MHA Rewrite: Plus Ultra

[Scene: U.A. faculty room. Papers spread across a long table. Screens displaying rankings.] Teacher 1: “Take a look at these results.” Teacher 2: “First place didn’t earn a single rescue point.” Teacher 3: “Didn’t need them. He dismantled the faux villains efficiently. When others panicked over the large obstacle, he ignored it. Let the smaller units approach. Countered cleanly. That kid’s composed.” Teacher 2: “And seventh place… zero villain points.” Teacher 3: “He’s not the first applicant to destroy the giant robot. But it’s been a while since someone did it in a single blow.” Teacher 1: “At what cost? He shattered his own limbs.” A screen freezes on Izuku mid-SMASH. Teacher 1 continues: “If you ask me, it’s like his body isn’t accustomed to his Quirk.” Silence. Eraser Head: “Hmm…” His eyes narrow slightly. … It’s been a few days since I got Mom’s permission to enroll in the Hero Course. A few days since I promised I’d come home. Naturally, I forced Toshinori-san to train me until I could at least control my Quirk. “Force” might be dramatic. He agreed. Eventually. [Scene: Dagobah Beach. Early morning. Gray sky. Waves low.] Izuku stands barefoot in the sand, sleeves rolled up. His breathing is already heavy, though they’ve barely begun. Toshinori watches from a short distance away, hands in his pockets, gaunt frame swaying slightly in the breeze. “No full-power strikes,” he says. “Micro-output only. I don’t feel like carrying you home.” Izuku nods once. He extends his arm. Focus. Not ten percent. Not five. One. Power hums beneath his skin. It prickles. Not warm. Sharp. Like static crawling under muscle. His fingertip twitches. The pebble in front of him explodes into dust. The sand beneath his feet fractures outward in a spiderweb. Too much. Izuku’s jaw tightens. His index finger throbs instantly, a faint sting traveling up into his wrist. Again. He adjusts his stance. Breath in. One percent. He flicks. The pebble shoots forward this time instead of detonating, skipping violently across the water. Better. His finger trembles after impact. He curls it into his palm before Toshinori can comment. “Your issue isn’t strength,” Toshinori says lazily. “It’s distribution.” “I know.” Too fast. Again. Izuku shifts to legs. He activates. Power floods downward. He runs. One step— Two— Three— Sand erupts behind him. By the fifth step, the ground caves under his heel. His ankle twists slightly as he skids to a stop. Pain spikes up his shin. He inhales sharply through his teeth. Ignores it. Again. He runs shorter bursts this time. Again. Again. By the fourth repetition, his calves are twitching faintly beneath the skin. A dull heat builds along his tibia. Toshinori notices. He says nothing. ⸻ … The beach is quiet except for waves and the occasional metallic ping. Empty soda cans sit lined up on a piece of driftwood. Izuku stands several meters back, fingers taped. The tape is already faintly dark at the knuckles. “One percent,” he mutters. Flick. CRACK. The first can blasts backward into the sand, split down the middle. Too much. His wrist aches this time. He exhales slowly through his nose. Behind him, Toshinori squints at the wrecked can. “You’re still overcompensating.” “Mhmm…” Izuku walks forward, resets another can. His steps are steady, but there’s a slight stiffness in his right leg now. “You know,” he says, not looking back, “I was kind of surprised when you told me you became a teacher at U.A.” Flick. The next can dents and spins off cleanly without rupturing. Better. Toshinori shrugs. “Mm. Don’t tell anyone I’ve been training you.” Izuku lines up the next can. “Nobody knows except you and me.” “Keep it that way,” Toshinori replies. “And pray you don’t get Aizawa as your teacher.” Izuku pauses. “Eraser Head? Why not? He’s smart.” Flick. Miss. The can rattles but stays upright. A sharp sting runs from his fingertip to his elbow this time. He flexes his hand once behind his back. Toshinori clicks his tongue. “That’s exactly why.” Izuku glances back. “Meaning?” “He notices things. Quietly. Connects dots.” Toshinori