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Shouta arrived early and found a dark corner with a good line of sight to the various monitors that took up almost the entirety of the room's back wall. He was not among those selected to award Rescue points this year, so he had the freedom to observe where and how he wanted. The only requirement, of course, was that he had to observe at all. Other than the long hours involved, he didn’t really mind. These would be his students, after all. It was logical to see how they performed.
There were few things that Shouta loved more than teaching at UA, despite what his outward attitude might lead others to believe, but that didn’t make him unaware of the school’s flaws. He saw them even more clearly now than when he was a student, but as a teacher, he had the ability to correct certain failings of the institution before they resulted in disaster.
Such as the Entrance Exam.
Shouta had expelled more students in his short tenure at UA than any other teacher. Students that passed the entrance exam but were not—for one reason or another—cut out to be heroes, were sent home or moved to General Studies after Shouta assessed their potential. Because the Entrance Exam didn’t grade someone on their ability to think in a crisis, or to minimize collateral damage; it didn’t grade someone on their reasons for being a hero, or how someone behaved in a position of power. The only thing the Entrance Exam graded someone on was their ability to render a robot non-functional and to help others, though the examinees weren’t told about Rescue points prior to receiving their acceptance letters.
As his coworkers trickled in, Shouta nodded to a few, but otherwise remained silent. The last through the door was Principal Nedzu and the newest addition to the staff, All Might. Japan’s—and arguably the world’s—number one hero joining the teaching staff at UA was another of those flaws Shouta worried he’d have to correct, but he trusted Nedzu to have a good reason for the man’s presence. He’d withhold judgment for now.
“Welcome everyone!” the principal chirped happily. “Take your seats, get comfortable, and prepare yourselves. The UA Practical Entrance Exam is about to begin!”
The setup was the same as it had been since Shouta had joined the staff, and probably before then as well. Live feeds during the mock battles would display on the monitors, a computer with a highly advanced algorithm—developed by Nedzu, himself—would count Villain points in real-time, while the teachers would watch for potential problems that would necessitate stopping the test. Once the test was done for the students, the proctors would make their way to the observation room, and then the long and arduous task of allocating Rescue points would begin. The feeds from one testing ground at a time would be replayed again and again until everyone was satisfied that all possible Rescue points had been awarded, and then they’d move on to the next testing ground and the whole process would begin again. It was too much to do all in one day but didn’t normally take more than three. Shouta would be there for all of it, even though he wasn’t grading Rescue points because he was the homeroom teacher for the incoming class 1-A. He had more than a passing interest in who’d make the cut.
Most of the teachers focused all their attention on the flashy quirks, the so-called heroic quirks, and Shouta didn’t fault them for it. He could, but he won’t. The Entrance Exam is designed to showcase those exact types of quirks, just as the Heroics profession is; it’s logical that they would focus on what the industry wants them to. To an extent, Shouta affords those students attention as well in order to identify potential problems.
As the exam began, there were already a few students who stood out. That wasn’t unusual. The recommendation exam had notoriously strict application requirements, and not everyone with a powerful quirk had the necessary connections or grades to make the cut.
“That’s Todoroki Shouto, isn’t it?” Nemuri murmured watching a boy freeze an entire line of robots in seconds.
“Endeavor’s kid?” Snipe grunted in surprise.
“Indeed!” Principal Nedzu confirmed.
“Shouldn’t that boy be in the recommendation exam?” Snipe asked as the Villain point counter shot up another thirteen points.
“After his father’s arrest, I’m more surprised he’s here at all,” Nemuri reflected. “He can’t have a high opinion of heroes.”
Shouta remembered reading the details of the Endeavor case. It was despicable. He’d agreed readily when the police had asked him to be on-site during the arrest, just in case the former hero decided to resist. Shouta almost hoped he would, just so he could beat the crap out of him. The man hadn’t resisted, confident his legal team and the Hero Commission would be able to get the charges dropped. Overwhelming evidence and public outcry had won out in the end, thankfully.
