Chapter Text
Riolu is giddy with excitement as he and Izuku climb the steps to the League building, despite the dense crowd of aspiring trial-goers surrounding them that would typically stress him. Izuku tries not to think of the sheer amount of contestants he’s in direct competition with for just a few slots. There has to be two, maybe three hundred surrounding him, and that is only counting those currently ascending the slope, not those who have already gone ahead or those still trailing behind.
He and Riolu follow the crowd toward a cluster of pop-up tables shaded by canopies, with lines of prospective trainers trailing away from each one. Some chat with friends they arrived alongside, while others frantically flip through notecards in a last-minute attempt at studying. Most like Izuku simply stare at the feet of the contestant in front of them, clearly lost in their own thoughts.
“Hey!”
Izuku jumps, heart leaping up into his throat as he spins towards the owner of the chirpy call.
Ochako flashes an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya.”
“It’s okay,” he says after a breath. “Though, maybe a tap on the shoulder next time?”
“I’ll make sure to remember,” Ochako promises, then leans in a little closer to whisper, “I told the guy behind you that you were saving me a spot in line so that I could skip the wait.”
Behind him, a boy with dark blue hair looms over them, a serious expression fixed on his flat face. He is a good head taller than Izuku with thick glasses, and wears a full suit of all things. Izuku can already see the boy’s neckline begin to stain with sweat from the wait in the sun.
“She’s your companion, yes?” The boy’s voice edges on haughty, and strictly louder than necessary.
Izuku gulps and nods, not quite able to muster a response. The boy considers him for a second before nodding to himself, before flicking his attention to Riolu, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That is your Pokemon, yes?”
“Um.” Izuku wets his lips as his throat goes dry. How does this guy manage to make a series of simple questions feel like an interrogation? “Yes, he - “
“Why is he not in his Poke Ball?” the boy steamrolls on. “It is considered general social etiquette to contain most Pokemon in their Poke Balls, especially in crowded places such as this one.”
It’s also general social etiquette to not grill strangers for information, Izuku groans inwardly. At his side, Riolu squirms, his grip tightening on Izuku’s pant leg. It isn’t the first time someone has asked this question, though most have the courtesy to feign politeness.
“That’s, well…” Izuku fumbles over his words. “That’s because he doesn’t really - “
The boy takes a step closer, leaning closer and staring him down from behind squared glasses. “Furthermore, scanning your roster is part of the check-in process, so your Pokemon will need to be in their Pokeballs regardless, so by having them out, you create unnecessary delays and hold up the line behind you!”
Others in line begin to turn toward them, the conversation easily broadcast by this boy’s projecting voice. Izuku feels his own face grow hot as his words start to abandon him. “That’s - I didn’t mean…I just - “
“Why don’t we let him talk?” Ochako cuts in. Her tone is overly cheery, but there is a coldness beneath it that makes Izuku blink. “I’m sure he has a good reason, if you’d just let him speak.”
The blue-haired boy blinks at Ochako, as if she were an Abra that suddenly teleported into his living room uninvited. It’s as if she’d disappeared from his mind the second she was no longer the subject of his scrutiny.
“Yes, well…” the boy’s shoulders roll back, and his spine straightens even further. “Very well.”
Izuku takes a deep, steadying breath before starting again. That combined with the dissipation of the gathered audience make the words come out easier than before.
“Riolu has pretty bad ball anxiety. He really hates it there, and I don’t ask him to go in unless he has to. I promise he won’t get in the way, though! He’s spent almost all of his life out of his ball.”
The boy takes a moment to process that. Eventually, he nods. “Well, if that is the case then yes. That seems as valid a reason as any.”
Then, bizarrely, he lowers himself into a deep bow. “I apologize for my assumptions.”
Izuku is so jostled by the sudden change in tone that it takes him a moment to respond. “It’s alright.”
Riolu also seems to relax, thoughIzuku can tell by the look on the Pokemon’s face that he is still upset. The boy stands upright again, pushing his glasses all the way back onto the bridge of his nose and glancing off to the side awkwardly.