squints toward the horizon. “And I’m pretty sure he’s about this close—” he pinches two fingers together “—to figuring out you and I are connected somehow.” Izuku mutters while adjusting his stance, “Well whose fault is that…” Toshinori’s eyes narrow slightly. “You say something, kid?” Izuku coughs. “No, no. Nothing…” Flick. This time the can pops backward cleanly. No explosion. No rupture. Just force. Controlled. His finger trembles afterward. He presses it against his thigh until it steadies. Toshinori nods once. “Better.” Izuku resets again. The wind tugs at his shirt. Sweat has begun to bead at his temple despite the cool air. Toshinori watches him quietly for a moment, then speaks casually. “By the way.” Izuku hums faintly, lining up his stance. “I wasn’t a judge on the exam.” Izuku stills. “Those points were yours and yours only, kid.” He looks at Toshinori, his arm lowering a fraction. “…You weren’t?” “Nope,” Toshinori shrugs. “Didn’t even get a vote.” He looks out at the water instead of at him. “You earned that rescue score without me.” Silence. The waves roll in. Izuku’s shoulders ease—barely. A slow smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Small. Real. His chest feels lighter. Then he lifts his hand again. “Egg.” Flick. The can shoots cleanly into the sand. No detonation. No wasted force. But when his hand drops, his fingers are shaking harder now. He hides it. Toshinori sees it. And still says nothing. … April. Morning light filters through thin curtains. Izuku is already awake. He sits at the edge of his bed for a moment before standing. His muscles feel tight. Not injured. Just used. There’s faint stiffness in his calves when he steps forward. He rolls his shoulders once. Today. He changes carefully into his middle school uniform for the last time. Neat. Pressed. Familiar. On his desk sits the acceptance letter. He doesn’t touch it. In the kitchen, the smell of rice and miso soup drifts through the apartment. Inko is already up. Izuku washes his face, dries it, stares at himself in the mirror for a moment longer than usual. No freezing. No hesitation. He steps out. Inko is plating breakfast when he enters. She glances up. “You’re dressed early.” “Couldn’t sleep.” “That makes two of us.” They sit across from each other. The apartment feels different this morning. Not tense. Not fragile. Just aware. Izuku eats quietly. Inko watches him the way she used to when he was smaller. Checking if he’s eating enough. If he looks tired. If he’s hiding something. He notices. He doesn’t comment. After a few bites, she sets her chopsticks down. “April 8th,” she says softly. He nods. She studies his face for a moment. “You remember what you promised me?” His grip tightens slightly on his bowl. “I do.” “If you can’t win, you run.” “I know.” “If someone else can handle it, you let them.” “I know.” Her eyes sharpen slightly. “And you come home.” That one isn’t a condition. It’s a plea. Izuku looks up at her properly. “I’ll come home.” No bravado. No grin. Just steady. She searches his face for a lie. Finds none. She nods once. Then, unexpectedly, she stands and adjusts his collar. It’s already straight. “You’re growing up too fast,” she murmurs. He gives a faint smile. “You told me to chase my dream.” She exhales softly through her nose. “I didn’t expect you to fly.” He laughs quietly. She cups his cheek for just a second. “Be kind,” she says. “Even when you’re strong.” That lands deeper than “be safe.” Izuku blinks. He nods. “I will.” He grabs his bag. At the door, he slips on his shoes. The familiar scrape of rubber against tile echoes faintly in the quiet apartment. He pauses. Turns slightly. He opens his mouth to say something. He doesn’t get to finish. Inko crosses the room in three quick steps and wraps her arms around him. Tight. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just firm. Like she’s memorizing the shape of him. He stiffens in surprise, then relaxes into it. She sniffles against his shoulder. “Be safe…” Her voice is small. Fragile in a way she’s trying not to show. Izuku swallows. “I will.” She pulls back just enough to look at him. Her eyes are already watery again. She wipes them quickly with her sleeve, annoyed at herself. Izuku shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. He opens the door. Morning light spills into the entryway. He turns, smiling — not wide, not childish. Steady. “I’ll be going and coming back!” It’s the same phrase he’s used since he was little. Inko’s lips tremble before she manages a smile of her own. Tears cling stubbornly to her lashes. She lifts her hand and waves. “Please go and come back safely!” Her voice cracks at the end, but she doesn’t let it break. Izuku nods once. Then he steps out. The door closes gently behind him. And for a moment, Inko just stands there, hand still raised, staring at the wood as if she can see through it. Then she lowers it. And whispers to herself— “Come back…” —— Outside, the air feels different. Crisper. Izuku adjusts the strap of his bag and starts walking down the sidewalk at a measured pace. Calm. Controlled. Like this is just another school day. It isn’t. Each step feels lighter than the last. He passes familiar streets. Familiar buildings. The same convenience store on the corner. The same crosswalk he’s used a hundred times. But today— Today it feels like a launchpad. His pace quickens without him realizing. Walk becomes brisk steps. Brisk steps become a jog. The wind pushes back his hair. His shoes slap rhythmically against the pavement. He doesn’t look embarrassed. He doesn’t slow down. His smile starts small. Then grows. This is it. No more watching from behind a screen. No more notebooks filled with other people’s strategies. No more wondering. He’s going to U.A. He’s going to be trained. He’s going to stand beside people who want the same thing he does. His grin widens, bright and unguarded. He runs faster. This is it. He’s going to be a hero. … The scene shifts. U.A. High stands before him again. Tall. Polished. Bright under the morning sun. The first time he stood here, it felt overwhelming. Monumental. Distant. Now— It feels closer. Not smaller. Just… reachable. Izuku slows to a stop in front of the gates. He tilts his head back slightly, taking in the structure. The glass. The steel. The emblem mounted high above the entrance. No longer imposing. No longer inaccessible, just out of reach. This is his base of operations. He adjusts his grip on the strap of his bag. He inhales slowly. The acceptance rate that year was just as small as it always had been — one in three hundred. He holds the breath for a second. Then exhales. Four students were admitted through recommendations. Thirty-six through the regular examination. He steps forward. The gate recognizes his student ID and slides open smoothly. He walks through. No hesitation this time. We were divided into two classes of twenty students each. Izuku steps into the main building. The noise shifts instantly. Footsteps echo against polished floors. Voices bounce off high ceilings. Lockers slam somewhere down a distant corridor. He slows his pace, eyes scanning the overhead signs. First-year classrooms → Faculty offices → Gymnasium → “Class 1-A… 1-A…” he mutters under his breath. “Come on, where is it?” He passes a group of students already chatting animatedly. Someone laughs too loudly. Another brags about entrance exam scores like it isn’t already ancient history. Izuku doesn’t stop. He keeps walking. His grip tightens slightly on the strap of his bag. “1-A… 1-A…” A turn. Another hallway. And then— There. 