Among Heroes and Telepaths

by Jokes Are Us

Some people wished to disprove those who spat on their dreams; some had legacies they sought uphold; some wished to escape the shadows of their past. Ouka Oyama? He just wants to save people. Funny how simple objectives like that come at the end of a blurry road. Friends and enemies; victories and mistakes; these all litter the path to becoming a Hero. Rated M for Language

2. Assessment

Got a lot of feedback from chapter 1, and that is the primary reason I was able to continue. You guys had some good questions, some encouraging positivity.

I know "shy-guy" mentality is one most of y'all hate in main characters; Hell, I hated it, too, writing the first chapter, but it was crucial to the development of Ouka's character arc. I stopped and started writing completely different stories for a time was how much it grated me, but I finally fell in love with the completed product.

I promise this won't last beyond the first few chapters, so please bear with it for now. It will be decreasingly prevalent in coming chapters as Ouka starts to shed his shell. At least it's not a cliche backstory where he was kidnapped by some shady organization and brutally tortured into an angsty misanthrope. Not that there's anything wrong with that, if that's your thing. I just want to make it clear again that angst is not going to be the main focus. I'm trying to write decent character interaction, humor, and other uplifting things to counter-balance any drama.

*Final note before we get started: I want to make some clarifications about the offense-oriented aspect of Ouka's Quirk in case my portrayals get a bit blurry. It is "Telekinesis," but with the emphasis on "kinetic." His Telekinesis Quirk harnesses special electrical discharges from synapses on his brain and converts it into kinetic energy in an object in the form of motion. That motion becomes momentum over time, force, which moves or throws an object in the direction of Ouka's choosing. The amount of force depends on the amount of kinetic energy he transfers into an object.

Also, he can't just shove kinetic energy into an object all at once. He holds them in-place with equally-applied forces while he builds up that energy to avoid damaging it or himself. Why? Well, imagine if a car went from 0 MPH to Speed of Sound in a second; friction and gravity are still a thing. Any vehicle without durability would crumple like a tin can or burst into flames under natural forces that already exist. That's how I understand it at any rate; it is possible I'm wrong and full of shit, but I will operate under the presumption I am not.

Now, without further ado-

Disclaimer: Boku no Hero Academia, or My Hero Academia IF YOU'RE WRONG (I'm kidding~), is the property of its respective owners. Please support the official release.

---

Months passed.

Extra pre-enrollment materials came in the mail like clockwork. None of the legal documents or waivers of the exam, however, which lightened Ouka's anxieties considerably. He would prefer life-and-death situations not be a part of his daily life until he actually became a Pro-Hero. The forms he was given were for costume design were simple enough that an elementary student could fill them out, albeit without as much artistic vision. Or more. Ouka was not sure if his ideas were particularly creative, but he thought they looked as cool as they were efficient.

He spent what time he had left practicing with his Quirk; moving small objects that happened to litter his desk, or going out to the local junk yard when he wanted for serious practice. The old man running the joint was plenty grateful to Ouka for sorting through the old piles, even if he found Ouka's silence unnerving. For the most part, Ouka focused on studying. The only thing as stringent as the Entrance Exam was general studies.

School was school after all, and U.A. accepted no slackers. If he fell behind, he would lose the spot he spent all this time cultivating his skills to earn. His guardians gave him all the space and free-time he needed. He barely saw them in the faint moments they were leaving or returning through the door, but they never forgot small comments like, "Good job," or, "So proud of you," between tired yawns, which left him warm and fuzzy feelings for the subsequent week.

Time passed almost like a dream. Ouka made a few more trips to the prison to visit his mother, ask for some tips regarding his registration. She was familiar with some of the materials, and gave decent insight into how he should present himself when his costume was ready.

Finally, spring semester started.

The trains were still abuzz with background noise and thoughts, but his excitement managed to quell the irritation of his cluttered brain space. He didn't recognize anyone, nor any of the sounds their minds projected. He noted a few uniforms similar to his own, but U.A. taught a variety of subjects; there was no telling who was actually going to be in his class or not. What conversation piece could he raise with someone who was, at that point, a complete stranger?

Just thinking about how forward he had been with his comrades at the exam made his legs wobble and his throat tighten. He regretted not apologizing more for his lack of manners, but that time had passed.

It was the start of a new chapter, one that began with the first step onto the train platform in Musutafu. He turned his music up to MAX and mumbled noises with his mouth to drown out everyone else. It worked to an extent, and he was too happy to care where it didn't. His own joy outshone the borderline-vertigo he experienced whenever he stepped outside.

He was here. The peaks of U.A. High's glassy towers looked down on him with an almost friendly glint of light. It lacked the oppressive glare or pity he was used to. It warmed his chilled, hairless arms to merely be standing on this sacred ground; not as a hopeful, but as a bona fide student of the Hero course. He felt indistinguishable from any of the students littering the courtyard or the steps of the main building. They had no knowledge of him, and he had no knowledge of them.

It was paradise...until he started looking for his classroom.

U.A. was big, he quickly learned. Too big. The collective chatter of hundreds of thoughts and thots was dizzying enough, but there were four departments, each with their own sets of classrooms and facilities.

A labyrinth. This was no school; it was a damned maze. His eyes spun in his sockets at each sets of doors, each of varying letters and numbers but none being the one he sought. He became increasingly aware of clocks interspersed at regular intervals throughout the halls, the ticking hands ringing louder than the voices.

I cannot be late on my first day! After the trials of the entrance exam, Ouka dreaded what acted for punishment in such a school. 1-A. 1-A. Where the heck is 1-A?!

He was so transfixed upon his own thoughts, that, for a blissful moment, all others were completely shut-out. A hard collision brought him back to a painful reality. Ouka was too slow to use his Quirk and hit the ground hard.

"Ah! S-Sorry! I was not watching where I was going-!"

"Monsieur, there is none taken," The boy on the ground gave a charismatic wink, his shiny blonde hair adding a plastic feeling to his grace. That and the trail of blood flowing freely from his nose. "As you can see, I am perfectly fine!"

"It hurts so much I want to cry - No. Must! Stay! Fabulous!"

Ouka's face twitched under his hood and mask. No, no matter how you look at it; there's something wrong with you. What he said aloud was, "Are you sure you would not like for me to walk you to the Nurse's Office?"

"When I say I'm fine, I'm fine," The flamboyant strutter said, standing from the ground. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off!"

"Wait!" Ouka cried. His fellow student paused. "Um, would you happen to know where Class 1-A is?"

"If it is that classroom you're looking for, then perhaps our meeting here was fate," He flashed his arms down the corridor, ignoring the crimson staining them. "Class 1-A is right there!"

Ouka's eyes glanced upon the sign above the door, no more than ten feet away. "Oh!" He bowed to the boy he just met. "Thank you, very much!"

"Think nothing of it," The boy struck another model-esque pose, an arm behind his head and one on his hip. "Now, excusez-moi, but I have some business to take care of!" He sprinted down the hallway in a manner that could only be considered faux-elegant.

Ouka stepped towards the class, but paused, paralyzed by shock. I ended up speaking in his mind without permission! I did it again! But this was followed by another realization, He didn't react to it at all.

And Ouka could hear his thoughts. Digging into deeper ideas or feelings required conscious effort, but what they thought at any moment's notice was often a good indicator of one's character. Just like Kirishima and Kendo, he didn't seem offended at all by the intrusion. Nobody lashed out, or called him a freak.

In Hero Society, there was an unspoken bias. Everyone loved powers like super strength, speed, or shooting flames; but Quirks with little to no physical capability, like telekinesis, the sort that didn't go boom in flashy ways, were typically thought lesser of by adoring publics. Everyone wanted to see Heroes violently explode deserving Villains.

It was worse with invasive Quirks, those that altered other people's biology or saw into their deepest secrets. Mental abilities like clairvoyance, hypnosis, and telepathy were often considered closer to "evil" powers. They could pry away any individual's security without budging an inch. Everyone was fine with cracking each other's skulls, as long as nobody else had their hands inside of theirs.

Maybe Ouka would still need to watch his thoughts lest they get away from him, but, perhaps, U.A. would be a fresh start. Maybe he would be free of all the passing waves of other people's anger or frustration that clouded his every waking moment. Maybe, just maybe, he would have a good time here.

He made his way to the classroom, stopping at the door standing twice his height. It stood more challenging than the towers outside. "Open me if you dare," it said.

"I have faced giant robots before," Ouka replied, "You are nothing, door. You will not stop me!"

He gripped the door handle, took a deep breath, and pushed the door inward.

"Classmate! I humbly but firmly request you remove those this instant!" Ouka covered his ears, even though the words rang within his skull. A boy with glasses was hovering over the desk of a girl with headphone jacks running down from her earlobes. She wore a set of her own headphones over her ears, blasting music that hummed even outside the cups.

The girl blinked, pulling one cup from her right ear. "Huh? You say something?"

"Class will be starting any moment, and it is disrespectful to be playing your music after we've all taken our seats."

"The bell hasn't even rung yet. What's your deal?"

"It is important that we exhibit the calm, respectful, and efficient principles of a Hero. We owe it to the seniors who used these desks before us to give nothing less than our full attention at all times!"

"But aren't you the one screaming right now?" Another girl poked her head into the group, boring into the taller youth with unflinching pupils. "That doesn't seem calm or efficient, nor any less disrespectful."

Although the boy was taller than them, the sharp blow rocked his entire body. He exuded a kidney stone-level of tension that made Ouka's own back stiffen in conformity. He straightened his jacket, his tie, and his face-mask. The white-painted cloth stretched evenly over his mouth.

"You there!" The gesture did not go unnoticed, it seemed. The "honor student," as he seemed to be, marched over to Ouka, breaking him down with an analytical stare. He was still loud, but he wasn't screaming when he spoke, "Your attire violates several tenets of U.A.'s student dress code. I politely request you remove that hood and mask at once."

Normally, Ouka would be nervous being approached in such a forthright manner. This time, he was prepared. He produced a folded piece of paper to the boy, revealing its contents.

"I received permission to modify my uniform," He said, "I was careful to ensure I was well within deadline for submissions."

The boy perused the paper with noted interest, nodding with every paragraph. "I see." He handed the paper back, and his disposition was notably cooler. "You appear to have the proper documentation." He lowered his head. "I apologize for the misunderstanding."