Nemuri had a point, though. After everything his father had put him through, Shouta wouldn’t have been surprised if the kid never wanted anything to do with heroics. That he was here could be very good or very bad. The last thing Japan needed was another, more powerful, Endeavor. Of course, the youngest Todoroki might not be anything like his father. Shouta would reserve judgment and made a mental note to watch him when he made it into 1-A.
“Looks like Todoroki’s got competition for first place,” Maijima commented after a rather large explosion on one of the monitors triggered a twelve Villain point jump for another student.
“Bakugou Katsuki,” Ishiyama read calmly. “His quirk is impressive.”
Shouta watched as the kid used his explosions to move himself through the air before slamming into another two-pointer, reducing it to scrap in less than a second, before blasting off to his next target.
“He’s a juggernaut.” Maijima whistled, impressed.
The kid’s control and use of his quirk were good, but Shouta didn’t like that he’d endangered another student who was a little too close to his explosion. The redhead’s quirk protected him from the blast, but Bakugou shouldn’t have put the other boy at risk in the first place. Situational awareness and collateral damage lessons would be paramount for the blonde.
Chatter from the various teachers washed over Shouta as he focused on the monitors. At the five-minute mark, there were only a few students who hadn’t scored at least a few Villain points. As the minutes continued to tick by, that number decreased until there were only two names left at zero points by the time Nedzu released the zero-pointer robots. There were always a handful of applicants that failed to score any points, usually those with quirks that were rendered completely useless against non-living opponents. Shouta liked to keep an eye on them during the intensive review that followed the live viewing, assessing their potential to move up to heroics when a spot—almost inevitably—opened in his class.
The release of the zero-pointer bots was also an important moment as it held the most potential for something to go wrong. Shouta knew it was meant to test their fight or flight response, as well as offer a chance for hefty allocation of Rescue points, but he always worried one day the destruction would cause a student irreparable harm. Collapsing buildings were dangerous, frequently fatal; it was a rational concern.
On most of the monitors, all they could see were students running from the gargantuan robots, but there were a couple of exceptions. In Ground E, the robot was halted in its tracks as a massive glacier erupted from Todoroki Shouto’s right side, encasing the bot entirely before it could make it more than a few blocks into the city. Very impressive. The robot wasn’t destroyed, but it was immobilized, effectively removing the threat. In Ground C, a student—Uraraka Ochaco, according to her file—was trapped under a large slab of concrete directly in the robot’s path. Their programming would prevent the girl from being crushed by the robot, but the students didn’t know that. Shouta could see the pain and fear on the girl’s face as she struggled. A second student—Midoriya Izumi—slid into view and exchanged quick words with Uraraka before getting onto her back and using her legs to lift the concrete slab enough to allow the trapped girl to use her quirk. The concrete slab went sailing through the air to hit the zero-pointer in the head. It did minimal damage to the bot, but that didn’t seem to be the goal. Instead, Midoriya helped the previously trapped Uraraka to her feet and helped her evacuate.
Shouta was impressed with Midoriya’s quick actions and sound thinking. She was also one of the two remaining students with zero Villain points, which Shouta found odd considering the girl was equipped with a few weapons. If she knew how to use them—and she’d have to be at least marginally proficient to get them approved for the exam—she would have had little trouble with the robots. He pulled her file from the stack, reading it curiously as the exam came to an end.
Midoriya Izumi, quirk Soul Strings. Its description was interesting and Shouta could see it being beneficial in a number of applications, though combat wasn’t one of them. The girl knew it too if her weapons were any indication. She had excellent grades, but a note in her file from her 3rd-year homeroom teacher that she had “problems with authority,” and a list of detentions for “antagonizing her peers” in her first year. Normally, that would be enough to potentially bar her application, but Midoriya Izumi also had a letter of recommendation from All Might, of all people.
That caught Shouta’s attention and the underground hero glanced up from the file to look at the number one hero. The man was in his emaciated form—swimming in his horrific mustard yellow pinstripe suit—and chatting quietly with Nedzu as the staff waited for the exam proctors to join them. Shouta hadn’t watched All Might during the exam, but he made a mental note to gauge his reactions to Midoriya’s performance when they reviewed the footage. The letter in Midoriya’s file was short, barely a paragraph, but it stated that All Might had met the girl briefly after a villain attack and had been impressed by her intelligence, heroic spirit, and determination in the face of adversity.
