Work Text:
Musutafu Arcodome Transit Wing B | January 6, 2190 – Japan
The rain tapping the Arcodome’s synthglass ceiling sounded like static — soft, distant, swallowed by the cacophony of afterschool chatter and echoing footsteps on alloy floor panels. The storm outside wasn’t even real. Orbital moisture condensed over the dome’s weather control grid, a synthetic drizzle masking the noise below.
Midoriya Yume kept to the side of the corridor, her back to the curved wall where maintenance Frames slumbered in their ports. Her nose was buried in a half-frayed notepad, pages already filled edge-to-edge with tight scribbles. Today’s topic: enhancement Quirks compared to cyberware — specifically All Might’s latest stunt in Hosaka. The Number One Hero had caught a skytrain mid-plummet after a short circuit took out its maglev lines while fellow hero, one chromed up with Gorilla Fists and Titanium Bones caught the other end and struggled a little.
All Might didn’t use tech, or Fracture energy, the elements, Biotics, or the Light. Just raw kinetic redirection through his still unknown Quirk. He was a walking outlier. An impossible standard. And Yume couldn’t stop chasing that ideal.
She flipped the page, already halfway into a new theory — maybe you could mimic the effect by syncing a Sandevisatan to a gravitational anchor using concentrated—
“Heads up!”
The warning came too late.
A blur of motion streaked past her peripheral vision — pink, fast, loud, melting — skating literally across the floor with boots hissing on contact. She left a sizzling trail behind her where the polymer tiles bubbled and smoked.
“Wha—?!”
Yume stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the splash of corrosive runoff as her notebook slipped from his grip. Sheets scattered like blown leaves. One landed directly in the acidic path and fizzed at the edges.
“Crap, sorry!” the girl called out, pivoting sharply on acid-proof boots that left faint steam clouds in their wake. Her candy-pink hair was wild, eyes gleaming amber-gold like twin flare lenses under the corridor lights. Her school shirt bore scorch marks where acid had eaten through the hem.
“Didn’t see you there, Green Bean.”
“G-Green Bean?” she stammered, crouching to retrieve her notes.
She dropped to one knee beside her, already sweeping up pages with gloved hands — fast, practiced, careful. “Yeah. You’re tall and skinny. Like a bean sprout. You got a better nickname?”
Yume flushed. “N-not really…”
“Thought so.”
One of her diagrams — a full schematic of kinetic output range vs. delay between activation and use of Biotics — had a melted hole straight through the middle. The girl winced and offered an apologetic noise.
“Sorry. Practicing slides. Should’ve checked the warning signage. Not that anyone ever upgrades these floors for people like me.”
She blinked at her. “Your Quirk… you make acid?”
“Mm-hm,” she said, not quite smiling. “Not a Quirk, actually. And not as cool as it sounds.”
“I-I think it’s amazing,” Yume said before she could stop himself. “It’s like—you could melt through enemy fortifications, shield allies with corrosive barriers, maybe even terraform chokepoints—”
The girl stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
“Most people just run,” she muttered. “I burn through lockers if I sneeze too hard. The cafeteria lady wears boots when I eat.”
Yume hesitated. Then, without thinking: “You… don’t want to be a hero?”
That made her scoff. Not sarcastic — just tired.
“Seriously?” she said. “How would that even work? I’m more of a hazard than a helper. If I mess up, someone loses a limb.”
She reached down and touched the floor. Her fingertips fizzed faintly against the tile. Not enough to damage it — but enough to leave a faint stain. Acidic sweat. Her body was leaking it constantly.
Yume felt a pang behind her ribs. Too familiar.
“I’m Quirkless,” she blurted.
She blinked. “What?”
“No Quirk. None. But I still want to be a hero.” Her voice was low, but steady. “People act like you need something special to even try. That not having a power means you shouldn’t bother. Like the moment you’re born, the world decides if you matter.”
The girl didn’t speak.
“I know what it’s like,” Yume continued, holding her gaze. “To feel wrong. Like everyone else got an invitation to the future, and you got left behind. You think you’ll hurt someone if you try too hard. I think I’m not allowed to try at all.”