It happened again! Ouka was careful to administer only a light mental touch, but the honor student didn't respond negatively. The taller boy took it in stride compared to the gravity of student conduct. Ouka gratefully bowed his head in return, which further mollified the once-tense classmate.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself," He extended his hand, "I am Tenya Iida, a graduate of the Soumei Private Academy. I look forward to attending class with you!" And now he was offering Ouka a hand!

Ouka's heart shook. He wasn't prepared for this. His hands were too sweaty. He had to improvise. His head went lower in response to Iida's greeting. "Hello. I am Ouka Oyama. I am from Morioka Junior High. A pleasure to meet you, Iida-san. I am also looking forward to class with you."

Iida retracted his hand, letting slip his thoughts, "A bit terse, but it is good to see fellow classmates who mind their etiquette. Unlike-" And there wasn't a clear thought so much as an abrupt rush of frustration. "You!" He pointed to the student sitting in the first seat at the edge of the classroom. "Remove your feet from that desk immediately! This is a place for learning!"

Something about the boy Iida approached felt familiar. It tingled Ouka's brainstem, wracking his memories. The boy had a head like the end of a broomstick, dirty-blonde and prickly. Difficult to misplace. Then again, Ouka hadn't spent much of recent time committing others to perfect memory. If he brought it up, would it be considered rude? He considered (and then chastised himself for) the idea of picking the boy's brain. Not deeply; just enough to get an idea of where-

"Man, that Iida-guy's intense, huh," It was the girl Iida had previously been critiquing who spoke, directing her words at Ouka from her seat.

Huh? Ouka blinked. He forgot that others couldn't hear conversations he exchanged through his thoughts. It required either complete focus or a complete lack thereof. To the handful of others looking on with concerned expressions, it must've looked like Iida had started just screaming at some poor kid and then doing an equally enthusiastic 180. Ouka's attention was split between remembering "Broom-Head Boy" and piecing together an explanation for the exchange that he had initially forgotten.

"Don't worry too much," came another voice, raucous and overwhelming as Iida's but with an upbeat ring, "Oyama is unflappable. Trust me, I know." A hand patted Ouka's shoulder. Ouka's head flinched from looking at the girl to looking at the hand. "Long time, no see!"

Again, Ouka found himself staring, his thoughts as blank as his face, at the sharp grin that threatened to blind his eyes. Ouka was sure he didn't know this guy. His hair was scarlet and spiky enough to poke an eye out. Something even Ouka would have taken note of. His stomach unsettled when the arm attached to the hand wrapped further around his shoulder, pulling him into a tight half-embrace.

"Pretty crazy, both of us big shots getting put into the same class together," The stranger said. "And, I see I'm not the only one who decided to give my get-up a little upgrade. Nice mask, dude! Is that going to be part of your Hero costume?"

Ouka strained his brain to its limits, going from sifting to bare-knuckle burrowing through his own memory. He never recalled anyone being this friendly. Not enough for the famous, "half-hug." Except for perhaps his parents, before - Ah ah ah. Nope. Not that memory. Repress. Represssss. The image dissolved in mind fluid before it could come to full fruition. It had nothing to do with the boy anyway, and left him just as clueless.

The girl with the headphones wagged her finger between the two boys. "You two know each other?"

"Red Spiky Boy" answered, "Yeah. Me and this guy pulled each other out of the fire a few times back during the exams," Then, with a nervous laugh, he added, "though the score is mostly in his favor." Ouka blinked, staring harder. The voice rang a few bells, but the face...

Wait. "Exams"? Ouka watched the image of the red-haired boy slowly overlap with another, a dull-faced boy with dark hair hanging around his face; and a Quirk that made him harder than steel. Ouka's eyes opened to the size of dinner plates. "Kirishima-san! It is you!"

Eijiro Kirishima released Ouka, his face recoiling in faux-hurt. "You didn't recognize me?"

"Uh uh. You look totally different."

"Ha, I guess my new style worked even better than I thought. What do you think?"

"...It looks good," Ouka was glad his grit teeth couldn't betray his mental words. Really, he was thinking, Oh no! I lied to him! But another thought occurred to take the place of that one, "I do not see Kendo-san here, though."

"Yeah," Kirishima rubbed the back of his head, "I tried looking for her around here earlier, but she's probably in the other class."

"I am glad all three of us were able to pass. I just wish she was here to celebrate with us."

"We've got three years at the same school, and they're in the classroom next door. We'll probably bump into her eventually."

"Don't underestimate these halls, Kirishima-san," His face was placid, but Ouka's tone was deadly serious. "It is a labyrinth that swallows both directions and dreams!"

"You okay there?"

"I could ask the same about you," The girl from before suddenly appeared between them, her eyes as piercing as they were confused. "You know you're talking to yourself, right?"

"Huh?" Kirishima obviously hadn't noticed. Ouka had never told him exactly how his Quirk worked, so he probably assumed everyone could hear Ouka talk every time. That was good. The less people knew about the extent of his telepathy, the better. "What are you talking about? I'm talking to my buddy here!"

A deep, cherry-red creeped onto Ouka's face beneath his mask. His "buddy"?! We are buddies!?

"He's not saying anything," The girl's lip curled when Ouka's intent eyes turned on her, "and now he's looking at me weird."

Ouka covered his eyes. "Oh! I am sorry!"

"What the crap!" The girl crashed backward, toppling over the desk behind her. The clatter drew the attentive eyes of their other present classmates; some with concern, some with confusion, and some in particular with blunt annoyance. "What the hell was that?!"

He overdid it! He'd overstepped his boundaries. He should've asked first. Of course people would still be frightened. Just because five people out of everyone he had ever met were okay with it, that did not mean it wasn't still rude. The only real question was how mad "headphones girl" was. Ouka hid behind Kirishima in case she started throwing things.

He only felt this action was okay because Kirishima's Quirk was "Hardening." That meant nothing she could have at hand could possibly hurt him...which Ouka only knew for sure because he impulsively read Kirishima's mind.

I am a very bad buddy...

Iida glanced over from his debate with "Broom-Head," concern and discipline flashing across his glasses. "Are you alright? Do you require medical assistance?"

"Ugh," She rubbed the new welt across the back of her head. "I'm fine. I just tripped. Keep your shirt on." Standing upright with no visible disability or injury, Iida accepted her personal status report. Some concerned eyes continued a casual glance at the situation from a distance. Ouka counted at least two people wondering if he had shoved her.

He couldn't pinpoint who because that required looking at them, which would arouse only more of their misguided suspicion.

"Headphones Girl" leaned in, her narrowed eyes shooting electricity up his spine. "Was that you?"

Ouka peered out from behind a clueless Kirishima, trembling under what he thought was the harsh gaze of judgment. Swallowing back a mouthful of bile, he slowly nodded.

"So, what? You can like read minds or something?"

Oh no! She knows!

"Yeah," Kirishima agreed, "it's a pretty nifty skill. Probably makes it easy to figure out where Villains are."

"Does that mean," Ouka swallowed, terrified of the accusatory question the girl would ask, "you can hear everything a person's thinking?"

"Usually only at a given time, but..."

"Even music?"

"Y-Yes-" The tension deflated in an instant, leaving Ouka thrown off-balance. "What?"

"Is it only words, or can you hear any sound people think of?" Ouka blinked. "Like, if I started imagining the tune of one of my favorite songs in my head, would you also hear it? Or would it sound like normal speech?"

Ouka opened his mouth, a ceremoniously gesture at best, before he found himself at a loss. How would that work?

Everyone was generally thinking of something in their spare time. He could hear the emotion fueling it. But lyrics overlaid with melodic instrumentals? He never thought about it. There was such a swarm of noise that he never took the time to delve particularly deep into it. More importantly, was that really of greatest concern to her?

"I, erm, suppose it is possible."

"That's kinda cool I guess." It was the last opinion she seemed to bother addressing. Ouka expected more, after how startled she seemed to be-

"He looks pretty harmless, at least," Her thoughts said. Aloud, she said, "Just don't go burrowing through my brain without permission, and we'll be cool."

"Y-Yes, ma'am!" Probably not the best time to admit he couldn't turn it off.

It was fine, right? It wasn't like he dug into her private memories or something. He doubted he even wanted to. Ouka heard what everyone thought on a regular-basis; hearing the things they kept more secret than that would drive him completely insane. Plus, there was individual privacy to consider.

"Kyouka Jiro." She pointed to herself. "That's my name. Thought I'd introduce myself, since we're already at this point."

Ouka shuffled out from behind Kirishima, head lowered. "My name is Ouka Oyama. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jiro-san."

"So formal," was her vacant response.

"Hey, Kirishima!" And yet another voice broke into the conversation, bumping Ouka aside as a bowling ball would a pin.

Another girl, her face as pink as her hair, approached the red-head as naturally as she would a sibling. Ouka fell silent in awe at the confidence.

"Hey! Pinky!" Kirishima beamed, clearly recognizing her.

"We're in the same class, too! What are the odds?"

"No kidding! Two of my friends in one class. This year's gonna kick ass!"

"I know, right? I can't believe we're really here!"

"Who's this?" Jiro asked. Her smile twisted into a teasing smirk. "Your girlfriend?"

Ouka learned over the years that body language often spoke just as much as a person's thoughts. When confronted by something they would rather hide, people recoil in anger, embarrassment, or panicked denial. They emphasize the heat in their cheeks or the beads of sweat on their brows. Their voices would rise to a nervous pitch or become suspiciously level. Kirishima and "Pinky" expressed none of those tells.

If anything, Kirishima appeared perplexed by the question. His lip pinched backward in contemplation, exposing a rugged underbite. Pinky, on the other hand, could no longer stand straight. She was hunched over, hugging her stomach as tear-stricken laughter erupted from her mouth.

"What are you talking about?"

"That's hilarious!"

Ouka didn't understand the joke. He checked Jiro's thoughts to ask her, but she emanated the same confusion as him. It did not last long, because Pinky turned her yellow pupils upon them.

"We went to the same middle school, silly," She explained. "That's how we know each other. The name's Mina Ashido!"

Kirishima pointed to them. "And these are Jiro and Oyama."

"Nice to meet ya! Any friend of Kiri's is a friend of mine!"

Another friend?! Ouka shoved his fists into his eyes when they started to ache. I have three friends now?! Mom, I don't know how, but I did it...

---

Same Time; Higarashi Prison Cafeteria...

"I'll use your skull as my milk carton!"

