Ten months of training condensed into a single moment.
Izuku stood before UA's gates, and for the first time in months, he felt something close to nervousness. Not fear—he'd left that behind on a rooftop—but awareness. This was it. The beginning of everything he'd worked toward.
The entrance exam.
His reflection in the polished metal of the gate showed someone he barely recognized. The expensive hoodie—subtle designer brand, nothing flashy—fit perfectly across shoulders that had filled out during training. His green hair was styled rather than wild. Even his posture had changed, straight and confident instead of hunched and apologetic.
Look at you, Lust purred appreciatively. All grown up and ready to break hearts.
"Shut up," Izuku muttered under his breath.
Around him, other examinees streamed toward the entrance. Hundreds of hopefuls, each one carrying dreams and determination. Some looked nervous, others excited, a few overconfident. Izuku categorized them automatically—old habits from his analysis days—noting quirks, estimating capabilities, assessing threats.
None of them looked at him the way people used to. No pity. No dismissal. Just... interest. Confusion. A few lingering stares that made Lust laugh quietly in the back of his mind.
Izuku started forward. The massive gates loomed, promise and challenge rolled into gleaming metal. Just a few more steps and—
His foot caught on nothing.
Exhaustion from last night's training session—he'd pushed too hard, stayed up too late—betrayed him at the worst possible moment. The world tilted. The ground rushed up to meet him. His body, trained and enhanced as it was, still needed sleep. And he hadn't given it nearly enough.
Idiot, Sloth sighed. I told you to rest.
Izuku's hands shot out instinctively, bracing for impact—
And stopped.
The sensation was bizarre, like gravity had decided to take a coffee break. He hung suspended inches from the concrete, body frozen mid-fall. Then, gently, he was pulled upright.
"Sorry! I should've asked first, but you were about to face-plant and that looked like it would hurt!" The voice was bright, cheerful, with an undertone of embarrassment.
Izuku turned and found himself staring into the warmest brown eyes he'd ever seen.
The girl was short—barely came up to his shoulder—with a round face and auburn hair cut in a bob. She wore her nervousness openly, fidgeting with the strap of her bag while a blush spread across her cheeks. Pretty in a wholesome, girl-next-door way that would've made him stammer and retreat ten months ago.
Now, he just noticed the way her pupils dilated when their eyes met. The way her breath caught. The way pink flooded her face so fast it had to be more than normal embarrassment.
Oh, Lust laughed delightedly. She's sensitive. This is going to be fun.
"Thanks," Izuku said, voice even. "I appreciate the save."
"Oh! Um! No problem! I'm Ochaco Uraraka, and I—" She stopped mid-sentence, hand flying to her mouth. "Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I? I do that when I'm nervous, and this is UA, and I'm so nervous, and you're—" Another stop, redder this time. "You're really... um. What's your name?"
"Izuku Midoriya." He extended his hand for a shake, noting how she stared at it for a beat too long before taking it. Her palm was warm, slightly sweaty. When she released his quirk, the lingering sense of weightlessness took a moment to fade.
"That's such a cool quirk," Izuku offered, because it was true and because she looked like she needed the reassurance. "Gravity manipulation?"
"Oh! Yeah! I can make things float by touching them!" Uraraka's nervousness transformed into enthusiasm instantly. "It's called Zero Gravity, and I've been training it really hard for the exam, and I think I can handle up to three tons now, which is way better than last year when I could barely lift a car—" She cut herself off again. "And I'm rambling. Sorry. You probably want to get inside, and I'm keeping you—"
"You're fine," Izuku said. And then, surprising himself, "Want to walk in together?"
The smile that lit up her face was almost painful in its genuine joy. "Really? I mean, yes! That would be great! I don't know anyone here, and everyone looks so confident, and I was worried I'd have to sit alone—"
They walked through the gates together, Uraraka chattering about her quirk, her training, her reasons for wanting to be a hero (money for her parents, said with adorable determination). Izuku listened, responding with short but encouraging comments that kept her talking.
