I needed coffee. Not wanted—needed. After the social circus of last night, my brain refused to function without chemical assistance. I stumbled down the stairs in gray sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, my white hair a disaster zone that would require serious reconstruction later.
The common room was buzzing with activity, which was unfortunate since I'd hoped for a quiet, misanthropic morning. A small cluster of students had gathered around the message board—Kaminari's spiky blonde hair visible above Ashido's pink horns, with Sero's tall frame leaning over both of them.
"What's happening?" I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "Did someone die?"
"Worse," Kaminari said, turning with wide eyes. "Look at this."
I shuffled over, squinting at a single sheet of paper pinned to the board. The message was brief and about as warm as an arctic swimming pool:
Class 1-A: Proceed to Ground Gamma at 10:00 AM. Pick up a standard gym uniform from the locker room. Sizing is your own responsibility.
– Professor A.
"That's it?" I asked. "No 'welcome to UA' speech? No orientation packet? Just 'show up here, wear this'?"
"Right?" Ashido bounced on her heels, her yellow eyes wide with anxiety. "Shouldn't there be, like, a first day assembly or something?"
Sero scratched his elbow. "Maybe this is just the first thing, and the welcome stuff comes after?"
I stared at the message, reading between the lines. No pleasantries. No explanation. Just a command issued with the expectation of complete obedience. So that's how it's going to be.
"What time is it now?" I asked.
"Eight-thirty," Kaminari replied, checking his phone. "We've got time, but I'm starving. Anyone want to hit the cafeteria?"
Ashido raised her hand enthusiastically. "Yes! I need fuel if we're doing something physical."
"Count me in," Sero added. "Murano?"
I shook my head. "Rain check. I need to shower and fix..." I gestured vaguely to my entire disheveled state. "All of this."
"Your loss, bro." Kaminari shrugged. "They've got, like, twelve types of eggs. Twelve!"
I waved them off and headed toward the coffee machine. After pouring myself a cup of what smelled like industrial-grade rocket fuel, I turned back toward the stairs. Jiro was coming down, her earphone jacks swaying gently with each step. She wore purple shorts and an oversized black t-shirt with a faded band logo.
"Morning," I said, raising my mug in greeting.
She nodded, still half-asleep herself. "Coffee?"
"Kitchen. Fair warning, it tastes like it could strip paint."
"Perfect." She offered a sleepy half-smile before heading toward the kitchen.
I made my way back upstairs, navigating the third-floor hallway toward my room. As I rounded the corner, I nearly collided with a small purple mass of pure disappointment. Mineta stood outside one of the girls' rooms, his ear pressed against the door.
When he spotted me, his expression shifted from creepy concentration to suspicious outrage. He pointed an accusatory finger at me.
"Hey! What are you doing up here? This is where the girls' rooms are! Guys aren't allowed on this floor!"
I stared at him, not even breaking stride as I walked past. "My room is 3-I. Midoriya is in 3-A, and Fukidashi is in 3-F. The only one making it weird is you."
I felt his beady eyes boring into my back as I continued down the hall.
"You think you're so cool," he called after me. "Just because you got the highest score!"
I didn't bother responding, just raised my coffee mug in a mock toast without turning around. Some battles weren't worth fighting, and engaging with that particular lost cause would only waste precious caffeine-drinking time.
Back in my room, I shed my sleepwear and stepped into the shower, letting scalding water wash away the fog of sleep. As the steam filled the bathroom, my mind sharpened. Something about that message felt like a trap. "Ground Gamma" could be anything from a classroom to a live volcano, for all I knew. And the stark, minimalist delivery suggested a teacher who valued results over comfort.
First day tests are always about weeding out the weak. Separating potential from pretenders.
After spending fifteen minutes getting my hair exactly right, I checked the clock. Nine-thirty. Time to move.
I arrived at the locker room to find the class changing into identical blue U.A. tracksuits.
"This is gonna be so manly!" Kirishima was saying to a completely unresponsive Todoroki. The dual-colored boy was changing methodically. "Our first real hero training! I'm pumped!"
"We don't actually know what we're doing," Midoriya mumbled, looking slightly green. "It could be anything."
"Whatever it is, I'm gonna crush—"
"Shut the fuck up before I blow your face off." Bakugo growled from the corner where he was aggressively pulling on his uniform.
Kaminari visibly wilted. "Good morning to you too, man."
I changed quietly, watching the dynamics unfold. Iida was lecturing anyone within earshot about the importance of proper uniform maintenance. Tokoyami stood alone, muttering something about the "revelry of darkness" while adjusting his tracksuit.
