Chapter Text
All of Class 1-A gathers in a crowd as they prepare for the test, chatting away with each other. Izuku carefully makes mindless small talk with Uraraka, a watchful eye kept on Katsuki — Izuku is not going to get blown up today, thank you very much. Uraraka, knowing the full story by now, ropes in the two nearest people for added buffer — the boy with the engine quirk, Iida, who, now that he’s not scolding Izuku, actually seems quite nice, and the boy with the bird head and shadow, who introduces himself as Tokoyami and his quirk as Dark Shadow. Tokoyami seems a bit edgy, but it also seems to be a bit of a show to Izuku, who considers himself a bit of an expert on putting up fronts.
Izuku likes the mild dramatics. It’s kinda cute.
Aizawa explains the rules to them — and that is more or less that there aren’t any rules. He then calls Katsuki to the front of the class and tells him to throw the ball using his quirk. That lights a few sparks in the class, and soon, there’s whispering about how much fun this is going to be — Izuku grimaces, and Uraraka pats his shoulder.
“Fun?” There’s something in Aizawa’s tone that sets off warning bells in Izuku’s mind; something that reminds him of danger and incoming trouble. “Is this a game to you? In that case...”
Izuku swallows. They’re in trouble now.
“The person who ranks last on this test will be deemed hopeless and expelled.”
What? After all his hard work, it’s going to — it’s going to all go down the drain over a fitness test? He has nothing to make him stronger or faster than the others. Nothing that’s going to save him from expulsion. He worked so hard to get here! He can’t fail here — he can’t!
He imagines going home to his mother and her stifling pity — she may love him but she does not believe in him and if she was proven right — oh, he can imagine the way she would never let that go, in her own subtle way. She would never trust him again, never let him do a single thing without someone’s guiding hand.
He would drown in her loving pity.
Uraraka’s hand clamps down on his shoulder and that’s all he needs to drag himself together — he looks in her eyes, those big beautiful brown eyes, warm with love and support — the real kind of support, the genuine kind —
She believes in him.
And he didn’t come this far to go home while a bunch of perfect-quirked kids took his spot that he worked so hard for — Shinsou would never let him hear the end of it if he did. After all, hadn’t he just this morning promised that he would fight to keep his spot here?
“Come on, get it together, Izuku,” he mutters to himself.
“That doesn’t seem very fair, sensei,” Uraraka tries to argue.
Izuku knows it’s partially for his benefit she says this. He appreciates it, but he knows that it will not stop their teacher — in fact, Izuku thinks that even if no one had seemed enthused by this exam, there would still be the threat of expulsion hanging over their heads.
“Life isn’t fair.” Aizawa replies, tone cold and offering no room for argument. “As heroes, it’s our job to make it fair. Rise above this challenge now.”
He looks around at his classmates, and many of them have no obvious quirk, like the boy with the red and white hair or the very pink girl. But then again, many of them do — the girl with the obvious frog quirk, for one, and the boy with a tail, and the invisible girl. And none of those quirks will help with every or even necessarily any part of the exam. And the ones he can guess at — the boy with the lightning in his hair, or the grape-haired boy... those are just the same.
He doesn’t have to be the best. He just has to be better than one person.
It might be cutthroat, but this is UA. And as someone without a power given to him of his own, he knows all too well that this world demands that you be willing to do whatever it takes to win. Whatever it takes to survive. This world is not kind to those without power. This world is not fair. Aizawa says it’s their job to make it fair — as though Izuku has not been doing this his whole life, as though Izuku hasn’t had to fight just to get to the starting line at all.
He can do it again.
He has to do it again.
He will do it again.
———
Izuku pushes his way through each test — his scores have gone up since Aldera, and that’s a good sign. He’s not scored completely at the bottom, either, as far as he can tell.
But... he can feel Katsuki’s eyes on him.
And he still doesn’t feel confident, not enough to throw caution to the wind and do nothing. There must be a loophole he can exploit to get ahead. Something that will make sure he stays above the bottom — he just wants to be the middle ground. He just wants to score solidly enough that no one can say that he doesn’t deserve to be here —
He watches Uraraka score infinity on the ball throw — and he doesn’t know how they’re going to factor that in — and wishes this was a team activity. He knows they could work together; he knows they could —
Wait.
The rules were so loose he could certainly get away with using Uraraka’s quirk.
Still... just to be on the safe side, he didn’t want to involve her so directly as asking. After all, this was within the rules’ parameters, but certainly not within the spirit of them. Izuku was counting on his theory of his teacher not being a stickler for the spirit but rather for the letter of the law instead.
So when Uraraka grabs a new ball to pass to the next person to go for the throw — well, no one really wants to follow after Infinity Girl. How can you top that?
So Izuku takes advantage and volunteers to go next.
And maybe he’s taking advantage of the fact that he knows her so well, but it’s easy to distract her from deactivating her quirk on the ball she’s passed him with some well-timed praise. The ball is so small he suspects if she forgets about it, she won’t notice that weight.
And it works.
The ball remains weightless in his grip, and Izuku grins.
Here’s his standout score.
He steps forward, winding his pitch up — and something snags around his wrist, halting him in his steps. The ball slips from his grip and slowly floats away as Izuku turns to see Aizawa giving him a glare, eyes glowing red and scarf extended to curl around his wrist.
“That’s not your power.”
“I— no, it’s—”
“Midoriya Izuku, do you think you belong in this course with no tool of your own in your arsenal?” Aizawa releases his grip from Izuku and steps back. “Go on, prove whether or not you can stand among your classmates. Do it quickly.”
Somewhere nearby, there’s a whispered ‘Release’ and the soft sound of the ball hitting the dirt behind Izuku.
He looks at Aizawa, then down at his hands. There’s not much time. Does he follow his original plan to use Uraraka’s quirk, but blatantly this time? Or does he do the throw under his own power and his own power alone?
What would prove more? What does Izuku have to offer that —
It’s all in his brain, isn’t it? It’s in his willingness to do anything to win.
And is that not what their teacher expressed from the beginning that they had to do?
Life isn’t fair. As heroes, it’s our job to make it fair.
So it was time to make it fair. He picks up the ball, turns to Uraraka, and holds it out.
“Please?”
She hesitates, looking Izuku in the eyes, searching for something.
“Help me make things a little more fair, Uraraka,” Izuku pleads in a whisper.
She smiles and touches the ball.
And Izuku doesn’t hide it this time as he returns to his spot and hurls the ball, then turns to their teacher and says, “I don’t need my own power to level the playing field, Sensei. I only need to think of a workaround.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Katsuki snarls, and Izuku whips around as his childhood friend — his childhood bully — sprints toward him with a snarl on his face and explosions dancing on his fingertips. Izuku prepares to dodge. “Deku, you bastard, cheating just to stay where you don’t belo—”
Katsuki’s quirk suddenly stops, and the scarf that had held Izuku back now holds him back.
“Meet me after class, Bakugo. And stop making me use my quirk. Control yourself.”
And as Aizawa speaks, Izuku realizes that their teacher isn’t just any hero — that’s Eraserhead, the Erasure hero. Obviously, his stare was how his quirk worked, but how did his hair tie in? Was the scarf part of his quirk, or a support item? How did it all connect?
“Midoriya, you’re doing it again,” Uraraka whispers.
Izuku laughs nervously and covers his mouth.