Aoi jabbed her shiv as her fellow, bull-horned inmate, the latter swinging blindly with a metal tray. "You'd better step-off, bitch! Line-cutters get cut!" Aoi dodged the tray-protected charge, grabbing and taking the literal cow down in a full neck-breaker throw. She tightened her arm until her opponent started kicking beneath her weight. "Yeah! Know your place! I oughta-"

And then electricity shot through her brain, shocking her to a standstill. "My Mother Sense is tingling." A wide grin broke across her face. "I don't know why, but I'm so proud of you, baby!"

She continued strangling the blue-faced line-cutter, with an honest-to-God tear in her eye.

---

Back In Class 1-A...

"Any questions?"

Ouka snapped out of his trance at Ashido's words. Huh?

Thankfully, Jiro vocalized his question. "Questions about what?"

"Oh, you know," Ashido gestured from her head to her toes, as if that made it obvious. Then, when it became obvious that it didn't, she clarified, "The pink skin? The antennae? My cool-looking alien eyes?" She cupped her hands around them, making the yellow dots surrounded by black pools more obvious. "I know it's a little weird to get used-to."

"Quit joking around, Pinky," Kirishima chortled, "Nobody who knows you thinks twice about it."

"That doesn't mean they don't still have questions. It does throw-off some people at-first." She found it funny, but Ouka felt a stomach-prodding anxiety emanating from her. "I guess I had someone in my family who had some kind of Mutant-type Quirk, and that sort-of carried down through the line; so, I look like this."

"Cool." All of Jiro's plausible responses were all that curt. "Doesn't really faze me. I went to class with a lot of people with Transformation or Mutant Quirks."

"It is true," Ouka agreed, "One of the other students in my class had a "Squid" Quirk. Spat ink everywhere anytime he sneezed, but everyone liked him well-enough. I think." He may have been making it up. He couldn't remember. Ouka imagined a lot of pretend friendly scenarios with the people who didn't hang around him. "Your physical appearance is comparatively cuter."

Ashido wrinkled her nose at the sensation in her head. "What was-"

Kirishima sighed, pointing a finger at Ouka. "Quiet telepath, talks directly into people's brains." He rubbed the back of his head. "We need to stick a sign to you or something, because explaining this is getting old real fast."

"S-Sorry." Ouka lowered his head. "I promise to alter my medium of speech should I cause any of you any distress. I suffer great difficulty in communicating my intent, so please be patient with me-Ow!" His thoughts were cut short by something sharp jabbing into the back of his head. It stung worse than the time he accidentally stabbed his tongue with a fork. He swatted the pink welt swelling on his neck.

Jiro's ear-based headphone jack (her "ear-jack"?") swung back to the side of her irritable face. "You were giving me a headache. Just chill out a little."

Ouka felt his cheeks burn deeper hues, his hands fumbling around his sides. "Sorry!"

"I don't mind it," Ashido said. "I think it's pretty cool, too. Telepathy's even more alien-like!" She leaned uncomfortably close, to a point Ouka could feel her breath on his face. "You're not an alien, right?"

"Huh?" Ouka listened to the broad strokes of her mental wavelength. There was so much cheer and enthusiasm that it was difficult to immediately tell if it was a joke or not. "Um, no. Although, that is exactly what an alien would say in such a situation, so I guess it does not mean much."

"Good point. How can we truly know you are who you say you are? Do you have any metal fillings?"

Ouka opened his mind to respond, but, well; why? "I don't get it."

"It's just some old movies she's been watching," Kirishima explained, looking as tired as he was when "explaining" Ouka. "She started getting into some popular "alien" flicks awhile back, and it's almost all she can talk about sometimes."

"Hey! I'm not that bad! There's nothing wrong with being a movie buff."

"It kinda is when you disappear and miss class because you were on a 72-hour-long binge."

"That was one time!"

"Everyone in school was talking about it."

Ouka watched the exchange grow more intense with each passing second. The two started shouting at each other, but he couldn't pick-up any sentiment of hatred or other negative emotions. He had seen people argue, both aloud and in their heads; this had nothing like that feeling. This was the first time he had personally witnessed how friends speak between one another. Was this normal?

"You agree with me," Ashido's attention turned, "right, Jiro?"

"About what?"

"That alien movies kick butt!"

Jiro shrugged. "They're alright. I'm more into bio-pics. Never saw what was so special about monsters melting people with acid."

The air thinned from the amount Ashido sucked into her gasp. "How dare you? I'll have you know my Quirk is, "Acid," thank you very much."

"Wait. Really?"

"Yep," and to prove her claim, Ashido pressed her fingers together before pulling them apart. They separated, but a trail of dripping, viscous goo connected between their sides. "See?"

"It looks more like glue than acid." Ouka couldn't help but agree with that statement.

"Well, duh! I'd burn a hole through the floor if I made it more potent or watery here, so I toned it down." Ashido spun gracefully on her heels, striking a pose with a "peace" sign above her forehead with her fingers. Viscous acid still drooped lazily between her fingers. "Call me the Acid Hero: Alien Queen!"

Ouka imagined the visage of a heteromorphic lizard creature with a hungry snake-mouthed tongue behind her. It didn't quite mesh with the bubbly "Pinky" in front of him. "Alien Queen?"

"It's my Hero Name. I've been brainstorming ever since I got accepted into U.A.. Pretty cool, right?"

"I guess," Jiro replied, but her thoughts were more along the lines of, "but wouldn't "Alien Queen" be more a name to run from than towards?"

"Sounds cool to me," Kirishima cheered. "I've also been workshopping a few Hero Names myself."

"Really, Kiri? Oh, you have to dish!"

"Not right now," He laughed softly at his own hesitation, "I admit I don't feel too confident about it yet. There are others I've been thinking about, too. I don't want to say until I'm completely decided."

"Aww, that's no fair!" Ashido turned. "What about you guys? Have you been thinking about what you're gonna name yourselves?"

"Not really," Ouka could tell Jiro was lying. Excitement briefly flared from her entire body, almost as brightly as Ashido's before falling back under Jiro's deliberate control. She turned her gaze aside, and began absentmindedly spinning and unspinning her ear-jacks around her fingers. "I haven't decided either. There doesn't seem much point picking one now when we've just started. I might change my mind later."

"And I," Ouka trailed off. He wasn't quite sure what Hero Name he would choose. He half-imagined it would be chosen for him; and, if not, he would probably choose one of his parents' names. Probably his father's given his mother's name hadn't been popular in years - for self-evident reasons. He hadn't even been sure he would make it into the Hero Course. Now, he was here, and realizing just how unprepared he really was. "I am also still deciding."

"Boo! And even after I went through the embarrassment of sharing my ideas," Ashido jeered yet simultaneously waved off the subject with her hand. "Oh well. I still look forward to seeing what you guys come up with!" A shiver ran down her body. "Oh man! Class hasn't even started yet, but I can't wait! This year is gonna be so exciting!"

"YOU!"

"-and noisy." Jiro clicked her tongue.

Kirishima had the better instinct to step aside of the gray blur that cut between them. Ouka got spun like a top from displaced air pressure alone. Jiro pushed her hand against his back before he could crash into her, stopping him in place. Ouka craned his neck to give her a grateful glance.

"Th-Thank you."

"Don't mention it," And for the first time since they had spoken, Jiro gave the smallest of smiles. This quickly faded into annoyance at the object of their distress. "For someone preaching manners, that guy has almost none."

Ouka projected a few soft chuckles. "Well, it is sort-of my fault for standing in the way, but..." That was not what Ouka had fixed his thoughts upon. It was the figure who stood in the open door, to whom Iida had been running; a boy perhaps a few inches taller than Ouka, with curly green hair, and freckles dotting his cheeks. He looked soft and adorable, almost in the same way as Ashido. Just without the perkiness. The boy shrank away at Iida's approach.

"Good morning," He greeted. "My name is Tenya Iida from the Soumei Private-"

"Yeah! I-Iida, I know," The boy stuttered, waving his hands frantically. "I'm Izuku Midoriya. It's very nice to meet you..." He also seemed as nervous as Ouka. Perfectly normal given the circumstances, but there was something else. The more Ouka thought about it, the clearer it became, until all the other voices were gradually drowned-out. It left him speechless, only able to observe.

Iida adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose, his eyes lowered in mild shame. "Midoriya, you realized that there was something more to the practical exam, didn't you? You must be very perceptive. I completely misjudged you. As a student, you are completely superior to me."

"Wow," Kirishima muttered it so quietly, only those beside him heard it, "Wonder who this kid is to make that screaming-guy humble?"

Jiro rolled her eyes. "All that's gotta be an act. Nobody can be that much of a hardass."

"I think it's pretty funny," Ashido quipped. "High-energy guys like that always crack me up. So serious!"

"It is not an act." Ouka didn't recall blinking in the time he observed the pair, so it was a surprise when he noticed everyone almost looking afraid of him. "W-What?"

"Do you got beef with that guy or something?"

"Your face got all intense all of a sudden."

"It did?" Ouka felt the fabric over his face. "But I'm wearing my smiley mask!"

Jiro looked at Kirishima and jabbed a finger at Ouka. "Is he serious?"

"I'm," Kirishima forced a smile, "starting to think so." Then, to Ouka, he asked, "What is up with you, though?"

"Oh." Ouka shrank into himself when he thought about it. It felt so silly, getting worked-up about it. "It is just, I can normally hear what people are thinking; and it is usually easy to feel what is true and what is a lie when they talk. Iida-san was completely honest in what he said." He looked back at the door, where another student joined them at the door, squeeing about something Ouka had not the focus to discern. "And did you not hear that name, "Midoriya?""

"Yeah." Where was this going, was the question on everyone's minds. "What about it?"

"Back when we received our acceptance letters, we were all shown the scoreboards to see how everyone ranked, right? Almost everyone on the scoreboard received some "Villain Points" for destroying robots, even if it was just one or two; everyone except one person. They passed with sixty points, obtained solely from the "Rescue" category."

"It took three of us just to earn fifty Rescue Points."

"That is right. That means, whatever they did, it was on par with stopping the Zero-Pointer. That person ranked 7th; their name was Izuku Midoriya."

"What?" Kirishima glanced at the boy by the door, his face beet-red and his body trembling as if from a seizure. "I mean, he looks nice, but I don't really see it."

"Could you have seen either of us defeating the Zero-Pointer?"

For a brave moment, Kirishima opened his mouth to rebut the argument. Then, he reconsidered. "Fair enough."

"Ooh," Ashido wiggled her fingers in a faux-mystical manner, giggling as she spoke, "the mysterious new guy from the scoreboard! He's soooo intimidating!" She pointed their attention back towards Midoriya, whose face steamed with the intent to explode. "Ha! You really are hysterical, Oyama!"

