Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ayane would never boast about her height again.

Before her, the quadruplet towers of U.A. loomed above her like monoliths, their glass reflecting the spotless cerulean sky - as imposing and tall as the heavens. Without the glint of the metal framework, they may as well have been invisible. On her long trek up the hill towards U.A., Ayane had tried (and failed) to count the number of floors that housed what seemed to be the population of a small nation. A small, very exclusive nation. One that today, she aspired to join.

Nobody accompanied her up towards the building, though it was not like she expected anyone to. Clustered around the entrance, groups huddled together like penguins desperate for warmth, none having the courage to take the first step into the snowstorm that was the Entrance Exam. Ayane, having no one to gather with, swallowed her residual nerves and stepped through the gaping mouth of the U.A. barrier, the cold of the winter wind cutting against her face like an unwelcome knife. Suppressing a shiver, Ayane hardened her already-unwelcoming expression, clenched her bare fists, and strode towards the reception entrance like a woman on a mission. You have to fake it until you make it, or so her Mother said. Sound advice, Ayane thought; it wasn’t as if you saw heroes shaking on the urban battlefields, even though they must be petrified. They just rushed right into the danger, whether they had a plan or not - which in retrospect, didn’t seem like the brightest idea.

Passing through the limpid doors, Ayane felt the remnants of the winter air melt away in the artificial heat. Aah overly vibrant sign was plastered to the vacant reception desk, with a neon blue arrow indicating the direction towards the auditorium. Following it, she seated herself near the back, far from the hushed chatter of her fellow examinees and the rustle of latecomers.

Ayane felt quite ill. Her heart felt as if it were dipping into her stomach every few seconds, and she could feel her sweat-dampened palms rubbing against her gloves, no matter how many times she tried to remind herself she wasn’t supposed to be nervous. ’It’s stupid,’ she reminded herself, even though she was sure everyone could hear the pounding beneath her chest. Logically, she knew she was bound to be accepted, but it seemed that her mind had decided it preferred disorder today.

She didn’t like disorder, Ayane did. What she liked was precision, and order, and clarity. Like colours. Though at first seeming in disarray, obedience lay beneath the light, an unalterable rule. It was a strange comfort to Ayane, that organised chaos - a walking contradiction, just like her.

The minutes ticked by, until a spotlight lit up on the stage. Ayane felt her pulse quicken in anticipation. The chatter hushed, as an unforgettable silhouette dawned on the stage.

“WHAT’S UP U.A. candidates! Thanks for TUNING IN to me, your SCHOOL DJ!!!” The quirky voice of hero Present Mic echoed through the auditorium. Immediately he struck Ayane as genuine, despite his desperate attempt to fish for cheers from the anxious crowd. Despite him obviously being told to tone it down by some higher up to spare the poor candidates’ ears, he still kept his strange radio-host voice. Maybe that was just how he spoke. Ayane couldn’t help but think that having such a strange voice, with the emphasis all muddled up and the intonation somehow off, would attract attention from all angles. It was good then, she supposed, that Present Mic was the most extroverted person she had ever seen.

Despite his performative attitude, the hero quickly got to the worthy information. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries, which Ayane greatly appreciated. She did not appreciate his constant attempt to gain favour from the audience. It appeared to Ayane that Present Mic (Mr Mic?) somehow enjoyed listening to his own voice. That, or he was speaking entirely to himself, which would be the option of greater concern.

Ayane peered down at her examinee card. She was in city A. Was it really necessary to separate all of them out like this? She supposed it did prevent conspiring with people you already knew, but Ayane couldn’t find a reason to why that was a bad thing. If anything, being surrounded by those you knew and trusted put you in less danger, and teamwork didn’t always mean that one was riding another’s coattails. Even so, she was glad of the decision, as she would’ve had nobody to team up with and would have to go solo anyway, putting her at a disadvantage.

Her thoughts were torn from her as the cinema-sized screen flashed with pixels, illustrating a digital demonstration of how the exam was supposed to go. A mini Present Mic kicked down a three pointer, and a blip echoed through the hall that was suspiciously similar to a video game.

This all felt like some sort of strange dream. The exam was so ridiculous in idea that it felt like she was joining a gameshow.

Robots? Really?

That was the best way to filter through the thousands of their applicants? Strength wasn’t always physical, Ayane thought. Of course it was vital to be a hero - one couldn’t take down villains with hopes and dreams - but it still felt a little too All Might-inspired. You didn’t have to be a philosopher to know that plenty of heroes got swept under the rug because their quirk wasn’t the most flashy. Though Ayane did feel like a bit of a hypocrite even just thinking about this, for it was a system she actively benefitted from. Plus, she had no idea how she would propose a ‘fixed’ system. It just didn’t feel fair.

“Excuse me, Sir, but I have a question!” An indignant voice cried out from one of the rows below Ayane.

Present Mic, seemingly undisturbed by what Ayane would consider a rude interruption, pointed at the student and exclaimed a fervent “Hit me!”, raising a gloved hand to indicate at the general area the voice came from.

As he raised the gesture, a spotlight clicked on and streamed onto the outspoken student without missing a beat. Ayane was convinced more than ever that this was a gameshow.

Holding up a printout, the prying student indicated the blacked-out silhouettes of the robots. Though Ayane couldn’t see his face, she could tell that he was irked from the tension of his square shoulders, which jerked robotically with every movement.

“On the printout, you’ve listed four types of villains; not three.”

‘Oh stars.’ Ayane thought, ’Here we go.’

“With all respect,” Began the student, immediately making it clear that his next words were about to be the very opposite; “If this is an error on official U.A. materials, it is shameful.”

The boy hastily dropped his arm, making the sheet rustle. “We are exemplary students. We expect the best from Japan’s most notable school.”

’Who is we?’

“A mistake such as this won’t do.” He concluded. Ayane couldn’t help but smile. As soon as he opened his mouth, she knew he had something like this to say. You can just tell with certain types of voices; the overly primmed accents, usually with no volume control. Ayane considered herself open, but this really was a new level… she couldn’t list anyone she knew who would speak to any hero, much less an agreeable one like Present Mic with such vitriol. Either someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or they had a serious ego trip and desperately needed humbling.

But he wasn’t done. With all the grace of a time bomb, the unnamed student swivelled around. His cream blazer swished as he extended an arm out towards Ayane’s direction. Her heart nearly stopped. How did he know she was smiling? Did this guy have some sort of psychic quirk?

“Additionally, you with the unkempt hair!” He exclaimed. Ayane caught herself reaching her hands up to her head to check if her hair was messy - despite possessing the most pin-straight hair the universe had to offer.

A few rows below her, a boy with indeed unkempt hair let out a stunned noise of confusion as he raised a finger to point at himself. Oh.

The original questioner’s voice quietened just slightly to a sharp growl, his teeth clenching as he spoke. “You’ve been muttering this entire time. Stop that.”

Ayane felt like she was going to melt into the floor with the relief she was feeling. This guy, despite being her age, had all the authority of a teacher. Ayane did not have many positive experiences with teachers, or by extension, any person of authority. He even looked like a teacher in miniature, what with his too-straight uniform and those crazy eyebrows set into a face with a jaw that looked like a brick.

The boy continued his tirade. “If you can’t bother to take this seriously, leave. You’re distracting the rest of us!”

Again with this ‘we’ and ‘us’ business. Truth be told, Ayane had not heard a peep out of the nervous wreck throughout this whole thing. Mr-Teacher over here must have the delicate hearing of a rabbit, because he was further away from Nervous Wreck than Ayane was.

Nervous Wreck whimpered a profusely apologetic “Sorry…” as a few of the other candidates let out varying awkward laughs. Ayane couldn’t bring herself to join, as her heart was still battering around in her ribcage from the earlier scare. Why were they laughing at him? Who they should be making fun of was Mr-Teacher, who still needed to be humbled (and be punished for thoroughly terrorising Ayane before she’d even spoken to anyone).

Trying to keep the peace, Present Mic fired up again, and Ayane promptly tuned herself out. Despite the sheer volume of his voice, Ayane reckoned that the hero would make a good podcast reader. Maybe one for young children, who needed to be set to sleep.

So there was a zero pointer. That seemed counterproductive. If they really wanted people to do well, Ayane thought they should remove such dumb distractions and measure other stuff than just who is better at beating up a hunk of metal.

The assembly was drawing to a conclusion. Ayane stretched in her seat, popping her back in an attempt to expel the coil of nervousness that was wired around her chest. She knew she would pass; not because she was full of herself, but because it was just a fact that her quirk was powerful.

The only thing she needed to watch out for was that damn zero-pointer.

Now outside, Ayane stretched her arms out behind her. She was really feeling the pressure. Especially for something that would be over and done with in just ten minutes. Who even decided that was an appropriate timing? It was only 600 seconds, which seemed big until you realised how many seconds were wasted each day.

Ayane bent down and rubbed her legs, trying to flatten the goosebumps that had her skin looking like a chicken’s. It was still cold, but shorts were a necessary decision for quirk use. She comforted herself with the fact that she’d soon heat up when she started using her quirk. Ayane didn’t really have a strategy, not that she thought she needed one. This seemed easy enough. How hard could it be?

‘A head start would be useful’ Ayane thought, pushing herself to the front of the crowd. She originally planned to start from the back, but then she realised that even if she blasted ahead, she would still be hitting the others who were slower than her. She just hoped that the others wouldn’t be following her around the whole time. For all that teamwork-thought earlier, if there was one thing Ayane couldn’t stand, it was those spineless, brain dead fools who couldn’t rely on themselves even for a—

Ayane flinched as the doors opened. No warning? She had only been here thirty-something minutes, and she’d nearly suffered two heart attacks.

By the time Present Mic yelled out to the slower processors, Ayane was already ahead.

Concentrating her quirk into her hands, Ayane threw them back and used her powerful blasts of light to propel herself in front of the crowd. The sun emerged from behind the clouds, beating down upon her back in waves. Photons seemed to thrum within her, pushing their way to her fingertips where she released a thin beam of light that penetrated the eye of a two-pointer silently, knocking it to the ground like a pile of timber.

No time to waste. Satisfied at her first elimination, Ayane continued her sprint down the winding streets, veering down solitary paths. One turned into two, then four, then eight, then sixteen. Three minutes remain.

Ayane’s flow state was punctuated by the harsh grinding of metal. Over the past minutes, her eardrums had quickly become accustomed to the crash of falling robots and the cacophony of noise that came from the hundreds of quirks surrounding her, but this new sound was so tremendous it made the ground shake beneath her feet.

Swivelling skywards, herself around to the same position as her other candidates (up until which point she had been ignoring), Ayane was met with the immense shadow of a metallic titan. The vast expanse of its murky-green skin made the faux city look like a miniature, and eight red eyes glared down like a spider who had found its prey. Its square head blocked out the sun, casting darkness on the ants that lay below it, and the residual light framed its iron cranium like a terrible halo.

That was the zero pointer?

Screams seemed to reverb around Ayane at that moment, and acting on nothing but instinct, she focused her energy into her hands, which trembled despite herself.

‘Focus…’

Exhaling, Ayane pressed her hands together, raised them to her eyes, aimed through her fingers, and took an experimental shot at the mechanical fiend. The solar lazer struck the beast’s angular head, burning a fiery hole through an crimson eye and caused the casing of the skull to melt and crack, the beam penetrating until it shone through the other side. The man-made creature stumbled slightly, but did not fall, and continued its slow lumber, somehow looking more enraged than before.

The thing veered forwards, and only then could Ayane see that its glass eyes were focused on her.

‘Good.’ Thought Ayane, even as her heart did another dip and roll. ‘Nobody else will get hurt.’

Though, turning her head, she found this to not be entirely true. Several other examinees were standing around (though at a considerable distance from her), gawping at the altercation between man and machine like it was a hero highlight.

Ayane’s mouth twisted in an expression of unaltered incredulity. What were they doing? Not only were they putting themselves in blatant danger, but ensuring that they would not pass. It was all well and good for Ayane; she estimated that she has around thirty-something points by now, and was confident she would pass. However, the spectators that had gathered had no scuffs on their clothes, no cuts, no damage - she doubted they had gotten any points at all.

