The gates of U.A. High School looked like they'd been designed by someone who wanted to make absolutely sure you felt insignificant.
Massive. Steel. The kind of architecture that screamed "We are important and you are not" in seventeen different languages.
Izuku walked through them with his hands in his coat pockets, looking about as impressed as someone ordering their usual coffee.
Toru floated beside him, her uniform practically vibrating.
"Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh."
"You've said that six times."
"Because it keeps being true! Look at this place! It's HUGE! And fancy! And there's a fountain! With an actual statue! Of All Might!"
Izuku glanced at the bronze monstrosity. All Might flexing heroically while water shot from his fists. Tasteful.
"Subtle."
"I'm totally taking a picture later."
They merged into the river of nervous teenagers flowing toward the main building. Everywhere Izuku looked, he saw Quirks on display. A girl with vines growing from her hair. A guy whose arms were literal drills. Someone who appeared to have elbows made of tape dispensers.
The variety is impressive. Also concerning. If I have to fight Drill Arms Guy in close quarters, I'm going to have a bad time.
Then the whispers started.
"Hey, isn't that..."
"Yeah! From the news!"
"The beach cleanup guy!"
"He's trying for U.A.?"
"Damn, he's hot as hell."
Toru's invisible elbow jabbed him in the ribs.
"You're famous! How does it feel?"
Izuku kept walking, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
"It's a good opening move."
Then a figure stepped directly into their path.
Spiky ash-blond hair that defied gravity and common sense. A scowl that could curdle milk.
Katsuki Bakugo.
Izuku didn't slow down.
"What the hell are you doing here, Deku?"
Izuku walked past him like he was a particularly loud street sign.
"It's an entrance exam, Kacchan. Try to keep up."
Bakugo moved to block him again.
"Stay the hell out of my way! This is my stage, you damn extra!"
Izuku stopped. Turned his head just enough to look at Bakugo from the corner of his eye. The smirk returned, sharper this time.
"Oh, speaking of extras." His voice dropped to something casual, conversational. "Aunt Mitsuki called Mom last night. She was so proud when she saw me on the news. Actually doing some good in the world, she said." Pause. Let it sink in. "She told Mom she hopes some of that ambition rubs off on her good-for-nothing explosive brat."
Another pause.
"Her words. Not mine."
Bakugo's face went through several colors. Red. Deeper red. A shade of crimson that probably had medical implications.
His hands stopped sparking.
Started smoking instead.
"You..."
Izuku was already walking away.
Toru hurried to catch up, her uniform shifting as she presumably looked back at the statue of rage they'd left behind.
"Whoa. WHOA. What was THAT about?"
"Childhood friend."
"That was friendship?!"
"He's always been loud."
Toru made a sound that might have been disbelief or concern or possibly both. Izuku pulled out his exam ticket, checked the number.
"Looks like we're in the same testing area. Last names A through M."
The invisible girl's mood shifted instantly, excitement replacing shock.
"See?! You're not getting rid of me that easily! We're totally going to ace this together! Well, separately. But spiritually together!"
Izuku allowed himself a real smile.
"Spiritually together. Got it."
The main building swallowed them whole.
The auditorium was designed to make you feel small.
It succeeded.
Rows upon rows of desks stretched toward a distant stage. The ceiling disappeared somewhere in the architectural stratosphere. The air tasted like anxiety and industrial-strength cleaning products.
Hundreds of teenagers filed in, each one trying very hard to look confident while internally screaming.
Toru found her seat three rows ahead of Izuku. She turned back, gave him what he assumed was a thumbs up based on the floating glove, then sat down.
Izuku located his designated desk. Row twelve. Seat fourteen.
He dropped into the chair, immediately cataloging his neighbors.
Left side: a tall guy with six arms. Mutation type Quirk. Excellent for multitasking. Probably hell in a grappling match.
Right side: shorter kid whose head was a literal speech bubble with text floating inside it.
This year's applicants have range. Good. Competition breeds excellence. Or brutal, crushing defeat. One of those.
Izuku laid out his pencils in a neat row. Stretched his shoulders. Cracked his knuckles.
The room fell silent.
Everyone stared at the empty stage.
Waiting.
Then the doors opened.
