Chapter Text
The air buzzed with excitement, the kind that made your chest hum and your pulse race.
The grand stadium of U.A. gleamed beneath the midday sun — banners rippling, crowds roaring, cameras flashing. Every seat was filled.
Inside the tunnel, Class 1-A waited shoulder-to-shoulder, the echo of the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers.
“ALRIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Present Mic’s voice rattled through the walls, dripping with enthusiasm. “WELCOME ONE AND ALL TO THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL!”
The crowd’s roar shook the air. Izuku’s stomach fluttered, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides.
“We’ll be calling out our future heroes class by class, so get those cameras ready!”
There was laughter and cheers from above. Mic continued, his tone rising and falling like a rhythm only he could hear.
“First up, the brains behind the tech! Our gadgeteers, inventors, and caffeine-powered geniuses — the Support Course!”
A line of students from the Department of Support marched out proudly, some dragging half-finished inventions, others waving tools in the air. Mei Hatsume could already be heard shouting something about “babies” as she posed for a photo.
“Next up, the sharp-dressed and sharper-minded — the Business Course! Let’s give it up for the future CEOs and PR managers of hero society!”
The applause shifted tone — more polite than thunderous, but still warm.
Izuku’s heart raced faster with every second. They were next. He could feel it.
“And now…” Present Mic’s voice dropped low, drawing out the tension. “The ones you’ve all been waiting for — the first-year hero students who stared down villains and came back swinging! GIVE IT UP FOR CLASS 1-A!”
The tunnel exploded in cheers.
Bakugo grinned, cracking his knuckles.
Kirishima pumped his fist.
Ochaco took a deep breath and smiled nervously.
Izuku… just tried not to trip.
They stepped out into sunlight, a wave of sound crashing over them. Thousands of eyes — heroes, journalists, fans — followed their every move.
“And right behind them, the fierce competitors of Class 1-B!”
Monoma’s exaggerated wave drew some laughter from the stands.
“Plus the tactical minds of General Studies! And don’t forget — every single student here today has a chance to prove they belong!”
Shinsō walked among the General Studies crowd, quiet but confident, his eyes flicking briefly toward 1-A as if measuring them.
Izuku caught his gaze for half a second and looked away.
Everyone’s watching, he thought. Every department, every pro hero… every villain out there too, probably.
The classes lined up across the massive field. The applause slowly faded, replaced by a deep hush of anticipation.
A spotlight clicked on at center stage, and Midnight strutted forward, her whip cracking once against the air.
“Thank you, Present Mic! Now that all of our bright young stars have arrived, it’s time to kick things off with the Student Pledge!”
She smiled wickedly, her eyes finding Izuku in the crowd.
“This year’s representative, chosen by faculty recommendation and student performance… Izuku Midoriya!”
The world seemed to stop.
Dozens of heads turned toward him. His classmates gasped softly. Even Bakugo raised an eyebrow.
Ochaco whispered, “You didn’t tell us you were doing the pledge!”
“I— I didn’t know!” Izuku managed, his voice cracking.
Midnight motioned toward the podium with a theatrical wave. “Come on, darling. The stage is yours.”
Izuku’s feet felt like lead as he stepped forward. The noise dimmed to a faint hum, replaced by the thunder in his chest.
He climbed the steps, the world blurring into a sea of color and light.
And when he reached the microphone, the silence was absolute.
He took a breath.
Izuku gripped the edge of the podium, trying not to focus on the thousands of eyes watching him. The microphone buzzed faintly, amplifying his shaky breath through the speakers.
“U-Umm… good morning, everyone.”
A light chuckle rippled through the crowd. Midnight smiled encouragingly from the sidelines, giving him a playful wink.
“I’m… I’m really glad you all could make it. Today is important — for more than one reason.”
He swallowed hard but continued, his voice growing steadier with each word.
“Everyone here — every department, every student — came to U.A. with something to prove. Whether it’s strength, skill, creativity, or heart… we’re all trying to show the world who we really are.”
His hands clenched into fists against the podium. “My class — Class 1-A — has already been through a lot. But I think what makes us special isn’t that we survived. It’s that we keep going. Every time we fall, every time we get scared, we still move forward.”
He glanced across the field at the other departments — at Shinsō standing quietly in General Studies, at the Support Course students tinkering with their gear, at the Business Class watching with keen, calculating eyes.
“That’s true for everyone here. Not just us. So today… let’s all do our best to prove ourselves — not to the crowd, not to the heroes watching us, but to ourselves.”
He smiled, shoulders relaxing.
“So all I really have left to say is…”
“Let’s all go… PLUS ULTRA!”
The stadium exploded in cheers — horns blaring, flags waving, Present Mic practically losing his voice.
Midnight laughed, stepping up beside him and draping an arm over his shoulder. “Beautifully said, darling! Though I think your ears might’ve been cheering right along with you!”
Izuku flushed scarlet as the tips of his elven ears twitched rapidly — completely out of his control. The cameras zoomed in, catching the moment for every screen in the stadium.
The crowd laughed warmly, and even Nezu could be seen clapping from the faculty booth, tail flicking with amusement.