She opened her mouth to yell at them, but before she could, a metal arm swung down next to her, narrowly missing Ayane’s head. Damn them for distracting her. Logically, she knew it was best to run, and stack up as many points as she could with the few minutes that remained, rather than waste time on a zero-pointer put there to exploit the panic of the situation. But damn it, if she didn’t blow this thing to pieces it would injure the statues that were paralysed in fear, unable to run or fight. And this was what truly mattered about being a hero; saving people (even if you wanted to kick their stupid guts).

Another arm, swinging her way. Ayane saw it this time, and felt the buzzing of photons beneath her skin. She shot her right hand out, bracing it at the elbow with her left, and fired a continuous ray of light from her palm. Her arm trembled with effort as she manoeuvred it slowly downwards. The effect was instantaneous - the supercharged rays sliced through the arm of the robot with a surgical precision, severing the wires that strung the bot together. The forearm of the leviathan slid off with an unnerving slowness, the metal tendons grinding against each other in a terrible shriek, before the limb fell to the ground with a piercing boom that made the tarmac tremble.

Pulse racing, Ayane rolled her stiff shoulders, preparing for her next attack. She could feel her forearms and hands prickling with heat, and her palms were smoking and blistered, but that did nothing to deter her.

“ONE MINUTE!!!” The booming voice of Present Mic reverbed through the mock city. Sixty seconds to take this thing down.

Placing her palms behind her, she propelled herself up into the sky with dual beams, soaring hundreds of metres up so she was eye-to-eye with the looming machine. The sun shined on her from above, the photons charging her body and gathering at her glowing palms again, eager to be released. Just as she felt gravity begin to overtake the blast force and her body begin to fall, she pressed her hands together, sucked in an icy breath, and released.

In an instant, the beam erupted from Ayane’s hands, spearing through the air, whistling like an arrow in the wind and punching clear through the zero-pointer’s head. The force slammed into the robot’s head like a comet, boring a hole straight through the alloy skull, through the electric core, and out the other side. All of this happened in less than a second, and the only indication that such an event occurred was the shimmer of the air in the aftermath, and the ripples of heat surrounding the mechanical skull.

The recoil hit Ayane hard, flinging her body back, her limbs trailing like streamers.

She hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Windmilling her arms, Ayane managed to flip herself upside down so the sky was beneath her feet, and her head towards the ground. Tossing her arms in front of her, she fired a final, weaker blast despite her body’s protests in an attempt to cushion her fall. Ayane let out an ’oof!’ as she landed head over heels, before rolling along the ground in an ungraceful heap before she stopped with her back on the ground and eyes towards the crystalline sky. Overhead, she could view the remnants of her quirk giving a concluding sparkle, before fading away into the atmosphere.

At the same time, the expired zero-pointer fell backwards and landed on the ground with a colossal ‘BANG!’, denting the concrete and crushing numerous hollowed buildings behind it. Ayane prayed nobody was behind the thing.

The end alarm blared through the speakers, accompanied by an overly enthusiastic “TIME’S UP!!!” from Present Mic.

Ayane’s nose flared as she breathed heavily.

Was it worth it? Probably not.

It was zero points, and gave her nothing. She really should’ve just let it go… but damn it, Ayane had something to prove - even though she couldn’t quite name what yet. She didn’t feel all that heroic, especially since she could feel herself basking in the attention that was focused on her. She knew they were looking at her, and she loved it.

Holding her hands up above her face, Ayane surveyed the damage. Both of her palms were burned with the circular brand of her quirk, left over from the blistering photons that charged the beams of light she used for her quirk. Smoke curled up gently from her hands, and er ere body trembled from overexertion. Other than that, minor cuts dotted her skin from tumbling on the concrete after her fall from the heavens, and she could feel a nasty bruise forming on her hip. The rest of her body was fine, if anything a little prickly from the energy that was still buzzing underneath her skin.

Grunting, Ayane picked herself up off the ground, dusting the grit off her black clothes. The other examinees were beginning to trod back to the entrance, and Ayane knew she couldn’t hang around forever waiting for the throb in her hands to dissipate. Though, before she began walking, she turned back to take one last look at her trophy, laying battered and cracked on the ground. She supposed that this pride was how All Might felt every time he decimated a villain.

As Ayane trooped back to the entrance, she could feel the apprehension surrounding her. She supposed that the others were intimidated by her display, which she was now beginning to think was a rather unnecessary thing to do. It was silly, she thought, for them to fixate on her capabilities and potential instead of themselves. What good would that bring them, or her? The more she pondered the strangers’ staring, the more frustrated she became. The attention simultaneously pleased and irritated her. Pleased because she knew that the display was impressive; irritated because of the fact that she had been made a spectacle. A few even looked afraid at the power she had exhibited, shying away and avoiding eye contact with her at all costs.

However, she supposed that they were better fearing her, in a way.

Chapter Text

Beep beep beep beep beep beep bee-

Slamming her hand down on her alarm clock, Ayane sleepily opened her eyes to the morning darkness of her room. She snuggled deeper into her nest of blankets, not wanting to rise from the hazy half-sleep she was in. The slivers of morning light creeped through her window like silvery, spidery webs, the only sign of the waking world. So much for blackout blinds.

Ayane wrapped her arms around a pillow, her head sinking into the plush material. Today was her first day at U.A.. She got in. Not that that was any surprise to her, but it felt silly to say such a thing out loud. As it turned out, destroying that zero pointer was a wise choice - she was awarded points for saving examinees, which is what a mini projection of the hero Midnight told her in her acceptance letter, which was currently taped to her door like a medal of honour. Though to be honest, Ayane didn’t feel all that heroic. It felt strangely easy, not to mention that she didn’t exactly take down the zero pointer to save people.

Whoever marked her exam obviously wasn’t a psychic though, so her unsettlement concerning her display of power didn’t truly matter. The only thing that they cared about was the people she saved from a hypothetical villain. But wasn’t that true in the real world as well? Out of all the hundreds of thousands of heroes in Japan, Ayane doubted that all of them were doing it for the good of the people. Some people just liked the glory. Was that okay? Probably not. But it got the job done, so Ayane figured she shouldn’t care, and just be grateful that she got into the most selective hero course in the country. What she should care about is getting dressed in time so she wouldn’t be late for her first day.

Reluctantly sitting up, Ayane felt a weight shift from her legs. Her cat, Taiyo, grunted unhappily and quickly took the warm silhouette that she’d left on the bed behind her. Ayane brushed his soft white and ginger fur. Cats were so lucky. They never had to worry about the ethical issues of heroism.

Stepping carefully out of the shower, Ayane sucked in a shaky breath through her teeth as she shielded herself from the chilly spring air with her towel. Her wet hair clung to her back and collarbones like seaweed as she padded across the carpet towards where her new uniform was draped on a coat hanger, the dampened strands sending streams of cold water down her back.

She slipped her arms into her shirt slowly, the material not scratchy like her middle school uniform, but silky and soft. Expensive. The skirt came next; pleated and straight, and then her tie and socks. She opted for high thigh; perhaps a little scandalous for the first day, but cute. Her Father wouldn’t be seeing them, after all.

Ayane peered into her reflection in her square bedroom mirror located on her desk, and her reflection peered right back at her; an angular, narrow, cat-like face. She’d always hated the bump in her nose and the gap between her two front teeth, but she liked her eyes; thin, wide-set, pointed eyes, their pupils ringed with a clear golden iris that mimicked the lustre of melted gold, the same as her Mother’s. She tore a brush through her dark hair (her Father’s), combing down her fringe and the longer sidelocks so that they framed her jawline perfectly.

She didn’t like to think of herself as vain, but she was. Even though she’d never willingly admit it, Ayane cared very much what other people thought of her, from her appearance to her performance to her quirk. Yet, she wasn’t the typical insecure girl. She was more like a star; demanding attention in the most complicated of ways.

Now fully ready, Ayane stepped out of her bedroom. She’d checked her bag three times already, ensuring she had actually packed her new books and not just left them on her desk. Even now, dressed in her crisp new uniform, Ayane couldn’t quite believe that she was going to U.A. - but did they really have to choose such an ugly colour scheme for the blazer? Grey and green? Was that the best they could do? Ayane had opted to wear her shirt and tie, and stuff her freshly ironed blazer into her bag. First impressions were important, which is why she refused to wear such an offensive colour scheme.

Tentatively, Ayane gazed down the hallway to her parents’ room. Her Mother had already left for work; she’d peeked out her window earlier and seen the fresh linens hanging on the line. Her Father, on the other hand, was still sleeping. She briefly entertained the thought of going in to wish him goodbye, but like a coward, backed out. He needed the rest, she told herself, excusing her guilt away that still lingered in her chest after last night’s argument with him.

Fighting with her Father was so much harder than the explosive rows Ayane had with her Mother. At least with her Mom it was frequent, and although the words said were sometimes hurtful, Ayane knew her Mom didn’t mean everything she said, just how she knew her daughter didn’t mean everything she said. But her poor, sweet old Dad - fighting with him was so much worse because Ayane knew it was all her fault. The hurt look on his features last night crushed her, and the memory of the shimmer of tears in his dim eyes made them well up in Ayane’s, too.

Wiping her eyes and shrugging her shoulders as if to shake off the ebbing shame blooming in her chest, Ayane turned to go down the stairs, but hesitated and took one last look back at the closed door. It’d be alright. She’d be alright. Dad would be alright.

Ayane wondered if she’d ever get used to the size of U.A..

Just how many classes did this thing have? There were two hero classes of twenty in each year, but there was also support, business, and general studies. Estimating that there were two classes for each division, that was two times twenty times four, which was one-hundred and sixty students in each year, times three was… four-hundred and eighty students. That felt… really small. Smaller than the average high school.

That begged the question; what were all these extra rooms for? For the second time, Ayane had tried (and failed) to count the number of glass floors that made up the colossal building, but there was certainly more than ten. That, of course, was only if each floor was one large window tall - if U.A. catered to individuals with height mutations, then there may be less floors than she believed.

This thought was only further considered when Ayane stepped into the building, and was immediately greeted by the sight of several large doors leading into classrooms, which were at least three times her height and width. So there were giants here. At least there would never be crowd crush when trying to get to class, she supposed.

Ayane stepped into Class 1-A, and sat at the seat marked with her name. She wasn’t feeling like talking to anyone just yet. Unfortunately, her soon-to-be classmates had other ideas.

“Hey!” A boy with electric hair, speared by a jet-black lightning-shaped streak, pointed at Ayane and walked up to her. His thin arms swung like limp noodles attached to his torso, and electric irises set in triangular eyes were locked onto hers. No escape now. “You were the girl who destroyed that zero-pointer in the entrance exam! We were in the same zone - zone A, right?”

Ayane contemplated ignoring him, shallow as it was. His voice had that cheerful lilt to it that reminded Ayane of the annoying popular boys who exclusively spoke about hero and girl rankings. Emphasis on the girls.

So instead, she nodded, her eyes trailing over his face lazily, and then back at her desk. The pristine whiteness of her desk appeared highly interesting to her right now, along with the blue office chair she was sat in. Seriously though, how did U.A. even afford this stuff? There had to be some sort of money laundering operation somewhere in the chain.

The exuberant voice continued, undeterred by the lack of response. He was clearly a conversationalist; though the skill of conversation was rather the skill of talking to himself. “I’m sure glad those things were robots though. I couldn’t use my electricity on a human - I think I’d freak out! I guess you would have that same trouble-“ (No, she wouldn’t.) “-with your crazy quirk! But I guess we’ll have to figure out a way how, since villains aren’t robots yet. Hey, do you think that-“

God, this guy could talk.

Flitting her eyes around the room, Ayane looked for any sort of distraction. Sadly, she was met with none. The only spot of vibrancy was from the students themselves. Seated a few columns forward was a girl with petal-pink skin, and on the front was a boy whose torso sprouted six muscular arms, and approaching Ayane was a pocket-sized boy who had what looked like juicy grapes attached to his head.

“Wait, you destroyed a zero-pointer as well?” A high-pitched voice with a thick lisp squeaked out.

That certainly got her attention.

“What, did you?” Ayane questioned, golden eyes locking onto the boy with the intensity of an eagle.

The minuscule boy scoffed. “No! Does it look like I’m trying to get killed?” Due to his lisp and the emphasis on his words, the boy had an unfortunate habit of spraying his saliva when he was particularly agitated. More unfortunate than him though was Ayane, whose hand was now speckled with the product of his mouth. Her own mouth twisted in revulsion, and she furiously wiped the stained appendage on the side of her chair.

