Tenya Iida carried a duty, a destiny, to become a hero.
Born into a legacy of dependability, he strove for precision in every action, every decision. Even a single flaw meant more than failure. It meant proving himself unworthy of the Iida name.
Heroes were the pillars of society, the vanguard of order. And his brother, Tensei, was the immaculate model upon that road.
But—
A charred yellow backpack.
The image snagged in his mind like a burr. He had seen it slung over the shoulder of a green-haired boy entering the auditorium.
It was the same one. The same scorched leather his brother had carried that day. Armor soot-streaked, jaw tired, smile strained.
'Bad intel. That's all I can tell you.'
Tensei's visage at the dinner table had been completely different. The burdened shoulders and tight lines around his eyes from the day was like an ephemeral dream.
Even so. It wasn't.
"The fault lies with me. As team leader, I accept full responsibility." Camera flashing. His brother alongside his whole team bowing.
Tenya's respect for U.A. and Might Tower had only grown when they supported the Idaten Agency through the difficult aftermath.
When the time came to visit the victims, Tenya had wanted to accompany his brother, needing to be a part of the atonement, of the solution.
"Ah, don't worry, Tenya. Focus on your exam."
Pat-pat-Pat
Pating his head. Still treating him like a child.
He could have assured Tensei, he wasn't.
Later, his brother spoke warmly of the victims he'd met, especially one boy— brave, analytical, with a bright future in heroics.
Tenya had felt… slightly bothered.
Bothered that he wasn't the one easing his brother's worries. Bothered, in a way he couldn't quite articulate, by how often his brother mentioned this nameless "heroic boy."
Seated in the front row of the auditorium with dozens of questions about the practical exam in mind, he found he could not voice a single one.
He just kept seeing that backpack.
'Be composed.'
He steadied himself as he stood before the massive gates of Battle Zone B. A model hero candidate must be absolute.
But—
When he spotted the green-haired boy again in the crowd, his legs moved on their own.
Wiish! Wiish!
Hand chopping the air. He opened his mouth to correct the boy's behavior, to demand focus—
Then—
"Don't let intensity turn unkind. Don't forget to breathe."
His brother's advice echoed in his ears, stopping the words in his throat.
"Huuu—f!"
Tenya inhaled deeply, retracting his hand. Yes. An aspiring hero should be calm.
"AAAND START!"
Present Mic's voice detonated through the air.
Dash!
The green-haired boy was already moving.
Tenya blinked. Where's The countdown? The signal?
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! REAL BATTLES DON'T HAVE COUNTDOWNS!"
Vrrrm! Vrrrm!
Tenya's engines roared to life, indecision and training warring for a split second before training won. He launched forward, carving the optimal route through the stun-locked crowd.
But the green-haired maverick, who had started so prematurely and recklessly, had already vanished into the mock city's streets.
He adjusted his glasses as the wind whipped past. The backpack was a variable for later contemplation.
For now, there were points to secure, and protocol to demonstrate.
The following moments passed in the blur that always accompanied his Engine's use. With his high-speed mobility, he prioritized the Sprinter bots, targets built for speed, susceptible to torque.
Vrrrm!
Chasing down the three-pointers.
Clang!
Kicking through exposed weak points.
Crash!
Driving bots into each other's trajectories.
Clean. Efficient.
There were mishaps, of course.
A fully destroyed chassis here. Lost capture bonus.
A cracked curb there.
Marked Penalty points.
Of course, he admonished himself instantly for every failure. Tensei would probably be amused, calling him 'too stiff, like always.'
But Tenya knew: without self-correction, discipline decayed and complacency take roots. And as Grandfather always said—
"Complacency is the root of failure."
So when—
RUMBLE!
The world darkened.
A mountain of metal alloy and grinding pistons towered over the district skyline.
Tenya's teeth rattling in his skull. "The Zero-Pointer. A test of judgment."
Huge. Irrational. Scoreless. A trap for fools meant to test threat assessment.
"Evacuate!" he commanded, waving his arms in perfect, standardized signaling motions to the frozen examinees nearby. "It is an obstacle! Retreat immediately!"
He turned to withdraw. It was the logical choice. The heroic choice: prioritize order and survival.
But—
Whoosh!
A streak of green lightning shot past him.
It was close enough that the displaced air slapped his cheek. Close enough to smell the sharp tang of ozone.
Toward the danger.
Tenya froze. His immaculate logic sputtering.
The boy who had carried the backpack. The reckless starter.
'What is he doing?' Tenya thought, scandalized. 'There are no points! It is suicide! Is he trying to prove his bravery? That's madness!'
"Stop!" Tenya shouted, hand reaching out. "Come ba—"
Then he saw it.
The brown-haired girl, the one who floated things, trapped in the Zero-Pointer's grasp, dangling high in the air above its grinding maw.
Tenya hadn't even noticed her.
His engines stalled. His mind stilled.
The boy vaulted debris, scaled collapsing structures with desperate, terrifying grace.
