within the same movement, I lunged forwards as the explosion vanished. I came through the smoke with a plasma blade ignited. I span around and slash him in the chest, burning his uniform and causing to yelp in pain as the lightsaber sizzled his skin.
The smell of singed fabric and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone filled the space between us. Katsuki Bakugo stumbled back, his boots skidding on the concrete dust. His hand flew to his chest, clutching the scorched rent in his costume where the mesh was fused and smoking.
He looked down at the wound, then up at me. His eyes were wide, not with fear, but with a sudden, jarring comprehension that the weapon in my hand wasn't a toy.
"You..." He gritted his teeth, the word vibrating in his throat. "You actually burned me."
"It is set to a low-power setting, Bakugo-san," I explained, holding the emerald blade diagonally across my body in a classic Form III guard. The hum of the lightsaber was a low, thrumming bass note that seemed to resonate in the hollows of the room. "Enough to cause pain and cauterise, but not enough to sever a limb. I have no desire to maim a classmate."
"Maim...?" The shock in his eyes evaporated, replaced instantly by a tidal wave of fury so potent I felt it physically push against my mental shields. "DON'T LOOK DOWN ON ME!"
He didn't just move; he exploded into motion.
Bakugo launched himself into the air, using his palms as thrusters. He was fast. Terrifyingly fast. For a non-Force user, his reflexes and spatial awareness were bordering on preternatural. He corkscrewed in mid-air, bypassing my frontal guard and aiming a right hook aimed directly at my temple, his palm glowing with imminent detonation.
He aims for the head. Lethal intent.
I didn't panic. I simply pivoted on my back foot, letting the Force guide my movements. The world slowed down. I saw the sweat glands on his palm opening, the spark igniting the nitroglycerin.
I ducked under the swing, the heat of the explosion washing over my hood, singing the fabric.
As he flew past, I didn't strike with the blade. Instead, I lashed out with a focused telekinetic shove. Unable to dodge the invisible impact slammed into his ribs.
"Gah!"
He careened sideways, crashing into a concrete pillar with a bone-rattling thud. But he didn't stay down. He used the momentum of the crash to rebound, twisting like a feral cat, and fired another blast to correct his trajectory.
He landed on his feet, skidding to a halt, panting. His eyes were wild, bloodshot.
"Stop using your invisible tricks and fight me!" he roared, spit flying from his lips.
"I am fighting you," I replied, my voice steady, betraying none of the adrenaline coursing through my system. "You are simply failing to adapt."
"DIE!"
He came at me again, this time keeping to the ground. He zigzagged, using small, controlled explosions to change direction erraticlly, trying to throw off my aim. It was a clever tactic. Against a normal opponent, it would be overwhelming. The noise alone—the constant BANG-BANG-BANG—was designed to induce panic.
But I was not a normal opponent. I was a Jedi.
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, tuning out the noise and focusing on his signature in the Force. He was a burning coal, erratic and hot. I could feel where he was, and more importantly, where he would be.
He feinted left, then lunged right.
I stepped into his guard.
My lightsaber hummed as I brought it up in a swift, vertical arc. I didn't aim for his body this time. I aimed for the space between us, creating a wall of green plasma.
Bakugo flinched, his instinct to avoid the heat overriding his desire to attack. He broke his momentum, backflipping away.
"Coward!" he screamed. "Stop playing defence!"
"A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defence, never for attack," I recited, though I knew the words would fall on deaf ears. "Your anger is making you sloppy, Bakugo-san. You are telegraphing every move."
"SHUT UP!"
He raised his right arm. My eyes narrowed. I saw his other hand reach for the pin on his grenade-shaped gauntlet.
The Force screamed a warning. A high-pitched keen that drowned out the hum of my saber.
Danger. High Yield.
Recognising the danger, I moved my left hand up.
"Young Bakugo, stop!" All Might's voice crackled over the comms system, sounding frantic. "Are you trying to kill her?! You can't use a fully charged attack indoors!"
Bakugo's grin was manic, bordering on unhinged. "She won't die if she dodges!"
He pulled the pin.
Time seemed to freeze.
I saw the ignition mechanism trigger. I felt the massive reservoir of stored nitroglycerin sweat ignite and before long a searing column of orange fire and concussive force roared toward me, tearing up the floor tiles and shattering the windows.