Silence stretched between them. The rain above softened again — just background static now.
Then she smiled. Not big. Not wide. But real.
“Guess we’re both factory defects, huh?”
“No,” Yume said, voice firmer than she expected. “You’re not defective. You’re just different. Like… a prototype the world hasn’t figured out yet.”
She tilted her head. “Wow. That was corny.”
“Y-yeah. Sorry.”
“No, I liked it.” Her grin widened. “I’m Mina, by the way. Ashido Mina. Half-Sani, full klutz.”
“Sani?” she echoed. “From Corvand, or—?”
“Hm. Born on transit and raised here. Grew up thinking the acid was a Quirk like anyone else. Found out the truth when I flunked the Quirk Diagnostics at five.”
Yume gave her a shy nod. “Midoriya. Midoriya Yume, she/her.”
“Well then,” Mina grinned, hooking an arm around Yume’s shoulder, “you wanna be freaks together? I know a bakery just down the road if you wanna get cake or something.”
Yume’s heart skipped a beat. A girl wanted to be friends—and wanted to go to a bakery with her? This had to be a dream.
“Uh… yeah, sure.”
Mina’s smile was bright and unapologetic as they stepped into the bustling corridor.
“What have I gotten myself into?” Yume wondered as they left the station behind.
January 7th, 2190 — Evening
The artificial rain had stopped. Droplets clung to the synthglass dome overhead, fracturing the low orange glow of distant arc-lamps. After-school foot traffic had thinned to a few stragglers—an occasional hoverbus drifting past, a janitor drone methodically sweeping trash along the lower platforms.
Yume sat at the foot of the transit platform’s long outer stairs, tapping the edge of her notepad without really looking at it. Her thoughts still spun from yesterday—from acid boots, wild pink hair, and a girl who joked about being a klutz but had eyes that looked like someone who’d learned to brace for disappointment.
I’m Quirkless, she had said.
And she hadn’t laughed.
Footsteps approached—light, hesitant. A familiar voice called out.
“Green Bean?”
Yume looked up. “Ashido?”
Mina appeared at the far end of the stairs, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her school blazer was bundled under one arm. Her boots hissed quietly as they touched the occasional puddle, but now she moved slower, more carefully. Her eyes were rimmed red; her usually defiant spikes of pink hair hung damp, drooping to one side.
“You okay?” Yume asked immediately.
Mina stopped a few steps away and bit her lip, voice dropping to a whisper. “I screwed up.”
“What happened?”
She glanced over her shoulder as if checking no one was nearby, then stepped closer. Her fingers twitched—the subtle tremor she had when holding back acid. Yume didn’t flinch. She didn’t move away. That seemed to ease Mina.
“There was this guy,” Mina said. “Tall. Wearing a cloak—not cosplay or punk, but like… cultist vibe. He had this energy. Pressure. Like he shouldn’t be here.”
Yume stiffened. “Like a Dredgen?”
“No,” Mina said quickly. “Worse. Scarier. They at least feel… alive. This guy felt like a void. Blink too long and he’d disappear—and take you with him.”
She swallowed hard. “What did he do?”
“He stopped me and some girls from my school. Asked for directions to a hero agency downtown. Didn’t say which one. Just said he needed access to a sublevel. No name, no ID. Looked at us like we were already guilty of something.”
Yume’s stomach twisted. “And then?”
Mina’s eyes filled again, but she held Yume’s gaze. “I lied. Told him the agency moved—a few blocks past the central station, where the police drones patrol. Then he left.”
“You… tricked him?”
“I didn’t mean to. My body just—moved. Didn’t want him to hurt my friends. Didn’t even think. Just lied.”
A long silence. Only the distant hum of a passing tram.
Mina sat down on the stairs, burying her face in her hands.
“I’m not a hero,” she said, voice muffled. “I don’t even know how to use my acid yet. Ruin floors. Screw up lab equipment. And now I probably pissed off some eldritch nightmare in a trench coat.”
