Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"What is Todoroki to you?" He asked, voice low and hesitant.

Her eyes searched his before she looked to the pavement, shrugging her shoulders. "He's my. We're. We’re friends."

"Tch. Yeah, like you and I are friends, right?"

Emi exhaled heavily, feeling defeated and confused. "Is it so hard to believe that I want to be friends with you?"

He growled. "You're damn right it is! You're being a manipulative little brat!"

"How am I manipulating you?!"

Bakugou closed the distance between them, Emi’s back now against the wall. "You lie about your own feelings. I know you like that icy-hot bastard; I've seen you with him and it makes me wanna puke! Then instead of going to him after the damn practical, you come to me and --"

"You asked me to stay -!"

“Don't fucking interrupt me!" Sparks began to ignite from his palms and his voice echoed around them before the only sound was his labored breathing.

Chapter Text

Everything was happening so fast. Explosions to the left of her. Lighting strikes to the right. One student, she was sure, shot a laser from his bellybutton. She wasn't allowed her bow and quiver of arrows because they have absolutely nothing to do with her power. So how was she supposed to use a photographic memory to get points from these things?

"Okay, so these robots are smaller than the average skyscraper. At least in this particular setting. And their weakest point in their structure seems to be directly in the middle. I saw that belly-laser guy shoot one straight thought the center. And another student used his leg to land a kick right in the gut of another one. So clearly they are lacking structural integrality."

"Six minutes and two seconds left boys and girls!" Present Mic's voice roared over the PA system. 

She had to do something. Anything. Maybe she could lure the villains into something that would tear through their weak spots. But would that even count as her getting any points? She wouldn't actually be hitting them. Think. 

A shadow started to loom over her. Too caught up in trying to come up with a plan, she didn't realize a two pointer was targeting her. 

"Move, you idiot!!" someone bellowed before she saw a flash of fire and caught an aroma that reminded her of caramel. She spun around only to be met with ...

Dust ...

Debris ...

"Sixty seconds left, Emi!!"

She didn't get even a single point...

She wasn't going to pass the Entrance Exam...

"Ten seconds left, Emi!!"

How could she think she could become a Hero with a stupid memory Quirk...?

"Time's up, Emi!!"

Stupid... 

Worthless....

"Emi?" 

Why am I even here?

"Hey, Emi!!"

Chapter Text

Emi blinked and was back in her classroom, the drone of her Hero History teacher filling the air. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of U.A.’s west wing, catching the dust in slow, lazy swirls. She blinked again, trying to chase the echo of the past from her head.

"Well, Takemori?"

She sat up a little straighter, the view windows of the Hero Thirteen's space helmet seeming to stare directly at her. "Erm ... yes?"

Her classmates sighed. Some of them snickered. The space Hero hung her head before pointing to the question written behind her. “What defines a hero?” She repeated, feigning patience.

Heat crawled up Emi’s neck. “Ah. sorry, Sensei.” She fumbled for her pencil. “I think… a hero is someone who helps others. Even when it’s hard.”

The teacher smiled faintly. “A simple but admirable answer. Thank you, Takemori.”

Emi ducked her head, wishing she could disappear into her notebook. Her classmates murmured quietly, and the lesson continued. When she was sure the attention was off her absentmindedness, her gaze moved to the window, toward the distant training grounds.

Chimes signaled the end of the class period, and the start of their lunch hour. Emi slung her messenger bag over her shoulder, fighting with her hair that got stuck under the strap as she made her way down wide halls.

“Hey, Takemori!” She turned to see Hana Kiyoshi bounding toward her, chestnut curls bouncing as she skipped to meet up with her. “You totally spaced out again! Thirteen asked you, like, three times.”

“I was thinking,” Emi said defensively, still wrestling her hair free.

Hana smirked. “About what? The Hero Course hotties?”

Emi’s face went scarlet. “What? No! Not everything is about boys, Hana.”

Behind them, RenTakemura chuckled “She’s probably overthinking the project, like always.”

“Oh right,” Hana groaned. “The hypothetical hero support system? Ugh. I don’t even know where to start.”

They walked together down the hall, sunlight filtering through the windows as students passed in noisy clusters. The air smelled faintly of cafeteria food and fresh paper. An oddly comforting mix. Lunch Rush buzzed with chatter. Trays clattered and someone tried to use their Quirk to win an argument, which earned a reprimand from a nearby teacher. Emi sat with Hana and Takemura at their usual table near the back, poking at her rice while her friends debated the assignment.

“I’m telling you,” Hana said between bites, “the Hero Course kids have it easy. They get to blow stuff up for grades.”

Ren arched an eyebrow. “I think nearly dying in simulated battles counts as NOT easy.”

“They have their own challenges," Emi added. "It’s not as effortless as it looks.”

"Whatever, all I know is I am NOT looking forward to this assignment Thirteen just gave us," Hana whined. "The Sports Festival is coming up, we deserve to have our own training for that, too!"

Emi munched on her rice. "You won't get to train if you don't finish the assignment."

"Why do you always have to be such a buzzkill?!" curls hanging in front of her friend's face.

Ren grinned as he slurped his udon. "Oh, I know what Hana needs to make sure she gets her work done."

She immediately perked her head up, eyes wide with excitement. "But you said you'd only make them for special occasions!"

"I'm willing to make an exception."

Emi chuckled. "Wow, if that isn't special treatment, I don't know what is."

"MANJU!!!!!" Hana squealed.

Chapter Text

Emi woke the next morning to the sound of her alarm on her nightstand. She cracked an eye open, squinting at the gray light filtering through her curtains. “Too early,” she groaned, fumbling for her phone, silencing it.

Her body felt heavy as she made her way to the bathroom. Last night she stayed up late with Hana and Takemura reviewing notes for Hero History. The only thing that made the homework bearable was the homemade manju. Takemura's Quirk allows him to know exactly what to put together for the ultimate flavors. He hoped to open his own restaurant someday, so she and Hana were more than ready and willing to try all of his creations. Last night, he made coconut mango.

As Emi brushed her teeth, her thoughts kept drifting to the Sports Festival. What sort of events would they have everyone do? How would she fare against everyone else? She wasn't particularly athletic, so the thought of doing something like running a race ...? 

Please, no.

She sighed, gliding her fingers through the loose strands of hair at the side of her face. She braided it the way she always did. A tight French braid that hung over her shoulder, wisps escaping no matter how neatly she tried to manage them. A few freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, but she didn’t bother hiding them. They were part of her.

Her parents were already downstairs when she came into the kitchen. The smell of miso and toasted sesame drifted warmly through the room.

“Good morning, Emi,” her mother said, turning from the stove. Akari Takemori’s smile was subtle but genuine, brightening her warm eyes. “Eat quickly, or you’ll be late.”

“Morning,” Emi murmured, rubbing at her eyes. Her father sat at the table, reading the news on his tablet, his brows drawn down in concentration. That wasn’t unusual. Haruto Takemori was always reading something. Today, however, his expression seemed tighter. Before she could ask about it, he lowered the tablet and offered her one of his small, reassuring smiles. “Eat,” he urged. “Big day.”

“Every day at U.A. is a big day,” her lips pursed in a thin line as she slid into her seat. Her father passed her the coffee pot and her favorite creamer, which immediately changed her expression. She thankfully poured the caffeine into her mug, adding just the right amount of both parts. 

Emi’s parents were simple and steady. Rather rare in a world where flash and spectacle were almost expected from Pro Heroes. But their stability was one of the things she treasured most. That, and they didn’t put the pressure on her to be showy. Even if she was a student at the top Hero school in Japan.

Her walk was brisk with an early spring breeze, and she enjoyed taking in the sight of the cherry buds that were just beginning to tint pink. The streets were busy with people beginning their own days. Friends gossiped about the latest drama between couples, people yawned as they checked their phone; most likely for the times of their meetings throughout the day. Some people half-jogged, bumping shoulders with others as they hurried to catch the train. Emi clutched the strap of her messenger bag, that knitted worry in her father’s brow plaguing her thoughts. “It’s probably just work, " she said to herself, though both her parents worked at U.A. She tried not to dwell on it.

Her first three classes passed normally—math, literature, and then support-gear fundamentals. She found herself slipping into the rhythm of note-taking, answering when called on, fidgeting with the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid.

It wasn’t until Hero History that something felt off. 

Thirteen was never late. Even when wearing their bulky space-suit-like costume, the rescue Hero always managed to glide into the classroom on time, moving with surprising lightness for someone dressed like an astronaut.

Ten minutes passed and the front of the classroom remained empty.

“Where are they?”

“Maybe there’s a drill.”

“No, if we had a drill we’d know…”

Emi’s stomach dropped with unease and she exchanged worried glances between Hana and Takemura.

Finally, after another ten minutes, the door slid open.

An older man with tired eyes and a clipboard clutched to his chest made his way to the front of the classroom. His footsteps sounded heavy and worried. After writing something on whatever paper he had, he set the clipboard down and swallowed hard. 

“Your instructor, Thirteen, will not be here today.”

A ripple of worried whispers swept through the room.

One brave student raised a hand. “What happened?”

The man inhaled slowly before answering, choosing his words carefully. “There was an incident yesterday,” he said. “At the Unforeseen Simulation Joint. Villains somehow warped into the building while Class 1-A was doing their rescue training with Thirteen.

The room erupted in gasps, voices tripping over each other.

“What?!”

“A villain attack here?”

“I thought U.A. was the safest.”

“Was anyone hurt? What about the students?”

“How did they warp here?!”

The man held up his hand, trembling slightly. “Most of the students are unharmed. Thirteen, however, sustained injuries while protecting them. That is all I am permitted to say.”

The rest of the class period dragged on too slow. The man with the clipboard attempted to assign busy work, but no one was able to focus. After dismissal, Emi, Hana and Ren lingered in the classroom, clustered together

“I can’t believe it,” Hana said. “Thirteen is, like, the sweetest teacher. Who would…”

“Villains don’t need a reason,” Ren replied darkly before pushing heaving a heavy sigh. “We should head to lunch. Maybe the teachers will make an announcement.”

Emi gathered her things, stray strands of hair tickling her face. Her braid had loosened from her nervous fidgeting, and even though it was driving her nuts, he didn’t bother trying to fix it.

By the time they reached the cafeteria, the atmosphere felt completely different from yesterday’s buzzing lunchtime energy. Students were clustered around their phones, whispering, speculating, and refreshing news feeds despite the school typically restricting major broadcasts during class hours. A rumor about the Sports Festival being cancelled floated past Emi and her friends.

“What are they going to do?” one student muttered nearby. “They can’t really think it’s a good idea to have it after a villain attack.”

“No way,” a second student stated. “The Sports Festival is one of the biggest events for UA and Japan. They’ll never cancel it.”

“They might.”

Ren frowned at his tray, poking half-heartedly at his tofu. “I hate rumors,” he mumbled. “Everything we’re hearing is secondhand.”

Emi’s appetite dwindled. She forced down a few bites, but her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

By the time the final bell rang that afternoon, she felt emotionally and mentally drained. Usually she loved her solitary walk home after a full day of classes. Today, however, her thoughts spiraled with each passing quiet moment. Was her father’s worried look at the table this morning related to the USJ incident? If he knew, why didn’t he tell her before she left for school? Did her father know more about the Villains who attacked Class 1-A? 

Her world felt suddenly too heavy to carry. 

“I’m home,” she announced, anxiety still noticeable in her voice. Voices murmured in the living room. She could easily make out her parents’ voices, low and serious in tone. There was a third voice, though. Slightly high-pitched but smooth and precise.

Emi’s pulse jumped.

That voice was unmistakable.

Principal Nezu.

She froze in the entryway just as the living room door slid open.

Her mom stood there with her warm smile; faltering slightly with worry for her daughter. “Emi. Thank goodness you’re finally home.”

She swallowed as her mom’s arms wrapped around her. “Mom? What’s going on? Why is…”

“Emi Takemori!” Principal Nezu’s voice chimed pleasantly as he stepped into view. The small, impeccably groomed creature gave her an enthusiastic wave as he jumped atop the sofa. “Good afternoon!”

She stared. “Hello… Principal… Nezu?”

Her father surprisingly chuckled, gesturing towards the living room. “Come sit down, Emi.”

She slipped off her shoes and stepped into the living room. Her heart thudded as she sat beside her mother. Principal Nezu watched her with his usual unreadable cheerfulness. “I imagine you’ve had a stressful day,” he began lightly. “News of the USJ incident has not only spread through the student body, but much of the country as well.”

Emi nodded faintly. “Our teacher… Thirteen… are they going to be okay?”

Nezu softened. “Thirteen is stable. Their injuries were serious, but they are receiving excellent care. Recovery is expected.”

