MHA Rewrite: Plus Ultra

[Scene change: U.A. Faculty Lounge.] Toshinori Yagi sits in his gaunt form on a low couch. In one hand: a mug with his own smiling face printed on it. In the other: the U.A. Teacher Directory handbook. He takes a slow sip of coffee. It tastes like regret. He flips a page. U.A.’s curriculum doesn’t follow the normal academic path. He takes another sip. One wrong homeroom teacher… and a student’s life is hell. Another sip.  God… Please not Aizawa. … [Scene: Training Field. Class 1-A assembled.] Students murmur. “A Quirk assessment test?!” “Already?!” “What about orientation?!” Iida raises his hand sharply, posture rigid. “Sensei,” he says crisply, “this is unprecedented. Orientation begins in four and a half minutes.” He adjusts his glasses. “It would be improper for us to be absent.” Aizawa doesn’t even look impressed. “If you’re aiming for the top,” he says flatly, “you don’t have time for pointless ceremonies.” The wind passes through the field. Iida stiffens slightly. “…Pointless?” “At U.A., we’re not chained to tradition,” Aizawa continues. “I run my class however I see fit.” The murmuring quiets. Iida lowers his hand slowly. “I see... I apologize, sensei.” He bows at the waist. Aizawa gives a faint hum of acknowledgment. He looks across the class again. “You’ve taken standardized tests your whole lives. But none of you have been allowed to use your Quirks in physical evaluations.” His voice remains flat, almost bored. “The country keeps pretending we’re all created equal by suppressing individual advantages.” A pause. “It isn’t rational. One day, the Ministry of Education will figure that out.” Silence. Izuku watches him carefully.  He’s got a point. If Quirks are part of reality, then pretending they don’t exist in evaluation is artificial. Heroes aren’t equal. They’re specialized. Training without factoring in power output creates blind spots. But— Power alone doesn’t define heroism. Raw strength doesn’t guarantee a stable hero. There have been top-ranking pros who let pride, pressure, or reputation warp their judgment. I haven’t come across a case where a hero outright fell into villainy…. Which is suspicious in itself. It doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Strength without restraint. Influence without responsibility. Symbols that crack under pressure — and civilians pay for it. The strongest Quirk doesn’t guarantee the strongest character. Izuku’s fingers tighten slightly at his side. If this is a system designed to let the most powerful rise… Then the real question isn’t who has the biggest output. It’s who can carry it. Aizawa scans the line of students. “Bakugo.” Bakugo’s grin widens immediately. “You earned the highest villain score on the entrance exam.” He puffs out his chest. “Heh. Natural—” Aizawa cuts across him. “What was your farthest softball throw in junior high?” Bakugo’s eye twitches. “…Sixty-seven meters. I think.” Aizawa nods once and tosses him a ball. “Good. Try it with your Quirk.” A ripple moves through the class. Bakugo steps into the throwing circle, rolling his shoulder. Sparks snap across his palm. Aizawa glances at his watch. “Anything goes. Just stay in the circle.” A beat. “Go on. You’re wasting our time.” Bakugo’s grin turns feral. “You asked for it…” He grips the ball. Explosions crackle— “DIE!” BOOM. A thunderclap splits the field. Dust blasts outward. The ball rockets skyward in a streak. It disappears. A second later— The distant thud of impact. Aizawa checks his phone. The number updates. 