Yume sat beside her, close but careful. She watched Mina’s trembling fingers, the faint burn marks on her sleeves where sweat had leaked through. She thought of the skytrain on Mars—All Might holding it up by sheer will, no backup, no plan—just instinct.
“Mina,” Yume said softly, “that was a heroic instinct.”
She looked at her friend.
“You were scared. But you acted. You protected people. You didn’t even stop to think if it would hurt you.”
“It might still hurt me,” Mina whispered.
“I know. But heroes don’t always win. They just try anyway.”
Mina blinked rapidly, sniffed, then looked down at her boots.
“You’re a weird kid, Midori.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
A pause.
Then she nudged Yume’s shoulder with hers—just barely. It left a warm hiss on her sleeve, but didn’t burn.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’d do the same for me,” Yume smiled. “Green Bean and Bubblegum—a real power duo.”
Mina groaned. “Don’t make that a thing.”
“Too late,” Yume teased.
For the first time all day, Mina laughed. Not nervously, not sarcastically. Just laughed.
And beneath the still-dripping Arcodome sky, it sounded like hope.
February 12, 2190 — Rooftop Terrace
The rust-orange skyline stretched above the rooftops, clouds catching the pulse of evening neon. The filtered dome shimmered faintly, tuned to mimic a sunset Earth hadn’t seen in decades. Almost believable—if you didn’t stare too long at the grid seams or the faint glint of satellites passing overhead.
Yume sat near the edge of the observation deck, one sneaker tapping against a vent. Her notepad lay open on her lap, page blank. Not for lack of trying—her thoughts refused to settle.
“Young lady, you too can be a hero.”
All Might’s words echoed in her mind like a bell that refused to stop ringing. She replayed the scene endlessly: the Sludge Villain’s grip around Bakugou’s throat, her own legs moving on instinct, panic and fear twisting her chest, and then—All Might. Standing there. Smiling at her.
Now… she looked down at her hands. Still trembling. Still hers.
She wanted to tell someone. She wanted to tell her.
But she couldn’t.
Footsteps approached. She tensed—then relaxed when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.
“Thought I might find you up here.”
Mina.
She walked over with her usual bounce, though softer tonight, hesitant. Her jacket was half-zipped, eyes glowing faintly in the low light, pink skin catching the golden hue of the dome.
“You skipped your train again,” she said, stopping beside Yume. “Two for two, Midoriya. You’re gonna develop a bad habit.”
Yume tried to smile. “Maybe I just like the view.”
Mina raised a brow but didn’t push. She sat cross-legged next to her, tugging at her skirt hem to avoid melting the seat. After a moment, she glanced sideways.
“You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“Kind of did.”
“Seriously?”
Yume laughed a little too quickly. “Not literally. Just… had a rough day.”
Mina’s horns twitched. Yume still didn’t know if they were cosmetic or part of her deeper senses—maybe they helped her read emotions like energy readings. Either way, Mina noticed. Even when she tried not to.
“You’re not talking,” Mina said gently. “Weird. You always talk.”
Yume hesitated, fingers gripping the edge of her notebook.
“I want to,” she admitted. “I really do. But it’s not my story to tell. Not yet.”
Mina’s expression softened. “You didn’t do something stupid again, did you?”
A pause.
“I jumped into a villain attack.”
“Dammit, Midori.”
“I know.”
“I told you how scared I was with that guy in the trench coat, how lucky I was… and you went full martyr?!”
Mina wasn’t angry—just scared. For her.
“I didn’t think,” Yume said. “I just saw Kacchan in danger and—my legs moved before I knew it.”
Mina blinked. “Midori… do your legs just… have a hero setting?”
“I mean… maybe.”
They sat in silence. Mina sighed, slumping back on her hands.
“Did it help? Did anyone thank you?”
“I… Bakugou sort of thanked me. And the pros really chewed into me.”
“But someone did, didn’t they?” Mina asked softly. “That’s why you’re like this.”
Yume froze. Her voice dropped. “You’re different tonight. Like you’re buzzing inside. Not a TurboFizz kind of way.”
She couldn’t answer. Not really. But she smiled.
“I got told something I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear.”
Mina tilted her head. “That you can be a hero?”
