Holy fuck it has been a while.
I needed to get this out while I could. HAPPY NEW YEAR MOTHERFUCKERS -
Even though it's, you know, been like twenty-plus days since the New Years started. Well, all the same. Hope you're all still alive! And surviving! And not catching Covid... even though we now officially live in a reality where Game of Thrones sucks, Cyberpunk 2077 is being shat on collectively by the internet, and you can save lives by being a shut-in. Damn, this might very well be one of the bleakest timelines.
Ah well, your favorite edgy fan-fiction author is back to numb the pain.
I've been hammering away at a keyboard for the past month or so, trying to polish up my new book, and damn the heat is on. Nothing like the back-breaking pressure of meeting expectations to get the creative juices flowing. Can't put out a release date yet though, cause if there's anything I've learned from seeing the hundredth NPC T-Pose in Night City, it's that you should never oversell anything. Hell, better to undersell and overdeliver than the inverse. That said, my new book is gonna be fire. Dumpster fire. Yeaaah. Gonna reverse psychology this motherfucker.
Also I realized some people had a complaint of this story being too slow-paced, and my question is... compared to what? Canon?
I don't know if you've been reading but, this fic's universe and canon are two parallel lines starting at the same point but shooting off in opposite directions. Some things will have the same structure, but events will not happen the same. We're hitting close to a 100k words soon and the cast is just starting to enter UA. If that isn't a clue to tell you that this story isn't focused on UA school life and is gonna be a long ride... I really don't know what else to say.
As always, enjoy.
A Precise Note
To call them simpletons, Nezu felt, would be an insult to creatures with far less developed brains and ergo, far less generated problems. His tea was getting cold and his patience was getting thin. Surely, they knew how grand a travesty it was for one to drink cold tea, and although the Principal had an estimated sixteen-hundred and thirty-five ways to reverse the entropy of his mug of liquidized leaves, he would rather hate to have to use any of them.
It was possible, of course, for him to shirk their unnecessary etiquette and enjoy his liquid drink in their presence, as if to say, 'yes, humans, I am, in fact, consuming this beverage in this meeting.' He chose not to do so, merely because he was incredibly aware of the fact that most of the men and women before him were unfortunately cursed with a disease; an incorporeal, invisible cylindrical object of lengths comparable to an infant child had wedged itself in between their gluteal muscles and straight up their primary excretory organs.
This disease made them incapable of handling even the tiniest of breaches to their own held standards of decorum, as any such deviation from their expected norms would cause this cylindrical object to expand and shuffle back and forth, clearly causing them great pain and discomfort.
Nezu truly disliked the humans with this disease. He held even far less sympathy for them. He felt it unfortunate that it was unavoidably necessitated for him to work with them. Fortunately, he had long since accustomed himself to separating personal and professional sentiments.
"Are there any other questions that need answering?"
"Of course there are!" Mr. Hajimoto slammed his fist down on the table. It did nothing, considering he was a virtual avatar. "To completely change the U.A. Entrance Exams in this manner without any prior notice –"
"I believe it is best." Mrs. Nakamura adjusted her glasses. "We cannot pretend any longer that 'heroes' are children."
"We cannot militarize Pro Heroes." Mrs. Reita interrupted.
"Why not?" Mr. Koburo continued. "The North Koreans did it. The Chinese are doing it. The entire Middle-East is ruled by the Sultan and with his quirk army. We have no guarantees that we won't awaken one morning with foreign 'Heroes' at our shores declaring us criminals and demanding our surrender."
"Indeed," Mrs. Nakamura, again said. "The fragile state of the outside world is a great cause for concern. Despite Prime Minister Hirohito's isolationist policies, we have no true counter for the worst-case scenario."
"And your solution is to turn our citizens, our children, into what…? Soldiers?" Mr. Okami sneered.
"Heroes are already soldiers." Mrs. Nakamura huffed. "All I'm suggesting we do is give them better training."
"Easy to have this mindset when none of your children are attending this school." Mrs. Reita countered.
"Oh please," Mrs. Nakamura scoffed. "Do not blame me for your own failings as a parent. I know far better than to ever let my children pursue the high-risk low-reward career path of being a 'Pro-Hero.'"
Mr. Koburo cleared his throat. "I do believe we are getting off track."
"Indeed we are," Nezu said. Ever masking his irritation behind a friendly veneer of patience, the Principal would have felt disappointment at the quality of 'adults' to whom were responsible for the lives of the majority of the students of his academy, had he not possessed apathy towards the situation in one form or another.
"Principal Nezu, please, explain the new passing criteria for UA's Entrance Examination."
"Of course, Koburo-san," Principal Nezu said. "There is only one criterion required for students to be able to pass the Practical Exam."
Nezu smiled.
"Excellence."
XXXXXXXX
What the actual fuck?
Bakugou wasn't enjoying this. He wasn't fucking finding any of it funny. He'd thought the written exam was intense, but this? This was just fucking insane. Even standing far away from the large painted red line, he could feel the heat simmering on his face. The roaring of the flames almost muted out the words of the examiners.
"Welcome!" the dominatrix licked her lips. "To Disaster Ground 7."
What the fuck?
Before them, ahead of them, was essentially a size-for-size replica of a Musutafu district. Of course, the major fucking difference was that it was wrecked beyond all capable recognition. Fires burned in houses, the streets were upturned as though two S-Class villains had stripped off their pants and violently fucked the tarmac.
There were cars, ablaze and rendered immobile. There were stores with broken windows, walkways laden with glass, three-story buildings creaking and on the brink of collapse, streets overflowing with chin-height floods, and just so much sheer fucking chaos that Katsuki felt he'd stumbled into a fucking warzone.
"Before you is a near-faithful recreation of the aftermath of a rampage done by the S-Rank Villain Seismic."
The ground beneath their feet shook, and some people fell flat on their asses. An explosion rocketed from within the Disaster Ground, the shockwave blowing his hair back, and sending his eyes going wide.
One villain… did this?
"For the practical exam, your task is simple." Another Pro-Hero came up beside her, holding a large-ass screen with barely any effort. "Get from Point A, here, to Point B, here, without significant injury and you complete the exam."
"That's it?" someone asked.
"All we have to do, is get through the place?"
The dominatrix chuckled. "You'll complete the exam if you successfully manage to make it to the other end of the Disaster Ground, but it doesn't mean you're guaranteed to pass."