Tenya had assessed the threat. Calculated the score. Followed protocol.
Still—
The greenette launched himself at the titan, climbing its massive frame, dodging crushing blows, landing on its shoulder.
Vrrrm! Tenya's engines revved, but his feet stayed planted.
Why was he...
His brother's voice resurfaced, unbidden:
Pat-pat-Pat.
"Hmm, hmm. The most ideal method? Well, you know for me, the coolest heroes are the one who reaches people before the crisis does."
Ruffle. Ruffle.
BOOOM!
The Titan's head snapped back.
Drrn! Drrn!
Tenya finally broke his paralysis, sprinting toward the Zero-Pointer just as the boy and the girl floated gently down through the dust cloud, hands clasped.
BEEEEEP!
"AAAND, TIME'S UP!"
Present Mic's voice shattered the tension.
SKID—!
Tenya halted, barely keeping from pitching forward.
Silence settled over the ruined district. By every metric, he had done well. More than well.
Yet, his eyes drifted to the settling dust beneath the Zero-Pointer.
From another street, a tall boy emerged—masked, multi-armed.
He was running toward the same point Tenya faced.
The boy's mask obscured most of his face, but his gait carried purpose. Same direction. Same urgency.
'He moved too? While I hesitated?'
Tenya followed, legs suddenly heavy.
Then—
"Sorry—wuua."
A high-pitched female voice rang out from inside the half-collapsed building ahead.
Tenya's stride faltered.
Shloosh—splat! Another sound.
The multi-armed boy, one auxiliary ear still extended toward the sound, squinted his primary eyes, mask scrunching.
Ectoplasm emerged from the haze, one clone dissolving into a puddle, the other supporting the limp green-haired boy.
Behind them staggered the girl, pale, clutching her stomach. A rescue bot trundled behind them, its eyes sweeping the area.
WEE-WOO! WEE-WOO!
A siren pierced the settling quiet.
A white medical buggy rolled toward them, its oversized wheels navigating rubble with mechanical precision. A rescue bot sat in the driver's seat.
The buggy stopped.
PSSH—
The passenger door hissed open.
"Injured found," the bot announced, its tone flat.
"Huf!"
With a grunt, an elderly woman climbed out. Small, hunched, and wielding a large syringe shaped cane.
Recovery Girl.
Tenya straightened instinctively. One of U.A.'s most vital assets, possessing the legendary healing Quirk.
"Status?" she demanded.
"The kid said his whole body is numbed," the Ectoplasm clone reported, gesturing toward the green-haired boy.
Recovery Girl's sharp eyes swept over him. She examined the faint green sparks fading beneath his skin and sighed.
"Of course it is."
The words carried the weight of someone who'd heard this exact complaint a thousand times before. As she whispered something to herself that Tenya couldn't catch—
"AH, FORGOT TO TELL YA! FOR THOSE LISTENERS PLANNING ON SUING, AS THE U.A LEGAL TEAM..."
SLAM! "COUGH. COUGH."
Present Mic's voice blared over the speakers again, then cutting out abruptly as if someone had physically tackled him.
Sigh!
Siiigh!
The hero's clone and the old heroine both sighed simultaneously.
As if used to this routine.
Tap!
Tapping her cane, the old heroine glanced at the girl.
"And you... hmm, let's see."
"Bruises," the girl wheezed out, "mostly bruises from that metal hand."
Then coincidentally—
"AS I WAS SAYING. FYI. THE ZERO POINTERS WERE A GIMMICK! TO FRIGHTEN AND CAPTURE! THERE WASN'T ANY INDUSTRIAL MINS—"
Slam!
"Cough. Cough."
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Recovery Girl's stick continued tapping the pavement. She didn't care about the announcement.
But for Tenya, the words should have felt vindicating.
It was a gimmick. A trap. He was right.
So why did he feel… wrong?
"Also my backside aches from a fall," the girl added, rubbing her lower back.
"Are… are you okay? I am sorry I didn't know how to deactivate float. So.. so I…" The green-haired boy rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
The girl blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?" Then she smiled, bright and genuine despite the dust on her face. "I'm fine. Thanks to you."
The green-haired boy opened his mouth, but the girl cut him off.
"So, is the floating a new thing?"
"W-Well i-it's…"
"Lay down there—" Recovery Girl interjected, pointing at the stretcher on the buggy.
Then she pointed at the girl. "—And you, sit before you keel over."
The clone helped the boy onto the bed.
The girl collapsed onto the buggy's bench beside him, relief washing over her features.
Recovery Girl turned to the Ectoplasm clone. "Triage tent. North quadrant. I'll handle these two first."
"So... um, let's definitely keep in touch, okay?!"
The boy turned weakly at the girl's words, eyes slightly wide.
"I really wanna hear all about your Quirk! My Quirk also floats things, ya see. So I'm super, super curious about yours! Let's exchange contact info!" the girl added, rubbing the back of her head.
There was a silence amidst the wreckage for a moment.
"I'm Ochako Uraraka," she breathed.