Even as short as it was, such a letter from Japan’s Symbol of Peace would have guaranteed the girl a shot at UA. Shouta wasn’t the school board or the Hero Commission, however, and he was not so easily swayed. If she had behavioral issues, that could be detrimental in the field, and Shouta would expel her before that became a problem.
The door to the observation room opened and the teachers that had been proctoring the exam made their way inside. Hizashi waved cheerfully to a few of the staff but made directly for Shouta. The energetic blonde bumped his shoulder against Shouta’s as he took up his position at his side.
Midoriya had been in Hizashi’s zone; he handed her file to his partner. “Remember anything about this one?”
The Voice hero flipped the file open with a hum and smiled, “Oh yeah, the little listener was first through the gate. Took off as soon as the doors opened. She catch your attention in a good way or a bad way?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” Shouta mumbled.
Hizashi laughed quietly at Shouta’s pain.
The next couple hours were a grueling, repetitive monotony of the same ten minutes seen from various angles as they shifted focus from student to student, distributing Rescue points and analyzing the potential of each applicant in the first two battlegrounds.
Finally, they came to Ground C and, as Hizashi had stated, Midoriya was the first through the gate. Frustratingly, she was not the first applicant up for evaluation in her zone, and she left the camera’s view quickly. As he watched the footage from Ground C again and again, Shouta noticed something interesting. Midoriya was everywhere. The girl made an appearance assisting the evaluee at least once for ten out of the first fifteen students they reviewed.
Then it was Midoriya’s turn.
The camera followed her this time as she raced through the gates and expertly climbed her way up the side of a building. There she paused, unmoving for several moments until her head snapped quickly to her left and she sprinted, vaulting over rooftops and then down a fire escape to catch the arm of a robot in a cross block before the faux villain could hit another student lying prone on the ground. She’d drawn her sai so quickly Shouta had almost missed it, but her form was good and she didn’t appear to be struggling. Once the other student was on his feet, she disengaged the bot and stepped aside for him to claim the takedown and the points before scaling the building once more. This pattern repeated for the whole of her exam. Midoriya never tried to destroy a robot, never attacked unless it was in defense of another, but Shouta could tell that her skill with her weapons was advanced. Even more impressive were her parkour skills. Shouta utilized parkour and freerunning himself, he could see the proficiency with which she navigated in the urban environment.
By the end of her review, Midoriya had accumulated 75 Rescue points, putting her in third place overall behind Todoroki Shouto and Bakugou Katsuki.
A low whistle from the blonde hero at his side showed that Shouta was not the only one impressed. “That may be the most Rescue points I’ve ever seen from a single student.”
“It is,” Shouta confirmed. He’d have to review scores from the years before they’d joined the staff, but he was willing to bet Midoriya had beaten the current standing record.
Shouta glanced over to the Symbol of Peace. The man was smiling proudly, chatting quietly with Nedzu, one hand absently tapping at a spot just above his heart. As Shouta watched, the principal said something that made All Might’s eyes harden in resolve and shake his head firmly. It was an intriguing exchange, but not one Shouta could decipher without more information.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t given time to dwell on it further. As the video for Ground C started at the beginning once more, Shouta set Midoriya’s file to the side and focused his attention on the screen. There were still more students to review, after all.
They called it a day after finishing up Ground C, and Shouta waved Hizashi on, stating he’d meet him at home in a bit. Shouta wanted to talk to Nedzu first. Happily, the stoat was no longer with All Might when Shouta tracked him down as he neared his office.
“Ah, Aizawa. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The principal asked as Shouta fell into step with him.
“Midoriya.”
Nedzu smiled knowingly. “I thought she did exceedingly well, considering her strategy.”
“Her strategy is what concerns me,” Shouta grumbled. “Despite being entirely capable, she refused to claim any villain points. The rescue points aren’t public knowledge, but I noticed a recommendation letter in her file from All Might.”
“You suspect All Might disclosed classified information to a potential applicant?”