Izuku covered his ears with his hands, stammering, “Th-they do that when I’m nervous!”
Midnight grinned, patting his back. “Then you’ll be adorable and inspiring, sweetheart. Go on — take your bow!”
Midnight strutted toward the massive, glittering wheel that stood center stage — a gaudy metal monstrosity rimmed with flashing lights. Every section bore bold words in neon paint: Obstacle Course, Cavalry Battle, Tug of War, Capture the Flag, and more.
She gripped the handle and turned toward the crowd, lips curling into a teasing smile.
“Alright, my beautiful little contestants! It’s time to see what fate — or my sense of fun — has in store for you!”
The audience roared in response.
She gave the wheel a dramatic spin, and the machine whirred loudly, clattering faster and faster until the colors blurred together. Izuku felt his stomach twist in anticipation as the wheel slowed… slowed… clicked once, twice—
“Aaand it’s…”
The pointer clacked to a stop. Midnight’s grin widened.
“OBSTACLE COURSE!”
The stadium exploded. Present Mic practically screamed into his microphone, his voice booming over the crowd.
“OOOOHHH, YOU HEARD THE LADY! THE FIRST EVENT OF THIS YEAR’S U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL IS AN ALL-OUT, HIGH-STAKES, NO-ROOM-FOR-BREATHING OBSTACLE COURSE!”
Confetti cannons fired somewhere above, showering the arena in color. The crowd was on their feet, shouting and cheering as Midnight struck a pose beside the spinning wheel.
“That’s right, heroes-in-training! Four kilometers of traps, tunnels, robots, ice pits, and maybe even a few surprises from yours truly!” she purred, winking into the camera.
Mic laughed like he’d been waiting all day for this.
“YOU THINK THE ENTRANCE EXAM WAS TOUGH? HA! THIS IS U.A., BABY! WE DON’T HAND OUT PARTICIPATION TROPHIES HERE — WE HAND OUT BRUISES AND GLORY!”
Class 1-A and the others started to murmur, half-excited, half-terrified. Mina rubbed her arms, grinning nervously. “Obstacle course, huh? That sounds kinda fun!”
Bakugo cracked his knuckles. “Tch. Sounds like an excuse to blow people up legally.”
Iida was already adjusting his glasses, muttering about fairness and preparation.
And Izuku… Izuku was shaking just enough for his ears to twitch again.
Mic leaned into his mic with a dramatic whisper that filled the entire stadium.
“You heard me, folks — everything is on the line! No quirks are off limits, no path is off the table, and no mercy is expected! So I hope you stretched this morning, ‘cause this ain’t a walk in the park — it’s a race through HELL!”
The crowd roared again. Cameras zoomed across the stands, catching the faces of anxious students and thrilled spectators alike.
Midnight clapped her hands together, fangs flashing in her smile.
“Alright, you little gladiators — line up at the starting gate! Let’s see which one of you can make it through my playground in one piece!”
The ground rumbled as enormous gates rose from the arena floor, revealing the sprawling, deadly course beyond — twisting platforms, shifting walls, roaring machinery, and smoke-belching robots looming in the distance.
Izuku’s heart pounded. The noise, the adrenaline, the chaos — it all reminded him of the other world. Of war.
He took a deep breath.
Not this time. This isn’t war. It’s a chance to prove I’m still me.
Present Mic’s voice thundered one last time.
“EVERYONE, ON YOUR MARKS!”
The crowd leaned forward in anticipation.
“THE OBSTACLE COURSE — BEGINS IN FIVE… FOUR… THREE…”
Earlier Before the Festival Begin
The holding tunnel beneath the stadium buzzed with nervous energy. The roar of the crowd above was muffled, but the vibration in the floor reminded everyone how big this day really was.
Class 1-A waited behind the gate, lined up in their official order. The support students were already being announced, and Present Mic’s voice thundered distantly through the speakers.
Izuku was trying to steady his breathing. It’s fine. Just a crowd. Just the Sports Festival. His fingers tapped against his leg — one, two, three, four — the rhythm grounding him.
He didn’t notice the quiet footsteps until someone stopped beside him.
“Midoriya.”
He turned, startled, and found Todoroki standing there — calm, cold, his mismatched eyes unreadable.
“When we step out there,” Todoroki said evenly, “I want you to know something.”
Izuku blinked. “Uh… okay?”
Todoroki’s tone never wavered.
“I think you’re the strongest person in this class.”
The words hit harder than Izuku expected — part compliment, part challenge.
“But that’s why,” Todoroki continued, “I’m going to beat you.”
The words carried enough weight that even Bakugo, standing a few students down, whipped around with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
“The hell did you just say, Half-and-Half?” Bakugo barked. “You think you’re gonna beat him?!”
Todoroki didn’t even look at him. “I said what I said.”
Bakugo’s palms sparked, anger twitching just below the surface — but for once, he didn’t explode. He just clenched his teeth and looked away, muttering,
“Tch. Like I’ll lose to either of you idiots.”
Kirishima leaned toward Izuku, grinning. “Bro, you just got declared war on twice.”