"I am not joking though..."

"She's right, though," Jiro agreed. "Even if he got a lot of Rescue Points, he only ranked 7th. You guys apparently ranked higher, so what's the big deal?" Another glance to the side. "He just looks like a normal guy."

"I suppose..." The exam sccores hadn't been the only reason, however. Just the only one Ouka could tell them. There was something else that gripped his heart inside his chest, squeezing tighter every time he recognized Midoriya's existence.

He could ordinarily hear the thoughts from everyone around him, as naturally as the gossip one would hear on the bus, unless he worked to shut them out. Which he normally tried to do. Since birth, it had never been an ability he could quite turn off. He heard everything at all times, every single day. It would suffocate a normal person, but Ouka found it to be a natural, mildly grating part of the world around him. That was why, when he couldn't hear everything, he knew something was off.

If everyone's thoughts had formed the space around him, then the place where Izuku Midoriya's thoughts would be was a big, blank patch. There was nothing to hear, which was impossible for any sentient being, conscious or not. Without Ouka's knowledge, Midoriya managed something only two others he knew were capable of.

He was immune to Ouka's telepathy.

Ouka thought about mentioning it, but something stopped him. He wasn't sure how to phrase it. More than that, he wasn't sure if it was a good idea. There was something telling him not to. He blinked, and still felt the cold sensation gripping into him. Something that pushed him back when he dared try focusing on the stranger's thoughts. He might have lingered on it if a giant, yellow caterpillar hadn't rolled in through the entryway.

All conversation ceased, and all eyes pointed at the caterpillar at the door. At least, Ouka thought it looked like a caterpillar, at first. Then he realized it was a human face poking out one of the ends.

A sleeping bag? Did he crawl all the way here in it? Of course, the idea made Ouka feel as confounded as disgusted. So many germs on the ground... That does not make any sense. If you are tired enough to spend your day in a sleeping bag, would crawling not consume more energy than just getting up and walking? I do not-

"If you lot are here to make friends," went a drowsy voice, "then you've come to the wrong place."

The bag unzipped, and a tall, lanky frame stood from the ground. Disheveled, black hair fell down to the man's shoulders, and the bags under his eyes seemed to droop lower than that. He looked exhausted, but Ouka heard thoughts as alert at as guard dog. His eyes seemed lazy, but Ouka saw the minute motion when they flitted across each and every one of his classmates.

"It took you all eight seconds to quiet down," He droned. "Time is limited. You kids are not nearly rational enough." Then, addressing the entire class for what felt to be the first time, "I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa. Nice to meet you."

[HOMEROOM TEACHER!?]

Once in a blue moon, there came a time where everyone within proximity spoke and thought the same words in perfect sync. Oh, the size of the nail it wedged between Ouka's brain hemispheres. The anxiety and confusion that followed soothed nothing.

"I see a bunch of bright, beaming faces..." The thought was disconcerting, more-so by what followed it. "I wonder how long before each and every one of them crack."

It sounded eager, reluctant, and tired all at the same time. Ouka felt the need to sit just listening to the stream of consciousness overwhelming all others.

Aizawa reached into his bag and pulled out a P.E. uniform. "Alright, let's get to it. Put these on and head down to the field."

Huh?

---

After changing in the locker rooms, the boys and girls of Class 1-A gathered out in the grass by the fields. They circled around, bluntly aware of the box of softballs sitting just beside Aizawa. From what Ouka gathered, nobody else was certain of what was going on either.

"Should we not be preparing for lessons?" Kirishima was closest to him, so Ouka focused his thoughts in that direction.

"Eh, I'd take physical stuff over cramming any day." Kirishima pulled at his jersey. "Besides, a little fresh air now and then does you some good!"

"Yes, but it was my understanding that we would be working on becoming Heroes; not track-and-field."

"Are you mad?"

"N-No!" Ouka bit his lower lip. "I am more just..." He tried various phrasings in his head, but they all struck him as too rude towards the prestigious institution he was privileged to even be a part of. "I am just not sure about this."

"Chin-up!" Kirishima slapped his back so hard that Ouka almost tumbled. "It's only our first day. There's plenty of time to-"

"Alright, everyone; quiet down and listen up," Everyone fell dead-silent once more, much quicker than before. "Today we will be doing a Quirk Assessment Test."

"Huh," The girl whom Ouka recognized speaking to Midoriya had raised her hand, "but what about orientation?"

Aizawa shrugged. "No time for pointless ceremonies. if you want to become heroes. If you think this is all fun and games, go home."

An uncomfortable stillness overtook the entire class. To ignore procedure was one thing, but there was a harsh coldness that made the early-Spring air turn icy.

"Here at U.A., we're not tethered to traditions. That means I can run my class however I see fit."

"However he sees fit?"

"I knew U.A. wasn't like other Hero Courses, but still..."

"Man, this teacher's eyes are seriously freaking me out!"

Ouka took deep breaths to push back the anxiety and suspicions swelling in the air around him. Every time U.A. threw a curveball, it was a storm of negativity that could be seen from across a city.

"You're all familiar with the eight standardized physical exams, yes? Softball-throwing, standing long jump, 50-meter dash and so on. You've been doing these most of your lives, but you've never been allowed to use your Quirks before. The country still insists we're all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It's not rational. One day, the Ministry of Education will learn."

""Not letting those with power excel"?" Ouka had heard something like that before. There had been a growing movement of people who thought that way. It was in the books his mother had used to read.

Some people saw restrictions on Quirks in Japan as an infringement upon their rights. Why should they not be allowed to use their Quirks for their own convenience? If one had super speed, why can't they use it to run to their destination? Why couldn't they use their Quirks in law enforcement, or to improve their daily lives? These people saw it as the government's refusal to accept the change that swept throughout the world over hundreds of years ago. Quirks, to the men and women in suits, were tools; they were instruments or weapons to be wielded, when in fact they were part of a person's biology - part of who they were.

He remembered his parents would argue about it, when they thought he was sleeping. Dad was not receptive to it at all, and that never turned out well.

"Why shouldn't we be able to use our Quirks however we want," His mom would scream. "Saying we should have to "control" them is like saying we should be ashamed of them!"

"It's no different than needing a license to drive. Quirks are too dangerous to be let loose by ordinary civilians! Look at Ouka!"

"Our baby is fine the way he is!"

"He can't control himself! Kids like him need training so they don't hurt anyone else. It's for their own good."

"That's self-serving government bullshit, and you know it! He didn't do anything wrong! Those brats deserved a good ass-whooping!"

Eventually, one of them would realize that he was awake, and everything would go quiet again.

Those sorts of thoughts still took root throughout the world over the years. Quirk restrictions had gradually been loosened. Japan's government originally had a zero-tolerance policy on un-licensed Quirk-usage, but then added the exception of the self-defense or the defense of an innocent party. Other countries have likewise permitted freer expression of Quirk-usage, such as in the workplace or in emergencies; a few, an experimental few, have dispensed with Quirk restrictions altogether. Crime rates subsequently inflated, yet the number of crimes stopped increased at the same rate. It was difficult to measure how effective the policies actually were until one stat or the other plateaued.

"-ama."

His mom had always told him to be proud of his Quirk, and he shouldn't be afraid to use it.

"Oy-a-"

Yet he couldn't help being afraid. He understood why others were, too. Most people just didn't have the experience to use their Quirks, but it's almost impossible to receive permission to learn. They had to go to shady or closed-off places in order to find any progress-

"Oyama!"

Ouka blinked, and realized two things: First, he could not breathe; and, second, there was heavy cloth tightening around his throat! He looked over to Aizawa, holding the other end, and saw bloodshot eyes boring into his brain. The teacher's scowl appeared an inch deeper than when last Ouka saw it.

"I hate to repeat myself, so try and pay attention," Aizawa's voice was level, but the aggravation radiating from him was palpable even without psychic powers. A few of Ouka's classmates near the back started to snicker. They hushed when Aizawa turned his baleful eyes in their direction.

Aizawa exhaled, and the scarf loosened around Ouka's throat.

I can breeeaathe!

The scarf recoiled back to its drooping position around Aizawa's neck.

"As I was saying," He continued, as if he hadn't just strangled a student, "you were the one who scored highest on the entrance exam. Even though you fail to show why, I've decided to make you the example."

The example of what? Ouka glanced around, and realized he was no longer mixed into the middle of the class. He was standing inside a chalk circle. Everyone was standing off to the side, absurdly stiff with unflinching eyes fixed forward. What is going on?

"Catch." Ouka heard it in his head before he heard it aloud.

"Catch." The hair stood on the back of Ouka's neck. He turned, saw something flying for his face, and instinct reacted faster than his thoughts. The baseball halted an inch from his face, rolling daintily mid-air. "It seems you've enough awareness of your telepathic abilities and at least basic level of control with your telekinesis. A second or two slower, and you'd be sporting a nasty bruise."

It sounded like praise, but Ouka knew there was no kindness in it. It wasn't that Aizawa thought his awareness or control was good, it was that Ouka was barely competent enough to stop a ball from hitting him in the head. That was how it was to be interpreted.

"Now, using your Quirk, I want you to try and throw that as far as you can."

Huh? Ouka grabbed the ball in his hand. Throw it? But I... He wanted to ask for clarification, but he hesitated to reach out. Trying to speak to a teacher was a whole different level from attempting to talk to a classmate his own age. Even if they were weirded out by it, there (hopefully) wouldn't have been severe repercussions beyond outrage or name-calling. Should I just wing it? Or...

"If you have a question, then feel free to ask with your Quirk." Aizawa's impatience grew closer to irritation. "The school is aware of your condition, and every teacher here is a trained professional adapted to dealing with special cases. If you want to be a Pro, you're going to have to grow out of your comfort zone with using it. Your personal hesitation to do so isn't an excuse to avoid participation." Ouka felt paralyzed by the hostility.

But if Aizawa said it was okay...No, he was right. Ouka would get nowhere if he didn't try asking for things he needed to know. He came to U.A. because there was something he wanted to do. This was just another part of that growth.

"U-Um, I just had a question, erm, sir!" Ouka flinched. "I mean! Obviously I have a question!"

He said it louder than he had meant to, and it showed in the flashing expressions of shock and fright that spread across Class 1-A.

"What the hell?!"

"Am I hearing things, or am I going crazy?!"

"There's a voice in my head!"

"Alright, who the fuck is screwing with my brain!?"

I overdid it! Ouka shut his eyes tight, staving back the overflowing rush of disquieting sensations rampaging through his head. He shortened his range, directing his words at his teacher, "My question; how far do I throw it?"

