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“Shouta-kun, your entire class?” Nedzu tsked. He didn’t glance up from setting out his tea service as his former student and current employee lowered the hand he had raised to knock before the door had swung open on its own.
Aizawa Shouta sighed at his boss’ antics and took a seat across from the mammal. “Yes, the whole class of entitled, bigoted brats. I've told you, repeatedly, that the Entrance Exam is a shitty way of determining heroic potential. You practically shoe in spoiled brats with destructive quirks, while excluding anyone with a quirk that isn’t perfect for causing mass collateral damage.”
“Your senpai, Kayama-chan, passed the very same exam you failed with an anti-personnel quirk,” Nedzu commented mildly. “Have you ever thought to ask her how she did it?”
Aizawa Shouta
Sitting in the lecture hall, Shouta felt his stomach sink. ‘Robots? Why did it have to be robots?’ A bitter scowl replaced the brief look of despair that had been on his face. ‘Why did you expect it to be fair? When has life ever been fair?’
Without hope but too stubborn to give up, Shouta followed the crowd of excited kids out to the buses where they split up into their testing cohorts. ‘I bet they all have traditionally ‘heroic’ quirks: Flashy and destructive, perfect for destroying robots. I know my quirk could be so much better for taking down villains, REAL villains using their quirks to rampage, but what am I supposed to do against a damned ROBOT?!?’
Predictably, as they waited for the exam to begin, Shouta heard the other kids chattering loudly about how much fun it was going to be, finally being allowed to go wild with their quirks. Oh sure there were a few kids who looked nervous but Shouta assumed life had already weeded out most of the kids with quirks like his. Day in, day out, being told he was nothing but a villain. Classmates shying away from him fearfully, teachers looking for any excuse to reprimand him. For the last three years, Shouta had kept his head down, literally, refusing to look at anyone for fear of being accused of illegal quirk use. He’d ignored taunts and even physical abuse from bolder assholes at his middle school, all to keep his record clean. ‘So that I could be eligible to take a test I don’t have a prayer of passing. FUCKING ROBOTS!! IT’S NOT FAIR!’
When the doors to the testing center swung open, Shouta charged in. “That kid’s got the right idea!” the exam’s proctor, a hero known as Loudmouth, shouted. “What are the rest of you waiting for? There are no countdowns in real life!!!”
A few kids with mobility quirks were able to overcome the headstart Shouta’s faster initial response had won him and beat him into the testing center. They were immediately confronted with a horde of robots and promptly set to smashing them. Shouta watched as kids with enhanced strength or lasers or explosions ripped through the robots killing them in a single blow before moving onto the next but he refused to give up. He dodged bits of shrapnel from a robot that was blown up practically on top of him then grabbed a larger chunk of debris and leapt at the nearest 1-Pointer. He wrapped his legs around the robot’s neck and smashed his improvised weapon into its head over and over again until it stopped moving. Then he went on to the next, screaming his rage at the world’s unfairness as he unleashed on the robots.
Shouta had just scaled his third pseudo-villain when another examinee raced in and smashed it’s chest in with a single enhanced punch. He lost his sixth target to a burst of flames, barely leaping clear before he became collateral damage. A third examinee, less aware of his surroundings than Shouta, wasn’t so lucky. The kid dropped to the ground, screaming as his track-suit caught fire. ‘Stop, drop and roll, guess he’s not a complete idiot. It’s not like U.A. would really let anyone get hurt in their exam.’ Shouta thought as he targeted another robot, hoping to bring it down before someone with a better quirk targeted it.
Two weeks later Shouta spotted a heavy letter with U.A.’s official seal on the front in the mail. He snatched it out of the pile of bills and ads and ran up to his room, slamming the door behind him.
The envelope was a heavy parchment, nicer paper than Shouta’s middle school graduation certificate had been printed on. He ripped it open before he could psyche himself out. The letterhead was embossed with gold. Shouta did a double-take as he started to read:
Hello!
