The schedule at U.A. was as intense and unpredictable as everything else in this school. Mornings didn't start with hero training, as an outsider might assume, but with general education subjects. The difference was that these weren't taught by ordinary teachers but by active, professional heroes.
The first class was English. Arashi, accustomed to seeing the language as merely a tool for researching quirks internationally, settled at his desk, expecting a dull lecture. He was wrong.
The classroom door slammed open with a bang, and a vibrant figure appeared in the doorway.
"YEAH! HELLO, MY FUTURE HEROES!" a voice boomed, rattling the windows. "WELCOME TO THE ENGLISH CLASS! ARE YOU READY TO GET PLUS ULTRA KNOWLEDGE?!"
Present Mic, aka Hizashi Yamada, carried himself not like a teacher in a classroom but like the headliner of a rock festival. He didn't walk between the desks—he strutted, as if on a runway. Instead of a pointer, he wielded a microphone (for reasons unclear), and he explained grammar rules with such theatrics and shouts it was as if he were announcing the main act of the year's biggest show.
"OKAY, LISTEN UP, LISTENERS! TODAY WE'RE GONNA ROCK THE PAST PERFECT! IT'S LIKE, YOU HAD ALREADY SAVED THE DAY BEFORE THE VILLAIN EVEN BLINKED! YEAH!"
Arashi sat, slightly dazed but unable to suppress a smile. Mic's energy was infectious. Even the most complex topics stuck in his mind effortlessly under Mic's relentless performance. The class flew by in a blur, accompanied by the awed gasps of his classmates and a deafening "PLUS ULTRA!" to cap it off.
The next classes—math, literature, modern history—were calmer but no less impressive. Arashi absorbed every word. For him, who had always used studying as an escape from reality, this was paradise. He was in his element, his mind soaking up information like a puzzle forming a grand picture of the hero world. Some of his classmates, though, were less thrilled about general subjects.
Finally, it was time for lunch. School cafeterias typically didn't inspire excitement, but U.A. was different. Even before reaching the vast, brightly lit dining hall, they were greeted by a rich, complex aroma—a blend of freshly baked bread, spices, and something irresistibly appetizing that defied description.
Behind the counter stood Lunch Rush, the hero-chef in his tall hat, his trademark smile hidden behind a mask. He moved with lightning precision, juggling a dozen pots and pans, his motions as sharp and swift as a master swordsman's.
"Today, we've got slow-cooked beef with rustic vegetables and a light seafood soup on the menu! Bon appétit, future heroes!" his voice was cheerful and welcoming.
Arashi, holding a tray of food that looked and smelled like it belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant, scanned the room for a seat. His eyes landed on familiar faces. Momo Yaoyorozu and Kyoka Jiro sat at a table, chatting animatedly. Momo noticed him and waved enthusiastically.
"Tanaka-kun! Come join us!" Kyoka called across the hall.
Arashi, slightly embarrassed, approached and sat hesitantly on an empty chair.
"So, how's the morning been?" Kyoka asked, twirling one of her earphone jacks. "Mic's a real character, huh? My ears are still ringing."
"Yeah… intense," Arashi agreed reservedly, tasting the soup. It was divine. "But interesting."
"Oh, totally!" Momo chimed in, her eyes lighting up. "I loved the history class! So many facts you won't find in textbooks! It's living history!"
They talked about the classes, the teachers, their first-day impressions. The conversation was light, effortless. Arashi mostly listened, adding brief comments, but he felt… accepted. They didn't pry about his quirk or look at him warily. They saw him as just a classmate. It was new and incredibly pleasant.
After lunch, according to the schedule, "Basic Hero Training" was next. The class returned to their room buzzing with anticipation. What awaited them? Another grueling lesson from Aizawa? A theory lecture?
They sat at their desks, whispering quietly, when heavy, confident footsteps echoed outside. But the door didn't burst open like Mic's or slide silently like Aizawa's.