"When I say to use your Quirk to throw it, I obviously mean as far as you can. What is difficult to comprehend?"

"Nothing. It is more a problem of..." But Ouka heard Aizawa's thoughts and knew procrastinating any further would not improve the situation. "Never mind."

Ouka took a breath, brushing off the waves of unease washing off his classmates. Energy swirled around the baseball, spinning it faster and faster until its edges turned fuzzy. Objects with smaller mass were much easier to affect than larger ones, requiring less kinetic energy to produce movement or force. Compared to robots and boulders, the ball may as well have been a feather.

Ordinarily, he would be concerned about using so much energy on a single object; but if his teacher said he had to throw it as far as possible, that was what he had to do. The forces in front of the ball weakened, and another surged from behind. It struck the ball like the hammer. The ball's shape deformed into a flat piece of leather before his eyes, and then it vanished over the horizon.

"Huh? Where'd it go?"

"I blinked and it was just gone!"

"Did he destroy it by accident?"

"No," Aizawa's answer returned everyone to silence. He stared at the screen of a digital device in his hand, turning it around for everyone's wondering expressions, "he simply did exactly as I told him. He threw the ball."

Not a single one of those among the crowd could believe it. None of them did believe it, not immediately. It wasn't because they doubted someone would follow instructions. They simply could not accept the number that read across the screen.

"1402.52 meters. Impressive."

A little under a mile he had thrown it. Right into the heart of the city a ways away from U.A.'s campus. For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, a screech of tires, followed by the deafening blare of a triggered car alarm in the distance. Ouka could practically visualize the shattered windshield in his mind.

"Oh crap! Not again!" At least it was just a softball this time.

Aizawa, on the other hand, didn't bat an eyelash. "That is what U.A.'s Student Insurance Policies are meant to cover; but do try to keep collateral damage to a minimum in the future, Oyama."

"Y-Yes, sir..."

There was a collective gasp from the rest of the class, followed by cheers and applause. Excitement replaced the previous paranoia.

"Wow!"

"We can use our Quirks like that?!"

"This is going to be fun!"

Shota Aizawa smiled, and Ouka's body trembled worse than when he had been scowling. Demons would cower before the oppressive aura emanating from him. "Fun, huh? You have three years to become a Hero. Do you really think it's going to be games and play-time?" He scoffed at their increasingly intimidated faces. "Perhaps you need some motivation to mature. You will all compete in eight physical tests to gauge your potential. Whoever comes in last will be deemed to have none. In other words, they will be expelled."

The bitter cold rushing through the blood of almost every student killed what remnants of joy that hadn't already been crushed. Almost a dozen of flickering emotions between humored disbelief, denial, and, of course, panic were needles stabbing deep; then, twisting.

As it sank in, the horrified students of Class 1-A could only scream, [WHAT!?]

"Like I said, I get to decide how this class runs. Welcome to Hell, also known as U.A. High's Hero Course!"

"But that's not fair!" It was the other girl Ouka had seen at the door beside Iida and Midoriya. "You can't send one of us home! We just got here!"

Aizawa was unmoved. "Natural disasters, highway pileups, rampaging villains; do any of those seem fair to you? Chaos lurks behind each and every corner; catastrophes that can level entire cities. The world is full of such unfairness. It is the primary responsibility of a Hero to combat that unfairness. If you were hoping to slack-off, I'm not sorry to say: For the next three years, U.A. will put you through the wringer. The only way if you want to survive is to adapt and go beyond, Plus Ultra-style."

There it was, the cruel truth that faced each and every person who truly saw the world. Not everyone suffered some dark, gritty tragedy straight from the grimmest comic books. That didn't mean they didn't still suffer. It didn't mean they don't understand pain, what it feels to experience despair, fear, or loss. It was the one way in which everyone was equal. Nobody was exempted from such things, especially not Ouka or his classmates. They were not permitted that mindset.

That was what made Pros stand-out above all others. True Heroes were those responsible for turning that darkness into light, the sort Ouka aspired to become.

"It doesn't matter how special any of them think they are, or how suited they think their Quirk is. If any one of them doesn't prove they have what it takes, they'll be out before the day's end." His eyes turned. "That includes you, Oyama."

If Aizawa understood the full extent of his abilities to experience other people's minds, he utilized it to its fullest in scaring Ouka senseless through sheer intensity. Given how eager the man was to root out the weak links, Ouka wouldn't put it past him.

"Now, then," Aizawa said, "let's get started."

---

50-Meter Dash

Students ran two at a time, paired-off at each sound of the starter pistol sound effect. It wasn't technically a race, but it was hard not to understand the sense of competition when each completion announcement compared both racers' times against one another. It was every man for himself in the long-game, but no one could help the feelings of triumph or anxiety depending on how they finished.

Ouka had been paired with the boy he had rammed into back in the hallway. Ouka watched him turn his back to the track, a mix of amusement and concern tugging at the corners of his own lips at the flamboyant pose he struck. "Flashy-Boy" hung his arms behind his head as he smirked.

"It appears fate has deigned our crossing paths to be as rivals," He declared. "Please don't be sour when I outshine you, mon ami!"

Ouka tightened his focus. This boy was likely indeed a powerful rival if he was also able to enter Class 1-A. It was possible one of them would be going home for good. Ouka felt pity for him, but if he was going to be challenged, he had to give it his all. Ouka couldn't allow himself to hold back if he wanted to succeed.

He crouched into a runner's position. His classmate made no move beyond kicking one of his legs out. He was too calm. It made Ouka sweat. He conjured telekinetic force behind his upraised heels.

He couldn't zip right across as he would prefer, even if he levitated. Whether in the air or on the ground, he needed time to apply forces on his body to speed-up or slow-down. The distance was too small to launch forward. Acceleration to full-speed or full-stop over a short time would hurt like slamming face-first into an invisible brick wall, the invisible brick wall slamming into him. All he could do was give himself a small push.

"Ready?" The robot asked rhetorically, going through the motions. "Set! And-" The sound effect rang out.

Ouka bounced off the force against his heels, sprinting as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.

"Time to show how I shine!" It was an electric shriek. Ouka turned just in time to see his classmate gliding through the air beside him, propelled by a glittering stream of energy from his stomach. He winked at Ouka as he past. "Don't feel bad; few could ever hope to match my elegant techniq-" That confidence vanished in an instant, replaced by inverted, pain-suppressing lips.

Ouka watched, regaining the lead, as the boy flopped back-first against the ground. He got up shortly after, and he renewed his laser with the same intensity. Not that it mattered. Ouka crossed the finish line well before him.

"4.49 seconds," The training robot squawked. Ouka watched as his opponent lulled to a stop across the finish line beside him. "5.51 seconds!"

With his back covered in dirt, the boy flashed Ouka a cocky smile. "As expected of my rival! I wouldn't accept just anyone if they couldn't challenge my dazzling skills."

"Um, yeah..." Ouka was more naive than he cared to admit, but the only intelligible thought running through the boy's mind was;

"Auuuhhhh! I can't believe I've been bested in the very first round! I'm definitely going to be kicked out! Please, dear God, let someone do worse than me!"

"It can't be helped; using my Quirk hurts my tummy." He sounded almost proud of it; and, in a sense, Ouka did find it admirable. Better to fumble with your best foot forward than not to take a step at all. "My name is Yuga Aoyama. You be sure to remember it!" He flashed a thumbs-up before taking his place back among the rest of the class.

"O-OK..." Ouka did his best to put the puzzling experience behind him, and continued with the rest of the challenges.

---

Grip Strength

Another exam that played to the strengths of Ouka's Quirk. It lacked the immediate raw power of others' Quirks, but telekinesis had enough versatility to compensate in its ability to produce force. It almost felt cheap in a way. It was versatile, but hardly clever compared to his classmates. There wasn't any skill being applied in moving objects with a thought.

A girl with a black pony tail, Yaomomo Yaoyorozu, created a small steam-press that crushed the grip-test gauge's handle. She did well with 521.13kg of force. Another boy who wore a mask, Mezo Shoji, accomplished an even greater feat of 540kg with only his extraneous limbs. Ouka's "friends" (and did his body shudder joyfully at the word) even gave their best effort, but out of them all, only Kirishima's "Hardening" provided any practical advantage, scoring him 276kg by increasing his hardening around his palms, increasing their mass around the device. Jiro and Ashido struggled their hardest, but barely crossed the threshold of 100kg. This only added to Ouka's guilt.

Compared to them using their wits and their own strength, Ouka attaining 620kg without touching the device himself felt like nothing.

---

Standing Long Jump

His guilt was alleviated somewhat in that, for once, he did not excel at this test as much as his peers. He would have felt better if the top-ranker hadn't been "Broom-Head," whose constant screaming of, "Fuckin' eat my dust, losers," failed to inspire. He cleared the sandbox riding on the shockwave of successive explosions from his palms.

It was more satisfying watching 2nd place, a girl with frog-like limbs, Tsuyu Asui, clear it in a single leap. It made Ouka feel less self-conscious of casually hovering across the entire box. He was followed by "Floaty-Door Girl," Ochaco Uraraka, who performed a similar feat with apparent levitation. It would have been more impressive had she not been spinning uncontrollably, holding back both scream and vomit in her mouth.

The only one to do particularly poorly, failing to clear the halfway point, was Midoriya. He existed on the periphery of Ouka's vision. He was so shrouded in mystery that Ouka expected him to spontaneously outdo everyone in every test. Instead, the green-haired boy was most frequent to last-place thus far. He hadn't even used his Quirk yet.

Ouka presumed it was some sort of support-oriented Quirk, or one of destruction akin to Ashido's "Acid."

There were five more tests. Plenty of opportunities to understand why it was the boy's thoughts eluded his peer.

---

Ball Throw

Ouka spent this test sitting on the sidelines. He had already taken his throw, and had to have surpassed some form of expectation; so, Aizawa didn't ask him to repeat it. It gave Ouka a brief respite to soothe the growing aches that started to rupture through his forehead.

Everyone waiting their turn clustered back together on the sidelines. The only exceptions were Yaoyorozu, Broom-Head, and another boy with a scar on the left side of his face, Shoto Todoroki, who stood around in their own spaces. They all looked aloof, but each of them had sharper eyes than everyone else.

Even at a distance, Ouka heard their thoughts whirring like RC wheels. They weren't looking at demonstrations; they were measuring their would-be rivals; who they needed to keep an eye on, who they needed to surpass, and, in the latter two's cases, who they needed to crush. It wasn't as if he didn't understand. Even if everyone was expressing it differently, they knew what was at stake.