Tiny didn’t notice, or he did and chose to ignore it.

“There was this other guy who destroyed a zero-pointer. Though I don’t know if he got in or not, because people are saying that he didn’t destroy any other robots.” At this, he pointed a stubby arm around them to the rest of their class. “And apparently he broke all his bones. Who knows if the judges will let him in with such a useless quirk?”

Well. Ayane didn’t know if she’d call his quirk useless, considering he took down a zero-pointer. Though it was certainly reckless to want to become a hero if the backlash to his quirk was so detrimental. He couldn’t always rely on Recovery Girl (who had kindly used her quirk to heal the blisters on Ayane’s hands following the entrance exam) to patch him up if the natural consequence was so severe. If she had such a destructive power, Ayane didn’t think she would go as far as becoming a hero - too much unnecessary effort. Then again, she knew that some people had their sights set on something, and they would achieve that dream no matter if it killed them. Unfortunately, those people were usually psychos.

The grape-haired boy introduced himself as Minoru Mineta, and held out a sticky hand, but Ayane’s attention was elsewhere. A concerningly large group had begun to assemble around Ayane’s desk, all discussing the zero-pointer. In the near distance, the piercing noise of an argument sounded out, and even though Ayane couldn’t see the faces of the people arguing, one of the voices struck her as familiar.

The uptight boy from the exam hall - who was fervently introducing himself as ”Tenya Iida, from the Somei private academy,” - was locked in a furious argument with another boy whose hair was explosive as his raspy voice. Ayane rested her head in her hands in disappointment. She had hoped that this guy would be in the other class.

A lisped voice interrupted Ayane from her premature mourning. “Hey, that’s the other guy who destroyed the zero-pointer!”

Golden irises locked onto green ones. The small boy’s - Mineta’s, Ayane scolded herself - index finger gestured towards a messy-haired boy stood in the massive doorframe, his trembling hands clutching the straps of his yellow bag like a lifeline. His big eyes flicked nervously away from Ayane, and focused on the floor in front of him. A pink blush was intensely dawning on his freckled cheeks, and a wobbly smile touched his lips.

“Uhhh, hi…” He trailed off. His voice was as wobbly and as unsure as his smile.

Ayane narrowed her eyes, but not in contempt. Going off appearances, he didn’t look all that powerful - thin, short, poor-postured. She wouldn’t have pegged him for the heroic type, and it seemed her classmates didn’t either. Eighteen pairs of eyes were currently worshipping him, drinking in the sight of a boy whose meagre appearance juxtaposed all the stereotypes that they’d been fed about heroes. Reactions varied; some with a gasp, some with contempt (spiky-hair, for a reason unknown) and some with confusion - but all with awe.

Placing her cheek in her palm, Ayane’s eyes diverted to the polished material of her desk. They didn’t do all that for her when she walked in. The best attention she’d got was two pervs flitting their eyelids at her.

“Welcome to U.A.’s hero course.” Came a gravelly voice from the floor.

Ayane’s eyes snapped to the corner entrance of the room, craning her head, attention rapt. Behind the legs of her classmates at the front of the room, she could see a yellow shape that was rimmed like the skin of a bug lazily wriggling by their feet. Horrified, Ayane’s thin eyes widened so much that the whites were visible all around her golden-ringed iris, her mouth dropping open slightly.

’Don’t tell me that our teacher is a bug.’

The maggot-man writhed a moment more, the muscles bulging unnaturally. The sight nearly made Ayane sick. And then, perhaps even more disturbingly than before, the skin began to split down the middle, and a (normal) man rose up by the door. He moved with all the urgency of a tortoise that had just woken from hibernation. A mess of greasy, black hair shrouded waxy skin like a mop, and beneath the oil spill that decorated his head were dark eyes that were hollowed into shadowed crevasses. These eyes - absent of all light, youth and humour - drifted lazily around the classroom in cycles. Ayane should have cried out, if she could.

“It took you eight seconds before you all shut up.” Came the voice again, spilling out of what Ayane could now see as cracked, pale lips. “That’s not going to work. Time is precious.” He said, pausing slightly for dramatic effect. He looked like he’d been teaching their class for fifty years, but truly it couldn’t have been longer than fifty seconds. “Rational students would understand that.”

Ayane indignantly raised an eyebrow. Irrational who? Certainly not her.

Sighing like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, the scruffy man grated out a haphazardly put-together introduction, voice oozing with fatigue.

“Hello, I’m Shouta Aizawa. Your teacher”

Though Ayane understood that at times she wasn’t the most synchronous with others’ emotions, it was with absolute certainty that she could relate to the feelings of utter confusion coursing through all nineteen of her classmates’ brains.

Aizawa gave them no other time for introductions though, not even bothering to pick up a register before holding up a gym costume that he had produced from his chrysalis. Ayane could tell that he wasn’t one for pleasantries, which could be either a great or terrible thing.

“Right, let’s get to it.” Aizawa mumbled, with all the enthusiasm of someone who was watching paint dry. “Put these on and head outside.”

Unexpectedly dressed in her gym uniform, Ayane stood uncertainly among her classmates. The warm wind, carrying the remnant scent of cherry blossoms, whipped her long dark hair around her face harshly; undoing the work she’d put into combing it straight that morning. She was stood a little behind her classmates, whose hair was so bright in contrast to Ayane’s that it resembled the vibrant prisms she used to make with her quirk, back when she was still experimenting in her childhood.

Before them, Aizawa stood like a menacing thundercloud, dressed in a black and grey jumpsuit. He was wearing a white scarf, despite the weather, which was huddled up to his chin.

Ayane rubbed her hand into her face, kneading her knuckles into her eyes so hard they left pinprick sparkles and tiny mechanical shapes behind her eyelids. Just her luck.

A test. On the first day of school.

“But, orientation!” A feminine voice cried, almost falsetto in pitch. Without even seeing the face behind the sound, Ayane could picture the expression; doe-eyed and innocent as a deer. “We’re gonna miss it!”

Aizawa’s response was as cutting as a blade, his expression hardening and patience thinning before his students’ eyes. He was not a patient man, which was rapidly becoming clear to Ayane as the minutes ticked by that were spent with him. Truthfully, she had a less-than-stellar first impression of her new teacher, and had the premonition that this year was going to be awfully long.

Ayane sniffed as she kicked a rock by her foot. It skittered across the ground like it had better places to be. She couldn’t blame it. Not even ten in the morning, and here they were, sweating in the sun, while everyone else in the school was enjoying the cool air conditioning of the classrooms. She hadn’t even had a chance to learn anyone’s name yet. The rock bounced to a stop, sending a mini plume of dust spiralling into the air. The sun was creeping higher above the school buildings, casting everything in a too-sharp, too-warm light. Ayane yawned, and drew a circle in the dust with the toe of her shoe. Aizawa was still talking… something about being rational. That seemed to be their teacher’s favourite word, because he’d used it at least twice in the past fifteen minutes, and they’d only just met him.

“Hayabusa.”

At the speed that Ayane jerked her head up, she felt her neck tighten up, and straightened her back so fast that she felt her spine pop. Maybe next time she should move at a speed more suitable for what the human body was designed for.

Aizawa continued calmly, unaware of the near heart attack his student had nearly faced. “You managed to get the most points in the entrance exam.”

At this revelation, several members of Class 1-A let out breathy gasps of amazement. Realising that she was, in fact, not in trouble, Ayane felt a glimmer of pride in her chest, her competitive spirit stoked.

“What was your furthest throw with a softball in junior high?” Said Aizawa.

Ayane raised an eyebrow and looked at her teacher incredulously. Who on earth kept track of that? She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, and shook her head.

Aizawa mistook her confusion for cockiness, and his gaze sharpened instantaneously. He was as irritable as a cat, Ayane thought.

“Right…” He continued, giving Ayane a sidelong look. She gave him her best one in return. “Try it with your quirk.” He gestured to the perfectly chalked circle behind him, and Ayane scuttled past him, trying her best to remain confident-looking despite the obsidian eyes that she could feel boring into the back of her skull. She had barely gotten into the circle before her teacher called out for her to “Hurry up. You’re wasting our time.”

Impatient much. Ayane rolled her eyes (turned away from Aizawa, of course) before turning her focus to the ball in her hand. The rough texture scraped against her skin. It was heavier than she expected. Being in front of everyone like this, she knew she had to put on some sort of show. Rolling her shoulders, Ayane angled her arm back, concentrating her power in her hand. She let it build until she could physically feel the energy dimly thrumming beneath the barrier of her skin, the one she always got when she used her quirk like this. Inhaling sharply through her teeth, Ayane accelerated her arm forward, closed her eyes, and a concentrated beam of light erupted from her palm.

The remainder of Class 1-A held their hands over their eyes, temporarily blinded by the brightness of their classmate’s quirk. As they rubbed at their eyes to try and rid the afterimage which sliced across their vision like a knife, the ball was pushed up and up by the force of the lazer, the outside charring from the heat intensity. As the shimmering beam faded and ceased to exist (apart from the ghosts left in the witnesses’ eyes), it fell from the sky like a meteor, its crash site somehow still on the dusty ground of the U.A. field.

Aizawa’s phone blipped, and he held it up, squinting.

“Seven-hundred-and-three metres.”

The clamour that followed was music to Ayane’s ears. Numerous people audibly gasped, and from the raucous Ayane made out astonished remarks from voices she vaguely recognised. Her lips quirked up in a proud smirk, and her pupils glinted in the light emitting from her skin; this time soft, slight and gentle, an instinctive response to happiness that she’d had since she was young. Truly, the shot wasn’t Ayane’s greatest release of power - but it was strong enough to give her an edge without hurting herself. Though her skin was immune to the ultraviolet radiation she produced as a byproduct from her light, it was not immune to the heat that blistered her skin in the more extreme bursts of energy.

Checking over her palm once more to ensure no damage had been done, Ayane blew on it and raised her eyes back to the rest of her class as casually as she could manage. After a release of light like that, the afflicted area always felt hot and tingly, prickly in a not necessarily uncomfortable way, but still buzzing with the remnants of energy. Her classmates looked elated still. However, a shroud of darkness in Ayane’s peripherals indicated to her that her teacher didn’t take kindly to joy.

His eyes, as deep and black as voids, swept over the young faces of the children before him, partially obscured by his hair. “So this looks fun, huh?” He muttered. In comedically quick time, Class 1-A hushed so quiet that the only sound on the field was the wind whistling. Ayane looked on, feeling trapped in the chalk circle by some inexplicable emotional forcefield. Aizawa wasn’t facing her, but she could picture his expression from the fear on her classmates facing him.

“You have three years to become a hero.” Aizawa began. “You think it’s all gonna be games and play time?” He paused, surveying the small gathering with eyes as sharp as knives. Yet, he wasn’t truly angry; his fists were unclenched and posture relaxed. Rather, he was enjoying the turmoil he was creating. “Idiots.” He hissed, eyes again sweeping over the crowd like a snake who had slithered into a mice colony.

A subtle gust of wind danced across the dusty field, swirling the sand in miniature tornadoes that danced across the sun-baked ground like sand sprites. The monotonous voice of their teacher rang out again, as clear and deep as the rumbling of thunder before a summer storm. “Today, you’ll compete in eight physical tests to gauge your potential. Whoever comes in last has one, and will be expelled-” (he said the word with such hiss and vitriol that it sounded like it burned venomously in his mouth) “-immediately.”

Ayane whistled through her mouth. This felt so overkill for the first day. Although she knew she’d be fine, she couldn’t help but wonder about those of them among her with quirks that didn’t help them in these situations. She’d already seen an invisible girl (as indicated by the floating uniform) - what would she do? Her quirk was useful enough for hero work. Ayane supposed that if he did expel her, it said more about him being ‘irrational’ than them.

Little did she know, Ayane wasn’t the only one with these feelings. A deer-like girl, with big brown eyes and flushed cheeks, stepped forward tentatively, like a scared animal approaching an erratic predator.

“You can’t send one of us home!” She cried. Her voice was soft and cinnamon-sweet, the same voice that protested before, and hearing it again reminded Ayane of the warm winters of her childhood, spent tucked under a blanket with hot chocolate. A pure voice, she thought, for a pure soul. “I mean, we just got here! Even if it wasn’t the first day, that isn’t fair!”