Eager to distance himself from the entire interaction, Izuku turns back toward the front of the line and does his best to ignore the looming presence behind him. Ochako flashes a smile, but otherwise does not say much else as the line slowly inches forward.
When they finally arrive at the front of the queue, Ochako splits off to the tent on the far right, while Izuku is beckoned forward by a woman behind the table directly ahead.
“Good morning,” she greets with a smile. "Which path are you registering for?”
“Trainer,” Izuku confirms, meeting the woman’s vibrant blue eyes with a forced smile. He is about to grab for his wallet and retrieve his ID when Riolu starts pointing frantically and jumping, a stream of unintelligible gibberish pouring from his mouth.
Izuku squints at the volunteer, then freezes. “Midnight?”
He hadn’t recognized her at first without her official trainer attire, but now that he knows what to look for, there is no mistaking the professional trainer staring back at him. Here, she wears simple utilitarian shorts and a Pokemon League-branded T-shirt rather than her usual battle outfit.
“In the flesh,” the professional trainer confirms with a snarky grin. “Let’s get you checked in, shall we?”
Izuku gulps and nods, stepping closer and finally fishing his ID from his wallet with shaky hands. His brain struggles to process the fact that he is standing feet away from one of the Pokemon League’s top-ranked trainers.
“W-what are you doing here?”
“Forced labor,” she says with a long sigh. “The League commissioner is a real slave driver.”
Izuku forces a chuckle that sounds fake to his own ears. Beside him, Riolu stands on the tips of his toes, trying to reach over the table to offer a handshake.
“I’m joking, in case that isn’t clear,” she clarifies. “I’m one of the mentors this year, and I figured I’d be more use out here than sitting in a crummy old room with grumpy old Aizawa.”
She scans his ID and types something into the computer on the table before handing it back to him.
The name AIzawa rings something like recognition in the back of Izuku’s mind, but he can’t exactly place it. It’s like an itch he can’t quite reach, prickling at his memory and struggling for purchase.
“Look, just a heads-up. You’re probably going to see a fair share of professional trainers today. If you spend the whole time being this infatuated with every one, you’re going to be unable to focus on your own performance,” the trainer says as she types.
Izuku flushes, face going hot as he realizes how much of an obsessed fan he must seem. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,“ she chuckles.”It happens to plenty of folks. Seeing professional trainers for the first time can be overwhelming. I’m just trying to warn you for your own good. Focus as much as possible on your own performance today, okay?”
Izuku nods quickly in understanding.
“Now,” Midnight continues. “If you wouldn’t mind handing over your Poke Balls to scan in your roster, we can get you on your way.”
Izuku reaches for the lone Poke Ball on his holster and hesitates when Riolu flashes him a pleading look. “Does he have to be inside his ball for the scan?’
“Just the Poke Ball he’s registered to is fine,” she assures, flashing a smile to the Pokemon. Izuku ruffles the top of his head. Midnight places the empty ball onto some sort of machine beside the computer, and a quick flash of light later, the process is done.
“There you go,” Midnight says, handing him back his ball, his ID, and a new, fresh sheet of paper. ‘All checked in. Head through the big doors and follow the signs to the exam hall. Good luck!”
“Thank you!” Izuku says.
He departs, following the instructions toward the massive League building’s front doors. The stained-glass Poke Ball looms over him, even larger up close than it had seemed from the city below. Despite that, he can’t help but smile.
He’s closer now than he’s ever been. Just a few more hurdles to climb over.
Izuku Midoriya
Contestant 430
Riolu comes bounding across the waiting room and launches himself at Izuku when his trainer emerges from the written exam room four long hours later. The Pokemon tangles himself around Izuku’s legs, rattling off nonsense in a questioning tone.
“Hey, buddy,” Izuku says, crouching down and ruffling the fur on his partner’s head as he tries to navigate both the flow of the crowd and his fresh encumberment at once. “Yeah, I think I did great. Present Mic was the proctor!”
All things considered, the written exam had been relatively straightforward. Not necessarily easy, as some of the content had required rather deep-cut knowledge, but Izuku had been able to come up with an answer he felt at least relatively confident in for every question.