Instead, a voice rang out. Deep, velvety, brimming with such power and confidence that the air in the room seemed to thicken.
"I… AM COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"
The door opened slowly, revealing a towering, muscular figure clad in red-and-blue spandex. A smile as radiant as the sun. A silhouette every citizen of the country knew from childhood.
The classroom fell into absolute, deafening silence for a moment. Then it shattered with a collective gasp from twenty students, morphing into stunned silence.
All Might. The Symbol of Peace. Standing in their classroom doorway.
Even Bakugo froze, mouth agape, his usual fury replaced by pure, speechless awe. Izuku Midoriya, seated in the back, let out a strange, choking sound and looked ready to faint.
"I…" All Might's voice thundered through the room, making the windows vibrate, "WILL BE TEACHING YOUR BASIC HERO TRAINING CLASSES!"
He stepped inside, his presence filling the entire space. He seemed larger than the room itself.
"AS YOU MAY ALREADY KNOW," he continued, his tone shifting to a slightly more lecturing one but still brimming with power, "THIS COURSE IS DEDICATED TO THE FUNDAMENTALS OF USING QUIRKS IN HERO WORK. WE'LL STUDY TACTICS, LEGAL REGULATIONS, RESCUE BASICS, AND, OF COURSE, COMBAT TRAINING. EVERYTHING THAT TURNS RAW POWER INTO A HERO'S STRENGTH!"
He swept the class with his radiant gaze, and every student felt he was looking directly at them.
"AND SINCE THEORY WITHOUT PRACTICE IS DEAD," his smile widened, almost mischievous, "WE'LL START WITH OUR FIRST PRACTICAL SESSION TODAY!"
An excited murmur rippled through the class. Combat training! With All Might!
"FOR THIS SESSION," All Might raised a finger, and the murmurs instantly quieted, "YOU'LL NEED THE HERO'S PRIMARY TOOL! YOUR COMBAT COSTUME! DESIGNED BASED ON YOUR APPLICATIONS AND QUIRKS! THEY'VE ALREADY BEEN DELIVERED AND ARE RIGHT BEHIND ME!" A wall panel slid open, revealing large cases. "GO CHANGE AND MEET ME AT TRAINING GROUND BETA IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!"
The euphoria was universal. Students leapt from their seats and poured into the hallway, buzzing about the upcoming session. Arashi moved with the crowd, his mind racing. His costume. What had they come up with? He'd submitted the application with his dad, trying to be as practical as possible and account for all risks, but…
They entered the changing room. In his hands was his costume case. He took a deep breath and opened it.
And he froze, staring.
It was nothing like the bright, almost carnival-like costumes some of his classmates had, which he'd glimpsed. No spandex, no capes, no flashy colors.
Before him hung a set of dense, matte fabric in a dark gray, almost charcoal hue. It looked more like the gear of a special forces operative or a mountaineer than a hero costume. Loose-fitting pants that didn't restrict movement, with reinforced knee pads. A jacket with a high collar that covered the lower half of his face, lined with hidden pockets. The collar was trimmed inside with soft, dark fur—not for aesthetics but to conceal the frost that might escape in moments of stress.
The most striking feature was the gloves. Black, with silvery, graphite-like inserts on the backs of the hands and fingers. From them extended thin, almost imperceptible threads, likely for channeling his quirk in some way.
Arashi slowly put on the costume. The fabric was surprisingly light and breathable yet durable. He approached the mirror.
The reflection didn't show a hero. Or a villain. It showed a shadow. Quiet, unremarkable, ready to blend into any corner. The costume perfectly masked him, making him… nondescript. Exactly what he wanted to be. So that attention would be drawn not to his appearance but to his actions. Or, in his case, his absence.
Somewhere deep in his mind, behind the thick wall, something stirred and whispered mockingly: "A fitting guise for a weakling."
Arashi pulled the hood lower, hiding his gaze, and left the changing room to join the others. His first battle awaited.