Am I a dog, a mouse, and a bear? Does it matter? Regardless, I am Nedzu! U.A.’s new principal!
Aizawa Shouta, you scored 73% on the general written exam... Before the curve was added. Apparently my new test was considered a bit cruel and unusual and rather than having you all retake a test more in line with the limited brain capacity you humans possess, the board decided to resolve the matter with a curve. Which puts you in the 93th percentile, a very respectable pass, which secures your seat in the General Education Department.
As for the hero course practical exam, you scored twenty-five villain points, a notable achievement for someone with an anti-personnel quirk which was completely useless against robots. You certainly have my attention but, at present, you have not shown that you should be given a spot in U.A.’s Hero Course. While this may seem unfair, the Entrance Exam is not designed to enable children to follow their dreams; it is designed to sort applicants so that the needs of your society are best met. If you are still determined to pursue a career as a Pro-Hero there will be other opportunities to prove that we need you as a hero. Are you aware that all courses participate in U.A.’s illustrious, world renown Sports Festival?
Sincerely,
Principal Nedzu
Along with the letter Shouta found a ranking sheet showing the top ten scorers in the Heroics Practical exam:
Rank Name Villain Points Rescue Points Total
1. Sensoji Kinzo 68 0 68
2. Shirakumo Oboro 28 39 67
3. Seta Tai 18 47 65
4. Nagamine Kunio 41 24 65
5. Wakino Kuma 49 14 63
6. Yamada Hizashi 51 10 61
7. Nitta Keiko 29 29 58
8. Junko Arata 35 21 56
9. Yuuma Teijo 24 28 52
10. Hosoo Reiko 8 42 50
“Rescue points, no one said anything about rescue points,” Shouta complained to himself, noting bitterly that he had more villain points than all but seven of the high scorers on the exam despite his useless quirk. “...Sports Festival? Yeah, I’ll kick all their butts on National TV, then they’ll have to let me in.”
Kayama Nemuri
“Kayama-chan, this is your high school application,” the guidance counselor said, frowning. “It’s time for you to get serious about what you plan to do with your life.”
“I am serious,” Nemuri objected. “I’m applying for Yuuie’s Hero Course.”
The counselor sighed, “With a quirk like yours? It’s a cute trick, true, but once information about it gets out you’ll be useless. And, with a pretty face like yours, becoming one of those secret heroes would be a waste. You need to make use of your assets, Kayama-chan.” The guidance counselor’s gaze slid downward in a leering fashion. “You’d make a lovely receptionist,” he continued. “A pretty thing for the execs to look at and useful too. If anything ever did happen you could use your quirk to knock everyone out. You wouldn’t even need a license, no policeman would ever charge you, if you said you were scared and your control slipped. It wouldn’t matter that you can’t control who gets affected by Somnambulist in that situation but as a hero you’d only be a liability, indiscriminately knocking out everyone around you.”
Nemuri wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You are way too old and wrinkly to be noticing my ‘assets’, much less imaging that you can tell me how I ought to use them.”
The counselor shook his head sadly, “Kayama-chan, how can you expect a good recommendation while demonstrating this sort of disrespect to your betters.”
Nemuri widened her eyes ingeniously, “But I wasn’t going to ask you for a recommendation, I’ve already got one from my self-defense instructor. She just gushes about how talented I am when it comes to making men cry. I’m more than my quirk and way too much for you to handle, so why don’t you stop ogling me and give me my transcript… Or don’t actually. I’ll definitely be telling the school board about the sort of ‘career advice’ you hand out to fourteen year old girls… Isn’t Mori-chan’s grandfather on the board? I bet he’d love to hear all about you and what you might be saying to his little granddaughter.” Nemuri smiled, bright and sadistic, “Don’t worry about my transcript, I’m sure someone else can take care of that for you… And the rest of your job too. Now, have a nice day!”
