Chapter Text
Jiro was still grumbling when they returned to the conference room. It was directed mostly at the torn lower half of her costume pants. The fabric had ripped unevenly when <Shambles> pulled her out of her boots and away from the speaker units, leaving both legs cut off just below the knee in ragged strips.
“They were full-length pants this morning,” Jiro muttered, tugging once at the frayed edge. “Now they look like this.”
“I can create temporary fabric patches, if you would like.” Yaoyorozu offered.
Jiro looked at her, then at the torn fabric again. “Thanks, but no. I’ll live with it until Support fixes them properly.”
Izuku stepped into the conference room behind Yaoyorozu, keeping his eyes carefully lowered. He was tired enough that the room felt too bright, and his stomach still rolled whenever he remembered the final <Shambles>. At least his legs had stopped shaking by the time they reached the conference room.
Melissa looked at him once from her seat near the side of the room, and her expression shifted immediately. The teasing smile came later, but the first thing he saw was concern.
… until her gaze moved to Yaoyorozu. Then back to him and repeated it a few times.
Izuku suddenly felt more tired.
All Might stood at the front of the room, trying to look composed despite the strain in his smile. Recovery Girl had already taken Kacchan away after a sharp examination in the hall. She had not looked pleased. The trap had left him furious enough that two health worker bots had kept close to the stretcher as they guided him away.
The rest of the class watched them with a strange intensity as they took their places. Izuku tried not to shrink under their gazes. He had been stared at before, but this felt different from Aldera’s attention. No one was laughing. No one looked like they were waiting for him to fail.
That almost made it harder.
Uraraka leaned forward, “You two were amazing!”
Izuku’s mouth opened, then closed again. “We were mostly trying not to get blown up.”
“So what? I don’t care, it was amazing,” Kirishima said. “That whole match was intense.”
Several students nodded at once.
“I thought Todoroki freezing the whole building was the wildest one!” Kaminari said, “Then you guys spent your match turning a hallway into a trap while Bakugo tried to blast through everything.”
“It was the closest match,” Sero said. “By far.”
“It didn’t feel close from where I was standing.” Jiro grumbled as she still glared at her ruined costume.
Yaoyorozu bowed her head toward her. “I apologize for the damage to your costume.”
Jiro blinked, then looked faintly uncomfortable. “You didn’t do it. Midoriya did.”
“I’m sorry.” Izuku said, with a grimace
Jiro looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “Green, if you hadn’t done it, I would have kept both of you pinned at the door until the clock ran out. I am annoyed about the pants, not the move.”
All Might’s smile widened.
“An excellent attitude, Young Jiro!”
Jiro winced slightly at the volume.
All Might cleared his throat, then turned toward the monitor as the final match footage loaded behind him. The frozen image showed the hallway shortly after the first explosion. Izuku stood between Yaoyorozu and Bakugo with the nodachi raised, the edge of <Room> glowing faintly across the concrete.
“Our final match featured Team Red as the heroes and Team Violet as the villains,” All Might said. “The hero team won by securing the mock weapon with less than ten seconds remaining.”
A low murmur moved through the class.
“Less than ten?” Ashido asked, “Seriously?”
“Yes,” All Might said. “This was the most nail-biting match of the day, and that is precisely why we will review the decisions that created that result more thoroughly.”
The footage began again and the room watched Bakugo step out of the smoke. His attention was entirely fixated on Izuku. Even without audio, the change in atmosphere was clear.
Melissa’s jaw tightened at the sight.
All Might paused the footage.
“First point,” he said. “Midoriya recognized the immediate threat and used himself as a shield for his teammate before the attack landed. This prevented a double incapacitation.”
Yaoyorozu looked toward Izuku. “He also kept me from landing on my equipment shelf before the match began.”
Several heads snapped to him with curiosity.
“It was a spinal hazard.” Izuku clarified.
Kirishima blinked. “A spinal hazard?”
“A piece of equipment mounted on the lower back could focus impact into the spine if she fell backward,” Izuku said, then realized everyone was listening and forced himself to slow down. “So we removed it before entering.”
“Which meant the first impact did not injure me.”
Then Melissa leaned close enough that only Izuku could hear her. “You really do keep finding ways to impress her.”
Izuku kept his eyes forward. “Mel, please.”
“I am only observing.”
“You are not only observing.”
Melissa leaned back, mercifully quiet, though the look on her face promised this was not over.
