Aizawa-sensei wasn’t the type to waste time with pep talks or explanations. His instructions were short, clipped, and enough to set the tone for what was about to unfold.
“Four of my strongest,” he said, his scarf draped loosely around his shoulders, eyes already sharp despite the lazy exterior.
“Normally, I wouldn’t group you together—it’s a recipe for destruction. But I need to see something. I need to see the hierarchy.”
His gaze swept over Bakugo, Midoriya, Todoroki, and you before he stepped back into the shadows. “No holding back. No excuses. Don’t destroy the training ground—or I’ll make you regret it.”
That was all it took.
The instant Aizawa disappeared from view, the tension was immediate. Bakugo, already rolling his shoulders, let out a low, guttural scoff.
“Tch. Food chain? Like it’s even a damn question. I’m at the top—rest of you extras are just here to make me look good.” His palms were already sparking, the familiar crackle of nitroglycerin explosions hissing like a warning.
Izuku, across from him, straightened his back and swallowed, fingers twitching slightly as he muttered under his breath, analyzing every possibility.
His freckles stood out against his tense expression. “Kacchan… and Todoroki-kun… plus…”
His eyes flicked to you, measuring. His muttering accelerated, “Explosive offense, precision long-range, and—unpredictability. Strategy has to account for all three. I can’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head violently.
His arms glowed faintly with One For All energy, red lightning starting to spark along his muscles.
Shoto didn’t so much as twitch. He stood perfectly still, his mismatched eyes unreadable. One hand hung loosely at his side, though tiny flares of frost and steam were already starting to rise from his fingertips.
His calm presence wasn’t passive—it was intimidating in its own right, the sense that he was simply waiting for the others to make the first mistake.
And then there was you, the fourth factor in the equation. You could feel the weight of their focus pressing in.
Bakugo saw you as another obstacle to blow past, Midoriya saw you as an unknown variable he had to account for, and Todoroki—Todoroki studied you with that same quiet scrutiny he gave everyone, already calculating where to place you in the battle.
Bakugo barked, teeth bared. “I’ve been dying to crush you extras. Deku, half-and-half, and you—” his eyes cut toward you, smoldering with violent excitement, “—don’t think I’ll go easy just because you’re standing in the same ring. You’re all gonna eat dust.”
Izuku Midoriya stiffened, fists curling at his sides, muttering calculations under his breath. His notebook was nowhere in sight, but you could see the way his lips moved in fragments of analysis.
’Kacchan’s mobility is explosive, fast… unpredictable. Todoroki’s range gives him dominance if he creates distance… if I—no, if they…’ He shook his head sharply, realizing his muttering was spilling into audibility.
Bakugo snapped toward him instantly. “Don’t mumble at me, nerd! I’ll beat the crap out of you whether you’ve got notes or not!”
Todoroki, in contrast, remained still, half-lidded gaze fixed forward. He didn’t waste words. His left side shimmered faintly with frost leaking from his palm, the air around him chilling just from his calm readiness.
His right hand flexed briefly, the faintest shimmer of heat sparking off his skin. He wasn’t posturing like Bakugo, or nervously preparing like Midoriya—he was waiting. Watching. Patient.