[Third Person POV]
The next morning came far earlier than anyone in Class 1-A would have liked. At the ungodly hour of five in the morning, the students found themselves lined up outside in the cool mountain air. Most of them looked as if they hadn't woken up at all. Some swayed where they stood, eyes half-lidded, threatening to topple over at any moment. Others yawned so wide it looked like their jaws might unhinge, a few absentmindedly scratching their stomachs as if they'd been yanked straight out of bed and shoved into their gym uniforms.
At the head of the group stood their homeroom teacher, Aizawa, wrapped in his usual capture scarf, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Good morning, everyone. Today marks the official beginning of your summer camp training," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "By the end of this trip, you should emerge stronger—strong enough that some of you may even qualify for a provisional license."
The words were meant to inspire, but judging by the students' sluggish blinks and half-stifled yawns, the only thing on most of their minds was crawling back into bed. A few even leaned against each other for support, too groggy to care about maintaining composure.
Still, not everyone was entirely unfocused. A few of the girls cast quick, fleeting glances in Tony's direction. The moment his sharp eyes flicked toward them, however, their faces burned crimson, and they quickly looked away, pretending to adjust their uniforms or stretch as though nothing had happened. Tony, completely baffled by the strange behavior, raised an eyebrow and shrugged it off, redirecting his attention back to Aizawa.
"To start things off," Aizawa continued, reaching into his before tossing an object in the air, "Bakugo, try throwing this."
Bakugo caught the baseball easily, his lip curling into a scowl. "Tch. This again? From the Quirk Apprehension Test…"
"Exactly," Aizawa replied, his dark eyes narrowing. "Back then, at the start of the school year, your record was 705.2 meters. Let's see how much progress you've made since then." He stepped back, giving Bakugo room.
"Ohhh, so this is like a progress check!" Mina exclaimed, suddenly perking up despite the early hour. Her enthusiasm was infectious, though the heavy bags under her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep.
"Careful, Mina," Tony teased, smirking slightly. "The last time you got this excited, he threatened to expel whoever came in last place."
"Oops, you're right!" Mina squeaked, clapping her hands over her mouth. She spun to glance at Tony again, but the second his gaze brushed over her, her face lit up scarlet. Flustered, she turned sharply away, covering her cheeks. "D-Don't look at me!" she mumbled, far too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
Tony tilted his head, utterly perplexed. "What…?" he muttered under his breath, more confused by the second.
All attention then shifted to Bakugo, who crouched slightly, his muscles coiled like springs. He launched upward on one foot, channeling raw explosive force into the throw. His palm erupted with fire and noise, propelling the baseball like a cannon shot. "Go to hell!!" he roared, the sheer fury in his voice matching the force of his explosion. The ball rocketed into the sky, vanishing into the clouds.
Aizawa, unfazed, lifted his phone calmly and displayed the reading to the class: 712.3 meters.
"You've definitely improved," he said matter-of-factly. "But not by as much as you should have."
Bakugo clicked his tongue in annoyance, his hand twitching as if itching for another chance. He scowled and flicked his wrist in irritation, clearly unsatisfied with the result.
Aizawa's gaze swept over the group, his expression turning sharper. "Yes, you've all been through a lot these past three months. You've grown in many ways—your tactics, your teamwork, even your mental fortitude. Your bodies have also strengthened, but that's not the point here. What I want you to understand is that your quirks haven't kept pace with the rest of you."
His voice dropped, carrying a dangerous edge. A faint, almost sinister grin pulled at his lips, one that sent an involuntary shiver down several spines.
"This training will be harsh. So harsh that there will be moments when you'll wish you were dead. But that's the price of becoming stronger. So do your best…" His eyes glinted dangerously beneath his messy hair. "…to stay alive." His grin alone sent a shiver down everyone's spine.
…
"Class 1-A have already started improving on their quirks. We can't afford to fall behind," Vlad King declared, his booming voice echoing across the training grounds. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, veins standing out against his skin. "They took the spotlight last semester, but this time—this coming semester—it will be Class 1-B's turn to shine!"