The sound of heels on polished floor echoed through the massive space like gunshots.
Every head turned.
Midnight walked in.
No.
That was too mundane a description.
Midnight didn't walk. She moved like liquid confidence poured into a shape that violated several laws of physics and possibly a few international treaties.
The R-Rated Hero costume deserved its own engineering degree. Leather that clung like a second skin. Strategic cutouts that somehow made the covered parts more interesting than the exposed ones. A figure that looked like it had been designed by a deity with a very specific taste.
Dark blue hair cascaded over shoulders that led to a neckline that led to... architectural marvels.
The faint, sweet scent of her Quirk drifted through the air.
Izuku's brain immediately split into two warring factions.
The Analyst: Nemuri Kayama. Hero name Midnight. Quirk: Somnambulist. Ecto-emitter class. Releases a sleep-inducing aroma from her skin. Highly effective for crowd control. Requires skin exposure for maximum output, hence the costume design. Her primary weapon is psychological. The persona is a deliberate tactic to disarm opponents through distraction and...
The Teenager: SWEET MERCIFUL HEAVENS ABOVE. Okay. Okay okay okay. Do NOT imagine what happens if she needs to run. DO NOT. This is a test. A written test. With questions. About hero law. And math. Regular, non-curvy math.
Midnight reached the lectern on stage.
She leaned against it.
The entire room held its breath.
"Welcome, little listeners."
Her voice was silk wrapped around a promise. It carried to the back row without effort, purring through the speakers like it was personally addressing each individual student.
"Before we get to the fun part, we have a teensy bit of paperwork."
She gestured to the exam booklets on each desk with her signature whip. The motion did things. Gravity-defying things.
Izuku gripped his pencil so hard he heard it crack.
The Analyst: Focus. This is a psychological operation. She's testing our ability to maintain composure under duress. A hero must function in high-stress environments. She's replicating the kind of distraction we'd face in the field.
The Teenager: SHE IS WEARING LEATHER AND SMILING LIKE SHE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT SHE'S DOING AND SHE ABSOLUTELY DOES.
Midnight's eyes swept across the room. They lingered on Izuku for half a second.
Maybe less.
Maybe more.
Time became irrelevant when faced with the R-Rated Hero's full attention.
"No talking. No peeking. And definitely no using your Quirks during the exam." Her smile turned playful. "Unless your Quirk is being devastatingly handsome. In which case, I might let it slide."
Around him, teenage boys were melting into their chairs. Someone two rows back made a sound like a dying whale.
Izuku closed his eyes.
Took a breath.
The Hano method. In through the nose. Count to four. Out through the mouth. Visualize calm. Visualize focus.
Visualize literally anything except the woman on stage who was clearly enjoying this way too much.
He opened his eyes.
His hands had stopped shaking.
Midnight gave the room one last wink. The kind of wink that probably caused traffic accidents when she did it in public.
"You have sixty minutes. Your time starts... now."
Izuku looked down at his exam booklet.
First question: A hero is pursuing a villain traveling at 80 km/h. If the hero accelerates at a constant rate of 5 m/s², how long will it take to catch the villain?
His brain tried to process the question.
Then it tried to process why Midnight had just bent over to pick up a dropped pen.
Then it gave up entirely.
This is the real first test. The test of a hero's ability to focus when faced with overwhelming... strategic assets. Yes. Assets. That's the professional term. I'm being professional. Very professional. Extremely professional while my brain is actively committing treason.
He forced his eyes back to the paper.
Read the question again.
Did the math.
Wrote down the answer.
Moved to question two.
Sixty minutes suddenly felt like sixty years.
Around him, the auditorium was silent except for the scratch of pencils and the occasional whimper of a defeated teenage boy's willpower.
Midnight walked between the rows, heels clicking softly, checking for cheaters with the dedication of someone who knew exactly how distracting she was and considered it part of the curriculum.
Izuku kept his eyes on his paper.
Answered questions about hero law.
Solved physics problems.
Identified Quirk classification systems.
And absolutely, definitely, totally did not think about anything else.
Ten years of training under Hano. Thrown off cliffs. Punched by a man who treats pain like a teaching tool. Nearly drowned in a river while carrying rocks.
He finished question forty-seven.
Only thirteen more to go.