Yume’s eyes widened.
“Lucky guess,” she added quietly. “You say it with your whole body. Every time you talk about heroes, it’s like you’re trying to prove it just by breathing.”
Yume swallowed. “Do you think… I could be one?”
“I think you already are,” Mina said simply. “Even if no one gives you a license for it.”
His throat tightened.
Mina bumped her shoulder against hers, and this time the hiss of acid didn’t come. Her skin was dry, stable.
“You don’t need to tell me everything,” she said. “But don’t go dying on me, Midoriya. I still owe you a proper DDR rematch.”
She chuckled. “Deal.”
“Good. Now come on.” Mina stood and offered her hand. “Your mom’s gonna kill you if you miss dinner again.”
Yume took it.
For the first time since that alleyway—since the moment All Might changed her future—Yume Midoriya felt like the ground beneath her wasn’t going to give out.
May 26, 2190
The platform smelled of ozone and hot pavement. Static lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the quiet lanes. School had ended hours ago, but Midoriya lingered, as she always did, nursing a fading bruise from training. Her gym bag sat at her feet, a half-eaten protein bar in hand.
And then—
A sharp voice cut through the hum of the station like a plasma torch.
“Still pretending you’re good enough for U.A., Deku?”
Midoriya stiffened. Bakugou.
The blonde leaned casually against a support pillar, like the station had been built just to make him look cooler. Scorched tips of his uniform sleeves still carried the faint smell of smoke from training. He grinned—not with mirth, but with that sharp, cutting smirk of his.
“You know what Yuuei really is, right?” he sneered. “Top tier. Best of the best. That school doesn’t take weaklings or charity cases. Especially wannabe try-hards with no Quirk.”
Midoriya—trembling—opened her mouth—then closed it. Not today.
Then another voice, calm but firm:
“I’m pretty sure Yuuei doesn’t accept bullies, actually.”
Bakugou’s smirk faltered.
Mina stood nearby, arms crossed, golden eyes glowing faintly. Her schoolbag hung low, jacket scorched in places. She’d clearly just come from training too—though exactly what, it was hard to tell.
“Ha?! What’d you say, Pinky?” Bakugou snapped, stepping closer.
“You heard me,” Mina said evenly. “Being strong doesn’t mean putting people down. If anything, that makes you weaker than the rest of us.”
“You got a death wish or something?” Midoriya is shaking. She knew what would happen next.
“I’ve already been scared before,” Mina replied flatly. “But I don’t need to be scared of you at all.”
“Tch. Whatever,” Bakugou said, rolling his eyes, and shoved past without another word. His footsteps echoed harshly down the corridor.
Once he was gone, Midoriya exhaled.
“…Thanks,” she said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Mina shrugged, still watching the hallway.
“Sure I did. He’s walking around like he’s Earth’s gift to the stars. Someone’s gotta pop that ego.”
Midoriya chuckled. For a moment, the tension slipped away.
They walked together in silence, weaving through the late crowd of students and salarymen. Eventually, they took a side stair to the overlook above the mag-rail lines—a place where the air was cleaner, and the stars could peek through the dome.
After a beat, Mina spoke.
“You’re really going for Yuuei?”
Midoriya hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Training every day now.”
“With your parents?”
“…Not exactly,” she admitted, scratching the back of her head. “Someone else stepped in. Big guy. Crazy strong. Helping me train at Dagobah Beach—bulk up, basically.”
Mina blinked. “You’re training there? That place is a landfill.”
“I know,” Midoriya said with a small smile. “That’s the point. Cleaning it up is part of the training. Every scrap I move is progress.”
“Wow.” She sounded genuinely impressed—not polite, not fake.
“What about you?” Midoriya asked. “You go to that fancy private school—I thought they pushed corporate hero tracks.”
“They do. Suits and sponsorships,” Mina muttered, nose scrunching. “But I don’t want that. I want to be a hero. Not wear a brand.”
She took a breath.
“I’ve been watching old footage I found,” she said. “From before the Frontier War. There was this heroine—Tempest. Real name, Shimura Nana.”