Emi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her mother squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Nezu continued, his tone shifting ever so slightly into businesslike clarity. “I am here today for two reasons. The first is that your parents and I believed you deserved some reassurance after the unsettling news.”

“...And the second?” Emi hesitantly asked.

Nezu tilted his head, a curious but genuine smile etched on his features. “The second relates directly to you. And your Quirk.”

Wait … what?

Her father leaned forward, voice gentle. “Hear him out, Emi,” he said, seeming to sense the unease surrounding the topic.

Nezu clasped his paws behind his back and paced a small circle on the sofa cushion, his tail swaying thoughtfully. “Your Quirk is unusual,” he said. “Not flashy, not destructive or traditionally … heroic,” he hesitated on the word. “But still deeply, profoundly important. U.A. has been reviewing information about all current students, particularly in light of the USJ attack. We must assess safety, readiness, coordination and many other factors.”

She nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

Nezu stopped pacing and smiled at her. “That brings us to you. Specifically, to a unique role only you can fill.”

Her breath caught. “M-me? But I’m not even … I mean, I’m in … General Studies.” she stammered.” And my Quirk isn’t…”

“Your Quirk,” Nezu interrupted gently, “offers insight most Heroes would kill for. Even some Villains. You have the ability to observe, evaluate and perceive. Some Heroes see outward threats. Others see inward ones. But you,” he tapped his paw to his forehead, “you see something else. Something essential.”

Emi’s face warmed. She didn’t know what to say. Her Quirk was… complicated. Hard to describe. Harder to demonstrate. No one but her parents truly understood its potential, or its limits.

“The teachers of Class 1-A and Class 1-B are stretching thin. We cannot monitor everything. Training must become more intentional, more precise.” Nezu looked squarely at Emi. “I would like you,” he said, “to join the hero course instructors as a behind-the-scenes evaluator. You will observe training sessions from a neutral standpoint. Analyze performance. Provide feedback the students—and their teachers—cannot see themselves.”

Her mother squeezed her hand and let out a soft breath, as if she had been waiting for this moment to arrive.

Emi’s eyes widened, her pulse echoing in her ears. “But I. I don’t understand,” she said softly. “Why me? I failed the entrance exam. My Quirk isn’t…”

“Destructive?” Nezu suggested pleasantly. “Neither is mine.”

She blinked.

“This is not combat related,” Nezu said. “This is clarity. Insight. Analysis. You can give these students something we desperately need right now: perspective. And because your Quirk is inward-facing, you will not disrupt their training. You have the potential to greatly enhance it.”

Her father spoke softly. “Emi, your Quirk lets you understand things others overlook. You’ve always had that gift.”

“And you’ve always wanted to help people,” her mother added. “This is your chance to do that.”

Her throat felt tight. A storm of emotions welled inside her. Excitement, fear and self-doubt vying for control. “But… why me?” she whispered. “There’s probably someone better.”

Nezu shook his head. “There is no one better. Only you. I chose you for a reason.”

Silence settled around them.

Emi stared at her hands, gripping the fabric of her skirt. Her braid rested over her shoulder, loose from her anxious fidgeting. Working with Class 1-A and 1-B. Working with the teachers. Being valuable. Really, truly valuable at U.A. It was more than she had ever imagined for herself.

But also terrifying.

“What if I mess up?” she asked, voice barely audible.

Nezu smiled with warm, patient certainty. “Then you will learn. And then you will try again. That is what Heroes do.”

Her breath hitched and her eyes went wide. She slowly looked up at the principal, his genuine smile blurred slightly as tears pricked her eyes. No one has ever referred to her as a Hero. 

Her mother rubbed her back gently. “Emi,” she said softly, “we believe in you.”

“We always have,” her father added.

For the first time since the entrance exam, she felt something she hadn’t felt in months. Her mind swirled. Hero course. Insight. Value. Hope. Real, pulsing, dangerous hope.

She closed her eyes, a tear slowly running down her cheek. “Okay, she finally whispered. Thank you so much for the opportunity. I want to try.”

Nezu’s eyes sparkled. “Excellent! I shall inform Aizawa and Vlad King immediately. Your work will begin within the week.” He hopped off the sofa and bowed politely towards her. “Thank you for your time, Emi Takemori. And thank you for your courage.” He turned toward the door, but paused. “Oh. And one more thing.”

Emi straightened in her seat. “Yes?”

“Do not underestimate yourself,” he smiled, looking over his shoulder to her. “Many do that for you. You need not join them.”

She smiled before nodding her head. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

The slip of paper didn’t look too dangerous.

Plain white, folded twice, slid neatly onto Emi’s desk near the end of Hero History. It appeared without warning, placed by hands she never saw, carrying no seal or signature. She opened it to a handful of neatly typed words that twisted her stomach into a hard knot as soon as she read them.

Report to Principal Nezu’s office directly after class.

She stared at it longer than necessary. The words didn’t change.

The lecture on rescue procedures from the substitute washed past her ears, unheard. Her breath went shallow. She kept the note between her palm and the desktop, like it might disappear if she lost contact with it.

Nezu again.

He had already visited her home. Already delivered the proposal. Quiet, measured, enormous in scope: work alongside Classes 1-A and 1-B as a tactical analysis observer.

At the time, she had barely processed it.

Now it was real.

Across the aisle, Ren caught the flicker of tension on her face. “What happened?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer immediately, but instead passed him the note.

He glanced down, brows lifting to the ceiling as he processed the request of her. “The principal?”

Having stopped paying attention to the lecture and what her friends were talking about, Hana leaned over Ren's shoulder before Emi could respond. “Why would Nezu want to see you?”

Emi paused, weighing the decision of telling her friends about her new ... assignment. She shrugged her shoulders, even though the answer sat molten and heavy in her chest.

The bell rang before either of them could push the question further. The class erupted into motion. Chairs scraping, voices rising, footsteps walking.

Emi moved like a sleepwalker through it all.

Her Quirk whispered faintly at the edges of her perception: bodies shifting in directional clusters, conversational threads weaving together like living graphs. She forced herself to ignore it. The noise was already a migraine waiting to happen. She waited while the crowd cleared, heart thudding louder with every emptying row of desks.

Ren  lingered beside her. “So? Are you in trouble?”

She surprisingly chuckled. “I wish. Trouble would be a lot easier to process."

Hana stayed too, awkward smile stretched thin. “You can’t just get called in by Nezu and not tell us what’s going on.”

Emi stood, sliding her notebook into her bag. “Let’s walk.”

The hallway outside the classroom echoed with distant chatter, but their pace kept them slightly apart from the flow. The tall windows lining the corridor filtered afternoon sunlight across the tiled floor. At the corner near the stairwell, Emi stopped. Her hands tightened around the strap of her bag, silence seeming to stretch on for hours. “Nezu. He actually. Came to my house,” she finally said.

Ren blinked. “He what?”

Hana turned fully toward her now. “Why would the principal go to your house?”

Emi swallowed hard. “He asked me. To help. The Hero Courses.”

Silence returned as she looked between her friends, waiting for the weight of the words to reach them.

“Help… how?” Ren asked.

“I’ll be observing training exercises. Using my Quirk to track patterns. Predicting risk factors.” Her voice came out soft. Careful.

Hana stared at her for what felt like an eternity. “General Studies students don’t do that.”

“I know," Emi lowered her head, paying too much attention to her left shoe that was coming slightly untied. 

“That’s. That's insane,” faint laugh threading Hana's disbelief. “Emi… That’s amazing!” Her face brightened as she surged forward and grabbed her friend's hands. “That’s huge!”

Ren grinned. “See? I told you people were underestimating you.”

Pride warmed Emi’s chest. But beneath it ... something shifted.

She noticed Hana’s smile flicker at the edges. Enthusiasm fading into something tighter. “You’ll be part of their department now,” she said slowly. “Does that mean… you won’t be around as much?”

“I don’t think it changes my classes,” Emi frowned, things feeling tighter between the girls. “I’ll just have assignments from the Hero Courses on top of what we already have.”

Hana paused. “Right," she finally nodded, eyes dipping. “It’s just… funny that they’d pull you instead of someone from Support.”

Tone deviation. Emotional incongruence. Stress spike. Emi's Quirk stirred reflexively 

Ren didn’t say anything. He only looked at Emi with quiet understanding and concern.

Emi gently squeezed Hana’s hand. “Nothing changes. You’re stuck with me.”

That earned a laugh. But the invisible thread between them felt newly strained. They parted ways; Hana and Ren heading towards lunch. Emi walking towards the administration wing, all the while pings of probability kept taking away her concentration.

Nezu’s office smelled faintly of tea leaves and fresh paper. Emi stood alone before a broad wooden desk as the principal studied her over folded paws. Mr. Aizawa stood against the far wall, wrapped in layers of white bandages beneath his capture weapon. One arm was immobilized, sling taut across his chest. His posture suggested restraint rather than comfort, like someone who refused to sit not out of pride, but habit. Even though she couldn't actually see his face, he turned toward her presence. Sharp. Assessing. So far unimpressed. Vlad King elected to take one of the chairs directly in front of the principal's desk, watching her with mild interest. Emi could feel the gaze of both teachers and her heart thudded hard enough she was sure they could hear it. 

"Well, sit down then," Vlad King broke the silence that caused her to jump slightly. 

Nezu clapped his paws. “We want to formalize our discussion from the other evening,” he began lightly. “And introduce you to the instructors who will be supervising your work.”

Aizawa lifted his head, speaking through his bandages. “I wanted to hear about you firsthand.”

Emi’s shoulders tensed as she folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t think. Well, I'm. I’m not anything special --"

“That’s the wrong answer,” Aizawa interrupted, flatly.

Vlad chuckled under his breath. “He means humility’s admirable, but not always accurate.”

Nezu folded his paws together. “We’ve reviewed your academic files, your psychological evaluations, and your Quirk processing metrics.”

"You hide," Aizawa suddenly accused.

Emi blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You downplay your accuracy rates. You subdue input collection. You avoid projecting your forecasts aloud.”

The office stilled once more, her eyes fixated on her hands wringing in her lap. Doubt waged war with her ability to actually accomplish the tasks that Principal Nezu asked of her. Maybe this was a mistake.

But then, Vlad leaned forward gently, entering her peripheral vision. “Tell us in your own words how your Quirk works, Takemori.”

She looked up at Class B's homeroom teacher, Aizawa's judgmental eyes and the principal's gentle, encouraging smile. "It's called. Pattern Lock. The name felt small compared to the complexity behind it. But she steadied herself. "When I receive new information; it could be written, auditory, or visual for example. It's recorded in my mind automatically. Once data enters my awareness, I never truly lose it."

“Photographic memory?” Vlad asked.

“Not exactly.” She shook her head. “My recall catalogs context too. Like movement, emotion markers, quirk output overlaps.”

Aizawa nodding faintly. “Pattern mapping.”

“Yes.” Her voice gained confidence as explanation took over. “My Quirk cross-references behaviors in real time. Repeated variables form probability chains. With enough overlapping data," she lifted her hands, interlocking her fingers, "I see branches. Possible outcome paths weighted by likelihood.”

Nezu arched his eyebrows at the two homeroom teachers.

“And your limits?” Aizawa asked.

She clenched her jaw. “If behavior becomes spontaneous. The probabilities scatter. Unpredictable emotion disrupts projections. Improvisation scrambles outcomes." She tucked some strands of hair behind her ear. "My brain can get overwhelmed in high-density environments. Crowds. Intense Quirk displays. Emotional interference." She squinted. "It can cause migraines, dizziness and sensory lag."

Vlad let out a thoughtful sound.

“And what is your personal assessment of your Quirk, Emi Takemori?” Nezu asked gently.

She hesitated before speaking. “It doesn’t feel. Heroic. It feels like. Like standing behind glass. Watching things happen before they do. Knowing what’s coming. And never being strong enough to stop it yourself.”

Silence returned to the room again as the principal and two teachers exchanged glances. Almost like they were speaking telepathically to each other. The sound of Nezu clearing his throat got Emi's attention as he jumped atop his desk. “Emi Takemori. We would like to officially induct you as a Hero Course Observer.”

Vlad King grinned. “Welcome to the team.”

Aizawa merely nodded. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She smiled, despite how much she doubted this decision, as she stood up and bowed to the homeroom teachers. "Thank you. So much for this opportunity. I promise. I promise I will do my best."

Chapter Text

The coffee shop was busy enough to feel alive and quiet enough to feel manageable.

Emi chose it deliberately.

Mid-afternoon meant a lull between classes and commuters. No rush, no clusters dense enough to overwhelm. The low hum of conversation blended with the hiss of steaming milk and the intermittent clatter of ceramic cups. Music played softly from unseen speakers, a slow rhythm that gave her something to anchor to. She took in the space with a glance and adjusted course instinctively, choosing a corner table with her back to the wall and a clear view of the room.

Control mattered.

