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The first thing Yuga did, once he had secured his door tightly shut behind him, was to shed the garish clothing he had been wearing and put on decent clothes. He then strolled over to his desk and turned on his computer. He opened a word processing program and immediately began writing down the day's events with as much detail as he could remember. It was a very minor challenge for him. There had been times before he had gained control of his power when he would go weeks between note-taking sessions, and he had still managed to glean information from those.

Yuga made no motion to save his file as he typed. He had procured a surge protector that doubled as a battery in case of a power outage, so he was relatively certain nothing would interrupt his process or destroy his work thus far. It was probably redundant in a place like this, with safeguards on top of the safeguards, but Yuga hadn't survived eighteen years of bipolar luck without learning to be a little redundant in his safety measures.

It took him only a few minutes to finish—Yuga had shockingly quick hands—and then he leaned back in his chair and began reviewing the day's events. He had done quite well and had adhered to the primary tenants of survival in a new area: speak much, say little, and see all. The clothes did there job making people not want to look at him, and they made him look like something of a jackass.

That suited Yuga's needs just fine. People overlooked and underestimated those they thought of as stupid, which was precisely what he wanted. Yuga was a boy who could affect the outcomes of dice throws in a school for people who could lift cars and eat fire. He was going to need every advantage he could get, and surprise was an excellent one to have.

Yuga continued scrolling down, rereading his recent notes. He had befriended Izuku easily enough, and Nirengeki was socially ignorant, so getting on his good side had only required minor encouragement. Setsuna was a lost cause; Yuga needed a telepath hanging around him like he needed a bullet to the head. Itsuka, on the other hand, was a whole different story. She had some skill in reading people, but her subtlety and manipulation skills were amateurish at best. The way her eyes had been darting about during the meeting, how she'd tilted her head when she was trying to figure out a new aspect to someone, the clumsy way she had tried to lead a conversation with Izuku, all of those had been tells of a novice. YugA estimated he could get her to trust him within the span of a month. After all, there were few things as vulnerable as someone with just a little bit of knowledge. Ochaco would be fairly easy to befriend he just needed to be friendly around her. The two agents he had babysitting him were going to be simple to get around. They had run a classic "good cop, bad cop" routine to categorize their interactions with the students. As long as he created some personal problems to ask Mr. Transport for help with, and let Mr. Numbers yell at him occasionally for minor discipline issues, neither one would think to wonder what was going on behind the stupid grin.

Yuga finished reading his notes, then went through them twice more. After the final pass, Yuga deleted every word he had written and closed the file without saving, making sure to purge the autosave function as he did so. That done, he undressed and got into bed. He would plan for how to handle the next day for only an hour, then allow himself to get some sleep. He needed to be in top form when he met the other students, after all.

Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers sat at the dining table in their new apartment. It was a spacious two-bedroom that existed behind the door in the kitchen. They would, of course, be sharing the cooking area with the children, but since the kids had meal plans and little practical experience in taking care of themselves, neither Mr. Transport nor Mr. Numbers anticipated battling with them for space on the stove.

They had also been provided with their own mini-fridge, which Mr. Numbers took as a negative sign, indicating some higher-up was aware of Mr. Transport's penchant for beer and liquor. Still, the fridge was there, so Mr. Transport had put his beer and a bottle of gin in it as they unpacked. Now, the two sat, still clad in their suits, going over their assignment folders one last time before the mandatory destruction of them.

"Do you think it went well?" Mr. Transport asked from his seat.

"Exceedingly," Mr. Numbers said. "We made them perceive us in the way they were supposed to. The only exception, of course, is the telepath."

"She shouldn't pose a problem for us, though," Mr. Transport said. "Remember your training. Telepaths can only read what is going through your mind at that moment. Just be careful and remember to control your thoughts around her."

"I'm aware of the necessary techniques," Mr. Numbers said with a slight edge to his voice. "I'm just not certain it holds true with that one. There's something about her, something different. I worry she might be able to go deeper than most telepaths."

"I'm sure the doctors or nurses would have made note of it in the file. Besides, why would a telepath who has spent her life without control of her ability be more adept with it than those who have honed it through a lifetime of practice?" Mr. Transport asked.

Mr. Numbers let out a small sigh. "I suppose you're right. Still, we'll have to stay on our toes around her. Heaven knows we have secrets we can't afford to let some fourteen-year-old girl in on."

"I thought she was thirteen," said Mr. Transport.

