Chapter Text
Katsuki’s starting to think U.A. Academy enjoys human suffering recreationally.
That’s the only explanation for why Class 1-A is currently running laps around the outer academy circuit at six in the morning while Aizawa watches from the pit wall holding coffee and absolutely no sympathy whatsoever. “Drivers aren’t athletes,” Kaminari wheezes somewhere behind him “They literally are,” Jirou says “Emotionally, I reject that.”
Katsuki ignores all of them and keeps running. Cold morning air burns sharply in his lungs as the class rounds another bend beside the track barriers. The academy circuit stretches endlessly beside them, silver guardrails glinting under pale sunrise light while sponsor banners snap overhead in the wind. Most of the class already looks half-dead.
Ashido’s somehow still energetic, which honestly feels medically suspicious. Midoriya looks one incline away from cardiac arrest. Iida runs with terrifying posture.
And Todoroki.. Still looks calm. Of course she does.
Steady pace, controlled breathing, expression unreadable even four laps in. Katsuki hates that immediately.
“Bakugou,” Kirishima pants from beside him, “how are you not tired?”
“I am tired.”
“You look homicidal.”
“That’s my normal face.”
“Manly.”
Katsuki snorts.
Behind them, Kaminari makes a sound of genuine spiritual suffering before collapsing dramatically onto the grass near the pit wall the second Aizawa calls for break “Tell my family I died chasing my dreams,” he groans “You died jogging,” Jirou says “Same thing.” The class scatters loosely across the edge of the circuit, grabbing water bottles and trying not to look as exhausted as they actually are.
Todoroki stands slightly apart from everyone else near the barriers, pulling her gloves off slowly while staring down the empty track.
Still composed, still quiet.
Still annoying.
“She’s scary,” Ashido whispers nearby Kaminari lifts his head weakly from the pavement. “Her whole family’s scary.” Katsuki pretends not to listen while stretching against the barrier wall “She didn’t even breathe harder during the last lap,” Kirishima says “Apparently Endeavor had personal trainers for all his kids,” Kaminari says. “Like. Since they were little.” “That sounds horrifying,” Jirou says “Yeah but it worked.” Yaoyorozu adjusts her ponytail thoughtfully. “The Todoroki family’s been involved in motorsport for decades. Endeavor’s father raced endurance before founding the Ferrari development division.” “And Rei Todoroki raced too, right?” Ashido asks. “A little,” Yaoyorozu says. “Mostly endurance and prototype classes before she retired.” Kaminari whistles low “So basically Todoroki was engineered in a lab.”
“I heard Touya Todoroki got suspended from Formula Three last season,” Sero says.
“Didn’t he crash a car on purpose?”
“No, he crashed into his teammate on purpose.”
“That- damn.”
“It was during Monaco too.”
“He got fined like a million I think.”
“Worth it honestly.”
“The whole family’s insane,” Kaminari concludes.
Across the track, Todoroki keeps staring at the circuit like none of them are talking about her at all. Weird.
Katsuki’s eye twitches slightly.
Not because they’re wrong, Because everybody sounds impressed by it like her last name already guarantees superiority.
Bullshit.
Nobody drives like that because of money alone.
Aizawa takes another sip of coffee “If you idiots are done gossiping,” he says flatly, “we’re moving inside.” Collective suffering immediately fills the air “Already?” Kaminari says weakly.
“You’ve been outside forty minutes.”
“That’s basically military service.”
“You’ll survive.”
“That sounds speculative.” Aizawa ignores him and starts walking back toward the main academy building.
The class follows slowly, exhausted chatter echoing through the massive hallways as they move deeper into the motorsport wing. The academy feels different in the mornings.
Quieter. Colder.
Professional teams already occupy several engineering bays below the student levels, mechanics moving between transport cases while prototype engines scream somewhere in the lower testing sectors. Everything here feels alive.
Hungry.
Class 1-A files into Classroom A half-awake. Massive telemetry screens cover the walls. Academy rankings rotate slowly across one display near the windows.
1. Todoroki Shouto
2. Bakugou Katsuki
3. Iida Tenya
Katsuki stares at the rankings for half a second too long.
Annoying.