She ordered an iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk and waited while the barista worked; her eyes tracing the practiced movements of their hands. Ice clattered. A cup slid across the counter. The exchange was brief.

Emi carried the cup back to her seat and set it down carefully, aligning it with the edge of the table before opening her bag.

The files were heavier than she expected.

Not physically. Though the folder was thick, edges crisp and new. But in a way that settled into her chest the moment her fingers brushed the cover. U.A. insignia. Hero Course classification. Restricted access. Temporary clearance granted. Observer status.

She exhaled slowly. “This is just information,” she thought.

She laid the folder out and stared at it for a moment. Straightened it once. Flattened the corners and that got bent while it sat in her bag. Stared at it a bit more. Then finally opened it.

Class 1-A.

The overview page was clinical. Names, Quirks, aptitude ratings, beginning-of-the-year physical assessment, incident markers flagged in careful red. Her eyes skimmed automatically, her mind already cataloging patterns before she consciously engaged. A diverse class. High variance in Quirk output. Multiple behavioral annotations. A density of potential that made something in her pulse quicken.

They’re my age.

A colder voice corrected that immediately. No. They’re variables.

Emi swallowed hard and turned the page.

The first few files were easier. Familiar rhythms emerged quickly, patterns forming and settling with minimal effort. Tenya Ida’s rigid adherence to rules created predictable escalation pathways. Order disrupted led to stress spikes, which led to corrective action. Ochaco Uraraka’s emotional markers spiked sharply under perceived threat to others, altruism amplifying risk tolerance. Izuku Midorya’s file was thick with annotations, recursive loops of analysis layered over self-sacrificial tendencies that sent probability chains spiraling outward.

She paused on Midoriya longer than planned.

His data didn’t overwhelm her. It pulled. Patterns branched constantly, possibilities multiplying at a pace that made her temples throb faintly. He analyzed as instinctively as she did, but without restraint. Without filters.

You’ll burn yourself out, she thought before shaking her head and moving on.

The coffee shop noise faded further as her focus narrowed. Conversations blurred into a low-frequency hum, bodies shifting registering only as directional vectors. She was careful, as always, to keep her Quirk on a leash, but it strained against the limit. Eager to connect and cross-reference.

Names began to carry weight. Not because of reputation, but because of probability.

She flipped another page.

Katsuki Bakugou.

The file was dense. More annotations than she’d seen on any student so far. Multiple instructors, overlapping evaluations, marginal notes penned in different hands. The language itself felt volatile, descriptors clashing against one another in uneasy contradiction.

Aggressive. Hostile. Exceptionally capable. High-risk. Top-tier combat aptitude.

Her brow furrowed as she read.

The official behavioral summary leaned heavily on instability, emotional volatility, and interpersonal conflict. Escalation probability flagged in bold. A problem student. A danger to team cohesion.

But as Emi read deeper, something didn’t align.

Her Quirk stirred, attention sharpening as patterns resolved instead of scattering. She traced the incident reports, the training outcomes and the recorded responses under pressure. Emotional spikes were frequent, yes. But they followed consistent triggers. Perceived disrespect. Obstruction. Challenge.

Not random.

“Volatile does not mean unpredictable,” she murmured under her breath, barely aware she’d spoken.

The probability branches stabilized as she focused, collapsing into fewer, heavier paths. Katsuki Bakugou did not retreat. Ever. Every scenario showed forward momentum and aggression channeled into precision strikes. Explosive output calculated rather than reckless.

Anger masked control.

Her pen hovered over the margin before she realized she’d picked it up. She didn’t write. Just held it there, fingers tense.

They’re measuring the explosion, she thought, a dull pressure building behind her eyes. Not the trajectory.

Bakugou wasn’t chaos. He was momentum. A force that demanded response, forced adaptation in those around him. Her Quirk traced the ripple effects automatically, projections branching outward to include teammates, opponents and instructors.

Growth or fracture.

The risk wasn’t Bakugou himself. It was what happened when others didn’t find him respect his power.

A dull ache bloomed at her temples, the early warning of a migraine. Emi inhaled slowly, grounding herself in the texture of the tabletop beneath her fingers.

She closed the file, but not before one final note in red caught her eye.

Will become dangerous if suppressed improperly.

Her chest tightened. The shop felt louder. Closer. She took another breath and turned the page.

Shoto Todoroki.

The contrast was immediate.

Where Bakugou’s file was crowded and chaotic, Todoroki’s was almost pristine. Clean formatting. Sparse annotations. Power metrics that climbed off the charts with unsettling ease. Combat aptitude listed as extreme. Both theoretical and observed.

Behavioral summary: emotionally reserved. Minimally reactive. Controlled.

Too controlled.

Emi’s gaze lingered on the Quirk description longer than necessary. Half-Cold Half-Hot. Cryokinesis and pyrokinesis, dual output potential that should have created wildly complex behavioral data.

Instead, there were gaps.

Her Quirk reached instinctively for what wasn’t there, projections stalling where emotional data should have been. Probability branches formed, and then terminated abruptly; blind spots opening in the absence.

This isn’t underperformance, she thought. This is omission.

Instructor notes referenced restraint. Reluctance. Avoidance of left-side activation. Power ceiling untested.

Why?

The ache in her head sharpened suddenly, a spike of pain that made her wince and close her eyes. She pressed her fingers lightly to her temple and waited it out, breathing deeply through her nose, exhaling like she was blowing out a candle. Her Quirk threatened to surge beyond control.

When she opened her eyes again, the world steadied.

Bakugou burned outward. Todoroki froze inward.

Both destabilized their surroundings, but where one forced reaction, the other created voids. Empty spaces where something immense waited, compressed and contained.

Dormant variables were worse than active ones.

She closed Todoroki’s file carefully and leaned back in her chair, gaze unfocused as the implications settled. Her coffee sat untouched; the ice completely melted, watering it down. Emi glanced at it absently and then back at the folder, fingers resting on the edge as if bracing against it.

She hadn’t finished reviewing Class 1-A. There were more names. More patterns waiting to be mapped. But her head throbbed in warning, and her chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with overstimulation.

I wasn’t asked to predict exams, she thought quietly. I was asked to stand close enough to see what breaks.

That realization settled heavily.

Chapter Text

The city felt too loud.

Not in volume. In density. Too many bodies moving with purpose, too many intersecting trajectories brushing against her awareness. Emi kept her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket and focused on the ground ahead of her, counting cracks in the pavement until the low hum at the edge of her mind dulled enough to breathe through.

Ren was saying something about an upcoming General Studies exam. He had a way of narrating logistics like they were mildly amusing anecdotes, voice steady, hands tucked into his sleeves as they walked side by side.

“And then the substitute says we might need to know rescue classification tiers,” he continued. “Which seems excessive, considering …”

“We’re not rescuers,” Hana finished, giggling; a faint smile tugging at her mouth.

Emi nodded a second too late.

Both of them noticed.

“You okay?” Hana asked, slowing just slightly so Emi had to match her pace.

“Yeah,” Emi said automatically. “Just tired.” The lie slid easily into place. Too easily. Her Quirk stirred in response, data rippling across her awareness without invitation. Micro-delays in Hana’s gait. Ren's glance flicking to her hands, then away. A subtle tightening around Hana’s eyes that hadn’t been there a week ago.

Emotional incongruence. Low-level concern. Rising probability of future distance if variables remained unchanged.

Emi shut it down. “I read the files,” she finally said, because silence felt heavier than honesty.

Ren perked up immediately. “The Hero Course ones?”

She nodded.

“That’s just wild,” he said, genuine awe warming his voice. “Like… actually wild. You’re probably the only person in this school who knows more about them than they know about themselves.”

“That’s not true,” Emi said. “They actually live it.”

“But you see it,” Hana said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Emi glanced at her. Hana wasn’t looking at the street anymore. She was looking at Emi. Really looking. “It’s just paperwork,” she said, again too quickly. “Assessments. Metrics. Patterns.” Her Quirk flagged the sentence before she could stop it.

Self-minimization. Avoidance. Emotional deflection.

Takemura chuckled. “Still. Kinda cool.”

“Cool,” Hana echoed, softer.

They reached the corner where their paths usually split. The unspoken boundary between routine and choice. Emi slowed, suddenly aware of how often she’d stood here without thinking about it.

“Well,” Ren said, rocking back on his heels. “Guess this is where we abandon you to your destiny.”

She smiled at that. A real one, this time. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Accurate,” he countered, grinning.

Hana hesitated. “So,” she said, tucking her hands into her sleeves. “You’ll still… you know. Sit with us? At lunch?”

Emi opened her mouth. Her Quirk surged. Not sharply, not painfully, but with quiet insistence. Probability threads branching outward. Schedules misaligning. Conversations shortening. Texts unanswered longer than intended. Nothing dramatic. Nothing cruel.

Just drift.

“Yes,” Emi said anyway, feigning a smile. “Of course.”

Hana nodded, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Ren watched both girls intently.

After a few moments, they parted with a wave that felt like muscle memory. Emi stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching them disappear into the crowd, the absence they left behind louder than the city ever was.

Chapter Text

She opened the door to familiar scents of simmering broth and laundry detergent. Emi slipped off her shoes and was immediately greeted by the sound of her father humming off-key from the kitchen. Something old and upbeat. A song he’d been stuck on for weeks.

“Hey, Analyst,” he called without turning around. “You predict dinner yet, or is that classified information?”

She smiled despite herself. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to analyze soup.”

“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to lose the element of surprise.”

Her mother glanced up from the counter, eyes soft but observant. “You’re home early.”

“Early-ish.” Emi set her bag down carefully, the weight of the files inside feeling heavier here, like they knew they didn’t belong on the kitchen floor.

Her dad finally turned, spoon in hand, holding it as if it were an accessory to his costume. “So. Big future hero mastermind. How’s it feel?”

She shrugged. “Weird.”

He nodded solemnly. “That tracks. First sign you’re doing something important.”

Her mother watched her for a beat longer. “Are you hungry?”

Emi shrugged. “A little.” She wasn’t, really. But she knew the question wasn’t about food.

They ate together in comfortable near-silence, punctuated by her father’s attempts to keep things light. “Do you get a cool chair?” he asked mid-bite. “I feel like observers get cool chairs.”  He swallowed before pointing his spoon at her. “Swivel ones.”

“I don’t think that’s part of the deal,” she chuckled.

He playfully scowled “Missed opportunity.”

Her mother smiled faintly, then asked, “Are you excited… or just bracing?”

The question settled between them. Emi looked down at her hands. “Both,” she said honestly.

That seemed to satisfy her.

Later, in her room, Emi sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the wall longer than she meant to. The quiet pressed in. Not uncomfortable, but expectant. Tomorrow wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t even new.

And yet…

She woke before her alarm.

The house was still, wrapped in the pale hush of early morning. She moved through the kitchen on autopilot, muscle memory guiding her hands as she filled the kettle, measured the grounds and waited for the water to heat.

Steam curled upward, fogging the air.

She poured slowly, watching the dark liquid bloom and settle. Her Quirk flickered . Nothing sharp, nothing alarming. Just a low buzz of probability static, like radio interference.

She almost overfilled her mug. Grumbled to herself. “It’s just a school day.”

Her father appeared in the doorway, tying his apron. “Heading out already?” he asked. “You sure you don’t want a protein bar? Or … emotional support toast?”

She snorted softly. “I’ll survive.”

He leaned against the frame, studying her with exaggerated seriousness. “You know, when I was your age, my biggest responsibility was remembering to bring a pencil to class.”

“Were you good at it?” she asked.

He shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

Her mother appeared behind him, holding Emi’s school blazer. “You forgot this,” then reached up and smoothed a loose strand of hair near Emi’s temple. A small, familiar gesture she’d done since Emi was little. “Text me when you get there if you want to,” she said.

Emi nodded “I will.”

Her father raised a finger. “And try not to predict the downfall of civilization before lunch.”

That got a laugh. “No promises.” She grabbed her bag, slid her feet into her shoes, and stepped outside with the coffee warm in her hands, unaware of how close inevitability already was.

The walk to campus was uneventful. Too uneventful, if she were being honest.

The city moved around her in predictable rhythms. Crosswalk lights, clustered foot traffic, distant sirens weaving through the background noise. Emi focused on keeping her Quirk muted, letting the probabilities blur instead of sharpen.

Coffee in one hand. Bag strap secure on her shoulder.

Normal.

She crossed the courtyard just as the morning rush crested. Students gathered in loose knots, uniforms crisp, voices overlapping in familiar patterns. Her awareness widened involuntarily. Bodies moving in intersecting paths, conversations branching like flowcharts. A breeze drifted through the courtyard, carrying the faint sweetness of blossoms with it. Emi closed her eyes for just a second, letting the scent anchor her as she lifted her coffee mug for another sip.