"She was when we met her, but she had her birthday while she was undergoing treatment," said Mr. Numbers.

"Oh. I do hope they did some sort of celebration for her," said Mr. Transport.

"It is my understanding that there was cake," assured Mr. Numbers.

"Very good then," said Mr. Transport. "Well, I'm ready when you are."

"Let's get the lighter and the bucket," said Mr. Numbers.

Itsuka tossed and turned sleeplessly in her bed. A telepath! What had her father been thinking, allowing a telepath to be her dormmate? He knew how much she valued her privacy. At least, she had thought he knew. What was she going to do? That Setsuna girl could be listening to her at that very moment. She would never know a moment's peace; never know a good sleep again.

Itsuka had always been excellent at reading others, a skill she had first learned from watching her Daddy interact with other people. Now, she was stuck with a dormmate who had been living in the damn forest for the last few years, and who was a mind reader to boot. All of Setsuna's social habits had been scrubbed clean by the wilderness and the solitude, so Itsuka had no idea what was going on in her head. On top of that, Setsuna could see Itsuka's thoughts plain as day.

Never had the tables been turned on Itsuka like this, never had she felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Her only consolation was that the others would be simple to deal with. Nirengeki was a big, insecure geek, Yuga was a tongue-wagging idiot, Izuku was uncomfortable with his own uniqueness, and Ochaco was a bubbly airhead. They had all shown weaknesses to capitalize on for her own gain, so she was comfortable with them. As for the agents, Itsuka barely spared a thought for them. They worked for Daddy, because, whether they knew it or not, everyone worked for Daddy in some way. She would be polite, and if they crossed her, she would handle them.

No, there was no problem with anyone else. Itsuka flipped over in her bed for the thousandth time, trying to figure out how to handle Setsuna.

Nirengeki was also thinking about Setsuna, though he and Itsuka had very different problems with the girl.

"She was so pretty," Nirengeki said to no one. He used to have friends, back before Roy had begun popping up more frequently, and had even managed to hang on to some personal connections through his LARP group. Those were gone now, back in Chicago, while he lay in bed alone. He desperately wished he still had them so he could tell them about his day, about how he had gotten Roy under control, and about the beautiful girl with the amber-colored eyes he had met on his first day at high school.

Nirengeki could do none of those, though, so instead, he was talking to an empty room. He wished he could have talked to her after the meeting was over, but she went back to the girls' side almost as soon as the two administrators were gone. Did she know he was going to talk to her, and that's why she ran? A wave of insecurity washed over Nirengeki, one that he was more than accustomed to. Nirengeki was pudgy, shy, and unremarkable. He had spent his whole life feeling those waves of insecurity crash against him. The only times they weren't there was when he was dressed up in costume pretending to be someone else. Then, he was brave, strong, and confident. Then, he was someone worth being.

Nirengeki felt something stir in his mind. He realized he had been calling out to Roy without noticing. That seemed to happen at his lowest points, when he wanted to be anyone else in the world besides Nirengeki Shoda. If not for the treatment, Roy would probably have appeared already. Fortunately, that was no longer the case. Nirengeki could call to him all night, but until he used the trigger that had been created, Roy would stay nothing more than a tickle in the back of his head.

Still, it was hard enough to get to sleep alone. Nirengeki didn't want to try and pass out with both of them stirring, so he decided to think of something besides Setsuna and how insecure she made him feel.

"She really is so pretty," Nirengeki said once more. He rolled over and tried to visualize anything besides Setsuna's amber eyes.

In her own room, Setsuna blushed.

"Yes, I think he's very sweet, No," she said to her bear. "I just think he needs a little more time to acclimate to living on on his own. This is a big, new environment, and if I were to be with him, I'd become nothing more than a security blanket."

The bear stared back at her from his resting place on the bed.

"Okay, you got me. I also want to see what his other side is like," Setsuna admitted. "Besides, there are much more interesting thoughts going on right now, don't you agree?"

No said nothing.

"So many people thinking of little old me," said Setsuna. "I feel like this is going to be a very interesting year." No still said nothing.

"Oh, you rascal," Setsuna laughed. "Maybe after a few weeks. Right now, we need to get to bed. It's going to be very loud tomorrow unless we're rested and in control."

Setsuna scooped No up and got under the covers with him. Like turning off a light switch, Setsuna banished away the voices in her head. And just like that, it was as though she were back in the forest, communing with the quiet. The ability to have silence on demand, that was something she would never grow tired of.