All Might resumed the footage.
Sero sat up. “How did that hit him without the sword touching him?”
“I was gonna ask that myself,” Melissa said, frowning. “I don’t think you’ve shown me that move before.”
“Can’t show all of my tricks.” Izuku settled on.
Todoroki’s eyes narrowed with interest as Melissa glared.
“A severing force projected through bounded space.” Tokoyami said sagely.
“That is… one way to describe it,” Izuku said carefully.
Ashido leaned back in her chair. “That explains why Bakugo looked so thrown off.”
All Might lifted one hand for quiet.
“The strike was controlled,” he said. “Midoriya did not use the sharp edge directly against his classmate. The result was blunt impact and costume damage, not a cutting injury.”
Izuku relaxed slightly.
“That said,” All Might continued, turning toward him, “it was still a powerful attack. You must continue restraint.”
Izuku nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
The footage moved on.
“I knew Midoriya’s Quirk was strange, but that sword work is the real deal.” Kaminari said as he stared at the screen.
Ojiro’s attention stayed on the screen. “His stance still looks defensive, but he uses the reach well.”
Yaoyorozu looked pleased at the praise. “He was keeping Bakugo fixed in place while allowing me time to prepare. That was the critical action that led to our victory.”
“I thought you two had some kind of plan going in,” Ojiro said.
“We had a general objective,” Yaoyorozu said. “Avoid allowing Bakugo to dictate the pace, account for Jiro’s reconnaissance, and reach the bomb room quickly if possible.”
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck. “Most of what happened after the first explosion was improvised.”
Yaoyorozu folded her hands in front of herself. “The flour trap was developed after Midoriya created the opportunity.”
“You mean after he threw his arms out?” Sero said.
Izuku winced. “That technique is still experimental.”
Melissa’s eyes narrowed at once. “How experimental?”
“… Moderately?”
“So you came up with it just now?” Todoroki said, clocking him.
“Izuku...”
“I was fine.”
“You don’t typically have the best reputation on determining how ‘fine’ you are...” Melissa deadpanned
All Might cleared his throat, and Izuku sat straighter.
The footage showed <Heatsink> activating. Bakugo recoiled as the corridor dropped in temperature. Izuku turned and ran. Yaoyorozu pulled him behind cover, though no cameras could see them at the moment. The packets burst, and a cloud of fine white powder filled the hallway.
All Might paused the footage before the spark.
“Yaoyorozu,” he said. “Explain your intent here.”
Yaoyorozu straightened. “The powder was finely ground flour. I intended to create visual obstruction and hesitation. Bakugo’s Quirk relies on controlled ignition of nitroglycerin-like sweat. A powder cloud near an active ignition source creates an obvious hazard, so I expected him to stop using his Quirk long enough for us to reposition and attack.”
She glanced toward the monitor, her expression tightening slightly.
“I did not expect him to ignite it after seeing the cloud.”
The room quieted.
“That, my Young Zygotes, is probably the most important lesson to learn today,” he said, as Izuku recoiled at the nickname. “Yaoyorozu’s plan was based on a deterrence that a reasonable opponent should have recognized and avoided triggering.”
The footage resumed.
Bakugo’s spark flashed through the haze.
The flour ignited.
All Might paused the footage again.
“Young Yaoyorozu’s follow-up was excellent,” he said. “Once the hazard was triggered, she didn't freeze. She adapted, closed the distance, and secured the capture before Bakugo could reestablish control.”
Yaoyorozu bowed from her seat. “Thank you, All Might.”
“You also protected your teammate,” Izuku added. “The blanket reduced exposure to the flare and pressure.”
Yaoyorozu looked at him.
Her expression held relief, but also the lingering discomfort of knowing how close the plan had come to going wrong in a different way.
All Might turned back toward the class.
“This is one of the central lessons of today. A good plan can still produce danger if an opponent responds aggressively or irrationally enough. Heroes must prepare for that possibility without assuming they can control every variable.”
Kashiko nodded slightly from her seat. “That part that made it difficult to watch… like a cringe comedy.”
“Yeah,” Kirishima said, quieter than usual. “That was rough.”
Kaminari leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I thought he was going to keep fighting even after that.”
“He tried,” OJiro said. “All Might just called him out so he had to stop.”
All Might resumed the footage until the announcement of Bakugo’s capture.
Then the monitor changed to the fourth floor hallway.