And collided with something solid.

Hot liquid sloshed violently, momentum carrying it forward and down. The mug jolted in her grip, coffee arcing through the air in a dark splash that soaked into fabric. Hers and someone else’s. Her Quirk exploded. Data flooded her senses all at once. Trajectories collapsing, probability branches snapping into sharp alignment. Elevated aggression markers. Volatile quirk output potential. Immediate escalation risk.

Move back. Apologize. De-escalate.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” Emi blurted, heart slamming against her ribs. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t watching where I was going …”

“That’s pretty damn obvious.” The voice hit like a concussive blast.

She looked up.

Red eyes. Sharp and furious. The air around him smelled faintly of smoke. Not fire, but the promise of it. His uniform jacket was splattered dark with coffee across the back, steam still curling off the fabric.

Her Quirk screamed.

High volatility. Combustion-based output. Hair-trigger temper. Unstable emotional baseline.

Katsuki Bakugou, her mind supplied unhelpfully.

“I’m. I’m really sorry. Sorry about that ” she said quickly, words tripping over each other as probability threads splintered wildly.

“What the hell are you drinking anyway?” he snapped, facing her completely.

Her Quirk locked. Threat assessment spiked. She looked down at her (now empty) mug. “Coffee,” she said, stupidly.

He scoffed and yanked his blazer off, shoving it into her chest hard enough that she stumbled back a step. “Then you better know exactly how much dry-cleaning costs, idiot.”

Her hands closed reflexively around the fabric. The smell of smoke intensified. Not from the jacket, but from him. His Quirk pulsed under his skin, the air crackling faintly with heat.

Students nearby had gone silent.

Probability collapse: confrontation imminent. Injury risk low, but rising. Emotional interference severe.

Before she could say anything else, he turned on his heel and stalked up the steps, shoes striking concrete like punctuation.

The pressure in her skull eased only after he was several meters away.

Emi stood frozen, blazer draped awkwardly over her arm, coffee mug hanging uselessly from her other hand. Her Quirk continued to buzz; overstimulated, searching for patterns that had already detonated. That could have gone worse, it offered unhelpfully. 

She exhaled shakily.

“Oh yeah,” she muttered under her breath. “Great start.”

Chapter Text

Well that was a perfect way to meet someone. Emi reached the steps to the building’s entrance, his blazer still draped over her arm. Was he serious? Did he really expect her to pay for the dry-cleaning? How much did that even cost? She didn’t have a job, how was she supposed to come up with the money? Forgetting her coffee mug was empty, she went to take a sip; only to be immediately disappointed.

She heaved a heavy sigh. “Is it time to go home yet?”

“Ahem!”

She startled, nearly dropping the blazer.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” a voice said, sharp but not unkind. “That was… an unfortunate encounter.”

Emi turned to find three students standing a few feet away.

The tallest one; glasses flashing in the sunlight, posture ramrod straight, had his hands clasped behind his back like he was addressing a formal assembly. “I apologize on behalf of my classmate,” he continued. “His conduct was wholly inappropriate.”

“Oh,” Emi said, blinking. “You don’t have to …”

“It is my responsibility as Class 1A’s representative,” he said firmly, bowing with precision. “Tenya Iida.”

She stared for half a second before instinct kicked in and she bowed back, slightly off-balance because of the jacket still looped over her arm. “I’m Emi,” she said. “Takemori.”

“That was Bakugou, wasn’t it?” the girl beside him asked gently. She had warm eyes and a softness to her expression that immediately eased the tight knot in Emi’s chest.

Emi nodded. “I ran into him. Literally.”

The girl winced sympathetically. “Yikes.”

A third student stood just behind them; green hair, freckles, eyes wide with interest that wasn’t intrusive. Just… attentive. He’d been quiet so far, gaze flicking briefly to the blazer, then to Emi’s hands, then back to her face. “You okay?” he asked.

The question wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t loud. It felt like space being offered.

“I think so,” Emi said. Her Quirk stirred faintly. Not alarm this time, but recognition. His concern was genuine. No emotional incongruence. No hidden pressure.

“I’m Ochako Uraraka,” the girl said, smiling. “And that’s Deku …”

“Izuku Midoriya,” he added quickly, straightening. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

She shifted the blazer awkwardly, attempting a smile. “Likewise.”

The greenette tilted his head slightly. “You’re not a first-year Hero student, are you?” he asked.

She paused; three pairs of eyes now on her. Curious. Not judgmental. “No,” she said slowly. “I’m. I’m in General Studies.”

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Her Quirk flickered. Observation mirrored. He’d clocked her stance, her lack of combat readiness and the way she’d frozen instead of posturing. “I’m… sitting in Class 1A today,” Emi said, choosing her words carefully. “As an observer...”

All three of them stilled.

“Observer?” Uraraka finally echoed.

Emi nodded, shoulders drawing in slightly. “I use my Quirk for analysis. Pattern recognition. Principal Nezu asked me to assist with training oversight.” It was the cleanest explanation she could manage.

Iida’s eyes widened. “You were appointed?”

“Yes.”

Midoriya’s gaze sharpened . Not suspicious, but focused. Curious in the way of someone who cataloged the world obsessively. “That explains it,” he said softly, tapping his finger to his chin.

“Explains what?” Emi asked.

“You didn’t react like most people do around Kachaan,” he said. “You weren’t scared. Just… overloaded.”

Her breath caught. She hadn’t realized anyone else could see that.

Uraraka gazed at her, impressed. “That’s amazing!”

Iida straightened further, nodding once. “Then allow me to formally welcome you to Class 1A! If you’ll be joining us, even in an observational capacity, we’ll do our best to support you.”

“Preferably without bodily harm,” Uraraka added.

Midoriya smiled at Emi; small, earnest, and unmistakably excited. “I think you’ll be really invaluable,” he said.

Her Quirk stirred. Not with warning, but with possibility.

“Oi. Oi! Clumsy new girl!” The barked voice cut through the air like a match strike.

Emi turned back toward the entrance, whatever fragile smile she’d managed collapsing instantly. “Great,” she muttered under her breath.

“Bakugou!” Iida snapped. “She has a name …!”

“I don’t give a damn what her name is!” Bakugou snarled, stomping down the steps toward them. “Her useless ass spilled coffee all over my blazer, and if she doesn’t get it dry-cleaned, those stains are gonna set.”

Emi looked down at the fabric in her hands, fingers tightening. Her Quirk stirred. Heat, agitation, the sharp edge of his anger flaring bright and unruly in her awareness. “I don’t even know where to take this,” she shot back, frustration breaking through despite herself.

“Not my problem!” he barked, closing the distance between them in three long strides.

Midoriya reacted on instinct. He darted forward and gently but firmly took the blazer from Emi’s hands, holding it up like a peace offering. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Really!” he said, voice pitching higher as he raised his free hand, half-shielding her without quite realizing it. “There’s a cleaners down the road from my place. I can drop it off on my way home and bring it back tomorrow before the first bell ...!”

Bakugou’s eyes flashed. “Like hell I’m letting you touch it, you damn nerd.” He yanked the blazer back hard enough that Midoriya stumbled a step, then turned his full attention on Emi.

She went still.

He was only a little taller than her, but the space he occupied felt enormous; oppressive and volatile. Like standing too close to an open flame. Her Quirk flared reflexively. Heat and smoke and crackling pressure flooding her senses. Not fear. Impact.

Bakugou stared her down, red eyes sharp and burning, daring her to look away.

Seconds stretched.

Then he scoffed. “Tch. Stay outta my way next time, klutz.”

He turned and stormed back up the stairs, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the building. Iida’s protests followed after him, Uraraka’s worried voice and Midoriya’s hurried apologies blurring together into background noise.

Emi didn’t move.

The air around her still smelled faintly of scorched fabric and bitter smoke. Like the aftermath of a bonfire long after the flames had died down. She exhaled slowly, heart still pounding.

So this, she thought, is what I’m walking into.

And somewhere deep beneath the lingering heat, her Quirk whispered back:

Pay attention.

Chapter Text

“Sorry about him,” Iida said, rubbing the back of his neck with a stiff, embarrassed motion. “Bakugou doesn’t exactly excel at … interpersonal conduct.”

Uraraka nodded beside him, adjusting the straps of her bag. “Even with Deku,” she added gently, like she was smoothing the edge of a bruise.

Emi managed a small exhale. She wasn’t offended so much as… aware. Bakugou’s presence still crackled faintly in the air, her Quirk slow to settle; like embers refusing to go cold. Her attention flicked back to the blazer now draped over Midoriya’s arm. “You really don’t have to take that to the cleaners,” she said, fingers worrying the strap of her messenger bag. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Midoriya shook his head immediately. “No, really. It’s okay.” He smiled, easy and earnest, like he meant it with his whole chest. “Kacchan and I live close to each other. He knows the place. I’ll just drop it off.” He hesitated, then added, softer, “We’ve known each other since we were kids. You… wouldn’t guess that from how he acts.”

The four of them started toward the entrance together, and Emi became keenly aware of the way conversations around them dipped, stuttered, then resumed in hushed bursts. She kept her shoulders square, chin level. You belong here, she reminded herself. Even if that belonging felt conditional. Borrowed. At least she wasn’t walking in alone.

“You’ll like everyone in our class,” Uraraka broke the silence, glancing over at her with an open smile. “They’re a lot, but good. Really good.”

“Yes! And your timing is excellent,” Iida added. “The Sports Festival is approaching quickly. It’s a pivotal moment for hero students. Internships, agency scouting, heightened training intensity. Your observations could prove to be pivotal for all of us.”

Emi smiled politely, but her mind snagged on the word festival. There was something grounding about the normalcy of it. The future-forward excitement. The assumption that she was simply… another student walking toward opportunity.

Midoriya slowed his pace just enough to fall in step beside her, studying her for a moment before noting. “You don’t seem nervous.”

“I am,” Emi replied, a corner of her mouth lifting. “I’m just practiced.”

“Practiced doesn’t mean ready,” A voice came from the side, dry and unyielding; the massive classroom door, bold lettering declaring 1-A like a challenge.

Emi turned.

Mr. Aizawa stood there; wrapped in bandages, and exhaustion laced in his tone. 

Her spine straightened instinctively. “Good morning, Mr. Aizawa,” she said. “Thank you for …”

“Midoriya.” He cut in. “You, Iida, Uraraka. Inside. Take your seats.”

“Yes, sir!” The three answered in unison. Uraraka threw Emi one last encouraging glance before disappearing into the classroom.

The door shut.

The hallway felt quieter immediately. Emi resisted the awareness of red eyes burning somewhere on the other side of the door.

Aizawa regarded her for a long moment, unreadable. “This transition won’t be easy,” he said at last. “Not because the students are difficult. And not because they don’t know why you’re here.”

Her fingers tightened on her bag strap.

“It’s because of what they’ve already survived,” he continued. “You are not here to interfere. You are not here to play hero. And you are not to put yourself in danger under the assumption that someone else will pull you out. You follow my rules. Not Nezu’s. Not All Might’s. Mine. Am I clear?”

She swallowed hard before nodding her head in agreement. Even if the teacher couldn’t perfectly see her. “Yes, sir,” she said firmly. “Crystal.”

Another pause.

Then, a small tilt of his head toward the door.

“Good,” Aizawa muttered. “Welcome to Class 1-A.”

Chapter Text

Emi opened the door. Twenty bodies turned toward her at once. Her Quirk reacted immediately. Motion vectors shifted. Breathing patterns altered. Emotional signatures flared. Curiosity, irritation, interest and suspicion; layering over one another so quickly it made her vision blur at the edges.

Too much, she thought, grounding herself with a slow breath.

Technically, nineteen pairs of eyes met hers. She registered the empty space furthest from the door in the first row. Light distortion, airflow anomaly, foot placement with no corresponding silhouette.

Hagakure. Invisible. Right.

“Everyone!” Iida’s voice cut cleanly through the noise, sharp and practiced. He stood at the front of the room, spine straight, one arm lifted in rigid formality. “Please welcome a visitor to Class 1-A. Emi Takemori!”

A beat of silence.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!” The explosion of sound and aggression hit her like a dropped weight.

Emi didn’t need to look. Volatile emotional spike. Aggression baseline elevated. Poor impulse inhibition.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya hissed.

“That is no way to greet someone!” Iida snapped, chopping the air with his hand.

Emi kept her expression neutral as voices overlapped.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” a boy with spiked red hair laughed easily, leaning back in his chair. Kirishima. High empathy. Stabilizing peer influence. “That’s just how Bakugou is.”

“That doesn’t mean he should start yelling at her right away,” a girl with long black hair added calmly from the back. Yaoyorozu. Emotional intelligence, high. Leadership-adjacent.