Izuku was still awake furiously writing in a book about each of his new dormmates. Mumbling to himself trying to infer what each of them could do with their powers. "I wonder if Ochaco can take things with her or if it's only her. Does she use the air around her to lift change her density or maybe gravity. I'll have to ask her tomorrow. What about Setsuna i wonder what her range is or how powerful her telekinesis is so much to find out. I bet with the years as a powered she's probably pretty powerful. I wonder if Itsuka can only change her hands or if she is able to change parts of her body and only ever done her hands by accident. Does it give her more strength or endurance. Nirengeki I wonder what he shifts into to be able to get into the HCP I doubt it would be anything to big it would take to long."

As Izuku finished writing he looked around wondering so many things about his new dormmates. Izuku got up from his desk and got changed to go to bed. Though as he got closer to his bed he picked up his backpack and gingerly took a gold pocket watch out and gently wound as he did every night. He then checked the time and made sure the watch was right before he set it down in a place of honor on his bedside table.

Then he had gotten into bed himself, pausing on his direct flight toward the land of slumber only long enough to run a finger along the watch and softly whisper, "Goodnight, Mother."

After that, he was gone into a dream that seemed to feature fire more heavily than the ones he had regularly.

Ochaco was asleep. Unlike the others, she hadn't had any large revelations about her roommates or sudden fears about the day to grapple with. Ochaco had merely come in, undressed, and gotten into bed.

"Welcome, freshmen!" The speaker was a short white furred dog-bear animal with a long tail dressed in a charcoal-colored suit. From behind his podium he looked around the room, emanating confidence and ease, as though he had made this speech dozens of times before. Which, coincidentally he had.

"It is my pleasure as Dean of the Hero Certification Program to be the first to congratulate you on making the cut and being enrolled in our very elite little academy," the dean continued. "My name is Nezu. However, I want you all to just call me Dean Nezu. It is my hope that each and every one of you grow stronger in the years ahead, and that the best of you graduate from here with full certifications, and go on to become acclaimed Heroes. I want to watch all of you find the lessons you need to succeed!"

"Of course he does," Yuga muttered to Izuku quietly from his seat in the middle of the auditorium. "The more prestige a Hero has, the better it looks on the school that trained them."

"I didn't think the five high schools that ran this program were in competition," Izuku said curiously.

"Where there is money, there is competition, and these bad boys are government-funded," Yuga replied.

"Now, I know all of you are a little nervous," Dean Nezu said in an understanding voice. "After all, most of you are from schools, if not towns, where you were the strongest person. Having peers around you who can understand and relate to what you're going through is a new experience, and I'm here to tell you that it will be a wonderful one. You're going to have friendships, support, and respect all built on the mutual understanding that only fellow Supers can share."

"You're going to need that support network, too," Dean Nezu continued. "As all of you should know, becoming a Hero is a grueling task. You'll be taking combat classes, training your tactical skills, learning to think around corners, and—possibly most importantly of all—you'll be learning about the ethics behind having and using abilities. And, of course, you'll be doing all of that while maintaining your secret identity up top." The sound of groans permeated the audience, which was about fifty people strong. Dean Nezu only gave this talk to freshmen.

"Now, now, none of that," said Dean Nezu without breaking his smile. "I know many of you have lived out in the open with your abilities for years, but this is how we do things at U.A. Learning to protect a secret identity helps you hone a lot of the skills a Hero will need. Ingenuity, thinking on your feet, and planning are all major elements of keeping your secret safe. Those of you who fail at keeping your secret . . . well, let's just say that fail was the operative word there."

There was no laughter at Dean Nezu's joke, not that he had expected any. That was a joke just for him.

"Of course, there are always extenuating circumstances, but let's just say you should do your best to keep the fact that you're a HCP student close to the vest. If you need to show off, work out, or just get the powers pumping, then you are always welcome down here, where you can be the Super we all know you are," Dean Nezu reassured them.

"Lovely," Itsuka said to no one in particular. She had opted to sit alone near the top of the tiered auditorium. She loved that sort of spot because it allowed her a vantage point above all the others, observing and noting their behavior. She had also chosen it because Setsuna, Ochaco and for some reason Nirengeki, had both sat near the bottom. Itsuka was not about to give that girl any more time staring into her mind than she had to.

