Mirio Togata, now the unchained heir to One For All's full arsenal, had become a ghost in the halls—whispers of his 100% mastery rippling through the student body like urban myth.
But peace was fleeting at U.A. Today, the air crackled with something new: anticipation, laced with the faint undercurrent of challenge.
Aizawa had herded Class 1-A to Ground Beta at lunch, his capture scarf coiled like a serpent ready to strike. "Special guests," he'd grunted, eyes bloodshot from whatever all-nighters he'd pulled with the faculty.
"Don't embarrass me."
The class milled about the mock urban sprawl—crumbling concrete facades, chain-link fences, scattered debris for cover. Bakugou paced like a caged grenade, palms popping.
Todoroki leaned against a lamppost, heterochromatic eyes scanning the horizon. Ochaco bounced on her toes, whispering to Tsuyu about "maybe it's pros from the agency fair."
Izuku stood at the edge, Ocean humming at eighty percent, mapping the fifty heartbeats of his classmates in a tidal web.
Mina and Momo flanked him subtly—Mina's tail brushing his calf in silent reassurance, Momo's hand "accidentally" grazing his as she adjusted her ponytail.
Midnight was absent, patrolling the perimeter with Aizawa's silent approval, her bound loyalty no one saw.
Then they arrived.
Three figures crested the hill at the field's north end, silhouetted against the weak December sun.
The Big 3—U.A.'s untouchable seniors, whispered legends who trained in the mountains and emerged only for the extraordinary.
Tamaki Amajiki slouched in the middle, hands jammed in his hoodie pockets, face half-buried in a scarf that did nothing to hide his perpetual blush.
His tentacles—manifested from some calamari lunch, no doubt—twitched nervously at his sides, ink-black and ready.
Nejire Hado bounded on his left, waves of blue hair cascading like a waterfall, her hero costume a swirl of teal and white that seemed to defy gravity.
She was already talking a mile a minute, voice carrying like wind chimes in a gale. "Oh my gosh, you guys are so cute! Like, first-years are always so full of energy—do you all train together every day? What's your favorite move? Tamaki, look at their faces!"
And on the right, striding like he owned the horizon: Mirio Togata. Golden hair windswept, grin wide enough to eclipse the sun, his white-and-red costume pristine despite the mud caking his boots.
One For All thrummed in him like a second heartbeat—Izuku could feel it through Ocean, a pressure wave of stockpiled power that made the air hum.
Permeation at rest, but the unlocked arsenal waited: Blackwhip coiled in his veins, Danger Sense a faint spider-tingle, Float and Smokescreen dormant but eager.
Mirio was All Might's successor perfected—100% without the strain, quirks woven into his soul like threads in a tapestry.
Aizawa cleared his throat, scarf twitching. "Class 1-A, meet the third-years' elite: the Big 3. Togata, Hado, Amajiki. They're here to... demonstrate."
Mirio's grin split wider. He planted his feet, hands on hips, and boomed, "To show you what real hero work looks like! And to give you a taste of what you're up against in the real world!"
His eyes swept the group, locking on Izuku for a beat longer—recognition, perhaps, from All Might's glowing tales of his "favorite successor-in-spirit."
Then he clapped once, shockwave rippling the air. "So! I challenge you all to take me down—one at a time! Prove you've got what it takes to stand with the best!"
The class erupted. Bakugou snarled, explosions crackling. "The hell? You think you can solo all of us, blondie?" Kirishima pumped a fist, hardening his skin. "This is manly!" Ochaco floated a pebble nervously; Iida chopped the air about "fair combat protocols."
Nejire giggled, waving. "Go easy on them, Mirio! Or don't—it's fun either way!" Tamaki muttered something about "manifesting a hole to hide in," but his eyes sharpened, tentacles flexing.
Aizawa sighed. "One v. one. No lethal force. Togata's rules. Midoriya—you're last. Watch and learn."
Izuku nodded, stepping back with Momo and Mina. His Power ability itched in his knuckles—twenty-seven scaling punches from the dummy test, each one a step toward godhood. But this wasn't his stage. Not yet.
Bakugou went first.
The explosive teen charged like a missile, palms blazing. "Die!" AP shots peppered the air, concussive blasts carving craters in the concrete.