“You’ll get used to it,” Kaminari shrugged, half-sympathetic, half-amused. Denki Kaminari. High sociability. Humor as deflection. Electrical output, volatile when cognitively taxed. Low hostility, moderate impulsivity. Morale stabilizer but unreliable under pressure.

Through it all, one presence stayed perfectly still. Emi’s gaze flicked, just once, to the boy seated in the back next to Yaoyorozu. Half red. Half white. Posture rigid. Emotional output near-flat.

Shouto Todoroki . Trauma suppression. Probability branches unstable due to emotional withholding.

His mismatched eyes met hers briefly. Then slid away.

Aizawa’s voice rumbled from behind her. “That’s enough.” 

The room stilled.

“Takemori is here because Principal Nezu recruited her,” he continued, tone flat but deliberate. “She’ll be using her Quirk to analyze your training progress, assess individual risk factors, and provide strategic feedback where appropriate.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the class.

A low, thoughtful voice followed. “You must possess a most remarkable Quirk,” the student with a bird’s head said. Fumikage Tokoyami High discipline. Strong internal control structures. Dark Shadow manifestation could be tied to emotional regulation. Risk increases exponentially under fear. Loyalty index, extremely high.

“When do we get to see it?” The short boy with purple spheres for hair leaned forward eagerly, eyes shining in a way that made Emi instinctively stiffen. Minoru Mineta. Attention-seeking behavior. Boundary testing. Low threat output, high social friction potential. Requires firm external limits. Poor self-moderation.

Before she could attempt to respond to the two boys, a girl with wide, steady eyes smiled at her. “Welcome to our class, Takemori. Ribbit.” Tsuyu Asui. Emotional baseline stable. High situational awareness. Strong peer mediator. Trustworthy under stress. Reliable data point.

Emi felt the attention settle on her like a physical weight. She resisted the urge to catalog everything out loud. Instead, she bowed her head slightly. “Thank you. I’ll do my best not to get in the way.”

That earned a few surprised looks.

Aizawa turned to her, assessing, before returning to the class.

“Takemori is here under special circumstances,” he repeated. “She knows what’s expected of her. I expect the same respect for her that I require from all of you.”

Kirishima chuckled. “Hear that, Bakugou? Respect.”

“Shut up!” Bakugou barked.

Heat spiked. Emi’s Quirk reacted instantly at the sight of his palms crackling. Combustion probability rising, emotional volatility cresting.

Then red eyes snapped to hers. “Just stay outta my way,” he snarled “I don’t have time to babysit someone like you.”

For half a second, every possible outcome bloomed in her mind. Escalation. Detention. Injury. Aizawa intervention. Public humiliation.

She chose none of them.

Her gaze held Bakugou’s. Calm, unflinching. “I don’t need you to look after me,” she said evenly. “And I don’t plan on getting in your way.”

That seemed to throw him more than any insult would have.

Aizawa groweled. “Seats. Now.”

Bakugou dropped back into his chair with a scowl.

The homeroom teacher gestured toward the second row. “Takemori. Second seat in.”

Emi followed the direction, and of course. The seat beside it was occupied. Bakugou didn’t look at her as she sat down.

But she could feel the heat rolling off him anyway.

Chapter Text

“The U.A. Sports Festival is approaching,” Aizawa said, voice carrying easily over the room. “It’s  event is a huge opportunity for every student here. It’s the most watched event in the world.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Emi felt it. Anticipation rising like pressure in a sealed room. Heart rates increased. Postures straightened. Probability branches multiplied.

“That wasn’t always the case,” the student seated in front of her said, turning around slightly. He was massive. Easily the most physically imposing in the class, but his voice was gentle and thoughtful. Multiple arms folded neatly behind his back. “Before Quirks became widespread, people watched the Olympics instead.”

Mezou Shoji , her Quirk supplied. High strength. High situational awareness. Protective disposition. Low ego output. Excellent frontline support.

He smiled. Or at least, his eyes did. “Nice to meet you.”

Emi returned it, small but sincere. “Likewise.”

“Tch.”

Heat flared beside her. She didn’t look.

“We must train to do our best for it,” Yaoyorozu said eagerly. Her excitement was composed, but genuine. High ambition. High responsibility weighting. “Pro Heroes from everywhere will be watching.”

“She’s right!” Kaminari added. “A lot of people land agency placements right out of this!”

“Or get stuck as sidekicks forever,” Jirou cut in dryly, tapping a finger against her chin. “Not everyone makes it past that ceiling.” She glanced sideways. “Actually. That’s probably where you’re headed,” she continued, pointing to the yellow-haired boy. “You’re kinda dumb.”

Kaminari spluttered in protest.

Emi smiled faintly despite herself. Kyoka Jirou, her Quirk supplied. High auditory sensitivity. High environmental awareness. Analytical mindset. Tactical restraint. Moderate ambition. Low ego output. Strong support-to-offense adaptability.

Aizawa let the noise crest before cutting through it.

“Joining a Pro Agency can grant experience, exposure, and leverage,” he said. “That’s why the Sports Festival matters. If you intend to go pro, this is one of the few opportunities you’ll get.” Then his gaze shifted — directly to her.

“Takemori. This is your window to observe. Learn your classmates’ Quirks, personalities, and stress responses. Your insights will help determine how effectively they train going forward.”

The room quieted.

Emi swallowed, nodded before the silence got too loud. “Understood.”

She didn’t say what sat lodged in her chest. I don’t know how I’m supposed to help people who are already running full speed toward something I’m not even allowed to chase.

“Don’t slack off,” Aizawa finished. “Dismissed. P.E. gear. Training begins now.”

“Yes, sir!”

As soon as he left, the tension snapped. Voices overlapping, bodies shifting. Several students drifted toward her, curiosity bright and open. She registered kindness. Interest. Acceptance. And still. Doubt pressed down hard. They’re aiming for agencies. Careers. Futures. I’m here to analyze, not advance.

“Don’t even think about helping me,” Bakugou’s voice cut through everything.

She turned slowly. “I didn’t offer,” Emi said evenly.

His glare sharpened. “Some genius idea to shove a desk-jockey into our business.”

“If your success depends on me staying silent,” she replied, “then you’re not as confident as you think.”

That earned a flicker of surprise, quickly buried under fury. “What the hell did you say,” palms beginning to crackle

Kirishima put his arm out across the blonde’s chest. “Woah-hoh!” he exclaimed. “Look who can hold her own on the first day!”

A deeper voice spoke from the back. “There are plenty of us who don’t need assistance.” Todoroki stood, posture rigid, eyes cool and distant. Emotional suppression active. Cooperative probability low. “You’re here because of a technicality,” he continued. “And that kind of interference gets people hurt.”

The words hit harder than Bakugou’s shouting.

Because they were calm. Precise.

Her confidence wavered. “I’m not here to interfere,” she said quietly. “I’m here because I was asked to help.”

“And if your help slows someone down?” Todoroki asked.

Her Quirk stuttered. Branching paths fracturing. She didn’t have an answer she trusted.

Silence settled.

Kirishima broke it gently. “Hey. That’s not fair.”

A warm hand closed around her wrist. “C’mon,” Uraraka smiled. “Let’s head to the locker room.”

“Umm … That. Might be easier said than done,” Midoriya said, pointing to the door.

Emi turned to see dozens of students, quite literally blocking their way out.

“Do you students have some sort of business with our class?” Iida inquired, his class representative persona standardly professional.

“They’re scouting out the competition, idiots,” Bakugou spat. “We’re the class that survived a real villain attack. They wanna get a good look at us with their own eyes. At least you know what a future pro looks like,” Bakugou taunted the students outside the door. “Now move it, extras.”

Iida, Kirishima and Midoriya all started scolding the blonde for his rudeness. Emi’s breath caught. She saw them instantly.

Hana stood near the edge of the crowd, arms folded too tightly. Ren beside her, expression unreadable. Emotional strain. Unresolved tension. Sense of distance forming.

Her chest ached.

“So this is Class 1A,” came a voice from the crowd of students. “I heard you guys were impressive.” A boy gently moved through the gathering to the threshold of the door. He looked tired; eyes droopy and dark circles under them. He folded his arms across his chest. 

Emi recognized him from the other General Studies classes. Hitoshi Shinso. Her Quirk explained. General Studies. Brainwashing Quirk. High resentment index. High transfer motivation.

His eyes flickered to her for a moment before glaring at Bakugou “You just sound like an ass,” he accused. “Is everyone in the Hero course delusional? Or is it just you?”

Bakugou bristled.

“I tested for the Hero Course too,” Shinso continued. “Didn’t make it.” He shrugged. “But the Sports Festival changes things. If a General Studies student does well, the teachers can transfer them in. Which means someone transfers out.”

The implication echoed loud and clear.

“I’m here to let you know that if you don’t bring your best I’ll steal your spot right from under you,” the boy concluded, eyes sharp.

Bakugou stared him down for moment before shoving him out of the way, exiting the classroom. Emi was surprised he didn’t have a comeback. Didn’t threaten, curse or yell. Even though she doesn’t know him that well, he definitely gave off that personality.

The crowds of students began to disperse and Class 1A’s attention was refocused to get going on their training. Uraraka linked arms with Emi as she walked with the rest of the girls to the locker room. She couldn’t help but notice Bakugou as they passed him; leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, focused on the ground. He glanced up, meeting her eyes for just a moment, before taking off down the hall once more.

Chapter Text

The next two weeks of class was when Emi really got to know her classmates. Mr. Aizawa sat down with her and her parents to discuss the responsibility she had to helping everyone with their training. “They’re not going to be able to have me watch them all day, so that’s where she comes in,” he told them. “I’ve given her specific instructions when it comes to everyone’s training; how it needs to be measured and how to compare it from the physical fitness exam results from everyone on the first day of school. She’ll need to report back to me. In detail. With what everyone’s quirk is and how they use it.”

One day, she had to meet Midoriya after school to help with his training. Apparently he had meetings with one of the teachers, though he wasn’t exactly clear on why he had to meet with this teacher … let alone who it was he had to meet with. He asked her to find him at Takoba Municipal Beach, which wasn’t too far from the school. The sun was just starting to set on the horizon when she found him in a teal jumpsuit, stretching to prepare himself for whatever training she was going to help him with.

“I’m afraid you’re only going to be timing my runs,” he said, a little anxiety to his tone. “I only. I only work on my Quirk training when we’re at school.”

Emi blinked. Baseline endurance improving at accelerated rate, her Quirk supplied. Cardiovascular output stable. Musculoskeletal stress intentionally restricted…Intentionally? “Guess it’s good I have this with me, isn’t it?” She offered, showing him the stopwatch.

Midoriya chuckled and nodded, before explaining what she needed to record for him. “Since we’re not exactly sure what kind of events we’ll be participating in, we need to be prepared for any kind of endurance trials the Sports Festival might have. Takemori, can you time my mile runs? I want to try and get them in 8 minutes.”

“Woah, that’s incredible!” she exclaimed. “Your last mile run at the Fitness Test was 9 minutes, so I’ll bet you’ll have no trouble getting it down!”

His cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “You’re already learning so much about us“

High self-regulation. High fear of overextension. Primary risk factor: internal restraint exceeding physical limitation.

“That’s because she has nothing better to do,” a gruff voice interrupted them.

Emi turned to see Bakugou walking towards them; black track pants and a blue UA track jacket. The jacket was unzipped to reveal a pure white tank top underneath. The glare in his eyes caught her own and with a mocking grin, it sent shivers up her spine.

Thermal output elevated. Adrenal response high, but regulated. Aggression not reactive—preemptive.

He said nothing more to either of them, and broke off into a jog. Emi hadn’t realized until he was almost out of sight that she’d been holding her breath. 

Emi became more acquainted with Toru Hagakure and Shoji. Obviously, she’s invisible. With his six arms, (but only two hands) he could bench press without the need of a spotter. You could easily make out the muscles of his core beneath his white tank top. Emi had to keep up with the increasing weight he kept adding. The other four of his arms were more or less nondescript until he’s using his Quirk. “Basically,” he grunted while he benched (yet more) weight, “I have the ability to endure longer than most of the class. When it comes to physical ability. When using my Quirk, I can hear and see things that are further away.”

Endurance capacity significantly exceeds class average, her Quirk supplied. Low fatigue markers. Ideal for prolonged engagement.

There was no denying his strength. He was also soft spoken and kind. She remembered how he explained the Sports Festival to her on her first day of class. He put the weights back before sitting up on the bench. “You really are helping us with training, by the way,” he added. “I would never be able to keep track of how much I’ve lifted. With you here, I get to focus. You have my thanks, Emi.”

His eyes smiled at her and she felt her cheeks heat up.

“Will you. Quit flirting, Shoji!” Hagakure spluttered as she attempted to do some pull-ups. “I could. Really. Really use her help, now!”

Emi almost forgot the invisible girl was there.