"Murano-kun!"
I turned to find Midoriya fidgeting beside me, his green eyes wide with worry.
"What's up, Broccoli?"
He winced at the nickname but pressed on. "Do you think this is some kind of test? On the first day?"
I shrugged, closing my locker. "Everything's a test. The question is what they're testing for."
"But we haven't had any classes yet," he fretted. "How can they evaluate us when we haven't learned anything?"
"They're not testing what we've learned," I said, lowering my voice. "They're testing what we bring to the table. Natural talent. Instinct. Adaptability."
Midoriya's eyes widened further, his gaze unfocused as he processed the implications. He started muttering, the words too fast and low to catch.
"You think it's a Quirk test?"
"Makes sense. Hero course, hero powers."
He paled slightly, his freckles stark against his skin. Right. The entrance exam. He's a glass cannon. This kind of test is his worst nightmare.
"Relax," I said, surprising myself with the attempt at comfort. "It's just day one. They're not going to expect mastery."
Before he could respond, a bell chimed, signaling that it was time to move out.
Ground Gamma turned out to be an enormous outdoor training facility that resembled an industrial wasteland. Massive pipes, steel towers, and concrete obstacles created a labyrinthine testing ground under the open sky. The entire class of 1-A gathered in front of a small staging area, where a single figure waited for us.
The man looked like he'd crawled out of a grave ten minutes ago and was already regretting the decision. Long black hair hung limply around a face that hadn't seen a smile in decades. His black outfit screamed "I'm not here to make friends."
"Eight seconds," he said, his voice a monotone dirge. "That's how long it took you all to shut up after seeing me. Too slow."
Uraraka, who had been mid-sentence to Asui, snapped her mouth closed. Every eye was now fixed on the figure in front of us.
"My name is Shota Aizawa. I'm your homeroom teacher."
A collective ripple of surprise went through the class. This exhausted goth scarecrow was in charge of our education?
"UA doesn't waste time on pointless ceremonies," Aizawa continued, pulling out a small device from his pocket. "You're here to become heroes, so we'll evaluate your potential immediately."
He tapped the device, and a holographic display appeared above his head, showing a series of physical tests: grip strength, standing long jump, 50-meter dash, endurance run, ball throw, side steps, upper body training, and seated toe touch.
"The Quirk Apprehension Test," he announced. "In high school, you took standardized physical tests without your Quirks. That's irrational. The Ministry of Education is still pretending Quirks don't exist when devising these tests. Here at UA, we do things differently."
He tossed a softball to Bakugo, who caught it with a smirk.
"Bakugo. You had the most villain points. How far could you throw in?"
"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugo replied, his crimson eyes narrowing.
"Try it with your Quirk. Do whatever you need to, just stay in the circle."
Bakugo's grin turned feral. He stretched his arm, then wound up for the throw.
"DIE!" he roared as he released the ball, a massive explosion propelling it into the stratosphere.
The device in Aizawa's hand beeped, and he turned it to show us: 756.2 meters.
"It's important to know your limits," Aizawa said as murmurs of awe spread through the class. "That's the first rational step to figuring out what kind of heroes you'll be."
Mina's eyes were sparkling. "This looks fun!"
Aizawa's expression darkened, whatever minimal life had been in his eyes draining away completely.
"Fun? You think being a hero is fun?" His voice dropped to an even more menacing register. "Fine. New rule. The student who ranks last across all eight tests will be judged to have no potential and will be expelled immediately."
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Uraraka's face fell, her excitement replaced by horror. Iida's glasses flashed as he stiffened. Midoriya looked like he was about to pass out.
"That's not fair!" Mochi protested. "It's the first day!"
"Fair?" Aizawa's eyes narrowed. "Natural disasters. Highway pileups. Villain attacks. The world is full of unfair things. A hero's job is to correct that unfairness. If you were counting on a friendly first day at school, that's too bad. For the next three years, UA will throw one hardship after another at you. This is Plus Ultra. Get used to it."
As panic spread through the group, I found myself watching Aizawa more than listening to him. His dead-eyed stare, the carefully constructed apathy, the theatrical threat of expulsion—all classic intimidation tactics. He was trying to create pressure, to see who would crack and who would rise.
A high-stakes bluff on the first day. Bold.
Our eyes met across the field, and I felt a flicker of recognition pass between us. For a split second, his mask of indifference slipped, revealing something sharper underneath.
I answered with the faintest smirk. Let's see if he has the cards to back it up.