One week before the letters went out, the U.A. Faculty Conference Room sat in silence.
At the head of the table sat Principal Nezu, a porcelain teacup cradled delicately in his small, white paws.
"Shall we begin?"
The holographic display flickered to life above the center of the table, projecting the examination results in crisp blue lettering.
The first names scrolled by without comment. Standard approvals. Students with strong Quirks and respectable scores. Nothing controversial. Nothing interesting.
Then the top ten appeared.
Sekijiro Kan, the Blood Hero known as Vlad King, leaned forward in his seat. His eyes locked onto the second-place position like a hawk spotting prey.
"There we go! Katsuki Bakugo, seventy-seven villain points!" His fist hit the table with enough force to rattle the teacups. "A perfect combat score! Zero rescue points, sure, but look at that raw power! That aggression! That boy is the definition of a future star!"
Several teachers nodded in agreement. Bakugo's performance had been spectacular in its brutality. Robots had been vaporized. Concrete had been cratered. The boy had torn through the examination like a natural disaster with anger issues.
"An exemplary performance," the principal agreed, his tone light and conversational. "Truly impressive. Which brings us to our first-place applicant."
He took a delicate sip of tea.
"Izuku Midoriya. Forty-seven villain points. Sixty rescue points. Total score of one hundred and seven."
The room went very still.
"And, of course... a Quirk assessment of zero."
Vlad King was on his feet before the echo faded.
"ZERO?!" His palm slammed the table again, this time hard enough to send Midnight's coffee sloshing over the rim of her mug. "Nezu, this is madness! You want us to send a Quirkless child into the field against villains who can level city blocks?! We'd be sending a lamb to the slaughter!"
Ken Ishiyama, the Cement Hero Cementoss, raised one massive stone hand in a gesture of calm.
"Vlad makes a valid point from a structural standpoint. Our hero curriculum, our support systems, our insurance policies. Everything is built on the foundation that our students possess Quirks. To admit a student to the hero course without one would require a complete overhaul of our methodology."
He paused, his rocky brow furrowing. "The exposure to risk, both for the boy and the institution, would be unprecedented."
From the far end of the table, Snipe tipped his hat back with one finger.
"Grit's a fine thing to have," he drawled. "Doesn't stop a bullet. Doesn't outrun a pyrokinetic. When the chips are down and his teammates need backup, what's he gonna do? In a real fight, he's a liability."
Ryo Inui, Hound Dog, let out a low growl that vibrated through the room. His ears were flat against his skull.
"And what about the psychological toll?!" The words came out rough, more bark than speech. "He'd be surrounded by the gifted! Constantly reminded of what he lacks! The pressure would be immense!" His claws scraped against the table surface. "I've counseled students who broke under far less. This is a recipe for a complete mental breakdown!"
Snipe nodded. "I reckon we should just put him in general studies for now."
Then Present Mic's chair scraped back.
"Hold on, hold on, HOLD ON!" He jabbed a finger at the holographic display. "You're all acting like the kid's some helpless puppy! Look at the numbers! LOOK AT THEM! He outscored everyone! EVERYONE!"
His voice dropped to something almost resembling an indoor volume.
"Forty-seven villain points. With his bare hands. No Quirk. No support items." He spread his arms wide. "That's not a lamb, my dudes! That's a little green WOLF!"
Anan Kurose, the Space Hero Thirteen, nodded from within her puffy helmet. Her voice was soft but carried clearly across the table.
"And the rescue points. Sixty." She leaned forward, her yellow visor-dots seeming to glow with conviction. "He abandoned his own score. He ran toward the Zero Pointer, not away from it. He saved an examinee from what they thought was certain death." Her gloved hands pressed flat against the table. "That is not something we can teach. That is the very definition of a hero's spirit."
Nemuri Kayama, the R-Rated Hero Midnight, had been watching the debate with half-lidded eyes and a knowing smile. Now she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
"Let's not forget his composure."
Every male teacher in the room suddenly found the ceiling very interesting.
"I proctored his written examination," she continued. "While other boys were practically melting into their seats, he was a rock. Focused. Intense." She fanned herself with one hand. "And his physical... prowess... is undeniable. The camera footage from the practical doesn't lie."
Her smile widened.
"There's a fire in that boy. A drive. It's..." She paused, savoring the word. "Alluring."
Vlad King made a strangled noise. "Kayama, please, we're trying to have a serious discussion about student safety!"
"I am being serious." Her eyes glittered. "Mental fortitude is a critical component of hero work. That boy has it in spades. And if we're being honest..." She glanced at the holographic display.