He slid the straw of his canned drink under his mask, between his lips, and spent the subsequent drinking period to contemplate. He didn't even notice the cold touch of refreshing water touch his tongue.

Despite what Aizawa encouraged, Ouka didn't like this. He didn't like the thought of each of his classmates' futures hinging on nothing more than a game. And it was a game, no matter how Aizawa spun it. They were the players and Aizawa was the game master, willing to penalize them for any infraction against his rules.

Unfairness was a cruel reality, but that didn't mean it didn't stick in his nerves. The world was unfair to those who made it to the top, so it makes sense to be equally unfair to those at aspiring to the same heights? It made sense to meet cruelty with more cruelty and unfairness?

It wasn't that he expected things to be easy. Ouka would be surprised if he graduated in one piece. He just expected that U.A. wanted its students to succeed. He didn't expect his teacher to be so angry at their dreams.

It was disappointing.

"There you go, looking all grim again!" A hard slap against his back knocked his drink from his hand. "We still got plenty of time to show what we got." Ouka looked up, and found it hard not to feel heartened by Kirishima's confidence. "You probably need to worry the least of us. How many of us can throw a ball almost a mile away?"

"Uraraka, you're up." It was hard to tell if it was the will of the universe or his teacher being petty, but it was Uraraka who stood to immediately prove Kirishima wrong.

She clasped the ball between her hands, wound back her arm, and threw it. That was as much as Ouka could confirm before it outright vanished into the sky. It wasn't faster than a blink. She didn't even throw it particularly hard. The moment it left her hand, it shifted in an almost-vertical direction and became a mite in the vast blue of the atmosphere.

"Oh." One word spoke a thousand words, and the digital light on Aizawa's gauge spoke a million more. It left everyone gawking in a mix of envy and awe.

"INFINITY!?"

"Way to go, Uraraka!"

"That's manly as hell! No one can beat tha-" Kirishima's eyes twisted back towards Ouka, still sitting on the ground beside him. "Uh, it was a good throw..."

"It is fine. I did not expect to perform best in all categories. Everyone's Quirk is useful for certain things, but nobody's can surpass others all the time. I am proud of how strong our classmates are."

"See? Look on the bright side of things!" Kirishima patted him on the back, a little harder than before. "I expected him to get even gloomier, but he seems almost happy now."

It was hard for Ouka to tell how effective his smiley mask was. Its explicit purpose was to provide an image of joy and serenity to anyone who saw it. It was pointless if his eyes frowned louder than his mask smiled. Maybe people would understand his feelings better if he tried laughing more.

"Ha ha ha!" Ouka tried, but it came out as level as ordinary speech; just louder. "I mean, it is great knowing the heights we can reach." He paused, planning to add a, "No pun intended." But maybe he should stick with the puns? Some Heroes did puns. Maybe he was a pun guy.

"Right..."

Or maybe not. His punniest wasn't good enough.

Watching everyone who came after left him in a perpetual state of amazement. He could never feel gloomy about their feats. Iida's throw wasn't the best (for who could throw further than infinity?), but it was his method that impressed.

Iida's Quirk was a speed-type, utilizing the engines in his legs. Not ordinarily useful for throwing something, but Iida got creative. He threw the ball into the air, and rather than letting it fall, he used a charge of his engine's fuel for a spectacular spin-kick. His leg struck the ball clear over 300 meters. Aoyama had placed the ball at his belly button, and would have launched it pretty far had his laser not disintegrated the ball mid-flight at 152.3 meters - points for effort, at least. Yaoyorozu, the girl who seemed to excel at a far greater degree than most of them, created a GIANT CANNON from her back and fired the ball over 800 meters.

It would have been more impressive and awe-inspiring had it not been for the...erm...interesting wardrobe malfunction it produced. As stated prior, the cannon emerged from her "back," not her jersey.

The tear it made had her jersey slip forward off her shoulders, exposing bare skin from wherein the cannon had originated. Ouka caught the barest slip of rounded flesh around her chest before she hugged the fabric against her body in her arms. She was panting, sweaty, and clutching cloth to protect her modesty, but the pride on her face outshone those features for everyone.

"Boobs, boobs, boobs, BOOBS! God, I love this school!" Well, everyone except for the creepy, short(er), purple-haired boy with balls coming out of his head, Minoru Mineta. Ouka did his best to avoid his thoughts as much as possible. It wasn't a matter of hatred so much as...

It was simpler to say Mineta's mind made Ouka feel significantly less self-conscious about his Midnight pin-up. There were different degrees to teenage hormones. At least Ouka's didn't completely cross what he considered, "the Tropic of Wrongness," how hormonally-challenged one can be before it's considered wrong or unhealthy. Mineta's gone right over the Tropic of Wrongness on a jet-ski of private parts.

Actually, Ouka shivered uncomfortably when the boy's thoughts seeped in, I might need to bleach my brain tonight.

"You did well, Yaoyorozu," Aizawa said. "Now, go change your uniform before we begin the next test."

Yaoyorozu nodded. "Yes, Sensei." She vacated the field at his order, much to certain classmates' discontent.

"Midoriya, you're up."

And that's when Ouka really started paying attention. He tried letting the thoughts around him in, but Midoriya's were still absent among the maelstrom. He walked to the ring, mumbling to himself, but far too quiet for Ouka to pick-up anything he was saying. He couldn't help moving closer for a better look. Kirishima up and joined him, watching the spectacle unfold.

"That's him," He muttered. Ouka saw Kirishima's expression dim somewhat. There was something a tiny bit toxic in his thoughts; not anger, so much as faint traces of jealousy. "The guy who scored more Rescue Points than we did."

"Yeah..."

"But he hasn't used his Quirk once."

"I know..."

Everyone else had started to figure out the same thing. Some of them, albeit begrudgingly, hoped this would remain the case. Let someone without talent take the fall. It wasn't a kind thought, but it wasn't without a measured amount of sympathy. According to Aizawa, it was either him or one of them. Everyone ultimately chose themselves.

"Why doesn't he just use his Quirk...?"

"If Midoriya doesn't shape-up soon, he'll be the one going home..."

Again, almost everyone. It uplifted Ouka's spirits, the occasional, kindhearted thought that floated about; that so vastly contrasted Aizawa's. Iida and Uraraka appeared Midoriya's staunchest supporters. Not everyone was so eager to throw a classmate under the bus. From what Ouka gathered, they had met during the entrance exams. Midoriya must have done something amazing to leave such an outstanding impression-

"Of course Deku's going to fail; he's a Quirkless loser." That asshole, Broom-Head, shared none of these redeeming qualities. Ouka heard him half-screaming/half-laughing throughout class in a way that made his blood boil. "Quirkless trash have no right standing on the same ground as me!"

"Quirkless?" Iida looked affronted by Broom-Head's claim. "Did you not see what he did at the entrance exam?"

"I don't give a shit what you losers thought you saw; there's no way Deku belongs here..."

Deku, Ouka thought to himself. A name that means, "Idiot," a useless person.

Broom-Head seemed to know Midoriya, but Ouka doubted it was as friendly as the teasing he had received from Jiro, Ashido, or Kirishima. Broom-Head wasn't smiling like they were whenever they poked fun at his Quirk and quirks. Broom-Head hated Midoriya. Ouka could tell that much. When Ouka listened to the thoughts pouring from Broom-Head's subconscious, there were vile and repulsive - bluntly mean-spirited venom compared to their teacher's pragmatic-ish lack of empathy. Ouka heard more than one wish involving Midoriya's brutal death or suicide, and it made his stomach wrench up his throat at the vivid detail.

Midoriya pulled his arm back to wind-up his throw. His breathing was slow and deep, trying to tame the semblance of electricity that seemed to flow down his arms. He threw forward with a deep, expectant grimace; as if he saw his body aflame in a quick path to death.

"Huh?"

Aizawa barely glanced at his gauge, announcing derisively, "46 meters." The ball had arced downward almost seconds after Midoriya released it.

All the color drained from Midoriya's face. He looked down at his hands, as if they had betrayed him somehow. "B-But, I swear I was going all-in just then..."

Aizawa approached him, and Ouka was able to catch the tails of his teacher's end of the conversation through his thoughts. Aizawa's eyes glowed red, his hair and scarf floating aloft the sides of his face.

"I erased your Quirk," He explained in words only Midoriya, and Ouka to an extent, could hear. "The entrance exam was definitely not rational enough if a student like you was accepted."

Midoriya made it more audible with his response, "I know you! You're the Pro-Hero, Eraser Head!"

Nobody heard the conversation, but it did not stop them from chattering at the new information. Ashido pulled up beside Ouka and Kirishima, asking directly, "Eraser Head? Who's that?"

Kirishima shrugged. "Beats me; but what do you think he's talking about with Midoriya over there? He seems madder than before for some reason."

"Yeah, I wish I knew what was going on over there..." Ouka heard their focus shift before the idea even crawled into their brains. They stared at him questioningly, their pursuit obvious.

"D-Don't look at me!" He pulled his hood tighter over his face. "I might hear what other people are saying, but I cannot go around telling others what those things are! It is rude to eavesdrop, an invasion of privacy!"

That blunted Kirishima's enthusiasm as a smidgen. "I wasn't sayin' to poke around their brains or anything..."

"You kinda were," Ashido admitted.

"What about you? You were thinking the same thing I was!"

"It is true," Ouka agreed, "she was." Ouka lifted his head up, figuring out a distraction. "But I do know who Eraser Head is. He is one of those "underground" types of Pro. He spends most of his time going after criminals rather than posing for news cameras, usually from dusk til dawn."

"No wonder he looks ready to drop dead any second," Ashido shivered. "I couldn't imagine being that sleep-deprived."

"You might want to get used to it though," Ouka said, eyes fixed on the ring. "That is the sort of mentality that we are probably going to adopt soon, too. We are not Heroes at our own convenience. Anytime, anywhere; our first and foremost priority is to protect people, even if it leaves us exhausted - especially then. That is what makes an effective Hero."

"You almost sound like you're a fan of the guy..."

"Not particularly as a teacher. His methods are too cold; but as a Hero, Eraser Head embodies some of their best qualities. Even if I don't agree with him, I feel pride in being under his tutelage."

"Yep. Definitely a Hero-crush."

"W-What? No, it is not! I just happen to respect his work ethic - again, as a Hero; not a teacher!"

