If someone mentioned 'Quirk Assessment Test' and 'UA' in the same breath, the first things that would come to mind were robots, high-intensity obstacle courses and combat training in urban environments suspiciously similar to her new neighborhood. Something difficult. Something challenging.
Not…this.
"…Ochako Uraraka."
Instead of orientation they were taking eight tests to 'gauge their potential.'
Whoever came in last would be expelled, no ifs, ands or buts.
Talk about 'no pressure.'
It had to be a bluff. Negative motivation. Reverse psychology. But the freaking sadist's grin kicked that idea clear out of the ballpark. He was damn serious. And the way his eyes swept towards her, the blond punk and the green haired nervous wreck meant this wasn't random. It was a scam. He knew who he would expel. And that pissed her off enough to take the assessment test seriously. At first. One hundred and ten percent effort. Motivated not by expulsion, but daydreams of shoving their teacher inside his sleeping bag, tying a few rocks to the bottom and tossing him into the nearest river. Her motivation lasted as long as the grip strength test. By the third event, she'd only tried hard enough to clear the sandbox.
And by the fourth, she'd realized the truth.
It was bullshit.
This wasn't an assessment test, it was a junior high track meet. Only with Quirks. And significantly less boring. Tsuyu had her froggy powers. Ida his weird jet-engine-calves. The punk explosion-boosted past the finish line. Some guy with a laser shooting out of his stomach sparkled through records. Everyone was using Quirks. Everyone except her and the nervous kid. But even if her Quirk were pretty much useless for repeated side steps or the standing long jump, after four events, Ryuko could say she was doing alright. At least in the top ten.
Well, she wouldn't be coming in dead last.
Which was good enough.
"Geez," as the ball floated higher and higher, eventually disappearing into the upper stratosphere with a noticeable twinkle, she whistled, "That has to be cheating."
"INFINITY!?"
Kaminari's bewilderment was surpassed only by his surprise, "Infinity!? That's insane! How's that possible?"
He'd intended on collecting it the old-fashioned way, but since it was too late to have Ochako Uraraka cancel Zero Gravity without the ball hitting the ground – or more likely, someone standing on the ground – at terminal velocity, leading to a lawsuit for UA and everyone involved, Aizawa cut his losses. Once it breached the atmosphere and reached low orbit, Quirk or not, the ball wasn't coming back. Which left one option on the table.
"Alright, you're up."
Extracting another ball from the depths of his scarf, Aizawa lazily tossed it at Ryuko, "And use your Quirk."
Her dour expression would've overwhelmed a lesser man.
"I'm going to say you played sports in junior high. That explains your scores in the 50-Meter Dash and Standing Long Jump. However, this is an assessment of your Quirk, not how fast you can run. Or how far you can jump," his tone uncharacteristically hardened, yet sounded no less exhausted, "I'm aware your Quirk is combat-oriented, but that's no excuse to not try. Quirks are like muscles, they cannot grow stronger without training. To go beyond one's limitations…to exceed one's boundaries…requires more than a powerful Quirk. It requires dedication and perseverance. Those were Professor Matoi's words, were they not?"
The corner of Ryuko's mouth twitched.
"So, either use your Quirk or pack your things and go home," Aizawa lazily waved over his shoulder as he walked back towards his former position, "Oh, and try not to throw the ball into orbit. They're not exactly cheap."
Instead of acknowledging the unsubtle warning, Ryuko stepped inside the circle.
The field was longer than expected. At least a kilometer. Then trees and a forest for another couple kilometers. And there was a slight wind. Exhaling loudly, then breathing in through her nose, she tried steadying her thoughts, but the threat kept beating itself against her skull. It ruined her concentration, leaving her grumbling and worse for wear. Expelled for not using her Quirk was one thing, but who gave him the right to mention her dad? Only a supreme effort kept her from saying something that would get her sent home before lunch on the first day of class.
"Hey!"
He knew her Quirk wasn't meant for throwing a ball. But that didn't mean she wouldn't try, if only to shove it down the sadist's throat, "Do I have to throw the ball or –"
Aizawa shrugged, "As long as you use your Quirk, anything's fair game."
"So," adrift from the rest of Class 1-A, Ida pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "We'll finally see her Quirk."
"Hey, you're friends with Ryuko, right?" Mina leaned closer to Tsuyu, "She seems super grumpy. Is she always like this? Or is she just having a bad day?"
Carefully considering the question, Tsuyu touched her chin, "Ryuko's always like this."
"And her Quirk?"
An amused ribbit predated Tsuyu smiling, "It's kind of like her, you know? A Ryuko Quirk through and through. It's honestly hard to imagine her having any other Quirk."
"Huh!?"
Ryuko heard everyone.
And while she appreciated Tsu's efforts, hearing her friend talk about her in such vague terms almost felt insulting.
Grumpy?
She wasn't grumpy!
But shoving that to the furthest corner of her mind until lunch, or the next time she could talk to Tsu in private, Ryuko focused. She breathed. She held out her arm and reached deep inside. A cool warmth. A familiar tickle spreading from her fingertips to her shoulder. It started as a trickle. But once she clenched her fingers and pulled, the thick globules emerging from her skin emerging from her skin exploded into a crimson stream. A visceral deluge of viscous fluid audibly clashing against her gym uniform. It happened faster than a heartbeat and quicker than Aizawa needed to blink, leaving Ryuko hefting a makeshift bat surprisingly resembling a blunt sword onto her shoulder.