"With that settled, let's go over today's activities, shall we?" Dean Nezu asked rhetorically. "Since above-ground classes don't start until tomorrow, we'll be using today to do our combat ranking. For those of you who don't know, we do rankings among the classes at the beginning of this and end of every other year. This is so we can get a sense of where you're starting from based on the previous test, and how much you've grown by the end. We won't just be taking into account who wins each fight; we'll be looking at how they use their abilities, bodies, and brains to make the most of every situation. Today's will be a single elimination tournament, so the more you win, the more you fight, and the better chance you have to showcase what you can do."

Izuku felt his heart sink. All he had for energy was the half a book of matches he had absorbed yesterday while showing off for Yuga. Unless he fought someone with electrical or fire abilities, he was going to be working at a big disadvantage. It was really his own fault; Mr. Numbers had warned them there would be combat. He'd even had a passing thought of trying to find a place to absorb energy, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was still a nagging voice in the back of his brain telling him that he would lose control and drain the whole school. Or town. Or state.

"I'd like all of you to come down now and meet the professors who will be overseeing the first battle of your high school careers, the freshmen combat coaches: Coach Oguro and Coach Persephone!" Dean Blaine announced, gesturing to the side of the stage where a pair of people, both wearing sweats, walked on and joined up with the dean in the center. The man was towering, heavily muscled man with a large scar running across the left side of his face. The woman, on the other hand, was blonde, lean, curvy, and just plain sexy. She looked like she wouldn't be able to take on a sack of potatoes, let alone watch over fighters in combat. Not that that really mattered to the men in the audience, who were staring unabashedly, with only a few exceptions. Yuga was certainly not one of those exceptions. "Look at the tits on her," he said as he and Izuku rose from their seats and began making their way to the stage with the rest of the rest of the class.

"You better hope she doesn't have enhanced hearing," Izuku warned as they descended.

"What? Like she doesn't know she has amazing breast? I mean, we can see them through a sweatshirt. I seriously doubt me saying this would result in a ground breaking realization, no?" Yuga defended.

"No, but it could be a skull-breaking one for you. The woman teaches people that can shrug bullets off to fight. I can't imagine she's as frail as her form looks," Izuku said.

"You have a point," Yuga agreed. "On the other hand, though…"

Fortunately for Izuku, they reached the stage, and even Yuga wasn't dumb enough to keep chatting about their coach's breast with her in human earshot. At least, Izuku hoped Yuga wasn't that dumb.

Once all the students were together, Coach Oguro stepped forward and addressed them.

"Good morning, new meat," he said with a grin that was far more believable than the one the dean still had shellacked onto his face. "To the upperclassmen, I'm a professor, but you haven't earned that right yet, so to you, my name is Coach Oguro, and by the end of the year, you are going to curse me, my mother for birthing me, and God for allowing me to exist. I am going to work every last one of you down to the bone. I am going to break you apart until you have no concept of what you can or can't do, because I want each of you to end this year doing things you never thought possible. You will all hate me for the rest of your life, but if you are very skilled and very lucky, you will live long enough to come back here and thank me one day. You will thank me for making you strong enough to survive."

Coach Oguro stepped back, and Coach Persephone stepped forward. "First off, yes, eyes up at my face, gentlemen. Secondly, I'm going to be training you as well, though, while my brutish counterpart will be teaching your bodies how to endure combat, I will be educating your minds. You will use your powers in new ways you never would have imagined before, and you will do it because the only options I am going to hand you are to find a way or suffer bodily harm. You should know that Coach Oguro and I are the harshest instructors in this academy, because we have to be. This is where you are torn down and built up correctly with the building blocks that will enable you to survive the years to follow. If we do not think you can survive, we will fail you. So work hard and learn fast, or you'll wash out and be no better than a Powered."

The students winced visibly at that, the idea of being compared to a Powered kicking them into gear and setting their determination not to wash out firmly into place. Which, of course, was exactly what Coach Persephone had been aiming for.

"All right," said Dean Nezu. "So, before we pair off for the first round of combat, does anyone have any questions so far?" No hands came up, so Dean Nezu continued. "Fantastic. Then I want the girls to go to Coach Persephone and the boys to go to Coach Oguro so they can pair you up."

"Isn't that sexist?" The question came from a girl near the front of the crowd with dirty-blonde hair. Izuku looked at her, and realized with pleasant surprise that the girl with the pink-skin from the dining hall yesterday was standing next to the question asker.

"And what is your name, miss?" Dean Nezu asked in response. "Kyoka," the girl replied. "Let me guess, Kyoka, you're a feminist, right?"