Down the hall from the weight room was the pool area. It’s where Emi met with Tsuyu Asui (“But please, call me Tsu.”). Her Quirk was adorable, because of the memories with Laura and Amy whenever they would go in the swamp area behind their houses. To put it simply, Tsu could do a lot of things frogs can do; complete with a long, sticky tongue.

“I want to work on my agility today, ribbit,” she explained, handing Emi a remote control.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I driving a remote controlled car?”

“Not quite,” Tsu winked before digging out a plastic fish with a little propeller. She tossed it into the pool and then explained how to operate the controls. “Better not go easy on me either!” she ribbited before jumping into the water, purposely close enough to splash her just a little bit.

She spent some time at a place on campus called Ground Beta. It’s essentially a training area for students made to look like a real city. When they’re doing combat training, they get scored on how little (or how much) damage they do to the nearby structures. Obviously the goal is to not completely destroy a city while you’re trying to save people. It was there Emi was working with Iida, Hanta Sero and Mashirao Ojiro.

Iida wanted to work on his turns when the engines in his legs were at full power; attempting to limit the slow down and take the corners as quickly and smoothly as possible. He was already really accomplished at it; as long as the turns weren’t 90 degrees. It was definitely easier for him to maneuver curves, than sharp directional turns. It didn’t take him long to nearly master it, though. 

Engine output consistent. Efficiency loss occurs at angular shifts exceeding seventy degrees. Cognitive load spikes when performance deviates from ideal standard.

Emi found out that Iida’s drive to succeed comes from his Pro Hero older brother. “As the next eldest Iida son, I strive to be just as good as my older brother, to hold up our family name and the standards of being a Pro. My brother is one of the best.”

Motivational core: legacy preservation. Self-worth tightly bound to external expectation.

She kept tally of how much debris Mina Ashido and Yuga Aoyama destroyed from Ochaco using her Quirk to float all the pieces in different directions; working on their speed and accuracy.

“So how’s training going with everyone else,” she asked as she released more pieces of concrete for their target practice.

“Everyone is really nice,” Emi said smiling. “Koda’s really quiet, but he attracts all kinds of animals. I got some great pictures to text to my friends! Although, Sato did scare them away after only a few minutes when was getting hyped up for his training.”

"Kaminari is sweet. But Jiro's right … he’s not the brightest bulb, given his Quirk. He really needs to learn how to control the voltage he outputs, otherwise he gets rather useless very quick,” she giggled.

“Look at you go!” Ochaco exclaimed. “I’m so proud of you for training with all of us! You’ve been so helpful!”

Zero-gravity output stable. Emotional resilience above average. Stress markers present. Externalized optimism masking internal pressure.

Emi’s smile faded. “I haven’t worked with everyone yet. I’m supposed to meet with Bakugou tomorrow. And. Todoroki.  I still have to meet up with him, but every time I try to schedule something with him, he’s been conveniently unavailable …”

“We don’t know a lot about him either,” Ochaco commented. “He keeps to himself."

“At least we know he doesn’t yell at people,” Emi added, chuckling lightly.

The next day after Mr. Aizawa dismissed homeroom, She went through her schedule for the rest of the day. Todoroki was already out the door before she could attempt to stop him. Looking at the spot next to her, she noticed Bakugou seemed to be lingering. Her heart started to race as she packed up her messenger bag and put it over her shoulder.

“Oi. Stats,” he uttered, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Emi turned around to find him directly behind her rather than still at his desk. She gasped surprised by his close proximity. His hands were in his pockets and he gave her a questioning look. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t realize you were. There.”

“If you’re supposed to be analyzing all of us to death, you better learn to keep track of your surroundings. Otherwise you’ll end up on your ass.”

She locked eyes with his; still glaring but not as hard like they usually are. “Noted,” she said.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Emi wanted to say something, but she had no idea what. She fumbled with the strap of her messenger bag as it hung across her chest. Bakugou looked like he wanted to say something as well, though he broke their eye contact; so maybe that meant he was done with this conversation.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll get changed and meet you at the field behind the school.”

Before she could even process what he said, Bakugou was out of the classroom heading towards the locker rooms. She watched him until he disappeared in the stairwell, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath again.

Behind the school was an open field. A huge open space of grass surrounded by an oval of black turf. On one of the far corners there was a sand-pit area that reminded her of the standing long jump event for the track and field athletes. Isla was first to arrive, noting where the door to the boy’s locker room was. There were some benches placed for either spectators or other students awaiting training time. She set her bag on one of the benches, opening it up to the binder she had been keeping notes and results from everyone else’s training. Bakugou’s Quirk makes him sweat a nitro-glycerin substance; very flammable and explosive. Mr. Aizawa tasked her with attempting to correlate his body temperature with how powerful his explosions are and the temperature of them as well. Digging into a side pocket of her bag, she pulled out a belt meant to fit around his chest, just under his arms; where there were two sensors enabled to record his body temperature.

“You’re still not paying attention to your surroundings,” he accused, startling her once again.

She spun around on her toes, face to face with the blonde. “Right. Right! Sorry,” she stuttered. “Um. D’you. Do you want to warm up, first?”

“Don’t need it,” he replied. “Went for a run before homeroom this morning.”

“Okay,” she nodded before holding up the belt. “Mr. Aizawa wants to record your body temperature and attempt to help you relate it to how powerful your explosions are when you’re not in your Hero costume. There are two sensors here. You need to make sure those are situated right under your arms.”

Bakugou took the belt from her and began attempting to attach it the way he was instructed. Emi paged through her binder to his section of training she would be taking notes on.

“The Hell is with this thing?” he grumbled.

She turned to find him struggling to keep the sensors in place. “They must have come loose,” she stepped closer. Emi took the belt from him before he could argue, fingers quick as she tightened the strap and repositioned the sensors.

Body temperature exceeding baseline by twelve percent. Explosive output potential high. Control rating: extreme.

She didn’t realize how close she was until her arms were around his chest, fastening the buckle.

Too close.

He smelled like smoke and heat. like a bonfire burned down to embers.

Emi pulled away a second too fast, cheeks warm, and reached for her binder. Bakugou didn’t say a word.

Her Quirk alerted her. 

Risk factor: internalization.

Chapter Text

The General Studies waiting room was nothing like the broadcast footage.

No banners. No screens looping dramatic highlight reels. No countdown clocks or booming announcements bleeding through the walls. Just rows of metal folding chairs, a few stretch mats shoved into the corners, and the low hum of fluorescent lights that never quite stopped buzzing.

It smelled faintly like disinfectant and nervous sweat.

Emi sat near the wall, knees drawn in, notebook balanced against her thigh. Around her, students shifted and murmured. Some paced, some stretched with too much intensity, others stared at the floor like they’d already decided how this was going to end.

She flipped a page and wrote quickly. Hero Course Quirks likely to dominate first event. Her handwriting was small, neat, controlled. The kind of writing that didn’t waste space.

Across the room, someone cracked their knuckles too loudly. Another student practiced deep breathing, counting under their breath. Emi didn’t look up. She already had a rough map of where everyone was, who was anxious and who was pretending not to be.

She was halfway through a note about crowd psychology when a shadow stopped in front of her. “You know stretching before physical activity actually helps,” Hana said.

Emi glanced up. Hana stood with her arms crossed, weight shifted onto one hip, expression unreadable in the way that usually meant she’d already decided something and was waiting to see if Emi would confirm it.

Her eyes lingered on her friend for a moment before she returned to her notebook “I stretched earlier.”

“Uh-huh.” Hana’s gaze dropped. “You planning to run with that thing?”

Emi closed it on reflex, fingers flattening the cover. “I won’t take it onto the field.”

“Funny,” Hana said dryly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Before Emi could respond, Ren slid into the empty chair on her other side, nearly knocking his knee against hers in his enthusiasm. “Can you believe this?” he said, voice pitched low but vibrating with energy. “I mean. This. Stadium’s packed. They’re broadcasting it worldwide. My parents texted me like eight times already.”

Hana snorted. “You’re going to trip in the first ten seconds.”

“Probably,” Ren agreed cheerfully. “But still. It’s the Sports Festival.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the closed door like he could see through it. Emi followed his line of sight without meaning to.

Beyond that door was noise. Light. Heroes. She forced her attention back inward.

Ren exhaled sharply. “This is our shot, you know?”

Hana didn’t respond right away.

“Our shot at what?” Emi asked, carefully neutral.

He shrugged, but his shoulders stayed tight. “Being seen. Transfers. Proving we’re not just …” He waved a hand vaguely. “Background.”

That word stuck. Emi felt it lodge somewhere uncomfortable.

Hana finally spoke. “Not everyone wants to be dragged into the spotlight.”

Ren glanced between the girls, brow furrowing. “You don’t?”

Hana shrugged. “I want options. That’s different.” Then she looked at Emi. “Which one are you?” her tone deceptively casual.

Emi met her gaze. For a second, she considered lying outright. It would’ve been easier. “I want to do well,” she said instead.

“That’s not an answer,” Hana replied.

Ren tilted his head. “Do you want to win?”

The question landed harder than it should have.

Emi opened her notebook again, flipping to a fresh page just to give her hands something to do. Her pulse ticked a little faster, though she kept her face calm. “I want to complete the events safely,” she said. “And accurately.”

Ren blinked. “Accurately?”

Hana huffed a quiet laugh. “You hear that? She’s grading it.”

Emi didn’t smile.

Before either of them could push further, the overhead speakers crackled to life. A distorted voice announced that participants should prepare to move to the stadium entrance. The room shifted immediately. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Chairs scraped. Someone swore under their breath. Adrenaline spiked so fast Emi could almost feel it buzzing in the air.

She stood smoothly, slipping the notebook into her pant pocket.

Hana watched the motion closely. “You’re weirdly calm,” she said.

“I’m focused,” Emi corrected.

Ren bounced on his heels. “If I throw up out there, you’re not allowed to judge me.”

“I absolutely will,” Hana said.

The doors opened.

Sound crashed into the room like a physical force. Cheering, music, Present Mic’s amplified voice echoing through concrete and steel. “MAKE SOME NOISE SPORTS FANS!!” Light spilled in, blinding her after the muted waiting room. 

Ren sucked in a breath. “Oh. Wow.”

Emi stepped forward with the others, her senses sharpening automatically. She catalogued everything without trying to: exits, elevation, crowd density, Hero Course clusters ahead of them. Somewhere across the field, she knew Class 1A was already lined up. Bakugou was probably scowling. Todoroki was probably unreadable. Patterns she’d studied now existing in real space.

Her chest tightened, but not from fear. This was anticipation.

“Get ready for the most exciting event of the year!!” Mic’s voice boomed. “Are you ready?! Let me hear you make some noise as our students make their way onto the main field!!”

As they moved toward the tunnel, Hana leaned in just enough that only Emi could hear. “Careful,” she said quietly. “People who don’t want to be noticed still leave impressions.”

Emi didn’t respond.

“This first group are no strangers to the spotlight!” Mic’s voice exclaimed. “You know them best for withstanding a villain attack! The Hero Course students of Class 1A!!”

Emi adjusted the strap of her shoe, straightened her shoulders, preparing to step into the noise. Already watching, already measuring, even as the Festival waited ahead of her.

“They haven’t been getting nearly as much screen time, but this next group is still chalk-full of talent! Welcome the Hero students from Class 1B!”

The stadium swallowed them whole.

Sound pressed in from every direction. Cheering, chanting, the low, constant roar of thousands of voices layered over one another. Emi felt it vibrate through the concrete beneath her feet, up her legs, into her chest. The air itself seemed charged, heavy with anticipation and heat.

“Next up, General Studies, C, D and E! Support Courses, F, G and H. And finally the Business Course students I, J and K! GIVE IT UP FOR ALL YOUR FIRST YEAR STUDENTS!!!” Present Mic’s voice boomed across the stadium, distorted just enough by the speakers to feel larger than life.

Emi resisted the urge to wince. The volume was impressive. Intentionally overwhelming. A stress test as much as a celebration.

Her gaze drifted automatically to the Hero Course students. Class 1-A stood out immediately. Confidence sat on them differently. Some grinned. Some flexed. Some stood too still.

Then it came.

“Attention please!” the voice of a woman sounded in the center of the field. “It is now time for the introductory speech!” She wore a skin-tight costume that accentuated ... Well .. Everything. Around her, she could hear catcalls coming from the guys in the stadium. Emi felt her cheeks warm. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something like that. Even if she did have the body for it. Which she didn’t, in her opinion.

“This year’s chief umpire for the first year students is none other than Midnight!” Mic’s voice announced. "Also known as the R-Rated Hero!"

A beat of anticipation rippled through the stadium.

Midnight continued to address the crowd. “And for the student pledge, we will hear from Katsuki Bakugou!”