Izuku could only laugh weakly. “I… guess so.”
But inside, something stirred — not fear, not panic — purpose.
He looked at Todoroki, then at Bakugo, and felt that old spark again. The one that had kept him alive through darker worlds than this.
Fine, he thought. If you’re all going to fight to prove yourselves, then I’ll fight too.
Above them, Present Mic’s voice boomed:
“AND NOW — CLASS 1-A! GET READY TO STEP INTO THE LIGHT!”
The gates began to open, sunlight spilling through the rising metal.
“TWO…!”
The starting gate vibrated under Izuku’s hands. Every muscle in his body coiled.
“ONE…!”
He could feel everyone around him—Bakugo crackling with impatience, Todoroki calm as ice, Iida twitching in perfect posture beside him. The roar of the crowd built like a wave.
“GOOOOOOO!”
The gates slammed up.
The world lunged forward.
A wall of bodies surged out of the tunnel—boots slamming dirt, quirks flaring, elbows flying. Izuku shot out with them, the sound of breathing and yelling and Present Mic screaming some nonsense blending into chaotic noise.
He didn’t think; his training took over.
Sehnor lumen vestra.
The spell thrummed through his veins, not verbal so much as resonant. Mana gathered around his legs, lightening his weight. He kicked off the starting line and soared, gravity loosening just enough that he skipped over the first wave of shoving students.
“YO, RIGHT OUT OF THE GATE MIDORIYA IS AIRBORNE!” Present Mic howled over the stadium. “GREEN EARS, GREEN HAIR, ZERO HESITATION!”
Below him, he saw:
- Iida already pulling ahead with burst after burst of Engine.
- Kaminari nearly tripping when Sero used tape to sling past him.
- Mineta crying about getting stepped on.
Izuku landed lightly, rolled, and pushed up into a sprint again, wind stinging his eyes.
Then he saw the first obstacle.
Robot Gauntlet
They towered over the field—three-, four-, five-pointer entrance exam robots stomping across the course, metal fists pulverizing the ground. Their eyes glowed sinister red; their heavy frames blocked most of the open path.
Students panicked.
“Are you kidding me?!” Kaminari yelped, already backpedaling.
“HELL YEAH!” Bakugo yelled, blasting himself upward and drop-kicking straight into a robot’s face. The explosion that followed showered the course in burning scrap.
Todoroki didn’t even break stride. He raised one hand and a wave of ice roared forward, freezing the legs of three robots solid. They toppled like metallic trees.
Izuku zigzagged through the chaos, heart pounding, mana humming just under his skin.
A robot’s fist crashed down in front of him, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. Izuku skidded back, coughing, then thrust a hand forward.
“Sehnor fulmen arka!”
A jagged bolt of blue-white power cracked from his palm, spearing a robot in the knee joint. The metal sparked violently, seized up, and the entire thing crashed sideways, crushing two smaller bots beneath it.
“WHOA-HO!” Present Mic screamed. “THAT WASN’T ON THE ENTRANCE EXAM! MIDORIYA JUST DISMANTLED A FIVE-POINTER WITH SOME KINDA ARCANE LASER BEAM!”
“Arcane Manipulation,” Izuku muttered automatically, already moving again.
He wove between falling robots and frantic students, using short bursts of wind to adjust his trajectory. Someone almost collided with him; he hooked a hand around their elbow and redirected both of them past a swinging arm.
He didn’t even see who it was. He just kept going.
By the time he burst out of the robot zone, sweat already clinging to his collar, he was near the front group. He could see Todoroki a good distance ahead, calmly laying down a path of ice, and Bakugo blasting across the sky in ragged arcs.
Izuku’s chest burned.
He grinned anyway.
This is what training at the beach was for. Keep moving.
Pitfall Zone
The ground ahead looked deceptively normal.
“That looks easy,” Koda said faintly from somewhere behind him.
“It’s not,” Izuku muttered.
Almost on cue, someone screamed as the earth opened beneath their feet, dropping them into a sand-filled pit. A second later, another student disappeared. Sections of the course were rigged with random, invisible pitfalls.
“WELCOME TO THE PITFALL ZONE!” Present Mic cackled. “ONE WRONG STEP AND YOU’RE EATIN’ DIRT—LITERALLY!”
Izuku slowed, eyes scanning the earth. The sand was packed strangely in some places; the mana under the ground felt…hollow.
He took a step. Another. The dirt quivered.
He jumped sideways just as the spot he’d been standing on collapsed into a sinkhole.
Sehnor venti levare.
Wind gathered around his ankles. He bounced from safe spot to safe spot, feeling for solid mana signatures beneath the surface. A boy from General Studies lunged past him and took two steps too far—Izuku snagged the back of his uniform and yanked him backward as the earth crumbled.
“Th-thanks!” the boy gasped.
“Watch the edges!” Izuku called, already moving again.
Todoroki didn’t bother reading the ground. He froze everything in front of him and ran over the solid ice. Bakugo just used his explosions to clear broad jumps, ignoring the popping pits entirely.
Behind Izuku, someone shrieked “WHY IS THIS SCHOOL LIKE THIS?!” and he almost laughed.