He noticed things. The way other examinees stared at them—mostly at him. The way a girl with pink skin did a double-take and whispered to her friend. The way a boy with a tail nearly walked into a wall because he wasn't watching where he was going.
They can all feel it, Lust explained, satisfied. The pull. Most won't understand why they're staring. They'll just know they want to keep looking.
Izuku kept his expression neutral and focused on Uraraka, who seemed too wrapped up in her nervous rambling to notice the attention. Better that way. She was sweet, genuine in a way that felt rare. He didn't want Lust's influence to ruin that.
Even if it probably already had.
The auditorium was massive, filled with row after row of seats facing a stage where a man with impossibly tall blonde hair stood at a microphone. Present Mic, if Izuku remembered his hero profiles correctly. The Voice Hero, known for his sonic quirk and his role as a radio host.
"Find seats, examinees!" Present Mic's voice boomed through the space, somehow both loud and clear. "We've got a lot to cover and not much time to do it in! YEAH!"
Uraraka grabbed Izuku's sleeve and pulled him toward a pair of empty seats near the middle. "Come on! We can sit together!"
They settled in—Uraraka bouncing slightly with nervous energy, Izuku sinking into the chair with relief. His body ached. The early morning wake-up, the month of intense training, the deliberate sleep deprivation to test Sloth's recovery abilities—it was all catching up to him.
Sleep, Sloth suggested, voice thick with drowsiness. I'll wake you when it matters.
Present Mic launched into his explanation of the practical exam. Robot villains, point values, urban environment. Standard stuff that Izuku had already researched weeks ago. Around him, other examinees leaned forward, taking notes, absorbing every detail.
Izuku closed his eyes.
"Um." Uraraka's whisper, uncertain. "Are you... okay?"
"Fine," he murmured back. "Just resting. Wake me if something important happens."
"But—"
"I'll be fine."
He sank into that space between consciousness and sleep, where Sloth's power worked best. Energy conservation mode, they called it in Hel. His body stilled, breathing slowed, but his mind remained aware—processing sounds, tracking the presentation, ready to snap back to full alertness at a moment's notice.
Present Mic's voice became white noise. The uncomfortable seats faded. The nervous energy of hundreds of teenagers dulled to background static.
Somewhere in the rows behind them, a boy with blue hair and glasses stood up. "EXCUSE ME!"
Izuku registered the interruption but didn't open his eyes. Not his problem.
"There appears to be a printing error on the handout! You've listed four types of villain robots, but only explained three! If this is a mistake at Japan's top hero academy, it's disgraceful! We are all here today to pursue our dreams, and—"
Iida, Izuku recognized distantly. Tenya Iida. Engine quirk. Good kid, too rigid. Not a threat.
The explanation continued. Present Mic clarified the fourth robot—zero points, an obstacle rather than a target. Iida apologized and sat down. The presentation wrapped up.
And throughout it all, Uraraka kept glancing at Izuku, concern warring with confusion on her face. He could feel her proximity like heat, Lust's passive effect amplified by the close quarters. She shifted closer without seeming to realize it, leaning in like she was being pulled by invisible strings.
Poor thing, Lust murmured. She doesn't even know why she wants to protect you. Why she feels so drawn. It's cruel, really. But so very useful.
Present Mic's final words cut through the haze: "—and with that, let's get ready to RUUUMBLE!"
Izuku's eyes snapped open. Full alertness in an instant, no grogginess, no transition period. Sloth's gift—rest compressed and optimized, giving him everything he needed in a fraction of the time.
He stood before most of the auditorium had even processed the dismissal.
"Oh!" Uraraka scrambled up after him. "You're really fast when you wake up, huh? That's—" She paused, biting her lip. "Are you sure you're okay? You seemed really tired."
