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--XXXX--
The morning sun was bright, but the mood in the dorm's common room was not.
This was their first real morning as residents, not just classmates. The events of the training camp hung over them like a thick, suffocating fog.
Izuku Midoriya was one of the first ones down, his mind a jumble of anxieties. He'd barely slept. He thought of All Might's withered form, of his final, pointed message. "It's your turn." The weight of that was crushing. But just as heavy was the memory of Akaza's cold, dead eyes as he'd pinned him to the bus, the dismissive, chilling words that had shattered his worldview.
"I don't give a single, flying fuck about your opinion."
One by one, the others trudged into the common room, their faces pale and sleep-deprived. Iida, Kirishima, Uraraka, Sero. They gathered in the kitchen, a somber, quiet group, making toast and pouring cereal in silence.
The usual morning chaos was gone, replaced by a shared, unspoken tension. They were all thinking the same thing.
Are they… are they even going to come down?
The swish of the elevator door opening made them all flinch.
Akaza and Rumi walked out. Akaza was in his school uniform, his hair tied back, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. Rumi was beside him, her left arm in its black carbon-fiber cast, her good hand shoved in her pocket. The white scar over her right eye was stark and new.
The chatter in the kitchen instantly died. Forks stopped halfway to mouths. Kaminari, who had been about to make a joke, swallowed his words.
Akaza's gaze swept over them, his black eyes lingering for a moment on Izuku and Uraraka. They both instinctively shrank back. He didn't sneer, he didn't glare. He just… looked. And in his gaze, there was nothing. No anger, no sadness. Just indifference.
"Morning," he said, his voice flat and even.
The collective, nervous exhale from the class was almost comical. "…Morning, Akaza-kun," Izuku stammered, his voice cracking. "G-Good morning," Momo added, her hands clasped tightly. Kirishima gave a small, hesitant wave. "Hey, man."
Akaza just nodded, his social obligation met, and walked past them to the kitchen. Rumi, however, didn't move. She looked at Uraraka, then at Iida, and let out a small, sharp "Tch" of disgust. She scoffed, the sound loud in the quiet room, before turning her back on them and following Akaza.
Shoto and Bakugo were already at one of the tables, eating in their own bubble of silence. Rumi walked over and, without a word, slid into the seat next to Bakugo, kicking her feet up on the empty chair beside her. Akaza sat down opposite her, next to Shoto, and began to eat the protein bar he'd pulled from his pocket.
The four of them sat together, a silent, intimidating island separated from the rest of their class. The "fakes," as Bakugo had called them, were left to their own quiet, shame-filled breakfast.
CLASSROOM
Aizawa shuffled in, his gaze lingering on Akaza and Rumi for a moment longer than the others.
"Welcome back," he said, his voice a low grumble. "Akaza. Usagiyama. Good to see you both here."
Rumi just grunted. Akaza gave a slight nod.
Aizawa looked at the whole class, his expression grim. "What happened at the camp was a failure. My failure, and U.A.'s. You were subjected to a trauma you were not prepared for. Many of you are scared. Confused. Some of you are angry. And some of you," his gaze was sharp, "are carrying a heavy, new burden."
He was looking right at Akaza, but his words were for everyone.
"Do not be scared of what happened," he said, his voice firm. "Learn from it. You have all seen, firsthand, what the real world is. It is not a game. It is not an exam. It is ugly, and it is lethal. You have seen your weaknesses. You have seen your limits. Your job now is to iron them out. Get stronger. Get smarter. Make sure that next time, you are not the ones who are caught off guard."
He took a breath, the fire in his eyes softening just a fraction. "You all have new challenges. The first of which is the Provisional Hero License Exam. We have to prepare you for that. And to do that, you need to get stronger. It's time to talk about Ultimate Moves."
The tension in the room finally shifted, replaced by a flicker of curiosity.
Ectoplasm entered the room, his clones appearing beside him. "Your ultimate move," he began, his voice echoing, "is a technique that guarantees your victory. It is a move so refined, so ingrained, that it becomes interchangeable with your name. It is what separates a pro from a sidekick."
He explained the concept, how their internships had helped them define their strengths, and how this next phase of training would be dedicated to honing those strengths into a single, unstoppable technique.
"Cementoss is waiting for you at Gym Gamma," Aizawa said, taking over.
"Your costumes have been upgraded based on your requests. Change, and get moving. Your training starts now."
Gym Gamma, or the "Training Dining Land" (T.D.L.), was a massive complex. Cementoss stood in the center, manipulating the concrete floor into pillars, walls, and tunnels on command.
"As you can see, I can create any environment you need!" he announced. "Now, find your space! Begin!"