Almost.
The adrenaline felt good. Clean. No blood. No screaming civilians. Just kids with stupidly dangerous powers, in a controlled ring of insanity.
He made it out of the pitfall zone among the top cluster—maybe seventh or eighth.
He pushed himself harder.
Canyon of Chains
The next obstacle rose out of the earth like the ribs of some long-dead beast—a vast canyon with swinging chain-bridges suspended over fog so thick Izuku couldn’t see the bottom.
The chains were narrow, uneven, swaying wildly as students leapt onto them. A few fell, catching themselves at the last second. Someone’s quirk sent a blast of air that nearly toppled three people.
Izuku swallowed.
He’d done worse.
He’d also died falling before, technically.
Don’t think about that.
He hopped onto the nearest chain.
It lurched, metal groaning.
“Lumen terra gravis.”
Mana blurred around his legs; his feet stuck to the chain like he’d become magnetized. The sudden grip steadied him; he took off in a full run, body shifting with the sway.
Below him, he glimpsed Sero swinging from chain to chain using tape, Tsu frog-hopping with perfect balance, and Mineta… crying while clinging to one link like his life depended on it.
It probably did.
“THIS IS NUTS!” Kaminari yelled somewhere out of sight.
Izuku filtered it out. Focused on the rhythm in his head—step, sway, adjust. Step, sway, adjust. His body remembered other narrow walks: scouting missions along ruined city walls, creeps along thin cliff edges. This was nothing.
Halfway across, one of the chains ahead snapped, sending three students screaming as it swung loose.
Without thinking, Izuku flung his hand out.
“Sehnor ferro retinere!”
The broken end of the chain jerked, suddenly pulled sideways mid-plunge, locking into the side of another line. The students swung violently, but didn’t fall.
“That’s Midoriya with some quick thinking and even quicker spellwork!” Present Mic shouted. “I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT HE JUST DID BUT IT LOOKED AWESOME!”
Izuku didn’t slow. He reached the other side, dismissed the gravity spell with a whispered breath, and leapt down onto solid ground, legs tingling from the sudden freedom.
He was closer now. He could see it clearly:
- Todoroki in first, ice glinting ahead of him.
- Bakugo not far behind, rage propelling him.
- A couple upper-year students pacing just behind them.
Izuku landed maybe fifth. His lungs burned. He didn’t care.
Then he saw the last stretch.
The Minefield
It was a wide-open plain, deceptively calm.
Very small, very flat disc-shaped mines were scattered everywhere, half-buried. Each one had a blinking light that pulsed with dangerous intent.
“Oh. That’s not good,” Kaminari said, catching up beside him.
Midnight’s voice purred over the stadium speakers. “This is our exclusive U.A. landmine zone! They won’t kill you, but you will absolutely hate your life if you step on one, kids~”
Present Mic laughed himself hoarse. “THAT’S RIGHT—THESE BABIES PACK ENOUGH PUNCH TO BLOW YOU SKY-HIGH! NO PERMANENT DAMAGE, JUST PERMANENT EMBARRASSMENT!”
Todoroki didn’t blink. Ice spiraled from his foot, creeping out in a jagged wave, freezing the top layer of earth and mines in a narrow path. He sprinted along it.
Bakugo snarled, took a running start, and blasted himself across the field, using controlled explosions to clear huge gaps. Mines went off in his wake, acoustic shockwaves slapping the air.
Izuku winced at every detonation.
He stepped forward, feeling with his mana. The mines hummed in his perception—pulses of tightly bound energy, little spells trapped in metal.
If I nudge that one… chain reaction. Have to be precise.
He whispered:
“Sehnor venti gradus.”
Wind coiled around his legs again, coiled around his arms too this time. Each step he took was feather-light, bouncing him from patch to patch.
He wasn’t trying to outrun the danger. He was dancing with it.
Left, right, pivot, jump. He landed behind a cluster of mines that Bakugo had already triggered. Dust still clung to the air.
Someone behind him panicked and stepped wrong.
The explosion hit like a giant hand slamming the world.
The flash went white-hot. The noise slammed through his skull. Izuku’s breath vanished. His body reacted before his mind did—grit stung his face, and the smell—
For a second, the stadium melted away.
He wasn’t seeing a neat course and floating drones and steel barriers.
He saw a training yard in the old world.
A ring of young mages.
Klein’s arms cracking with raw mana.
“It burns, Zuku! It burns—!”
Izuku’s chest seized.
Another explosion. Another blinding flash of light. Klein’s body blossomed in an instant of white-gold, and then there was nothing left but—
Stop.
His feet froze. His vision tunneled. His fingers dug into his palms so hard his nails bit skin.
The mines around him blinked lazily, unaware of what they’d just torn open.
Izuku’s ears rang. Sweat ran cold down his spine.
Up above, the crowd saw only a green-haired boy stopping in the middle of the minefield, suddenly still.
“A-Ah? Midoriya has… halted?” Present Mic faltered for a second, thrown. “Looks like our arcane boy is takin’ a breather, folks—this ain’t the place to freeze up!”