Jiro jumped at the announcement and shifted uncomfortably when the screen showed her braced near the mock bomb, both jacks connected to the boot speakers.
“Here comes my part.”
All Might looked toward her. “And what an important part it was!”
Jiro blinked.
“Young Jiro established an excellent area denial position,” All Might said. “With limited time remaining, she forced the hero team into a narrow approach, controlled the entryway, and used support equipment effectively.”
Jiro’s shoulders eased a little despite her annoyance.
“Against most opponents, that would have won the match.”
Jiro glanced toward Izuku, then back to the screen. “Midoriya’s Quirk was the worst possible match for that setup, wasn’t it?”
“Your attack was still effective.” Izuku assured her. “If I had needed to cross the doorway normally, we would have lost. I was barely able to use <Shambles> as it was.”
“Even with the shield, I could not have advanced far enough before time expired.” Yaoyorozu added, “Your position forced us into a single narrow solution.”
Jiro looked down at her shortened pants, then back toward the monitor. “I guess that helps a little.”
All Might looked pleased by that.
The final sequence played. Yaoyorozu rushed the doorway behind the shield. The sonic blast struck hard enough to shove her back. Izuku slid behind her, saw Jiro, and activated <Shambles>.
Onscreen, Jiro appeared in the doorway with her jacks snapping loose from the speakers.
She grimaced. “And that is when the pants ripped.”
Kaminari opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. Jiro noticed and gave him a flat look anyway.
All Might let the footage continue until Izuku’s hand struck the mock bomb. Then he stopped it there.
“Team Red’s victory came from coordination,” he said. “Not a perfect plan. Because a perfect plan rarely survives contact with the field. Midoriya and Yaoyorozu adapted to each other quickly, communicated under pressure, and trusted each other’s judgment.
That is the lesson I want you all to take from this match. Raw power was present. So was versatility. So was strong defense. None of those alone decided the outcome.”
His gaze moved briefly toward the empty seats where Kachan and Asui would have been.
“Teamwork is not simply standing near another person. It is adjusting when the other person moves, trusting when they see something you do not, and accepting that their strengths may solve problems yours cannot.”
All Might smiled again, broad and proud.
“For overall tactical contribution, adaptability, and decisive objective support, the MVP of the final match is…” The room held its breath. “YAOYOROZU!”
Applause filled the room almost immediately.
Yaoyorozu’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yes!” All Might said. “Young Midoriya contributed greatly, but you prepared the flour deterrent, protected your teammate, captured one villain, and executed the final entry shield that allowed him to reach Jiro.”
“You earned it,” he said, before he could second-guess himself.
Yaoyorozu looked toward him, startled by the enthusiasm. Her expression softened.
“Thank you,” she said.
Izuku turned back toward the front before his face could get any warmer.
Momo’s brow furrowed slightly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Izuku said too quickly. “Just tired.”
Jiro, unfortunately, had very good hearing. Her expression shifted, but she did not say anything.
♣ ♥ ♠ ♦
The girls’ locker room was quieter than Melissa expected.
That was probably because everyone was tired. The battle trial had dragged a lot out of them. Even Mina, who was constantly filling silence, merely sat on the bench with her elbows on her knees.
Melissa stood in front of her open locker with her uniform blouse in her hands and kept seeing Ojiro’s tail sweep her legs out from under her.
Fifth place in the QAT had already bothered her but the match made it so much worse. She could accept that she had limits and that three percent was three percent, no matter how angry she became about it. What she could not accept was charging into a fight like an idiot and getting taken apart.
And that wasn’t even the worst part.
The others might not have noticed but Melissa knew Uncle Might.
He had praised Ojiro properly. He had praised Ochako too, and he had been right to do it. When he spoke about Melissa, though, she could hear the carefulness under his voice. He was not angry in the way Bakugo got angry. He would never snap at her for losing.
That almost made it worse.
He was disappointed.
He had given her his freaking <Alter>, and she had been taken down so easily that calling it a fight felt generous.
Melissa’s fingers tightened around the blouse and an irritated voice cut through her thoughts.
“Aw man,” Kyoka said. “I look like I lost a fight with a weed whacker.”
She stood beside her locker, freshly changed and dressed from the waist up but held the ruined lower half of her costume. The fabric had torn below the knees in uneven lengths, leaving numerous frayed edges. Her boot speakers sat on the bench beside her, one housing cracked and the other missing a side panel.