The outrage that was about building was silenced with a single palm.
"You only pass, if you manage to acquire a minimum of fifty total points."
She pointed to the screen again. Two different images brought themselves up, cartoonish, caricature images of people.
"Within the Disaster Ground, are two types of people. Civilians and villains, or, as we'll call them, Blue Shirts, and Red Shirts." She pointed. "Blue Shirts or civilians will be found, typically in danger or in need of rescuing or assistance. Assisting, aiding or saving a Blue Shirt will net you two points."
She pointed to the other image. "Red Shirts, however, are enemies. Defeating a Red Shirt will net you ten points."
"What's the catch?" Katsuki asked.
"The Red Shirts have the ability to call in reinforcements of superior combat ability." The dominatrix said. "Defeat one, and three stronger ones appear. Defeat one of those three, and nine even stronger ones show up. Defeat one of those nine… I'm certain you get the picture."
She tapped the screen. "If the number of Red Shirts in the Disaster Ground outnumbers the total number of participants, anyone who hasn't completed the exam by then automatically fails."
Bakugou wasn't dumb. He did the math, immediately. The thoughts that ran through his head were likely the same as those running through the heads of everyone else. He could finish the fucking exam in record time simply by taking out five baddies, and then high-tailing it as quickly as he fucking could out of there.
Except that'd be fucking scummy.
Doing that would basically be screwing over the other examinees for his own benefit of being number one. There was also the chance that others would have the same fucking idea, and if someone else were to somehow manage to take out five Reds before he did – it'd be fucking pointless.
"Finally," the dominatrix drew a card. She cleared her throat and began in a dull voice. "The Principal of UA was fortunate enough to acquire the assistance of volunteer partners from Hero Agencies to take the role of the civilians and villains, or, that is, our Blue Shirts and Red Shirts. These brave men and women have consented to allowing the use of quirks on them; however, the utilization of lethal force is strictly forbidden and will not only result in an immediate disqualification for anyone who breaches that rule, but a hefty fine and permanent black spot on your record."
There was silence.
"Are there any questions?"
"We're supposed to rescue real people?"
"You're applying at a Hero Academy. If rescuing people wasn't something you're prepared for, why are you here?" The dominatrix sighed.
"They aren't going to fucking make things easy for us, are they?"
The dominatrix gave him a smile that made Bakugo shudder. "Watch your potty mouth, brat. In any case, they've been instructed to act as ordinary civilians in the midst of a chaotic disaster. Make of that what you will."
So, they're gonna be actively resisting, Bakugo swore. Fuckin' hell. He could read between the lines. The dominatrix outright said that both the blues and reds consented to letting quirks be used on them, which meant it was more likely that there would be situations in which he'd need to use quirks on both the blues and the reds.
Motherfuckers rigged this –
This entire exam was rigged against people with combat-oriented quirks. They couldn't just muscle their way out of problems and he couldn't just go in guns blazing and be done with it. Fighting was a major fucking no-no, going all out was a major fucking no-no, defeating the enemy was a bad fucking plan because only a complete idiot couldn't see what they were trying to pull by seeing who'd be the first asshole to think of themselves by gunning for the reds.
"I have a question," a boy, spoke. A small little runt of a thing with purple balls for hair. His gaze was so heavily stuck on the dominatrix's chest no matter how she moved that Bakugo wondered for a full half-second whether or not the runt's quirk let him aimbot with his eyes.
"It better be a good one."
"Do we get extra points for capturing the reds rather than defeating them?" he said, eagerly. "If we restrain them so they can't move, does it still count as defeating them?"
The dominatrix blinked at him. Bakugo, in turn, blinked at the runt. Some people glanced around, the question sparking conversation.
"Successfully capturing the Red Shirts counts as defeating them… and you will be awarded points."
"And will that bring more of them?"
The dominatrix looked irritated. She gave a peculiar look to the runt who'd asked the question, who still had his eyes locked on to her chest, moving in tandem with her every breath and sway. "Capturing the Red Shirts will not allow them to summon reinforcements."
We weren't supposed to know that. That was the impression Bakugo got. She only told us cause the runt asked. Bakugo regarded the runt a second time. The boy was the very antithesis of what it looked like to be hero material. So… why didn't I think of that question?
There was a more pertinent question. What else aren't these fuckers telling us? There was more to this exam. Probably some method to accrue points that was hidden. Bakugo could swear it.
Doesn't matter. All he needed to do was to progress with his own shit. Capturing an opponent without defeating them was a much fucking harder thing to do than just defeating an opponent outright. With his quirk, Bakugo wasn't going to risk it.
"Now, students, to your places."
Their starting point was a large red line painted at the entrance of the Disaster Zone, large enough for everyone to line up side by side at the start, and with clearly more than enough room for people to dash forward without jostling each other. Bakugo gave a glance to the two people by his side: a strange ass weirdo with creepy sleep-deprived eyes, and that same runt who'd been aimbotting the dominatrix' tits.
Focus –
He paid them no heed. There was nothing that was going to stop him from being the number one hero, not the extras at his side, not the shitty bullshit exam rigged against him – nothing, in the world, would stop Katsuki Bakugo from clearing this exam.
The dominatrix cleared her throat. Her voice echoed from the speakers. "Let the U.A. Entrance Practical Exam – begin!"
A sound like a gunshot went off –
And Katsuki Bakugo's explosion deafened it.
XXXXXXX
There were few things he hated more so than loud noises. He knew his ambitions of heroics would strip him of that luxury. His ears still rung from the blonde menace who'd almost deafened him by blasting forward with his exploding palms.
All around him, those with mobility quirks leveraged their powers to rush to the forefront of the action, scrawling and trying their hardest not to be left behind. He didn't have that luxury. All he could do was walk, leisurely, forward, until he was the left behind by all those ahead of him. His quirk would have made it easy for him to piggyback on another applicant, forming a symbiotic bond to get himself ahead farther and faster.
Except he knew better. There was no way the examiners, the Pro-Heroes, watching him, would ever allow such a tactic. There was no way they'd ever consider such a behavior worthy of one who aspired to become a hero.
And aspire he did.
No matter how much he was told his quirk would make him an excellent villain –
He'd never stop aspiring to be anything but.
