Nighteye stared, stiff and silent as the email's contents registered. It'd been a routine day until then. As always, it started with training. A morning workout for himself, then a few hours drilling Izuku; as a special bonus, he observed the Tokage girl's exploits with Sorahiko. Despite her presence, it'd been an efficient, simple day.

Following that, he'd taken Izuku to Shimisuka. From there, he made his way to his office, arriving around one.

He settled into his chair for the long haul. Today wasn't a patrol day, and that meant he dedicated the day to reports, intercommunication, and research. It was grueling work, but with the help of Centipeder, it was manageable. The man was a godsend, handling all the finances and legal work; it sliced Nighteye's duties in half, freeing him up for what was important. He'd taken more and more time off for the sake of cultivating the next generation, and he needed the help to stay ahead of the curve.

So, when he'd opened up his computer, he'd expected a manageable disaster. Seeing today's emails listed in a stack with four digits wasn't out of the ordinary, and today was no exception. A quarter of those all happened to be from Centipeder, asking about this and that. It was all very routine; nothing stood out at a glance.

What made him choke on his coffee was the email from Nedzu.

It wasn't just the fact that his old principle was messaging him. This wouldn't be the first time they'd spoken in the last years; the creature was a notorious busybody and liked to have a toe in every business, in every agency. No, what had him shocked was the simple subject line, boldened for emphasis.

He read it again, his eyes drinking in every word. Clicking on it revealed another exciting revelation; the message was two-parted, simple, and groundbreaking all at once. The subject line by itself was a magnificent surprise, to be sure. An announcement of that scale was unheard of.

Schools didn't do that lightly. Of course, they could experiment and try new learning techniques, but this was a rather large change to the established norm. U.A. was the gold standard, and seeing them make such a drastic pivot would be a substantial signal to the other schools: get with the program, or fall behind.

Beyond that, however, it represented something a little unnerving. To have received the email himself was a revelation in it of itself. If he'd been a lesser hero, perhaps he would've taken the second part at face value, and assumed it'd been mass-sent to every veteran hero in the country.

Nighteye was anything except first-rate, however, and saw right through it. It was Nedzu showing his hand. This was a targeted email to Nighteye personally, and that meant the rat knew. More than he should've.

One more time, he read the email, making sure he didn't miss a word.

…

Hello! From here on out, U.A. will be expanding its hero course!

Greetings to all who received this message. This has not been an easy decision for our school, and has been hotly debated in recent years since the passing of our Magnum Alumni, the hero All Might. Finally, however, our board has conceded to our whims and thus allowed the expansion of our offered courses. This decision will be publicly announced in the coming week, but here at U.A., we have taken the liberty of alerting those it may concern early.

For far too long, our hopeful students have received poor luck in the face of our entrance exams. Non-combatants have faced severe adversity at even our easiest tests, and for that we are sorry. In addition, many of our hopeful illustrious recommended students lose their hard-earned privilege in the face of our four best performers. Upon noting this, we have decided that only guaranteeing space for the highest scorers is a restrictive, limiting practice that will no longer have a place in our school.

An admiral performance should not be punished because another star shone a single lumen brighter. Thus, we have rehauled both our standard exams alongside the recommended. The former will be a test of effectiveness, rather than just combat ability, while the second…

Shall remain a mystery. Let it be known that simply being an individual in power will no longer be enough to be admitted into our new recommended test. To be such a candidate, you must have a recommendation from a hero with a license of at least five years. Avenues of contact will be made for students without such resources who believe they are up to snuff.

Should such an exceptional student meet our high standards, they shall be collected into our new elevated-track class, 1Z.

I bid all acting, retired, and part time heroes a bountiful new year. Good hunting, Superheroes, and Plus Ultra!

…

Nighteye sighed, pulling off his glasses. He cleaned them with the hem of his suit, hoping that when he put them back on, the email would appear less dramatic. It didn't work.

Class 1Z, huh? Most hero schools followed U.A.'s example of two hero classes, succeeded by adjacent careers in support and business. He wondered how Shiketsu would react.