Midoriya’s eyes widened. She’d heard the name, once or twice.
“She wasn’t flashy. No merch, didn’t care about cameras. But she… helped people. Real people. Fought with everything she had.”
“I think All Might mentioned her once,” Midoriya said. “They fought together, right?”
“Really?” Mina’s eyes lit up. “I think she died protecting him. Or someone close to him.”
Mina grew quiet.
“I guess I want to be like that,” she said softly. “Even if I’m not flashy, even if no one knows what I really am. I want to help people first.”
“You will,” Midoriya said before thinking. “You already do.”
She looked at her.
“I mean—you helped me. With Bakugou. With… that guy in the cloak. You didn’t freeze up.”
“I wanted to,” Mina admitted. “But I didn’t. Something… moved.”
She tilted her head.
“You said that last time.”
“I know. It’s weird. Something inside me pulls when there’s danger. Not my muscles. Something… deeper.”
“An instinct?”
“Maybe. Or a memory I don’t remember having.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder at the railing, watching mag-trains blaze by beneath them like veins of light. Two kids from different schools. No Quirks.
But maybe… a spark.
“I’m glad we’re both trying,” Mina said finally. “Even if we don’t make it.”
“We will,” Midoriya said, eyes steady.
Green and white eyes met gold and black again. This time, she smiled.
February 8, 2191 — U.A. High, Practical Exam Sector 6, Dome C
The sky wasn’t real.
A shimmering projection dome painted in drifting clouds and soft spring light hung overhead, hiding the cold machinery above. But the fear twisting in Midoriya’s stomach was very real.
She tugged the strap of her regulation jumpsuit tighter, fingers fidgeting as dozens of other teens milled around the cracked concrete staging zone. Ahead loomed an artificial cityscape—collapsed walls, prefab buildings, shattered streets—designed to look like a place heroes would be sent after a disaster… or into a fight.
Her throat was dry.
Then—movement in the crowd.
“Midori!”
Mina bounded toward her like a comet, acid-pink hair flying, golden eyes glowing brighter than the fake sun. Her jumpsuit sleeves were a little too long, her gloves didn’t quite match, and she looked like she’d shown up for both a fight and a dance battle.
Midoriya’s shoulders sagged with relief. “You’re here too?”
“Dome C, same as you,” Mina grinned. “Guess fate’s on our side.”
She held up a fist. “You got this.”
“I’m… glad we’re in the same zone,” Midoriya said softly.
“Duh. I’m your backup dancer, remember?”
Before she could answer, a sharp voice cut across the crowd.
“You two!”
They turned.
A boy with a posture like a steel rod strode toward them, blue hair combed into perfect order, glasses catching the dome-light. His expression was somewhere between outrage and authority.
“If you’re here to joke around,” he said, “please leave. You’re distracting the rest of us. This is a serious examination, not a—”
“I am serious,” Midoriya said, voice low but steady.
The boy blinked.
“I’m not here to play,” she continued. “Neither of us are.”
Mina crossed her arms beside her. “And if you’re already freaked out before the test even starts, maybe worry about your own nerves instead of ours.”
His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Finally, he muttered something about “standards” and marched away.
Midoriya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Was that too much?” Mina whispered.
“No,” she said. “It felt… kind of good.”
A whistle pierced the air. Present Mic’s booming voice rolled down from the observation deck above.
“YO YO YO! Ready, kiddos?! This is GO TIME! No countdown—when the gates open, you’re live! Real robots, real points! Let’s get that PLUS ULTRA energy moving!”
The crowd surged forward.
With a hiss of hydraulics, the massive gates began to rise. Locking bolts clunked free. The heavy concrete slabs screeched upward to reveal the jagged streets beyond.
Mina leaned in, grin flashing. “Let’s move, hero-girl.”
They sprinted into the artificial disaster zone together.
The city was chaos.
Bots swarmed the streets, bounding over rubble like metallic wolves. Some loomed as tall as cargo trucks; others skittered on spidery legs, no bigger than trash cans. Stenciled numbers marked their chassis— 1, 2, 3—each worth points.
