The morning sun hit the glass towers of U.A. High with a clarity that felt insulting to Kinji Hakari. He stood at the foot of the main gate, squinting against the glare. He was not wearing the school jacket properly. It was draped over his shoulder, the gold buttons catching the light, while his white shirt was open at the collar. He felt like a caged animal being paraded in front of a crowd.
Outside the barrier, a swarm of reporters was already buzzing. They were not there for the debut of the next generation of heroes. They were there for him.
"Hakari! Over here! Is it true the Association gave you a plea deal?"
"Kinji! Are you really the Restless Gambler from the Gachinko raids?"
"How does it feel to be eighteen and sitting in a room with fifteen year olds?"
The nickname made him grit his teeth. Restless Gambler. The media had coined it after the footage of the warehouse raid leaked. A grainy, high angle shot of him laughing while standing in a field of neon lights and pink petals had gone viral within hours. To the public, he was a romanticized delinquent, a vigilante who played a game they did not understand. To the Association, he was a liability being swept under a very expensive rug.
Hakari did not give them a quote. He did not even give them a middle finger. He just walked through the barrier, the invisible sensors humming as they scanned the tracking bracelet locked around his ankle. The device was tight, chafing against his skin, a constant reminder of the leash he was on.
The halls of U.A. were quiet. Too quiet. He passed a few second years who stopped and stared, their eyes wide as they recognized the face from the morning news. He ignored them, following the directions to Room 1-A. When he reached the door, he paused. It was massive. He could hear the muffled chatter of twenty kids inside. They were probably talking about their dreams, their favorite pro heroes, or whatever else kids cared about. He felt a decade older than them. He felt like he had already lived a full life in the smoke of the underground, and now he was being forced to go back to the start.
He pushed the door open. The silence was instantaneous. Twenty pairs of eyes locked onto him.
"It is him," a girl with short brown hair whispered. Ochaco Uraraka leaned toward the girl next to her. "That is the guy from the news. The one who fought Mirko."
Hakari scanned the room. He saw a boy with glasses and engines in his calves standing at attention. He saw a kid with a bird head sitting in the shadows of the back row. And in the middle, a boy with green hair was staring at him with a mix of terror and fascination.
"You are in the wrong place, are you not?"
The voice came from a blonde boy with a permanent scowl. Katsuki Bakugo did not look impressed. He sat with his feet on the desk, his red eyes narrowed. "The senior wing is across the campus, old man. Or did you get lost on your way to the principal's office?"
Hakari did not get angry. Instead, he looked Bakugo up and down. He could see the tension in the boy's shoulders and the way his eyes burned. It was a familiar heat. It was the Fever. Bakugo had it in spades.
"I am exactly where I was told to be," Hakari said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He walked to the back of the room, looking for an empty desk. There were exactly twenty desks, and they were all occupied. He just leaned against the back wall and crossed his arms.
"He is not in the wrong place, Bakugo."
Shouta Aizawa crawled out of a yellow sleeping bag behind the teacher's podium. He stood up, shaking out his tattered black clothes, and fixed the class with a dead eyed stare.
"Sit down," Aizawa commanded. "All of you."
"Sensei!" The boy with glasses, Tenya Iida, stood up. His arm chopped the air with robotic precision. "According to the U.A. handbook, Class 1-A is strictly limited to twenty students. This individual is clearly older, and there is no desk provided for him. Is this a security breach?"
"It is an exception," Aizawa said. "Principal Nezu has authorized a twenty first seat for this year. Hakari Kinji is here on a special enrollment track. He is eighteen. He will be part of this class for the duration of the year, or until I decide he is a waste of my time. There is a desk being brought in later. Until then, Hakari, stay where you are."
Hakari looked at the twenty kids who were now his peers. He could feel the sandpaper itch of his own energy prickling under his skin.
"Twenty one?" Izuku Midoriya muttered. His pen was already scratching against a notebook. "That changes the entire dynamic for team exercises. And if he is the Restless Gambler, his Quirk is listed as Jackpot Variance. But the rumors say it is more like a reality shift."
"I do not care if there are fifty of them," Bakugo growled. Small, acrid puffs of smoke rose from his palms. "He looks like a street thug."
"Quiet," Aizawa said. He pulled a bundle of blue gym uniforms from beneath the podium. "Get changed. We are heading to the grounds. We are going to do a Quirk Apprehension Test. And make no mistake, the person at the bottom of the rankings will be judged as having no potential and will be expelled immediately."
The class erupted in shock.
"Expelled on the first day?" Minoru Mineta squealed, his face turning a shade of pale green. "That is not fair! We just got here!"
"U.A. is not about being fair," Aizawa replied, his gaze cold. "It is about being the best. If you cannot handle the pressure, you do not belong here."
The walk to the locker rooms was heavy with dread. Hakari walked at the back, observing the chaos. He noticed a tall boy with six arms, Shoji, watching him with a guarded expression. He noticed a girl with frog like features, Tsuyu Asui, tilting her head curiously.
In the locker room, the silence was even heavier. The other boys gave him a wide berth, except for a red haired boy who was currently struggling with his shirt.
"So," Eijiro Kirishima said, trying to break the ice. "The news said you were running a ring. That is pretty intense, man. I'm Kirishima, by the way."
Hakari sat on a bench, tying his shoes. He looked up and gave Kirishima a small, tired nod. The kid had a bright energy about him. It was a different kind of Fever, but it was honest. "I am Hakari. And yeah, it was intense. But now I am here. It is a different kind of gamble."