It was exciting and nerve-wracking all in one. It threw a wrench in his plans, for one; Foresight hadn't seen this, nor had he predicted it himself. It surprised him, that way. Many things came to him easily, like he was old friends with new obstacles. Today was a rare day in which life utterly surprised him, leaving him asking questions he hadn't before.

Was Izuku ready? What kind of changes would the recommended test make? Was it going to be more difficult?

Who was he kidding? It was Nedzu. If it wasn't at least twice as complicated, then it wouldn't be worth it for him. Nighteye chewed on his lip, thinking. With this bomb dropped, he'd have to reevaluate Izuku's training regimen.

He'd just counted on Izuku and Shoto being the recommended students for 1A. Perhaps, if the Tokage girl was good enough, she'd also make it into 1B's recommendation. Shouta Aizawa may have been underground, but Nighteye was very familiar with the man.

Eraserhead had been the teacher of 1A for four years, and for good reason. Not only was the man capable, smart, and down to earth, but his power was perfect. There was a reason there were only two hero classes. The difference between them was volatility. 1A students always had the more bombastic, harder-to-control quirks, and that made Erasure perfect. If a student ever had a fit, he could just shut the child off before they hurt anyone.

It was perfect for Izuku; for what it was worth, the boy was quite efficient, but his control was flimsy. Should he push himself too far, One for All was liable to act out. Blackwhip was the prime example—Izuku may have been able to somewhat tame it over the last year, but it was still a danger when he lost focus. That wasn't the only problem though, a million other things could go wrong…

There was no question in his mind that Izuku should join 1Z. The boy was far more capable than the average first year, and one day he'd be an absolute powerhouse. Still, the thought of consequently losing Aizawa as a resource disturbed him.

His mind was absent as he closed the email, his fingers exploring the rest of his messages with muscle-memory. His mind never registered the bills nor the Commission's alerts, and his eyes glossed over any scammers like they didn't exist. His hands replied to each accordingly, but his heart wasn't in it; he could only hope he didn't make a mistake.

Hours passed as he cleared the morning's workload, unsure what to do next. The Crow crossed his mind, but even with today's half hearted vigilance, he knew there hadn't been any breakthroughs. He could schedule the next meeting with Japan's top heroes, but without new concrete evidence, that felt pointless. An unfamiliar sense of boredom took him as his mouse hovered over his spam folder, curious. It wasn't something he opened often.

He clicked, and found it relatively empty. There was just a single message from last week; it had no subject line, and the sender's name was unfamiliar to him.

It couldn't hurt, he decided. Opening it revealed a juvenile, unprofessional mess attached to a video link. Intrigue gripped him as he read it, his curiosity growing with each line. Opening the link brought him to a video on the internet titled "Should this even be allowed?"

It was a vertical shot of U.A.'s Sports Festival held last week. It shook and wobbled, but it stayed zoomed in on the arena, telling him it was a spectator's recording. On the center stage were two students with swords, duking it out for the gold.

He remembered this fight; he'd seen it on television, and Izuku had talked everyone's ear off about it. To people like him, it'd been a fun, intriguing match, while to others it'd been a total scandal.

On one side was a behemoth of a student, his skin gray and thick like a shark's. His face widened like a hammerhead's, his height pushing the three-meter mark. In his hand was a rubber Zweihander, with which he swung wide, powerful arcs toward his smaller opponent.

The other student was a far scrappier kid, holding two scimitars in each hand as he struggled under the onslaught. The shark boy was a real powerhouse, and kept up his rampage for far longer than a normal boy could've, keeping the scimitar boy on his toes.

At last, the shark boy's Zweihander parried the hasty scimitars, flinging the blades out of reach. The smaller boy stumbled, unsteady as the shark boy reared back for one last devastating blow. Like a rope cut on a trebuchet, the bigger boy launched one last all out strike.

Now, Nighteye knew the swords were rubber, but even he'd lost it when it cut straight through the boy, bisecting him. Or at least, he lost it at what he thought he saw.