"Whatever you say~"

"It is not!" Ouka shook his head, swiping away the images of hero-worship Ashido attempted to implant. "Can we focus less on "crushes" and focus more on Midoriya being crushed? Look! He is up to pitch again!"

Whatever Aizawa had said to the boy left him trembling in-place. Ouka wished he could understand. It was usually easy to determine how people were feeling, and why, through what they were thinking. Even in groups, Ouka could get the gist of what to expect from the general consensus. Not knowing left Ouka with a bizarre sense of nakedness. On the other hand, this detachment made it easier to understand the discomfort emanating from most of his classmates, the confusion and even hints of disgust. To them, Aizawa was just picking on Midoriya, and Ouka couldn't discern any information suggesting otherwise.

There was more to it than that. For whatever reason, Aizawa was targeting him. There was no doubt that if Midoriya failed to meet whatever expectation was set, he would inevitably be one of those going home. No more second-chances or do-overs. The suspense was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

Midoriya stood straight and wound his arm back again. Ouka saw the brief cracks of electricity running down his arm, all the way to his fingertips - No, to his index finger in particular. What was he doing? That question crossed many minds before a thundering boom tore through the air.

In a bright flash of power and wind, Midoriya's finger exploded against the softball's surface.

"SMAAAAAASH!" It was a primal scream with which Midoriya sent the ball rocketing. Ouka could saw it physically rip through the air itself. Gusts and dust scattered throughout the field, products of the sheer force of strength displayed.

It landed a fair distance away, bouncing three times before lolling to a stop. The whole class was rendered speechless. Their minds were emptied of all but sheer shock. Midoriya stood straight as the dust cleared, holding his fist triumphant in his other hand.

Not triumphant, Ouka realized. He wasn't sure how closely everyone else had been watching, but he saw it; cradled just beneath Midoriya's left hand was one of his fingers. The appendage in itself looked to be nothing more than a bleeding, purple bruise. He completely shattered the bones in his finger!

And that smile. Even though tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes, Midoriya turned his teeth, grit in pain, into a half-confident, bright-toothed smile.

"Aizawa-sensei," He cried, "You see? I'm still standing. I can save at least nine more people!"

"Heh," Aizawa choked on something. "That kid is unreal..." Ouka saw him smile again. It was the same, bloodshot-eye open smile, but the malice that once permeated it was absent. Judging from their exchange, he seemed to understand what was going to happen. He turned the gauge around towards the students. "705.3 meters."

Power like that, it rarely came without a cost. Ouka could only throw his ball as far as he had given enough time. The near-mile throw took at least three minutes to charge up, and would have consumed far greater energy with a larger object. Midoriya had produced enough force in a single instant to span over half the same distance. If Midoriya broke his finger that bad using his Quirk, what would have happened if he used his whole arm? He must have only just figured it out in that moment how to mitigate that sort of damage.

"He threw it over 700 meters!"

"Even further than Bakugou!"

Kirishima pumped his fists into the air, almost striking Ouka's face in his excitement. "Now, that's what I call, "manly"!"

Even those who had derided Midoriya before were cheering for him in their thoughts. Uraraka was cheering louder than all of them combined. Even Yaoyorozu and Todoroki were eyeing him more seriously, even if just a little in the latter's case. In fact, the only person not ecstatic at the success was...

"What the Hell was that? If that loser had a Quirk, he would have gotten it when we were kids! That trash is up to something." Broom-Head stood a few feet away from their huddled classmates, an expression so beyond shock and anger that words like "fury" and "bloody vengeance" would do it little to no justice. "I'm getting to the bottom of this bullshit!"

Ouka's eyes went wide. Nobody else saw the small eruptions of fire from Broom-Head's sweaty palms. Almost nobody noticed him rushing forward until it was too late.

An angry roar, as primal but far more violent than Midoriya's, shattered the peace and relief as Broom-Head rushed forward.

"DEKU, YOU BASTARD!" Larger eruptions tore from his hands. He stretched them out as if to strangle someone. Fear flashed across Midoriya's face. "HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING THIS FROM ME!? TELL ME HOW YOU DID THAT OR YOUR DEA-"

He didn't get to finish the threat. Ouka doubted he would have been able too regardless of what he did. He saw Aizawa halfway through throwing his scarf before Broom-Head's feet slipped from the ground.

"What the Hell!?" He spun aimlessly, suspended a foot off the ground with no gravital orientation. "What the fuck is this!?" The explosions tearing from his wrists hardly helped. They simply spun him even faster in-place. "HEY!"

More explosions. More spinning. Broom-Head's face became a blur before he finally figured out how not to be a damned dumbass, eventually falling back to a slower rotation. His eyes bore a bloodier fury against his classmates.

"Which one of you ass-clowns is doing this!?"

Ouka broke through the front of the crowd, hand upraised. "That was me."

"PUT ME DOWN, YOU MIDGET!" Ouka looked from Broom-Head to Midoriya, still trembling in fear and half-ready to wet himself, and back to Broom-Head.

"No. I do not think I am going to do that." Ouka wiggled his finger, and Broom-Head did several one-eighties. "Wheeeeeee!"

"YOU BASTARD, I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Not a very heroic thing to say." Ouka gave him another spin. "You really should learn to lighten up, Broom-Head-san."

"The fuck did you just call me?!"

"Oh, I called you "Broom-Head." Would you like for me to say it louder, BROOM-HEAD-SAN!?"

Broom-Head clutched his ears, cringing at the voice screaming behind them. "The name is Bakugou, shrimp!"

"Bakugou...Bakugou..." The name had slipped in and out of Ouka's ear earlier, so that was the first time he actually considered it. He searched through his memories; and when he struck the one he sought, it flared across his mind. "I remember that name, now!" Ouka tilted his head, stretching his mask's smile further with his fingers. "You were the one who scored beneath me at the entrance exams. You see, I was the one who placed 1st."

Broom-Head's eyes widened before he suppressed his shock with more rage. "Those exams don't mean shit! I'd stomp your ass any day of the week, pint-size!"

"Is that so, Broom-Head-san?"

"Stop calling me that fucking name! And get the hell outta my head!"

"I am sorry," Ouka lied. ""Bakugou" is such a forgettable name. I fear I simply cannot be bothered to remember it." He raised his finger in a mocking gesture. "I know! Instead, can I just call you...No. 2-san?"

Ouka watched Broom-Head's ocular blood vessels burst, cracking the clear whites of his eyes. "I'll beat my name into your head if you don't put me down right now! I'm stronger than all you losers put together! I'm the No. 1 in this school!"

"I do not think so," Ouka told him, staring Broom-Head straight in the eye. "I think you are a sad, pathetic, weak little boy who takes out his own insecurities on others weaker than himself to satiate an over-inflated ego and sense of entitlement. I've seen plenty of your type. Even your unkindness isn't unique."

And Bakugou glared right back. He didn't expect to find an equally bloody intent staring right back.

"I usually try and like people. I try to understand our differences, the reasons we have, and the things we do. If someone is a stranger to me, I will try my best to be quiet, humble, or kind; but people like you? I cannot stand them."

"Then put me down and fight me like a man, shit-nerd!"

"Who said I wanted to fight you?" Ouka gradually lowered his classmate to the ground. "I want to become a Hero to protect people's smiles, even rotten ones like yours. I do not wish to hurt you, but, if you ever lay a hand on any of our classmates," Ouka leaned in, letting the depths of his anger seep into Bakugou's mind, every boiling impulse, "I promise I will not stand by. I will not forgive you!"

It was brief, but beads of sweat started to break out across Bakugou's face. "What did you-"

"That's enough, Oyama." Aizawa's voice broke the trance. Ouka blinked, the glaze over his eyes dissipating. He looked at Aizawa, who gripped his cloth half-expectantly. "I think you've made your point."

He had let all his thoughts spill out. Everything he had said to Broom-Head had also been intercepted by everyone in their class, barring Midoriya. They were no longer transfixed upon Midoriya or Bakugou; they were looking at him. Some of their thoughts...

Fear? Uncertainty at the very least. There were so many individual wavelengths that it became difficult to distinguish. Ouka saw Kirishima, Ashido, and Jiro mixed into the crowd. None of them were smiling. He looked back to Bakugou, the latter's face twitching with many suppressed feelings. Ouka bit his own lower lip, and allowed the forces beneath the boy to dissipate. Broom-Head sprawled across the ground, groaning from the impact.

Aizawa sighed, his good mood gone. "Alright. All three of you, return to the sideline."

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Ouka all returned to their classmate's side, but the atmosphere between them felt more akin to a ticking time-bomb. Ouka kept his eyes on the ground. He didn't dare to meet his friends' eyes, if they still wanted to be his friends anyway.

"Now that everyone's done the ball-toss, let's move on to the next exam."

With all the excitement and drama, it had been easy to forget there were still three tests to go.

---

Seated Toe-Touch

It was far less dramatic or complicated than prior tests. Ouka wasn't entirely sure where the time went, or how he had done. He vaguely went through the motions of the exercise. A less vacant part of his mind softly nudged against his back, stretching his fingers further forward.

This exam was uneventful in every way.

---

Sit-Ups

Second verse, same as the first. Ouka just didn't care about this one. There was nothing he felt he could do to outshine his classmates in exercises that genuinely require a honed physique.

Up, down, up, down; so on and so forth.

---

Long-Distance Run

Ouka knew his limits. He was tired, but the exhaustion drained his ability for excess thought. It mildly deafened the rush of noise from the world around him. It was easier to focus on the task at hand. Floating or flying would have broken the rules, but he was still able to push against his soles for larger steps. It also gave him an excuse to keep his distance from the others. The further ahead they pulled, the further away their thoughts moved.

After the last event, Aizawa had them all gather together again and stated: "Since there's no time to waste, I won't bother to explain all of the results in detail. So here's just a list with the final rankings."

Everyone crowded around the holographic leaderboard, as excited as apprehensive towards their potential placement. The results were determined as follows:

1st - Yaomomo Yaoyorozu

It made sense. She was one of the few to consistently keep her cool, and her Quirk had the versatility to meet almost every test efficiently.

2nd - Shoto Todoroki

3rd -

That was where Ouka stopped, because he was sure he read it wrong. He rubbed his eyes and scanned it again, and sure enough, there it read-

3rd - Ouka Oyama

4th - Katsuki Bakugou

Ouka refused to revel in the baleful eyes Broom-Head attempted to murder him with. It wasn't satisfying against someone so trivial. He didn't think he had performed poorly, but Ouka saw several talents more promising than him. He couldn't believe it. Once again, he had excelled with his Quirk.