705.2 meters. He turns the screen toward the class. Students erupt. “Woah!” “Seven hundred and five meters?!” “Are you kidding me?!” Kaminari leans forward. “Seven hundred and five meters? Well, I’ll be!” Ashido bounces on her heels. “Oh, me next! This looks like fun!” Sero grins. “Now this is what I’m talking about. We actually get to use our Quirks.” Kirishima lets out a low whistle. “Heh…” Aizawa lowers the phone. “So,” he says flatly, “this looks fun, huh?” The excitement stutters. His gaze sweeps across them. “You have three years here to become heroes.” His eyes are sharp now. “You think it’s going to be games and playtime?” The energy drops. Bakugo smirks faintly, smoke still curling from his palm. But the others straighten. This isn’t recess. It’s assessment. The number lingers in the air. 705.2 meters. Izuku stares at the screen. Seven hundred and five… His fingers curl slowly into a fist at his side. He calculates automatically. Angle. Force distribution. Surface resistance. Launch vector. I can do eight hundred. His jaw tightens. The question isn’t whether he can surpass it. His gaze shifts to Aizawa. …It’s whether he should. Aizawa slips his phone back into his pocket. “All right.” His tone is flat. Casual. “Whoever ranks last overall in the eight assessments…” He pauses just long enough for the wind to fill the space. “…will be judged to have no potential.” The class stiffens. “And will be expelled.” Silence. Then— “Huh?!” “Wait, what?!” “Expelled?!” “On the first day?!” Kaminari nearly chokes. “You’re joking, right?” Ashido’s smile drops. “That’s not funny…” Sero blinks. “That’s illegal, isn’t it?” Bakugo’s eyes sharpen. Izuku doesn’t move. Expelled. No potential. The word settles heavier than the number did. Aizawa doesn’t blink. “This is U.A.” Aizawa adjusts the long gray scarf around his neck — the capture weapon he uses to bind opponents mid-fight.. “If you want guarantees, transfer.” —— [Scene: U.A. Faculty Lounge.] Toshinori sits alone on one of the couches, steam rising faintly from a ceramic mug in his hand. The room is quiet. Civilized. He takes a measured sip. Bitter. Acceptable. He exhales softly and stands, stretching once before walking toward the window. Below, on the training field, Class 1-A gathers. Aizawa stands at the front, hands in his pockets, expression as warm as a funeral. Students shift nervously. Toshinori scans them calmly. Explosion Punk. Engine Four-Eyes. Gravity Girl. And then— Midoriya. Standing straight. Focused. Toshinori eyebrows raises slightly. Ah. Good… at least he has friends around him. A small relief settles in his chest. Then— His gaze shifts. Aizawa. The man’s eyes drift lazily across the line— And pause. On Midoriya. Just a fraction longer than the others. Toshinori’s eyelid twitches. He takes another sip. Slow. Controlled. He turns away from the window. Walks back to the couch. Sits down carefully. Places the mug on the table with deliberate calm. Clink. A beat. Then he folds forward abruptly, elbows on his knees, both hands gripping his head. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! —— Aizawa’s lips curl faintly. “We’re free to determine the circumstances of our students.” His gaze sweeps across them. “Welcome to U.A.’s Hero Course.” The field goes still. A hand rises. Yaoyorozu Momo. She steps forward, posture straight — but her fingers are clenched tightly at her sides. “Sensei,” she says, voice controlled but a shade too tight, “with respect… you cannot be serious.” Aizawa doesn’t blink. “It is the first day of school,” she continues. Her eyes widen slightly despite herself. “And even if it were not, expulsion based on a single physical assessment is disproportionately severe.” The words are precise. Her breathing is not. A murmur spreads instantly. Uraraka nods quickly. “Y-yeah! That’s way too harsh!” Kaminari: “We just got here!” Jiro: “Is this even allowed?!” Momo clenches her hands at her sides. “We have not even been properly evaluated yet,” she adds, more controlled now, but still strained. “How can potential be measured so quickly?” Aizawa watches her without reaction. “Unfair?” he repeats flatly. “Natural disasters. Accidents. Villains.” His eyes sweep the class. “Calamities that don’t care about timing. Or fairness.” The wind drags across the field. “Japan is full of unfairness.” A pause. “Heroes are the ones who deal with it.” No flourish. No theatrics. “If you thought you’d be chatting with friends after school and easing into campus life… too bad.” A few students stiffen. “For the next three years, U.A. will throw hardship at you.” He adjusts the scarf at his neck. “You’ll go beyond.” A faint narrowing of his eyes. “Plus Ultra.” No smile. “Overcome it. Or don’t.” Silence hangs over the field. No one laughs now. Iida His spine straightens.  