Determination burned in his eyes, a flame so sharp that some of his students flinched under the weight of his words. A few lowered their gazes, shame creeping across their faces. They couldn't meet their teacher's eyes. 'We're sorry for disappointing you, sensei…!!' they thought collectively, guilt churning in their stomachs. But that guilt only deepened their resolve.
Vlad turned on his heel and led his students forward. Their footsteps echoed in unison, a rhythm of determination, until they reached the section of the camp where Class 1-A was already training.
The moment Class 1-B caught sight of them, silence swept through their ranks. Their jaws fell open, and several of them staggered to a halt. The sight before them was nothing short of overwhelming.
Todoroki sat atop a reinforced tub, his face calm and unyielding as he extended both arms hands to the side. From his left hand surged towering pillars of flame, so hot the air shimmered; from his right hand, jagged spikes of ice erupted with a crackling hiss, frost spilling across the earth. The sheer balance of fire and ice in perfect symmetry was both beautiful and terrifying.
Not far away, Aoyama unleashed a blinding stream of golden light from his navel, the beam cutting across the field like a laser. Toru, invisible save for the shimmer of her gloves, intercepted the beam mid-air, her hands moving in a blur. With furious precision, she swiped and deflected the light away with each swing.
The strangeness of Class 1-A didn't stop there. Mineta lay sprawled on the ground, his forehead bleeding profusely from the countless sticky purple balls he had yanked free. His pained groans filled the background.
Just a few feet away, Momo and Sato were devouring food at an almost inhuman pace, their mouths stuffed. At the same time, Momo's skin shimmered as she created small metallic components that fell carefully onto a conveyor belt beside her.
The conveyor split into two paths—one ending before Tony, the other before Melissa. The two of them were locked in a furious competition, their hands blurring as they snatched up the components Momo produced.
In seconds, Tony assembled a compact device that resembled a futuristic pistol. "Handheld sonic emitter," he muttered before firing a sharp pulse. The sonic blast rattled the ground.
Melissa was just as quick, her hands steady but fast as lightning. Sparks crackled as she pieced together wires and a battery, shaping them into a taser. She finished just in time to aim and unleash a powerful electric discharge.
The results were immediate and brutal. The sonic pulse sent Melissa flying back, tumbling across the dirt, while Tony staggered, teeth gritted as his body seized under the shock.
Both hit the ground hard. Both grunted in pain. And both scrambled up almost at the same time, eyes blazing with competitive fury.
The rules of their duel were clear: invent as quickly as possible, unleash it, and don't get taken down first. It was survival through invention, a contest of genius and grit.
Around them, Class 1-B students gawked, almost forgetting they were supposed to be training as well.
Unfazed, Melissa grabbed a cluster of items and threw them together with remarkable efficiency. A bright shimmer filled the air. "Aha! Protective shield!" she cried triumphantly. Before her, a holographic barrier flared to life, humming with energy.
Tony smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Clever," he admitted, "but not clever enough. Flashbang!" He twisted a knob on his latest contraption, shut his eyes tight, and unleashed a blinding burst of light that consumed the field.
Melissa screamed, staggering backward. "MY EYES!!" she cried, dropping her shield and rubbing furiously at her face. Her shield flickered out, useless in her hands.
Tony's laughter rang out across the grounds, loud and victorious.
Meanwhile, Ragdoll and Tiger—two other members of the Wild, Wild Pussycats—helped with overseeing the training due to large number or student.
Class 1-B's arrival added fuel to the fire of the camp. Training methods shifted, adapting to the sheer competitiveness of the classes.
For example, Kirishima and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu locked eyes almost instantly. Both could harden their bodies, one into rock, the other into steel. It was inevitable. The two clashed in a thunderous brawl, fists colliding with brutal force, sparks flying from every strike. Neither boy backed down as they hammered into each other's defenses again and again, grinning wildly through the pain.
The rest of the camp was no less intense. Every student was driven harder, as if the rivalry between Class 1-A and Class 1-B had reignited their spirits. Their shouts and the sound of quirks colliding echoed through the forest until the sun dipped lower in the sky.
By the time the training finally came to a halt, the students were drenched in sweat, covered in dirt, and utterly exhausted. When the call for lunch came, it was like a divine mercy.
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