The class, energized by a new, clear purpose, scattered. Izuku, his mind still a mess but his body focused, began practicing his Shoot Style, his kicks now faster, more fluid. Akaza was right. This is the only way.
Iida was working on his Recipro Turbo, trying to extend the time limit of his explosive speed. Uraraka was in a corner, floating small rocks around herself, desperately trying to improve her nausea threshold.
Shoto Todoroki was in his own section, a wall of ice on his right, a roaring flame on his left. He was trying to use both at the same time, a feat of concentration that was proving almost impossible. He'd send out a blast of ice, but the moment he ignited his fire, the ice would falter, turning to steam. "Damn it," he hissed. It's like two different parts of my brain. But he kept at it, the memory of Akaza's calm, dual-natured mastery in his mind.
Across the gym, Bakugo was an explosion of motion. He was learning to fly. He used his smaller, more precise blasts as thrusters, launching himself through the air in chaotic, jerky movements. "NOT JUST A STRAIGHT FUCKING LINE!" he roared, crashing into a cement pillar. He pushed himself out of the rubble, grinning like a maniac. He was getting it. I need more, he thought, his palms crackling. Something... final. A move that ends it. What if… what if I didn't just let the blasts out? What if I cooked it? He imagined it: pushing his quirk to its absolute limit, his sweat output skyrocketing, his skin glowing with a white-hot, explosive heat, creating a high-temperature aura that would vaporize any attack. A berserker mode. He grinned. Yeah. 'Meltdown'. That's got a ring to it.
In a far corner, away from everyone, Akaza and Rumi had their own training ground. Rumi's aura was blazing, a stable, fiery red that coated her legs. It was stronger, more controlled than it had been at the Sports Festival.
"Good," Akaza said, his voice calm. "Your enhancement is stable. You're ready. Let's try Geppo again." Rumi nodded, her expression serious. She leaped into the air, and just as she began to fall, she kicked down.
Thump
A small, compressed pocket of air exploded under her foot, giving her a tiny, fractional boost. She managed a second thump before her timing failed, and she landed on the ground. "Fuck!" she yelled, frustration evident. "It's not working! I just feel like I'm kicking air!"
"You are," Akaza said patiently. "You're kicking it ten times in a single second. It's not a single, powerful kick. It's a series of impossibly fast taps. You're trying to use your strength. Use your speed. Like this." He demonstrated silent steps up into the air, as if he were walking up an invisible staircase. He stood there, floating, looking down at her. She glared at him. "Show off." She tried again. And again. And again. Each time, she got a little bit closer.
Akaza watched her, a proud smile spread across his face. His gaze was soft, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was analyzing his own weaknesses.
The USJ Nomu. Its shock absorption was a problem. My punches were useless until I bypassed it. Muscular. His muscle armor was the same. My Water Stream fist worked because it was a counter, redirecting his own force. But what if I can't redirect? What if I just have to take the hit?
He thought of All For One's overwhelming power. He thought of the high-speed Nomu at the camp.
My adaptation is a crutch. It's reactive, not proactive. I need a defense that is always on.
He looked at his gauntleted hand, closing it into a fist. He channeled a tiny, hair-thin thread of his shockwave power, but he didn't release it. He turned it inward. He felt his own muscles, his own bones, begin to vibrate at a frequency so high it was almost imperceptible, a low, internal hum.
Instead of releasing the shockwave outward... what if I channel it? What if I reinforce my own body with kinetic energy? The idea formed, a complex, beautiful equation of physics and quirk-science.
Internal Kinetic Reinforcement. A 'Shock Armor.' By making my own muscles and bones vibrate at a high frequency, I could create a kinetic shield. It would dampen any physical impact, like a shock absorber.
Punches, bullets… the force would be dispersed through the vibrations. And the energy… his eyes widened, …the kinetic energy of the attack would have nowhere to go. It could be rebound back at the attacker. He visualized it. A faint distortion field, a shimmering heat-haze around his skin. A perfect, absolute defense. (Like Black Panther's armor)
That... he thought, a cold, dangerous smile touching his lips. That could work.
"Aki!" He snapped out of his thoughts. Rumi was in the air, a good ten feet off the ground, standing on nothing. She was wobbling, sweating from the concentration, but she was doing it. She'd managed three, four, five steps.
"I'm doing it!" she yelled, grinning triumphantly, before she lost her balance and fell, landing in a heap on a safety mat. She sprang up, her good arm raised in victory. "See? I told you I'd get it!" He laughed, the thoughts of his new technique put aside for now. "Not bad, carrots," he said, walking over to her.
--XXXX--
This chapter was more of setting the class mood.
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