"Izuku… Midoriya."
After a breath, the buggy hummed to life and sped off, leaving Tenya and the masked boy in the settling dust.
Their eyes met for a moment in an unspoken acknowledgment,before the boy gave a brief nod and departed.
Tenya stood tall. Posture flawless, points secured.
A tinge of hollowness settled in him. A sense of not knowing what to do next.
For the first time in his life, Tenya Iida wondered if he had brought the wrong equipment to the exam.
The image of his brother from this morning surfaced again —
Pat-pat-Pat
"In the end," Tensei had said, "you have to decide what kind of hero you want to be."
Ruffle. Ruffle.
Rubbing his chin, wearing a sly, self-satisfied smile, nodding as if praising his own wisdom—his hand never leaving Tenya's hair.
"Hmm, hmm. I am good at giving advice, aren't I?"
'Brother really must stop those childish head pats,'
Tenya thought, as he dashed toward the exit, the engine's humming a low, uncertain note.
'I am not a child... not anymore.'
***
Scorching furnace of sand and chilling gust of the sea.
The stone pressed against his spine radiated both.
The vague, dreamlike suspension he had felt before, drifting like a leaf upon an aimless stream, was gone.
There was mass now.
There was inertia.
There was actuality.
WHIZZ—
A wind heavy with ozone and petrichor brushed his cheeks, the sharp, metallic tang of a storm lingering in lightning's wake.
—SWOOSH
Streams converged and diverged, babbling and branching, flowing and splitting like a vast nervous system stretched across the void.
Izuku opened his eyes.
SHIMMER!
Starlight danced along a river of power, reflections rippling as memories drifted through it like silt. He was no longer hovering above the scene as a passive observer.
He was anchored.
Eight other thrones came into view, arranged in a rough semicircle. The fog that had once obscured them was gone, burned away completely. The realm's crystalline clarity was almost overwhelming compared to the hazy static of his earlier, accidental visits.
He was seated on the Ninth Throne.
Six thrones faced him, edges framed by flame: amber, jade, pink, amethyst, white, and a faint, flickering gold that pulsed with the rhythm of a weary heart.
Two were turned away.
Facing the opposite side.
His mind drifted. An echo from earlier that afternoon surfacing unbidden—
"Reckless. Foolish. And foolhardy."
The cold voice had cut cleanly through the boisterous chatter of the man who had introduced himself with "Banjo, Lariat, whatever you like, kid," and through Nana Shimura's teasing as Izuku waved goodbye to Uraraka-san at the station, her contact information safely stored in his phone.
Though he hadn't known the name, the image of a throne engulfed in blazing azure flame had filled his thoughts then.
"Madness indeed," the voice had whispered, overlaying the mundane clatter of the station. "Madness that will bring death. If not yours, then the mission's."
That voice had not spoken again.
But another had followed.
"Chief's right."
Crimson flame, smooth and clinical, flared in his mind.
"The irregular and admittedly impressive feat of breaking the mental block notwithstanding, it was unnecessary. Tactically unsound."
A pause, heavy with the weight of decades of war.
"After all… it was only an exam."
They hadn't spoken since. Nor had the others. Yoichi had quieted them with a snap of his fingers, murmuring gentle instructions for Izuku to rest as the train rolled toward Tatooin Station.
The quiet at home hadn't lasted, replaced first by his mother's frantic worry over his bandaged finger—which Recovery Girl hadn't healed due to his bottomed-out stamina—and then by happy tears at the news that he'd made a friend.
It had been exhausting.
Overwhelming.
It had been home.
But now, in the silence of this realm, the sight of the turned thrones dragged those words back into focus. They pressed against his chest. Heavy, unyielding.
The turned thrones rang loudly without sound.
The message was unmistakable.
Rejection.
"Welcome back, Nine."
The gentle voice snapped him from the spiral.
Izuku looked forward.
Yoichi sat upon the middle Throne, posture relaxed, his smile tired yet warm, like a man who had waited a century for someone to finally arrive.
"They…" Izuku began. His voice echoed strangely, solid, grounded, more real than it had ever sounded here. "They think I made a mistake."
Yoichi's smile didn't falter. "They spoke from their truth." His eyes glanced to the thrones wreathed in azure and crimson. "A truth forged in a darker time."
He leaned forward, gaze locking onto Izuku's.
"You sat on the throne, Izuku. Willingly. You accessed the core. You are here, not as a passenger now, but as the Pilot."
Yoichi-san's voice rippled through the Streams, calm snd steady.
"Ah, forget about those stubborn bastards!"
Banjo—Lariat—leaned forward with a wide, irreverent grin.
"They've been scowling since the day they died! Don't let 'em get to you kid."
Thud.
His fist slammed into the arm of his throne.
"What you did was gutsy! That was heroism! The kind that doesn't wait for a damn manual!"
"Don't overwhelm the boy, Lariat."
The quiet but clear voice came from the throne wreathed in amethyst flame—tone slightly higher, thinner than the others, yet grounded with unmistakable weight.