"Don't act like you are some big shot," Bakugo snapped from across the room.
Hakari stood up. He was a head taller than Bakugo. He walked over, stepping into the boy's space. The air between them began to vibrate with a jagged, abrasive heat. It felt like static electricity hitting a dry throat.
"I'm not acting like anything," Hakari said. His voice was low but calm. "I can see the fire in you, kid. You got that Fever. I like that. But keep the explosions for the field, alright? We are on the same side of the fence now."
Bakugo did not flinch, but he did stop talking, his eyes narrowing as he processed Hakari's words.
Aizawa's voice boomed from the doorway. "Outside. Now."
The Quirk Apprehension Test began with the fifty meter dash. Hakari watched as Iida blurred past the finish line, his engines roaring. He watched as a boy with a sparkle in his eyes, Aoyama, used a navel laser to propel himself. When it was Hakari's turn, he stood at the line next to a quiet boy with a tail, Ojiro.
Hakari didn't have a speed Quirk. He just flared that rough, violet energy around his legs. It ground against the track, kicking up dust and small pebbles. He sprinted, his movements jagged and forceful. He wasn't the fastest, but he hit the end with a momentum that nearly carried him into the fence.
Next was the grip strength. Shoji crushed the device, the numbers climbing into the hundreds. Hakari took his turn, his sandpaper energy surging into his hand. The device creaked, the metal groaning under the abrasive pressure. He put up a solid number, though he noticed a boy with sugar based powers, Sato, watching him with a competitive glint in his eyes.
"Not bad," Sato grunted.
"You too," Hakari said. He liked the focus in Sato's eyes.
Then came the ball throw. One by one, the students stepped up. Uraraka sent hers into infinity, a move that left the class cheering. Bakugo stepped up next, a look of pure hunger on his face. He wound up and let out a massive explosion, screaming for the ball to go further.
"705.2 meters," Aizawa announced.
The class went wild. Even the quiet ones like Koda and Tokoyami were whispering in awe. Bakugo looked back at Hakari, a smirk on his face.
"Top that, old man."
Hakari stepped into the circle. He didn't stretch. He didn't warm up. He just tossed the ball into the air and caught it. He looked at Bakugo, then at Midoriya, who was trembling with nerves. He saw the drive in them. It was different from the desperation of the underground. It was cleaner, but it was just as hot.
"He is not even taking a stance," Iida whispered.
"The news said his power is based on luck," Midoriya replied. "But look at the energy around his feet. It is grinding the dirt into dust."
Hakari didn't use his Domain. It wasn't time for that. He just channeled a surge of his rough energy into his right arm. He leaned back and threw the ball with everything he had. The ball didn't just fly. It screamed. The abrasive energy surrounding it tore through the air, creating a small vacuum trail.
Aizawa looked at the device. "612 meters."
"Not using that domain thing?" Aizawa asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't t feel like it," Hakari said, wiping his hands on his trousers.
The final test was the long jump. A boy with tape dispensers in his elbows, Sero, cleared the pit with ease. Hakari watched the class, noting the way they supported each other. He saw a girl with earphone jacks, Jiro, giving a thumbs up to a boy with a lightning streak in his hair, Kaminari. Even the invisible girl, Hagakure, was cheering for everyone. It was a strange atmosphere.
As the final test ended, Aizawa gathered them together. He pushed a button on a remote, and a holographic board appeared in the air.
"This is your ranking," Aizawa said. "As I said, the person at the bottom is leaving."
1. Hakari Kinji
2. Momo Yaoyorozu
3. Todoroki Shoto
4. Bakugo Katsuki
....
21. Midoriya Izuku
The class went dead silent. Midoriya's face went pale. He was at the bottom. The boy looked like he was about to collapse. Hakari stood at the back, his expression steady. He looked at Midoriya and felt a pang of respect. The kid was terrified, but he hadn't folded during the tests. He had used his power at the very last second, even if it broke his finger. That was real Fever.
"I was lying," Aizawa said, clicking off the screen. "It was a rational deception to draw out your upper limits."
A collective scream of relief and frustration echoed through the field.
"Wan't it obvious?" Yaoyorozu said. "But that was so cruel! We were all terrified!" shouted Mineta.
"It was necessary," Aizawa replied. "Go get changed. There are handouts in the classroom. Pick them up on your way out."
As they headed back, a few students approached Hakari.
"Hey," Kaminari said, walking alongside him. "The news called you the Restless Gambler. Is it true you held off 3 pro heroes? The top 10 too!"
"The news says a lot of things," Hakari said. He looked at Kaminari, then at Jiro and Ashido, who were listening in. "But if the music is playing, I am a hard man to put down."
"A song?" Ashido asked, her pink eyes wide. "That is so cool! What kind of song? Is it a pop song?"
"The kind that makes you want to win," Hakari said.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Kirishima, who was grinning. "I don't care what the Association says, Hakari. That throw was manly. And the way you talked to Bakugo? That was smooth. If you are in our class, you are one of us."
Hakari felt a small, reluctant tug at the corner of his mouth. "Watch it. I am just here to see how this bet plays out."
As he walked back toward the building, he saw Nezu watching from a high window. The principal raised a tiny paw. Hakari didn't wave back. He just felt the tracking bracelet on his ankle.
The first day was over. He hadn't hit a Jackpot yet, but as he looked at the diverse, chaotic group of kids in Class 1-A, he felt a spark of something familiar.
The Fever was coming back.