‘How’m I supposed to fight THAT,’ Nemuri thought ten months later, staring up at the looming robot in despair. ‘And it’s only a 1-Pointer.’
As the hovering, vaguely insectoid robot’s head turned toward her, Nemuri took a rolling dive into the nearest ally, narrowly escaping its laser beam. ‘What am I even doing here?’ She wondered as she grabbed another hero-hopeful by the back of the collar and jerked them out of the way of another laser.
“Thanks!” the other kid exclaimed before making a two handed fist and shooting out a massive beam of concussive energy that smashed the 1-Pointer to bits.
“Happy to watch such a nice backside,” Nemuri called back, conflicting thoughts of ‘I have to compete with a quirk like that?!?’ and ‘What good’s a quirk like that if the guy it’s attached gets taken out by the first villain to come at him from behind?’ running through her mind.
Nemuri paused and took a second look around the testing ground. This time she didn’t focus on the impossible obstacle of the robots but on the dozens of other hopefuls. Many of them were blasting away at the robots with flashy, over-powered quirks but even more were blindly ignoring any threat not directly in front of them; not just threats from the robots but from falling masonry and friendly fire, because apparently none of them had ever even heard of situational awareness.
‘Okay, Kayama,’ Nemuri told herself. ‘You can either run back to the entrance and spend the next ten minutes with your tail between your legs, or you can get out there and save all those prospective heroes from themselves. It might not get you in the Hero Course but when you see them debuting on TV in four or five years you’ll know, once upon a time, you saved them.’
Nemuri took a deep breath to re-center herself then she darted out of the alley. She pulled one kid out of the path of a blast of water that had just sheared through the robot both hero-hopefuls had been trying to take down. As the boy screamed at her for making him lose his kill, Nemuri took a running leap and kicked a falling bit of siding, diverting it from an unsuspecting head. She darted down the street and grabbed a 2-Pointer’s tail, spoiling it’s aim while swinging herself up to a nearby rooftop. Nemuri sprinted to the edge of the roof and snagged the downspout before it could peel away from the building.
The girl who’d been climbing the downspout quickly scrambled up to the roof. “Thanks!” she exclaimed before settling in to snipe the robots with bone nails that shot out of her fingers. “My pleasure!” Nemuri shouted back then noticed another examinee on the ground, clutching an injured ankle while the battle raged around her, threatening to trample the injured girl. Holding the loosening downspout, Nemuri jumped off the roof, allowing the failing bolts to control her descent. She tossed the injured examinee over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and jogged back to the safer, picked-over area spreading from the entrance, dodging between two robots on the way, causing them to destroy each other.
After the exam ended, Nemuri glanced around noting the numerous hero-hopefuls that she’d saved from injury during the crazy exam. ‘I make a DAMN fine hero and if Yuuie can’t see that then it’s their loss,’ she thought, strutting toward the exit with her head held high despite having earned a bare handful of points. ‘Maybe I’ll check out Ketsubutsu or Seiai, see if they can properly appreciate my fabulousness.'
Two weeks later Nemuri let out a shriek of joy as she received her results from U.A. She’d passed with five villain points and forty-three rescue points.
“Kayama-chan, just like you, walked into that exam with a quirk that does not work on robots and without the support gear that she would eventually become renowned for. Like you, she realized that she had no chance of passing the exam, per the rules that had been explicitly laid out before her. But this where your path and hers diverged: Where you took out your disappointment on the robots with extreme prejudice despite knowing, even then, that you wouldn’t be able to match up to applicants with more favorable quirks, Kayama spent her time ensuring that her fellow applicants weren’t injured.” The chimera paused to take a precise sip of tea. “Kayama-chan showed us she had what it took to be a hero, you did not. Kayama passed the exam where you had to find a different route. You really should try the tea, Shouta-kun, it is excellent, if I do say so myself.”
“I went to the Sports Festival and showed everyone, on live TV, that even if I couldn’t destroy robots en masse, I could beat the shit out of the kids who had,” Aizawa said, ignoring the tea.