"I'm fine now." Izuku offered a small smile—not the old desperate-to-please smile, but something more genuine. "Thanks for worrying, though. Good luck out there, Uraraka."
Her answering smile was radiant. "You too, Midoriya! I'll see you after, okay? We can compare scores!"
She's already planning your future together, Lust teased. How sweet.
Izuku ignored the voice and headed toward his assigned testing area. The crowd funneled through different exits, examinees sorting themselves by battle center. The nervous chatter had intensified—last-minute strategy discussions, quirk comparisons, bravado and bravery in equal measure.
Izuku felt none of it. Just cold, focused determination.
Ten months of preparation for this moment. Ten months of learning to control seven deadly sins. Ten months of pushing his body and mind to their absolute limits.
Time to show UA what he'd become.
Battle Center B looked like a disaster movie set.
Fake buildings, fake streets, fake everything—but detailed enough to pass for real at a glance. The examinees gathered at the entrance, a couple dozen teenagers eyeing each other with varying degrees of hostility and caution. Measuring the competition.
Izuku stood near the front, hands in his hoodie pockets, expression neutral. A few people had already moved away from him, unconsciously creating space like he was radiating something they couldn't quite identify. Lust's effect, probably, or maybe just the predatory stillness he'd developed during training.
Targets acquired, Gluttony rumbled, hungry and eager. So many robots to eat. So many new traits to gain.
"Patience," Izuku whispered.
Present Mic's voice boomed from speakers mounted on the buildings: "AAAAAAND START!"
Nobody moved.
They all stood there, frozen, waiting for... what? Permission? A signal? Izuku didn't know and didn't care.
He exploded forward.
The ground cracked under his feet as elephant-strength channeled through his legs, launching him into the fake city like a missile. Wind whipped past his face. Buildings blurred. And behind him, he heard the moment realization hit the other examinees—the collective gasp, the scramble, the rush of footsteps trying to catch up.
Too late. He had a head start and every intention of using it.
The first robot rounded a corner—one of the one-pointers, humanoid shape, glowing red eyes. It raised an arm, some kind of projectile weapon powering up.
Izuku's fingernails extended mid-sprint.
The transformation was seamless after months of practice. Keratin shifted to obsidian-black, growing six inches in a heartbeat. Diamond-hard from the industrial gem he'd consumed weeks ago, razor-sharp from the volcanic glass he'd eaten just yesterday. His teeth sharpened subtly, jaw structure shifting to accommodate a stronger bite. Eyes dilated to better track movement.
Gluttony's gift: consume, adapt, enhance.
The robot fired. Izuku ducked under the projectile without breaking stride and closed the distance in three bounding leaps. His claws caught the metal plating at the shoulder joint—found the weak point instantly, predatory instinct guiding his strike—and tore.
The robot's arm separated from its body in a spray of sparks and hydraulic fluid. Izuku pivoted, brought his other hand around, and carved through the torso with surgical precision. Metal peeled like fruit skin. Circuits snapped. The robot collapsed in pieces, red eyes fading to black.
One point.
Izuku dropped to a crouch over the remains, jaw unhinging slightly as Gluttony surged forward. His teeth sank into the metal plating—bit through it like it was cardboard—and he swallowed a chunk of steel alloyed with something else, something that made his teeth tingle.
Tungsten, Gluttony identified, pleased. Heavy. Dense. Useful.
The trait settled into his body like a key finding its lock. Tungsten density available now, ready to be channeled into strikes that would hit with devastating weight.
Izuku looked up from his meal and found three examinees frozen at the corner, staring at him with identical expressions of horror and fascination.
He wiped his mouth and stood, metal still clenched between his teeth. Swallowed it. Offered them a nod—polite, professional—and launched toward the next robot before they could process what they'd seen.
Behind him, someone screamed. Not in fear. In determination. The exam had truly begun.
The robots fell like wheat before a scythe.
Izuku carved through Battle Center B with methodical efficiency, each kill faster than the last as he refined his technique. Claws through joints. Teeth through plating. Quick consumption of key materials to expand his arsenal of traits.