Back in the stands, Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s not fatigue,” he muttered.
Nezu folded his paws, expression turning sharp. Yagi leaned forward, hands steepled under his chin, worry creasing his face.
On the field, Izuku fought to breathe.
You’re not there. You’re not there. Klein is gone. You’re in U.A. You’re at the Festival. Move.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His scars pulsed faintly, a dim light under skin.
“Vestra anima… lumen mea…” he whispered. “Not then. Now.”
Mana answered. It always did. It thrummed through his arms and legs, buzzing like electricity and ocean waves mixing together.
He forced his eyes open. The mines were just machines. The explosions were just controlled blasts.
No blood. No corpses. No godspawn.
Just a race.
He took a breath. Then another.
“Sehnor lumen venti—augmentum.”
Light and wind braided together, a new twist on a familiar spell. Power surged around him in a swirling band.
He launched forward.
The world snapped back into motion as he bounded over a set of mines, the blast delay giving him just enough time for the shockwaves to chase his heels instead of swallowing them.
Students around him yelled as he blitzed past—General Studies uniforms, Hero Course first-years, he didn’t even see who. He cleared a cluster of half-buried disks with a single, mana-enhanced leap and landed rolling on the other side.
Ahead of him, the finish line loomed—just beyond the last mine cluster.
Todoroki was nearly there, hair whipped back by the wind of his run, frost clinging to his boots. Bakugo was further ahead still, already rocketing toward the goal in a final, brutal push.
Izuku dug deep, muscles screaming. His lungs burned like he’d swallowed fire. His ears rang from the earlier shock. He didn’t care.
Just one more push. One more.
He pooled everything he could safely muster without ripping himself apart.
“Sehnor gravis—relaxo!”
For a split second, gravity forgot about him.
He flew.
The last mines detonated below, harmlessly late, their explosions chasing shadows. The finish line rushed up.
Bakugo crossed first in a blur of smoke and feral laughter.
“AND FIRST PLACE GOES TO KATSUKI BAKUGO!” Present Mic howled. “EXPLOSIONS, ATTITUDE, AND ZERO CHILL WHATSOEVER!”
Todoroki stepped through the finish a heartbeat later, expression cool, frost still trailing behind him.
“SECOND PLACE TO SHOTO TODOROKI—COLD FEET, HOT TALENT!”
Izuku landed hard, knees buckling, but he forced his legs to keep moving the last few strides.
He crossed the line third.
“AND THIRD PLACE—AFTER A TERRIFYING PAUSE IN THE MINEFIELD—IZUKU MIDORIYA OF 1-A!” Mic nearly vibrated with excitement. “FROM ROBOT-SLAYER TO MINEFIELD DODGER, THIS KID’S GOT RANGE!”
The crowd roared. Cameras flashed. His name rolled around the stadium like thunder.
Izuku stumbled to a stop, bent double, hands on his thighs. He sucked in air like he’d forgotten how.
His whole body trembled—not from the exertion, though that didn’t help. From the memory.
Klein. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop it then. But I’m here now. I moved. I didn’t freeze forever.
“Third place is very impressive, young Midoriya,” a voice said somewhere in the back of his mind, distant, soothing—like the god’s voice from the void.
He straightened slowly. His scars glowed dimly beneath his sleeves, then faded back to their usual faint shimmer.
On the field, he had the presence of mind to raise a hand and give a small, slightly shaky wave to the stands. The crowd cheered louder.
To them, he was a nervous boy who’d pushed through pressure and still landed near the top.
To him, it had been something else entirely.
Back in the stands, Nezu relaxed by a fraction. “He pulled himself out of it,” he murmured.
Aizawa grunted. “Barely. We’re going to have to keep an eye on that. Imagine if that happened mid-rescue.”
Yagi didn’t say anything.
But his eyes followed Izuku like a parent watching a child walk away from a car wreck on unsteady legs.
Down on the course, surrounded by cheering peers and panting rivals, Izuku straightened fully, wiped the sweat from his brow, and let out a shaky breath.
Third place.
He could live with that.
He was alive to live with that.
The first event ended in a blur of cheers and announcements.
Names and rankings rolled across the giant screen. Bakugo and Todoroki stood like it was nothing. Students crowded around the leaders, some in awe, some sizing them up.
Izuku slipped away.
He ducked around a corner, away from the main flow of competitors heading toward the waiting area, and found a narrow stretch of wall in a side corridor that was mercifully empty. The muffled roar of the stadium was still there, but less intense.
He braced his hands on his knees and tried to breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
His legs still buzzed with leftover mana. His ears twitched with every distant boom from somewhere else in the arena, even though he knew the mines weren’t anywhere near him now.
His fingers went numb.
It wasn’t real.
It was just the course. No one died. No one—
He flinched as a staff cart rattled past at the far end of the hallway, the clatter of wheels on tile sounding way too much like shrapnel.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Kit.”
Izuku jumped.
He turned and saw Inui standing there in his hero costume, arms folded, his tall, canine frame blocking half the hallway. His ears were tilted forward, reading him.
Izuku swallowed. “H-Hound Dog-sensei…?”