Mina was already in motion. She skimmed across the asphalt on slick puddles of acid that sizzled beneath her boots, swinging around a collapsed wall. A quick flick of her fingers and the legs of a one-point bot hissed into slag.
Midoriya pushed after her, lungs burning. She’d trained every day for this—Dagobah Beach, the weights, the drills—but nothing had prepared her for how these machines moved . So fast. So aggressive.
A two-pointer lunged at a girl scrambling for cover.
Mina hit it from the side like a comet, shoulder-first. Before it could recover, Midoriya snatched a brick from the ground and hurled it into its optics. Sparks erupted. The bot shrieked and collapsed in a twitching heap.
“Thanks!” gasped the girl—round-cheeked, brown-haired, hovering a few centimeters off the ground.
Mina gave a quick wave, already spinning toward the next cluster.
Then—
A shadow blotted out the fake sun.
The ground shook.
Screams tore through the air as students scattered.
The zero-pointer smashed into the zone like a falling skyscraper, each step sending seismic cracks through the streets. Gears groaned. A single furnace-bright eye swept the battlefield.
They froze. Everyone knew the rule— don’t fight it . Avoid. Survive. Let it tear through the props.
Except—
The girl they’d just saved was still there, grounded by a twisted leg.
Mina started forward—
—but Midoriya was already moving.
“Midori—?!”
She ran. Past the others. Past the crumbling asphalt and sparking wreckage. Her legs screamed for her to stop. She didn’t.
The robot’s shadow fell over the girl.
A massive foot began to rise.
Time fractured.
A voice—deep, commanding—roared in her memory:
“Remember these words, child, and shout them from the depths of your heart!”
“SMASH!”
Her fist met steel.
Air detonated outward. The shockwave shattered windows for blocks, rippling up through the dome’s false sky. The zero-pointer’s leg tore apart in a storm of gears and shrieking metal, sending its massive frame crashing backward.
She hit the ground hard. Too hard. Pain ripped through her arm—white-hot, electric.
But the girl was safe.
Mina was safe.
The battlefield was finally settling. The last echoes of gunfire faded into silence. Drones swept in low, their lenses whirring as they collected data. Combat bots powered down one by one, collapsing into stillness. Overhead, emergency medical pods zipped along rail lines, their soft hum cutting through the quiet.
Mina found her a few minutes later—arm in a sling, face pale but smiling.
“You absolute maniac,” Mina said, half laughing, half on the edge of tears.
“You and that girl were in danger,” she murmured, voice thin. “I couldn’t just stand there.”
“I know,” Mina replied softly. “I know.”
She sat down beside her on the cold steps of the fake bank, the smell of scorched metal still hanging in the air. Recovery Girl—Yuuei’s short, eternally grumpy nurse—was busy fussing over a group of other students nearby.
“You think you passed?” she asked weakly.
Mina tilted her head back, staring at the simulated sky, its perfect clouds drifting by like nothing had happened.
“I think we both did,” she said at last. “Even if they don’t agree.”
Dusk, February 22nd, 2191 — Musutafu Transit Wing B, Terrace
The world was gold and blue.
Evening light spilled through the cracked plastic panels of the transit station’s high windows, painting the tiled floor in fractured bands of color. Dust motes drifted lazily in the glow, and the air carried that faint mix of ozone and old concrete — the smell of a place mostly forgotten, except by two kids whose lives had once brushed here, unaware how far that thread would pull them.
Midoriya sat on the cold metal bench by the vending machines, legs bouncing, fingers drumming her knee.
5:57 PM.
She glanced at the wall — at the sun-bleached capsule ad for Yuuei High still hanging in curling, half-peeled corners: Do More. Be More. Become a Hero.
The turning doors spun, and a flash of pink hair caught the light.
Mina.
Backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, oversized gray hoodie hanging loose, shoelaces flapping with every step. Her cheeks were flushed from running, but her eyes were alive.
She waved, slowing as she reached her.
“Hey — sorry. Train got stuck at the Midtown loop.”
Midoriya stood. “I just got here too.”
For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Then Mina grinned, pulling a sealed envelope from her hoodie pocket like it was proof of magic.
