{Fixed now, lol.}
The dorms were quiet when Takuma woke.
It wasn't the sterile stillness of his holding cell—this was something else. Softer. More... mundane. Sheets smelled of laundry detergent. A window, slightly cracked, let in the scent of trimmed grass and morning air.
He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the golden light crawling across the floorboards. It was his first official day as a student of U.A. High School.
His fingers twitched instinctively. The Quirk limiter was gone now, deactivated the moment the staff had deemed him "fit" for group integration. But he could still feel the ghost of it clinging to his nerves, like a phantom weight. Safety measure or not, he didn't blame them. A part of him had needed it.
Still might, he thought, glancing down at his palm.
The nerves hadn't gone away entirely. The uniform itched a little at the collar, too stiff and too clean. He rolled the sleeves once, exposing his forearms—still faintly gray from the essence of steel and dust that clung to him like a second skin. He exhaled, reeling it in, straightened, and walked out the door.
The classroom was already half full when he arrived. He spotted several familiar faces immediately—not by name, but by performance. The boy with hair like a lightning bolt sat near the window, chatting animatedly with a girl who had pink skin and horns. Another leaned back in his chair, dark energy flickering around his fingertips like shadows with teeth.
All entrance exam participants, Takuma noted. Good reaction times, mid-range Quirks.
No one said anything to him when he entered. A few glanced up, recognizing him—either from the exam or the headlines—but quickly returned to their conversations. The air wasn't hostile, just unsure.
He liked that better than fear.
He took a seat in the back, near the wall. It gave him a full view of the room. Movement patterns. Behavioral tells. Like a puzzle slowly forming.
The last to arrive was a red-and-white-haired boy whose presence chilled the room. Cold, collected, with an aura that made Takuma's instincts twitch. Ice.
That one's dangerous.
And just as the final murmur faded, the sliding door clacked open once more.
A sleeping bag slithered into the room.
No one moved.
Then the man inside stood, goggles reflecting the overhead light. "I'm your homeroom teacher. Aizawa Shouta," he said, deadpan. "Get dressed. You've got ten minutes to change and meet me outside."
"But what about orientation?" asked a round-faced boy near the front.
Aizawa blinked. "You think heroes get a welcoming ceremony before jumping into danger?"
Silence.
"Gym uniforms. Track field. Now."
Ten minutes later, they stood in a neat line across the practice field. The sky above was a clear blue dome, the air crisp with spring. Takuma felt the sun on his face and tried to let it sink in—this was different. Real.
"You've all made it into U.A., which is commendable," Aizawa said, addressing the group without raising his voice. "But getting in was the easy part. Today, we see what you're made of."
He turned to Takuma.
"Our top scorer on the practical exam. Let's see what earned you that spot."
Takuma could see the kid with the spiky blind hair bristle where he was standing, violent sparks crackling in his palms. High aggression. Possible pride factor. Easily distractible.
Takuma blinked. "Me?"
Aizawa tossed him the standard softball. "How far did you throw in middle school?"
"Fifty-six meters," he said. Short, but he never really bothered back then.
"Use your Quirk. Show them what you can do."
The class watched in silence as Takuma stepped into the ring. He could feel their eyes, not judging, just… waiting.
He took a deep breath. Smoke curled from his sleeves, dark and thick, coiling like serpents around his wrists. The heat present was perfect for what he wanted.
The smog condensed, the embers within sparking and glowing as the heat raised past comfortable temperatures. Takuma forced the energy to press against his palm, focusing it in his fingers as well.
As he did, little balls of fire bloomed in strategic places, ready and waiting for release. Not wishing to hold it longer than necessary, Takuma reeled back before launching the ball with all his power, detonating the stored energy as he did so.
The air cracked violently ,the ball whistling through the sky, vanishing into the blue.
The device beeped: 871.2 meters.
Whistles. Murmurs. Someone let out a "Whoa."
Takuma exhaled, arms tingling. He glanced over at Aizawa, who nodded once, unreadable as ever.
The rest of the tests began quickly.
Aizawa made it clear: quirks were expected in every event. Takuma kept to the middle of the pack, observing more than he pushed. He didn't need to be the best right now. He needed to learn.
The lightning-haired boy overloaded on the sprint—good raw output, but unstable. A girl floated effortlessly during the long jump, cheeks puffed with effort. One boy exploded—literally—off the starting line, smoke pouring from his palms. Another had tape for elbows. Takuma didn't comment. Just logged it all.Tape for restraint. Explosions for propulsion and offense. The pink girl's acid corrodes slowly, not fast enough for heavy targets…
But two caught his focus like magnets.
First, the red-and-white-haired boy again—he barely broke a sweat. Ice manipulation. Possibly fire, too, based on minor thermal radiation Takuma picked up. High versatility. Cold. Controlled.
Second, the green-haired boy who hadn't spoken once. Small frame, but his eyes were sharp. Calculating. But his movements were stiff—deliberate. When his time came to throw the ball, Takuma noted the hesitation. Then, power—overwhelming and raw, bursting in a single moment.
And when he went to throw, nothing happened. Even he himself seemed confused, until everyone turned to see Aizawa's eyes glowing. "How long do you plan on being helpless? A hero can't injure themselves every time they try to save someone.
If you're in the field and you're the only thing between a villain and an innocent, who'll save you when you break every bone in your body? If you can't control your own quirk, I might as well expell you right here and now."
Midoriya flinched heavily, and his teeth dug into his lips, but he didn't relent. He gritted his teeth and picked the ball up again. This time, Aizawa didn't stop him when he threw the ball.
The warning had already been given, what happened next was up to him.
The air compressed as the ball left Midoriya's hand, his finger bending unaturally as internal forces surpassed what his bones could handle.
Another beep-705.2 Meters.
Takuma flinched.
No natural Quirk safety limiters? He thought. Like the boy with the naval laser… it's as if their bodies weren't meant for this power at all.
The green-haired boy tried to hide the pain. Aizawa intervened swiftly. But the data was already burned into Takuma's mind. By the end of the session, the class stood in a loose cluster near the throwing range. Tired. Sweaty. Worn.
Takuma remained slightly apart, as always. But he watched them. All of them. Their tells. Their limits. Their potential.
He didn't know if he belonged here yet.
But for the first time in a long time… he hoped.