Expulsion. Then I will not be last. Bakugo A grin spreads slowly.  Good. Let the weak get cut. Bye-bye, Deku.  Uraraka Her stomach twists.  I can’t go home like that. Don’t be last. Izuku His fist tightens slightly.  So that’s the system. Not celebration. Elimination. If this test rewards raw ability… Then holding back isn’t strategy. It’s suicide. His eyes lift. Plus Ultra. Go beyond. Not safely. Not comfortably. Beyond. Izuku exhales slowly. …Fine. … [Scene: U.A. training field — 50-meter dash.] “On your mark.” Students line up. “Get set.” Bang. Iida launches. Engines roar from his calves, tearing up the turf as he accelerates with mechanical precision. No wasted motion. Straight line. Maximum efficiency. He crosses first. The camera chimes. “3.04 seconds.” Iida exhales through his teeth. “For fifty meters… third gear is sufficient.” Izuku watches carefully. Gear-based acceleration. Controlled output. He’s not maxing out — he’s calibrating. A blur of green follows behind him. Asui lands just past the line in a smooth, long hop. “Ribbit.” The camera announces: “3.87 seconds.” Asui blinks placidly. “Pretty good for dry land.” Izuku notes it. Explosive leg strength. Amphibian physiology. Efficient short-burst mobility. Aizawa glances at his device. Next. Uraraka touches her sleeves and shoes lightly. “Lighten up…” Bang. She sprints, strides longer, impact softer. Less gravitational resistance. But too light and she’ll lose traction. She pushes through the finish line. “7.15 seconds.” Uraraka beams despite her heavy breathing. “That’s faster than junior high…!” Izuku gives the smallest nod. She regulated it. Smart. “Next.” Aoyama steps to the line with a delicate flourish, one hand resting over his chest. Beside him, Ashido Mina bounces lightly on her heels, rolling her shoulders loose. “Fufu…” Aoyama sighs, tilting his chin upward. “Everyone thus far lacks imagination.” Mina snorts. “Or maybe we’re just not trying to blind everyone.” He places a hand dramatically against his sternum. “I shall demonstrate… the brilliance of proper Quirk usage.” “On your mark.” They lower. “Get set.” Bang. Aoyama fires immediately. A radiant beam erupts from his navel, blasting him forward in a glittering arc above the lane. “Observe!” he calls mid-flight. “The privilege of radia—” The beam sputters. Cuts out. He drops abruptly from the air, landing awkwardly and stumbling forward. Behind him— Mina doesn’t look flashy. She just runs. Low posture. Strong push-off. Smooth stride. Efficient. No wasted movement. Izuku watches. High burst propulsion. Severe backlash. Limited duration. Glass cannon. Mina relies on conditioning over Quirk output. Balanced gait. Strong hip drive. Good acceleration without instability. Aoyama scrambles the last few steps as Mina crosses cleanly. The camera announces: “Ashido Mina. 5.43 seconds.” “Yuuga Aoyama. 5.51 seconds.” Aoyama places a hand delicately over his stomach. “…Mm. A minor sacrifice for beauty.” Mina slows to a jog, flashing a grin over her shoulder. “Maybe stick to short bursts, Laser Boy.” A few students chuckle. Aizawa remains silent. He’s not impressed. He’s calculating. And the numbers keep coming. “Next.” Aizawa doesn’t raise his voice. “Bakugo. Midoriya.” The air tightens instantly. Bakugo steps forward first, grin sharp. Izuku walks to the line beside him. No trembling. No muttering. Just focus. Bakugo glances sideways, smirk curling. “Don’t keep me waiting too long…” Izuku doesn’t look at him. “On your mark.” He lowers into position. Weight forward. Egg. Power distributed evenly through both legs. Not full output. Not a spike. Egg. Flow. “Get set.” Bang. Bakugo detonates forward. An explosion cracks behind him, sand blasting outward as he propels himself in violent bursts. Izuku moves. No explosion. No windup. Just— Acceleration. The ground splinters faintly beneath his first step, but it doesn’t crater. Second stride—longer. Third— He’s beside Bakugo. Bakugo’s eyes flick sideways. “Tch—?!” Izuku doesn’t look at him. He pushes one controlled surge through his calves— And crosses. Silence. The camera announces: “Bakugo Katsuki. 