"En. En Tayutai,the Sixth." The man introduced himself with a brief nod, pointedly ignoring Banjo's muttered, "Aw, I wanted to make that reference…"
He steepled his fingers, gaze thoughtful. "It is true that your actions today were tactically unsound, as the Second and Third said."
Izuku flinched.
"But," En continued, cutting off Banjo's already-forming protest, "you acted. Faced with a perceived crisis, using the resources at hand, you moved. You prioritised a life over optimal strategy."
A pause.
"That, too, is the truth. A more… complicated one."
The words churned inside Izuku, tangled and heavy.
"It must have been painful."
The voice came from the throne wreathed in jade flame—rasped yet soothing, like wind through dry reeds. The man offered a weary, understanding smile.
"To overcome the fear. To channel the power." His gaze sharpened slightly. "If Bruce is to be believed, you didn't bypass the block. You tore through it."
It was neither praise nor condemnation.
"A trade. Not a triumph. But… an understandable one."
Izuku swallowed. He didn't know how to respond.
"Hikage Shinomori," the man said at last. "Fourth in the line."
'Fourth…'
Izuku's thoughts spiraled into familiar habits—
'Second and Third—the turned ones. Banjo-san is Fifth. En-san is Sixth—'
His eyes darted instinctively.
The Seventh—
One throne was empty.
GLOMP!
One moment, he stood beneath the weight of centuries, of war, strategy, consequence—
The next, he was being pulled forward.
Arms wrapped around him. Firm. Warm. Unyielding.
"Ah."
The sound was soft. Certain.
Izuku froze.
His face pressed into something familiar—fabric, faintly scented with clean linen and something floral. The scent of a home that existed only in memory.
"There it is," the woman murmured, a hand settling between his shoulder blades. "That posture."
"H-huh?"
She pulled back just enough to look at him, hands still on his shoulders. Her smile was bright, sharp, and devastatingly kind.
"Toshinori finally had a son."
Izuku's brain short-circuited.
"N-No!" he sputtered, face flushing hot enough to rival Endeavor. "I—I mean, he's—! But not—! I'm not—!"
He flailed helplessly as Nana Shimura laughed, clear and ringing, slicing through the heaviness of the realm.
"Oh, finally," she sighed happily. "Someone I can spoil."
Izuku made a small, helpless sound.
"The big lug was…" She waved a hand vaguely. "…well. A big lug, always was. And my..."
Her gaze drifted, unfocused, seeing someone who wasn't there.
Then she blinked, mischief returning in full force. "Besides, Toshi was far too busy gallivanting across America to think about settling down. Too many starry-eyed heroines, not enough common sense!"
The golden vestige of All Might buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with pure, unfiltered despair.
"Hey, don't be too hard on the Eighth!" Banjo chimed in. "Can't blame the guy! Teenager, finally free, built like a truck, and in Vegas. Well, California-Vegas."
"It was Los Angeles." En corrected with a long sigh. "Not Las Vegas."
Banjo waved him off. "Same thing."
"It is objectively not."
"And honestly, from what I remember, that first lady-friend of his was the one pushing it, not the eighth," Banjo continued. "What was her name again? The one with the lasso and the—"
Hikage didn't look up as he spoke. "It's Cow Lady."
Then Toshinori Yagi let out a silent scream of existential shame and slowly melted sideways out of his throne.
Nana Shimura threw her head back and laughed, the sound booming through the star-dusted Streams.
Izuku Midoriya stood frozen—All Might, Vegas, and Cow Lady now forever, disastrously linked in his mind.
Amid the chaos, Yoichi watched quietly.
He said nothing.
He simply smiled.
And somehow, Izuku understood the unspoken words.
We are here.
***
BEEP. WHIRR. CLICK.
The wall of screens lining the giant display of the observation deck shifted in flawless synchrony.
The raw, frenetic live feeds of the battle zones collapsed inward, replaced by regimented torrents of data. Graphs assembling, timelines aligning, replay loops indexing with surgical precision.
Power Loader paused mid-motion, then released a slow breath as he studied a rapidly updating readout.
"Incredible," he muttered, tapping a final command into his console. "Usually, sorting the raw footage from a multi-zone exam takes us well into the midnight. But with the new algorithm pre-tagging Quirk interactions… the compilation speed is five times faster than last year."
"A mercy," Midnight sighed, stretching her arms above her head. "We aren't the Principal; our brains don't run on super-processor speeds. We need organized footage to evaluate properly."
Reclining deeper into her chair, leather whispering beneath her, a lazy smile formed at her lips.
"Normally we'd be halfway through our third pot of coffee before the primary sort even pretended to finish."
Nezu sat atop the central console, paws folded with ceremonial neatness.
His small frame remained perfectly still, while his eyes followed the flowing data, not so much reading it as anticipating it.
"Hmmm…"
The sound was soft. Thoughtful.
