Combat training.
U.A. Training Grounds – Gym Gamma.
Aizawa stood in front of the class with his usual deadpan tone, scarf coiled loose around his neck.
"You'll be fighting in pairs. Standard evaluation format: neutralize your opponent or gain positional advantage. This isn't about flashy power. It's about control."
That last word hung in the air longer than it should have.
Yūgami-no-Mikado stood at the edge of the line, hands in his cloak sleeves, eyes half-lidded.
No one spoke to him.
No one had, really. Since orientation.
His presence wasn't hostile—but something about him made people instinctively wait before trying.
Until now.
"Match four," Aizawa called out.
"Mikado versus Katsuro Jin."
The class murmured.
Jin cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward—tall, broad-shouldered, with a heat-glow Quirk that turned his body into living magma when triggered.
"Yo. Mikado, right?" he said, rolling his neck. "I've been curious, man. You talked real vague last week."
Mikado said nothing.
Jin grinned, stepping into the center of the mat.
"Well, here's your chance to impress."
Mikado walked forward without expression. No stance. No tension in his shoulders. He stopped five steps from the center. Hands relaxed at his sides.
Aizawa raised his hand.
"Begin."
Jin didn't waste time. His arms lit up—veins glowing orange as molten heat surged beneath his skin. He stomped forward, heatwaves distorting the air around him.
"I'm not gonna hurt you too bad," he said, half-joking. "Just wanna see that Quirk of yours in action."
Still, Mikado didn't move.
Jin lunged—and stopped cold.
Not because of an attack.
But because Mikado… slowly raised his hands. And began to cross his fingers.
A faint sound filled the space.
Not power. Not energy. Just breath.
Every student watching leaned forward—expecting something massive.
Jin flinched instinctively, sweat flashing across his temple.
But Mikado stopped. Inches before the fingers crossed fully.
He let them fall.
"No," Mikado said, voice quiet.
"You're not worth it."
Jin's jaw clenched. "The hell does that mean—"
Before he could finish, Mikado stepped in.
Just one step.
He was inside Jin's guard in an instant.
No teleportation. No effect. No glow.
Just a perfect step into perfect space.
Jin reared back a punch—
And stopped.
Mikado's two fingers—uncrossed—rested lightly against his throat.
Not pressing. Just present.
He leaned in, whispering flat enough for only Jin to hear.
"If I had drawn the circle… you wouldn't still be standing."
Jin backed away. Confused. Angry. But shaken.
Aizawa raised his hand.
"Fight's over."
"What?" Jin barked. "We didn't even—"
"You lost positioning. He didn't have to move again."
Silence followed.
Mikado returned to the sideline without looking back. He sat down exactly where he had stood before. Hands folded. Eyes closed.
Someone from the back finally whispered it:
"What the hell happens if he does cross his fingers?"