1-A. The plaque gleams faintly beside the classroom door. He slows. Just a fraction. Through the window, he can see silhouettes. Movement. Students already inside. He lingers there for a second. Twenty students per class. Forty total. Statistically, the chances of being placed with any one specific person aren’t high. His fingers tighten slightly on the strap of his bag. He wonders who made it into 1-A. He wouldn’t mind if Iida-kun were here. Structured. Driven. Predictable. Easy to measure himself against. And— Uraraka-san. His jaw shifts faintly. He still hasn’t thanked her. For a) saving him when he was falling. And b) offering to give him her points. The memory resurfaces uninvited— Her bow. Her voice shaking but firm. Please. His chest tightens. If she’s here… He’ll thank her properly. Not awkwardly. Not rushed. Properly. Izuku straightens his posture. Whatever’s behind that door— It’s the next step. He reaches for the handle. Izuku slides the classroom door open. The noise hits him first. Voices overlapping. Chairs scraping. The low hum of competition. Then the sight. His face looks exasperated. Of course he’s here… Bakugo sits near the center of the room, legs propped up on a desk that clearly isn’t his. Leaning back like he owns the place, grin sharp and lazy. In front of him stands Iida, posture rigid, hands at his sides. A few other students sit nearby, watching. Not intervening. Assessing. Iida adjusts his glasses with crisp precision. “I will not repeat myself. Remove your feet from the desk.” Bakugo snorts. “You just did, dumbass. So much for being smart, huh, Four Eyes?” A couple of students exchange glances. No one steps in. Iida doesn’t raise his voice. “This behavior is not befitting a student on the first day at the most prestigious school in Japan. Show some respect.” Bakugo laughs and drops his feet harder onto the desk, the legs screeching loudly as it rattles. He’s not relaxing. He’s claiming it. “You memorize that speech on the way here?” Bakugo leans forward slightly. “Let me guess. Private school? Rich, prissy family?” Iida’s expression hardens instantly. “You will not insult my family.” His voice lowers, controlled but edged. “I come from one of the most respected hero families in this country. You will rescind that statement.” A ripple moves through the room. Bakugo’s grin sharpens. “Oh yeah?” He plants his feet on the floor and leans in, elbows on his knees. “And that makes you better than me?” The air tightens. “What are you gonna do about it?” Iida’s fists clench at his sides. The engines in his calves twitch faintly beneath the fabric of his trousers. Izuku steps fully into the room. He clears his throat. Not loud. Just enough. Conversations snap off mid-word. Every head turns. Twenty pairs of eyes. Watching. The back of his neck prickles instantly. His fingers tighten around the strap of his bag. He adjusts it. Then adjusts it again, though it doesn’t need adjusting. For half a second, the old reflex kicks in— Middle school corridors. Laughter. Being looked through instead of at. His thumb taps once against the canvas. Stop. He straightens. He is not that kid anymore. Iida blinks. “Ah?” Bakugo’s grin disappears. His eyes narrow. “…Deku.” The temperature in the room shifts. Izuku swallows once, then forces his hands still. “Kacchan…” he says evenly, though his chest feels tight from the stares. “I see you’re making new friends.” Bakugo’s palm ignites instantly. BOOM— He launches forward in a burst of smoke and heat. Several students shout. Izuku doesn’t panic. He steps slightly to the side. Not backward. Just enough.  Bakugo blasts past him, skidding hard across the floor as the propulsion overshoots. A red blur collides with him mid-slide. “Whoa, whoa, chill out!” Kirishima hardens instantly, skin turning jagged as he locks an arm around Bakugo’s torso. The impact shoves them both into a row of desks. Hardening-type. Defensive close combat. “Get off me!” Bakugo snarls, sparks snapping violently. “Dude, it’s the first day!” Kirishima grunts, digging in. THWIP— White tape snaps around Bakugo’s arm and shoulder, yanking him sideways and partially anchoring him to a desk leg. “Come now… let’s not destroy the classroom before roll call,” Sero says with a sheepish smile, bracing himself as Bakugo thrashes. Binding-type. Mid-range restraint. Bakugo roars. “Deku! You’re not supposed to be here! You think you’re a hero?! You think you’re better than me?!” The room goes quiet except for the crackle of restrained explosions. Izuku exhales. Not irritated. Not smug. Measured. “Thanks, guys,” he says calmly. “Just keep him restrained for a little longer. He’ll calm down eventually.” Kirishima