Mina leaned sideways to look. “It is kind of bad.”
“Thanks,” Kyoka said flatly.
“I mean bad in a sympathetic way,” Mina added, though it didn’t help much.
Melissa closed her locker halfway and glanced at the damaged support gear. “Yeah, I think it was the electronics in the boots. It's a bit complicated for him to move with <Shambles>.”
Kyoka turned toward her. “Complicated how?”
Melissa hesitated.
Yaoyorozu looked up from where she had been buttoning her uniform jacket. She was composed, as usual, but her attention sharpened at once. Compared to Ochako who perked up so fast it was like she had brightened like a lightbulb. Melissa shouldn’t be surprised since their attention tended to be drawn whenever Izuku was brought up.
“You seem to know a lot about his Quirk,” Yaoyorozu said, evenly.
Melissa had to bite back the first answer that came to mind. She was tired enough that even teasing the rich girl would have been exhausting.
“Like I said, we trained together a lot,” Melissa said, keeping her tone light. “We really helped each other learn our <Alters>. My dad tested his, and Izuku helped me with conditioning after mine came in.”
Kyoka sat on the bench and dragged one hand over her face. “So what did his Quirk do to my pants?”
“You actually got lucky.” Melissa said as she glanced at the torn fabric, then at the boots.
“Lucky…” Kyoka deadpanned as her expression went blank.
“Yeah,” Melissa said. “Izuku tries not to exchange himself if he can avoid it. Teleporting two objects is easy, or at least easier. Teleporting another person with an object is tiring. Exchanging himself with an object takes even more than that out of him. He passed out the first time.”
Ochako looked over from her locker, one hand holding the tie she had been trying to straighten. “And two people?”
Melissa grimaced a little. “That is exhausting for him.”
“That still doesn’t explain the pants.”
Melissa looked down at the torn costume again.
“Well,” she said carefully, “he has trouble with two objects, let alone… eight.”
Tooru’s floating blouse shifted slightly as she tilted her invisible head. “Eight?”
Melissa did not answer right away.
She only glanced down at Kyoka’s costume.
The silence changed into a vacuum.
Mina understood first. Her eyes widened, and both arms folded across her chest as if she had suddenly become aware of her own uniform. Ochako went bright red and hugged her blouse tighter against herself. Kashiko, who had been quietly brushing out her hair, froze with the brush halfway through a stroke.
Tooru made a startled sound, then dissolved into a series of giggles that shook her empty uniform and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop.
Kyoka turned red so fast Melissa almost felt bad.
Almost.
“You… y-you gotta be kidding me,” Kyoka said, bringing the pasts up to cover her chest.
“I assure you, unfortunately, I am not.” Melissa said, keeping her face as neutral as she could. “I know this… for a fact.”
Kyoka stared at her.
Melissa sighed and leaned one shoulder against her locker. “He’s gotten better about it. A lot better. Clothes touching him are usually fine because they are actually touching him. His costume, sword, gloves, that kind of thing. When he moves someone else, the <Alter> has to recognize what belongs to them, what they’re holding, what’s attached, what they’re wearing, and what’s just nearby.”
Mina’s blush deepened. “So if he messes up…”
“He can, and has, moved the person and left their clothes behind,” Melissa said.
Tooru’s giggling got worse.
“Oh no.” Ochako said, covering her face with both hands, causing her to float to the ceiling.
Kyoka shut her eyes. “I hate this school.”
“You chose a hero course,” Kashiko said, though her voice was quieter than usual.
Yaoyorozu had gone very still. Unlike the others, she had not blushed. She had only tilted her head, opportunity rather than an intensely embarrassing possibility.
“That is certainly… something,” Yaoyorozu said.
Mina stared at her. “That’s all you have?”
“I am… processing the mechanics.”
“Of course you are,” Kyoka said, still red.
“I do understand the social implications.” Yaoyorozu stammered, looking faintly embarrassed. “I simply meant that his Quirk must involve a very precise distinction between target identity, contact, and associated material.”
Tooru’s giggles softened into a sigh. “Poor Midoriya. He must have been mortified the first time.”
“Oh, he was,” Melissa said, remembering it with… ok looking back it was actually pretty funny now, but she wasn’t quite thinking that at the time. “So was…”
“The streaker?” Mina asked teasingly.
“He is careful because he is terrified of humiliating someone,” she said, avoiding that question like the plague. “He wouldn’t have done so if he thought he had any other choice.”
