The morning at U.A. High School started with a bullet.
Not a literal one. Snipe wasn't that kind of teacher. But the math worksheet he slapped onto Izuku's desk might as well have been lethal ammunition, given the sheer volume of equations crammed onto both sides of the paper.
"Calculus," Snipe announced from beneath his gas mask, his voice carrying that distinctive drawl that made everything sound like a threat wrapped in a compliment. "The foundation of trajectory analysis. If you can't calculate where your target's gonna be, you ain't hittin' nothin'."
Izuku stared at the worksheet.
The worksheet stared back.
He hated math.
Not because he was bad at it. His score on the entrance exam proved otherwise. But sitting in a classroom at eight in the morning while a cowboy-themed hero explained parabolic motion was the exact opposite of what Izuku had envisioned for his hero career.
Where were the villains?
The dramatic rooftop confrontations?
The beautiful women in distress who needed saving?
Instead he got derivatives.
"Y'all got forty-five minutes," Snipe continued, tipping his hat back slightly. "No Quirks. No calculators. Just your brains and your pencils. Let's see what you're made of."
The classroom filled with the sound of scratching lead and quiet desperation.
Izuku glanced to his left. Momo already had three problems finished, her pen moving with the confidence of someone who had been doing advanced mathematics since kindergarten. To his right, Kaminari looked like he was about to cry.
"Bro." Kaminari's whisper barely reached Izuku's ears. "Bro. What's a differential?"
Izuku didn't answer.
He had his own problems to solve.
Literally.
The forty-five minutes passed in a blur of numbers and formulas and the growing certainty that Snipe had designed this worksheet specifically to cause suffering. When the cowboy hero finally called time, Izuku's hand ached and his brain felt like it had been put through a meat grinder.
But he'd finished.
Every problem.
Even the bonus question about calculating optimal bullet trajectory accounting for wind resistance and Quirk interference.
Snipe collected the papers with a slow, methodical walk between the desks. When he reached Izuku, he paused.
"Midoriya."
"Sir."
"Heard you got an interesting fighting style."
The words hung in the air. Several students turned to look.
Izuku met Snipe's gaze without flinching. "That's correct."
"Mmhmm." Snipe took the worksheet. Glanced at the answers. "Trajectory calculation's gonna be real important for you, then. Can't rely on powers to course-correct. Gotta get it right the first time."
"I always do."
A beat of silence.
Then Snipe laughed. A short, sharp sound like a gunshot. "We'll see about that, son. We'll see."
He moved on to the next desk.
Izuku allowed himself a small smile.
First period. Survived.
"GOOOOOOD MORNING, LISTENERS!"
Present Mic's entrance into the English classroom was less of an arrival and more of an assault on the eardrums. The man burst through the door with enough energy to power a small city, his blond hair defying gravity and his leather jacket somehow both ridiculous and intimidating.
"WELCOME TO ENGLISH CLASS, WHERE WE'RE GONNA LEARN TO COMMUNICATE WITH THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! CAN I GET A YEAH?"
Silence.
Present Mic's grin didn't falter. "THAT'S THE SPIRIT! LET'S GO!"
The next hour was chaos.
Present Mic didn't teach English so much as he performed it. He danced between desks. He did accents from different countries. He made Kaminari stand up and attempt to order food at a fake American restaurant, which resulted in Kaminari accidentally asking for "one large hamburger with extra feet."
The class lost it.
Even Bakugo, seated in the back with his permanent scowl, let out a snort of amusement before catching himself.
Present Mic's energy was a force of nature. It reminded Izuku of Toru—that same boundless enthusiasm and a genuine warmth radiating under the sheer volume.
The man clearly loved his job, loved his students, loved the idea of connecting people across languages and cultures.
"ALRIGHT, MIDORIYA!" Present Mic spun toward him with finger guns. "GIVE ME A SENTENCE IN ENGLISH! ANYTHING YOU WANT!"
Izuku leaned back in his chair.
Considered his options.
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men."
Present Mic's eyes went wide behind his glasses.
"PULP FICTION? IN MY CLASSROOM?" He clutched his chest dramatically. "A MAN OF CULTURE! BONUS POINTS!"
Mina leaned over to Toru. "What did he say?"
"I have no idea but it sounded really cool."
The last period before lunch was Hero History.
The teacher was Midnight.
Izuku had known this was coming. He'd seen her during the entrance exam, watched her command an auditorium full of hormonal teenagers with nothing more than her presence and her voice. He'd studied her career, her Quirk, her fighting style.
But knowing something intellectually and experiencing it in person were very different things.
Midnight entered the classroom like she owned it. Because she did.
Her heels clicked against the floor with a rhythm that drew attention to her legs. Her costume. Well. It was tamer than her hero outfit, but only barely. A fitted black dress that hugged every curve. Stockings that left exactly enough to the imagination. A smile that promised trouble.
"Good morning, students."
Her voice was honey poured over gravel. Sweet and rough in equal measure.
Half the boys in the class stopped breathing.
Izuku kept breathing.
Mostly.
"I'm Nemuri Kayama. You may call me Midnight-sensei. Or just Midnight, if you're feeling brave." She winked. "This is Hero History. The study of those who came before us, their triumphs and their failures, and what we can learn from both."
She perched on the edge of her desk. Crossed her legs.
Mineta made a sound like a deflating balloon.
"Today we'll be discussing the early history of Quirks and how society adapted to their emergence. Who can tell me when the first documented Quirk appeared?"
Momo's hand shot up. "The year 2050, in Qingqing City, China. A luminescent baby was born with the ability to emit light from their skin."
"Excellent. And how did society react?"
"Poorly," Izuku said without raising his hand. "Mass hysteria. Religious panic. Government crackdowns. The usual response to anything that challenges the established order."
Midnight's eyes found his. Stayed there.
"Midoriya Izuku. The boy who placed first." Her lips curved. "I've heard about you."
"Only good things, I hope."
"Mostly." She uncrossed her legs. Recrossed them in the other direction. "But the rumors about your performance during the entrance exam are certainly... intriguing."
Somewhere behind Izuku, Jiro made a noise of disgust.
He ignored it.
"I just did what any hero would do."
"Mmm." Midnight stood. Walked slowly toward his desk. "Modesty. How refreshing. Most boys your age would be bragging about saving two girls from certain death."
"I'm not most boys."
Midnight laughed and returned to her desk. "I like him. He's fun. Now, let's talk about the Hero Public Safety Commission and its role in regulating Quirk usage..."
The class groaned.