Chapter Text
The academy cafeteria is somehow louder than the paddock outside. Katsuki hates it immediately. Too many conversations. Too many people pretending not to be nervous while very obviously being nervous. Half the class looks like they barely slept. The other half look like they woke up at five in the morning to meditate or do protein shakes or whatever rich kids do before sunrise. Katsuki grabs black coffee and the first thing wrapped in plastic he can find before scanning the room clusters have already started forming.
Kirishima’s sitting with Pink Hair and Kaminari, somehow already talking loud enough to be heard across the cafeteria. Iida’s eating with military-level posture beside Yaoyorozu, both of them looking disgustingly functional for seven in the morning. Midoriya’s got telemetry data pulled up on his tablet while muttering under his breath, Weirdo.
And Todoroki-
Katsuki’s eyes snag there automatically.
She’s alone. Not awkwardly alone. Not “nobody wanted to sit with her” alone.
Intentionally alone.
Calm as yesterday, dressed in the academy’s black training uniform under shirt, her racing suit resting on her waist and her split hair tied back again. There’s a tablet propped beside her breakfast displaying track layouts and sector timing references.
Studying already. Of course she is. Katsuki looks away before she notices him looking.
Annoying.
“You planning on glaring at people all year or just today?” Katsuki glances up to find Kirishima dropping into the seat across from him uninvited. “Depends. You planning on talking all year?” “Probably!” Psychopath.
Kirishima grins around a mouthful of toast. “You hear what today is?” Katsuki takes a sip of coffee. “No.”
“Simulator evaluations.” His pulse spikes automatically. There it is, Apparently Kirishima notices because he grins wider. “Thought so.”
Before Katsuki can respond, the cafeteria lights dim slightly every screen across the room flickers.
Aizawa’s exhausted face appears overhead. “Driver program students report to Simulation Hall C in ten minutes,” he says flatly. “If you’re late, leave the academy now and save everyone time.”
Then the screens cut instantly. Around the cafeteria, tension shifts almost visibly Students sit straighter Conversations die.
Only Todoroki still looking at her tablet. Katsuki’s grin pulls sharp at the corners before he can stop it.
Good finally some action.
—
Simulation Hall C looks like a spaceship hangar rows of professional-grade racing simulators line the massive room, each surrounded by telemetry displays and academy staff monitoring data in real time. Huge digital timing boards cover the walls overhead.
Sector times, Heart rate, Reaction speed, Consistency percentages every weakness imaginable, publicly displayed. Perfect.
Students spread through the room uneasily while instructors move between stations checking systems. Katsuki immediately notices Todoroki standing near the far wall reading the academy circuit profile again. What the hell is she even reviewing at this point? “You’re staring at her again,” Kaminari says suddenly beside him. Katsuki nearly elbows him on reflex. “The fuck do you mean again?” Kaminari blinks. “Okay, wow. Defensive.” “I don’t even know who you are.” “Kaminari Denki. We literally introduced ourselves yesterday.” “Didn’t ask.” Before Kaminari can recover from that emotional damage, Aizawa steps into the center of the room. Instant silence.
“Today’s evaluations determine your preliminary placement rankings,” he says. “You get one run.”
A pause. “No practice laps.” Several students visibly tense. Aizawa’s eyes move slowly across the room. “Professional racing does not reward potential. It rewards performance. Figure out quickly which one you actually have.” Katsuki feels adrenaline crawl pleasantly under his skin.
One run. Perfect.
The evaluations begin alphabetically. Aoyama goes first.
Flashy. Too flashy. Fast in clean sectors, but inconsistent through technical corners.
Aizawa looks unimpressed.
Ashido drives aggressively enough to make several instructors sit forward nervously.
Iida’s run is technically near-perfect. Clean lines. Precise braking. Almost no wasted movement.
Katsuki hates how good it is.
Midoriya nearly cooks his tires overcorrecting through Sector Two before adapting halfway through the lap and somehow recovering respectable timing by the end. Interesting.
Actually interesting.
Kirishima drives exactly how Katsuki expected — aggressive, gutsy, slightly insane.
The timing boards reshuffle constantly overhead. Students pretend not to obsess over them.
Nobody succeeds beating Iida's run.
Then—
“Bakugou,” Aizawa says.
Finally.
Katsuki slides into the simulator seat and immediately grabs the wheel like he wants to fight it.
The cockpit seals around him with a mechanical hiss. Telemetry screens flicker alive overhead, academy track rendering across the display in glowing white lines and sector markers.
Heart rate monitor activates automatically. 112 BPM. Somebody whistles quietly behind him Katsuki ignores it.
Outside the simulator, the room disappears. There’s only the circuit now.