Kyoka’s expression changed slightly. She was still embarrassed, but some of the heat left her face.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment. “I know. I’m not mad at him for using it.”
There was a pause.
“You’re still mad about the pants,” Mina said.
“I am extremely mad about the pants.”
“At least it only ripped them short.” Ochako added, as she finally returned to the ground.
Kyoka glared at her.
Ochako winced. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” Kyoka said, voice dry and tired. “I’m going to focus on gratitude and not think about the other option.”
Then Melissa looked down at her own uniform blouse again, and the familiar sourness returned.
Yaoyorozu noticed because of course she did.
“Shield,” Yaoyorozu said softly, “are you all right?”
Melissa glanced at her. “Yeah. Just tired. First day of heroics, humiliating loss, support department chaos, lots of new people. Normal things.”
“Your performance was not humiliating,” Yaoyorozu said, surprisingly sympathetic.
Melissa let out one short breath. “Lying doesn’t make me feel better...”
No one answered. The locker room’s earlier humor evaporated.
“For what it’s worth,” Jiro started “Ojiro made you look bad because he’s good, not because you’re not.”
“You have had only a short time to train with your Quirk.” Yaoyorozu said, stepping closer. “Ojiro has likely practiced martial arts for years. The difference in experience showed. That is correctable.”
Melissa wanted to argue.
She had One for All. She had Uncle Might’s trust. She had no business making that kind of mistake. She had no business charging like raw power would solve everything.
But Yaoyorozu had said it without pity. That made it harder to reject.
Ochako nodded quickly. “And you still placed fifth in the assessment.”
“You sound like my dad.”
Ochako flushed. “Is that bad?”
“No,” Melissa said, softer than before. “It’s not bad.”
Mina leaned back against her locker, arms folded loosely now. “Also, if you’re embarrassed, welcome to the club. I got burned by a laser ricochet because none of us knew invisible girl could make light freak out.”
Tooru’s invisible head dipped… or at least Melissa assumed it did. “I’m still sorry.”
“I know,” Mina said, more gently rubbing Tooru’s back. “I’m not blaming you. Or Aoyama, it wasn’t anyone's fault.”
Kyoka lifted the torn hem of one pant leg. “And I’m wearing evidence that Midoriya’s teleportation apparently doesn’t have a respect for tailoring.”
Melissa looked at her for a second. Then joined the laughter, quietly despite herself.
Kyoka’s mouth curved a little, reluctant but real.
Yaoyorozu watched them with a small, thoughtful expression. Melissa could practically see the questions forming behind her eyes.
“He trusts you,” she whispered so only Yaoyorozu could hear.
“Pardon?” Yaoyorozu asked as her head snapped towards her.
“Izuku,” Melissa said. “He trusted you in that match. He doesn’t do that as easily as he wants to.”
Yaoyorozu’s fingers touched the cuff of one sleeve. “I trusted him as well.. it was easy.”
Kyoka spoke up, picking up one damaged boot speaker and turning it over in her hands. “Support is definitely going to lecture me.”
“They might be more interested in the data,” Melissa said. “The speakers’ bursts held longer than I thought they would.”
Kyoka glanced at her. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
Mina clapped her hands once, softer than usual but enough to pull the room back toward motion. “Okay. We should get dressed before Midnight comes looking for us and makes it weird.”
“She does have a talent for that,” Yaoyorozu said wistfully.
Kashiko opened her locker again. “Then we should hurry.”
Melissa buttoned her blouse and tried to let the knot in her chest loosen.
She had lost badly. She would have to sit with that and learn from it, whether she liked how it felt or not.
♣ ♥ ♠ ♦
The next morning, Izuku could tell Melissa was still upset before they reached the classroom.
She had been polite, had answered when spoken to, and only made one dry comment about the train being crowded. That should have meant she was recovering.
Except she had not really smiled. Not in any way that reached her eyes.
Izuku kept noticing it as they reached the first-year hall. He told himself not to hover. Melissa hated being hovered over almost as much as she hated people pretending she was fragile. Still, every time she went quiet, his mind went back to the battle trial.
She had been silent for nearly a full minute after All Might’s review.
That was usually a warning sign.
When they entered Class 1-A, the room was already half full. Kaminari was leaning over Sero’s desk, talking with too much energy for the morning. Ashido had one arm wrapped loosely around Hagakure’s invisible shoulders as she sat in her lap, while Aoyama seemed to still be deciding whether another apology would make things worse.