The content ranged from catching techniques to proper diet and care for different Pokemon. Some came as natural knowledge from a childhood assisting his mother at the Pokemon daycare, while others he only knew from hours of meticulous study and diligent review on the boat on the way to Paldea.
Despite Izuku’s best efforts to not be in the way of the other contestants filing out of the auditorium, he is aggressively pushed to the side and stumbles as someone shoulder-checks him from behind.
“Ack!” Izuku gasps as he staggers, barely managing to keep himself from falling on top of Riolu while a figure blows by and forces himself through the crowd with no regard for anyone else. The spiky blonde slows to a halt after a few steps, and his head flicks to the side, fixing a glare on Izuku that could stop a stampeding Rhyhorn.
Katsuki Bakugo meets Izuku’s eyes, and recognition flashes across his features before flaring into simmering anger. Izuku tightens his grip on Riolu’s shoulder as the Pokemon tries to take a protective step forward.
Not here.
Izuku can only hope the silent message reaches his partner.
Katsuki turns, fully facing Izuku now, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of open disgust and vitriol. He pushes against the flow of the crowd now, posture tightening with each step.
Then, someone steps between them.
Not with a dramatic shout of protest, but with a simple outstretched arm. The boy moves into the space Katsuki is trying to claim, posture easy and confident, as if he knows he has every right to stand there.
The boy is around Izuku’s age with hair split cleanly down the middle between white and red. An angry, red burn scar mars one side of his face. His uniform is from one of the many Trials preparatory academies and neatly pressed, and two Poke Balls sit on the holster at his hip.
Everything about him is controlled and icy.
“If you want to prove something,” the boy says, voice flat and almost uninterested. “Do it in the arena.”
Katsuki’s glare snaps from Izuku to the newcomer. “The hell did you say?”
The boy does not flinch. “This isn’t a battlefield. Save it for later.”
Katsuki’s lip curls. “You got a problem, half and half?”
The boy’s expression shifts by just a fraction, and something like recognition flashes behind his cold stare.
“You’re blocking the hallway and causing a scene,” he says.
Katsuki looks like he is one wrong word away from exploding. His hand twitches toward his belt and the lone Poke Ball there, and Riolu bristles hard enough that Izuku has to tighten his grip again.
Then Katsuki clicks his tongue. “Tch.”
The blonde sharply turns on one heel and stalks away, blending into the departing crowd after just a few steps. Izuku lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Under his hand, Riolu relaxes ever so slightly as well, though his glare remains fixed on the gap Katsuki disappeared into.
“Thank you,” Izuku says, turning toward the boy and extending a hand.
The boy looks at him as though only just now remembering Izuku was part of the exchange. He looks down at the outstretched hand, but does not take it. “I wasn’t doing it for you.”
Izuku blinks, letting his hand fall to his side. He studies the other boy for a second, thrown by the strange mix of calm and intensity. Up close, he looks composed almost to the point of being aloof and distant, but there’s an odd pressure behind him that Izuku can’t quite place. The boy glances down at Riolu.
“Your partner has good instincts.”
Before Izuku can so much as ask what he means, the boy turns on one heel and follows after Katsuki, away from the exam hall. Izuku, still recovering from the last thirty seconds, glances down at Riolu and frowns.
As Izuku makes his way to the gymnasium with the rest of the crowd, he finds himself thinking back on the day’s events. The interaction with Ochako and the navy-haired, pretentious boy outside of registration, then the run-in with Katsuki just now and that boy stepping in. Between the two interactions, he finds one thing in common. Something that bugs him more than it ought to.
Why can’t I fight my own battles? Both times, someone else had to come in and save me.
Attempting to shove the thought aside, Izuku and Riolu move with the flow of the crowd towards the gymnasium.
Prospective trial-goers squeeze shoulder-to-shoulder across the main floor like a herd of Miltank and Tauros, packed tightly enough that Izuku has to keep one hand on Riolu’s shoulder to make sure they don’t get separated. At the head of the room stands a small stage with a lectern and microphone. Above it hangs a massive screen, currently displaying a red-and-white grid of 128 blank spots.