"Um … yes," Kyoka replied,

"There's always one," Dean Nezu said with a sigh. "We go over this every year, so I'll tell you the same thing, Kyoka. The point of this test is to get an idea of how you fight against an opponent when you are at relatively equal footing. Both you and your opponent will have an ability, so the only other difference is your physique, and sadly, boys are usually stronger than girls. This means that getting an accurate assessment requires us to pair you with people who have similar body types. If it makes you feel better, though, this is only the case for freshman year. Once you become sophomores and have been trained by Oguro here, we'll be setting you against anyone, regardless of sex."

"I guess that makes sense," Kyoka conceded.

"Great," Dean Nezu said. "Okay, everyone, report to your respective coach and get ready for a good old-fashioned tussle."

Izuku was impressed at the combat cells U.A possessed. Seventy feet by seventy feet in size, they were made of reinforced concrete that was several inches thick, with five-inch plastic serving as a window and a triple-locked door as the only entrance and exit. What was truly amazing, though, was that there were so many of them. Right now, each member of the freshman class was standing in a cell just like Izuku's, staring across at some other student they would be facing off against.

In Izuku's case, the boy who had entered was a few inches taller and a few muscles broader. The blond hair on his head brought attention to his frost-blue eyes. The only other person near them was a girl wearing a white uniform, staring down at them through the glass. She was one of the senior class, doing her duty by watching over the new recruits to make sure no one was killed. Serious injury wasn't a concern since there were healers on hand, but no one could bring back the dead. At least, employed no one at U.A.

Izuku and his opponent were both wearing black uniforms of a style similar to the girl's. It seemed the hierarchy at U.A was that freshmen wore black uniforms, sophomores and juniors wore grey, and the few seniors that managed to stay in class were issued white. This supposedly represented the students growing closer to the goodness and purity that all Heroes were meant to represent. Izuku thought it was just that there was more training and fighting in the lower years and black didn't stain as easily, but he kept that particular theory to himself.

"Introduce yourselves," came a female voice from a speaker hidden somewhere in the concrete around them. It took Izuku a moment, but he realized it had come from their overseer. Apparently,there was some sort of intercom system set up for the rooms. It made sense; how else was someone going to talk to them through solid walls?

"My name is Neito Monoma," Izuku's opponent said, a broad and confident smile smearing across his face.

"Izuku Midoriya," said Izuku.

"I like your hair," Neito commented.

"I like your … style," Izuku reciprocated as best he could.

Neito laughed. "Thanks it does draw attention to the frost in my eyes."

Izuku said nothing, merely kept sweeping his eyes over Neito, trying to get some sense of what the boy would be doing once the metaphorical bell sounded. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Begin," said the same, crackling intercom-voice. Izuku jumped at the voice and scrambled to the left out of instinct. While Neito reared back his right arm and punched in the direction Izuku had been in seconds before. Granted, since there was forty feet between them, it was a ridiculous gesture that shouldn't have endangered Izuku in the slightest.

A flash of blue light roared past him, striking the wall where he had been standing only moments before. A quick peek back showed that a long chunk of the wall was now coated in ice.

'Freaking perfect an ice elemental. Just what I need.' Izuku thought to himself.

"I'm impressed," Neito complemented. "Not many people think to get out of the way of a punch from across the room."

"I would call it more luck than anything I just jumped from the voice." Izuku admitted.

"I hope it help you more," Neito said as he balled up both his fists. "Because, to be honest, fighting me in the first round is the worst case scenario for anyone."

Izuku didn't respond as he took off running. Neito may have been a good shot but he was still shooting from forty feet away. Izuku was quick on his feet, and more importantly, he'd had a lot of practice running away, so he was able to stay ahead of the punches as they came at him.

Neito was no slouch either; he began looking ahead to where Izuku was running and firing ahead of him. More than once, Izuku was only saved by a quick roll to the side or a slide underneath. The upside was that the more Neito fired, the more Izuku began to get his timing down. Neito needed to take a deep breath between every two punches, though whether it was part of his fighting style just necessary moment to recharge Izuku was unsure.

The good thing was that everytime he took a breath, Izuku had a moment to pause and see where Neito's eyes were aiming. The only real chance Izuku had was to wear him down till his endurance was thin. Using his powers seemed to take a toll on his body as far as Izuku could see at the moment it was only on his lungs. So if Izuku could get Neito gasping for air, then he might have a chance at getting close to him.