Yet with the same calmness, I simply created a second Force Barrier. The impact was like being hit by a freight train. My boots slid backward, carving grooves into the concrete floor. The heat was intense as the air around me shimmered and warped as the explosion slammed against the invisible shield I had erected.
For three seconds, the world was nothing but fire and noise.
Then, silence.
The smoke was thick, acrid and black. I stood amidst the devastation, my chest rising and falling with my breath. A cone of untouched concrete stretched out behind me, preserved by my barrier. Everywhere else, the walls were scorched black.
I lowered my hand. Sure the explosion held more power than I thought but The Force was with me as it always was.
"You..."
The smoke cleared. Bakugo stood there, his arm smoking, his eyes wide. His jaw was slack. He was staring at me as if I were a ghost.
"You blocked it," he whispered, his voice cracking. "How... how did you block that?"
"I told you," I said, my voice raspy from the smoke. "The Force is my ally."
Bakugo's shock morphed back into rage, but this time, it was desperate. Desperate and terrified. He had thrown his strongest attack, and I was still standing. His worldview—the one where he was the undisputed strongest—was cracking.
"NO!" He screamed, charging through the smoke without any technique, just raw, flailing aggression. "IT'S NOT POSSIBLE!"
He was wide open.
I didn't need to slash him. As he ran at me, blind with fury, I simply sidestepped and extended a leg.
He tripped.
It was anticlimactic. The boy who could fly with explosions face-planted into the concrete.
Before he could scramble up, I was already placing a boot squarely in the centre of his back, pinning him to the floor.
"GET OFF ME!" He thrashed, popping small explosions against the floor, but I applied Force-enhanced pressure, keeping him pinned.
"Do you hear that, Bakugo-san?" I asked, looking up at the ceiling.
"HEAR WHAT?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"
"The silence," I said softly. "While you were screaming and blowing up the hallway... you forgot something."
"HERO TEAM WINS!" All Might's voice boomed over the speakers.
Bakugo froze. He stopped thrashing. He lay there, pinned beneath my boot, his breathing ragged and harsh.
"What...?" he choked out.
"The weapon has been secured!" All Might announced. "Young Hagakure has touched the bomb!"
I stepped back, removing my boot from his back. I clipped my lightsaber to my belt and looked down at him.
"You were so focused on crushing the 'pebble' that you didn't notice the mountain had moved," I then simply stated, "Checkmate, Bakugo-san."
The Monitor Room: third-person POV
The silence in the monitor room was absolute. Twenty students stood frozen, their faces illuminated by the flickering blue light of the screens. They hadn't just watched a combat exercise; they had witnessed a systematic dismantling of Class 1-A's most volatile ego.
On the screen, Shizuka Moriya was walking toward the exit, her movements fluid and unbothered, while Katsuki Bakugo remained on the floor, a crumpled figure of silent, shaking fury.
"That was... terrifying," Denki Kaminari finally choked out, breaking the spell. "She didn't even look like she was trying. She just... stood there while he tried to nuke her."
"It wasn't just standing there, Kaminari-kun," Momo Yaoyorozu corrected, her eyes narrowed in deep thought. "Her strategy was flawless. She exploited Bakugo-san's psychological profile with surgical precision. She knew his fixation on her would override his tactical common sense."
Izuku Midoriya stood at the back of the group, his hands trembling. He could still feel the echoes of the fight through the Force—the jagged, searing heat of Kacchan's rage clashing against the cool, impenetrable deep-sea pressure of Shizuka's presence. Seeing her ignite that blade... seeing her hold back a blast that would have levelled a city block... it changed everything.
'She wasn't lying,' Izuku thought, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. 'If she had wanted to, she could have ended that fight in the first second. She wasn't fighting a classmate; she was managing a hazard.'
The door to the monitor room hissed open. Shizuka walked in first, her hood down, her silver eyes scanning the room with that same unsettling tranquility. Behind her, Toru Hagakure was practically vibrating with excitement, having put her gloves and boots back on.
"We did it! We actually did it!" Toru cheered. "Moriya-chan was like a wall! Koda-kun was so surprised when I touched the bomb, he didn't even have time to call the birds—not that there were many birds in there anyway!"
