Chapter Four: What Can You Do?

There was a tense silence in the locker room when the students changed. Clay figured that they'd spend the rest of the day out there, which was a double-edged sword. It meant that Clay wouldn't have to sit down in class for the day, but it also meant that he went through all the effort of putting on the suit and tie just to wear it for less than fifteen minutes of class.

Still, Clay found himself able to relax. He didn't have to worry about sitting in Tsuyu's seat or something if she was in an entirely different locker room.

Skipper watched Clay get changed as he sat on the end of the bench, occasionally grooming himself.

"What do you think?" Clay asked, looking down at himself. The unapologetic reds, blues, and whites looked odd to him. He was so used to muted browns and greens.

Skipper twitched his nose, glancing up at Clay with what almost looked like a critical eye, before giving a little squeak that seemed to say, Well, it's… something.

"Yeah, I think so too." The bright colors made him feel a bit out of place, but in the lack of conformity department, there were plenty more things that made him stand out from the others.

"Woah!" Kirishima exclaimed. "How'd you get the muscles?"

Clay raised an eyebrow, looking down to one of his biceps. "Haybales," he said simply, offering him a smile. With his shoes laced, he turned to his rat. "Skipper. Come on, let's go."

As he stood up, he didn't even come close to flinching when the rat launched himself on Clay's back, climbing to his shoulder.

The men filed out of the locker room, and before Clay could even take a moment to appraise the training area, Bakugo started up his rile again.

"Just try not to embarrass us, rat boy. This isn't the county fair."

Before Clay could even respond, Midoriya positioned himself between the two. "Bakugo!" he shouted.

"Shut up! I'll fight you both!"

"There's a difference," Clay said casually, looking straight forward to the training area. "You can fight Midoriya, and if he fights you, he might quit when it's over. Not me. I'm stupid. I won't stop until you're down."

Bakugo's scowl devolved into a sneer. "You better watch yourself, hick."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

Midoriya sighed, "Guys, please."

"Because you are one."

"Sure. But you keep saying it. Am I supposed to be upset about it?"

Bakugo's sneer faltered, as if Clay's calm indifference caught him off guard. For a second, he just glared, fists clenched tightly, as if searching for the insult's impact and finding none.

"Tch, whatever," Bakugo muttered, turning his attention back to the training area. "Guess you really are stupid."

Kirishima, who had been watching the exchange with barely restrained amusement, finally let out a low chuckle. "Man, Clay, you don't let anything get to you, huh?" He gave Clay a friendly clap on the shoulder. "You're not afraid to say it like it is—I respect that."

Clay gave him a warm smile. He'd been called every name under the sun. Under the moon too. He remembered something his brother told him. Something about Clay only being socially competent when conflict was involved. It's not like anyone could argue that.

Sero approached Clay from his other side. "I think you might be the first guy to stand up to him!"

"I think he's just used to winning," Clay said thoughtfully, scratching his beard as the students meandered, waiting for instruction. He felt someone watching him. "Hey, Skip. Is she looking at me?"

Clay felt the weight shifting on his shoulder. His suspicion was confirmed with a happy squeak.

"Looks like you got a fan, man," Sero said, nudging his arm with his.

"I wouldn't say that. I'm a guy with an army of rats from The States. People are gonna look at me."

"Derreks…" It was Aizawa's voice, uninterested but piercing. "You'll have time to make friends later." He brushed past Clay to face the students. "We have a lot to do today so listen up."

Clay couldn't help but sneak one more look at Tsuyu. Sure enough, she was still looking at him, the expression unreadable, especially to Clay. Her hands were still postured in front of her, and Clay still found it strangely cute.

"You will all perform physical performance tests. Due to budget cuts this class must be reduced to fifteen students, which means five of you will be going home." Despite the implication cutting like a jagged knife, the monotone coolness blanketed each word. The air itself seemed to go still among the students. "So, do your best. Derreks, Mezo, you're first. Fifty-meter sprint."

Being called off the back of the announcement landed like a punch. What would happen if he got sent home? Would that mean he'd go to jail? No. That couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. Despite the concerned squeaking that Skipper made, he managed to steel himself and walk forward.