"He's already proven he can perform at the highest level without any of the advantages his peers possess. Rejecting him because he lacks a Quirk seems rather... discriminatory, don't you think?"
The room had split. Four against, three in favor. Voices rose and fell. Arguments circled back on themselves. Nezu watched it all with the expression of a man enjoying a particularly good show.
Finally, when the debate had reached its peak of frustration, all eyes turned to the last voice that had yet to speak.
Shota Aizawa had been slouched in his chair for the entire discussion, his capture scarf bunched around his neck like a nest, his eyes half-closed. He looked like he was moments away from falling asleep.
He wasn't.
"This is a waste of time."
His voice was a tired rasp, barely above a whisper, but it silenced the room instantly.
Every teacher turned to face him.
"I've expelled students with god-tier Quirks because they had zero potential." He let that statement sit for a moment. "This boy has nothing but potential. Quirklessness is a handicap. Not a death sentence. His performance proves he's already overcome it to a ridiculous degree."
Vlad King opened his mouth to protest.
Aizawa's red eyes snapped open.
"Let him in. If he can't cut it, I'll expel him myself. It's my job to weed out the weak. But refusing to even give him a chance because he's 'different'..." His lip curled with something that might have been disgust.
"That's not just illogical. It's a disservice to the very concept of heroism we claim to teach."
He closed his eyes again.
"I'm done talking."
The vote stood at four to four.
But Nezu's smile hadn't changed.
"A compelling argument, Aizawa-san." The principal set down his teacup with a soft clink. "However, given the... unprecedented nature of this decision, I believe we require one final opinion."
His beady eyes turned to the far corner of the room.
To the gaunt, skeletal figure who had remained silent through the entire debate.
Toshinori Yagi sat hunched in his chair, his oversized suit hanging off his emaciated frame like a flag without wind. His sunken eyes were fixed on the holographic display. On the name at the very top.
Izuku Midoriya.
"All Might," Nezu said, and even though the title was technically incorrect in this form, no one corrected him. "We would value your thoughts."
The room held its breath.
The Symbol of Peace. The pinnacle of Quirk-based power. The man who had defined what it meant to be a hero for three decades. If anyone would argue for the importance of overwhelming strength, of raw supernatural ability, it would be him.
Toshinori coughed into his hand. A wet, ragged sound that made several teachers wince.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet. Thin. Nothing like the booming confidence of All Might. This was just Toshinori Yagi. A wounded man carrying the weight of a legacy he could barely maintain.
"I met him."
The confession drew surprised glances.
"A few months ago. On a beach." Toshinori's eyes remained fixed on the display. "I didn't know who he was. Just a boy moving a mountain of trash. Piece by piece. Day after day."
He paused, remembering.
"I asked him why. He looked at me, covered in sweat and grime, his hands bleeding through his work gloves, and he said..." A ghost of a smile crossed his gaunt face.
"'Because it's my city. Someone's gotta do it.'"
Vlad King shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"I asked him about his Quirk." Toshinori's voice grew softer. "He told me he didn't have one. I expected him to seem bitter about it. Angry. Defeated." He shook his head slowly. "He wasn't. He smiled and said it was just a handicap. Something he'd trained to overcome."
His skeletal hands pressed flat against the table.
"I have been the Symbol of Peace for thirty years. I have fought villains who could destroy cities. I have saved thousands of lives with my power." He looked up, and for a moment, something burned in those sunken eyes.
"But I have never, in all my years, met someone else with that spirit."
He pushed himself to his feet. Slowly. Unsteadily. His joints creaked. His muscles protested.
But he stood.
"We can teach technique. We can teach strategy. We can help students strengthen their Quirks." His gaze swept across the table, meeting the eyes of every teacher present. "We cannot teach the will to be a hero. That is something a person either has, or they don't."
Vlad King looked away.
Snipe's hand fell from his hat.
"Heroism is not a Quirk." Toshinori's voice grew stronger with every word. "It is a choice. And this boy has already proven, through his actions, that he has made that choice a thousand times over."
He looked down at the file on the table. At the photo of a boy with green hair and fierce eyes and a smile that promised the impossible.
"It is our duty," Toshinori said, "and our privilege, to give him the training he deserves."
He placed his palm flat on Izuku Midoriya's file.
"My vote is yes."
The room sat in silence.
The debate was over.
Nezu clapped his paws together, a single, cheerful sound that echoed off the obsidian walls.
"Excellent! Then it's decided! Izuku Midoriya will be admitted to U.A. High School's Hero Course, Class 1-A!"