This was Aizawa, though, so it was possible it was strictly an efficiency-based score. No points for effort or creativity. Ouka's telekinesis required time and focus for maximum output, but it was also overwhelmingly practical for these small-scale exercises without time limits.

Ouka's eyes scrolled down the list beneath his name. Kirishima and Ashido had placed on the better side of the middle, while Jiro had managed to scrape at least 17th. Not the most stunning debut, but from what he had seen, she hadn't really shown-off her Quirk either. All of them had been spared last place, so they weren't at immediate risk of being expelled. The one whom that honor belonged to was Midoriya.

He had done well in the ball-throw, but his broken finger clearly distracted from the subsequent tasks. Despite his low score, he looked more exhausted than the rest of them. His broken finger was pulsing, which Ouka assumed was not good.

They all stood before Aizawa, dead-silent. He pressed the button, turning off the holo-projection.

"And by the way, I was lying. No one's going home." The air froze solid with the bodies and minds of Class 1-A. Ouka's jaw dropped just below his mask. Aizawa grinned again. "That was just a rational deception to make sure you gave it your all during the test."

Once again, a unified screech of, "WHAAAAT," shattered every part of Ouka could that could perceive sound.

"I'm surprised the rest of you didn't figure that out," Yaoyorozu said, off to the side. Her eyes were pitying. "Even the teachers at a school like U.A. can't expel someone on the very first day. Sorry. I should have said something."

"No kidding, you should have," screamed the boy with lightning-yellow hair, Kaminari. "We were scared out of our minds!"

"I was so scared, I thought I was gonna wet myself!" Mineta had far less shame. "You really could've let us know instead of being so smug by yourself!"

"I said I was sorry."

They were being too hard on her; that was not an opinion. They would have been singing quite a different tune if they knew the truth. Already, everyone's shoulders started to slacken in relief, unaware of how close to doom they had been.

Ouka could hear people's thoughts, and their intentions. He was usually good at deciphering them when he put his mind to it. That was why he knew both Yaoyorozu and Aizawa both were lying. Yaoyorozu had been just as surprised as everyone else. She simply did a stellar job at hiding it, or maybe it was a lie she tried tricking herself into believing.

Aizawa on the other hand, it was a bit harder to tell. Ouka detected nothing but honesty in his intent. Their teacher had fully intended, til the very last second, to expel one of them on the spot. Ouka wasn't sure what had happened.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ouka noticed the others reminisce on their own successes and failures. Ashido and Jiro were muttering between one another, their faces somewhat marred by crestfallen spirits. They had apparently both hoped to have done better.

"Man, that was pretty nerve-wracking," sighed one flat-faced boy, Sero.

Kirishima was with him, chatting cordially, "Nah, I'm always down for a challenge! That was awesome!"

Ouka was glad they had returned to something of their proper form, smiling and cheering as they had before. His offensive display had not put them off their enthusiasm.

"That's it. We're done for today," Aizawa droned, his own enthusiasm shifting inversely to his students'. "Pick up a syllabus in the classroom. Read it over before tomorrow morning."

He stalked away from the field, pausing to leave a few words and a slip to Midoriya as he passed. And that was it.

Their first day of the Hero Course had come and gone without consequence. Their dreams would still be waiting for them tomorrow.

---

It wasn't hiding.

Standing in the shadow-covered corner of the building for fifteen minutes was "tactical avoidance." Ouka watched from a distance as everyone filed back inside, heading towards the lockers to change. He intended to do so as well, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be caught in any confined space with his classmates.

It wasn't just "Bakugou." He wasn't sure he wanted to face Kirishima either. Jiro and Ashido were a lesser worry, them being girls and thus in a different changing room. He didn't want to answer to their stares, or their thoughts. He knew what he had done. It had been to protect Midoriya - and he didn't regret that - but he understood how it must have appeared. He wasn't sure whether anyone wanted to see him either.

Ouka entered the lockers once he detected no other brain waves fluttering about, and changed back into his uniform. He thought he could escape campus without being detected. He mixed himself into the sporadic cloud of students filing out through the main gates, keeping his mask up and his hooded head down. He could do this.

"Hey, Oyama! Hold up a sec!"

Or maybe not. A hand grabbed the back of his hood, pulling it and him halfway down as he walked past. As if an image of his worst nightmare, all three of his friends stood by the wall just outside the gate, all three faces jovial (Well, Jiro's stoic expression came as close as possible at any rate). Ouka's lips shrank and imploded under his mask.

"You sure took a while," Kirishima said.

Ashido puffed her cheeks play-irritably. "We've been waiting over ten minutes."

"Waiting?"

"We all figured we could walk to the station together, but you were taking for-ever!"

"Yes, well, um," His tongue caught in his throat was no excuse for his silence. His brain worked just fine. "You see, I...got held up in the lockers."

"No, you weren't! You were all huddled in the corner. I saw you peeking out at us while we went inside."

"Oh. Uh, about that," He already felt soaked in nervous sweat, "I-"

Kirishima jostled his thoughts with another well-placed back-slap. "It's cool. We get it."

Ouka lit up. "Y-You do?"

"Yeah, man. You're shy changing in front of other guys. Nothing to be ashamed of."

It took Ouka longer than the time it for those words to pass through his ears to consider a response. "...What."

"Everyone goes through that phase at one point or another," Jiro admitted. "Girls get like that, too. It's hard to be secure with your body sometimes."

"Yeah! You should've seen how anxious Jiro got when Yaomomo whipped out her two, deadly-Hmmrmph!" Jiro lunged at Ashido, clasping both of her hands tight over the pinkette's mouth.

"Not another word!"

Ashido pried Jiro's hands away to laugh. "You got so sulky and changed in the corner!"

"I said, "Shut up"!"

Ouka watched, listening to the thoughts that flew by while peach-faced Jiro tried wrestling pink-faced Ashido to the ground over...something. All he could pick-up between the panicked squeals and screams was something about "sizes." It was all very surreal. Ouka had imagined he would be the one getting clocked in the face, and not nearly as lightheartedly.

"Hey, come on, you two! We're gonna miss the train!" Kirishima was wise to harden himself before diving between what was akin to a nest of angry vipers. A few stray blows glanced harmlessly off his rock-hard skin. He separated them with the length of his arms, and the air between them quickly settled; although, Jiro's face refused to come back down to its normal hues. Kirishima raised his hand, sporting a paper-thin cut near the edge of his thumb. "You guys got wilder on each other than Oyama did on Bakugou."

There it was. Ouka knew someone would bring it up. Probably for the best it was after someone else's argument; they would be too distracted from the stress-comedown to focus on being upset with him. He rummaged through his head, searching for the words he had attempted to prepare. Something like, "Sorry," or "I'm not normally like that," something to soothe whatever discontent they felt in his presence.

"That was pretty epic," Ashido said.

"I know it was," Ouka paused. "Epic?"

Jiro nodded. "When Bakugou started screeching like a baboon, I knew someone was going to get throttled; 'just didn't expect it would be him. It looked like you were going to throw him as far as the softball." Jiro imitated Ouka's stance, hand extended, and then followed with a motion more like throwing a basketball than a baseball. She accompanied these gestures with an amused smirk. "The look on his face was priceless."

"You mean," Ouka wondered, hopeful, "you guys weren't scared?"

"Hell no!" Kirishima pumped his fist into the air. "Bakugou scored higher than me, and you took him down without touching him! Good thing, too. I doubt he was running over to give Midoriya a hug..." Ouka heard Kirishima's thoughts shift uneasily at the memory. His expectations, like Ouka's, had been of similar-minded youths, as friendly, upbeat, and determined as them.

Ashido tapped her chin, smiling impishly. "I thought it looked pretty fun. Reminded me of the spinning teacups at an amusement park."

Jiro raised a brow. "You can't be serious. I got dizzy just watching."

Kirishima found himself standing right by Ashido. "It does seem like a helluva ride. Ouka could probably charge people to fly them around with his Quirk."

"You're both crazy." Jiro nudged Ouka with her elbow. "Oyama, back me up. Do people actually get a thrill out of being thrown around like that?"

Ouka shrugged. "I do not know. I try to not think about it so I do not get scared."

"For real?"

[Laaaaame!] Ashido and Kirishima were both jeering at the pair, grinning like mad fools. They were laughing again. They were smiling again.

The happy air lingered throughout their trip to the station station, well into the night after Ouka laid his head to rest. Nobody but his mother had ever smiled at him after he used his powers. Nobody else had ever praised him for it either. This was a new feeling, a welcome one.

This was what it was like to have friends.

---

That is the wrapping of this chapter.

I know some of you are probably thinking, "Oh, why is he angsting about stopping Bakugou," but that isn't why and it isn't angst. Like the narration said, Ouka didn't feel bad or "wrong" for stopping him. If you see a quiet kid walk up to someone and nonchalantly toss them around like a rag doll, it would be understandable to be intimidated. Or, if you were the one kicking Bakugou's ass, wouldn't you later feel that anger settle into a mild shame, knowing people you care about have seen your ugly side? It's just such an ugly emotion, the way your body heats up and your mind goes blank, and the way others briefly flinch away, and the subsequent comedown when you're left dizzy, sweaty, and unable to remember half of what you actually said, thought, or did in the moment.

Ouka felt guilty for potentially scaring his classmates with his Quirk, not for threatening Bakugou, the king asshole who Horikoshi tried arcing into a less detestable person to sate a character poll where he was popular. No, Bakugou isn't gonna get off light. He's still an emotional terrorist who literally told Midoriya to kill himself. Fuck that guy. I'd kick his ass up and down if this was a straight-up bash-fic. But it isn't, so I'll try to be even-handed when dealing with him. But I'm going to make Kacchan WORK for his character development.

If you thought Ouka came across as Gary Stu-ish in regard to his Quirk assessment ranking, I understand, but I feel my reasoning for it stands firm. Telekinesis is just a damned practical ability when it comes to normal exercises. There are restrictions on what he can and cannot do, as mentioned in-story and in the A/N at the top, so I'm hoping it balances out.

Still looking for a beta who can help me improve my explanations, narration, and dialogue. Open to all constructive criticism.

Thank you, all those who read my first chapter, and all those just now joining me. You are the best motivators I could've ever asked for. If you have any suggestions for things you think might be interesting to see, or ideas you feel should be explored, feel free to drop it in a review and I promise to give it a look!

I hope to see y'all next time!

Good-bye and please R&R!