Finally, Bakugo entered. He didn't look at anyone. His head was bowed, his shoulders hunched, and the smell of burnt nitroglycerin and ozone clung to him like a shroud. He walked to the furthest corner of the room and stared at the floor, his hands curled into white-knuckled fists.
All Might cleared his throat, his massive form casting a long shadow over the students. He looked at Shizuka, then at the rest of the class.
"WELL!" All Might's voice lacked its usual booming cheer. It was more sober, more analytical. "That was... an intense start! Now, can anyone tell me who the MVP of this match was, and why?"
Momo Yaoyorozu raised her hand immediately. "It was Moriya-san, without question."
"Correct!" All Might nodded. "And why is that, Young Yaoyorozu?"
"Because she was the only one who stayed true to the objective while simultaneously managing the combat variable," Momo explained, her voice clear and confident. "Bakugo-san acted on a personal grudge, abandoning the weapon and his partner. Koda-san, while diligent, was too intimidated by his partner's aggression to take a defensive initiative. Hagakure-san performed her role well, but the entire success of the 'stealth' mission relied on Moriya-san's ability to draw and hold the enemy's aggro."
Momo turned to look at Shizuka. "Moriya-san used the environment, psychological warfare, and defensive mastery to ensure a victory with zero civilian casualties—if we consider the building the 'civilian' sector. She also attempted to communicate and de-escalate, even if it was unsuccessful. She acted like a true Pro."
"EXCELLENT ANALYSIS!" All Might beamed, though he shot a worried glance at the silent Bakugo. "Moriya-san, do you have anything to add?"
Shizuka stepped forward. The class leaned in, waiting for a boast, a lecture, or perhaps another cryptic Jedi proverb.
"I have a correction for the class's perception of the match," Shizuka said, her voice dropping into that resonant, calm cadence. "The win did not belong to me alone. Hagakure-san's contribution was the most vital. In a real-world scenario, a villain as powerful as Bakugo-san is a distraction. If a Hero gets tunnel vision on the 'Boss' villain, they lose the bomb. Hagakure-san remained focused on the lives at stake. That is the essence of being a Guardian."
She then turned her gaze toward the corner.
"As for Bakugo-san," she continued, and the room seemed to get five degrees colder. "His failure was not a lack of power. He has more raw potential than almost anyone in this room. His failure was his fear."
"FEAR?!" Bakugo's head snapped up, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a desperate, wounded pride. "What the hell do you know about fear, you space freak?!"
"You fear being passed," Shizuka replied, unmoving. "You fear that if you aren't the strongest, you are nothing. That fear led to your anger, and your anger led to the sloppiness I exploited. You weren't fighting me, Bakugo-san. You were fighting your own shadow. Until you learn to let go of your need for superiority, you will always be easy to trip."
The room was deathly quiet. Even All Might seemed taken aback by the bluntness of the critique. It wasn't an insult; it was a diagnosis.
"RATIONAL!" A voice rasped from the doorway.
Aizawa was standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking as exhausted as ever. He had clearly been watching.
"Moriya is right," Aizawa said, his dull eyes sweeping over the class. "Bakugo, you were a liability today. If this were a real mission, your partner would be dead and the city would be a crater. Moriya, your performance was exemplary, but don't get arrogant. The Force is a powerful tool, but it doesn't make you invincible."
"I am aware, Sensei," Shizuka bowed slightly. "But The Force isn't a tool, it's an ally."
"We'll talk about your reliance on your power. Everyone else, get ready for the next match," Aizawa commanded. "All Might, continue."
As the class began to move, Izuku caught Shizuka's eye. He gave her a small, shaky thumbs-up. Shizuka nodded back, but her focus was already shifting. She felt the ripple of the next match forming in the Force—Todoroki's cold, biting isolation and Midoriya's rising, emerald determination.
The "Space Monk," as Mina had called her, moved back into the shadows of the room. She had secured the win, humiliated the class's strongest fighter and provided a live-action demonstration of Jedi philosophy.
But as she leaned against the wall, her hand instinctively went to the small pouch on her belt where she kept a picture of Eri. Eri and her, actually. A small smile graced her lips as she looked at it.