Inui huffed softly, half-snarl, half-sigh. “Didn’t think I’d find you hiding back here so fast. Your scent practically laid a trail.”
Izuku flushed. “S-Sorry, I just needed—”
“A minute?” Inui stepped closer, but not enough to crowd him. He jerked his chin toward the wall. “Sit.”
Izuku sank down without arguing, back hitting the cool concrete. His legs trembled as the last of the adrenaline finally started to fade.
Inui slid down the wall beside him with a controlled sort of flop, knees up, elbows resting on them. He didn’t look at Izuku right away. Just stared down the corridor, letting the noise of the stadium wash past them.
“Breathing’s all over the place,” he noted after a moment. “Hands are shaking. Pupils still a little blown.” One ear flicked. “Sound familiar?”
Izuku let out a weak laugh. “I… yeah. It’s like… the training room all over again. Or worse.”
Inui tilted his head, finally looking at him. “Tell me what happened,” he said. “Not the scoreboard version. Your version.”
Izuku stared at his own hands. The faint cracks along his skin almost seemed to glow in the fluorescent light.
“I was fine at the start,” he said quietly. “Robots, pitfalls, chains—those were just… obstacles. I could see them. Predict them. It felt like… training. Like missions. But the mines…”
His chest tightened. He swallowed hard.
“One went off really close,” he whispered. “Too close. The light, the sound— it was just like—”
He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
“Klein,” Inui said softly.
Izuku’s head snapped up. “Y–Yeah.”
“You didn’t freeze the whole time,” Inui pointed out. “You stopped. That’s different.”
“It felt the same,” Izuku said. “For a second I wasn’t here. I wasn’t on a field with cameras and rules and… and safety. I was back there. I smelled it again. Heard it. And I knew I was supposed to keep going, that it wasn’t real this time, but my body just—”
He snapped his fingers weakly.
“Stopped.”
Inui watched him in silence for a moment, then asked, “Then what?”
Izuku blinked. “What?”
“What happened after you stopped, kit?”
“I… I tried to breathe,” Izuku said slowly. “I tried to remember How you would tell me to ground myself, that… that it’s not then, it’s now. I… prayed a little, I guess. To them. And then I forced my legs to move.”
“Mm.” Inui’s ear flicked again. “And where’d you end up?”
“Third,” Izuku muttered. “Behind Bakugo and Todoroki.”
Inui snorted. “Terrible. Tragic. You should definitely drop out of school forever.”
Izuku stared at him, startled, then let out a weak, unwilling laugh.
Inui’s expression stayed flat, but his tail thumped once against the wall.
“You had a flashback. You didn’t let it own you,” he said. “That’s the part I care about.”
Izuku looked away. “It felt like it owned me.”
“It didn’t,” Inui countered. “If it had, you’d still be standing in that minefield, or waking up on a stretcher, or screaming on the ground. You came back. You made a choice, and you moved. That’s progress.”
Izuku’s throat tightened. “…It still scared me.”
“Good,” Inui said bluntly. “Means you understand it’s dangerous. People who aren’t scared of their own trauma do stupider things with it.”
Izuku let that sink in.
Distantly, Present Mic’s voice boomed something about rankings and “special advantages for the next event,” but it sounded far away.
Inui leaned his head back against the wall, eyes half-closed.
“You know why I’m here today?” he asked.
“Security?” Izuku guessed. “Counselor support?”
“Both.” Inui’s lips pulled back from his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Sports Festival is high stress. High stakes. Perfect breeding ground for old wounds to start bleeding. Staff asked me to keep an eye on the ones most likely to crack.”
Izuku winced. “I’m on that list, huh?”
“Top of it.” Inui didn’t sugarcoat it. “But not because you’re weak, kit. Because you’ve seen more than most pro heroes twice your age, and you’re still trying to be better instead of curling up and quitting. That kind of kid either crashes or grows like hell.”
Izuku swallowed. “…Which am I?”
“Ask me again after today,” Inui said. Then, softer, “Right now? You’re trending toward ‘grow.’”
They sat in silence for a long beat. The hallway felt strangely peaceful compared to the roaring stadium.
“…Do you think I did something wrong out there?” Izuku asked quietly. “By… freezing? By… almost losing it?”
Inui gave that some real thought. He didn’t brush it off.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that what happened was expected. Normal, even, given your history. And I think you did the best you could with the tools you have right now.”
He turned his head, eyes sharp.
“And I also think you’re going to need better tools,” he added. “Because this won’t be the last time something looks or sounds like your past. Villains don’t care about your triggers.”
Izuku nodded, jaw tight. “I know.”
“So,” Inui went on, “we keep working. More grounding techniques. More prep. Maybe some controlled exposure, when you’re ready. Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon.”
Izuku let out a shaky breath. “You’re not… disappointed?”
“For needing a minute?” Inui snorted. “Kit, if you’d sprinted through that minefield without flinching after what you told me about Klein, I’d be more worried. That would mean you’ve shoved it so far down you can’t even feel it anymore.”
He gave Izuku a sideways look.
“The fact you’re shaking and still showed up? That’s the work.”