In reality, the sword phased straight through him, alongside all the clothes on his body. The live broadcast, with the power of a ten second delay, was able to blur it in time. This internet video, however, didn't, and consequently, the boy mooned Nighteye in all his glory.

It would've been the perfect moment for a counterattack, but the boy floundered, embarrassed. When he tried to retrieve his britches, the hammerhead boy conked him on the head for his troubles, placing him in a solid silver place.

Nighteye raised an eyebrow, rereading the accompanied message.

…

—

Hello, Sir! I know you didn't send me an invite for your internship program, but I received little to none, so I'm in a bind. I'd really, really appreciate it if you took me on; I've heard you're an efficient, funny guy, and I think that's what I really need right now! Being stuck with the school-provided heroes is a huge problem since they don't know how to teach me. My quirk, Permeation, isn't very good, but I can totally work as hard as you want! I'm ready for anything, Sir, I just want a chance.

Thanks for your time. Mirio Togata. P.S.: I think you're really cool.

…

It was a laughable introduction, really. That might be why Nighteye didn't delete the email the instant he finished. He always did appreciate the funny ones.

With Izuku, he'd never considered doing the apprentice program. His hands had been full with the kid for almost four years now, and splitting his time up even thinner seemed like a dangerous prospect. His rank had never meant much to him, but his actual efficiency did. Training Izuku was a long term investment, not a short one. In the end, his time spent would be worth it, but it was still unfair to the daily citizen, whose lives were at risk now rather than later.

Taking on another student would make his tedious job even more of a tightrope walk. He dragged the email across the screen, hovering over the trash can. The boy would be fine; he'd made it to second place in the sports festival, after all, and seemed fit. His quirk would come to him in time.

…But as a benchmark for Izuku, he'd be quite the catch. A second-year U.A. student would be a magnificent partner; and it'd only be for a week, after all. It wasn't like he was taking the kid on as a sidekick. If he didn't end up liking the intern, he'd be out of his hair by friday. If he liked him, he could accept him when he got his provisional license later in the year.

He pulled the email away from the trash.

Accepting wasn't as easy as just telling the kid yes; Nighteye also had to confirm it with the school, but that only took an additional ten minutes. The U.A. personnel were snappy and familiar; he even spoke to an older lady who still worked there even before he himself graduated. The paperwork was in order before he knew it, and Nighteye had taken on his first temp.

Within one short afternoon, the people at U.A. flipped his entire schedule on its head.

[x]

The day was Saturday, and Mirio was freaking out. He'd sent just about a bajillion emails to agencies across the whole country, and hadn't actually thought one would accept him. It just wasn't how things happened; agencies reached out, not the other way around.

He'd gotten so far in the Sports Festival, too, but he'd only received around thirty offers. Saikero, the gold finalist, had received almost a thousand! Mirio'd landed second place, a single, slight step below him, and received next to nothing! It was asinine; he couldn't believe it when he saw it. Tamaki had tried to comfort him, but even his awkward, soothing words did nothing to bring him off his shock.

It wasn't his first adversity, at least. Last year had been the same; he just thought that a good performance was enough to make a difference. It hadn't, and unless he pulled something crazy out next year, he doubted it would then either.

It was a shot in the dark, to send out queries. He'd sent them to any agency he could bring himself to accept, from Endeavor's to Kamui Wood's. Anything would've been better than the offers he did get. Still, he'd never allowed himself to hope; he was fighting the current on this, and that was a good way to drown.

So here he was, standing outside a rickety, rusted warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Nighteye, Sir-freaking-Nighteye, had accepted him. He thought it'd been a scam at first, when he'd received the email, but when his homeroom teacher confirmed it, he thought he'd died. Only in heaven did these things happen.

So, he was happy. He also felt scared, given he was meeting the man miles and miles away from his actual agency. It was rather ominous, he decided; like if he walked in here, someone would pack him up and sell him. Mirio would rather not abandon his clothes in a crate, given he was wearing his nice shoes. Leaving them would upset his mom.