Yet again, Aizawa bit back like a snake. “Oh, and you think natural disasters are? Or power-hungry villains? Or catastrophic incidents that wipe out whole cities? No,” He barked. “The world is full of unfairness.”

Crossing her arms and resting her weight on her hip, Ayane raised her eyebrow. His words were true, but dramatic; and sour like a fruit that had been bitten too early. It’s not like it was some big secret that life was unfair, after all. Even those of them who were disillusioned with the glamour of hero life surely knew the reason heroes existed - they weren’t five, despite how much their teacher was treating them like they were.

“For the next three years, U.A. will throw one terrible hardship after another at you.” Ayane wondered if this sleepless man was trying to tell them not to become a hero, with how uninteresting he was making it sound - “So, go beyond. Plus Ultra-style.” Aizawa annunciated the motto like they were bitter to the taste, contradicting the optimistic nature of the statement.

Once more, Ayane’s eyes trailed over the unfamiliar faces before her as she walked back to the crowd. She spied a few with understandably nervous faces (one, strangely enough, including the green-haired boy who had scored the other zero-pointer), but most wore an expression formed from the fire of competition that Aizawa had stoked; all apart from one set of explosive red eyes that pierced angrily into Ayane’s back like a knife. Ayane, oblivious to the evil-eyes she was being given, felt the familiar feeling of pride blooming in her own chest, and a subtle glow flowered on her skin in response, like the glimmer of a firefly.

“Show me it’s no mistake that you’re here.”

Ayane huffed through her mouth as she angled her body forward in anticipation for the gunshot. She would’ve gone into the crouch position, but after she’d caught Mineta ogling at a girl whose skin was the colour of a dart frog, she would not be making that move. Next to Ayane was a boy with the angular head of a bird that had already made her look twice already, yet she saw no other bird-like features on him. Turning back towards the ground, Ayane pressed her hands into the prickly sand, her palms glowing against the ground as she focused her quirk for the second time of many that day.

BANG!

Just like in the entrance exam, Ayane concentrated the light of her quirk into her palms, blasting herself forward in an instant. The force of the moment threw Ayane’s head back (which was still sore from earlier) and made her palms fizz with prickling heat, but still packed a punch that threw Ayane over the finish line in 3.93 seconds, as exclaimed by the overly-positive automated voice of the robot.

Her bird-like partner crossed the line only a moment later. He was riding on the back of what looked like a bird-shaped void, with hollow eyes that glowed with a dim yellow - yet the creature originating from her classmate looked more like a wimp than a warrior. The thing covered it’s eyes with its shadowy hands, and muttered something incomprehensible to its owner before seemingly disappearing back into his body.

Ayane, her attention rapt on the peculiarity she was witnessing, nearly tripped over her own feet as she walked back to the group. The bird-headed boy looked at her - his beak unreadable, but his posture composed - and gave a small, respectful nod.

“You run with light,” he said. His voice was quiet, solemn, like he was reciting the first line of a particularly macabre poem. “It’s... dramatic.”

Ayane blinked, trying to decipher if he was complimenting her. “Who’s talking?” she replied coolly, raising her lips in a gentle smile, and brushed a persistent strand of hair from her face. “You ride an eldritch shadow creature. So we’re both a little dramatic, I guess.”

The creature in question emerged again from the collar of his gym uniform briefly, like a child peeking out from a curtain. “She gets it…” it muttered before vanishing once more.

Ayane blinked again, slower this time. “...It can talk?”

Tokoyami tilted his head slightly. “Only when it has something to say.”

She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

The two continued their conversation as they treaded back to the area where they were instructed to wait if they had finished their race. Ayane came to know the bird-boy as Tokoyami, and his quirk as Dark Shadow, but before she could ask her next question (about what his mutation had to do, if anything, with his quirk), a loud popping sound interrupted her, accompanied by a thunderous yell.

“BURST SPEED!”

The origin of the voice was soon divined, the genesis of the blaring scream being from the gaping mouth of a boy with spiky, blonde hair. The sound emanating from his throat was unpleasant, to say the least; grating and fried like a smoker’s. Ayane sighed. She’d never understood the appeal of smoking.

Though, Ayane must have shown her emotions too clearly on her face, because as soon as he finished his race and locked eyes with her, his victorious smile vanished instantly. His eyes, which were a furious red, narrowed at Ayane and his otherwise fair face contorted into a gargoyle-like frown.

Unblinking, the boy stomped to the rest of the group, though kept a wide berth between him and Ayane as though she housed the plague. As he finally turned his back on her, Ayane could see the waistline of his underwear peeking above his sagging pants.

’What’s his deal?’

Her new friend echoed her thought, and Ayane shrugged. She vaguely recognised him as the same boy who was arguing with uptight-glasses earlier, but other than that she’d never spoken to the guy. The only explanation must be that he was jealous that Ayane’s pants fit her, and his didn’t.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of heat and sweat, broken only by the spring wind carrying the fresh smell of the cherry blossoms that spotted the school’s grounds. From the start, Ayane had known it wasn’t her in danger of going home, so she resolved to minimise her quirk use to even out the scores, but the fiery yet endearing competition from her classmates had her, for the first time, fighting for her place. She was left with only two regrets: one was the fact that a few of her classmates were definitely seeing stars from her quirk, and the other was the pain of overexertion.

Ayane had never experienced sunburn (a perk of her quirk), however this was always what she imagined it to feel like. Her hands, being that she used them the most, always had the worst damage; they were as red as lobsters, and prickled uncomfortably from the gentlest gust of wind. Biting her lip and swallowing her pain, Ayane outstretched her hands and distanced her fingers, attempting not to wince or look like she was in pain - but despite the relentless irritation she dared not ask Aizawa if she could go to fetch the cream she kept in her bag for instances just like this.

As far as opinions went, Ayane’s one of Aizawa had degraded in record amounts in only a few hours. The tipping point was when he had reprimanded the boy who had destroyed the other boy who had taken down the zero pointer, for only trying to use his destructive quirk. Ayane hadn’t heard what he had said, but she’d seen the look on the receiver’s face, and it wasn’t a pretty one.

As a result, she wasn’t going to be giving Aizawa any sort of indication that she trusted him. No matter how much her palms burned.

“All right, time to give you your results.” Aizawa droned. “I’ve ranked you all from best to worst.”

(’Harsh,’ Ayane thought.)

“You should probably have a good idea of your standing already. I’ll pull up the whole list; it’s not worth going over each individual’s score.”

At that, Aizawa blipped an unseen remote, and a holographic screen projected into the air before their eyes. Ayane squinted against the light, catching her name in third place. Above her were the names Shouto Todoroki (why did that surname seem familiar?) and Momo Yaoyorozu, who must be the girl with a high ponytail who had some sort of creation quirk. Below her was the name Katsuki Bakugou.

Ayane was satisfied. Evidently, someone wasn’t.

Feeling the unnerving sense of being watched, Ayane turned her head, and was greeted with the same ruby-red eyes as before. He was just… staring at her. Angrily. Ayane swallowed. That must be Katsuki Bakugou. Putting on her bravest front, Ayane stared back at him, mirroring his expression. He didn’t take the hint; if anything his anger seemed to worsen.

A quiet whimper snapped Ayane out of her staring contest, and she whipped her head to the direction of the sound. It was the green-haired boy. Snapping her head back to the board, her eyes flicked to the name in last place. Izuku Midoriya. That must be him.

“And I was lying. No one’s going home.” Aizawa said, widening his mouth to reveal eerily straight teeth set in a smile. “That was just a rational deception to make sure you gave it all in the tests.”

’So… lying with extra steps?’ Thought Ayane, crossing her arms like a disapproving old lady. Her classmates seemed to share the sentiment, as a chorus of gasps and groans echoed out from the field, with the loudest being a borderline scream coming from Midoriya. Though the reaction was quite extreme, she didn’t blame him.

Aizawa’s smile dropped as quickly as it came, and he resigned himself to his usual tired expression. “That’s it.” He declared, already turning away from the class. “We’re done for the day. Pick up a syllabus in the classroom. Read it over before tomorrow morning.”

Finally. Ayane’s hands were stinging so much she was considering giving Bakugou permission to blow them off.

As it turned out, the sting didn’t stop. Not in the changing rooms, not on the train home, not at home when she was washing dishes in the kitchen.

Ayane stared out of the window opposite the sink. It was raining. The soapy water from the basin sloshed against Ayane’s forearms as she scrubbed the dishes roughly - though she didn’t know if her harshness was from her anger from the day, or guilt from last night.

She let out a sigh as quiet as she could manage, not wanting to alert her father. But somehow, he still managed to hear.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Hayate Hayabusa leant against the doorframe. Ayane didn’t turn to see him, and kept her neck firmly fixed towards the window. Suddenly, the dismal weather had become very interesting.

“What’s up with you?” He said. His voice was like always; safe and low and gentle.

Ayane sniffed. “My homeroom teacher is a dick, and one of my classmates wants to kill me.”

Her father chuckled lowly. “Harsh.”

Reluctantly, Ayane allowed herself to smile. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long; he was quite honestly the most gentle person she’d ever met. It was also refreshing that he never treated his only daughter like a little girl, unlike most other people in the world. And in turn, as Ayane got older, her love and appreciation for her Father only grew in return.

Ayane sighed again, not trying to hide her frustration any more. “I’m sorry, Da.” She mumbled, turning to face him with tired eyes, looking across the room into his dim ones. “About… what I said yesterday. But I am going to become a hero.”

Her Dad smiled. His smiles never truly reached his eyes, but Ayane could tell the difference between a fake and a true one. This was true.

Hayate nodded. He knew that there was nothing more he could say that could help, apart from a mumbled yet sincere- “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve known better than trying to convince you to do something you didn’t want to.”

Ayane’s expression lightened, like the sun shining through stormy clouds. She crept towards her father and wrapped her long arms around him in a spiderlike embrace, taking him off-guard. At fifteen, she was already taller than him, so the hug was awkward and stilted, but the warmth of the embrace was more than comfortable. On instinct, the duo’s quirk lit up the room in a golden flare, illuminating every dark corner and casting shadows outside, like twin stars in the darkest night.

Exhaling, she rested her chin on his shoulder, watching the light wrap around them. It was beautiful, but he couldn’t see it — not with his eyes, anyway.

Her father was blind. Not completely - he could still see rough shapes and colour - but blind enough that he couldn’t read, or see his peripherals, or know entirely who was standing in front of him. But damn it, there were times like this when she swore he could see more than most people ever would.

It was her fault, really. Da had never put the blame on her, but Ayane knew that although her Ma loved her she must hold some anger for having a child that destroyed her lover’s eyesight mere moments after birth. She was right to; Ayane didn’t think she’d be able to come to terms with it if it happened to her. Sometimes she wished her father would talk about it, but he was as stubborn as her most days - though he was stubborn in a lovely way, not like Ayane.

Hesitantly, the two separated, their glow still dimly shining in the dark. Ayane, for not the first time, was thankful her Da couldn’t see her more-than-miserable expression.

Ayane rubbed her eye. She always got teary when she thought about her Father like this.

(He had no right to be this good to anyone, least of all her.)

She cleared her throat in an attempt to disguise her wobbly voice. “I’m gonna go up to bed. Long day.”

Hayate paused momentarily. For one fearful second, Ayane thought he heard some note of sadness in her voice, but just as quickly as the suspicion rose did it fall. “Okay. Goodnight, Aya.” Da said, bringing her close once more, before letting her go.

Ayane nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see the movement. Soundlessly, she slipped past him and ascended the stairs, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. She reached her room, kicked the door shut with the heel of her foot, and fell forward onto her bed like gravity had finally won.

Ayane’s tired eyes drifted across the ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars were stuck there, left since her early childhood. Ayane didn’t have the heart to take them down, and she didn’t think she ever would. Her eyes lazily traced the stars as she lay there, wondering when it would finally be her turn to shine.

Chapter Text

The next day dawned fast, and before Ayane knew it she was already being herded into the changing rooms with the rest of the girls.

The harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow on the green linoleum floor that squeaked as the group of six made their way to the lockers, their nervous chitter bouncing off the high ceilings. The noise made Ayane press her nails into her palms in discomfort. Her heart had been thrumming like an engine since she woke up, awaiting the lesson with a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

Ayane took the corner locker, unceremoniously dumping the bag containing her hero costume down. She hadn’t quite comprehended the fact that All Might would be teaching their heroics class; let alone any class. All Might was godlike, she thought, strong in a way that could only be dreamed and feared and worshipped. Despite this, she wasn’t a die-hard fan like some in the class (the green-haired boy and several others looked like they were on the verge of some medical episode when he walked in), Ayane could appreciate the art of a true hero, which seemed rarer and rarer to come by these days.

And now she was one step closer to becoming like him. The thought made her skin shimmer slightly in excitement, and her fingers faltered in anticipation, hesitating momentarily on the zipper of the case before she tore it open with the vigour of a child opening their first pack of Hero Cards™.

’Please don’t be ruined please don’t be ruined please please please please-‘

At least they hadn’t fucked the colour up. Ayane let out a tiny sigh of relief. That surely counted for something, right? The black was sharp and not washed out like she’d feared, the accents subtle, as she had wished. The texture was nice too - soft and stretchy without being suffocating.

Well. The only way she could really test how functional the costume was by putting it on.

Pulling the costume out of its shell, a folded up piece of paper slipped out from between the layers of the fabric and fluttered to the floor like a cautious butterfly. Ayane’s golden eyes flicked to it, and she bent down to retrieve it, fingers curling around the creased edges.

Unfolding the letter with deliberate focus, Ayane was greeted by a mess of scrawled handwriting and official-looking diagrams on crisp white paper, like a spider’s footprints in snow. In the top right corner, a glossy stamp bore the insignia of Kurogane Support Industries. Below the return address lay an emboldened title, reading:

AYANE HAYABUSA: COSTUME DIRECTIONS.
Ms. Hayabusa,

Enclosed are the specific details and operational guidelines concerning your hero costume, developed and manufactured in accordance with the parameters you specified in your design letter. This document is intended to educate you on the properties, utilisation and maintenance of your costume, as well as familiarising you with the functions. We have taken some liberty to improve certain unspecified aspects, however nothing strays far from the original intentions.

Materials and construction:
Primary fabric: Multi-layered aramid composite textile with integrated Nomex fibres, delivering enhanced flame retardancy, tensile strength exceeding 500 MPa, and superior abrasion resistance. Surface treated with a fabric derivative of vantablack to encourage light absorption for quirk enhancement.
Accent components: Aerospace-grade anodised aluminium trim in custom gold hue, chemically treated to resist corrosion, maintain malleability, and reduce weight load.
Seams and stitching: Reinforced triple-stitch seams of Kevlar thread, placed at flex points including shoulder joints, knee bends, and lumbar region to sustain dynamic movement and quirk-induced stress.

Specialised Design Features:
Functionality: Reinforcement in sensitive areas (chest and pubic region) to protect against damage. Additionally the chest contains a built-in athletic brasserie to ensure comfort during combat. Thermal Regulation: Internal micro-hydro cooling scheme composed of flexible capillary tubing that circulates distilled water in temperatures exceeding 38.5°C. The system is automatically powered by a silent pump located at the base of the spine, within the belt, and the cooling fluid is stored within insulated bladders around the body.

Maintenance and Care:
Recommend cleaning with manufacturer-approved solvent wipes (see inside case); avoid machine washing to preserve fabric integrity and protective coatings.
Monthly inspections for seam integrity and wear on modular components are advised, with replacement parts available through Kurogane Support Industries.
For further technical assistance or to schedule fitting recalibrations, please contact our support liaison at your earliest convenience.

Respectfully,
The Kurogane Support Industries Technical Department

Ayane placed the letter in the locker, hesitated, then pulled it out again. He eyes skimmed back over the letters, picking over the dense paragraphs with silent scrutiny. The level of detail bordered on excessive; they’d built everything she’d asked for - and more.

Too much more. It felt… thorough in a way that made her suspicious. As cynical as it was, she hadn’t expected the support companies to actually listen to her designs. Nowadays it felt like all the female hero costumes had some sort of odd sex appeal, whether it be restrictive and tight fabric, unnecessary skin showing or some sort of suggestive look - Ayane, of course, had specified against that. Attention made her giddy, and there was no affording being giddy when there were lives on the line.

She glanced sideways. A few of the other girls were holding similar letters, the others’ crumpled or stuffed into their lockers. There was quite the variety in quality; some of the girls looked almost like full-fledges pros, while others looked like they were showing up to a costume party.

Ayane inwardly raised an eyebrow. Why on Earth would they squalor their chances by not being thorough enough? She felt almost angry at their wasting of such a precious opportunity. Ayane couldn’t fathom not being thorough, especially on something as important as this. She’d rewritten her costume applications around five times before she sent it, not counting the dozens of scrapped diagrams.

Looking once more back at the shiny print of Kurogane Support, Ayane propped the note on the top shelf of the locker, rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, and looked down at her costume. The faint silver threads twinkled against the black like stars in a distant sky, winking back at her.

Swallowing her residual nerves, Ayane unbuttoned her shirt. All Might was waiting.

Turning the key of her locker, Ayane stepped back and stared at herself in the mirror. She needn’t have worried about her costume after all.

She flicked her hair - which was tightly pinned back in a long, snakelike braid - behind her shoulder and admired the fit. Now she was wearing the suit, she could see the gold accents were slightly holographic, and bounced the light around in subtle iridescent prisms that didn’t compromise stealth. The top felt slightly scaly, like the skin of a snake, and clung to her skin like one - yet wasn’t suffocating. The chest was unrevealing, and the top (thankfully) covered all of Ayane’s cleavage and tapered off around the collarbones, secured by two straps around the shoulders.

Her upper arms were bare, as requested, revealing the muscle Ayane had built over the past year or so. Just because she was prioritising stealth, she didn’t have to completely avoid showing off, right?

Two gloves adorned her arms - the same armoured material as the top. One reached above the elbow, the other stopping short at the wrist. Both left the palm and finger open for precise quirk use, but still protected the rest of her hand from falls. Multiple small clips were fastened around the longer glove, which Ayane assumed was to allow for more advanced equipment (if she ever got the chance to use it).

The pants were similar, graced with a gentle flare that showed off Ayane’s long legs without exposing skin. The ends were and tucked into her combat boots, of which were probably the most comfortable shoes Ayane had ever worn. They were light and airy, and if she turned the boot up she could see the synthetic black material that let her light pass fully through without burning through the sole and exhibiting her feet to the world. Sadly, the material was still in its infancy, and not flexible enough to be used on the palm.

Ayane turned in the mirror, and couldn’t help but admire herself. She looked so good.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who thought that.

“Wow!” An eager voice exclaimed. Ayane recognised it as the sweet-looking girl with the big, gooey, chocolatey eyes. Turning her head and locking eyes with her, Ayane was almost blinded by the girl’s smile. Now that she was alarmingly close, Ayane could take a good look at her features; a round, innocent face, a small nose, and endearingly crooked teeth. She was beaming at her with the same bright enthusiasm as always, which was oddly reminiscent of a child peering through the window of a candy shop. “Your costume looks amazing!”

Her shout attracted the attention of the other girls, who had by now were mostly finished changing. There were only six of them, including Ayane, which made the crowd more cozy than suffocating.

“Yeah! Oh, I wish I’d picked a flashier design!” Came a feminine voice from… nowhere.

Quizzically, Ayane dragged her gaze across the five other girls. None of their mouths were moving. She briefly checked behind her. Still nothing.

“I mean… it wouldn’t suit my quirk at all; but still! All of you girls look like pros already!” The ghost voice rang out again, her voice grating slightly from frustration at the end. The rest of them giggled.

Had Ayane finally gone insane? All she could see was a pair of blue combat boots on the floor, and… oh. A pair of floating gloves. Invisiblity, of course. Truth be told, Ayane felt more than a little foolish for not realising earlier.

’Seven’ Ayane corrected in her head.

The brown-eyed girl piped up again eagerly, her words directed at Ayane with all the enthusiasm of a young puppy. “Wow, how’d you get so strong? You’ve gotta give me some tips sometime!”

All five pairs of eyes (plus one invisible) locked onto Ayane’s arms, and made a collective ”oooooh” like a flock of birds. Ayane would’ve laughed if the attention was on someone else, but something about girls’ attention made something inside her dip and squirm like she was on a rollercoaster.

Ayane looked down at her arms, like she was only just realising they were attached to her body. She’d always liked her lithe, muscular physique; but here, surrounded by girls whose deodorant smelled like candy, with their half-distinct features—soft voices, soft smiles, soft energy, Ayane couldn’t feel more like an alien.

“Training’s only half of it,” She began, eyes flicking away from the contact, fixed firmly on the row of lockers. “We’ll be stuck together from here on out, you’ll see soon what I mean.” Ayane trailed off, mumbling.

However, from the way doe-eyes reacted, you’d think Ayane had just saved her kitten from a fire.

“Really? You’re gonna help us? That’s so nice, thank you so much!” She exclaimed, eyes shining in happiness.

The feeling was not reciprocated. Ayane hadn’t offered to train them, right? She mentally skimmed back over the conversation, trying to find where the misunderstanding lay. Yet when she finally unpicked it, the girls were already filing out of the changing rooms at the command of a posh-seeming girl, whose voice flowed deep and elegant, like honey.

It was then that Ayane realised that her eyes had drifted to the girl (rather, the girl’s impossibly large bust) while she was lost in thought, and the aforementioned was gazing back at her with confused, almond eyes.

Embarrassed, Ayane clenched her jaw so tight it made her teeth creak in protest. She scuttled after them, half in an attempt to not be left behind, half to try and outrun her shame of looking like a pervert in front of the obviously rich kid. The hot and heavy shame quickly morphed into hot and heavy anger, Ayane’s skin burning bright in her strange way of flushing.

As they filed outside, one of the shorter girls bumped arms with her - on purpose, it seemed. Ayane glanced down, golden eyes widened in anticipation for a confrontation, yet was met with wide, earnest eyes beaming up at her.

Doe-eyes sucked in a gasp, stepping back slightly at the force of Ayane’s glare. A pit instantly formed in Ayane’s stomach. She desperately wanted to not care, but burning bridges on only the second day of school wasn’t the wisest idea.

In a crude attempt to make up for her hostility, Ayane bent down slightly, keeping her voice low. She didn’t want any others to think she was up for socialising. “Sorry. What’s your name?” Speaking to such a feminine girl, Ayane was instantly graced by the acute knowledge of her lack thereof: her deeper voice, sharper face, her presence that commanded rather than submitted.

Truthfully, Ayane was perfectly content knowing Tokoyami’s name and nobody else’s, but she couldn’t bear the thought of rejecting such an outwardly kind girl. It felt too cruel to stomp out light like that. Even so, asking felt like surrender. Like confessing she'd lost track of a variable in an equation she was supposed to master - if of course, the equation was socialisation.

“Uraraka! Ochako,” The girl said brightly, giggling. Her face held not a note of aversion. “Don’t feel bad. I’ve been trying to figure out your name for the last ten minutes.”

Ayane blinked, unsure whether to be relieved or embarrassed. “Ayane Hayabusa,” she said, voice steady.

Uraraka seemed too delighted by the exchange, laughing again with that airy, breathless tone. “Out of the girls, I only know Tsu’s, and now yours. That’s it!”

Like clockwork, the one Ayane assumed to be Tsu leaned around from the other side of Uraraka. “You two are hopeless,” she said, deadpan. Uraraka giggled again, her shoulders shaking.

Ayane didn’t understand what was so hilarious. All she could think about how different she was from them. Her eyes flicked over their costumes, skin-tight, their short and delicate stature, their liveliness. It was irrational, she knew, but it pained her still. Standing side-by-side with the girls, she felt alien and strange, undeniably different, yet not sadly. Where they were small, she was large, and where they were quiet, she was loud.

It was not the first time Ayane had felt this way, and she doubted it would be her last. It was satisfying - being different made her superior. Destined for the stars. Provocative and strange and admirable and bright and beautiful.

(Right?)

Ayane had only encountered All Might twice in her life - both times in the last fifteen minutes - yet again she felt like she’d never get used to the sheer enormity of the man.