The U.A. Entrance Exams were different than he thought. They were more self-aware than he expected. Many kids would fail it, simply because they held unto the wrong ideals of what being a hero meant. There would be no one who would pass the written exam that would have the mentality of a naïve, bright-eyed child, and now, the practical exam had all but made it so that the power and flashiness of one's quirk didn't matter as much as it used to.
All the golden boys and girl wonders told from day one by their middle school teachers just how special they were for their flashy quirks would find themselves at a distinct disadvantage in this exam. So much so, that he almost thought it funny.
So much so, that he almost laughed.
He didn't though, because that was what villains did.
Instead, he made his way across the disaster ground, careful to avoid cracks on the ground and shattered glass, watching keenly for buildings which would topple over or cars on fire, threatening to explode. The location of the Practical Test seemed almost too chaotic to ever let a bunch of green hero-aspirants enter, but he could tell that it was all controlled chaos. He got the feeling it was controlled chaos.
There was no other way he could describe it. It felt like watching a horror scene, but being vaguely and distinctly aware of the CGI and graphics of the overlying horror, which ultimately took away from the fear and left a vague sense of eye-rolling amusement.
It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for, or rather, who he was looking for. Standing flamboyantly in a bright red shirt, hovering over what looked to be a girl in a bright blue shirt, the 'villain' was terrorizing the innocent 'civilians.'
"How much did they pay you for this performance?"
The villain jerked. He was a large man. Tall, perhaps six-feet. Heavily muscled and definitely trained. Too well trained to be a sidekick. The man was likely a hero, wearing a different disguise. Or perhaps one of those underground heroes who hid their identity. It didn't matter.
He turned around, scowling. "Excuse me –"
Their eyes locked. His eyes widened. He recognizes me.
It was too late, though. He'd already answered. His gaze became unfocused. His expression turned vacant. The Red-Shirt was under his control. He turned to the 'cowering woman.'
"Are you in need of any further assistance?"
There was never any hiding the surprise, or initial shock that came with seeing him use his quirk. Her lips didn't move. She didn't open them. Fear, or caution, or worry, it didn't matter. She shook her head back and forth instead.
"Fine." He regarded his enthralled 'villain.' "Let's go. The direction of other Red-Shirts."
The 'villain' blankly nodded.
This is good. Ten points for subduing a red shirt, and two points for assisting a blue shirt. Twelve points gained in one instance.
It seemed he just might make it as a hero after all.
XXXXXXX
"My leg, oh my leg!"
The woman wailed, melodramatically, if Izuku could add. She was caught underneath a collapsed pillar, placed judiciously close to a rather inconvenient puddle of spilled gasoline. There also happened to be a rather conveniently inconvenient overturned car nearby, blazing away.
"Please, hurry!"
The situation was disconcerting. While his body moved on auto-pilot to rescue the woman from the trapped rubble and impending explosion, his mind did several hundreds of calculations per second.
What if someone is too slow and fails to save her in time?
What if the fire spreads?
What if some unforeseen circumstances turns this pre-programmed scenario into something really dangerous?
He didn't believe U.A. to be the type of place where they'd risk real lives and real deaths simply for the sake of an exam. However, the manufactured situation left an uneasy taste in his mouth. It was far too easy, in such a chaotic, upturned place, for unexpected and unanticipated events to happen. What would they do then?
His eyes caught the face of the woman trapped while his hands broke the rock she was trapped in, and his brain registered the face as familiar, and thus began immediately cross-referencing it across his mental database.
…Froth?
There was a match. The nose lined up, as did the cheek-bones, chin and chalky-white skin. Her hair was in a different style, her eyes were a different color – contacts? – and her bust size was considerably larger –padding? – but there was no denying that this was the Fire-Fighting Hero, Froth.
A hero who'd at one point joined up with the No.2 Hero, Endeavor as his sidekick, but eventually went their separate ways due to 'inconsolable differences.' Her quirk granted her the ability to emit fire-suppressant foam from her body much like a fire extinguisher, and in turn made her ridiculously resistant to fire, if not outright immune.
Izuku's brain recalled seeing her face on the news, seeing her battle severe fires alongside fire-fighters.
Thank goodness.
The unsettling feeling in his stomach finally settled. He understood now, what was going on. The 'civilians' were in no real danger. They'd been hand-picked and hand-crafted per situation to ensure that if the applicants weren't up to the task, they'd do the needful to save both themselves and the unwitting examinees.
"Thank you!" Froth excitedly hugged him, playing the part of the just-rescued civilian. Izuku tried his damned hardest to smile because he knew that she was in no real danger at all, and that made the appreciation she showed him feel awkward rather than earnest.
"It's fine. I'm just doing my –"
An object, miles away, came soaring in his direction. Reflexes and instinct overtook conscious thought, and Izuku's turned around, snatched the object out of the air, and sent it barreling back the exact same trajectory it came from at breakneck speed.
He turned immediately around to Froth. "Are you alright?"
There was surprise on her face. Izuku could tell it originated genuinely. Was that not part of the scenario? No, it had to be. Was she not expecting me to react? That was it, wasn't it?
It couldn't be that the projectile which had launched at him and could have killed him just now hadn't been intended… right?
Focus, Izuku, you still have an exam to pass.
Saving Froth just netted him two points. He still needed a minimum of forty-eight more points to go if he wanted to earn a passing score. That meant he needed to rescue or aid at least twenty-four more people.
Don't forget about the fire.
His brain reminded him. He swooped the Pro-Hero-disguised-as-a-civilian into his arms – she was surprisingly light – ignoring her yelp, before leaping in an upward arc. Three full seconds of air-time later, the resounding fwoomp of gasoline igniting reached his ears. He landed atop an abandoned school-bus on what should have been a major road.
Gingerly letting Froth land on her two feet atop the yellow school bus, he ignored her red-faced pout in favor of examining his surroundings. The road was littered with potholes, other empty and abandoned vehicles, fallen rubble, holes and shattered glass, and everything possible under the sun to discourage it from being used.
Rescue twenty-four people, or incapacitate five people…
He trusted his abilities, but in his heart of hearts, Izuku knew what the better choice was. He gazed at the heavily damaged road and started to do some quick calculations. If only I had a –
"Look out!"