Shouta frowned. “It would explain how she knew about the rescue points.”
“Ah, but there’s the fallacy in your logic, Aizawa. You assume that she knew,” Nedzu chirped.
“You believe she didn’t?” Shouta challenged. It would have required years of training to reach the level of skill that Midoriya had shown during her exam. He found it highly illogical to assume the girl would have purposefully wasted the opportunity she’d been working toward for so long.
“I believe that All Might did not tip Midoriya off to the nature of the point system. He described his encounter with the young lady to me in detail and while she did mention she wished to join the Hero Course here at UA, she asked no questions regarding the exam. Only whether or not he believed she could be a hero.”
“So is she relying on the recommendation of the number one hero to secure her spot?”
Nedzu chuckled. “Midoriya is unaware that All Might wrote that recommendation letter. In fact, his answer to her question was no.”
Shouta stopped, aghast. “Seriously?”
“Her quirk, while interesting, does not have any practical combat applications. Midoriya, herself, admitted this, and All Might tried to suggest she seek a career in law enforcement instead to keep her out of direct combat,” Nedzu supplied. “A mistake he has since seen the error of, thus the letter in her file.”
“So she trains for years to become a hero only to seemingly throw away her chance during the exam. That isn’t logical.”
“Perhaps Midoriya deduced the existence of rescue points on her own. All Might mentioned the girl was exceedingly intelligent,” Nedzu said this with a gleam in his eye, excited—no doubt—at the prospect of a clever student.
Shouta grunted, unconvinced the Symbol of Peace’s ability to accurately gauge someone’s intelligence when his own appeared to be less than stellar.
“I would have thought you, of all my teachers, would have welcomed the addition of someone like Midoriya into the Hero Course.” Nedzu pointed out, stopping in front of his office door.
“My opinion of the practical exam and its failings has no bearing on my current concerns. If Midoriya deduced the existence of rescue points, fine, but if she acquired the knowledge from another source, that implies UA’s security may be compromised.” Shouta followed the stoat inside as he opened the door to his office. “I would also like to know why she refused to acquire any villain points despite being fully capable. Her motives could be as troubling as her method.”
Nedzu bent down and picked up something off the ground near the door. “It seems Midoriya has left something for me.”
“A manifesto?” Shouta hoped he was wrong.
“I certainly hope so.” Nedzu, apparently, disagreed.
Shouta leaned against the wall as the principal read through the essay quickly, a few delighted or intrigued noises escaping his throat as he read. When he was finished, he happily handed the essay over to Shouta.
Equally dreading and annoyingly curious, Shouta read through the fifteen-page essay detailing Midoriya’s reasoning and opinions regarding her approach to the practical exam. It seemed that she hadn’t deduced the existence of rescue points, but felt strongly enough about the biases inherent in the exam to risk her acceptance anyway. One section, in particular, stood out to Shouta as he read: A system designed to test only the mettle of the arm rather than the strength of the heart does not create heroes. Only conflict. The goal of Heroism isn’t war, it’s service.
Midoriya’s words were passionate, her arguments sound, and the essay was well organized including a list of citations for referenced facts and statistics. Had it been an assignment he’d given to his students, he would have given it an A, but the fact of the matter was that it wasn’t something that had been required or requested of her. And there was still a nagging worry in the back of Shouta’s mind because of that.
“Interesting read, wouldn’t you agree?” Nedzu had produced a cup of tea while Shouta had read and was sipping from it thoughtfully from behind his desk.
“That’s one word for it.”
“Even without the paper, the girl would have earned her place in the Hero Course, but I think such an interesting essay deserves some... acknowledgment. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Shouta eyed his boss suspiciously. “What are you planning?”
“Much,” Nedzu admitted cryptically. “Specifically in regard to Midoriya, a visit and a dialogue about her essay and future at UA.”
That was enough to send a chill down Shouta’s spine. The principal was a master planner and manipulator who owed humanity no benevolence but had chosen to care anyway, tending to the future generations of heroes under UA’s charge. It was easy for most to forget that under his unassuming, smiling, well-dressed exterior, the principal was a scheming little shit with an occasional sadistic streak. If Nedzu had taken enough notice of Midoriya to pay a house call, Shouta couldn’t let him go alone. Not when Midoriya was still too much of an unknown.