Still, it was Sir Nighteye, and he wasn't about to back out because his warehouse creeped him out. Steeling himself, he planted both hands flat against the entrance and pushed.

"Hello! I'm here!" He called out, the doors slapping against the wall behind him. The sound reverberated across the building, drawing all eyes to him. A flush threatened to consume him, but Mirio was growing used to the attention, and was able to swallow it back down.

From what he could see, there were four people already inside, three of which he blanked on. Of course, there was Sir Nighteye, tall, lanky and imposing. His figure, despite how skinny he appeared, was imposing and forced your chin up to meet his gaze. A perpetual grimace marred his face, but he appeared neutral at worst, giving him an almost affable vibe.

The three others were wildcards; a crotchety old man and two middle schoolers hadn't been what he'd expected. He also hadn't expected the furnish of the warehouse, which was spartan but filled to the brim with training equipment.

It was a personal gym, from the looks of it; well, as personal as four people can share something. As everyone paused what they were doing, he got a good look at everyone's activities.

The two middle schoolers, siblings if their matching hair was anything to go by, were training. The girl paused in the midst of a miniature boxing ring, grappling gloves wrapped around her fingers. Across from her was the older man holding a pad, presumably for her to kick and hit to her heart's content.

The boy was across to the other side, where it appeared he was in a jungle of top-grade equipment. From a glance, he even recognized the brand, given it was the same stuff U.A. used. He was pumping good iron, his tiny frame curling something like eighteen kilos.

No one moved for a moment, and then like vultures spotting a fresh corpse, they started coasting around him, inspecting him. Nighteye was first to arrive, being the least occupied.

"Good morning, Mr. Togata. Did you find your way here well?" He asked, offering his narrow hand. Mirio was a tall guy, but even he was struggling to look up past the man's nose. Overhead lights created a reflection in his glasses that blurred his face, but he could make out a tiny purple glow leaking out from behind them. Taking the hand in his own, he nodded.

"Yep! Creepy place, but I'm just so happy to be here, you have no idea—"

"It's no worry, so long as you got here. I almost threw you away, if we're honest, but I have a feeling you appreciate honesty. Do you?" The man said, tightening his grip for a millisecond before retracting the greeting. Mirio gulped.

"Y-yes Sir! It's the best policy, definitely!"

"Then you'll be glad to know that I have a good use for you, and therefore a test. Do you see the kids?" He asked, turning to gesture at the two children who were crowding behind him. Mirio bent around the man, giving them a wave. One of them, the girl, was giving him and Nighteye a suspicious look, while the boy was looking anywhere but his face.

Mirio looked between them, his eyes stuck on their hair. The boy had a forest green bush on his head, while the other two possessed similar swamp green straights, the girl having a bit more waviness than the hero. It was a green flag, Mirio decided, that he was training his niece and nephew.

"Yeah? What's up?" Mirio replied.

Nighteye looked at him, his eyes flicking down to his backpack.

"You brought sweats, right?" He asked. Mirio nodded. "Good. Go change."

Mirio stumbled, surprised, but raced to the indicated locker room with a smile on his face. He liked the man's pace, the cut of his jib. The man went from zero to a hundred fast, and it left him giddy. Changing at the speed of light, he tore up the floors as he ran back out to the main floor.

He got a feeling in his gut what was about to happen, so he made his way over to the boxing ring. Almost slipping under the ropes, a cane whacking against his backside forced him out.

"The hell're you doin'? Go get over with the others; this little thing ain't big enough for them." The old man said, wacking him with the cane again for good measure.

"Yes sir, sorry Sir!" He replied, his gaze bouncing between the two impatient adults. Arriving with the kids and Nighteye, he paused to take a look around. There was a good sixty feet in any direction of nothing, but beyond that lay a looping… obstacle course?

"So, ah… where's the pool of piranhas?" He asked, looking around. The course looked like Tarzan's nightmare. The girl startled, her eyes going big as she fist pumped.

"Dude, I thought the same thing! Izuku's crazy, man… Nighteye, you are too, now that I think about it." She said, turning to the tall hero. Nighteye scoffed.