Reflexes again, forced him to spin off the school-bus, grabbing the Pro-Hero by the hand, and landing to the ground just as a giant metal beam impaled the roof of the vehicle. Izuku stared at the metal beam, and slowly, he let his gaze go to Froth.
"Excuse me, but, um… that's the second time now," he said. "Am I supposed to get hit by flying debris?"
She opened her lips, but closed it immediately. He watched her face go through two different ranges of emotions. She's having a conversation, his brain told him. His eyes couldn't catch anything in her ears that she'd use to converse with someone, so, likely, it was a mental conversation. Long-range telepathic quirks were really far and few in-between, so he had a pretty good enough guess as to who was being used on the other end.
"W-why are you asking me?"
She's still playing the role of the civilian. Izuku didn't believe he'd get her to break character. He didn't think anything would get her to break character except he was in some sort of mortal danger. He focused, instead, skywards, to where the metal beam had fallen from. A building, ablaze and collapsing.
He forced his newly enhanced eyes to zoom.
Two people were present, in blue shirts. Waving some sort of makeshift flag, with S-O-S painted sloppily atop. Their lips were moving, and he read them. Help! Help! We're trapped up here!
Izuku examined the building. The flames were thus so that it was impossible for him to be able to make it in, much less ascend all the needed steps to get to them. At the same time, he didn't have the power to fly, or float.
There was a way he could make it to the top. Scaling the side of a burning building, a feat, both reckless and dangerous. Were anyone else but him to attempt it, the feat would be suicidal.
Were he to attempt it, the feat would still be suicidal.
"Can you make it to safety on your own?"
"S-safety? I – I don't know –"
Oh, that's right.
The mission was more than just to save the 'civilians' from whatever contrived trouble you encountered them, it was to ensure they stayed safe and didn't go wandering off into further danger.
In the case of a disaster, civilians typically were urged to rush to designated safety zones or evacuated from the locations of danger. However, for that to happen, there needed to be safety zones, and you needed to have clear evacuation routes.
With the disaster zone as chaotic as it was, there was neither of those two things. The examiners hadn't mentioned it either. Which meant –
It's up to us to make them.
The problem with that, again, was that it was a task that couldn't be done by one person, no matter how powerful their quirks. You needed a person to clear the roads and another to rescue the civilians and another to urge them to the evacuation route.
We're supposed to work together?
If that was the purpose of the exam, then the U.A. facility held an unreasonably high standard of expectation from the aspiring heroes. To get themselves to stop seeing each other as potential competitors and see each other as comrades working towards a shared goal was something that would be difficult from the start, and would only be made more so seeing as how there was an easier alternative: take down the baddies.
This exam… is going to be harder than I thought.
XXXXXXX
"Goddamnit!"
He slapped his palms together, blasting away falling debris and preventing it from crashing on a little old man who couldn't get his fucking wits together to move quickly enough. He'd short-sized his explosion for the sake of the codger's ears, and that risk came with missing one or two falling debris falling towards him.
Izuku wouldn't have missed –
Something slimy slipped around his waist, and Katsuki Bakugo barely had anything to say before he found himself being moved out of the way of falling debris. The concrete slabs wouldn't have killed him – he was too fucking tough for that to kill him – but they'd have hurt all the same. He found himself deposited away from the bullshit crumbling building, along with the frail old man who was in the hands of a freakish girl with a bullshit long tongue –
A very, very long tongue which went all the way from her lips and was the slimy thing he felt tied around his waist.
Disgust was his first instinct. Katsuki swore it was his first instinct. His face burned and his lips were ready to cut out a marking retort, only for the tongue to unwrap themselves around him, and return to the girl, who, with her green hair and odd eyes and toad-like stance, was being congratulated by the old man who Bakugo tried to save.
"Are you 'kay, 'ibbit?" She spoke with a strange accent, probably one that came from the fact that she had such a bullshitingly long tongue that didn't seem to fully stay inside her mouth.
"I didn't need your fuckin' help."
He rose to his feet and dusted off his clothes. Patting down himself, he felt a dampness, and grimaced as his hands came to contact with what was most likely frog-girl's saliva.
"…fuck."
"S'worry. Ee'll wash off."
"What the fuck are you apologizing for?" Katsuki felt his anger return.
"Mos' people don' like when I 'ick em."
Whether she meant lick them or ick them was probably irrelevant. Bakugo got the message nonetheless. He wanted to grumble. He wanted to curse at her more. Except he saw the way she looked at him. There was some annoyance, yes, but she flinched away from his temper and flinched even further when he swore. She looked almost as though she was genuinely expecting him to hit her.
Bakugo felt like an asshole.
No, he probably was an asshole.
What would Izuku think if he saw this?
"It's fine." He managed to grumble. "It's my fuckin' fault for not training better. I shoulda dodged that –" he cursed underneath his breath. "…T-t-t-tha –" He bit down his lips. Fuck, he couldn't say it. "You're… not useless."
"Er… 'sanks?"
Thanks, the word she probably meant to say. Bakugo decided not to stay. Otherwise he'd get angry at her for not getting angry enough at him and then get angry at himself for getting angry at her. Besides, he'd managed twenty-two points so far. He just needed to get some more and he'd be done with this shitty exam.
"Sorry to interrupt you youngsters," the old man said. "But… my daughter. I need you to help me find my daughter."
He and frog-girl turned in tandem to the man. Frog girl was the first to speak. "Where is she?"
"We were separated, at Third Street. A big, powerful villain used the chaos to attack. I fear for her safety."
Ah fuck. Another one of these blasted scenarios. There's gonna be a fucking Red Shirt, too.
"I'll find her."
"Thank you, young lady." The old man said. "Please, where am I to go for safety?"
The girl tilted her head. "Safe…?"
Bakugo swore. "Second street. Follow the fucking subway. Collapse proof and no villains. Go straight down the fucking thing and you'll come out at the other end."
"Ah thank you, young man." The old man bowed to him, "But I'm afraid my old bones are too frail to make that journey on my own –"
Oh fuck me –
Frog girl looked ready to intervene. "I'll –"
"Ah, miss, didn't you say you were going to help me find my daughter?"
She deflated at that. Her gaze turned to him.
"…get on my back old man. And I swear to god, if you drool…"
He didn't drool, thankfully. Frog-girl gave them off a wave as they went off, and Bakugo couldn't help but feel increasingly annoyed at this turn of events. He turned around, taking off in a blur with his explosions, racing down the streets with the old man clinging to his neck.