Emi had seen recordings. Read reports. Observed his Quirk metrics in person. None of it captured the sheer density of his presence when he stood there, hands jammed into his pockets like he owned the ground beneath him. How he managed to be the one selected to give something that sounded so important like a student pledge, she had no idea.

“Friend of yours?” Ren asked, noting her stare.

“Far from it, actually,” she chuckled. “Pretty sure I’m the last person he’d consider a friend.”

The thousands of people in the stadium fell completely silent as they waited for him to speak. He slowly sauntered up the stairs to the main stage in front of a single-standing microphone. With his hands in his pockets, seeming to not care at all.

“I just wanna say,” he said slowly. Deliberate. “I’m gonna win.”

For a half-second, the stadium went silent.

Then it exploded.

“Boo!!” 

“What did you say??” 

“You over-confident jerk!!”

“Get off the stage!!” 

Emi took note of Iida with his can’t-hardly-miss scolding movements; no doubt calling Bakugou out on his rudeness. She watched the blonde’s face closely. No nerves. No hesitation. Not even bravado, really. Just certainty.

Provocation as strategy, she noted mentally. Forces others to overextend.

Hana, standing a few feet away, muttered, “At least he’s honest.”

Emi almost smiled. Instead, she focused on the way Bakugou stepped back into line without another word, the reaction already echoing behind him. He didn’t need to say more. He’d already set the tone.

“Silence everyone!!” Midnight’s voice boomed. “Without further ado, it’s time for us to get started! This is where you begin feeling the pain!” On a jumbo screen behind her, a roulette of sorts appeared; bright and colorful it started to spin around. “The first fateful game of the festival is ….” TA-DA!!”

The roulette was now replaced with a figure of a person seeming to run around some cones, with the words ‘Obstacle Course’ flashing.

“This year’s Sports Festival will begin,” Midnight continued, “with an obstacle course.”

A murmur rolled through the students.

Emi straightened slightly.

“All 11 classes will participate in this treacherous contest. The track is 4 kilometers around the outside of the stadium.” The figure was now animated, running around the arena. Midnight then cracked the whip she had in her hand. “I don’t want to restrain anyone, at least in this game. As long as you don’t leave the course you’re free to do whatever your heart desires! “Only the top finishers will move on,” she said. “So be bold. Be smart.” Her smile widened wickedly. “And above all. Try not to get trampled.” Now then! Take your place contestants!”

The crowd roared again.

Emi exhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself. She adjusted her footing, feeling the solidness of the ground beneath her.

This was it.

She reached into her pocket briefly, fingers brushing the edge of her notebook, then stopped.

No. Now’s not the time.

Around her, students shifted into starting positions. Emi lifted her gaze, eyes sharp, mind already racing. She could already feel her focus pulling in too many directions.

Observe. Participate. Survive.

The horn blared.

Chapter Text

The ground seemed to lurch beneath Emi’s feet as the mass of students surged forward all at once, a tide of bodies and Quirks exploding into motion. The roar of the crowd swelled, noise cresting as dust and heat kicked up from the starting line.

Emi ran.

Not recklessly. Never recklessly.

But with measured speed. Efficient stride, controlled breathing and arms close to her sides. Emi ran the way she always did when it mattered: compact, deliberate, conserving motion even as the crowd roared around her.

Her mind split anyway. Part of her counting steps and distance, part of her already drifting outward and tracking movement that wasn’t her own. She forced her focus forward just as the ground trembled beneath her feet and skidded to an abrupt halt. 

For a heartbeat, the stadium fell away.

Robots. The same towering, jointed at the shoulders and knees in all the places that made them hardest to knock down. The same red sensors for eyes. The same heavy footfalls that rattled her bones.

The entrance exam.

Her pulse spiked before she could stop it. Not fear exactly. More like recognition. Her body remembered the weight of their shadows and the way time had compressed around every decision back then.

They haven’t changed, her mind supplied automatically. But the field has.

Her Quirk stirred, quiet but insistent, like a hand pressing at the back of her skull. Information began to layer itself over the scene. Angles of approach, collision zones, paths students were already choosing without realizing it. She saw where the robots would bottleneck the crowd, where panic would slow people down more effectively than the machines ever could.

Someone screamed as a robot’s foot slammed down too close for comfort. Emi didn’t look. She didn’t need to. She already knew where it landed.

Too slow there, she thought distantly. Overcommitted.

The realization came with a flicker of unease. She wasn’t fully present. Her awareness had stretched outward, snagging on everything at once; cataloguing threats that weren’t hers to handle. Emi clenched her jaw, forcing her attention back into her legs, her breath and the ground beneath her feet.

Move. You have to move. Run first. Analyze later.

Then the temperature dropped.

Ice raced across the ground in a blinding sweep, spreading outward from Todoroki in a glimmering wave. The robots froze mid-stride, joints locked solid..

Emi skidded as the ice reached her feet, boots scraping for traction. Around her, people stumbled, crashed, swore. Someone went down hard, sliding helplessly until they slammed into a frozen robot.

Area denial, Emi thought, adjusting her path. Effective, but indiscriminate.

Explosions caught her peripheral vision and she veered toward a narrow gap between two frozen machines, nearly colliding with Bakugou when he landed hard in front of her.

The blonde shot her a sharp look, eyes blazing. “Don’t slow me down.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Emi replied, unbothered by his harshness; too busy calculating her path through or around the robots. 

For a split second, she caught him studying her. Not her face, but her footing. Her posture and the way she’d adjusted to the ice without panic.

“Tch.” He smirked. “Try to keep up.”

Bakugou launched himself forward in a concussive burst. Emi tracked his trajectory automatically. Angle, distance and recovery time. He bared his teeth in some feral fashion as he blasted upward, clearing the robots entirely in a series of controlled detonations.

She ran through a gap and cleared the robot field with minimal damage. But the delay cost her. Dozens of students streamed past, momentum carrying them forward. Her Quirk stirred, subtle at first. Awareness sharpening. Patterns snapping into place. She felt it like pressure behind her eyes.

The second obstacle narrowed the field brutally.

A yawning canyon split the ground ahead of them, its depth obscured by drifting dust and shadow. Thin tightropes stretched across the gap, swaying faintly in the open air with just enough movement to punish hesitation.

Emi reached the edge moments after Ashido, Ochaco, and Tsu.

“When did they even have time to build something like this?” Ochaco breathed, peering down.

Tsu ribbited softly, lips curling into a small, knowing smile. Without another word, she crouched and sprang forward; hands snapping out to grip the rope with practiced precision. Her sticky fingers latched on instantly, and she zipped across the canyon in a smooth, efficient blur.

“Wow,” Ashido muttered. “She makes it look easy.”

Emi tracked Tsu’s movement automatically. Minimal sway. Excellent recovery. Quirk perfectly suited for narrow traversal. “She’s fast,” she said quietly.

A voice cut in behind her. Loud, delighted, and completely unbothered by the drop. “Finally! This is my chance to show off what I can do!”

Emi turned.

The girl barreling toward them looked like she’d been assembled out of spare parts and enthusiasm. Pink hair twisted into thick, unruly locks. Oversized goggles obscuring her eyes. A bulky pack strapped to her back, bristling with wires and vents, and reinforced boots that hummed faintly with contained power.

For half a second, Emi’s brain misfired.

Not a Hero Course student, her Quirk supplied immediately. Support. High-risk prototype loadout. Self-developed.

She looked less like a competitor and more like one of the robots from the first obstacle—only louder.

“My support items are gonna steal the spotlight from these wannabe heroes!” the girl declared, throwing her arms wide. “Observe what my babies can do! Wire arrows and hover soles!”

Ashido squinted. “Wait. Support Course? How come you get all that stuff?”

The girl grinned, feral and unapologetic. “Hero students get combat training and flashy Quirks,” she said. “So to keep things fair, we’re allowed to bring whatever gadgets we build ourselves into the games!”

Emi felt her Quirk sharpen.

No safety limiter, she noted. Experimental tech. Recruitment-oriented behavior.

“This obstacle is perfect,” the girl continued, practically vibrating. “Companies are watching. Every move is data.”

Before anyone could respond, the device at her waist whirred to life. Two compact, missile-like projectiles launched forward with a sharp thunk, arcing cleanly across the canyon before anchoring into the cliff on the far side.

The girl floated upward, boots humming as she hovered a few feet off the ground. “Time to shine!”

She pulled a trigger. The wires snapped taut, yanking her across the gap in a smooth, exhilarating glide. Her laughter rang out; unrestrained and triumphant as she landed on the opposite side and threw her arms up.

Emi stared after her, chest tight with something like awe. She’s not competing. She’s advertising.

Ochaco blinked. “That’s… allowed?”

Ashido whistled. “These support kids are scary.”

Emi stepped forward toward the rope, her focus narrowing again. They build the future, she thought. And they don’t need permission to do it.

Balance-focused Quirks excel. Others will overcorrect.

“C’mon, Emi! Ochaco called, flashing a determined smile. “You can do this!”

Chapter Text

Emi stepped onto the rope.

It dipped under her weight. She adjusted immediately, core tightening, steps careful but not hesitant. Halfway across, her Quirk surged harder, the sudden awareness of every movement around her, every shift of air, every misstep. Someone zoomed past her, and she flinched just enough that the rope swayed. She caught the briefest glimpse of Class 1A’s Representative. By the time she reached solid ground again, the leaders were already disappearing into clouds of pink smoke ahead.

A neon sign flashed MINE FIELD, a cartoon skull grinning beneath it as if this were a joke.. Metal plates jutted up at irregular intervals, each step a gamble. Explosions erupted, sending some students flying. Others merely staggered. But everyone slowed.

Emi entered cautiously, scanning for patterns. The mines weren’t random. There was a rhythm to them. A logic.

Her Quirk latched onto it greedily.

Spacing inconsistent. Trigger delay approximately…

Metal scraped against dirt.

The sound cut through her focus like a blade. To her right, Izuku Midoriya shoving a piece of what looked like to be from the robots of the first obstacle into the ground. She could hear him muttering to himself and noticed the greenette was actually digging up the mines. He piled them together with reckless determination, eyes wild with calculation.

Improvisation under pressure, Emi thought distantly. High injury risk.

“Emi!”

Ren's voice brought her back to the race. He was a few meters ahead, waving frantically. Hana stood near him, jaw set, eyes sharp.

“Left!” Hana shouted. “Don’t hesitate. Just go!”

She followed their path, feet moving before her thoughts could catch up. Something larger than a single mind detonated behind her, a shockwave knocking her forward. She stumbled, hands slapping the ground, but pushed up again immediately, the sight of Midoriya flying through the air taking her off the mine field yet again.

Run. She screamed to herself. Don’t analyze. Move!

The stadium came into view. Students entered in bursts, some triumphant, some barely standing. Emi forced her legs to keep moving, lungs burning. She crossed the line in the middle of the pack. No cheers. Just the quiet certainty settling in her chest. 

“The contestants are pouring in now!” Present Mic’s voice boomed across the stadium. “Let’s hear some applause for them as we prepare the results!”

Emi knew the cutoffs. She’d done the math already. Not last place. But not far enough to advance.

She slowed to a stop, hands on her knees, sweat dripping onto the ground. Ahead of her, Bakugou staggered to a halt, breathing hard, one hand clamped around his left wrist. His shoulders heaved as he tried. And failed. To pretend he wasn’t hurt.

Emi straightened slowly and approached him. “You overextended,” she said before she could stop herself.

Bakugou shot her a sharp look. “What?”

“Your blasts,” Emi added, calm, factual. “You used them too much instead of alternating with moving on foot. Overusing your power comes with a price.”

For a split second, the noise of the stadium seemed to fall away. The blonde stared at her. Really stared. Eyes flicking over her stance, her breathing, the way she wasn’t looking at the scoreboard.

“…Tch,” he scoffed at last, turning away. “Like I need advice from someone who didn’t even qualify.”

He stalked off, Emi’s pulse finally slowing. She didn’t pull out her notebook to write anything down.

But she remembered everything.

Nearby, Ren let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan. Hana crossed her arms, expression unreadable.

Emi straightened, reaching for her pocket at last. She pulled out her notebook and flipped to a fresh page.

Obstacle course highlights, she wrote, pen steady despite the tremor in her hands. Quirk synergies observed. Risk behaviors escalating under crowd pressure.

She didn’t write about herself.

Above them, the crowd roared on, already looking ahead to the next event.

Chapter Text

The noise didn’t stop when Emi lost. It rolled on without her. Cheers crashing against each other and Present Mic’s voice tearing through the stadium like lightning. Emi stood on the sidelines of the stadium and watched Recovery Girl usher injured students away. Her ears were ringing and her breath still uneven from a race that was already over.

Forty-two students advanced.

She wasn’t one of them. Neither were Hana, nor Ren.