It wasn’t just the size, though the man did looked like someone had wrapped a Greek statue in neon spandex and inflated it to near-mythic proportions. Looking up at him, Ayane guessed he had to be at least two hundred centimetres tall, and almost that across. Even when he stood still, it felt like he was in motion - muscle taut, shoulders braced, his cape flaring dramatically in the afternoon wind.

As it turned out, the media had not been exaggerating all these years, and All Might’s personality was also larger than life.

“Now that you’re ready,” All Might started, his deep voice reverberating around the hollow skyscrapers of Training Ground Beta. His voice dipped and soared like a bird was stuck in his throat. “It’s time for combat training.”

“Sir!” Cried an unpleasantly familiar voice, emanating from within a silvery helmet; Iida. The only reason that she knew his name is because he’d made a point of introducing himself to everyone on the first day, and sucking everyone into a minimum ten-minute conversation about U.A.’s prestige. Hearing his voice brought Ayane back to that dark, dark place of the entrance exam hall, and so she promptly tuned out. For her own mental sanity, of course.

She scratched her cheek with her too-long nails, and glanced down at Tokoyami, catching his attention with the slightest of nudges. It took her a moment to realise he was already looking at her - his avian eyes were set at such an angle that it was hard to tell. Once she caught on, she offered him a barely-there nod. He returned it in kind.

Good. They were on the same page.

Of course, that was all banking on the hope that All Might was gracious enough to let them pick their own partners. Ayane was still holding onto that hope, since the man seemed a lot more rational than Aizawa (the irony).

Ayane yawned. Loudly. She didn’t bother covering her mouth. As much as she respected All Might - and she did, in that sort of reverent, historical-figure way - he really needed to work on pacing. Lists of three, she remembered from middle school presentations. They existed for a reason. His speech was meandering. Wobbly. Like the tiny script he was failing to hold, the one that clearly wasn’t written for a man whose triceps could bend a stop sign.

Still, she supposed she’d forgive him if he didn’t assign her to Iida. Or worse: Mineta.

A hush fell over the group as All Might’s booming voice rang out, “Let’s draw!”

Ayane held her breath as names were called one by one, hoping for a familiar voice. Her eyes stayed fixed on All Might’s forehead, focused with the kind of intensity that might have unlocked a second quirk if life worked that way. If telepathy ran on sheer willpower alone, she’d have mastered it by now.

“Hayabusa and Tokoyami!”

Excitement ignited in Ayane’s chest, her blood rushing in anticipation. Thank the stars. Words couldn’t describe how much she was dreading talking to some of the weirdos in their class. Her fingers, suddenly agitated, twitched subtly at her sides, and a golden glow sparkled from the pads of them.

Tokoyami - who was significantly more composed - was staring up at Ayane with beady eyes, the only indication of his happiness being the slight raising of feathers on his crest. Similar to Ayane’s slight outburst of her quirk, a small version of Dark Shadow came careening from his body, squawking in a nonsensical way despite the brightness of the afternoon.

Silencing their celebrations, the trio refocused onto All Might, who was by now struggling to fit his hands into the box that would decide their pairings for the hero and villain teams. Ayane held her breath. The only bad thing that could happen now was being the first to fight. Or maybe it was a good thing, so they could get it over with. She couldn’t decide.

“I declare that the first teams to fight will be…”

With a dramatic flair, All Might drew out the balls like a magician revealing a trick

“These guys!” He exclaimed, holding up the two balls reading A and D. When he read the letters on the balls, his smile faltered imperceptibly into a grimace; a detail that went unnoticed to the class, but not from Ayane’s hawklike eyes. People could talk all they wanted about her subpar social skills, but nobody could dispute her recognition of the slightest emotions. Rather, nobody did dispute her, because nobody knew. But Ayane had a gut feeling, and after that, there was no convincing her otherwise.

Maybe All Might felt bad for Midoriya (a fitting name) and Uraraka. Ayane certainly did; the infamous hothead (who she now knew was Bakugou) was seething on the other side of the concrete. Speaking of the latter, Uraraka had soon hopped over to Midoriya as soon as he joined them, eagerly complimenting his strangely-primitive hero costume. Ayane, who was no more than the temporary fly on the wall, had mentally committed Midoriya’s obvious crush to memory before trotting away to join Tokoyami.

“Team A will be the heroes, and Team D will be the villains! Everyone else can head to the monitoring rooms to watch!”

Similar to the rest of the school, the monitoring room was unnecessarily large, and looked more akin to a top-secret military base than a school surveillance room. All Might stood triumphantly before the countless screens like the final boss in some video game, with his low-level grunts scattered around the front of the room.

Ayane, who was still emotionally clinging to Tokoyami, stared on at the rising tensions depicted on the pixels. Already, Iida and Bakugou had split up, leaving the weapon with an overly passionate guard dog, and a mutt on the prowl. Although Ayane had barely met her, her chest squeezed whenever her golden eyes passed over the tiny version of Uraraka cautiously bouncing behind Midoriya on the screens.

Bakugou was going to kill them.

She really didn’t understand how the others hadn’t noticed - much less All Might, who must have witnessed the common behaviour shared between countless thugs all across the world. Bakugou didn’t walk, he skulked, his face scowled in the place of a smile, and when he spoke he snarled instead. All that to say, he gave Ayane more than a bad feeling.

Cutting off her train of thought, a whirlwind of smoke puffed around one of the many crossroads, blowing clean off half of Midoriya’s mask. Around her, Class 1-A collectively inhaled through their teeth, apart from one spiky-haired redhead, who stepped forward in retaliation.

“Sneak attack, Bakugou!? What kind of man pulls cheap crap like that?” Though his sentiment was not thought through, to say the least, Ayane could respect the earnestness of the guy. His confident yet slightly gravelly voice reminded Ayane of her Mother, along with his red hair (though her Ma’s was more of a ginger, and her hair was certainly not spiked up in such a ridiculous fashion).

Uraraka was running now. Amber-ringed eyes tracked the replica as she traversed the screens, choosing to focus on her half-friend rather than the vigorous fight between two rivals. Again, she was left pondering the priorities of her classmates. Sure, the fight was probably more interesting, but they saw fights every day on hero programs; Ayane wanted to see someone win. At least, that was what Ayane was telling herself in an attempt to rationalise how drawn she was to Uraraka, or rather, drawn to someone who embodied everything she wished she could be.

Ayane sniffed, and crossed her arms. Tokoyami looked at her with those unreadable, animal eyes. She pretended not to notice.

Cautiously, Uraraka began her slow ascent of the building, shying around corners and tiptoeing up stairwells with the deliberate silence of someone who knew they were outnumbered. Eventually, she ducked behind a pillar in the room with the weapon. Ayane’s eyes drifted to the other screen, her vision hazy. Iida stood before the weapon, a pillar in his own right, and seemed to be… talking to himself?

Yes, he certainly was; it was impossible that he had noticed Uraraka, and his wild gestures definitely meant that he was talking - unless he’d gone off the deep end. Ayane had had the unfortunate experience of almost being knocked flying by the square man’s overzealous gestures, and witnessed several others narrowly avoid a similar collision. Interestingly, he was even more animated than usual - exaggerating his movements to the verge of being a Shakespearean character.

Needing someone to validate her concern, she elbowed Tokoyami, eyes still locked on the feed. In response, he let out a soft, startled squawk of pain.

…Oops. Too hard.

Turning to him, she flicked her chin towards the screen she was watching. Tokoyami turned his head - snapped it, really - with the eerie sharpness of a crow (whether he was a crow or raven was a question for another day). She glared at him, fae-like eyes bright not with the fire of anger, but the craze of mischief set in deep sockets. She made a talking motion with one hand, clapping her fingers together silently, then pointed at the image of Iida again.

Tokoyami’s feathers bristled slightly as he realised, and murmured a low “Theatrical mania.” Ayane didn’t quite smile, but the corners of her mouth quirked up, and the glint in her eyes grew ever so slightly.

Tokoyami returned to the screen without another word, with Ayane following suit. Iida’s soliloquy didn’t seem close to ending, and was only being exacerbated by the introduction of Uraraka, who he had claimed as his arch nemesis. The two in question were engaged in what appeared to be a particularly intense verbal spar, with a lot of standing and not a lot of doing.

Squinting to make out the movements on the screen, Ayane could just about see Uraraka speaking into her earpiece, before Iida began slowly advancing—

A colossal explosion distracted Ayane from her internal commentary, the radiance from the blast casting a hellish glow on the dim room. Three of the monitors were reduced to static, and two others had become knocked off their perch and were angled strangely, making the building appear tilted at an unnatural angle. The whole room seemed to inhale at once, various voices shouting their concerns and exclamations of panic, causing Ayane to wonder, even if for a moment;

’Is Midoriya dead?’

The thought filled her with a strange, primitive type of horror, the one that clamped around her chest like a vice. She’d barely known him, and his killer even less, but the fear was real and paralysing.

The smoke cleared. All Might was barking an announcement to Bakugou - a sharp tone that was strangely suited for his voice - but she could barely hear it. Her usually calm eyes, now wide with fear, darted over the screen in the hope for the slightest movement from Midoriya. When it came, the relief was all-encompassing, and Ayane felt her heart sink and soar at the same time.

Looking between the monitors, Ayane felt like she was in the Twilight Zone. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening anymore, just destruction, violence, and Midoriya still moving - albeit with far less confidence than his earlier dodging. Her eyes, still wide, slipped towards All Might. He was standing there with considerably less confidence than earlier, hunched over the control panel, his teeth clenched tightly in a grimace.

She stared at All Might like she was seeing him for the first time.

So much for the symbol of peace. So much for safety.

“He’s just going to let them kill each other?” She muttered to nobody in particular, eyes split between glaring at their mentor or gazing at the fated battle displayed on the cameras. In her peripherals, she saw Tokoyami face her, but she didn’t dare to take her eyes off the chaotic scene displayed on the remaining monitors.

The volume of the surveillance room was steadily rising like a wave about to crash as the tension of the fight grew, but it all fell on deaf ears as Ayane squinted to watch Midoriya. Something strange was happening to his arm; tendrils of green electricity seemed to crackle around it, as he wound up his punch. The energy was immense, causing the hair on the back of Ayane’s neck to stand on end. Unsticking her eyes from the fight with great difficulty, Ayane’s eyes tentatively followed the direction of the pulsing energy; heavenward, where the battle was happening only a few floors above them. Something tremendous was going to happen, she could feel it.

The same earnest voice from earlier shrieked out a desperate plea to All Might that echoed Ayane’s statement, yet his delivery opposed hers - his voice cracked in genuineness yet his crimson eyes stuck like glue to the unfolding scene. “They’re gonna kill each other! Sir!”

All Might hollered into the microphone, but it was too late. The air stilled momentarily, wrapped in a humming veil of static, before erupting in a blast so vast it shattered the building from its bones.

Debris erupted from the roof of the building like an urban volcano, the rubble flying so fast that it defied gravity - concrete cannons firing a gaping hole through the centre of the structure. In the basement, the whole room shuddered like an earthquake, with Tokoyami’s long, pale fingers wrapping around Ayane’s broad shoulder for support. The building was drenched from floor to rafter in tumult as both spectators and combatants fought to regain not only their balance, but their wits.

Ayane hauled her smaller friend upright, propping him upright with her arm. She looked up at the roof again. The shaking had stopped, but the echoes of tremors were still ricocheting around Ayane’s chest.

“You alright?” She hurriedly asked Tokoyami, resisting the temptation to snap back to the screen and watch what would inevitably be the conclusion of the fight. Ayane was met with stone cold silence, and not liking being ignored, she shook him probably a bit harder than she should’ve.

“Look.” He said, apple-red eyes not breaking from the monitors as he held out a quietly shaking finger in point.

Ayane did. There was Midoriya, who was miraculously still alive, his pulpy arm rigid. There was Bakugou, who stood stock still, his face obscured from the few remaining cameras. There was Iida, his armoured hands clutching at his helmet in dismay. And then there was Uraraka.

Uraraka, whose smooth limbs were clutching the weapon like a lifeline.