chuckles, flashing a grin, tightening his hold without hesitation. “Sure thing, boss!” Izuku walks up to Iida, ignoring Bakugo who is still yelling at him. His head is down as he avoids the attention he’s getting from everyone. He stands before Iida. “Hey, Iida-kun…”  Iida’s expression softens. “Midoriya-kun. Good morning.” “Morning,” Izuku replies. He shifts his weight slightly, aware of the eyes still occasionally drifting toward him. “Should we sit?” Iida nods once. “We may. Though seat allocations have not yet been provided, naturally.” Izuku echoes automatically, “Naturally…” They take two adjacent desks toward the middle of the room. The noise slowly resumes around them. Conversations rebuild. Bakugo’s protests have quieted to irritated muttering as Kirishima finally releases him. Izuku barely has time to settle before he feels a light tap on his shoulder. He stiffens. Turns. A girl with pink skin leans over the back of the seat behind him, chin propped lazily on her palm. Small horns frame her bright hair. Her eyes sparkle with open curiosity. She smiles like they’re already friends. “Hey.” Izuku blinks. Pink skin. Horns. Confident posture. Initiates contact easily. Definitely not shy. He blinks again. “Hey…” He shakes his head, clearing the momentary fog. He glances over his shoulder, then back at her. “Uh—me? Were you talking to me?” She giggles. “Yes, you. I tapped your shoulder, didn’t I?” She taps it again lightly. “Who else would I be talking to, cutie?” His brain stalls for half a second. Heat rises to his face. “Oh— I— right. Yeah.” He lets out a small, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. Smooth. Very smooth. She grins wider. “You’re the one who punched that huge robot, right?” There it is. The attention again. Izuku’s shoulders tighten just slightly. “…Yeah.” She beams. “That was awesome.” No edge. No challenge. Just genuine excitement. And somehow, that feels more dangerous than hostility. Izuku doesn’t manage a reply. Mina doesn’t seem to mind. “So,” she says lightly, tilting her head, “what happened there?” Izuku blinks. “There?” She finger guns Bakugo, who’s still muttering in his seat. “Why’d Raging Blonde try to detonate you on day one?” Izuku snorts despite himself at the nickname. “He and I go way back,” he says. “It’s… complicated.” “Well, that’s obvious,” Mina replies dryly. He huffs a quiet laugh. “He’s kind of a jerk.” “Kind of?” she echoes. Izuku rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. He is a jerk.” Mina studies Bakugo for a second. “I’m kinda surprised someone like him made it into the Hero Course,” she says. “He looks like he’s one bad day away from arson.” Izuku pauses. Considers it seriously. He remembers sparks in small hands. The way Bakugo had grabbed his arm once when he slipped near the riverbank. The way he’d barked at other kids to back off. “He’s a jerk,” Izuku says again, more measured now. “But a villain?” He shakes his head. “That’s not who he is.” Mina hums thoughtfully. “Complicated,” she repeats. Izuku huffs. “Very.” Mina straightens, then throws her shoulders back dramatically. “My name’s Ashido Mina,” she says brightly. “But people will soon know me as…” She raises both hands near her face, fingers curled like claws, wiggling them with exaggerated menace. “Alien Queen…” Izuku laughs immediately. Mina chuckles along.  “Alien Queen?” he repeats, amused despite himself. “Is that your hero name?” “Mhm!” She straightens immediately, lifting her chin with exaggerated regality. “Queen of the aliens. ’Tis I.” She wiggles her fingers again, like she’s casting some sparkly sci-fi curse. “You have the honor of basking in my presence.” Izuku chuckles, the sound lighter this time. She drops the act just enough to grin at him. “And you’re Deku Midoriya, right?” He rubs the back of his neck again. “Midoriya Izuku. But… yeah. Deku’s fine.” She tilts her head. “Deku, huh?” A mischievous spark flickers in her eyes. “Cool. It’s got underdog-turned-legend energy.” Izuku blinks. Iida straightens, expression composed but sincere. “I am uncertain about the ‘legend’ portion,” he says politely, “however, your actions during the entrance examination were indeed admirable.” He places a hand against his chest. “It was a miscalculation on my part. You perceived an element of the examination that I did not. For that, I owe you an apology.” He bows cleanly at the waist. “I misjudged you, Midoriya-kun.” Izuku’s brain short-circuits. “I—what? No— you don’t—” A heavy hand claps him on the back. “That was seriously manly, man,” Kirishima says with a grin. “Charging a giant robot for a girl? Respect.” Mineta slides in instantly, mouth frothing with envy. “Getting the girl was your goal all along, wasn’t it?! Scumbag!”  Denki immediately pushes Mineta’s head down onto the desk. “C’mon, man… Not everything’s about girls.” Then he looks back at Izuku, grin returning. “But taking down that robot with one punch? That was insane! Actual action movie stuff! I thought we were all supposed to run…” Sero hooks an arm lazily over the back of Izuku’s chair. “Be honest. Did you mean to do that? Or was it like a ‘panic and pray’ kind of situation?”  Izuku’s brain starts overheating. “It wasn’t panic— I mean it was panic but— that’s not what I meant—” Mineta squirms under Denki’s hand. “You did it to get coochie! Admit it!”  Denki exasperates. “Agh, this pervert!” Then he frowns slightly at Izuku. “But wait, yeah, weren’t you like completely wrecked after? I heard Recovery Girl had to patch you up big time.” Sero nods. “Yeah. Someone said your arm was twisted at a crazy angle.” Mineta smirks from the desk. “I also heard the girl you saved puked on you.” A couple of students snort. Izuku blinks. “…What?” Denki winces. “Dude.” Mineta shrugs. “That’s what I heard!” He looks at Izuku quizzically. “Are you into that sort of thing? No judgement.” Izuku’s shoulders tighten without him meaning to. “…She did?” Mina tilts her head. “You don’t remember?” He shakes his head slowly. “No. I don’t.” A small pause. Then he clears his throat. “It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I’m fine.” Too quick. Kirishima studies him for a second. “Still,” he says simply, “worth it, right?” Izuku doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.” No embarrassment. No joking. Just certainty. Mina’s smile softens slightly. “You didn’t hesitate,” she says. “That’s the cool part.” Kirishima nods once. “Exactly!” Izuku blinks. That’s true. I didn’t feel scared. Just alive. Mineta squints suspiciously. “So what’s your deal? You hiding some secret ultra-Quirk or something?” The circle has fully formed now. Too close. Too many eyes. His fingers curl slightly at his sides. “No,” he says firmly. “I’m not special. I just moved. That’s what heroes do.” Kirishima studies him for a second. Then he smiles, easy and genuine, clapping him on the shoulder, causing Izuku to flinch. “Then I’m glad you’re in this class!” Denki nods. “Yeah. Way better than someone who just farms points.” Sero smirks. “Plus, if you can one-shot a skyscraper robot, I’m sitting near you during villain attacks.” Mineta mutters, “I’m sitting near him if there are girls involved.” Mina flicks Mineta’s head lightly. “Focus, grape.” Laughter ripples through the group. Mineta keeps muttering under Denki’s hand. Kirishima is still grinning. Sero is already making seating jokes. Mina looks thoroughly entertained. The noise is warm. Messy. Alive. Izuku stands in the middle of it. Not mocked. Not ignored. Not targeted. Included. He feels it settle somewhere unfamiliar in his chest. Izuku smiles to himself. This is nice. He didn’t expect that. The classroom door slides open. Heads turn instinctively. Uraraka stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath, hand still on the frame. She scans the room quickly— No teacher. She exhales in relief.  Izuku freezes mid-conversation. Uraraka-san. She steps fully inside, eyes moving across the classroom— Then she spots him. Her face lights up instantly. Izuku’s stomach does something strange. He smiles back before he can stop himself. Small. Shy. Without thinking, he stands. “Uh— sorry, guys,” he mutters, stepping out of the circle. Denki blinks. “Hm?” Sero follows his line of sight. “Ohhh.” Mineta cranes his neck. His eye twitches. “…Oh.” Mina hums softly, grin widening.  