"What the hell is your quirk?" Neito asked as he figured out Izuku's plan and threw two more punches that Izuku lept over. "Running away."

Izuku said nothing, conserving his air for movement.

"If this is all you can do, then you should just give up," Neito chastised him. "So you've got a weak quirk. That doesn't mean you should jump around and make an ass of yourself because you're up against a real opponent." To punctuate his words, Neito let loose another flurry that crashed at Izuku's feet.

Izuku hurdled over the fast-forming ice and kept moving. He realized the problem with his strategy the moment he was away from the slicked ground behind him. The more punches Neito threw, the more ice formed around the room, which made running away increasingly difficult.

Izuku quickly slide behind one of the many small pillars and block of ice that were forming around the room. Izuku took a quick look at Neito and saw that with each breath he took fog followed.

"Damn it," Neito cursed. "I don't care if you can't fight. Just give up so I can move onto an opponent with some skill."

Izuku jumped out from behind the block of ice he had been hiding behind and quickly started to run towards Neito dodging punches that flew at him and with each step closer to Neito they became harder to dodge.

As Izuku dodged one last punch and came within range to grab Neito. Izuku grabbed the his clothes before tossing him with a hip throw to the ground.

"You seem to be mistaken," Izuku said as he towered over the prone from of Neito. "Our powers work in contrast to each other, that's why I've been taking the defensive. It was the smart move until I understood your tactics. Let me assure you of one thing right now, though. I know how to fight."

"Gaaaaah!" Izuku cried as he was knocked back across the field, his small body rolling in the grass before coming to a stop.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Learn their timing and adjust your own to fit into their defensive gaps. Most people fight with patterns, and that's all they know. If you can flow through those patterns, they won't even be able to see how you're hitting them, let alone find a way to block you," said a short, green-haired woman in a tattered, red coat.

"Sorry . . . Mother," Izuku squeezed out as he gasped for air. His mother's last punch had knocked the breath out of him. He was used to it, though, and would recover quickly. mother didn't hold back when teaching him how to fight, because no one Izuku ever went up against would be holding back either.

"You're getting better, Izuku," Mother encouraged. "You landed two punches on my arm that time before you fell into your own rhythm."

Izuku managed to pull himself to his feet. Small and slight at eight years old and wearing ragged clothing, the only thing remarkable about him was his tousled, green-silver hair. That, and the look of determination screaming out of his soft, blue eyes.

"How do I keep from falling into my rhythm?" Izuku asked.

"Simple," Mother replied. "Don't have one."

"I don't know how," Izuku admitted. Mother never chastised him for admitting ignorance, saying it was the only way for Izuku to find his weak spots and grow stronger. "It's not something that's easy," Mother explained. "You have to be able to adapt to your opponent's style, to work in a way that is the most detrimental to them. The only way to achieve it is through proper training and a variety of skilled opponents. However, you have a slight advantage in this area."

"What's that?" Izuku asked.

"Your power is that of absorption. You can deal in all different types of energies. That means your core nature is an adaptive one," Mother said. "You were built to handle all kinds of different challenges, so I have faith you'll be able to learn how to fight without a form."

"How does my ability factor in?" Izuku asked harshly. "I can't even control it unless you're around."

"Just because you can't control it doesn't mean it doesn't say a lot about you," Mother pointed out. "Now, the train will be pulling out in two hours, so if we want to jump on a car, we only have an hour and a half left. Do you want to spend it whining, or do you want to spend it training?"

Izuku took a deep breath, making sure he had fully recovered from the blow to his stomach and losing his wind. He hadn't, but it was good enough for the moment.

"Training," Izuku said with a grin.

Six years later found Izuku standing above a hero level fighter. Neito rolled onto his back and punched up at Izuku throwing a blast of icy cold energy at him.

Izuku threw himself backwards to avoid the blow. Neito scrambled to his feet and said, "To think you can actually fucking fight and here I thought you just wanted to run away."

Izuku rushed at Neito that was still getting to his feet. Jabbing quickly at Neito as quick as he was Izuku was still a heartbeat to slow as Neito blocked his punch. Izuku quickly fell into a his mind and all he saw was his opponent's movements, feeling the pattern that Neito wove to take down his prey.

Izuku flowed around Neito, using footwork to keep Neito from being able to get off a clean shot. Normally Izuku would just count on his practice taking blows to let him work through the pain and end the fight but being frozen solid, wasn't an option.