Kaminari drops face-first onto his desk “I can’t feel my legs.” “That’s because you skipped half the run,” Jirou says.
“I skipped strategically.”
“You hid behind a tire barrier.”
“It was tactical recovery.”
Aizawa enters carrying three coffees and the expression of a man seconds away from legally disappearing. Conversation dies instantly.
“Good,” he says. “Today we’re reviewing simulator telemetry.” A collective groan moves through the room Aizawa looks unmoved by human suffering.
Excellent.
“Most of you drive like you learned racing from social media edits,” he says.
Kaminari points accusingly “Okay, now that felt targeted.”
“It was.” The telemetry screens flicker alive.
Aoyama goes first, Throttle spikes everywhere, messy corrections, overdriving every entry.
“You drive like attention is worth more than tire grip,” Aizawa says.
Aoyama looks devastated, the class snickers.
One by one, Aizawa tears through everybody’s runs with brutal efficiency.
Ashido:
Overcommits entry speed.
Iida:
Too rigid under pressure.
Midoriya:
Processes corrections too slowly because he’s overthinking.
Kirishima:
“Your survival instincts remain concerning.”
“LET’S GOOO.”
“That wasn’t praise.”
Then he hears it,
“Bakugou.”
Katsuki straightens automatically his telemetry floods the screen.
Violent throttle traces, late braking, aggressive corner rotation. Several students lean forward immediately.
Aizawa studies the data silently “…Your recovery instincts are exceptional,” he says eventually.
Katsuki smirks.
“You also drive like the laws of physics are personal insults.” The room laughs.
Katsuki grins anyway, Still second.
Then another telemetry line appears beside his.
Red and white.
Todoroki.
The difference is immediate.
Katsuki’s data looks explosive.
Todoroki’s looks surgical.
Cleaner inputs, minimal correction, perfect transition control.
The room quiets again.
“Notice the steering consistency,” Aizawa says Todoroki sits near the windows completely still while her telemetry fills the wall behind him, like she’s used to people staring at her.
that annoys Katsuki too. “Minimal wasted movement,” Midoriya mutters “Exactly,” Aizawa says Midoriya nearly combusts on the spot.
Sector comparisons appear next.
Bakugou — fastest entry speed.
Todoroki — fastest exits.
Interesting.
Katsuki narrows his eyes slightly. Aizawa notices immediately because of course he does “You’re forcing the car,” he says without looking directly at him.
Then he gestures toward Todoroki’s telemetry “She’s listening to it." Katsuki hates how much sense that makes.
The lecture drags another hour before Aizawa finally dismisses them with:
“Try disappointing me less tomorrow.”
Students immediately explode into conversation Kirishima starts arguing with Kaminari over braking technique.
Ashido’s already gossiping again.
Midoriya corners Todoroki near the front of the class asking questions at machine-gun speed.
And Todoroki-
Actually answers him.
Short answers.
Quiet answers.
But answers.
Katsuki looks away before he gets caught staring again.
------
By midnight, most of the residential floor has gone quiet, the shared common room overlooking the academy grounds sits mostly empty except for dim overhead lights and the glow of Katsuki’s laptop screen. Outside the massive windows, the academy circuit cuts through the darkness in silver lines.
Katsuki scrolls through article after article with growing irritation.
“Todoroki Shouto youngest karting champion.”
“Todoroki siblings continue dynasty legacy.”
“Future Ferrari prospect?”
Half the articles talk more about her face than her driving.
Idiots.
He clicks another video, old karting footage this time.
Shouto can’t be older than maybe eight.
Tiny pink helmet.
Oversized racing suit.
Sharp little overtakes already.
Fast.
Even back then.
Commentators yell excitedly while young Shouto climbs from her kart after a win.
And then-
She smiles.
Quick.
Bright.
Gone almost immediately.
Katsuki stills.
Huh.
That’s-
The common room door slides open.
Katsuki jerks upright instinctively.
Todoroki stands in the doorway holding a water bottle, academy sweatshirt hanging loose over training clothes. For one strange second, neither of them speaks.
Then her eyes drift toward the paused footage on his laptop screen, tiny karting Shouto frozen mid-smile.
Silence.
“...That’s creepy,” she says finally.
Katsuki almost throws the laptop across the room.