Five robots down. Ten. Fifteen.
Other examinees had scattered through the fake city, claiming their own territories, racking up their own points. Explosions echoed from different districts. Robots floated into the air. Beams of light flashed as they destroyed robots.
Izuku ignored all of it and focused on the hunt.
A two-pointer charged from an alley, treads grinding against pavement. Izuku met it head-on, channeling elephant strength into a palm strike that dented its armor. His claws found purchase in the gap, tore sideways, exposed the core. One bite of the power cell—electrical energy crackling across his tongue—and the robot died.
Delicious, Gluttony purred. More. Need more.
"Greedy," Izuku muttered, but he was already moving toward the next target.
That's when he heard it.
"DEKU!"
The voice cut through the chaos like a knife. Familiar. Hateful. Impossible.
Izuku turned as an explosion propelled a familiar figure through the air. Blonde hair, red eyes, an expression of rage and confusion that he'd seen a thousand times before.
Katsuki Bakugo.
They made eye contact across the fake street. For one moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them—former childhood friends, bully and victim, the history of a decade compressed into a single shared look.
Then Izuku's expression went flat. Empty. Like he was looking at a stranger.
And he turned away.
"DON'T YOU FUCKING IGNORE ME!" Bakugo blasted toward him, explosions crackling from his palms. "DEKU! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?! YOU DON'T HAVE A—"
A three-pointer robot emerged from around the corner, right in Izuku's path. He didn't break stride. Just shifted trajectory slightly, claws already extended, and tore through it in passing. Metal screamed. Sparks flew. The robot collapsed.
Izuku kept walking.
Bakugo landed where he'd been standing, staring at the destroyed robot with an expression caught between fury and disbelief. "You—since when did you—what the fuck is your quirk?!"
Izuku paused. Looked back over his shoulder. His green eyes met Bakugo's red, and for just a moment, something flickered there—recognition, maybe, or memory of who they'd once been.
Then it was gone.
"Does it matter?" Izuku asked, voice mild. Polite, even. Like he was talking to someone he'd just met. "Good luck on the exam, Bakugo."
He vanished around the corner, leaving Bakugo standing alone in the street with a destroyed robot and a growing sense that something fundamental had shifted in the universe.
What the hell was that?
Bakugo stood frozen, mind racing. Deku. Quirkless, useless, worthless Deku had just destroyed a three-pointer in seconds and looked at him like he was nobody. Like Bakugo didn't matter.
That wasn't how this worked. Deku was supposed to cower. Supposed to stammer and apologize and make himself small. Supposed to acknowledge Bakugo's superiority with every breath.
But that hadn't been Deku. Not the Deku Bakugo knew.
The expensive clothes. The confident posture. The way he moved—fluid, predatory, dangerous. And that quirk, whatever it was, tearing through robots like they were made of paper.
Since when did Deku have a quirk?
Since when did Deku look at him like that—like Bakugo was just another examinee, just another obstacle, just another nobody?
"Fuck that," Bakugo snarled. Explosions erupted from his palms as he launched himself after Izuku. "FUCK THAT! You don't get to ignore me, Deku! You don't get to pretend I don't exist!"
He rounded the corner and found Izuku three blocks away, already engaged with another robot. Destroying it. Consuming it. Adding to his point total while Bakugo wasted time obsessing.
No. Not wasting time. This is important. This is—
This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.
Bakugo blasted toward the nearest robot cluster, channeling his rage into explosive power. If Deku wanted to compete, fine. They'd compete. And Bakugo would prove—once and for all—who was superior.
Even if Deku refused to acknowledge the competition.
Especially if Deku refused to acknowledge it.
In the observation room, UA's faculty watched the exams unfold across dozens of screens.