“I got in.”
Midoriya laughed, holding up her own already-creased envelope as if it were something holy.
“Me too.”
They stared for a second, then collided in a hug — tight, real, lingering just a little longer than either expected.
“We actually did it,” Mina whispered against her shoulder. “I didn’t think I could. Not really.”
“You were amazing,” Midoriya said, pulling back. “Fast, sharp, and your acid’s unreal. I wouldn’t have gotten half as far without you.”
Mina’s smile softened. “I was scared. Not of the test — of what came after. Of someone saying I didn’t belong. That I was too weird. Too alien.”
“You’re not,” Midoriya said, without hesitation. “You’re you. And that’s more than enough.”
Mina’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before she laughed to break it.
“What about you? You still can’t tell me how you broke that robot?”
Midoriya rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s… complicated. I made a promise.”
“That’s okay,” Mina said easily. “Secrets are fine. As long as you’re not secretly a villain.”
“You’d still talk to me if I was a villain?”
“Only if you had a really cool outfit.”
They both broke into laughter.
A chime echoed through the station:
“Next train inbound on Platform 3: Musutafu Circle line. Please stand clear.”
They gathered their things in quiet, but the air between them felt far from an ending.
“Same train,” Mina said, nudging her. “New track.”
Midoriya nodded. “Let’s do it together.”
The train roared in — all wind and light and possibility — and they stepped forward, side by side, into the future they’d been chasing since the day they met.
Class 1-A — Academic Year 2191
Filed by Shouta Aizawa
To: Shouta Aizawa, Homeroom Instructor – Class 1-A
From: Principal Nezu
Subject: On the Composition of Your Incoming Roster & Notes
My dear Shouta,
I trust this letter finds you adequately caffeinated.
The incoming cohort for your class has been… carefully curated. Some might say “meticulously engineered for maximum pedagogical potential.” Others might say “stacked with delightful headaches.” I, of course, wouldn’t dream of commenting.
Please remember: try to keep all of them alive, in one piece, and preferably un-expelled. Also, have fun!
— Nezu
~
Yuga Aoyama — Human-Awoken | Quirk: Beam Refractor
Ashido Mina — Sani | Acid Generation | Special Accommodations: ADHD
Asui Tsuyu — Human | Quirk: Frog
Iida Tenya — Human | Quirk: Engine | Special Accommodations: High-Functioning Autism
Uraraka Ochako — Human-Biotic | Quirk: Zero Gravity | Notes: Student Bursary Recipient
Jirou Kyoka — Camazotzi | Special Accommodations: Noise-Cancelling Earplugs
Shouji Mezou — Human | Quirk: Multi-Arm
Kirishima Eijirou — Human | Quirk: Hardening
Kaminari Denki — Human | Quirk: Electrification | Special Accommodations: ADHD, Asperger’s, Dyslexia, “Bone Spurs medication” [Note: I doubt it’s bone spurs. I will investigate.]
Shinsou Hitoshi — Vampire | Special Accommodations: Dissociative Identity Disorder
Tokoyami Fumikage — Human | Quirk: Crow | Bonded to Dark Elemental “Dark Shadow” | Elemental Affinity: Darkness
Todoroki Shouto — Human | Quirk: Half-Hot, Half-Cold
Zesa’Yanar — Quarian | Special Accommodations: Asperger’s
Hypartus — Jiralhanae | Quirk: Tail | [Note: A Brute with a Quirk? Curious. Possible human relation? Investigating.]
Sero Hanta — Human | Quirk: Tape
Tsurugi Kagami — Human | [Note: You know this one. Friend of your exchange-kid. Similar power origin.]
Bakugou Katsuki — Human | Quirk: Explosion | Special Accommodations: Hearing Aids
Hagakure Toru — Human | Quirk: Invisibility
Midoriya Yume — Human | Quirk: [REDACTED] | [Note: Come see me.]
Ygeknis — Eliksni
Yaoyorozu Momo — Human | Quirk: Creation | [Note: Come see me.]
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"Great, I've got twenty-one headaches."