Izuku kept throwing light punches, mere taps at first, easy to recover from both parties. Izuku wasn't trying to do damage: he was trying to see how Neito blocked.

The more Neito dodged the surer Izuku was that Neito training was in boxing. Which gave Izuku an idea on how to take him down.

Izuku slid to Neito's side and threw a left directly at Neito's face. Neito blocked it immediately, rearing back his own left to deliver an ice-punch to Izuku's face. He never got the chance, though, as Izuku followed the momentum of his punch through with a hard knee to Neito's ribs. Without stopping, Izuku used the force to spin himself around Neito's back, out of range of his frozen fists, and delivered a right-handed blow to the same spot on the ribs he had struck with his knee. Izuku was preparing to let fly a punch to the back of Neito's head when the ground beneath his feet suddenly went slick.

Izuku backed away quickly, getting onto a part of the concrete that offered more traction at the sacrifice of his position behind Neito. This had obviously been Neito's plan—he must have punched the ground to steal Izuku's footing—but Izuku had no other option besides playing into it.

"I can't believe it," Neito said. "All that fucking running, and it turns out you have some decent hand-to-hand skills. I'll admit, I thought that first attack was just luck."

Izuku noticed Neito was talking, but not punching. Maybe he was foggy from the blows, but Izuku doubted it. More likely, he had either realized he couldn't hit Izuku at this range, or he was trying to lure Izuku to let his guard down.

"Of all things I expected today, using this on someone who hasn't even shown me their power wasn't one of them," Neito said. His tone casual, but his eyes were hard. Izuku had embarrassed him, and it was very clear Neito did not take kindly to that. "You got in some good shots, Izuku, but that won't work on me anymore."

As he spoke, Neito's body seemed to turn blue. After a second, Izuku realized that ice was forming over Neito's frame, cracking and fissuring as it went to allow movement, while thickening to protect what was underneath. It seemed to take no time at all before Neito was almost totally covered in ice armor. Izuku could still make out his eyes through a pair of slits, but there was no way he was going to find a vulnerable chunk of Neito's flesh to pound on this time.

"You did pretty good for being as weak as you are," Neito goaded. "But I want you to see what a real warrior looks like. I'm going to be the number one ranked in this class, because no one is as powerful as me!" Neito tilted back his armored head and laughed, unconcerned about his worthless opponent as he stood in the invincible protection his ice offered him. The moment Neito's head was back, Izuku began charging forward. He'd made it halfway there when Neito noticed his headlong sprint. "You think this is for show? Or are you so dumb you really think you can punch through several inches of ice?" Neito asked, taking his stance once again as Izuku drew closer.

Izuku never slowed down for an instant, running right up to Neito and stopping on his left foot, letting the speed carry his right forward into a powerful round kick. Neito moved to block it, but the foot drew back a few inches before it would have struck the armor around his arm. Izuku kept spinning, though, pulling off a complete three-sixty before planting his right foot down and launching forward on it. Neito realized that Izuku was still carrying most of the momentum from the run in his body, and that he was cocked back to throw a punch right at Neito's face. It took everything Neito had not to laugh at this sad, determined idiot. So Izuku wanted to break his own hand just trying to land a blow on him? Well, that was just fine by Neito's standards; he knew how powerful his ice was. He didn't even make a motion to block. Let Izuku give it his all and fail miserably.

Izuku kept moving forward, stopping just short of bouncing into Neito's chest and throwing the rest of his momentum into his right fist, just as Neito had expected. Izuku furrowed his brow in concentration; he would have to time this just right. Izuku's punch soared upward, on a dead track for Neito's jaw. A fraction of a second before it hit, though, to Neito's tremendous surprise, a fireball roared forth from the clenched fist, striking the icy covering an instant before Izuku's flesh did.

Black and white spots flashed in front of Neito's eyes as he landed on his back. He couldn't understand it. Izuku had hurled a fireball to melt and weaken his armor before the punch connected, that much was obvious. But if Izuku had that sort of power, why had he played defensive for so long? One thing was certain; Neito was done taking it easy on this kid.

Neito rose to his feet, reinforcing the area around his chin that Izuku's fire had melted. Neito had no banter or sass this time, only unadulterated hatred in his eyes for the boy who had put him on his back.

"Crap," Izuku said from the same spot he had knocked Neito back. "I was really hoping that would put you down for the count."

"It didn't," Neito replied.