"With the recent reforms," Nezu began mildly, "applications have increased by 24.3% this year. A predictable outcome, really. Hope, after all, scales logarithmically with opportunity."
Several screens updated at once, almost as if responding.
Nezu's smile widened by a fraction.
"My sincere thanks, Mr. Heimdall," he called out pleasantly. "Your work has ensured that no one is overlooked."
From the central speaker, the smooth, synthetic voice responded. "You are welcome, Principal Nezu. The data is prepped for final scoring."
"Excellent," Nezu chirped. "Let us begin. Filter by Point Distribution: Extremes."
The massive central screen split, populating with data streams and highlighted clips.
On one side, a boy with dual-colored hair slid across a battlefield of ice, a towering bar graph dwarfing the rest of the dataset.
"Shoto Todoroki," Snipe drawled, adjusting his mask. "Highest raw point total in the batch."
"Look at that capture bonus," Midnight said, eyes narrowing with interest. "Entire clusters frozen instantly. Very clean captures."
"He relied exclusively on ice," Nezu said, highlighting the replay. "Not a single spark of fire."
The footage shifted. Thermal overlays flickering faintly over ice creeping across metal.
"For the exam as a whole, that was correct," Nezu continued calmly. "Ice offers superior containment and low collateral damage."
The Zero Pointer filled the screen, breaking free from the ice.
"Against this, however, heat would have been cleaner. Melt the joints, compromise the core, minimal spillover."
The jagged glacier bloomed across the display, spearing the machine and the surrounding block alike.
"That is… stubborn consistency," Nezu finished lightly.
"And an expensive one," Power Loader grunted, keying in a command.
A red overlay crawled across the hologram as structures lit up one by one.
"Consistency costs," he said flatly. "Street fixtures, load-bearing façades, subsurface utilities. Freeze fracture runs deep."
A figure finalized at the bottom of the display.
"Almost 200 thousand yen in repairs," Cementoss noted from the side, rubbing his chin. "Ice expansion did more damage after the takedown than the fight itself."
Penalty log flagged—
Penalty Assesment: 38.7%
He folded his arms. "Good control. Wrong tool for that target."
"He has the power," Midnight mused, "but he's blunt."
"Contrast that with this," Nezu said, swiping the display.
Juzo Honenuki's profile replaced it.
Capture Bonus: 1st
Penalty: 4.3%
"Now this is a capture specialist," Ectoplasm rumbled approvingly. "Softened the terrain into quicksand. Trapped dozens of bots simultaneously with minimal infrastructure damage. High mobility, wide area of effect, excellent restraint."
"The capture bonus really let technical Quirks shine this year," Thirteen said as the screen zoomed to multiple feeds and charts.
Sero Hanta—taping debris and binding bots.
Mineta Minoru—sticking Sprinters together in clumsy but effective clumps.
Kojiro Bondo—spraying quick-drying glue to immobilize Brawlers.
Yosetsu Awase—welding Juggernauts to pavements.
"But these two," Nezu said, highlighting specific profiles, "are especially noteworthy."
Ibara Shiozaki—vines flowing through streets like living wire, dismantling sensors and binding limbs with surgical precision.
Shihai Kuroiro—vanishing into shadows, hijacking the bot's own dark recesses to sabotage them from within.
"Dexterity and stealth," Mic proclaimed, still soothing a head bump. "They didn't fight. They dismantled those bots."
"Zero penalty points," Thirteen noted approvingly. "And they cracked the top ten purely on efficiency and bonus scores."
"And then," Aizawa said from the back, voice flat, "there's the opposite."
The screen bled red.
Katsuki Bakugo.
Combat Points: 1st
Assist Points: 0
Capture Bonus: 0
Rescue Points: 0
Bakugo was a storm of violence. Explosions ripped through steel frames, asphalt buckled, and shrapnel screamed through the air.
"Good lord," Cementoss sighed. "Look at that damage report."
The screen cycled through wreckage: a storefront with its entire front wall blown out, a street sign embedded in a fourth-story window, a parked car flipped and charred.
Penalty Assessment: 39.2% Deduction
Estimated Damage: 196,000 yen
"He destroyed almost as much city as he did robots," Vlad King muttered. "No capture attempts. No teamwork. No restraint."
"And yet," Nezu said, an amused tone in his voice, "he remains in the top ten."
Silence fell as the staff processed the numbers. Even with nearly half his score erased by penalties, Katsuki Bakugo's raw output was overwhelming enough to brute-force his ranking.
"His mobility and firepower," All Might said quietly, speaking for the first time. "He reaches targets before penalties can accumulate, and his output grows with time rather than diminishing."
"Inefficiently efficient destruction," Nezu agreed. "Unlike these two."
Momo Yaoyorozu's netting and foam barriers.
Inasa Yoarashi's winds redirected to spare glass and structures.
"High firepower," Midnight said. "But controlled. Smart mitigation. High scores, low penalties."
Vlad King grunted. "So it's possible to hit hard without demolishing the neighborhood. Someone should tell this Bakugo kid."
"Someone will," Aizawa said flatly.