“I’ll go with you,” Shouta said.
The principal’s smile widened. “I hoped you would say that.”
With a heavy sigh, Shouta agreed to meet the principal on Saturday—when the UA acceptance letters would normally arrive—to deliver the news in person to Midoriya after discussing her essay. Shouta knew he’d just been maneuvered into complying with Nedzu’s scheme, but the alternative was to let the stoat have unfettered access to Midoriya. At least if he was present he could potentially squash any budding plans for world domination.
~*~*~
Saturday arrived, inexorably, at the end of the week. All footage had been reviewed, the points tallied, the written exams graded, and Shouta had hashed out the final class placements with Vlad the night before. The acceptance letters would be making their way into the hands of thirty-nine hero hopefuls by mid-afternoon, and Shouta would be with principal Nedzu to deliver the fortieth in person.
Midoriya’s apartment building was modest, in a quiet neighborhood, and Shouta parked Hizashi’s car in the designated visitor parking next to a well cared for motorcycle. He was cautious not to ding the bike with his door as he climbed out of the car.
Shouta met Nedzu on the sidewalk in front of the car and offered an arm for the principal to hoist himself up onto his shoulders and settle himself in the folds of Shouta’s capture weapon. Once he was comfortable, Shouta made his way up to Midoriya’s apartment, glancing at the numbers until he found the correct one. Then, he knocked.
There was a moment of silence, a quick, hushed argument from inside, and then the door opened to reveal a tall, thin young man covered in deep purple scarring along his jaw, neck, chest—what Shouta could see of it from the v-neck shirt—and arms. His wild black hair was short and styled up, and his cerulean eyes were coldly calculating as he eyed Shouta. He leaned casually against the doorframe, but the hero noted that one boot was firmly planted behind the door, blocking Shouta from pushing it open if he’d had a mind to.
“You lost?” The young man asked.
Shouta glanced briefly at the apartment door to confirm he had the correct number—he did—and then returned his gaze to the young man who was definitely not Midoriya. Shouta wasn’t one to judge someone on appearances, but there was a hint of controlled malice behind the eyes of this young man that put Shouta’s senses on alert.
“My name is Aizawa Shouta; I’m here to speak with Midoriya Izumi.”
“That’s neat. What about?”
“That’s between myself and Midoriya. Is she home?”
“Maybe.” The punk shrugged. “Maybe not. You got an appointment?”
“Touya-nii!” A scolding voice shouted from a little further inside the apartment. “Don’t be rude!”
Touya… That name and the scars finally connected in Shouta’s brain. This was Todoroki Touya, the oldest son of Todoroki Enji—formerly Endeavor, currently incarcerated—brother and guardian of Todoroki Shouto, another of Shouta’s incoming class. How did these two know each other? Shouta couldn’t think of anywhere the two might have met, but they were obviously close, given the familial honorific.
“Inko left me in charge, squirt. Deal with it.” Touya tossed over his shoulder, eyes never leaving Shouta.
“You’re ridiculous,” Midoriya appeared behind Todoroki, shoving him out of the doorway, and then smiled politely at Shouta. “How can I help you?”
“Midoriya, my name is Aizawa Shouta. If you have the time, we’d like to talk to you about your application to UA.”
Midoriya’s eyes went wide and quickly scanned the area before looking confused. “We?”
Nedzu chose that moment to finally make his presence known and popped out of Shouta’s capture weapon. “Good afternoon, Midoriya! I am Principal Nedzu. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“Oh, holy crap,” Midoriya swore before slapping a hand over her mouth. Todoroki snorted inelegantly behind her. “I’m so sorry! I mean! Of course, come in! Can I g-get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Breathe, imouto-chan.” Todoroki placed a hand on her head and the sudden weight seemed to calm the girl.
Shouta wondered again how the two had met to be this familiar with each other.
“Tea would be most welcome.” Nedzu accepted, smiling reassuringly at the nervous girl.