Only after the press of bodies and accumulating heat and stink of sweat becomes uncomfortably noticeable does a distinctive form emerge from behind the curtain at the back of the stage.
The entire room falls silent as Endeavor, the current top-ranked trainer in the League, makes his way to the lectern. The tall, burly, red-haired man adjusts the microphone, blasting unpleasant feedback across the gymnasium and killing any lingering conversation.
“Welcome, this year’s prospective Trainers,” Endeavor says flatly, clearly reading from a script. His sharp glare that sweeps across the crowd makes it painfully obvious that he would rather be anywhere else. “You have completed the written exam. The results have been tabulated, and the top 128 scorers will pass onto the second phase of tryouts.”
The entire gymnasium takes a collective, bated breath and the screen changes.
Each grid slot flips over like a card, revealing the photo and name of every contestant who passed the written exam portion. For a brief moment, the room is silent as everyone searches the list.
Then, the shouting starts.
Cheers of triumph, cries of relief, pained sounds of disappointment, and angry protests from those that cannot find their names all meld together into an overwhelming cacophony in seconds. Izuku scans the board as quickly as he can, anxiety spiking with every slot that is not his.
Katsuki passed, naturally. The red-and-white haired boy from the hallway passed, too. His name is Shoto Todoroki, which feels familiar, though Izuku doesn’t have the presence of mind to linger. Riolu strains beside him, trying to see through the crowd. Izuku is about to pick him up and place him on his shoulders for a better view when he finally spots it.
About halfway down the list, next to an unflattering photo at least two years old, is his name.
“We passed,” he breathes. He looks down at his partner. “Riolu, we passed!”
Riolu breaks into a wide smile and starts hopping up and down, tugging excitedly at Izuku’s pant leg. Izuku feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, sheer relief at clearing the first hurdle washing through him like a euphoric wave.
At the front of the room, Endeavor tries to continue his speech, but he is drowned out by the roar of celebration, despair, and protest.
“Enough!”
Endeavor’s anger cracks through the gymnasium, just enough edge to it that Izuku isn’t sure whether the volume comes from the speakers amplifying his voice, or the man’s lungs themselves. The room quickly grows quiet.
“I understand many of you may be upset with your performance,” the Fire-type specialist continues, voice hard. ‘The fact remains that your peers outperformed you. You have only yourselves to blame. Those who have not made the cut for the second phase will be escorted from the building. After this speech concludes, exit through the doors you entered from.”
A few dissatisfied murmurs ripple through the crowd, but nothing more. Endeavor presses a button on the remote in his hand, and the screen shifts again. The portraits are arranged into sixty-four pairs of images with a small ‘X’ between each set and a number beside every matchup.
“Those that passed, congratulations,” Endeavor continues. “You are not yet past the final hurdle. Everyone remaining in this room is on the trainer path of the Trials, which means the second phase of your test consists of one-on-one battles against each other. Your matchups have been randomized in the interest of fairness.”
His crimson eyes scan over the crowd. For half a second, Izuku thinks they pause somewhere near the middle of the crowd before the trainer continues. “Performance in these matches will determine the twenty passing candidates. Winning is not enough on its own. You must demonstrate exceptional skill, control, and battle sense if you are to pass onto the Trials themselves.”
As Endeavor explains, Izuku searches the screen for his portrait once more. When he finally finds it, relief hits him first.
At least it’s not Katsuki.
Then, he recognizes his opponent and a rock sinks into his stomach. His opponent is Shoto Todoroki. The one who stepped between him and Katsuki like it was nothing. Only then does he finally recognize the name, in the presence of Endeavor on stage.
“The number next to each matchup is the practice field where your battle will take place,” Enji Todoroki says. “Those who passed, exit through the northern doors and make your way to your designated arena. That is all. You are dismissed.”
The gymnasium explodes into motion around Izuku, but he can’t bring himself to move a muscle. His opponent is Shoto Todoroki.
His opponent is Endeavor’s son.