"Now these," Present Mic exclaimed, pointing dramatically, "are the players topping the Assist chart!"
A montage rolled—students without raw power coordinating assists.
A white-haired girl with a thermos commanding other participants like a chessmaster directing pieces.
A serpentine girl halting bots mid-charge for her teammates to engage.
Another girl supporting groups of people from the back.
A boy commanding bots like marionettes.
At the back, Aizawa and Vlad King studied the projected class rosters.
"We have a lot of heavy hitters this year, Eraser. Distribution will be a headache," Vlad said, a competitive grin forming. "I've got my eye on the wind user. He's got raw power and passion 1-B could use."
Aizawa turned, his expression unreadable.
"Take him," he said flatly, glancing at Nezu with a sigh. "I'll be saddled with the problem children anyway."
"Then," Nezu announced, tone sharpening, "let us review the outlier."
The main screen shifted.
Midoriya Izuku.
The footage played: Midoriya tripping Sprinters, disarming Vipers with thrown debris, and turning the Juggernaut's own shield against it.
"Precision," Power Loader noted, impressed. "Look at that bot capture rate—90%. Minimal bot structural damage. Penalty rate's a negligible 2.4%."
"Yes. Swift mobility, controlled output, precise takedowns," Snipe agreed. "Until…"
The screen shifted.
Zero Pointer footage.
The titan's head detonating.
A green blur launching skyward.
A girl torn from the behemoth's grip.
"The rescue…" Thirteen said softly. "Saving Ochako Uraraka. And then the sheer destructive output…"
The footage paused at the moment of impact. The boy's finger glowing, the air crackling.
"…it contradicts the rest of his performance entirely."
Silence settled over the room.
"Two different skill sets," Power Loader said slowly.
Nezu's whiskers twitched. "Quite."
At the back of the room, Shouta Aizawa frowned.
The controlled power.
The calculated dismantling.
Then—the Zero Pointer.
He watched the boy on the screen. The way his finger shattered, the way he moved with practiced ease one moment and self-destructive recklessness the next.
Aizawa's eyes narrowed, flicking to All Might, who gripped the armrest of his chair, vibrating with pride and fear in equal measure.
His frown deepened.
Inconsistent… and dangerous.
***
SNIFFF!
The soft, almost adorable sniffle of the green-haired mother threaded through the glass muffled cacophony of the city nine stories below, traffic running like a well-oiled cog.
"A girl—A–Ayumi-san! A real, genuine friend!" Inko sniffled into a dampened handkerchief, her voice trembling. It was a far gentler sound compared to the unrestrained saltwater floods of the previous day.
Ayumi wordlessly nudged the tissue box closer across the bench beside the Full-wall glass window of the gymnasium.
She'd learned quickly, that Midoriya tears required ammunition.
"It is a significant milestone, Inko-san," she said, softly.
And it truly was.
Marvelous Central University had no such issues of discrimination. Harmony High however, was a far crueler ecosystem.
When you were the only child without a meta ability in your class, isolation came easily. Being the topper nerd only sharpened the jealousy. It marked an easy target for those looking to feel powerful.
So Ayumi understood the importance of this friendship. Even if she couldn't fully empathize with the far harsher circumstances the boy had endured.
Thudd!
The subject of her thoughts hit the mat at the gym's center with the heavy resonance of lead. Beside him, Sorahiko—Gran Torino—clicked his tongue, his yellow cape fluttering like a warning flag.
Like always, the boy was training.
Since his first day in the tower, he had taken only three days off. One Sunday, one before the exam, and one after.
Seeing him float above the gymnasium floor the following day hadn't been surprising, per se. After all, even if she had deleted the footage of the vortex above the station, she still remembered him hovering then.
The master-and-disciple pair had suggested that his Quirk could possessed multiple manifestations.
Ayumi didn't dismiss the idea. Such phenomena, while rare, weren't unprecedented.
Still—
She had her suspicions.
Her boss should have known better than to offer "condensed energy creating its own gravitational field" as a complete explanation. Ayumi had read—and watched—enough superhero fiction to recognize a hand-waved answer when she heard one.
He could have proposed a bio-electricity model instead. It would have aligned far more cleanly with her own hypothesis regarding the core mechanic behind Inko-san's Quirk's Magnetic attraction.
Ayumi sighed inwardly at her boss's utter inability to conceal secrets. The only reason it hadn't resulted in the leak of a national-level secret was his enhanced senses compensating for his lack of discretion.
And that, too, was suspicious.
Aside from overwhelming strength and heightened perception, his Quirk appeared to grant its wielder a markedly slowed rate of aging. And most importantly surviving close-combat with the Quirk Stealer without losing his Quirk.
Too many anomalies clustered around a single individual to be comfortably dismissed as coincidence.
Still, Ayumi didn't pry.
Not yet.
Sprrrk! Thrumm!
Across the gym, Izuku ascended again.