Izuku blinked rapidly, his eyes going a little glassy. “You… really think so?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Inui said. “Unlike some of your classmates.”
That got him another weak laugh.
A chime sounded over the PA system, signaling a break before the next event.
“Alright,” Inui said, pushing himself up with a grunt. “Break’s almost over. They’ll want you back with the others so they can explain the next circle of hell.”
Izuku’s ears perked. “N-Next event?”
Inui’s grin turned a little feral. “Dungeon Delve. Indoor. Shifting paths. Traps. ‘Monster’ bots. It’ll be a mess.”
Izuku stared. “…Like a raid?”
“Close enough.” Inui eyed him. “That going to be a problem for you?”
Izuku hesitated. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
“I… think that’ll actually be easier,” he admitted. “Dungeons are… familiar. Structured. I know how to watch corners. How to cover people.”
“Good.” Inui offered him a hand. “Then let’s treat it like training, not war.”
Izuku took the hand. Inui hauled him up with no effort.
As he steadied himself, Inui added, “One more thing, kit.”
Izuku looked up.
“Later, when you’re alone,” Inui said, “I want you to write that moment down. The minefield. What you felt, what you did, how you got yourself moving again. Not as punishment. As proof.”
“Proof?” Izuku echoed.
“That you can be terrified and still act,” Inui said. “So the next time it happens, and your brain starts lying to you and saying you’re weak or broken, you’ll have something to throw back in its face.”
Izuku swallowed hard. Then nodded. “…Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good.”
They started walking back toward the main staging area. The noise grew louder with every step.
Just before they turned the corner, Inui spoke again, voice low.
“And Midoriya?”
“Y-Yeah?”
Inui didn’t look at him, but his tone warmed.
“You did well,” he said simply. “Not just because of where you finished. Because of how you got there.”
Izuku’s throat closed up for a second.
“…Thank you, Hound Dog-sensei,” he whispered.
His legs still shook a little. His scars still tingled. The ghosts were still there, waiting.
But as he stepped back into the light of the stadium, walking toward his class, he felt just a little more solid in his own skin.
The next event was going to be hell.
The lunchroom was loud in that way only U.A. could manage—hundreds of voices bouncing off high ceilings, clatter of trays, the faint echo of Present Mic still buzzing from some replay on a nearby screen.
Izuku slipped in a little late, still feeling the phantom echo of the mines in his bones. He scanned the room, spotted the familiar mix of green, pink, red, and every other color that was Class 1-A, and started toward them.
“Midoriya!”
Iida was on his feet before Izuku even fully joined the line around their pushed-together tables.
He marched over, hands chopping the air. “Are you alright? You left the waiting area rather quickly after the rankings announcement and did not return until now. I was concerned you might have been injured or—”
“Iida-kun, breathe,” Izuku said, managing a small, sheepish smile. “I’m okay. Really. I just… needed some air.”
Iida paused, glasses glinting as he studied him carefully. Izuku kept his shoulders relaxed, his breathing even. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.
“…Very well,” Iida said at last, lowering his hands. “If you say you are alright, I will respect that. However, if you begin to feel unwell—”
“I’ll tell someone,” Izuku promised.
He moved to sit down, and almost collided with a tray.
“Deku!” Ochaco chirped, half-standing as she slid into the seat beside him. She pushed the extra tray toward him with both hands. “I got you lunch, just in case! You kinda vanished, so I thought maybe you got called away or something and wouldn’t have time to wait in line.”
The tray was loaded—rice, karaage, a little side salad, miso soup, and an absurdly large melon bread perched on the edge like it was going to make a break for it.
Izuku blinked. “O-Oh, you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” she said simply, cheeks pink but her smile bright. “You did awesome out there.”
“Yeah, dude!” Kirishima slid into the seat across from him, already halfway through his own lunch. “Third place in that mess? Super manly! The way you tackled those robots and then that chain thing—oh, and when you stabilized that broken chain for those guys? That was sick.”
Mina plopped down next to Kirishima, grinning. “And the whole whoosh, spark, boom thing with the robots? You looked like some kind of fantasy protagonist. Like, ‘Battle Mage Deku’ is totally a thing now.”
Izuku’s ears twitched at the nickname, but he smiled, a little embarrassed. “I-It was just… using what I’m good at, I guess…”
Tsuyu leaned in from the other side, tray in hand, eyes steady as ever. “You scared me for a second, ribbit,” she said honestly. “On the minefield. You stopped and I thought you got hurt or something.”
Mineta, sitting near the end of the table, shuddered. “Yeah, man, my life flashed before my eyes like five times out there. I thought I was gonna die ten different ways, and then you just—froze.”
Izuku’s chopsticks paused just above his rice.
“…I’m fine,” he said softly. “Just… got a little overwhelmed for a second. The noise.” He shrugged a shoulder. “But… I’m okay now.”
Ochaco studied his face for a moment like she didn’t quite buy it, but she didn’t push. Instead, she brightened.
“Well, either way, third place is amazing!” she said. “You, Kacchan, and Todoroki-kun… talk about a scary top three.”