"If you have the energy to joke around, you have the energy to start. Mr. Togata," Nighteye said, turning to him now. "I rewatched the Sports Festival, and your homeroom teacher has mailed me with a list of your strengths, weaknesses, and other such tidbits. Do you know what I've concluded?"

Mirio shook his head, his weight shifting from left to right with his sudden anxiety.

"You have quite the potential. Your power is quite exceptional, and you have good fighting instincts." He said.

"Thank you, sir—"

"I wasn't done. I've also noticed how your focus is lacking and that your quirk-conditioning is abysmal. Your potential is hindered by its inherent weakness, your human shame. You have a million things to work on, but in comparison to some of your peers, your natural charm and skill have gotten you far. As such, I want you to spar as a benchmark. Both for their progress," He said, gesturing towards the kids, "and yours."

Mirio stared at him, eyes wide. The words felt onto his shoulders like a waterfall; the weight of the water made him want to bend over, but the icy shock froze him in place. The words felt sharp, practiced, yet he doubted the man had taken the time for such. They'd come off the top of his head, yet they were crisper than Vlad King's ever were, more honest than his current home room ever would be. It'd been a long while since he felt like he was standing next to a real teacher.

It almost made him want to fight these middle schoolers; at least, for a second.

"A-are you sure that's quite… fair? I've got a full year of U.A. under my belt, and your kids here—" He said, cut off as the blunt end of a cane poked his spine like a pool stick.

"Setsuna's been with us for almost two years now, and Izuku's her senior around here. There's a world of a difference between being a student in a class and getting personal attention from a hero, I promise." The old man said, planting his cane back on the ground. Mirio turned to him, rubbing his back.

"I didn't catch your name; are you a hero, sir?" He asked. The old man nodded, pulling a domino mask out from the pocket of his jacket. It slipped onto his face with ease, like he'd done it a thousand—no, a million times.

"Of course. I've been in the business since your mom was in diapers. The name's Gran Torino, and I was All Might's homeroom teacher back in his school days." The old man said, the ghost of pride on his tongue. Mirio gawked.

"Wait, y—"

"Mr. Togata. We are waiting." Nighteye said, cutting him off. Mirio swallowed, nodding as he marched over to the center of the ring. Before him, he got the best look at the kids so far today and—

The boy, Izuku, was missing an arm.

He didn't know how he didn't notice it before; though he could make guesses. The boy had an impressive frame for a middle schooler, his figure very aesthetic. Mirio'd been so focused on his hair and how much he could curl he guessed it just slipped his mind. His eyes inched over to the girl, Setsuna, realizing that she'd stuck to Izuku's hip since he'd arrived, doing a great job of blocking his arm.

They moved while he was still in shock. The boy leaned into the girl, whispering something into her ear before walking off to the sidelines. Now he was alone in what once felt like a huge open space, which now was beginning to feel cramped as the girl stared at him, her eyes squinted and focused.

"Your name was… Togata, right?" She asked, crossing her arms. Mirio nodded, absent as he collected himself.

"Yeah, you can call me Mirio. It's what everyone calls me."

"Alright, the rules are simple!" Gran Torino called off from the sidelines. "Quirks are unrestricted, no hitting below the belt, and no excessive force. Winner is decided by pin or first to fall three times. Are we ready?"

Mirio nodded, as did the girl.

"Alright. Begin." Nighteye said, clicking a stopwatch.

[x]

AN: So, I got a little bit of bad news. I think I'm going to go back to weekly uploads instead of bi, because I'm struggling to keep up with the pace. Uploading two a week is kinda hard as is, but now that I'm getting a little busier it's unsustainable. Tell me if you guys have a preferred day like Friday, Sunday, Wednesday, etc. In other news, I'm applying for AO3, so I might start cross-posting over there. I am also really confused about what chapter 28 will be, so I'm kinda boned for the twice-a-week anyways. Once a week is good enough, despite that one brat who complained.

Review! Mirio is pretty.