Clay's feet carried him to what he assumed to be the starting line. A tall, muscular student with multiple arms stepped up beside him, clearly Mezo, whom Clay remembered noticing in the classroom. His quirk had given him a unique appearance, and now Clay saw it up close: Shoji's extra limbs each ended in a hand or eye, making him look almost spider-like, but his quiet demeanor suggested he was more focused on the task than anything else. Clay quickly found himself admiring the guy. He had a humble strength to him that every hero needed.

Clay set Skipper down at his feet. He wondered if he had ever been fifty meters away from him at any time.

"Go."

It was immediately and abundantly clear to Clay that he was outmatched for this event. It seemed like by the time he took his first step, the multi-armed classmate was well ahead of him. Clay pushed himself, but he was used to long, several-mile long hunting hikes through woods and hills, not short sprints like these.

After a time that seemed too long, he crossed the finish line. Blood was pounding in his ears when the robot was giving him his time. He didn't even hear what it said, but he knew it was bad. Skipper skittered over to him, giving what sounded like an encouraging squeak. As if to say, It's just the beginning.

Picking him up, Clay turned to his classmates. From some of the looks he was getting; he could see that his time really was that bad. Now he had to avoid looking at both Tsuyu and Bakugo. If he hated anything more than smug arrogance of someone who could do something better than him, it was pity. As the other students did the sprint, it was increasingly apparent to Clay that he would be the slowest.

"Don't they run in America?" Sero teased.

"We sure do. Just usually after things with antlers," Clay said with a dry chuckle.

"So, you'd run faster if you were chasing after something?" Kirishima said with a laugh. "How about a frog?"

Despite the stress, Clay snorted at the joke. Skipper gently scratched his cheek as if to remind Clay that he was there. He scanned the crowd, and he caught Tsuyu close to him. His heart had just fallen to resting, but her approaching sent it up again.

"Maybe if you think of it like a long hike, it will go better, ribbit." There wasn't a trace of smugness or arrogance. It was just simple honestly. "Everyone has their own strengths."

Clay found himself nodding. "If they did a five-mile wilderness hike with a hunting pack, I'd feel better," he said, despite that Tsuyu's words were already more than enough to boost his mood. "I'll have to find my strength sooner or later."

"You will, ribbit." With the calm bluntness that she came with, she turned around to wait for her turn to run. There was some grace to it, as if the ground itself moved for her feet.

Clay caught himself looking in her direction for a while, only being snapped out of it with Sero nudging his arm again. "She's into you, dude."

He smiled, crossing his arms. "Won't matter much if I get sent home." He gazed at the current racers. It was Tsuyu and that purple-headed guy. It was fun to see Tsuyu leap her way to the finish line like a frog, but it wasn't as fun seeing the short one somehow beat his time. "Gotta work on my running," he muttered to Skipper, who nodded empathetically.

For most of the other events, he ranged anywhere from slightly below average to slightly above average. It was the first time he had to sidestep like a crab between lines as fast as he could, and it showed. "Brother, we got to do something impressive soon," he muttered to Skipper, who was nestled in his hands.

Finally, the next event was announced. His eyes lit up when he saw the task: a weighted push, meant to gauge raw physical power and endurance. Kirishima noticed his expression and chuckled. "This should be right up your alley, huh? All that haybale lifting ought to pay off." He gave Clay an encouraging slap on the back, and Clay grinned back, feeling more in his element.

The task was simple. Stand in a certain spot and push a giant block forward. Easy. When his turn came, he gave Skipper a quick scratch behind the ears for luck, then leaned in and pushed with everything he had, bracing his legs and letting every muscle work. His shoes dug into the ground as he slowly inched it forward, grinding over the dirt as he pressed his weight against it. When he got it going, he was able to push it faster. He pumped his legs in a steady rhythm. He kept going. He wouldn't stop. Skipper was squeaking in his ear, and he could feel the eyes upon them. They might run faster, but damned if Clay couldn't push something heavy better than most. He kept pushing until every muscle screamed. "Ok boys, I could use some help here," he muttered, watching some of his stronger rats assemble at his feet to help. He didn't feel a difference, but at the very least, the morale support allowed him to squeeze out another three yards before he collapsed.

Every muscle felt like it was on fire, but the faint ache was oddly satisfying. Skipper chittered encouragingly on his chest, while his small rat "helpers" gave happy squeaks as they dispersed back into fine mist around his legs, as if to thank Clay for involving them.