"Battle Center B is producing interesting results," Principal Nezu commented, paws wrapped around a cup of tea. His voice carried the cheerful tone of someone watching a particularly engaging chess match. "Look at this green-haired boy. Midoriya, correct?"
The screen zoomed in on Izuku as he dispatched another robot with clinical precision.
"His quirk is disturbing," Aizawa noted flatly. The underground hero looked like he'd rather be sleeping, but his eyes tracked Izuku with sharp attention. "Consumption-based transformation? That's rare. And potentially dangerous if he decides human quirks are worth eating."
"His control is impressive, though," Midnight added, leaning closer to the screen. "Look at how precisely he targets the weak points. No wasted movement. Almost like he's fought these before."
"He hasn't." All Might's voice was quiet, strained. He stood at the back of the room, skeletal form hidden in shadow, staring at Izuku's screen with an expression somewhere between guilt and wonder. "He was quirkless. Until recently."
The room went silent.
"Late bloomer?" Nezu asked, head tilting with interest.
"More complicated than that." All Might's hands clenched into fists. "I... I knew him. Told him he couldn't be a hero without a quirk. Then he—" He stopped, the words choking off.
"Then he proved you wrong," Aizawa finished, something that might have been approval in his tone. "Good. Heroes should be wrong sometimes. Keeps us humble."
On screen, Izuku's point total continued to climb. Forty-five. Fifty. Fifty-three.
"The Bakugo boy is trying to compete with him," Midnight observed. "Not going well. Midoriya doesn't seem to care."
"Interesting dynamic," Nezu mused. "One seeks acknowledgment, the other refuses to grant it. I wonder which will break first?"
"My money's on Bakugo," Aizawa said dryly. "The kid's about to have a rage aneurysm."
They watched in silence as the two boys carved separate paths through Battle Center B—one desperate to prove himself superior, the other simply focused on accumulating points.
Then the alarms blared.
"Zero-pointer deployment in three... two... one..."
The ground shook. Even through the screens, the faculty could feel the impact as the massive robots emerged in each battle center.
"Now we see who's really hero material," All Might said softly, eyes fixed on Izuku's screen. "When there's no points to gain and everything to lose."
The zero-pointer emerged like a nightmare given form.
Izuku had been mid-strike on a one-pointer when the ground began to shake. He froze, predatory instincts screaming danger as the tremors intensified. Around him, other examinees stopped fighting, turned toward the source of the disturbance.
Then it appeared around the corner.
Massive. Easily fifty feet tall. More tank than robot, treads grinding pavement to dust as it advanced. No visible weak points. Armor thick enough to shrug off most quirks. And it was heading straight through the center of the city, crushing everything in its path.
"RUN!" someone screamed.
The examinees scattered like startled birds, abandoning their point gains to flee. Smart. Present Mic had said zero points for fighting it—no reward for engaging, every reason to retreat.
Izuku turned to leave and heard it.
A scream. Young, female, terrified.
His head whipped around, tracking the sound. There—half a block away, pinned under debris where a building had partially collapsed. Brown hair. Round face. Uraraka, struggling to free herself while the zero-pointer's shadow fell across her position.
Not our problem, Greed stated flatly. No points. No gain. Leave her.
Agreed, Envy added. Save yourself.
She's nothing to you, Pride said, cold and absolute.
But she wasn't nothing. She was the girl who'd saved him from falling. Who'd smiled like sunshine and offered kindness to a stranger. Who'd worried about him sleeping during the presentation.
She was someone who needed help.
And wasn't that what heroes did?
Izuku's body moved before his mind finished processing. Elephant strength flooded his legs. Diamond-hard claws extended. Predatory instincts sharpened to razor focus.
He launched.
The world became a blur of motion and velocity. Wind screamed past his ears. The zero-pointer loomed larger, larger, impossibly large. Its treads ground forward, seconds away from crushing Uraraka under tons of metal.
Izuku angled his trajectory upward, claws finding purchase on the robot's armor. He climbed in bounding leaps—foot here, hand there, each movement calculated for maximum speed. The zero-pointer's head was the target. The weak point had to be there.