Mirio laughed, body flickering—Permeation activating in a blur. The explosions passed through him harmlessly, Bakugou's follow-up knee slamming into empty air.
"Wha—?!"
Mirio re-solidified behind him, one hand clapping Bakugou's shoulder. Float kicked in; Blackwhip lashed from his fingers, coiling the blonde's arms like living rope. A gentle Fa Jin-enhanced shove, and Bakugou sailed into a foam mat twenty meters away, cursing the whole flight.
"One down!" Mirio beamed. "Great start—your control's impressive!"
Bakugou exploded out of the mat, soot-faced and fuming. "Bastard—rematch!"
Aizawa's scarf snapped. "Next. Kirishima."
The redhead grinned, skin hardening to diamond. "Let's rock!" He barreled forward, Unbreakable Guard turning him into a living battering ram. Fists like pile drivers hammered the ground where Mirio stood—gone.
Permeation again, Mirio phasing through the charge like mist, reappearing with a Smokescreen burst that choked the field in purple haze.
Kirishima swung blind; Danger Sense tingled in Mirio—a feint, the senior's real strike a Gearshift-accelerated palm to the chest. Time dilated for Kirishima; the hit landed at Mach speed, sending him tumbling end over end into a wall, hardening cracking under the precision force.
"Two! You're tough as nails—literally!"
Kirishima laughed from the rubble, thumbs up. "Not bad, senpai!"
Todoroki next, ice wall surging like a tidal wave. Mirio phased through it, emerging on the other side with Float carrying him skyward.
Fire roared from Todoroki's left; Mirio twisted mid-air, Blackwhip snaring the flames into harmless coils, dissipating them. Gearshift on the air itself—pseudo-flight kicking in as he dove, Fa Jin propelling a single finger jab to Todoroki's solar plexus.
The dual-quirk user folded, frost and flame flickering out. "Three. Balance your elements—beautiful potential!"
Iida rocketed in on engines, Recipro Burst blurring him to Mach. Mirio Permeated the rush, re-solidifying to trip him with a casual leg sweep—Smokescreen to blind, Blackwhip to bind legs mid-fall. Iida crashed, glasses askew.
"Four! Speed's your ally—use it smarter!"
One by one, they fell. Ochaco floated debris into a meteor shower; Mirio phased through, Float countering her zero-G with effortless grace, a Gearshift tap sending her gently to the mats.
Tsuyu's tongue lashed like a whip; Blackwhip met it, tangling in a draw until Smokescreen forced a retreat.
Tokoyami unleashed Dark Shadow in the shade; Danger Sense predicted every lunge, Fa Jin blasts scattering the beast while Permeation dodged claws.
Sero taped the field into a web; Mirio slipped through like water, reappearing to cocoon him in his own adhesive.
Kaminari short-circuited the ground with electricity; Mirio's Permeation ignored the current, a Float-assisted dropkick grounding him mid-stun.
Even Shoji's multi-arms and Sato's sugar-rush strength crumpled under coordinated quirks—Gearshift turning Shoji's duplicates to statues in their tracks, Smokescreen choking Sato's berserk charge.
Mina melted the concrete into acid pits; Mirio leaped over with Float, Blackwhip pulling him mid-air for a landing that pinned her tail.
Momo created cannons; he phased through barrages, Danger Sense guiding him to dismantle her armory with precise taps.
By the twentieth defeat, Class 1-A sprawled in exhausted heaps on the foam mats, laughter mixing with groans.
Nejire clapped delightedly. "You guys are amazing! So much spirit!" Tamaki mumbled, "They're... not bad," tentacles retracting.
Aizawa rubbed his temples. "Midoriya. Your turn."
Izuku stepped forward, the class's eyes on him—curious, expectant. Mirio's grin sharpened, One For All humming louder. "The green bean himself! All Might's told me about you. Show me what you've got!"
Izuku cracked his knuckles, Power thrumming—fifty scaling hits since the dummies, each one a brick in an endless wall. Necromancy waited in storage, Master Balls heavy in his pouch. But this was a lesson, not a war.
He smiled, small and feral. "Let's dance, senpai."