Midnight's voice sliced through the auditorium like a whip crack.
"PENCILS DOWN!"
The collective exhale could have powered a wind turbine.
Izuku set his pencil down with the same casual energy as someone finishing their morning coffee. He leaned back in his chair, rolled his shoulders until they popped satisfyingly, and allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
Physics section? Child's play. Hero law? Boring but predictable. The ethics questions were mildly interesting. That trolley problem variant with the hostages was cute. Overall... solid 96%. Maybe higher if they're feeling generous.
He glanced around the auditorium.
It looked like a battlefield after the war had already been lost.
Students slumped over their desks like corpses. A guy three rows down had gone completely pale, staring at his answer sheet like it had personally betrayed him.
Then Izuku spotted her.
Pink skin. Small, curved horns. Absolutely adorable in that "please protecc" kind of way.
She was openly crying into her hands.
"I'm so gonna fail," she whispered to herself, voice breaking. "Mom's gonna kill me. Dad's gonna be so disappointed. I should've studied more. Why didn't I study more?"
Ouch. That's rough.
Izuku felt a tiny pang of sympathy. Just a tiny one. He'd worked too hard to feel bad about doing well.
On stage, Midnight surveyed her kingdom of broken dreams with the satisfied smile of a cat who'd just knocked over an entire shelf of glassware. She'd seen this exact scene play out hundreds of times before. This was the filter. The first real test.
And she loved every second of it.
She clapped her hands together, the sound sharp enough to make half the room flinch.
"Alright, my little hopefuls! The written portion is officially over." She paused for effect. Let the tension build. "Time to separate the wheat from the chaff."
Her voice shifted. Still playful. Still dripping with that signature purr. But underneath it was steel wrapped in velvet.
"For those of you applying to General Studies... thank you for playing. Your journey ends here. Please exit to the left."
A chunk of the room stood up, shoulders sagging, spirits thoroughly crushed. They shuffled out like zombies.
"Business and Support course applicants, you've got your own special brand of torture waiting. Power Loader is in Workshop Gamma, probably already building death traps. Follow the signs."
Another group departed, looking significantly less defeated. The Support kids actually seemed excited. Weirdos.
Midnight's smile turned downright predatory.
"And for my darling Hero course hopefuls... the real fun starts now." She gestured with her whip toward the exit behind her. "Check your exam tickets for your auditorium assignment. Find your seat. Don't be late." Her eyes glinted. "I despise tardiness almost as much as I despise cowards."
The remaining students erupted into motion. Chairs scraped. Papers rustled. The controlled chaos of teenagers who desperately needed to know what fresh hell awaited them.
Izuku stood, stretching his back, and waded through the crowd with the ease of someone who'd spent years learning to read human movement patterns. He spotted Toru's floating uniform before she spotted him.
"Midoriya-kun!"
She materialized at his side, or rather, her uniform did. The girl herself remained thoroughly invisible.
"How'd you do?"
Her uniform slumped like someone had deflated a balloon.
"Ughhhhh. My brain is literal soup. Like, tomato bisque levels of liquified. I'm WAY better at punching things than... whatever fresh academic nightmare that was! I think I guessed on the entire math section! Just picked C for everything because C stands for Correct, right? That's how it works?"
Izuku couldn't help the smile.
"You'll be fine. The practical is where it actually matters, and you've got a massive advantage there. Your Quirk is basically designed for the kind of chaos they're going to throw at us."
"You really think so?"
"I know so."
Her uniform perked up immediately. Toru had the emotional resilience of a rubber ball. Smack her down, watch her bounce right back.
They joined the river of students flowing toward the exit, pulling out their tickets to check the details.
Auditorium C. Section 3A for Izuku. Section 3F for Toru.
Same building. Different seating blocks.
Of course.
They reached a hallway intersection where the crowd split in multiple directions. Signs overhead pointed to different auditoriums. This was where they'd separate.
Toru's uniform stopped moving.
Izuku paused, glancing back.
"You good?"
The uniform fidgeted. The sleeves twisted together in a way that screamed nervous energy.
"Hey, Midoriya-kun... um..."
She took a deep breath. He could actually hear it, could see the way her blouse shifted with the inhale.
"Could I maybe... possibly... get your number?"
Izuku pulled out his phone, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Sure. It'd be a shame to lose track of my first invisible friend."
The air around Toru's uniform practically sparkled.
"Really?! Oh my gosh, okay, cool, awesome!" She rattled off her number so fast he had to ask her to repeat it twice. His fingers moved across the screen, saving her contact. He sent her a quick text so she'd have his number.
Her phone chimed somewhere within the floating blazer.
"Okay! Perfect! Amazing! I'll text you later maybe! Or definitely! Probably definitely! Good luck on the practical!"
She practically floated away down the left corridor, her uniform bouncing with each step.
Izuku pocketed his phone, the smile lingering longer than it probably should have.
That was... surprisingly easy. Maybe Hano was right. Being confident really is half the battle.
He turned right, following the signs toward Auditorium C.
The crowd thinned as students branched off to their assigned locations. By the time Izuku reached the correct building, the hallway had gone quiet. Just a few stragglers checking their tickets, double-checking room numbers.
He pushed through the double doors.
This auditorium was smaller than the first. More intimate. The seating curved in a gentle arc around a raised stage, stadium-style. Maybe four hundred seats total instead of a thousand.
Izuku found his seat. Section 3A, Row 7, Seat 12.
He settled in, letting himself sink into the cushioned chair. Around him, other students were doing the same. Some reviewed notes on their phones. Others sat in meditative silence, eyes closed, breathing slow.
A girl two rows ahead had flowers growing from her hair. Mutation type. She was humming softly, fingers drumming against her knee.
To his left sat a guy whose arms ended in what looked like hardened crystal formations instead of hands. He was staring at the empty stage with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for championship boxing matches.
Izuku closed his eyes.
Centered his breathing.
In through the nose. Count to four. Hold. Out through the mouth.
The Hano method. Empty the mind. Focus on the present. Acknowledge the tension, then release it.
His heartbeat slowed.
His shoulders relaxed.
Whatever they throw at us, I'm ready. Ten months of hell. Ten years of training. This is just another test. Another obstacle. Another chance to prove that hard work beats genetic lottery every single time.
Footsteps echoed from the aisle.
Heavy. Angry. The kind of footsteps that suggested the person making them wanted the floor to suffer.
A figure dropped into the seat directly to Izuku's right with enough force to make the chair creak in protest.
Izuku didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was.
The aura of concentrated rage radiating from that direction was impossible to miss. It felt like sitting next to an active volcano that had decided murder was a viable hobby.
Katsuki Bakugo.
Of course.
Izuku opened his eyes.
Stared at the stage like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Still didn't look at Bakugo.
Didn't acknowledge him at all.
That, somehow, made it worse.
Bakugo's hands twitched. The smoke from his palms thickened slightly.
"You got somethin' to say, Deku?"
"Not particularly."
"Bullshit."
"Believe what you want."
More silence. This time it was sharp enough to cut.
Bakugo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head down. From a distance, he might have looked calm. Relaxed.
Up close, he looked like a bomb with a faulty timer.
"You think you're hot shit now, don't you? Got your face on TV. Got the news crew sucking you off about some garbage cleanup. Think that means anything?"
Izuku didn't react. Didn't rise to the bait.
"I think," he said slowly, like he was explaining basic arithmetic to a particularly dim child, "that I did something productive with my time. You should try it sometime."