"Ah, slow down young man!"
"I'm going as slow as I can you old codger! Any slower and there'll be fucking turtles outpacing us."
"My, what mouths you youngsters have these days. Is that any way to treat a poor old man who's a victim of a disastrous attack?'"
Bakugo snorted. "Victim my ass. I know you guys are just pro-heroes playing dress up. You want me to roleplay some nerd shit with you and act like you're helpless? Maybe next time, try fucking pretending to be a little bit worried about buildings falling on your head."
"I was in shock." The old man said.
"You'd have moved by the third time I fucking screamed in your ear."
"I'm hard of hearing."
"But not hard of sight? I fucking saw you getting ready to haul ass and do something before frog-girl swooped in. You're not fooling me geezer."
"…You saw me?" The old man's voice was different. "That's not possible."
"You fucking floated. I've got good eyes asshole."
"Your attention was focused on the debris. Your eyes and ears couldn't have been in my direction."
Bakugo snorted. "Guess again. My focus was on you, and trying to redirect my fucking explosions so all the debris would hit me and miss you. Fuck I even had to tone them down otherwise I'd blow your fucking ears out. So I sure as hell saw the moment you dropped the geezer act."
"You mean to say you divided your attention four-way between using your quirk, restricting it to prevent unintended harm to bystanders, watching a civilian under your care and redirecting collateral damage unto yourself…?" The old man's voice dropped. "All at the same time?"
"So fucking what?"
"What did you say your name was again?"
"I didn't." He snorted. "It's Bakugo. Katsuki Bakugo."
The old man didn't say anything after that. Bakugo didn't pay it mind. He was more focused on doing as much as he could to dropping the old man off and then getting back to saving more people – earning more points.
He tore down the subway, hauling himself with his explosions forward and moving through the torch lit darkness.
"Bakugo-san… this subway exit, how did you discover it?"
"I didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"It wasn't an exit. I fucking cleared it out."
"…You what?"
Was the geezer really hard of hearing as he said? "You heard me geezer."
"Your quirk lets you explode things."
"So?"
"How did you clear out an entire exit by yourself?"
"I blasted away all the shit that was blocking the way, lit some torches, kept fucking blasting until it was clear."
"…how long did it take you to do this?"
"Twenty fucking minutes." He swore. "I'd have already fucking aced this exam if I didn't start out with this shit first."
"And why did you? Start with this I mean?"
"Cause all of you 'civilians' end up getting in deep shit again if I just 'save you' and let you wander about. You'll get in my way, so I fucking realized it's best if I simply made sure you can't get in my way. And you can't get in my way if you aren't here, so two-plus-two equals exam fucking passed."
Bakugo grunted. "Also, do you mind being less bloody chatty? Talking and moving expends too much fucking energy."
The old man didn't say anything after that. Bakugo couldn't have been happier. He tore through the subway at record speed. He wanted to be the first the finish in his own zone, because he didn't doubt for even a fucking second that Izuku would be the first to finish in his.
And if he was behind Izuku…
Bakugo Katsuki would never forgive himself.
XXXXX
"He's not really going to try and climb up here to rescue us, is he?"
As an underground hero, Wingman had seen his fare share of ridiculous stunts. He'd seen all manner of things from people hopping out of moving vehicles to idiots jumping out through glass windows. Escaping burning buildings was just another feat on the list, which was why it was unusual to see someone trying to scale a burning building.
"I mean… there's no way." Fluff, another Pro-Hero, agreed with his sentiment. "What's the kid's quirk?"
Wingman reached for his phone, opening the app with the applicant's information. "Green hair… ponytail… Midoriya Izuku. His quirk is called Precision."
"Precision?"
"It says lets him do anything with absolute precision."
Fluff squinted. "Wait, isn't he the one?"
"Who?"
"He was on TV the other day. Tsunagu wouldn't shut up about seeing a stylish kid that'd make a great model for his brand. Now that I see him though… yeah I see it." Fluff whistled. "Wow. Look at him go – is he – is he actually – "
"Is he what?" Wingman looked down from his phone. The sight he witnessed was a boy, running up the side of a burning building, gripping through the tiniest of cracks, crevices and utilizing footholds to ascend in a feat of gravity-defying parkour. "Holy shit."
"…You sure I can't record this? No one will ever believe us if we don't record this."
"We're supposed to be civilians, Fluff. Don't break character."
Fluff pouted. "Fine. Back to the woe is us act." She sighed. "Why did we agree to do this again?"
"You mean other than Nezu's big fat checks and giving us a chance to actually have a say in who gets into this business?"
"I dunno…" Fluff shrugged. "Something's fishy. If I didn't know better, I'd say Nezu is trying to make sure as many people fail as possible."
"So what if he is?" Wingman said. "Better fewer living heroes, than more dead ones. We don't need another Dare Man."
"Ugh. You're always so grim Wing. This is why Miko-chan left you."
"And here I always thought it was just the alcoholism."
"…I'm sorry, that was a stupid joke."
"It's fine. I'll be eight months sober next week. Can't say being dumped didn't make me a better person." Wingman jerked his finger. "Look alive. Kid actually made it to the top."
The green-haired daredevil appeared in front of them with a forward front-flip, completing the maneuver and landing so perfectly he'd effortlessly have been considered Olympic level, were the Olympics still a thing. There was nothing to show that he'd exerted himself from the task of climbing a seven-story building, no sweat, no panting, no burn-marks of any sort that indicated he was ever in any sort of remote danger.
…Damn he's good.
"Help us!" Fluff turned on the waterworks. "Oh, we're saved!"
The boy gave a smile to both of them. "Get on my back, and I'll get us down."
Wingman turned to Fluff. Both had the same question in mind. "There's two of us."
"She's lighter," the kid pointed. "I can carry her in my arms. You'll have to stay on my back."
He's joking right? Wingman was almost tempted to break character there. She's probably about forty, maybe fifty kilograms, and I could see him doing it… but I'm over eighty.
"Sorry but –"
"Save me." Fluff leapt into the kid's arms without hesitating. Wingman had his immense doubts. He looked over the kid's form. He's muscled, sure, but all of it is lean muscle…
"If we could hurry…?"