Nedzu hummed in agreement, “You still had a long way to go before you were ready to be a hero but you showed us that you had the potential and the drive to be a threat; that you would not quietly go away when rejected.”
Aizawa grimaced, “I was running on pure spite by then. It took a lot of effort from Oboro and Hizashi to get me to a place where I was even capable of caring about other people again.” He hesitated for a moment then asked, “If you won’t get rid of the damn robots, would you at least make it a requirement that the brats have to get some rescue points to pass?”
“That wouldn’t have helped you,” Nedzu observed, taking a sip of his tea.
“Yes it would have,” Aizawa disagreed firmly. “It would have helped, long before I ever attempted the exam, if hero hopefuls were required to care about more than being praised for their flashy quirks.”
“Shouta-kun, why did you expel your entire class before I finished with this year’s orientation?” Nedzu asked.
Aizawa grimaced, “Some poor Gen Ed kid got turned around and ended up in the wrong classroom on his first day. Five of my former students took it upon themselves to ‘deal with’ the ‘villain’ invading their space.”
“The five referred to the police for public quirk use and aggravated assault, I take it?” Nedzu asked.
“Poor kid has a spider quirk,” Aizawa continued on. “Chiyo says they fractured his carapace in several places, the equivalent of two broken arms. He didn’t even do anything, just existed in their presence while looking ‘scary’ to them and those five attacked him. The other fifteen just sat there and let it happen. Three of the attackers were in the top ten for the Entrance Exam. Why do we have to make it so easy for entitled brats like them and so hard for anyone without a flashy quirk?”
“Without a destructive quirk,” Nedzu corrected. “I told you this a long time ago Shouta-kun: The entrance exam is designed to serve the needs of society. The Quirk Wars may have begun with the early generations of quirked peoples rising up to overthrow the pre-quirk governments that had sought to contain and control them but they quickly dissolved into mass anarchy. One hundred years after the birth of the so-called first quirked; the glowing baby; every old world government had fallen but it would be decades before your current society rose out of their ashes. Nearly two generations subsumed by the second Warring States era, but I consider calling it that unnecessarily generous: There were no states, only roving gangs offering protection to those who they saw as being like themselves. Two generations until the Rise of Heroes and the re-establishment of societies that at least purport to be inclusive of all the diverse peoples who now exist.” Nedzu’s tail swished with dissatisfaction, “The Entrance Exam, unfair though it may be, serves its primary purpose: It identifies inherently aggressive powerhouses and channels them down the path of becoming defenders of the status quo rather than disruptive elements.”
“You can’t be a hero if you don’t know right from wrong. If the best of them turned away when they saw injustice happening right in front of them, then they have no heroic potential,” Aizawa decreed. “I won’t enable people like that to become pro heroes.”
“Is it not better to have them as worthless heroes than dissatisfied villains?” Nedzu asked.
“They all want to be Limelighters and we have too many already,” Aizawa argued. “For limelighters that don’t make the top one hundred ‘Pro-Hero’ is just a line they add to their business card, above the day job that pays their bills. Worse, it’s permission to use their quirk to beat the shit out of any shoplifter or purse snatcher they might see. The vast majority of ‘villains’ are those shoplifters, driven to it by the status quo we’re propping up.”
“Better shoplifters than would-be warlords,” Nedzu said, placing his tea cup in the saucer.
“Better to throw them in jail right now than to have villains masquerading as heroes,” Aizawa snarled.
“The five, I agree with you,” Nedzu said. “But what about the fifteen? Do you want them going through life, frustration building up, until they go nuclear one bad day?”
“If they don’t have the motivation to intervene, they don’t have the motivation to be either heroes or villains,” Aizawa stated definitively. “They can be bystanders in Gen Ed but I’m not wasting my time trying to turn them into heroes when they’ve already demonstrated that they don’t give a shit.”