Nodding, Midoriya showed them to the living room—Todoroki following silently behind them—and then retreated to the kitchen to start the tea. Shouta let Nedzu climb off his shoulder before taking up a position leaning on the nearest wall. Todoroki was an unexpected addition to this conversation. There was something...just slightly off about the oldest Todoroki sibling that put Shouta on edge. The younger man had taken up a relaxed, wide-legged seat draped over an armchair and stared Shouta down, apparently just as suspicious of Shouta as the hero was of him.
Nedzu blithely ignored the stare down. “I was surprised to find you here, Todoroki-san–”
“Don’t call me that.” The young man interjected, snapping his eyes over to Nedzu. “Your business here ain’t got nothing to do with me, so you don’t need to call me by that bastard’s name.”
An understandable reaction considering what his father had put him through. “What would you prefer instead?”
“If you have to call me anything, call me Dabi. I used it while I was on the streets, and it’s better than fucking Todoroki.”
“As you wish, Dabi-san. Is anyone else home?” Nedzu inquired
“You’re lucky we’re here. Normally Izu-chan spends Saturdays either at Bakugou’s or mine and Shouto’s place, but the brats are all waiting eagerly by the mailbox for their UA acceptance letters.” Dabi explained and Shouta made a note that all three of the top-scoring students already knew each other.
He’d have to observe that dynamic carefully.
“Inko—that’s Izumi’s mother—is at work all day. She prefers it if Izumi isn’t left to her own devices anymore, considering what happened last time, hence,” Todoroki gestured to himself in lieu of finishing his sentence.
“What happened last time?” Nedzu asked, curious.
“She dragged Bakugou across the district on a half-baked plan to find my sorry ass,” Todoroki smirked. “She was seven. Stubborn, that one. Fair warning.”
Midoriya returned with a tray bearing a teapot and two matching cups. Also on the tray were two mugs of steaming coffee. Politely, Midoriya poured tea into the two cups before placing one in front of Nedzu and setting the other in front of her own seat. Then she carried the tray over to Shouta.
“Coffee, Aizawa-san?” Midoriya offered. “It’s not the best, but it’s strong.”
Shouta took the mug from the tray. “Thank you.”
She bowed her head respectfully before turning away and gave the last mug to Dabi. He smiled at her, his eyes softening briefly before turning back to Shouta, cold and hard once more. Midoriya sat at her spot at the table across from Nedzu and took a sip of her tea before looking nervously between her two guests.
“This...is a little out of the ordinary, right?” Midoriya asked. “The principal of UA doesn’t normally come to speak to hero course hopefuls.”
“You are correct, of course.” Nedzu smiled. “But then, hero hopefuls don’t normally slip fifteen-page essays under my door telling me the practical exam is unheroic.”
Dabi shot Midoriya a glare that went entirely unnoticed by the girl as she blushed and tried to hide her face behind another sip of her tea.
As Midoriya didn’t look capable of responding any time soon, Nedzu continued. “It was a delightful read. I enjoyed it thoroughly.”
“You did?” Midoriya looked completely stunned.
“Absolutely.” Nedzu took a sip of his tea before adding, “In fact, I could find very little wrong with the essay. It was expertly crafted, appealed on both a logical and emotional basis, every point was backed up by facts and referenced correctly in your citations, and your thesis was one I whole-heartedly agree with.”
“Oh.”
“I would almost dare call it a perfect editorial if it weren’t for one, unfortunately, incorrect assumption.”
“Oh?”
“The practical exam does, in fact, measure the applicants’ ability and willingness to save and protect others. In addition to villain points, applicants are also awarded rescue points by a panel of judges.” Nedzu revealed, smiling behind his teacup.
“Rescue points,” she repeated.
Here, finally, was what Shouta expected her teachers had meant when they claimed Midoriya had a problem with authority. Despite his otherwise glowing review, Nedzu’s reveal had cost him some measure of the girl’s respect. Midoriya lost her gobsmacked expression, and Shouta watched as the girl who had been nothing but polite and respectful up to this moment, shed her deference in favor of suspicion. Her green eyes became guarded and Shouta could see an emotion building behind her outwardly calm appearance that reminded him of the fervor in her printed words.