Ten small spheres floated around him in a slow, deliberate ring, trailing faint ribbons of Brazilian emerald and meganta rose coloured static. They were caught in a tethered loop that hummed quietly, the sound more felt than heard.
They moved smoothly. Equidistant, spacing perfectly constant even as Izuku adjusted his posture.
No tremor.
No wobble.
Gran Torino grunted in approval, though his eyes remained sharp. "You need real fighting techniques for ground battles, zygote," he barked. "Floating is just a fancy way to get shot if you don't know how to move. And training similar styles for long builds bad habits"
Ayumi glanced down at the open notebook beside her, reviewing its contents once more.
Name: Izuku Midoriya
Quirk:
Mutation:
—Enhanced Neural Pathways
—Accelerated Neural Pulse
—Recalibrated Vestibular System
—Augmented Respiratory System
—Strengthened Musculoskeletal Structure
—Hyper-Efficient Mitochondria
Resulting Abilities:
—Heightened Senses
—Increased Stamina Metabolism
— Float Plus
Float Plus: Formation of an orbital gravitational ring.
The crossed out section of the Quirk's name caught her eye first. But it was Understandable.
The Quirk hadn't been officially registered yet,
and the boy might want to rename it.
But Float Plus struck her as odd. Even if it was a placeholder.
She disagreed with that classification.
Ayumi was free after hours of integrating the Analysis Matrix delivered from U.A.,and she had offered to help.
Why?
Perhaps because it was intriguing.
Perhaps because the boy might one day inherit this tower.
Or perhaps it was simply… a whim.
She had asked for the notebook to see if she could assist with understanding his new ability. After all, a Quirk Analysis credential deserved practical application.
He handed it over with pure anxiety, unlike the skittish, restrained muttering of the previous day whenever the Symbol of Peace had drawn near.
Something about Vegas, Los Angeles, Cow lady, Team-ups.
Though the man himself was gone now. Off to U.A. on official business, and to collect the boy's results. Izuku's nervousness, of course, was because of the latter.
A smart administrative decision on U.A.'s part. Three days instead of a week, three weeks instead of a month. Compress the semester start, compensate for the two-week delay, repair the annual schedule.
Ayumi looked up again, refocusing on Izuku.
It was a localized gravitational distortion. That much was clear from observation alone, corroborated by his notes.
But there were details he hadn't noticed.
The subtle shift in the spheres when he broke the field.
The glittering droplets—sweat, she realized—drifting outward unnaturally the instant the ring collapsed.
The structure was controlled while active.
When it failed, however, the field didn't vanish.
It flattened. Plate-shaped.
Wide-area. Low capacity.
Ayumi noted it down, recalling Gran Torino's commentary as she added recommendations beneath it.
— Throwing techniques
— Sweeping techniques
— Hooking maneuvers
Using the enemy's weight or the user's lack of it against them.
PSSS-H!
The gym doors hissed open.
Ayumi looked up from the notebook, the mechanical pencil still spinning absently between her fingers.
David Shield entered, a tablet tucked under his arm, followed closely by Melissa Shield. A familiar face from the periphery of All-Might's video calls. Her eyes were faintly red, but still bright, sparked with familiar curiosity.
And leading them—
Toshinori.
Not All Might.
Not the Symbol.
The man.
So...His injuries weren't a secret to his niece anymore.
But as Ayumi observed the complicated expression on the senior Shield's face—guilt, perhaps—she noted there was more tangled beneath it than simple concern.
She glanced at Inko, who looked momentarily confused by the arrival of the unfamiliar guests.
The confusion quickly gave way to polite restraint.
'Inko probably Knows'. Ayumi had already theorized that.
This secret, now it seemed, had been shared with everyone present.
Everyone except her.
…How irritating.
She allowed herself a small, private amusement at that thought.
"Ahem."
Toshinori cleared his throat. The sound was deliberate. Small, but practiced. A signal more than a request.
"Ah—everyone," he said, stepping forward.
"Allow me to introduce our guests." He gestured first. "This is David Shield. My best friend."
"The pleasure is ours," David said, inclining his head in greeting. His voice was smooth, but his gaze flickered—toward Izuku, away, and back again—as if looking at the boy caused him a pain he was compelled to confront.
"And his daughter, Melissa Shield." Melissa lifted a hand in a brief wave, polite but distracted, her gaze already drifting past the adults toward the center of the gym.
"I–It's very nice to meet you," Inko said, bowing quickly. "I'm Midoriya Inko. Izuku's mother."
"The pleasure is ours," David replied. His tone was smooth, a strained smile surfacing at the edges.
Toshinori turned next.
"And this," he continued, "as you already know, is Ayumi Amatsuki. Chief of Staff of Might Tower."
Ayumi gave a polite nod.
Finally, Toshinori faced Izuku.
"Izuku, my boy," he said, his voice softening. "If you would."
Izuku descended, the weighted cuffs thudding softly as he landed, then come forward.
Toshinori straightened, the warmth in his posture evident even before he spoke.
"Ah… right. We have a special delivery for you, Young Midoriya."