Jiro was at her desk, one earphone jack plugged into her phone while the other tapped against her knee.
Kacchan was already seated.
Izuku noticed him before he wanted to. Bakugo had one arm folded across his chest, hand in a cast, and his eyes fixed on the front board. There were faint red marks near his collar where the flare had caught him, though Recovery Girl had clearly handled the worst of it.
Melissa saw him too.
Her expression cooled for half a second, then she moved toward her desk without saying anything.
Izuku had just come back from filling his water bottle when Uraraka appeared beside him as she seemed wont to do.
“Midoriya,” she said softly, her voice low enough that it did not carry across the room. “Can I ask you something for a second?”
He blinked, then nodded quickly. “Of course, Uraraka. Is everything okay?”
She glanced toward Melissa, who had taken her seat and was pulling notebooks from her bag.
“It’s about Melissa,” Uraraka said. “Is something wrong with her?”
Izuku’s hand tightened around the water bottle. “She has been in a funk since losing the match yesterday.”
Uraraka’s face softened with concern. “Oh.”
“She knows Ojiro is skilled,” Izuku said quietly. “And Iida was a strong partner for him. But I don’t think it’s helping. She thinks she should have done better.”
Uraraka looked back at Melissa again.
Izuku waited for her to say the automatic kind thing. Something like Melissa was amazing, or she had nothing to be upset about, or everyone lost sometimes. Uraraka was kind enough that he expected it. She had tried to give him points after the entrance exam without even knowing him.
However, she did not defend Melissa. She just pressed her lips together.
Izuku’s stomach sank a little, because that meant Uraraka agreed but didn’t want to say it out loud.
“I don’t think she’s bad,” Uraraka said after a moment, as if she realized how her lack of response sounded. “She’s strong. Really strong. It just looked like… well like she wanted the match to prove something before she knew how to prove it.”
That was painfully accurate.
Izuku looked over at her. “She has a lot of pressure on her.”
“Because of All Might?”
“Partly,” he said, choosing the answer carefully. “Also because she is Melissa. She expects a lot from herself even when nobody else is asking for it.”
Uraraka nodded slowly. Her eyes stayed on Melissa, and something in her expression made Izuku think she understood.
“Should I say something?” Uraraka asked.
Izuku hesitated. “Maybe not yet. I think she would appreciate you treating her normally more than trying to cheer her up.”
Uraraka smiled faintly. “I can do normal.”
Izuku smiled back, though it felt small. “Thank you, Uraraka.”
Before she could answer, the classroom door slid open and Midnight stepped in. Her smile was entirely too bright for homeroom.
“All right, boys and girls,” Midnight said, tapping her clipboard against one palm. “Take your seats before I start assigning morning punishments for loitering with intent to gossip.”
The room shifted at once.
“Everyone, please take your seats in a prompt and orderly fashion. Class is beginning, and we should demonstrate proper respect for Ms. Midnight’s time.”
“Thank you, Iida,” Midnight said, passing him with a pleased little smile. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, even when it sounds like Crimson Flash has entered my classroom*.”
Iida froze for one fraction of a second, then sat down with a crimson face and perfect posture.
Izuku could feel Melissa’s frustration on one side and Bakugo’s simmering irritation on the other. It was like being seated between two unstable chemical reactions, except one of them would apologize afterward and the other would blame him for the explosion.
Midnight set her clipboard on the lectern.
“Before we move into today’s business, we are going to revisit yesterday’s battle trials,” she said. “All Might gave you the heroic review, and now I get to provide the homeroom review.”
Several students shifted in their seats.
“Pink and Green first,” she said. “Aoyama, Shoji, Ashido, Hagakure, all of you gave us a lovely lesson in unexpected Quirk interaction. Ashido, your area denial was strong, and Hagakure, your reflection surprise was not your fault, though I do expect all four of you to remember that in a fight there will always be variables that no one can predict and that it can lead to a very expensive mistake.”
Midnight’s eyes moved across the room.
“White and Indigo,” she continued. “Todoroki, your objective completion was efficient, which I respect, but freezing a classmate with an amphibious heteromorphic quirk on your first day of heroics is not the sort of first impression I recommend cultivating. Kirishima, your discomfort with the lack of a proper fight was honest, but Todoroki’s sister was right, hero work is about results before satisfaction.”