“Indeed.” If Nedzu sensed the shift in her mood—and he had to have detected it—he didn’t acknowledge it. “Rescue work is one of the foundations of heroics; we would be remiss if we didn’t consider our applicants’ affinity for it.”
“Strange.” Midoriya mused, deceptively quiet. “If you believe that, shouldn’t you encourage heroes inclined toward rescue to apply? Perhaps by telling them their chances of being a hero aren’t reliant on how well they break things? Rescue points don’t fix the flaws in the exam if you don’t tell people the opportunity exists for them to succeed.”
“Can you truly measure altruism if the examinee is aware of the grade?” Nedzu postulated, still cheerful despite Midoriya’s obvious—though contained—anger.
Midoriya’s smile was all sharp edges and teeth. “Let’s not pretend the exam measures altruism; we both know it doesn’t. What it measures, the only thing it measures is how many robots someone can destroy in a ten-minute period. That you think that means they’d make a good hero only goes to show how deep into the kool-aid you’ve drunk.”
Shouta hid his smile behind his capture weapon. The kid wasn’t wrong, and Shouta enjoyed watching someone else take Nedzu to task for it.
“The system as it stands actively discourages cooperation and altruism and promotes a societal adherence to quirk bias, and while the Hero Commission is leading the charge on that, UA is complicit if not an outright supporter.” Midoriya snapped. She clenched her jaw tightly, trapping more vitriol behind her teeth, and just breathed for a few moments. Nedzu opened his mouth to speak, but Dabi shook his head, silently ordering the stoat to let her finish. More calmly, but still, with feeling, Midoriya went on. “Imagine, if you would, a child with a mental quirk, maybe a minor quirk, a so-called villainous quirk, or no quirk at all. This child wants to be a hero; they’re kind, they’re smart, they’re caring, they’re brave, they’re selfless, they’re determined, they’re any number of admirable traits heroes are supposed to be. None of it matters though, because day in and day out they’re told they can’t be a hero without a flashy, heroic quirk. And if—gods forbid—that same kid decides not to let the nay-sayers dictate their dreams, no, that kid stubbornly holds onto that desire to save others, well… then they’re just a trouble maker, aren’t they? Because wanting to save someone won’t stop a robot, and that’s what it takes to be a hero, isn’t it?”
Midoriya’s file labeled her a trouble maker, just as—he’s sure—his own file had, back in the day. Not every student with a bad record was really a stubborn kid with a dream and a refusal to bend to the status quo, but he should have been more willing to look harder, more willing to make sure.
“But the status quo doesn’t just hurt those on the outside,” Midoriya remarked blithely, and if Shouta were completely blind to all the signals in her body language, he might have believed she was calm. “Imagine instead a child with a perfect quirk. Powerful, versatile, flashy, marketable… Imagine what it’s like to grow up as that kid, being told their whole life that they’ll be a hero. That they’re not ‘like them,’ those other kids that aren’t suitable. They’re better because they’re going to be a hero, and because they’re going to be a hero the rules are different for them. They can do no wrong; they’re going to be a hero, after all, and it would be a shame to risk such a bright future for something as silly as a missed assignment or a failed test, something as minor as a little disagreement or roughhousing. Even if it goes too far and someone gets hurt, well, it couldn’t possibly be their fault; they’re going to be a hero, after all, and heroes are above reproach. What an amazing hero that kid will be.”
Shouta had seen a few kids with that mentality. Those with an over-inflated ego and a disregard for others they considered ‘less.’ He’d expelled more than a few. Worked with a few more.
“Of course, there’s a chance none of that happens.” Her eyes were now as hard as Dabi’s as she leveled Nedzu with a cold glare. “Maybe instead of being handed the world on a silver platter, they’re thrown into the forge, burned and beaten and shaped, ground down and sharpened until all that was left was a weapon. Imagine. A child, four years old, forced to endure what your students do, what your pros do. They’re going to be a hero, after all, they have to learn how to fight, how to take a hit, how to win. Anything less is unacceptable. They’re going to be a hero, after all, and heroes win .”