He heard some murmuring, but as he picked himself up and dusted himself, he noticed only one thing. Tsuyu was standing a few feet away, her eyes steady and thoughtful as she looked at him. She didn't cheer or clap, but when he met her gaze, she gave him a small, firm nod—a silent acknowledgment. Her calm confidence in him was somehow more grounding than any loud cheer.

Considering that only about half of the students were able to move the block at all, Clay allowed himself a moment of pride. "Couldn't have done it without you, Skip," he said, scratching behind Skipper's ears again.

Kirishima joined him after he had his turn. He greeted him with a wide smile. "Almost had you! Just two meters short."

"How much is that in feet?' Clay asked with a smirk, glad to have a friend other than Skipper with him.

"Like… Five?" He laughed, clapping him on the back.

"You weren't holding back, were you? To make me feel better?"

"What? No! You kidding? Being here's a dream come true, man!"

"Good. I bet you ten yen that I can toss the ball farther than you," he said, glancing to the next station.

"That's less than a dollar," Sero pointed out. "Like… way less."

Kirishima laughed, shaking his head with a grin. "I'll take that bet, Clay. Even if it's chump change, it's about the pride!"

"I wouldn't be so confident, Derreks." It was Aizawa again. At some point he moved like a phantom a short distance behind Clay. "You've had one event that I would call exceptional, and just a few I would call decent."

The words stabbed into him like a knife, but he kept facing forward. Aizawa's blunt assessment hung in the air, the weight of it settling uncomfortably on Clay's shoulders. He felt that familiar prickle at the back of his mind, the nagging reminder of everything riding on his performance today. It was as if Aizawa had seen right through the small victories he'd managed so far, piercing straight to the heart of his doubts.

Kirishima, sensing the shift in mood, nudged him lightly. "Hey, don't let him get to you," he whispered. "This is all about pushing us, yeah? Show him what you've got with the next one."

Clay gave a short nod, his jaw tightening with determination. Skipper shifted on his shoulder, giving him a quick, comforting scratch against his neck, as if to say, We're still here. You're not alone.

Before he knew it, he was standing with an open range in front of him. The ball was solid, perhaps a bit on the heavy side of things when it came to throwability. He paused for a while. Was his entire future really riding on how far he could toss a ball?

"Show me what you can do, Derreks."

His heart was racing, drumming into his ears. Skipper squeaked in his ear, as if to renew his focus. What could he do? His Quirk never really leant itself well to events like these. But… what if they could? With a smirk, he looked to the ground in front of him.

"Come on, you're holding us up. How far can you throw the ball?"

With a wide smile, Clay assembled a few rats at his feet, and he casually let the ball drop, where they caught it and started lugging it down range, being careful not to let it touch the ground. He turned to Aizawa. "How far do you want it, sunshine?"

A few classmates stifled chuckles, and Sero let out a short, appreciative laugh. "Now that's one way to think outside the box!"

Aizawa's face remained impassive, but a single eyebrow lifted as he watched the rats skittering down the range, hauling the heavy ball between them with surprising coordination. Clay wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile threatening his lips. He wasn't sure if the raised eyebrow was from his Quirk's use or the fact that he called his instructor sunshine. "Creative," he said plainly.

Clay turned to the range, where he could see the team of rats dutifully hauling it forth like they were a group of friends moving a couch. It was then that Clay noticed something odd. He didn't have to tell them what to do. They just knew. It was something of a scary thought. He had forgotten to give them instructions. What if they simply let the ball fall? He watched as the rats marched away. Eventually, one by one, the rats disappeared into mist, and the ball fell to the ground. Ochaco was the only one to beat him with a distance of infinity.

"Hard to compete with that," he said with his arms crossed. One by one, the students threw the ball, some with more Quirk utilization than others. The green-haired guy, Midoriya, even broke a finger throwing the ball, though it didn't come close to as far as Clay's distance.

"That's enough," Aizawa said impassively. "None of you are going home. I lied to get you all to try harder. Go get some lunch. We're done for the day."

As if someone flipped a switch, everything was okay. Everything was better than okay. With a booming laugh, Clay hooked an arm around Sero and Kirishima's shoulders. "Hell yeah! Let's get us some lunch! Who's gonna teach me how to use chopsticks?"

Even Skipper was cheering, circling happily around Clay's feet.