3.02 seconds.” A beat. “Midoriya Izuku. 2.64 seconds.” The field freezes. Even the wind seems to pause. Bakugo doesn’t move. “…What?” Flat. Confused. He turns slowly. “You don’t have a Quirk.” Not a question. Izuku straightens. His calves throb.  Not fractured. Micro-tears at toe-off. Lost traction on the third step. I can shave another tenth if I smooth the transfer. His breathing steadies. Too much initial burst. Next time distribute at 0.8 instead of 1.0. Still overshooting. Around them— Kirishima lets out a low whistle. “That was insane…” Kaminari stares. “He didn’t even explode or anything—” Sero squints at the cracked turf. “The ground broke. That’s raw output.” Uraraka clasps her hands together. “He’s so fast…” Iida adjusts his glasses, stunned. “That level of acceleration without visible propulsion… remarkable.” And then— “Whoo! Midoriya!” Mina pumps a fist into the air, grinning wide. “That was sick!” The spell cracks. Kaminari nods rapidly. “Yeah, that was crazy!” Kirishima flashes a thumbs up. “Manly!” Bakugo’s jaw tightens at the cheering. Aizawa doesn’t look at the students. He looks at the starting line. Spiderweb fractures. Then at Izuku. This isn’t the same boy from the entrance exam. One month ago, he destroyed his own body with a single strike. From seemingly unable to control his Quirk— To this. In one month, he’s achieved a remarkable degree of control. His gaze sharpens. …That rate of growth is abnormal. Bakugo turns fully toward Izuku. “You were Quirkless,” he says low. “What the hell was that?” Izuku meets his stare. “It’s my Quirk.” Measured. Nothing more. A few meters away— Todoroki stands with his hands in his pockets. No visible reaction. Just watching. Tracking the cracks in the turf. And remembering the number. Izuku doesn’t hear the cheering. He doesn’t notice the stares. He rolls his shoulders once. Tests the tightness in his calves. Breathing steady. Already preparing for the next test. Flashback to the beach— Wind. Salt. Early morning. Izuku stands with his arm bandaged. “How do I control it?” he asks. Toshinori scratches the back of his head. “Well… the trick is… feeling.” Izuku blinks. “…Feeling?” “You’ve already used one hundred percent,” Toshinori continues. “Your body remembers it. You just need to recreate the sensation — but lower.” Izuku frowns. “It felt like… electricity. Like something building up.” He pauses. “Like an egg in a microwave.” Toshinori chuckles. “Sure, kid.” “If that’s your image,” he says, “then lower the wattage. Shorten the cook time. Just… don’t let it explode.” Silence. Wind moving over sand. Izuku looks down at his hand. Lower the wattage. Control the heat. Prevent rupture. He clenches his fist slowly. Not all at once. Piece by piece. —- Present.  His calves still burn from the sprint. No rupture. No explosion. Just controlled output. Not perfect. But contained. Izuku inhales.  Next test. [Grip Strength Test] Students rotate. Shoji steps up. Multiple arms wrap the handle. He squeezes. The device groans. “540 kilograms.” A few whistles. Sero leans forward. “Five hundred forty? What are you, a gorilla? …Or an octopus?” “Octopussy…” Mineta strokes his chin thoughtfully. Aizawa doesn’t react. “Midoriya.” The air shifts. Izuku steps forward. Egg. He grips. Even pressure. He squeezes. The metal creaks. The numbers climb. 400. 500. 