From inside his jacket, he produced a standard hologram disk bearing the U.A. crest.
He held it out with both hands.
"Your entrance exam results," he said, head tilting slightly. "I thought you'd like to see them now."
Izuku froze.
"R–Results?" he blurted, then flushed. "I mean—I knew they were—"
"Breathe," Toshinori said calmly.
Izuku did, barely, and accepted the disk as if it were a live grenade.
The hologram screen bloomed to life.
"HELLOOOO, YOUNG MIDORIYA!"
A familiar, exaggerated silhouette burst onto the display—towering, broad, grinning, clad in his favorite yellow-striped suit.
Izuku jolted in surprise.
"If you're seeing this message," the projection declared, pointing dramatically outward, "then your U.A. High School entrance exam results are here!"
From the far side, Gran Torino hobbled closer, leaning on his cane.
"Your written exam results were extraordinary," the hologram continued. "Tying for second place overall!"
Inko clasped her hands together, as Izuku's eyes widened.
Melissa leaned forward without realizing it.
"For the practical exam," the projection went on, "your score was equally impressive, placing you within the top ten."
Inko's sobbing restarted in earnest
Izuku simply stared, jaw slack.
Ayumi couldn't help but smile.
"But wait, there's one more criterion," the hologram said. "A hidden one."
The room fell silent as the display shifted. The exam footage played: Izuku shattered the Zero-Pointer's head to save a girl, data streams converging beside it.
Ayumi recognized the system instantly—Heimdall-formatted readouts, identical to the analysis matrix she had reviewed that morning.
Metrics populated the display:
Combat Points.
Assist Scores.
Capture Bonus.
Penalty Adjustments.
Hidden Rescue Points. Izuku froze hologram leaned forward, sweeping an arm wide."And now, here's the final ranking list!" A list of names scrolled into view, each paired with multi-colored performance then—
Izuku Midoriya fainted.
***
"Ochako Uraraka. You have passed."
The hologram of her favorite hero—Thirteen—gestured warmly from the projection.
They really knew, Ochako thought, heart swelling. It had to be from the new entrance forms— 'Favorite Hero' section.
"You excelled in the written exam," Thirteen continued, voice light and encouraging, "and in the practical portion, you placed within the top fifteen."
A small cheer erupted behind her—her parents, caught in a celebratory embrace.
A broad screen materialized beside Thirteen. Her name blinked into view:
—14th Ochako Uraraka
She was just above someone named Fumikage Tokoyami. A solid placement.
Her smile was real.
"But," Thirteen continued, their tone softening into something profoundly kind, "there is another criterion."
The screen shifted.
"The most important one."
"Hidden points for acts of selfless rescue."
Footage began to play.
Her own hand, reaching out desperately. Fingers clasping the green-haired boy's as he launched towards her.
Her parents gasped, even though she'd already told them the story.
40 RESCUE— Flared across the screen in brilliant, warm gold.
The leaderboard moved.
Names slid downward as hers surged upward—
13th—14th Tenya Iida
12th—13th Eijiro Kirishima
11th—12th Itsuka Kendo
10th—11th Saiko Intelli
9th—10th Shihai Kuroiro
8th—9th Bakugo Katsuki
And then—
15th—8th Ochako Uraraka
Her hands flew to her mouth.
Top ten…
The scholarship… this means, this means it'll be better. Right?
"The courage to reach out," Thirteen's voice echoed gently, "is the true heart of a hero."
They inclined their head.
"We at U.A. look forward to nurturing that heart."
"Oh, Mochi," her mother whispered, voice trembling.
"That's my girl," her father said thickly. "That's my hero."
Ochako blinked rapidly, trying to hold the waters in, as her gaze drifted over the final results display.
Green denoted combat and assists.
Crimson marked penalties.
Gold gleamed for rescue.
Silver totaled it all.
[Rank] Name [Combat] [Assist] [Capture] [Penalty] [Rescue]: [Total]
[10th] Shihai Kuroiro [76][4.4][13.6][0%][20]: [114]
[ 9th] Katsuki Bakugo [191][0][0][39.2%][0]: [116.73]
[8th] Setsuna Tokage [83][16][10.6][6.6%][20]: [122.36]
[7th] Ochako Uraraka [63][8.4][13][2.5%][45]: [127]
[6th] Ibara Shiozaki [40][46.4][8][0%][35]: [129.4 ]
[5th] Shoto Todoroki [175][0][20][38.7%][20]: [141.37]
[4th] Juzo Honenuki [116][3.6][23.2][4.3%][10]: [146.65]
[3rd] Momo Yaoyorozu [113][22.4][14][6%][20]: [160.43]
[2nd] Inasa Yoarashi [119][31.5][3.9][6.8%][22]: [165.91]
[ 1st ] Izuku Midoriya [111][16][19.9][2.6%][70]: [211.1]
As her father wrapped his arms around all of them, Thirteen's voice said warmly as the hologram faded.
"Welcome. To your hero academia."
-- --