The monitoring room, previously a hub of commentary and chaos, had filtered out to an oppressive silence, and cloaked stillness. If Ayane wasn’t so overcome with thoughts and questions like ’WHAT HOW DID HE JUST PUT A HOLE IN THE CEILING WHY-‘ et cetera, then she would’ve laughed at the sheer number of slack jaws and widened eyes that looked like some surrealist painting. The whole room was frozen like stone statues, the screens being Medusa’s mechanical eye.

The slightest and most indistinct of whispers flowed out from the centre of the room. Aureate eyes followed the noise until they reached the source.

All Might.

He was holding the microphone with hands that trembled like someone much younger, his usual blinding smile slackened in a loose expression of shock. The dull light from the monitors casted a blue glow onto his shadowed eyes, and it was only then that Ayane could see they were wet.

“The hero team… WINS!!!” Cried All Might, far too loud than what was necessary. His victorious smile returned to his face, and the dampness of his eyes was quickly masked by his statuesque expression like it was never there.

His shielded face made a gentle pit form in Ayane’s stomach; as soft as the drop of a stone into shallow water, ripples of suspicion running up and down her spine. She bluntly pressed her lips together, rolling the soft skin beneath her teeth and against her tongue. Her mind played that flicker of unnameable emotion again and again, round and round Ayane’s head like a moon orbiting its parent.

She felt strange; guilty, like she’d trespassed on some foreign ground she was simply not welcome on, and yet her heart still burned with dozens of questions that couldn’t quite be formed into words.

Chapter Text

The building loomed like a dead thing, all steel ribs and concrete skin, its windows yawning black against the light of midday. Tokoyami stood rigid at Ayane’s side, Dark Shadow muttering restlessly from his shoulder.

Ayane’s head craned up, eyes straining to see the top of the structure. Her fingertips glowed dimly as she flexed them, light shining through the skin in small pinpricks as she gazed into the hollow mouth of the doorway. She could already feel the itch of her quirk, the instinctive urge to flood the dark with light, but resisted.

Instead, her attention flicked sideways. Tokoyami had the map spread in his hands, angled toward the sun. His sharp beak almost touched the paper as his beady eyes flicked over the words. Ayane had already grown used to Tokoyami’s inexpressive face due to his avian mutation, but she could see the crest of feathers gently raising off his head like hackles.

“You nervous?” Ayane said lowly, fiddling with the intercom to check All Might couldn’t hear. Noticing her movement, Tokoyami did the same.

He brushed his soft, dark feathers as he spoke. “I am not nervous.” He said at last, voice low and deliberate. “Apprehensive, perhaps. There is… something I must tell you before we begin. Something I would prefer to keep veiled, but cannot, not if we are to fight side by side. If left unspoken, it could very well doom us both.”

At this, Dark Shadow popped up out of Tokoyami’s cloak, its claws tapping the air in impatience. Ayane’s eyes flicked between the two, not knowing which one to look at.

“As you may know, Dark Shadow is a creature of the night. That meaning, he is most formidable at the hour of darkness, and frailest at the sun’s height. Light is both my ally and my undoing.” He finished, looking at her expectantly.

Ayane blinked at him. She wasn’t sure if he was reciting poetry or just trying to have a normal conversation.

“What?”

Dark Shadow grumbled from Tokoyami’s shoulder, sounding almost embarrassed for its master. Tokoyami’s feathers twitched again, standing like quills on end. “I am weakened by light. The stronger it shines, the weaker Dark Shadow becomes.” He mumbled, sounding considerably less composed.

Ayane’s mouth formed into a little ‘o’. That was going to be a problem.

”ONE MINUTE!!!” All Might bellowed through the earpiece, making both heroes flinch. Dark Shadow squawked at them in laughter.

Ayane felt a twinge of annoyance in her chest at her friend’s evasiveness, but swallowed it. Best not to start an argument when time was already running thin.

“It’s fine,” she began, even though it really wasn’t. “We should probably split up, try to separate them.” She stepped back, eyes fixed on the building again as she sucked in a breath of spring air. At least they were separated - she’d always been better at making plans without another person involved.

Raising a long arm, Ayane pointed at one of the tinted windows on the topmost floor. “I’ll blast up through there, and search from the top downwards. You can go in here, and search from the bottom upwards. If we find them, we radio each other. Keep track of the floor.”

Tokoyami let out a quiet breath, the wind rustling his feathers. “And if we get captured?”

Ayane looked back at her avian friend, yellow eyes gleaming in the afternoon light like two small suns. “We won’t.”

”TEAM H, TEAM J, YOUR TIME STARTS NOW!”

At All Might’s booming declaration, Ayane felt the familiar surge of her quirk stirring beneath her skin - a fizzing current that made her fingertips prickle and her veins feel lit from within. She sank low on the tarmac, muscles taut, the faint glow bleeding into her soles. She flicked her wrist at Tokoyami to motion him away, then narrowed her golden eyes on the glazed rectangle of the window far above.
Her lungs filled once, steady. Focus was key. Too powerful of a blast and she’d fly too far up, too weak and she’d miscalculate the trajectory.

Ayane exhaled sharply, and released.

A flash, and she was gone. Twin lances of light burst from her feet, cracking against the ground with a blazing hiss, and she rocketed skywards. The air slammed against her face, whipping her dark hair back, and the world fell into a dizzy whirl; grey towers stretched and melted into streaks of shadow and sunlight, the ground shrinking to a patchwork blur beneath her. She twisted mid-flight, arms spread for balance as the momentum tilted her sideways. Her stomach flipped, but she rode the rush, holding her body rigid as the cityscape stretched back into shape. For a heartbeat she seemed weightless, suspended in the second between ascent and fall. Then gravity took her.

The plunge came fast. Her hair whipped against her face, the wind tearing past her ears in a howl. Ayane thrust her arms out horizontally, palms trailing fire-bright heat, and released another volley of concentrated lazers, this time from her palms. They ripped out in streaks, searing white against the urban jungle, propelling her sideways. The sudden force sent her careening towards the desired window - she angled her body, knees drawn tight, feet braced for impact.

Her boots hit glass with a thunderclap, the pane surrendering instantly in an explosion of light and sound. Shards of glass erupted around her in a glittering storm, scattering like knives across the empty floor beyond. The crash reverberated through her bones, but she landed solidly, sliding against the splintering shards until she came to a stop.

The air smelled of concrete dust and burnt ozone. Behind Ayane, the last fragments of the window clattered to the floor in a rain of brittle echoes. Ayane straightened slowly, her hands still faintly glowing, every nerve in her body thrumming with the thrill of the entry.

The earpiece crackled to life, and the somber voice of Tokoyami came through. ”You made it in?”

Ayane rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure that everyone in a five mile radius knew she made it into the building. “Was it not obvious?” She whispered breathily, heart still racing from the journey.

A cackling sound hissed through the intercom, which Ayane recognised as the gravelly laughter of Dark Shadow. There was a short scuffling noise, and a distinct ”ow!” before the noise ceased, and Tokoyami responded.

”Forgive me for my oversight, but your quirk isn’t exactly easy to observe. What I mean to say is, are you uninjured?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Said Ayane, pressing herself to a nearby wall. “I won’t be for long though; they definitely heard me. They’ll probably come up looking, which gives you a chance to find the weapon.”

A pause. Ayane, believing it to be a technical error, was just about to repeat her message when Tokoyami spoke again, voice twinged with some unnamable emotion. ”You took this route, knowing they would hear you?”

She peered around a doorway before responding. “Don’t sound so betrayed. We wouldn’t have been able to take them down together. This was just the easier way.” The winding hallways still remained empty. “I didn’t get a good look at the map anyway, it would’ve been a liability to wander around together.”

”Don’t you trust me?”

It was now Ayane’s turn to pause. She backed up against another wall, and slid into a crouch. “What kind of question is that?” She muttered calmly. “Of course I trust you. I trust you to get the weapon. You trust me to take at least one of them down.”

Another pause, but this one wasn’t hostile like the others; it was calm, understanding.

”I won’t disappoint, Hayabusa.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ayane replied, straining to keep the smile out of her voice. “I know you won’t. Now shut up and get the weapon, before we run out of time.”

At this, the squawking voice of Dark Shadow returned, the receiver fizzing as it let out a passionate ”Aye aye, captain!”, followed by an indignant shout, before the microphone cut out.

Slowly, Ayane rose to her feet, gazing down the winding halls that wrapped around her like a maze.

’All alone now.’ She thought as she stepped forward, and continued her descent into the dim building.

Ayane had been creeping around the shadowed hallways for what felt like forever, though was probably only a handful of minutes. It took immense restraint to keep her light subdued; it instinctively wanted to burst out of her and illuminate the entire building. Instead, she settled for taking deep, deliberate breaths to calm her nerves in an unsuccessful attempt to quell the energy roiling against her. She wished she was more suited for stealth - Ayane couldn’t bear the thought of having to fight people out in the public eye. Espionage was more her style.

The creak of metal jolted Ayane from her thoughts. At first it was faint, a tremor at the edge of her hearing, but then it grew closer, louder - the unmistakable cadence of boots hammering against the stairwell. The sound echoed through the winding halls like a heartbeat, constant and unstoppable. Ayane reacted instantly, slamming her back into the wall, pressing herself against it as though she could will herself to vanish into the shadows. Her fingers itched, light blooming faintly in her palms before she clenched them into fists, forcing it down. She craned her head to listen over the pounding of her heart.

Then came the voice, loud and brash, bouncing upward with every step; Ayane recognised it as the red-haired one - Kirishima. Screwing her eyes shut, she cast her mind back in a desperate attempt to remember his quirk. Her opponent sounded as if he was grinning even in pursuit, calling out some half-joke to his partner through the comms. The footsteps were drawing closer, and Ayane knew she only had a few seconds before he saw her. She steadied her breathing, low and quiet, mind racing as she scrambled for a plan.

She couldn’t just go firing beams at him; she wanted him captured, not dead. Her power wasn’t delicate, and she knew one wrong move could punch through flesh and bone like paper. No - she had to think smarter. Her eyes darted to the ceiling, to the rusted vents and fragile light fixtures trembling with each heavy step. The building itself was a weapon, if she aimed right. She sucked in a breath. Four more steps, maybe five, and he’d be on her. She didn’t have much time left.

Kirishima whistled as he rounded the corner. He was beginning to think that him and Sero were going to win, which surprised him, in all honesty. He’s always tried to have a positive outlook, but when the teams were announced, he couldn’t help but feel—

The world turned white. A sudden flare of brilliance intruded Kirishima’s vision, searing his eyes, just as the loose light fixture gave way with a shriek of metal. The lamp crashed down on his hardened head in a spray of shattered glass and sparks, the noise exploding through the corridor.

Ayane didn’t waste a second. Taking advantage of his disorientation, she ignited a concentrated beam beneath her heel, the blast snapping her leg forward with extraordinary speed. Speed was weight, and the light turned her strike into a meteor - far heavier than muscle alone could ever manage. Her leg cut through the air in a golden blur and smashed into Kirishima’s side, the impact reverberating up her frame as though she’d just kicked a steel plate. He slammed into the wall with a dull crack, crumpling in a tangled heap amidst a cloud of dust.

Though, he wasn’t the only one injured. Ayane’s shin throbbed, electric pains running up and down her leg as sharp as lightning. Suppressing a groan, she clutched her leg with a snakelike grip, tears brimming in her eyes. Ayane’s costume had shock absorbers fitted for this exact situation… so why did her leg feel like it was on fire?

She quickly learned why. Through the plume of dust, a broad shadow began to rise, and slowly lumber towards Ayane.

“You’ll have to do more than that…” Came a raspy voice, stoked with a fiery hope. “…to take me down!”

The powdered concrete began to settle, and a tanned arm became visible, the skin jagged and stiff. Then a torso, muscles impossibly rigid. Then a head, face unnaturally firm and solid, topped with a head of razor-sharp, crimson hair.

Ayane’s breath shook as she exhaled. Hardening.

”Hayabusa!” Crackled Tokoyami, voice warped by static. ”Was that noise you?”

Ayane didn’t dare peel her gaze away from Kirishima, who was already staggering back to his feet, shaking dust from his shoulders like a dog after rain. Her fingers brushed the side of her headset, pressing the button down. “Yes,” she answered, her voice as steady and cold as a winter tide. “Kirishima’s here. The one with the hardening quirk.”