Izuku Midoriya wasn't the first to react.
But he was the first to speak the question on everybody's mind, "Is that…blood?"
"Yup, ribbit," unlike some of her classmates, who appeared squeamish and nauseated, Tsuyu was unfazed, "That's Ryuko's Quirk."
"A Quirk that manipulates one's own blood," Ida stroked his chin. An uncommon Quirk. His brother had worked alongside heroes possessing similar Quirks – growing bones, building muscle mass and more than a few capable of contorting their hair into various shapes and forms. But none involving blood, "I've never heard of such a thing."
While her classmates muttered – and Bakugo's eyebrow violently twitched– Uraraka covered her mouth, turned away and tried not to throw up.
"Hmph."
A smirk spread across Ryuko's face while her grip tightened, squeezing semi-malleable blood until it conformed to her fingers. The bat shimmered, individual sheets of blood hardening and softening. She chuckled. Her eyes homed on a spot way in the distance. Just beyond Bakugo's record. After lazily bouncing the ball a couple of times, each a little higher than the last, snatched it midair, "Let's see how far I can hit this stupid thing."
Without a moment's hesitation, she tossed the ball upwards.
Her left foot slid forward.
Her sneaker dragged through the dirt.
She tightened her stance.
She gripped the makeshift bat with both hands.
And once the ball started falling, waited until it was nearly eye-level before swinging.
CRACK!
Ryuko froze. Nothing else accurately described that single moment of time. That millisecond between thoughts. Her eyes widened. Her mouth parted in a strangled choke as countless shards of metal and plastic rained onto the ground. They peppered her face and clung to her hair. They bounced off her arms and shoulders. And as time resumed, fast-forwarding in the blink of an eye, everyone in Class 1-A with several notable exceptions collectively gasped.
"Did she just break the ball?"
"Well, you didn't throw the ball into orbit."
The phone in Aizawa's hand displayed a series of error messages, numbers and a large red 'X' he helpfully showed Ryuko, "Unfortunately, you still failed."
Say what!?
"It's not your fault the ball broke. That's what you're going to say, isn't it?" from Ryuko's silence, her desperate grasping for an excuse, Aizawa knew he'd hit the bullseye, "You have power, but you lack discipline. And control. You thought 'I'm going to hit the ball as hard as I can' instead of 'how hard should I hit the ball.' In a real battle, life and death comes down to split-second decisions where even the slightest delay might lead to someone's death. You can't give into emotion. You can't let things get personal. You were so intent on proving me wrong, that you decided upon hitting the ball at full power. Am I wrong?"
Power, technique and control.
The three cornerstones of Quirks.
"Of course, I never said anything about destroying the ball, so that's my fault."
He noticed it during the funeral.
An inferno requiring a single spark to ignite into something impossible to contain once released.
"That's why I'm giving you a second chance," he tossed another ball to Ryuko, "Now try again. And don't destroy this one, or I'll send you home. And make you pay to replace it. So, no pressure."
Ryuko shifted uncomfortably on her feet.
It was an odd feeling. A mixture of embarrassment, wounded pride and frustration. The silence was deafening, but that only made things a lot worse. An unnoticeable blush blossomed across her face, hidden by an overcorrected annoyed grunt. The bastard had some nerve saying she lacked discipline. How the hell was she supposed to know breaking the ball wasn't allowed if he never mentioned it. As long as she used her Quirk, anything was fair game. Those were his freaking exact words! Her grip on the ball tightened, gradually contorting the plastic-metal compound. She breathed deeply, steadied her nerves and forcing the asshole's warning to the deepest corner of her mind, tossed the ball into the air, watched it reach its peak before slowing returning to earth.
The ball, slightly cracked yet intact and in one piece, shot down the field.
As Class 1-A's collective gasps of awe, surprise and astonishment reached critical mass, Aizawa held up the phone.
"Five hundred and thirty-four point five meters!?"
"Alright," ignoring the message concerning damage to the ball's sensors, Aizawa skipped several names before settling on one at random, "Mezo Soji, you're up."
She was annoyed.
She was irritated.
But the look on Bakugo's face was worthy every moment of embarrassment.
"How unorthodox," as she marched back into the group, Tsuyu and Mina on one side, Kirishima on the other, Ryuko heard someone muttering, "Why didn't I think of that?"
It was the tall girl.
Momo.
The one who created the sprinting cleats using her Quirk.
"Mister Aizawa," stabbing her arm upwards, Momo afforded Soji the utmost respect, waiting until he finished before speaking, "Might I retake my turn?"
"There are no do-overs in heroics," Aizawa answered without tearing his eyes away from his phone, eliciting a veiled wince, "Do you think a villain will stand back and let you recover because you messed up?" with the conversation effectively over, he read the number on the screen before picking someone out of the crowd, "Izuku Midoriya."
The nervous-looking kid swallowed the lump in his throat.
But something else caught her eye.
All Might.
The number one hero was hiding behind a building.
And worse, he was wearing that horribly tacky yellow suit.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
She opened her mouth.
He desperately waved his arms.
She rolled her eyes.
Turning around only to see Midoriya standing in the circle, staring at the ball like was about to launch itself at his face, Ryuko scoffed, "Freakin' weirdo."