Asui had returned for class, though she still had a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. She gave Todoroki a small blink and said nothing. Todoroki inclined his head, serious enough that Izuku suspected he had apologized more than once already.
Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, still looking a little conflicted.
“Yellow and Black,” she said, and Izuku felt Melissa go still behind him. “Iida and Ojiro, your fundamentals were excellent. Shield, Uraraka, the two of you had power on your side, but when you throw power forward without care it becomes very easy for a disciplined and skilled opponent to redirect.”
Melissa’s fingers curled against the edge of her notebook.
Midnight’s tone softened by a small amount, though the teasing never fully left her voice. “Uraraka, you adapted well after losing your partner, and Shield, your problem was trying to make your Quirk win the fight and not your head. You are older and more mature than your classmates. Act like it.”
Izuku heard the faintest breath leave her nose.
Across the room, Uraraka glanced toward Melissa with concern, then looked down before Melissa could catch her staring.
Midnight turned a page on her clipboard.
“Orange and Blue,” she said. “Sero and Kaminari, your defensive setup was not bad, and I mean that sincerely, so try not to look so wounded before I finish. Unfortunately, you can’t always fortify everything. A sufficiently motivated enemy may decide that architecture is merely an inconvenience rather than an obstacle.”
Sato’s ears reddened.
Kaminari slumped slightly in his seat, while Sero covered his face with one hand though seemed to accept the comment.
“Tokoyami and Sato,” Midnight continued, “you adapted well. Tokoyami, your support and observation kept the approach controlled, and Sato, your direct solution was excellent use of 4D thinking.”
Dark Shadow rose behind Tokoyami just enough to look pleased.
Midnight’s attention shifted toward the center of the room.
Izuku felt Bakugo’s presence beside him start to steam before she even named the teams.
“Now finally, Red and Violet,” Midnight said. “Midoriya and Yaoyorozu, congratulations on giving the observation room its most stressful viewing experience of the afternoon. You had less than ten seconds remaining and somehow still managed to make it look like teamwork instead of two panicking teenagers wearing costumes for the first time.”
Izuku’s face went hot and he glanced over his shoulder. Yaoyorozu looked both pleased and embarrassed.
Midnight’s gaze shifted to Jiro.
“Jiro, your area denial would have won against most teams,” she said. “You controlled the doorway, used your support gear well, and forced the heroes into exactly one workable solution. The pants you won’t stop complaining about were unfortunate, but hero costumes suffer for the job.”
Jiro’s mouth flattened. “Lucky me.”
“That is the spirit.” Midnight said with a smile that showed teeth. She then looked toward Bakugo.
“Bakugo,” she said. “You are powerful, fast, and much more tactically aware than your temper allows people to believe. You also ignored your teammate’s concerns, fixated on Midoriya, triggered an avoidable hazard, and removed yourself from the match before your team could use its strongest defensive position.”
He could feel Melissa looking past him toward Bakugo. Her earlier frustration had not vanished, but it had changed targets.
Midnight’s voice sharpened a fraction.
“You do not have to like your classmates,” she said. “You do have to work with them, listen when they see something you do not, and remember that focusing on a personal grudge is not a battle plan. Just be lucky you all aren’t in 1-B. They have 22 students, they had two teams of three in rotation. Then you would have actually been outnumbered, instead of just choosing to be.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue. It was quiet, but Izuku heard it… and so did Midnight.
Her smile stayed exactly where it was.
“Consider your morning gift,” she said. “That it came with no detention attached.”
No one moved for a second as they processed the blatant threat. Then Midnight clapped her hands once, bright and sudden enough that Kaminari startled in his seat.
“Now that everyone has been properly praised and chastised, we can move on,” she said. “Today we will also deal with one small matter that apparently matters a great deal to first-year classrooms.”
Iida straightened up as if summoned by instinct as Midnight picked up a piece of chalk and wrote two words on the board.
Class Representative
A murmur spread through the room at once.
Izuku looked at the words, then immediately regretted sitting where he did when Melissa leaned slightly toward him.
“Do not even think about hiding behind your notebook,” she murmured.
“I wasn’t,” Izuku whispered back.
“You absolutely were.”
Bakugo made a low sound of irritation in front of him.
“All right, little heroes,” Midnight said. “Before this room becomes a political battlefield, we need a way to decide on a class rep.”