“Tch,” Bakugo snorted from the far end of the table where he’d wedged himself, legs sprawled, tray ignored. “If Deku hadn’t stopped in the middle like a damn NPC, he might’ve beaten you, Icy-Hot.”
Todoroki, who’d just sat down near the edge with a quiet clink of his tray, looked over. “…I’m aware,” he said simply.
That earned Izuku a few more stares.
He laughed weakly and scratched his cheek. “I-It’s fine. You both did great. The ice path was really efficient and Bakugo’s blast jumps were—”
“Don’t compliment him,” Kirishima stage-whispered. “His ego’s already on life support from being right.”
Bakugo lobbed a french fry at him with surgical precision.
Iida cleared his throat, trying to restore order. “More importantly, we should be discussing strategy for the next event. Whatever it is, our performance will determine the overall rankings for the rest of the day!”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering,” Sero said, leaning back in his chair. “We got obstacle course first, so… what now? Cavalry battle? One-on-ones already? Some kind of weird Nezu mind game?”
Izuku’s hand tightened around his chopsticks for just a second.
He could still hear Inui’s voice: Dungeon Delve. Indoor. Shifting paths. Traps. Monster bots.
He knew.
But he also knew it had been told to him in confidence, and staff kept event details under wraps for a reason. So he took a breath and forced a thoughtful frown instead.
“U.A. changes it up every year,” he said. “The obstacle course was a good… um… filter, I guess? To see how everyone performs in chaos. They might want to test teamwork next. Or… adaptability. Maybe something with closed spaces.”
“Closed spaces? Like… indoor arenas?” Jirou asked, drumming her fingers lightly on her tray.
Momo nodded thoughtfully. “Given the first challenge focused heavily on mobility and endurance, it would make sense to follow with something more tactical. Perhaps something that requires group coordination… or navigation.”
“Dungeon crawl!” Mina said immediately, eyes sparkling. “Like a full-on, video-game-style dungeon! That would be so cool.”
Izuku almost choked on his rice.
Ochaco laughed. “That does sound kinda fun, actually. As long as there aren’t any more landmines…”
“You’ll be fine,” Kirishima said. “You tanked those like a champ. You were, like, ‘boom, trauma, boom, spell, boom—finish line.’”
“That’s… not how I’d describe it,” Izuku muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Iida clasped his hands together. “Whatever the next event is, we must remain focused. We cannot coast just because of one strong performance. Remember, everyone is watching. Other departments, pro heroes, the whole country!”
“And villains,” Kaminari added, then winced when several people glared at him. “W-What? You know they are.”
Silence dipped for just a second.
Izuku glanced at his hands, then around the table.
These were the people he’d almost died to protect in a collapsing disaster zone full of monsters and a creature that should never have existed.
They were also the people he was going to be delving into a fake dungeon with in, what, an hour?
He straightened a little.
“Whatever it is,” he said quietly but firmly, “we’ll handle it. We’ve already been through worse than an event with rules.”
Several pairs of eyes flicked toward him in surprise. Then Ochaco smiled, gentle and proud.
“Yeah,” she said. “We have, huh?”
Tsuyu nodded. “Asui agrees, ribbit.”
Kirishima bared his teeth in a grin. “That’s the spirit! Man, now I kinda hope it’s something crazy. Let’s show ’em what 1-A can do.”
Across the table, Todoroki watched Izuku a moment longer than necessary, unreadable as ever.
Then, quietly, he said, “If it is something indoors… your quirk will be useful.”
Izuku blinked. “Mine?”
Todoroki nodded once. “You’re good at adapting on the fly. Reading the field. People like that usually decide whether teams clear dungeons… or get stuck.”
Bakugo scoffed, but didn’t argue.
Izuku’s ears twitched.
“…Th-Thanks,” he said, genuinely thrown. “I’ll… try to be worthy of that.”
Before anyone could say more, Present Mic’s voice blared over the cafeteria speakers.
“ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP, LITTLE GLADIATORS! LUNCH BREAK IS ALMOST OVER! ALL FIRST-YEARS, REPORT BACK TO THE STAGING AREA IN TEN MINUTES FOR EVENT NUMBER TWOOOOO!”
Groans, excitement, and nervous chatter flooded the room.
Iida shot to his feet. “We must not be late! Finish eating and move in an orderly fashion!”
Mina stood and stretched. “Dungeon or not, I’m ready. Let’s gooooo~”
As everyone began to gather their trays and stand, Ochaco nudged Izuku gently with her shoulder.
“You really okay now?” she asked softly, so only he could hear.
Izuku looked at her… then at his classmates getting ready to walk back into chaos.
He took a breath.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m… getting there.”
Ochaco smiled. “Okay. Then let’s all go… Plus Ultra, right?”
He smiled back—small but real.
“Plus Ultra,” he agreed.
Inside, he could already feel it: mana shifting, senses sharpening, instincts waking.
Dungeon Delve.
Traps. Shifting halls. Monster robots.
It sounded like home and hell at the same time.
But this time, he wouldn’t be going in as a weapon owned by someone else.
He’d be going in as Izuku Midoriya.
And he was not going to let any of his party die.