The admission was hardly out of her mouth before the red-haired boy lunged, his hardened skin gleaming as he barreled toward her with reckless determination. Ayane braced, snapping a burst of light under her heel. The beam flared, propelling her forward in a blur just before his arms could lock around her. Her boots scraped across the floor as she landed awkwardly, white-hot pain sparking up her injured leg. A sharp cry escaped before she forced her teeth shut, not wanting to distract Tokoyami.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, but her tone was unshaken when she spoke again, eyes narrowing on her opponent. “Focus on the weapon. I’ll keep him busy.” She hissed, narrowing those hawklike eyes icily at Kirishima.

Before Tokoyami could argue, she flicked the receiver off with a sharp tap, severing the line. Silence fell, broken only by Kirishima’s heavy breathing and the faint crackle of plaster beneath his boots. Ayane rolled her shoulders, adjusting her stance despite the throb in her leg. Her glow brightened at her fingertips, spilling across the ruined hallway like a threat.

She had made a promise to her friend, and she didn’t intend on breaking it.

“Take note, students!” Boomed All Might, words echoing through the empty chamber of the monitoring room. “Those of you blessed with offensive quirks must learn restraint. Remember, the goal is to take down the villains, not to destroy them. Young Hayabusa here knows she could strike her opponent directly, but uses her quirk to both manipulate the environment and boost her physical strength. That, my students, is the mark of a thinking hero!”

A murmur rippled through the class, all eyes glued to the screens - except Yaoyorozu, who was furiously scribbling in a notebook that she produced earlier.

The monitors flickered with a burst of light, the two figures melting into a sea of white. The screens flashed incessantly, masking the audience’s view of the battle, but the proctor’s finger was pointed to a different screen.

“Look here, at young Tokoyami! He uses his quirk to act both as offence and defence, protecting him from Sero’s tape as well as destroying the traps he laid out in preparation! Very clever!”

Sixteen pairs of eyes followed the direction, and focused on the left-side monitors, which displayed nothing less than a nightmare. The monstrous form of Dark Shadow dominated the cramped room, its hulking mass twisting and unfurling like smoke made solid. Its razored claws tore through the air with a shriek, shredding ribbons of tape before they could make contact, while its body cleverly shielded Tokoyami with a feral devotion. The beast’s size dwarfed Sero, blotting him out like an insect beneath a thundercloud. Yet, he didn’t surrender.

Each time his tape snapped in two, he launched another volley, plastering the walls and ceiling with sticky lines in a desperate attempt to tether the monster to his web. He swung around the room like a monkey between vines, swiftly dodging the lumbering attacks of Dark Shadow, pulling himself away an instant. Despite its weight, Sero managed to swing the weapon just out of reach every time so fast it seemed to taunt the beast.

Amidst the hum of commentary, Kaminari cried out, energised despite his earlier defeat in battle. “This match is insane! These two are crazy powerful!”

“But look! Sero’s not letting up!”

“An important lesson!” Declared All Might, voice thunderous with approval. “Endurance is key, students! There will be times where you are simply overpowered, and you cannot face a villain head on! In situations like these, your energy will be best spent outwitting your opponent while you wait for backup.”

At this, Iida - who’s gaze had been practically welded to the monitor - brought his hand down in a sharp chop, the motion slicing the air with a crisp whoosh. “Ah! Of course!” he blurted, voice far too loud for his intended whisper. His glasses flashed as he straightened to attention. “That’s the true lesson here! A hero must never yield to despair or surrender; we must instead use our wit to outmanoeuvre even the most overwhelming of foes! Wouldn’t you agree, Uraraka?”

But Uraraka wasn’t listening.

Gingerly stepping to the front of the crowd, Uraraka’s deer-brown eyes flicked back to the screen as it seized with another burst of light. The feed fractured into stuttering glimpses, through which she saw snapshots of a fight: Kirishima charging down the corridor, Hayabusa twisting away, her outline swallowed by another flash. She wasn’t attacking anymore, Uraraka noticed, not since that sharp kick had left her limping; instead she stayed just out of reach, dazzling him, slipping through his grasp as easy as water.

Every time Kirishima tried to corner her, the glare forced him to shield his eyes, and by the time he blinked through the haze, she was already gone. It was clever, Uraraka thought - not stubbornly fighting head-on, but keeping him occupied, draining his stamina, making him fight blind. There was a kind of grace in Hayabusa’s movements, a strength that didn’t need to come from brute force.

Hayabusa reminded Uraraka of Deku; they both had that unquenchable stubbornness, yet hers came prickly, spiked with defiance and vigour.

Where Deku’s determination bloomed quietly: earnest, self-sacrificing, trembling on the edge of fear and hope - Hayabusa’s burned hot and bright, like a house catching fire. There was no hesitation in her strikes, no moment spared for doubt. Every move seemed to declare ’I will not lose’,but the way she carried it - that fierce, untouchable confidence - made Uraraka’s chest twist with something halfway between awe and unease.

She’d always admired people— no, heroes like Deku, people who fought for others because their hearts couldn’t bear not to. But Hayabusa seemed to fight for the sole reason of not surrendering. There was no softness in it, no apology. She was all edges, dazzling and dangerous. The kind that made Uraraka feel both impossibly small, as if standing too close to her light might scorch.

And yet, Uraraka leaned forward unconsciously, chest tightening with excitement. She wanted to remember this. To watch the way Hayabusa refused to be pinned, to watch the way her mind worked in real time. It made Uraraka think, if she can do that, maybe I could too.

Ayane’s skin burned, though not in the painful way that came with the overuse of her quirk.

It wasn’t really burning at all - instead she felt her flesh sparking and fizzing beneath the dermis with something thrilling.

She didn’t think she’d ever been able to really let loose with her power like this. Certainly not in her childhood, where her Ma had discouraged her even from glowing. Her Father’s health had taken priority over her quirk development (and later training). She’d had to practice elsewhere, be that honing her movement out in the garden, learning intensity in abandoned buildings, or sharpening her aim in the back of some forgotten junkyard.

But now was not then.

Her heart thundered beneath her chest, breath coming in puffs of exhilaration despite the ghostly pains needling through her leg. It felt like she had to pour it all out while she could; every trick she’d learned, every gleam of instinct and spark of brilliance her power could muster. Her body thrummed with energy, demanding release, and she obeyed, letting light spill from her hands in brief, controlled bursts that cut through the dimness like flares from a dying sun.

Ayane pounced from wall to floor like some extraordinary animal, figure obscured by light in a reverse silhouette that blotted out the dark entirely. Her image flickered as she moved, darting here and there too fast for the eye to keep up with. It was a dizzying journey; up and down seemed to melt together into some obscure blur, and the room’s greys muddled into an unforgettable white.

Though she dashed around erratically, Ayane’s plan had already begun to fall into motion. A dazzled Kirishima stood at the centre of the chaos, muscles clenched together in his hardened state as he anticipated the next attack.

Though she darted around erratically, Ayane’s plan had already begun to fall into motion. To anyone else, her movements might’ve seemed wild, reckless flashes of light cutting through the dim air in an incomprehensible fashion, but that was the intention. A dazzled Kirishima stood at the centre of the chaos, muscles locked in his hardened state, his stance shifting and twitching as he tried to predict where the next strike would come from, all the while Ayane continued to build up speed.

Her next phase came without warning. Ayane shot forward in a blaze of white, shooting past Kirishima with only a hair’s distance between them - close enough that the heat radiating off her made him stumble away, arms rising up instinctively to guard his face as he braced for a hit that never came.

Ayane couldn’t tell he had stumbled, nor hear his gasp over the crackling of energy. A key component of her plan was trust; trust in nobody but herself, which was both the easiest and hardest thing to ask of her.

Launching her feet out ahead of her, Ayane slammed down horizontally on the opposite wall and pivoted, using another pulse of light to propel herself back into motion. The air fizzled with pressure as she launched towards him, whipping the capture tape from her belt in one smooth motion.

In the next instant, she’d looped it around his torso and pulled tight, the specialised fibres locking into place. She dragged him with her as she slowed, the glow of the room fading, and the chaos of motion dying down to silence.

Ayane exhaled hard through her nose, the air trembling in her chest like a butterfly beating its wings against her ribcage. For a moment she just stood there, shoulders heaving, hands on her knees, surrounded by the acrid smell of scorched dust. Wisps of heat rippled in the air, distorting the edges of Ayane’s silhouette. Her palms smoked faintly, more glow than burn, trailing motes of gold that shimmered like dying fireflies before dissolving into the dim. Her breath came sharp and shallow, sweat gathering on her skin in a welcome sheen, the rush of adrenaline still flooding her veins, but her expression barely shifted.

Kirishima groaned from the floor, his hardened skin flickering back to soft flesh as he shifted against the tape. His chest rose and fell, the red of his hair sticking to his damp face. “You’re so manly, Hayabusa…” he muttered, head knocking back against the concrete floor.

Ayane could only muster the energy to give him a weak nod. Her eyes, bright and cutting even in the dark, surveyed his body under a hawklike gaze. Her fingers twitched, releasing a faint crackle of light as if her body still hadn’t realised the fight had paused. Her opponent was uninjured, save for the occasional scuff and bruise, thank goodness.

Then (of course), came a tremor from below. The floor vibrated beneath her boots, dust falling from the ceiling as something massive collided with the level beneath. A second later, the comms hissed to life with the sound of Tokoyami’s voice and Dark Shadow’s unholy roar hissing in the background.

”How is the situation up there, Hayabusa?”

Ayane could hardly make her friend’s voice out over all the racket, but responded all the same. “Kirishima is captured.” She huffed, patting down her body before she added “I’m okay.”

Another roar screeched through the intercom as the floor gave another tremble. ”If you aren’t too busy, it would be of great aid for you to come down about now! Dark Shadow is not a patient creature, and Sero seems to be a remarkably evasive one!”

Ayane straightened up, holding a hand to her earpiece as she swept along the corridors, Kirishima forgotten. “What floor are you on?”

”The third!”

Two floors below. The cogs in Ayane’s mind began to tick away again as the beginnings of a plan took root.

“I have an idea. Get him near a window.” She commanded as she neared one. Her fingers curled around the frame, testing it, but it wouldn’t budge. With a quiet exhale, she gave up on subtlety; light pooled in her palms and burst outward in a muted flash. The glass splintered under the pressure, scattering like falling stars as a faint shimmer danced across her palms like molten gold.

”Done.” Ayane was glad that Tokoyami was the type to listen now, and ask questions later.

“Tokoyami, I’m going to count to three.” Ayane started, cocking a leg over the sill. The fresh air chilled her arm, and the vertigo-inducing drop made her heart pound like a drum. “When I get to three, make Dark Shadow’s retreat, and close your eyes!”

The spring air blew against Ayane’s face like a kiss, carrying with it the faint scent of plum blossoms from the faraway fields. Perched on the edge of the building, her legs trembled like leaves as her eyes traced the drop. Puffing out a shaky breath, she began to count down.

“One, two—!”

Ayane pushed off the ledge.

The world inverted. Air screamed past her ears as the ground rushed to meet her, braided hair streaming like a dark banner behind her. She flared her light mid-fall, a single, explosive flash that tore through the faux cityscape.

Through the third floor window, a glimpse of Sero rushed by, his arm mid-swing as he launched a strip of tape towards an unarmed Tokoyami. The instant her light bloomed, he froze. The sudden brilliance overwhelmed his vision; his footing faltered, a hand flying to shield his face.

“Now!”

Tokoyami didn’t need telling twice. The silhouette of Dark Shadow’s swept through the chaos, dragging Tokoyami to the weapon like a dog unleashed. There was a clamour as the light cleared, - Sero, realising he’d been tricked, fired out another round - but it was already too late.

Still falling, Ayane braced herself for impact. She thrust her hands towards the ground, two brief jets flaring on her palms, just as they had in the entrance exam, slowing her descent just enough for her to land in a controlled crouch rather than a splatter. The shock still rattled her as she tumbled to a heap, hand flying to her earpiece.

For a moment too long, it was silent.

But then, from somewhere within the distant static, Sero groaned.

Ayane looked up, her irises reflecting chambers of yellow in the afternoon light. “Tokoyami,” she called, voice cracking with exhaustion, “tell me you’ve got it.”

As it turned out, she didn’t need him to.

”THE HERO TEAM… WINS!!!”