“Vehicle calibration synced,” an automated voice says. “Driver ready.”
Damn right.
The countdown flashes overhead.
Green.
Katsuki launches aggressively enough that the rear tires spin immediately, simulator jolting hard beneath him. Too much throttle, Doesn’t matter.
He corrects instinctively and throws the car into Turn One far later than any sane braking point should allow. Several students make noise behind him.
The car fights viciously on exit. Katsuki grins.
There it is. That edge.
That feeling right before control disappears completely. He lives there naturally.
Sector One flashes green across the telemetry screen. FASTEST.
Good.
The academy circuit unfolds in violent bursts of movement and instinct. Katsuki attacks corners instead of flowing through them, braking late enough to feel physically offensive. The simulator rattles hard over curb exits, the steering wheel jerks under his hands.
He forces it straight anyway. Through Sector Two he clips an apex so tightly the telemetry flashes red for track limit warning.
Doesn’t matter. Still faster.
The students behind him have gone mostly quiet now. Even Aizawa’s watching the telemetry directly.
Katsuki barely notices. The final sector approaches.
High-speed chicane. Dangerous, Perfect.
He barely lifts, the simulator violently fishtails on exit before snapping back into line.
The finish line flashes across the screen.
1:27.441
Silence.
Then
“Holy shit,” Kirishima breathes. The timing board overhead reshuffles instantly.
1. BAKUGOU - 1:27.441
2. TENYA - 1:29.011
Katsuki climbs out breathing hard enough to irritate him. Adrenaline crackles pleasantly under his skin.
That’s racing.
Not interviews.
Not sponsors.
Not rich-kid politics.
This.
Aizawa scans the telemetry screen silently “You drive like property damage is a suggestion,” he says eventually Katsuki grins sharp and mean “Still first.”
“For now."
“Todoroki.”
The room changes instantly, Not louder.
Tighter.
Even people pretending not to care suddenly care.
Todoroki walks forward calmly, her hair swinging left and right. No nerves. No visible adrenaline. Nothing. Katsuki already hates that.
She settles into the cockpit with smooth, practiced movements. Adjusts the mirrors once. Tightens her gloves carefully. Then stillness. Like she’s waiting for the car to speak first.
Weird.
The countdown begins. And then.
Green.
And immediately Katsuki realizes something horrifying.
She’s smoother than everybody else. Not just fast.
She's efficient.
The car barely wastes movement through Turn One. No aggressive corrections. No fighting for control. She enters corners cleanly, exits cleaner. Like the circuit already exists in her head before she drives it. Sector One flashes purple.
Katsuki’s jaw tightens. No fucking way.
The worst part?
She doesn’t LOOK like she’s pushing.
No tension in her shoulders. No sharp steering corrections. Even her braking looks controlled in a way that pisses Katsuki off instantly. Nobody should be this calm. Midoriya’s muttering so fast now it’s basically static noise “She’s prioritizing minimum steering angle through mid-corner rotation-” “Shut up,” Kaminari whispers.
Sector Two, Purple again.
Todoroki glides through the technical section almost surgically. Perfect apexes. Perfect traction management. Tiny throttle adjustments precise enough to look inhuman.
Katsuki suddenly understands something deeply annoying.
She trusts the car. He dominates cars.
She works with them.
The final sector approaches.
Fast chicane, Katsuki attacked it violently.
Todoroki-
Barely looks like she’s trying.
She turns in early. Lets the car rotate naturally.
Full throttle before exit stabilization should even be possible.
The telemetry board flashes red.
FASTEST EXIT SPEED.
“Oh, that’s disgusting,” somebody whispers.
The finish line flashes.
1:27.203
Silence crashes over the room.
Then the rankings update overhead.
1. TODOROKI - 1:27.203
2. BAKUGOU - 1:27.441
The gap is tiny.
Katsuki still wants to bite something, Todoroki climbs out of the simulator quietly and looks up at the timing board once.
No smile, No ego.
Nothing.
Like first place was expected.
That annoys him almost more than losing.
Aizawa studies the telemetry for several long seconds “Todoroki.” She looks over her head tilted to the side pontail showing a mix of red and white, “You’re sacrificing too much entry speed in Sector Three.” The room stills Katsuki blinks.
What?
Aizawa taps the telemetry screen. “You’d gain another tenth carrying more rotation through the second apex.”
And Todoroki-
Actually nods thoughtfully “I know,” she says like she’s annoyed she missed it.
Katsuki stares at her.
Then at the timing board again.
Then back at her.
Something sharp and dangerous settles into place inside his chest.
Not hatred.
Not exactly.
Something worse.
Interest.