Arashi rejoined the line of students. Aizawa's words reached him as if through a thick layer of water. He stood, hands braced on his knees, chest heaving as he tried to draw in air that suddenly felt impossibly dense and heavy. His temples throbbed with a dull, persistent pain radiating to the back of his head. A ringing filled his ears, and through it, the familiar, venomous whispers slithered.
"Look at them. See how they avert their eyes. They saw our weakness. They saw you nearly collapse, summoning a pitiful sliver of our power."
"They despise you. These bright, noisy pups. They sense an outsider. You're a stranger here, tangible one. You always will be."
"Why not show them? Let them feel true cold? Instill real terror in their smug hearts? Just one moment. One brief moment, and they'll never look down on you again."
The voices coiled around his mind like venomous snakes, striking at his most vulnerable spot—his pride, his hard-earned fear of rejection. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. The pain was sharp, physical, his own. An anchor in the storm of their taunts.
Forcing himself to stand upright, he wiped the trickle of blood from his nose, leaving a thin red streak across his cheek. He avoided looking at his classmates. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, beyond their heads, but in truth, it was turned inward, locked in a quiet, exhausting battle.
With effort, he shoved the whispers back behind the wall, sealing the crack. The world around him regained its sharp edges. He noticed the green-haired boy, Izuku, speaking heatedly to Aizawa, his face contorted with pain and urgency. Something important, judging by his expression. But the words didn't reach Arashi—he was too consumed with his own survival, too focused on not collapsing and keeping the Dark Voices from breaking free.
He was so detached that he barely registered when Aizawa, after listening to Izuku, pulled a projector from his sleeping bag. A screen lit up with the test results.
Arashi scanned them mechanically. Bakugo—first. Todoroki—second. Yaoyorozu—third. Names, names, names… His own was near the bottom. Arashi Tanaka—19th place. Third from last.
A bitter wave of shame and disappointment crashed over him. He knew he'd done poorly, but seeing it in cold, impersonal numbers… He looked away, cheeks burning.
And then Aizawa dropped the bomb.
"As for expulsion," his voice remained devoid of emotion, "it was a lie."
A stunned silence hung in the air, so thick it could be cut with a knife.
"A lie?" someone whispered.
"Of course," Aizawa said, calmly stowing the projector. "It was a rational deception to push you to your limits, to see your true potential. No one's getting expelled. However," his gaze grew heavier, "remember this feeling. The feeling of being at the bottom. Of being on the verge of losing everything. In the real world, you might not get a second chance. That's all for today. You'll find the class schedule on the internal portal. Dismissed."
He turned and shuffled off without another word, leaving behind twenty shocked, battered, and emotionally drained students.
Bakugo, predictably, was the first to explode.
"WHAT?! A LIE?!" His shout shattered the silence, echoing across the field. He was furious, trembling with indignation. They'd tricked him. Played him like a child.
But Arashi didn't hear him. He stood rooted to the spot, processing Aizawa's words. A lie. A rational deception. All that torment, that hellish fear, that pressure… just a teaching tactic? Relief, sharp and sweet, mingled with a bitter, aching resentment. They'd led him on. Experimented with him. And he, like a fool, had fallen for it, letting fear nearly break him.
"See? They toy with you. They see you as a lab rat, a strange specimen. That's how it'll always be. Until you show them who the real power is."
He mentally, forcefully, silenced the voice. No. Aizawa was right. It was a lesson. Cruel, cynical, but a lesson. He had to understand that. Had to see his weakness to start fighting it.
He took a deep breath and finally dared to look around. His classmates were dispersing, discussing what had happened with a mix of outrage and awe. No one looked at him with contempt. No one pointed fingers. Most were too caught up in their own experiences.
A tall girl with dark hair tied in an elegant bun and odd, bead-like earrings approached him. She smiled, her expression surprisingly kind and open.
"Pretty rough start, huh?" she said, her voice warm and velvety. "I'm Momo Yaoyorozu, by the way. Nice to meet you. Your quirk… is it something to do with creating ice? That was really unusual!"
Another girl appeared beside her, one with earphone jacks dangling from her head. She looked more guarded but was smiling too.
"And I'm Kyoka Jiro," she introduced herself. "You okay? You had blood pouring from your nose." She looked at his face closely.
Arashi was caught off guard. They were talking to him. Not out of politeness or obligation. They were starting a conversation. He swallowed, scrambling for words.
"Arashi Tanaka," he finally managed. "Nice to meet you. And… yeah. Something like that. With ice. Thanks. I'll manage, it's not the first time."
His response was halting, a bit stiff, but the girls didn't seem to mind.
"I hope we all survive our homeroom teacher," Momo sighed. "He seems… unique."
"Yeah," Jiro snorted. "Kinda looks like a hobo."
Momo shot Jiro a disapproving look, clearly not pleased with her bluntness.
They chatted for a couple more minutes about the test, sharing their impressions. The conversation was light, casual, no strings attached. For Arashi, it was new and strange. He wasn't the life of the party, responding mostly with nods or short phrases, but they didn't ignore him or shy away. It was… nice.
Soon, the girls said goodbye, promising to "catch up later." Arashi watched them go, feeling a faint, almost imperceptible warmth in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different here.
He slowly made his way to the locker room, then to the exit of U.A. He felt drained, like a wrung-out lemon, but also something new—not quite hope, not yet, but something like… accepting the challenge. Aizawa had thrown down the gauntlet. Nezu expected something from him. He couldn't let them down. Couldn't let down the few who'd already shown him kindness.
The walk home was spent in reflection. He analyzed every move from the test, every failure, every ounce of control he'd managed to wrench from himself. He thought about Todoroki and his perfect, emotionless ice. About Bakugo and his explosive, untamed power. About his own shadows, hungry and mocking.
He got home as dusk was settling in. His parents greeted him with anxious questions, but seeing his tired but calm face, they relaxed a little.
"Everything's fine," he told them, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn't a lie. "Tough day. But I managed."
He ate dinner mostly in silence, retreated to his room, and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't turn on the computer or pick up a textbook. He just lay there, processing everything that had happened.
Inside, it was quiet. The whispers had nearly faded, sated by the fear he'd endured and tired from his resistance. Arashi closed his eyes. He'd lost today's battle. By points—crushed. But he hadn't given up. He'd taken the step they expected of him. He'd used his power not as a weapon of destruction but as a tool. Awkward, clumsy, dangerous—but a tool.
And this was only the first day.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. Let them fear him. Let them not understand. Let them rank him last. Today, he'd shown them only a tiny fraction of what he could do. And he would show more.
He rolled onto his side and fell into a deep sleep.