600. He stops. “612 kilograms.” Silence. He releases carefully. Too much force mid-squeeze. Could’ve stabilized sooner. Behind him— Kirishima grins. “That’s insane.” Kaminari blinks. “Six hundred… what?” Mina whistles softly. “Okay, that’s kinda scary.” Uraraka looks proud. Bakugo says nothing. A few students don’t smile. They’re watching how he stopped. Not straining. Choosing. Aizawa notices that more than the number. …Good. ⸻ [Standing Long Jump] Aoyama fires his laser downward and arcs gracefully over the pit. “Radiant.” Polite murmurs. Bakugo blasts off next. Violent arc. Hard landing. Deep trench in the sand. Strong. “Midoriya.” Egg. Forward vector. He pushes off. The turf fractures. He clears Aoyama. Clears Bakugo. Clears the entire pit. He lands beyond it— Stumbles. Two steps too far. Catches himself. Close. Whispers ripple. “…He overshot.” “He cleared it.” Bakugo grinds his teeth. ⸻ [Repeated Side Steps] “Thirty seconds,” Aizawa says. Mineta goes first. Stick. Bounce. Stick. Bounce. Ping—ping—ping— “Boobies…” he sighs. High score. Efficient. Izuku steps in. Egg. Left. Right. Left. Right. Precise. Controlled. Halfway— He increases pace. Small surges at each shift. No cracks this time. Timer buzzes. His score appears. Higher. No cheers now. Just looks. Adjustment. Jiro clicks her tongue. “Try hard…” ⸻ [Ball Throw] Uraraka steps into the circle. “Mm… There!” She releases and cancels gravity. The ball rises. Higher. Higher. Gone. Aizawa checks his phone. ∞ “Infinity?!” Kaminari shouts. Uraraka laughs nervously. “Guess that worked…” Izuku steps in. Egg. Shoulder. Elbow. Wrist. Release. The ball rockets forward in a clean arc. Dust kicks up behind him. His sleeve tears. His arm holds. The numbers climb. 700. 701. 1,000. 1,104.6 meters. Silence. Not infinity. But the farthest physical throw. Izuku lowers his arm slowly. Muscles screaming. No one cheers. Some don’t even look at the screen. Uraraka still smiles. Aizawa’s lips press thin. Iida adjusts his glasses, gaze lingering. Midoriya… I have severely underestimated you. Bakugo’s palm ignites.  A sharp crackle.  Suddenly— He moves.  Not a warning.  A lunge.  Izuku turns just in time— Bakugo’s hand is already swinging toward his face. Aizawa moves first. His capture scarf snaps through the air. His eyes lock onto Bakugo. Hair rising. Eyes flashing red. The sparks die instantly. Bakugo’s palm goes dark mid-swing. The scarf coils around his torso and yanks him back hard. Aizawa plants a foot and restrains him in one smooth motion. Izuku’s fist stops inches from Bakugo’s stomach. Close enough to feel the heat of his breath. Bakugo’s eyes drop. To the fist. His jaw tightens. Scowl deepens. Not fear. Realization. He almost got hit. Without his Quirk. Aizawa tightens the capture scarf just enough to halt Bakugo’s movement completely. His red eyes don’t blink. “This is a Quirk assessment,” he says flatly. “Not a grudge match.” Bakugo strains against the binding. “He—” “Enough.” The word isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. Aizawa’s gaze hardens. “You attacked another student outside of the test parameters.” A beat. Aizawa’s voice is even. “You’re disqualified from this round.” Silence— Then a ripple of whispers. “Disqualified…?” “Wait— doesn’t that mean—” “Last place gets expelled…” Kaminari’s face pales. “That means he’s—” “Shut up,” Jiro mutters, but she’s staring too. Iida’s eyes widen behind his glasses. Expulsion…? Bakugo doesn’t look at anyone. The word echoes in his head. Lowest score. Last place. Expelled. His shoulders rise and fall once. Hard breath in. Hard breath out. For a moment— He looks younger. Not furious. Not explosive. Just… crestfallen. His gaze drops to the ground. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t shout. Doesn’t explode. He just turns. And walks. Each step stiff. Controlled. Without a word, he leaves the field. The class watches him go. Izuku’s hand lifts slightly— Instinct. “Kacchan…” The word barely leaves his mouth. Bakugo doesn’t turn. A flicker— Small hands. A loud grin. “I’m gonna be the number one hero!” Sunlight on a riverbank. Confidence without malice. Then- punches flying. Bakugo gripping Izuku’s hair. “This is your limit. You don’t have a Quirk.”  Izuku’s fingers curl back into his palm. No. It’s better this way. Heroes don’t have ego trips. His hand drops to his side. Aizawa doesn’t comment. Doesn’t soften. He simply turns away. “Next.”