Foolish, Pride observed. But there was something else in the voice now. Not approval, but... consideration. Reckless. Pointless. And yet...
Izuku reached the summit. The robot's head was right there, sensors and processors concentrated in armored housing. He pulled back his fist, channeling every ounce of strength Gluttony had given him—elephant, tungsten density, diamond hardness, pure kinetic force.
And struck.
The impact boomed across Battle Center B like thunder. Metal crumpled. Circuits exploded. Armor plating caved inward under the force of the blow. Izuku's fist buried itself in the robot's head up to the wrist.
Then he pushed.
The zero-pointer's head tore free from its body in a shower of sparks and hydraulic fluid. It toppled backward, massive form crashing to the ground away from Uraraka's position. The earth shook. Dust exploded outward in a massive cloud.
And Izuku fell.
The ground rushed up at terminal velocity. No time to think. Just instinct—cat-like reflexes from Gluttony's stored traits activating automatically. He twisted mid-air, realigned his body, extended claws to catch the wind and slow his descent.
He hit the ground in a three-point crouch, right hand and both feet absorbing the impact. Pavement cracked beneath him. Dust billowed around his form.
Slowly, dramatically—though not intentionally—Izuku looked up.
Uraraka stared at him from her position in the debris. Behind him, the zero-pointer lay in ruins, destroyed in a single strike. Morning sunlight caught on his sweat-slicked skin, made his green hair glow, lit his eyes from within. His claws retracted slowly, obsidian black fading back to normal nails.
He looked, to Uraraka's overwhelmed brain, like every hero she'd ever dreamed of rolled into one impossibly attractive package.
"You okay?" Izuku asked, standing and moving toward her.
"I—you—that was—" Uraraka's brain had short-circuited. Words failed. Her face went nuclear red. "You saved me."
"Yeah." Izuku reached the debris and started lifting it with tungsten-enhanced strength, clearing her path. "Can you move? Anything broken?"
"No, I'm—I'm fine, you just—" She scrambled free, accepting his offered hand up. The contact made her blush deepen impossibly further. "You destroyed that thing in one hit!"
"It was in the way," Izuku said simply. Like destroying a fifty-foot robot was no big deal. Like saving someone with zero benefit to himself was just obvious.
Around them, other examinees emerged from hiding, staring at the scene with identical expressions of shock. The destroyed zero-pointer. The green-haired boy who'd one-shot it. The girl he'd saved looking at him like he'd hung the moon.
And in the distance, standing on a fire escape with explosions dying in his palms, Katsuki Bakugo watched it all with something ugly twisting in his chest.
Deku. Quirkless, worthless Deku had just done something Bakugo hadn't even attempted. Had saved someone. Had been heroic.
Had been everything Bakugo wanted to be and couldn't quite reach.
The alarms signaling the end of the exam blared across the battle center, but Bakugo barely heard them. He just stood there, fists clenched, watching Izuku help the brown-haired girl to her feet with gentle care.
Watching Deku be the hero.
Something inside Bakugo cracked.
And he didn't know if it could be fixed.
"Impressive," Nezu said in the observation room, rewinding Izuku's final moments. "Very impressive. That strike had to be at least fifteen tons of force. Possibly more."
"Rescue points," Midnight declared immediately. "Full marks for that save."
"Agreed." Even Aizawa looked grudgingly impressed. "Kid's got the instincts. Dangerous quirk, but the right mentality."
All Might said nothing. Just stared at the frozen image of Izuku standing over the destroyed zero-pointer, looking every inch the hero he'd claimed he could never be.
I was wrong, All Might thought, the words heavy as stones. Young Midoriya, I was so very wrong.
On screen, Uraraka was still blushing, still holding Izuku's hand, still looking at him like he'd saved the entire world instead of just one girl.
And maybe, in a way, he had.