The city had quieted since the U.A. Entrance Exam, but Arata's heart hadn't. Days passed, but the memory of the moment—the single air-step, the rush of wind beneath his feet, Midoriya's desperate charge, and Bakugo's stunned glare—still pulsed through his veins like wildfire.
He hadn't told anyone what happened. Not his dad. Not even himself, not aloud. He simply went home, cleaned his shoes, and stared out the window for hours.
There was no need to explain. Something had shifted.
The locket his grandfather gave him weeks ago sat quietly on the windowsill. The photograph inside remained untouched, its edges worn from nights of fidgeting hands. He didn't open it. Not yet. But its presence was a quiet promise — You're not alone.
---
Three Days Later
The letter arrived with a faint thud at the door. Cream-colored, thick parchment, heavier than any mail they'd ever received.
His father was the one who picked it up.
"Arata," he called, standing at the doorframe. "It's here."
For a moment, Arata didn't move. He had been kneeling on the floor, organizing his notes — something he hadn't done in months. He looked up slowly, eyes fixing on the envelope.
It felt surreal.
He stood and walked over, taking the letter from his father's hand. Neither said anything. But Arata noticed: his father's hand was trembling ever so slightly.
In the silence, they both sat.
Arata slid his thumb under the edge and cracked the seal.
A small hologram burst into light above the letter — it was All Might, in his golden-age glory.
> "Young Tetsuki! Congratulations on passing the U.A. Entrance Exam! While your written performance was average…"
All Might chuckled.
"…your heroism score was another matter entirely. We saw what you did. You didn't hesitate to act. That, young man, is the mark of a true hero."
"Welcome to U.A. High!"
The light fizzled out.
Arata blinked twice, barely breathing.
"I got in," he whispered. "I really… got in."
His father remained quiet for a moment. Then stood and placed a hand on Arata's shoulder — hesitant, unfamiliar.
"I'm proud of you," he said, softly. "She would be too."
Those words cracked something in Arata's chest. He looked down, unable to speak. His throat tightened. But he didn't cry.
He nodded.
That was enough.
---
Later That Night
The world outside was painted in shades of navy and silver. Arata sat at his desk, U.A. letter in hand, fingers gently tracing the words over and over again.
His inner world stirred.
He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift.
There, in the sea of darkness lit by soft flames, he saw them again — the bond-fires. Renjiro's tower of fire still roared in the distance. Izuku's spark had grown brighter — not much, but it flickered with intent. Bakugo's was still an ember, wild and erratic, lashing smoke but not yet trusting.
Then there was her flame — his mother's. Warm, steady. Always steady. He stepped toward it, just enough to feel the comforting heat.
He didn't speak.
He just stood there, letting it wash over him.
And behind him… a new ember. Faint, almost invisible. He turned.
It was his father's.
Dim. Colorless, yet present. For the first time, flickering.
---
The Next Morning
Breakfast was awkward.
His dad burned the toast.
Again.
"You don't have to try this hard," Arata mumbled, half a smile on his lips.
"I'm not trying," his dad shot back, glaring at the toaster. "It's defective."
Arata raised an eyebrow. "It's the third one this month."
"You want to cook?"
"…No."
They both laughed. Awkward, but real.
---
Ping.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
[Voice Message – 0:09]
"Yo, kid. Saw what you did during the exam. One-step midair recovery? You're leveling up. Training wasn't wasted after all. Call me when you get your U.A. schedule. I've got contacts in that place. Might pull some strings."
— Renjiro.
Arata smirked.
"Still watching me, old man…"
He texted back a simple:
> Got in. Starting next week. Thanks, Gramps.
---
Two Days Later – U.A. Orientation Day
The school gates towered above him like the threshold to another world.
Students poured in — loud, excited, anxious.
Arata walked quietly among them. His bag slung low, shoes clean, expression unreadable. Inside, his chest felt like a drum. He wasn't nervous.
He was ready.
Sort of.
He glanced around, eyes scanning the crowd. He recognized a few faces from the exam — Midoriya, nervously adjusting his backpack straps, whispering to himself.
Bakugo, of course, storming through the crowd like it owed him something.
Their eyes met — Arata and Bakugo.
A pause.
Bakugo's lip curled. "Tch. That air-step trick you pulled… Don't think it was impressive."
Arata tilted his head. "Wasn't doing it to impress you ." winks
Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "You get in my way again, I'll crush you."
A beat of silence.
" u know you are a tsundere I think that's what they call it I mean u are a softy inside bakugo" arata shrugs
Bakugo blinked. Not the answer he expected.
Before either could say more, Present Mic's voice blasted from the speakers.
> "YEEEEAAAHHH, welcome to U.A., future heroes!"
Students jumped, Midoriya tripped, Bakugo muttered something about noise pollution, and Arata… just smiled.
---
Class 1-A – Homeroom
They entered.
A tall man stood at the front of the class in a yellow sleeping bag. Only his hair and eyes were visible.
Aizawa.
He didn't speak for a long time.
Then: "Put your uniforms on. Field test. Now."
Some gasped. Midoriya looked like he was going to pass out. Uraraka raised her hand in confusion.
"But… orientation?"
"No time for that. If you're here to play around, leave."
Arata's eyes sharpened.
So it begins.
---
Changing Room
Boys were getting into their PE uniforms. There was chatter, light teasing, some subtle flexing of quirks.
Arata remained silent, tying his shoes.
"Yo," came a voice from behind.
It was Midoriya.
"You were the one who helped… during the exam, right?" His voice cracked slightly.
Arata nodded. "You too."
Midoriya looked relieved. "I thought… I wasn't sure if anyone saw me. That moment… it changed something in me."
Arata glanced at him. "Yeah. Me too."
Silence passed between them. Then, Midoriya smiled — genuine, wide, a little awkward.
"My name's Izuku Midoriya."
"Arata," he replied. "Tetsuki Arata."
They shook hands.
For a moment, deep inside the sea of flames, the small ember marked Izuku flared just a bit brighter.