Izuku Midoriya sprinted down the street, breath catching in his throat, his bag thumping against his back with every step.
Three minutes.
"I stayed too long… that last clip…"
He pushed harder, ignoring the burn in his legs.
He made it.
Shoes off. Indoor shoes on. Classroom door.
"Look who finally showed up," Katsuki Bakugo said, leaning back in his chair with one foot hooked over his desk.
Izuku's seat was right behind him.
"Morning," Izuku muttered, slipping into his seat. He pulled out his notebook—Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13—and opened it without hesitation, pen already moving.
"Settle down. Class is starting."
"Good morning."
"Good morning, sir."
The morning stretched on.
Izuku took notes steadily, his other hand working a grip trainer beneath the desk, the quiet squeeze-and-release almost rhythmic. It helped him focus.
"Midoriya. Answer the question."
He stood at once. "Yes, sir."
—
Lunchtime arrived, softer but no less isolating.
Izuku opened his lunchbox, and his expression eased. "Pork cutlet…"
"Thanks for the meal," he murmured.
Around him, voices overlapped—laughter, shared food, small conversations drifting across the room. Groups formed naturally.
Izuku sat alone, as usual.
It didn't sting as much as it used to.
A nearby conversation pulled his attention.
"U.A. already picked two recommended students this year."
"They've got to have incredible Quirks."
"Of course. U.A. grads always end up famous."
"Think anyone here has a chance?"
A brief pause.
"…Bakugo might."
The answer came without hesitation.
Izuku kept eating, gaze lowered.
I'm applying too.
—
After lunch, he slipped out of the classroom and headed toward the far end of the campus.
There was a small wooded area there, quiet and mostly ignored.
Izuku pulled a small knife from his pocket and faced a thick, dried branch.
He had been working on this for weeks.
"Still not clean…"
He adjusted his stance, studying the angle.
This was his last chance to practice here. After today, he wouldn't have access to this spot again.
He inhaled slowly, tightening his grip.
"One more."
He swung.
The blade struck with a sharp crack.
The branch split and dropped—
—and the knife snapped in his hand.
Izuku stared at the broken edge for a second.
"…Yeah."
The sound had carried.
Too loud.
He quickly pulled on a mask, slipped the handle into his pocket, and left the clearing without looking back.
—
The afternoon was reserved for homeroom.
Their teacher stood at the front, a stack of forms hovering beside him, guided by his Quirk.
"You're all in your final year. It's time to start thinking seriously about your future."
The papers distributed themselves neatly to each desk.
"Most of you are aiming for hero courses, I assume?"
Before he even turned around, several students raised their hands—and their Quirks—with confidence.
"Yeah!"
Izuku raised his hand as well, though more quietly.
"You all have promising Quirks," the teacher said. "But remember—no using them inside the school. Settle down."
"Don't group me with them," Katsuki said, not even bothering to sit properly. "I'm not aiming for the bottom."
"That's not how it works," someone snapped back.
"Then stay out of my way," Katsuki replied.
"I heard he's applying to U.A."
"That's a national school. The score gap's huge."
"And the competition's brutal."
Izuku lowered his head slightly.
Katsuki suddenly stood, stepping up onto his desk.
"My mock exam scores are already within U.A.'s accepted range," he said. "I'm going to surpass All Might and become the strongest hero."
The confidence in his voice filled the room.
Then the teacher added, almost as an afterthought, "Midoriya is applying to U.A. as well."
The classroom went still.
Then—
"Seriously?"
"No way."
"Midoriya?"
Laughter spread, sharp and immediate.
Katsuki didn't hesitate.
A blast from his palm sent Izuku crashing into the wall.
"You don't even have a Quirk," he said, walking closer. "What makes you think you belong anywhere near me?"
"I—I'm not—" Izuku pushed himself up, hands raised slightly. "I'm not trying to compete with you."
He lowered his eyes.
"I just… I've wanted this for a long time."
The words felt small in the noise around him.
"If I don't try…"
"What do you mean 'try'?" someone snapped.
The class closed in, voices overlapping.
"This isn't a game."
Izuku stiffened, caught in the center of it.
—
The teacher stepped in before it escalated further, using his Quirk to restore order.
The noise died down, but the tension didn't.
—
After school, Izuku packed his bag in silence.
He reached for his notebook—
—and Katsuki grabbed it first.
"What's this?"
Izuku's chest tightened. "Give it back."
Katsuki flipped through the pages. "Hero Analysis? You're serious about this?"
Before Izuku could respond, Katsuki pressed his hands together.
A sharp blast tore through the notebook.
"Hey—!"
The pages scattered, edges blackened.
"That's enough," someone muttered, but no one moved.
Katsuki tossed what remained out the window.
"Real heroes show their potential early," he said. "That's how it works."
He stepped closer, resting a still-warm hand on Izuku's shoulder. The fabric singed, a faint curl of smoke rising.
"So don't bother applying to U.A."
He turned and headed for the door.
One of his friends lingered. "That was a bit much…"
"He won't do anything," Katsuki said without stopping. "He never does."
He paused briefly and glanced back.
"If you really want to be a hero," he said, a faint smirk forming, "try again in your next life."
Izuku didn't answer.
He stood still, hands trembling at his sides.
—
Later, he went to retrieve what was left of his notebook.
It had landed near the water.
"…Seriously."
He crouched down and picked it up carefully.
"If something ate this, it'd probably regret it."
The cover was scorched, the pages warped and damp.
Izuku looked at it quietly, then let out a slow breath.
"I'm still going."
He adjusted his backpack, testing the weight.
"…Feels lighter."
He made a mental note to fix that later.
Then he turned and walked away from the school.