1ST POV It was the last week before the school year ended, and the halls of your junior high were filled with the sound of scraping chairs, shuffling papers, and the faint static of a faulty intercom. Everyone was restless — teachers eager to be rid of the year, students eager to be free. In a school like yours, hope didn’t linger long; it drifted out the cracked windows months ago.

The announcement came that morning. Six Pro Heroes would be visiting to scout for potential candidates for U.A. High School’s Hero Course. At first, no one believed it. Your school wasn’t known for producing prodigies. Most students left with average marks and dull dreams. But when the loudspeaker crackled again, confirming the visit — naming All Might, Eraserhead, Present Mic, Midnight, Hawks, and Endeavor — the building erupted.

The teachers straightened their postures for the first time all year. Dust was wiped hastily from desks. Students were lined up in the auditorium according to year level. It was meant to look impressive, but the old curtains hung limp and uneven, and the stage lights flickered with a tired hum.

The assembly began with your principal’s forced cheer. His voice quivered slightly as he thanked the heroes for “honoring” such a modest school with their presence. He spoke of potential and discipline, though even he seemed unconvinced. Then came the applause — brief, uneven, and strained.

You sat among the third-year students, near the back of the rows marked for thirteen- to fifteen-year-olds. The older students whispered excitedly, their words a blur of gossip and nerves. You kept your eyes on the stage, watching as the six heroes stood behind a long table. Their presence filled the room effortlessly.

All Might, broad and radiant even when still, greeted the crowd with a polite smile. Beside him, Aizawa looked half-asleep, his scarf draped lazily around his shoulders. Present Mic gave a booming introduction that made some students cover their ears, and Midnight chuckled softly beside him. Hawks leaned back in his chair, golden eyes scanning the students like a hawk eyeing a restless flock. Endeavor stood furthest from the microphone, arms crossed, fire-like beard faintly catching the stage light.

The principal explained how the interviews would proceed — a select number of students would be called, one at a time, to a smaller room nearby where the heroes would assess their potential. The announcement of each name sent a wave of chatter through the audience. Some were thrilled, others terrified.

The first few interviews were the school’s pride: top-ranked students with polished smiles and carefully rehearsed introductions. You could hear muffled voices through the auditorium doors as they spoke of their grades, their quirks, their dreams of heroism. When they returned, some looked dazed, others disappointed. One boy came back pale, muttering about how Endeavor’s gaze felt like being set on fire. Another whispered that Midnight had seen right through her “fake confidence.”

The heroes rotated between patience and scrutiny. All Might offered encouragement, asking about heart and resolve. Hawks teased lightly but watched reactions carefully. Aizawa’s tone remained flat, noting every hesitation. Endeavor rarely spoke but when he did, it was cutting — efficient. Present Mic filled silences with laughter, and Midnight softened the edges when nerves threatened to break the students apart.

The crowd thinned as more names were called. Your classmates grew quieter as the afternoon dragged on. The excitement had dulled into tension; the realization that not everyone would leave this hall smiling had sunk in.

You hadn’t been called, of course. Why would you? Your grades were low, your teachers indifferent. You had been invisible all year — easier to ignore than to encourage. Still, you stayed seated, your hands folded tightly in your lap. You told yourself it was just curiosity that kept you there, not hope.

Then a name echoed across the auditorium. Your name.