The Pro-Hero swallowed his pride and climbed unto the back of a fifteen-year-old kid. What the…?
The boy did not so much as flinch. It was almost as though he did not register the additional weight. Holding on tightly to the kid, Wingman realized he'd seriously underestimated just how muscled the boy was. There was nothing but muscle on him.
"Hold on tight, we're going to jump."
"Wait, what do you mean we're going to – aaaaahhh!"
He's crazy, Wingman could swear. He leapt off the top, and starting running down the side of a burning building as if it were a normal occurrence. The boy kicked a broken metal window as their acceleration continued, hopped on it and began to surf.
Surfing down the side of a burning building.
"Holy shiiiiiiiit."
Fluff was cackling, the adrenaline-crazed woman was no doubt enjoying it. Wingman couldn't quite say the same. He'd been on rollercoasters and in amusement park rides, but never in his life had he experience something so beyond the realm of common sense.
How the fuck are we not falling off?
The building wasn't slanted. If gravity was being consistent, they should have plopped down from their combined weights and landed in a gooey pulp. They weren't, somehow. Either wonder-boy's quirk could defy the laws of gravity, or it was precise enough to abuse them so grandiosely that one could only assume the laws were being broken. Wingman didn't know which of the two answers was more incredulous.
Their acceleration peaked the further they surfed, and, about eight feet from the ground, the boy kicked off the building. He did a bloody three-sixty, before guiding the metal window unto pavement, scraping tarmac and coming to a gentle stop.
"We're safe."
"Oh my god that was awesome!" Fluff squealed. "You're my hero!"
Wingman's feet touched solid ground, and never had he been so glad for it. He cleared his throat. "R-r-right." He said. "T-thank you, er, youngster."
"It's nothing. Please advance to the yellow school bus on the corner of Fifth Street. An exit will be cleared soon." The boy bowed. "Thank you for obliging with my selfish request, Fluff-san, Wingman-san."
Wingman felt as though he'd been slapped. Fluff froze mid smile.
"We're not –"
The boy was gone before they could refute the statement. Fluff turned to him. "He recognized us?"
"I haven't been active in public-spaces for three years. We're wearing disguises. How the hell did he…?"
"…I like him." Fluff said. "I really like him."
XXXXX
She muttered a small prayer to her lord upon successfully restraining the red-shirt with her vines. Enraptured in a crucifix of her roseless thorns, the red-shirt wearing individual could neither move nor mumble, complain nor stumble. This, so far, was her third successive capture, each one successful only because she did due diligence in observing their skillsets before attempting an attack. Each one, successful, because she was filled with faith and virtue, and her prayers for success were heeded by her lord.
"Excuse me, miss."
She regarded an angelic voice, and, she turned to address it.
Her heartbeat skipped. She felt it. Angelic did not suffice to describe the one in front of her. Divine would scarcely be an apt description. Humans were not meant to be perfect, it was universally impossible, yet, her eyes could catch no flaw or imperfection in the one before her.
Hair a darker shade of green than hers with matching eyes and freckles that completed his symmetrical features in a perfectly-imperfect way, her heart skipped another beat. He gave a disarming, innocent smile, and her heart skipped a third and fourth beat –
Flee from temptation – her mind roared to her. Flee now girl! Flee!
"Could you lend me your assistance with a certain matter?"
His voice stunned her from her stupor. "O-of course."
She realized she'd answered without giving it any thought. A part of her feared that she'd just been ensnared by a quirk, but another part of her knew it was simply her juvenile teen heart thriving and jubilating at the thought of doing a favor for a boy.
"Thank you so much."
His earnest smile sent cupid's errant arrows piercing into her chest.
"My name is Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku."
"Shiozaki." She said. "Shiozaki Ibara."
XXXXX
"This way, head down the central road!"
"Come on, everyone, we can do it!"
A small hoard of blue-shirt wearing individuals marched on through the central road, which now sported a number of key differences. The cars and debris had been cleared off completely, and hovering above the sky was a shining arrow made of glass that Izuku carefully placed to ensure the reflection of various light sources hitting it would make it visible regardless of distance.
There'd only been a few major ways he could get people to work together, and, as much as he was beginning to hate the amount of attention he got for being unreasonably beautiful, he couldn't deny that it'd come in handy this time around.
People listened to him before he'd ever even said anything of value.
They were receptive to his ideas and suggestions, so long as he flashed a smile there, deepened or softened his voice here, and was assertive enough to make their initial reservations come down.
He'd approached had a girl with green-vine like hair – Shiozaki Ibara, his brain recalled – and there'd been surprisingly so little opposition on her part of the idea that Izuku was worried.
He had her clear out the rubble with a sweeping motion of her vines and make bridges to cover the gaps and she readily agreed. Agreed without even asking for anything in return, despite the fact that they were both participants in an exam and were supposedly competing with each other.
I should really, really invest in a mask with my hero costume…
Regardless, Shiozaki's quirk was versatile. It could clear large areas, be used as a rope, be woven into a net, be made into bridges, platforms, be spun around to create wind to put out minor flames, be utilized as a platform for difficult terrain such as an electrified floor or swampy marsh –
The number of applications that ran through his mind with her quirk were in the hundreds. Izuku appreciated it.
He could do anything precisely, and sure, that was amazing.
But he couldn't do everything.
"Midoriya-san, I believe with the amount of people we've saved, that should bring our combined scores up to –"
For the third time, Izuku's reflexes flared beyond his control. He pirouetted on his feet like a ballet dancer, grabbing Ibara by the arms and gracefully swaying her as though she were his dance partner.
A bus, blaring, tore through the space where they'd stood microseconds ago. The bus tilted from the rapid acceleration, and he pulled Ibara close, stepping to the side. The bus came crashing down, and they stood, positioned perfectly, untouched, through its opened windows.
Izuku didn't hesitate. The bus's forward motion was still going, thus, he grabbed Ibara's waist and tossed her up, again, as though she were his dance partner in a complex routine. To her merit, she didn't resist, or perhaps, everything was happening to fast for her to do so. Time didn't move at the same pace for Izuku when such things happened. Microseconds and milliseconds morphed into hours and minutes, each one more vivid and complex than the previous. The speed of subconscious thought, the speed of absolute precision, moved beyond human comprehension.
She was tossed out of danger, and Izuku clambered straight through the collapsed bus, rushing for the driver's seat.
Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but three times?
The driver's seat of the vehicle was empty. There was only a brick placed down on the accelerator, and a wooden stick jammed into the wheel to keep it locked. Izuku surmised immediately that both the brick and the wooden stick were diversions. The seat, according to his infrared vision, was significantly warmer than the rest of the vehicle. His nostrils could catch the faint scent of sterility and antiseptic – odd scents to be in an abandoned vehicle.
Someone had been driving this thing.
Someone had been trying to kill him.
The likelihood of one intruder sneaking into the exam had already been proven with Himiko doing so, which, in turn, reduced the likelihood of another intruder. It was like that old morbid joke Matsuda told him about a hitchhiker girl entering a random vehicle, the driver laughing about how she wasn't scared he was a serial killer, and the girl responding that the odds of two serial killers encountering each other in the same vehicle was ridiculously low.
Either U.A. had really dropped the ball in identifying for potential threats, twice, which was unlikely, or, the more damning option…
The person who'd tried to kill him was not an intruder.
That meant either an applicant or a staff of U.A. was out to get him.
And Izuku needed to find out why.
XXXXXX
That crazy cat did it again, Sorahiko hobbled his way up the stairs, his cane tapping at each step before he did. Changing out of the blue shirt and removing his wig, he saw the youngsters gathered around the innumerous camera screens, their eyes glued to the proceedings of the exam.
"Torino-san," one of the youngsters – what was his name, Vlad? – approached him. "Are you alright Torino-san?"
"I'm old, boy, not brittle."
He nodded. "We were just discussing the applicants, and taking in first-hand reports from the heroes on the field."
"I met a foul-mouthed brat."
Vlad scrolled through a tablet. "Ah, that would be Bakugo Katsuki." He grimaced. "We've already received numerous complaints about his attitude. Vulgarian said the boy needs his mouth sanitized with soap. And coming from the Swearing Hero – that's a grim observation."
"How many votes to fail him?"
A sigh preceded the answer. "Three fails."
"And how many to pass him?"
"Twenty-one."
"Make it twenty-two."
"Torino-san?"
"When I first met him, I thought there was no one more unsuited to be a hero," Sorahiko grumbled. "…and then the cheeky brat made me feel dumb for thinking that."
"I see." He tapped the tablet further. "Did anyone else catch your attention, Torino-san?"
"A girl with frog-like abilities."
"That would be… Asui Tsuyu." The youngster nodded. "Eleven passes, seven fails so far. There don't seem to be any complaints except that she's…. reserved."
"Family?"
He grimaced. "Torino-san, we're not supposed to look into the personal lives of potential students to prevent bias in the selection process."
"I wasn't born yesterday so I know hogwash when I hear it. We both know, that crazy cat knows what foot they put into their socks first and how many times they gargle before they spit."
"But Torino-san –"
"Don't but me boy. I'm right aren't I?"
The youngster fidgeted for a bit, before relenting. "A few years ago, her father, Asui Ganma, apparently was 'let go' from his job at a subsidiary of Chōten and filed a discrimination lawsuit against them. He lost, badly. We believe this may have affected his… temperament."
Sorahiko clicked his tongue. "Chōten again. Didn't they learn anything from the Nagako riots?"
"Only how to better hide their policies through legal loopholes, unfortunately."
"Shoulda let the whole company burn."
"I understand your sentiment Torino-san, truly, I do." He let out a frustrated breath. "But whether or not a corporation is openly run by Quirk Purists does not mean we're allowed to turn a blind eye to it when it gets set ablaze by an angry mob."
"I know that. I've been doing this hero thing longer than you have. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Especially now that…"
Sorahiko held his tongue. There was no point in bringing that up. His age was getting the better of him. Too many years working as a hero had made him cynical. Too many years gazing into the abyss had permanently etched parts of it within him.
Kids and youngsters liked to joke that one either died a hero, or lived long enough to see themselves become a villain. Sorahiko knew it was more than just a joke. He'd seen it. Seen former teammates, partners, sidekicks and apprentices, one by one, question if there was even a point to choosing to stay in the light.
The problem was, from the start, too many heroes had excess of light but not enough darkness. How could they fight darkness when they did not understand it? Could not comprehend it? How does a man who'd never been tempted learn to resist temptation?
The thought brought Sorahiko back to the memory of the uncouth youngster. The kind of person who could best fight against tyrants was the kind of person who had within him, the capacity for tyranny. Sadly, very few individuals understood this. It was always better to be a soldier in a garden than a gardener in a war. Always better to be a man who was capable of cruelty, but never need to inflict it, than to be a man incapable of cruelty, and soon come to regret it.
And regret, Sorahiko did. Of all the regrets he possessed, the greatest would be in the moments when he found himself lacking in much needed cruelty.
"Torino-san?"
"Which is nobler, a hero who strives and struggles to do good, or a hero who does good without effort?"
"I can't say."
"Think."
Vlad crossed his arms. "I suppose, Torino-san… the reason we reward good behavior, courage and righteous deeds is because it takes effort to do those things. If people could be completely good without any effort… would we still hold acts of courage or integrity of character in high-esteem?"
"Hm."
Sorahiko already knew the answer. He'd discovered it, twenty-five years ago, when he used his quirk on the masses. The event wasn't recorded in the history books because there were only a handful of people who remembered. Sorahiko was cursed to be among that handful.
"Excuse me, Torino-san. Back on to the issue of the applicants –"
"I'm tired, boy. These old bones aren't what they used to. I'll send the rest via mail."
Sorahiko was tired. Heroics drained a lot from him. Soon, he thought. Soon…
Once he saw that the future was in good hands, he'd genuinely consider full-time retirement.
XXXXX
"And that officially concludes the UA Entrance Examinations!"
Nemuri was exhausted. Proctoring exams had always been tiring, but this year's examinations had been something else entirely. Sometimes she wished she could curse the principal for his ridiculous, over-the-top selection scheme he called an exam.
"Sooo…" Hizashi stood beside her, staring at the screens, each one possessing names of students, points earned, votes, written exam scores and remarks from Pro-Heroes. "That bad huh."
Hizashi tapped the screen, whistling. "Twenty fails and two passes? What the hell did this kid do?"