Kirishima glances at everyone, confused. “…What?” Izuku approaches Uraraka, who’s still near the entrance, adjusting her bag strap. He stops a little too far away. Scratches the back of his head. “Uraraka-san…” She brightens even more. “Deku! Good morning!” “Ah— good morning…” There’s a tiny pause. The noise of the classroom fades around them. “First day of school!” she says, rocking slightly on her heels. “Are you excited?” “Y-yeah. I am.” He nods quickly. Then his expression shifts. More serious. “Um… Uraraka-san. I wanted to say thank you.” Her head tilts. “For what?” “For—” He swallows. “For catching me.” A beat. “And… for going back. After the exam.” Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh.” He looks down briefly. “I didn’t know until later,” Izuku says. “About the points. You didn’t have to do that.” Uraraka blinks. “…Points?” He nods. “About you asking to transfer yours to me.” Her eyes widen slightly. “Wait— how did you know that? I only talked to Present Mic about it…” Izuku straightens instinctively. “Oh— um— All Might told my mom when he came over to give me my results.” Her brows lift. “All Might came to your house?!” He flusters immediately. “W-well, yeah— he said he’s teaching this year, so he delivered the acceptance personally— I mean, not just mine, I assume, probably others too—” He’s rambling. Uraraka laughs softly. “I didn’t think it would get back to you,” she admits. “I just… couldn’t stand the idea of you failing because of me.” Izuku shakes his head quickly. “You didn’t make me fail.” She smiles faintly. “And you didn’t have to break your bones for me either.” A beat. They both look away at the same time. “…Still,” she says, quieter now, “I’m glad you got in.” Izuku’s expression softens. “Me too.” Uraraka shifts her weight, fingers tangling together in front of her. “…I’m also… sorry I puked on you.” Izuku blinks. He looks at her. She hesitantly looks back. A beat passes. Then his shoulders start shaking. A laugh slips out before he can stop it. Uraraka stares at him for half a second— —and then she breaks too. They both start laughing. Not embarrassed. Not awkward. Just relieved. For a moment, the robot, the broken bones, the tension in the classroom—none of it matters. It’s just funny. And light. And easy. “If you’re here to make friends,” a flat voice says, “you can pack up your things and leave.” Izuku and Uraraka freeze mid-laugh. They slowly turn. Behind Uraraka, just outside the classroom door— —lies a man in a yellow sleeping bag. Zipper pulled up to his chin. Hair messy. Eyes half-lidded. Completely unimpressed. Silence. Izuku and Uraraka stare. “…Eh?” Aizawa’s voice doesn’t change. “Welcome to U.A.’s Hero Course.” He unzips the sleeping bag slowly and sits up, already sucking on an energy jelly pouch. Silence lingers awkwardly in the classroom. Izuku’s eyes narrow slightly. Aizawa Shouta. Eraser Head. Izuku swallows. So Toshinori-san wasn’t joking. Good and bad. If I want to improve my Quirk, he’s the one. And if anyone can figure out I’m connected to All Might— It’s him. Aizawa lowers the pouch. His gaze drifts lazily across the room. It stops on Izuku. “You there.” Izuku stiffens. “…Me?” Aizawa tugs once at the sleeping bag. “Help me out of this.” Uraraka glances at Izuku. Izuku glances at her. Then he steps forward. He grabs the edge of the sleeping bag and pulls Aizawa upright. The man is heavier than he looks. Dead weight. No help given. Izuku adjusts, plants his feet, and steadies him until he’s fully standing. Aizawa says nothing. He just stands there for a second. His eyes flick down briefly. To Izuku’s grip. His posture. The way he handled the weight. Then back up. Blank. Tired. Unreadable. Aizawa reaches back into his sleeping bag and pulls out a stack of gym uniforms like it’s a perfectly normal storage unit. “Change into your gym uniforms,” he says flatly. “We’re going outside.” Silence. A few students blink. “…Eh?”