Midoriya had referenced the Endeavor case in her essay, and, at the time, Shouta had believed it merely because the case had gained notoriety and publicity making it an easily accessible source. Now, he wondered. Dabi had said Midoriya was seven when they met. That would have been years before the case against Todoroki Enji had even been opened. If she knew the Todoroki siblings from back then, she might have been aware of the abuse, maybe even seen it. Certainly, she’d seen the effects of it.
“How would you fix it?” Shouta found himself asking, genuinely curious.
Green eyes slid away from Nedzu to look at him appraisingly before she seemingly found what she was looking for, resolve and guarded determination, filling her from toe to crown. “The first step is acknowledging all the ways it’s broken. As I said before, the current exam actively discourages cooperation. If you take the time to help someone, not only is that less time you have to get villain points, it also means there’s one more person out there taking out robots that you could have taken out if you’d left them alone, and because it’s a test there’s no need to worry about whether or not they’ll get hurt or die without help so there is literally no reason to. Because the students aren’t told about rescue points, there’s nothing to gain by helping others, but everything to lose.
“The next problem is the blatant quirk bias. The exam is designed to showcase the flashy quirks that people like to refer to as heroic. This is problematic because that shouldn’t be the primary trait you look for in a hero, and it definitely shouldn’t be literally the only thing you test in the exam. That just opens the doors for more Endeavors; people who think just because they’re strong, just because their quirk is strong, they have what it takes to be a hero.
“Fortunately, both of those issues can be corrected—at least in part—with the same solution. Tell people about rescue points. By advertising another way to excel, you show those people who lean more toward rescue that they have a chance, you show the students that it’s a good thing to help people, and—maybe most importantly—you show the world that it isn't the quirk that makes the hero. A quirk is just a tool, just like knowledge, like drive, like heart. What you have isn’t nearly so important as how you use it.”
This kid.
She was smart, All Might hadn’t been wrong about that, and passionate. Passion like that was powerful, particularly in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. The question was, what would she use it for? By all appearances, Midoriya Izumi's passion called for a near-complete overhaul of the current system. Shouta wasn’t necessarily opposed, but that kind of change took time to do correctly. It was the difference between reformation and revolution. One he could support, the other posed too great a risk to the innocents he’d sworn to protect.
“You said it yourself. UA’s structure is a reflection of the Hero Commission’s. To change one would necessitate a change in the other.” Nedzu’s eyes were gleaming in excitement at this point. “Getting the Hero Commission to agree would be a difficult task.”
“The Hero Commission could use reform,” Midoriya stated bluntly. “But the Hero Commission doesn’t dictate policy at UA, you do.”
“I have a duty to my students to prepare them for what they will face once they leave UA; if I change the curriculum before the Hero Commission falls in line, their future will undoubtedly suffer.”
Midoriya was quiet as she considered Nedzu’s statement. Shouta waited almost anxiously to hear her thoughts; how she came down on the issue presented mattered. It was one he, himself, struggled with on occasion. He didn’t expect her to come up with a perfect solution—she was fifteen, it wasn’t her job to fix what was wrong with the system—but he wanted to hear her attitude regarding the complex problem.
Finally, Midoriya set her teacup down and gave a resigned sigh. She looked up from the depths of her teacup to look at Dabi. “Some fights are slow. I know that—I do.” When she turned back to Nedzu, the soft green of her eyes had hardened into sharp emeralds. “It takes patience and time, but that doesn’t mean you have to compromise your ideals while you play the long game. You can’t bullrush change onto a government body without potentially disastrous repercussions, but you can make small changes over an extended period of time until you’ve trapped them into doing what you wanted. By the time it’s checkmate, they shouldn’t be able to point at where it went wrong.”
Nedzu’s delighted grin was all the confirmation that Shouta needed. Midoriya had definitely passed the stoat’s test, and—more importantly—she’d passed Shouta’s as well. There was no doubt in his mind that she would cause him many future headaches, but it would all be worth it to see what she could accomplish.
Heaving himself up off the wall, Shouta fished an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Welcome to class 1-A, Problem Child.”