"That's Rikido Sato. His quirk lets him increase his physical strength the more he eats sugar… but has a tradeoff of crippling his mental strength in turn."
"Ooooh." Hizashi couldn't keep the grimace off his face. "I see how that could go badly."
"He buffed up and managed to save two people, but ended up becoming a liability to others due to his decreased intelligence." She sighed. "The consensus was against allowing someone who's quirk makes them a hindrance the more they use it to be a hero."
"Harsh." Hizashi crossed his arms. "Could always train the kid up. Make him try to not be all brawn and no brains."
"I thought the same, but… there are already individuals who have all have the advantages this kid has but with none of the drawbacks. He's a sweet kid, no pun intended… but by Nezu's new standards, he's not UA material."
"What about this one? Seventeen fails and six passes?"
"Mashirao Ojiro."
"Yeah. What's his quirk?"
"Tail."
Hizashi grabbed a seat. "Oh this is gonna be good. Wait, wait don't tell me." Hizashi, also known as Present Mic, put his hands together and pointed. "He has a super long tail he can stretch?"
"Try again."
"His tail can rotate and make him fly."
"Wrong."
"It shoots lasers?"
"No, Hizashi."
"So… what does it do?"
"It's a tail."
The man stared in silence.
"Huh?"
"Just a tail, Hizashi. That's his quirk."
"Ah, well… I mean, flashy quirks aren't all that."
"The report reads: 'he's basically a quirkless kid who knows some beginner karate and has an extra limb with limited use.'"
"Ouch." Hizashi grimaced. "Really don't wanna be that guy, but it feels like we're crushing kids hopes and dreams here."
Nemuri felt it in her bones. The procedural efficacy in Nezu's new standards meant accepting only individuals with great promise or potential, and treating everyone else like they were worthless. It stung her. It burned and itched at her sense of justice and fairness within her. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Nezu wasn't human, given his lovable appearance. It was in his methods that his lack of human empathy showed itself.
What stung her the most, was the voice at the back of her mind telling her that Nezu was a million times smarter than she could ever be, and could see and grasp things she would never even be able to gleam. It stung, the knowledge that this method of selecting future students might be the best, especially because they had enough precedents to prove that things always went smoothly once you shut off your brain and simply do what Nezu tells you to do.
Things went horribly, horribly wrong, if you didn't listen to the little white bear-man.
"Rather their dreams die, than they do."
She tried to rationalize it. Nezu knew what he was doing. She wasn't going to let her personal feelings throw a wrench into well-laid plans and end up having blood on her hands.
"Ah, that reminds me, that kid –" Hizashi examined the board. "…Well, damn."
"Who are you – oh. The wonderkid."
"You sure this score is right?"
"It is."
"But… damn." Hizashi grunted. "I mean… what do the reports say?"
"All positive. Froth said: 'He displayed an uncanny sense of spatial awareness and carried out the rescue with absolute calmness, compassion and focus.' Fluff wrote: 'Amazing, dedicated, possessing a strong grasp of the strengths and weaknesses of his quirk and an unrivaled determination to save others.' And even Wingman had good things to say."
"Ol' grouch face had something positive to say?"
"Just two words: 'He's good'".
"Coming from him, that's practically five gold stars and a letter of recommendation."
"I know." Nemuri sighed. "This kid… he feels too good to be true. Quirks are such bullshit, Hizashi. Imagine if someone like this attended the same class with us… I don't know how I'd ever believe in myself."
The door behind them swung open, a small figure casting a large shadow emerged through it. "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others. I often find that quote, comforting."
"Principal Nezu."
"Sup Prince."
Nezu quirked a smile. "Nemuri-chan. Hizashi-kun." The creature reached into his pockets. "Hard candy? I have mint flavor, butterscotch, and my personal favorite, cocoa."
"Thank you… Principal."
"More for me then." The principal said. "Now, now, you two needn't stay behind extra hours. Vlad-kun has aided me in assembling much of the results of the written and practical examinations. It is my duty as the principal to ensure everything runs smoothly, yes?"
"Principal," Nemuri asked. "I have to know, is this really the best way to run things?"
"You're worried for the applicants we rejected on basis of inexperience or averageness, yes? Tremendously noble of you, Nemuri-chan. However, what I do is for the best. You see, starting from next year, Nemuri-chan, the average rate of Pro Hero mortality is going to rise and I would prefer young students not become a part of the statistics."
Nemuri's heart lurched. "S-sir?"
"We are vastly understaffed, Nemuri-chan, in the war against evil. Worse so, we are underprepared and unqualified. For every hero, there are five villains. Five, Nemuri-chan. And many of these individuals do not operate with any code of ethics or morals. A great wind is coming, and I cannot stop it, Nemuri-chan. All I can do is mitigate the damage."
Nezu popped a candy into his lips.
"Oh dear, I should also mention, the rate of violent crime is going to increase significantly as well. For that reason, I have added new subjects to the curriculum, with the permission of the board of course. Nemuri-chan, you would have no problem handling these classes, yes?"
"What… classes?"
"One of which, is Self-Defense for Young Heroines, to properly teach them how to fend off unwanted attackers."
"Woah, woah," Hizashi cleared his throat. "Ah… principal, are you saying –"
The Principal's smile never wagered.
"We will be entering a dark age of our society soon, Hizashi-kun. Best to be prepared for any eventuality, yes?"
Nemuri felt a knot bury itself in her stomach.
"Dear me, I believe it is best to get some rest, Nemuri-chan, Hizashi-kun. Also, do note, the board has permitted me to hire a School Counselor. I always found it disconcerting that an institution as well-funded and distinguished as ours lacked something as fundamentally necessary as an individual who can aid in the social and emotional development of our future heroes. Absurd yes?"
"Absurd… yes."
Nezu chuckled. "The individual I selected is not only a part-time Pro Hero, but rather overqualified for the job, being both a clinical psychiatrist and doctor of psychology. I consider this a good thing, for they can also aid the UA Staff with whatever hiccups they may possess."
Nezu rubbed his paws together. "Oh dear, look at the time. Off you two go now. I have quite a lot of work to do. Now, shoo – shoo."
The Principal shooed them out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Nemuri turned to Hizashi, and Hizashi turned to her.
"So uh… wanna get a drink?"
"Are you paying?"
"I guess."
"Good." Nemuri said. "I'm going to be needing more than just one."