Sitting on a bench, Emi rested her hands on her thighs and bent forward slightly, grounding herself the way she’d learned to do when her thoughts threatened to scatter. Her pulse was slowing. Her breathing followed. The world narrowed back into something manageable.

She didn’t feel angry. Not exactly. The loss hadn’t come as a shock. She’d known the moment the robots appeared that this wasn’t an event built for her. Still, there was a quiet, persistent ache in her chest, like she’d missed a step she hadn’t even realized she was supposed to take.

Nearby, Hana sat with her chin propped in her hands, eyes tracking the stadium with sharp focus. She looked composed. Maybe too composed. Ren leaned back against the railing behind them, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the stadium walls.

None of them spoke.

The ones who advanced were being herded toward the staging area where Miss Midnight stood to discuss the next event. Emi watched as Midoriya walked with his classmates, shoulders hunched, expression already tense. Todoroki followed not long after, his presence drawing a ripple of attention even from students who’d already been eliminated. And Bakugou. He didn’t look angry. His expression was tighter than that. Like someone who’d realized the rules had changed without him noticing.

Regardless. They belonged there.

She wasn’t sure where that left her.

“Takemori.”

The voice was calm, steady, and unmistakably authoritative. She turned to see Vlad King approaching from the officials’ side of the field, his suit immaculate despite the chaos around them. 

“Sir.”

He stopped beside her, gaze sweeping the stadium with practiced efficiency. “Walk with me,” he said.

Not a request.

Emi glanced briefly toward Hana and Ren. Hana lifted her eyebrows in a silent go, while Ren gave a small nod, jaw still tight.

She followed Class 1B’s homeroom teacher along the perimeter of the field, the roar of the stadium softening as they moved beneath the overhang of the stands.

“You didn’t advance,” he said plainly.

“No, sir.”

“You also didn’t overextend. Or panic. Or compromise safety. You weren’t reckless.”

Emi blinked once. He’d noticed. “I assumed,” she said carefully, “that … meant I was too cautious.”

“That’s one interpretation,” Vlad King replied. “Another is that you were thinking ahead.”

He motioned for her to walk with him, and she fell into step easily. They’d done this before. Post-training debriefs and quiet corrections. The kind of mentorship that happened in margins rather than spotlights. “The Cavalry Battle is not a test of raw power,” he continued. “It’s a test of application. Strategy. Synergy.”

Emi nodded, remembering playing the game as a child with Hana and Ren. They would always carry her because she could calculate the other team’s plans.

“I want you observing,” Vlad King added. “Not the outcomes. The students.”

Her attention sharpened fully now; her mind already moving and forming connections.

“You’ll study Quirk interactions. Fatigue patterns. Emotional responses under pressure. How teams compensate when something goes wrong.” His gaze flicked briefly to the battlefield. “You’ve shown an aptitude for recognizing systems in motion. Use it.”

Useful. The word landed unexpectedly hard. This was data collection.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll compile your findings afterward and present them to Aizawa and myself,” he added. “We’ll use them in future training.”

Emi’s grip tightened around the clipboard he handed her, weight settling into her hands like something solid and earned.

“And Takemori,” Vlad King said, pausing. “This isn’t about what you didn’t do today.”

She met his eyes.

“It’s about what you can do.”

Teams for the Calvary Battle formed and dissolved in a matter of moments, alliances shifting as students weighed point values against trust. Emi stood near the boundary line, her attention pulled toward the subtle currents running through the field. Adrenaline spiked sharply around Midoriya’s team. Bright, erratic, but controlled. Tokoyami’s presence steadied it, Dark Shadow coiled like a watchful sentry. Ochaco’s focus flickered between fear and determination, her breathing shallow but rhythmic.

Todoroki was colder than the ice he wielded. Internally contained and emotions locked down so tightly Emi wondered what would happen if something cracked.

Bakugou burned. Not explosively. Like a fuse waiting for the right amount of friction.

Emi tracked it all without staring, without intruding. This was her strength: seeing without being seen. She felt… grounded. Not sidelined. Not forgotten.

Engaged.

From the stands, the crowd roared as strategies unfolded. Emi barely noticed. She was too busy noticing the way Midoriya’s shoulders sagged each time another team targeted him, the way Todoroki adjusted his stance after Kaminari’s discharge, compensating instinctively for overuse. The way Bakugou would make a split-second decision without consulting anyone else on his team and they were forced to adjust to him.

Emi became acutely aware of what was at stake. Not in points or rankings, but in patterns. Every mistake she missed would echo later in training. Every strength she failed to note would go unused.

Her Quirk sharpened instinctively, pulling her focus outward.

Bakugou’s explosive bursts were efficient but unsustainable. Todoroki compensated for teammates without communicating it aloud. Midoriya’s team relied heavily on mutual trust, but that trust wavered under sudden, chaotic pressure.

Emi wrote quickly.

When the battle ended and the crowd roared its approval of the top finishers, Emi stepped back from the field, finishing her last note as she exhaled slowly.

“That looked intense.”

She turned to find Hana leaning against the railing, arms folded, expression unreadable. “Yeah,” Emi said. “It was.”

Ren joined them, glancing at the clipboard in her hands. “You weren’t just watching, were you.”

“No,” she admitted. “I was assigned to observe.” Quirks. Strategy. Stress responses.” Emi hesitated, then added, “For training.”

Ren let out a low whistle. “That’s… actually kind of huge.”

Hana studied Emi carefully. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. But it was different. Not distant. Shifting.

Hana broke it with a small smile. “Guess that means you’re going to be busy.”

Emi tried to look proud. “Looks like it.”

Ren shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze flicking toward the Hero Course staging area. “Just don’t forget about us when you’re hanging out with the stars.”

Emi smiled softly. “I won’t.” But even as she said it, she felt the truth settling in her chest:

Something was changing.

The stadium emptied for lunch, the buzz settling into a low murmur as spectators filtered out. Emi lingered near the edge of the field, finishing her notes, when she felt someone stop beside her.

“You did well.”

She looked up. Vlad King stood there again, arms crossed, eyes on the battlefield as crews began resetting it. “Thank you, sir,” she couldn’t help but smile. 

“There will be one-on-one matches this afternoon,” Vlad King continued. “The stakes will be higher. Emotions more volatile.”

He paused briefly before going on.

“I’ve spoken with Aizawa. We’ve decided you’ll sit with the Hero Course students who didn’t advance to the final event.”

Emi stilled.

“You’ll use the data you’ve gathered—over the past week and today—to develop an individualized Quirk plan for each of them. We’ll review those plans before summer training camp.”

She calculated the number of students in both Hero Courses. “All of them?”

Vlad nodded.

She drew in a small breath, calculating her words carefully. “I’ll need access to their training logs,” she said. “And post-match medical notes.” She paused. “Some of them push past safe thresholds when emotions run high.”

Class B’s teacher nodded once. Firmly. “You’ll have it.”

Chapter Text

Emi took the long way to lunch.

It wasn’t avoidance. She told herself that much, at least. It was more like efficiency. The main corridors would be clogged with students flooding toward the cafeteria, adrenaline still buzzing from the Cavalry Battle, voices overlapping in loud, excited fragments. Too many variables. Too much noise. Her Quirk was already humming beneath her skin, overstimulated from hours of observation and note-taking. She needed quiet. Space to let the data settle into something usable.

The side corridors offered that. Cool concrete walls. High windows letting in muted daylight. The faint echo of footsteps instead of a roar. So when she felt it before she heard it, her steps slowed.

Her Quirk reacted first.

A low, restless pull behind her sternum—like static before a storm, or the pressure shift right before your ears popped. Not danger. Not exactly. Just attention. Her awareness stretching outward, snagging on something unresolved.

She rounded the corner and found him there

Bakugou leaned against the wall ahead, arms crossed, head tilted back just enough that the overhead lights caught the sharp angles of his face. The outer shell of his uniform hung open, damp with sweat at the collar. He looked like he always did. Coiled, volatile and radiating restrained violence like heat off asphalt.

Of course she would run into him here.

Her first instinct was to turn around. The cafeteria would be chaos right now, but she could deal with chaos. She didn’t have the energy for Bakugou. Not today. Not with the air already tight in her chest from the mounting pressure of the final event.

She took one step back…

Then heard Todoroki’s voice. It carried down the corridor. Low, clipped and controlled in the way that always made Emi feel like she was listening to someone hold themselves together with sheer force of will.

The realization settled heavy and sharp, and her Quirk flared in response. An uncomfortable awareness blooming across her senses, tugging her attention toward the emotional fault line running straight through the hallway.

Bakugou wasn’t loitering. 

He was eavesdropping. 

She considered turning around.

She didn’t. Instead, Emi stepped forward, her shoes deliberately loud against the floor.

Bakugou’s head turned immediately.

Their eyes met.

For half a second, something flickered across his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or irritation at being caught. It vanished just as quickly, replaced by his usual sharp-edged glare. “What,” he said. Not a question. A challenge.

Emi didn’t lower her voice. “You picked an interesting place to stand,” she replied evenly.

His eyes narrowed. “You got a problem with that?”

She glanced past him, just enough to make her point. “That conversation isn’t meant for an audience.”

Bakugou scoffed. “Public hallway.”

“And yet,” Emi challenged, her tone calm but unyielding, “you’re the only one positioned to hear it.”

The air between them tightened.

Her Quirk reacted again, stronger this time. Not feeding her specifics, not betraying the content of what was being said, but vibrating with the weight of it. Pain. Anger. Old wounds that hadn’t healed right. It made her stomach twist.

Bakugou noticed it before clenching his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Stats.”

“I know enough,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not subtle.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek.

For a moment, Emi thought he might snap. Explode into that familiar fury and lash out just to reassert control. Instead, he pushed off the wall and stepped closer, just enough to invade her space without touching her.

“You gonna report me?” he murmured, mouth close to her ear, voice low and rough like gravel dragged across metal. “Run and tell one of the teachers?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, but Emi held her ground. “No,” she said. “I’m asking why.”

That seemed to stop him just enough. Her Quirk hummed, catching on something volatile beneath his anger. Not guilt... Not exactly... Something more defensive. Like a raw nerve being pressed.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked away for half a second, toward the corridor where Todoroki’s voice still echoed faintly. “None of your damn business,” he snapped.

She took a step closer, causing him to stumble back, if only slightly. “Then don’t make it my business,” Emi replied, the volume in her voice accidentally growing louder.

His hand clamped over her mouth, firm enough to silence but not enough to hurt, as he pivoted and drove her back against the wall. Her spine met concrete with a dull thud, breath knocked from her lungs in a startled gasp that went nowhere. His other hand pinned her wrist at her side, fingers locking with brutal precision. Every muscle in her body screamed against him.

“Don’t,” Bakugou warned, voice low, humming in her ear. “Say. Anything.”

He wasn’t pressing his full weight into her. His grip was controlled. Deliberate. This wasn’t loss of control. The realization didn’t calm her. Not really. But it grounded her enough to stop struggling, to force her breathing into something quieter. Her Quirk catalogued everything, of course. His pulse steady despite the tension, the faint tremor in his fingers and the sharp scent of smoke and sweat clinging to him like a warning label.

Then a voice echoed down the corridor. “He’s using me to surpass All Might.”

Emi went still.

Bakugou stilled too.

Todoroki’s voice was unmistakable. Cool, clipped, but cracked just enough around the edges that Emi’s chest tightened involuntarily. “It’s infuriating,” Todoroki continued. “I refuse to be a tool for that bastard.”

Her Quirk stretched outward despite Bakugou’s hold, tuning into the emotional frequency of the words like a radio locking onto a signal. This wasn't a strategy. This wasn't even a rivalry.

This was something older. Deeper.

“My memories of my mother…” Todoroki hesitated. Just a fraction. Just enough. “They’re all the same. “I only see her crying. She called my left side unbearable...”

Emi swallowed hard. A pause.

“...And poured boiling water on my face.”

The world tilted. Emi’s Quirk spiking in response, flooding her with the weight of it. Pain remembered. Trauma calcified into habit. Identity. Fractured along a scar line that everyone else treated like trivia.

Her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, jaw tightening as she fought the urge to cry. Not here. Not like this. Not with Bakugou close enough to feel it.

“That’s why I challenged you,” Todoroki said, anger rising to paper over the vulnerability. “I’ll prove I can win without his fire. Without him.”

Footsteps echoed. First approaching, then stopping.

“Hey—wait!”

Midoriya.

“I don’t care how you’re connected to All Might,” Todoroki called as they moved further away from where Bakugou and Emi stayed concealed. “I’ll defeat you using only my right side.”

“Then I’ll fight you with everything I’ve been given.” Midoriya didn’t hesitate. “I’m here because people believed in me. I can’t throw that away.”

Silence followed. For what seemed like hours. Bakugou finally released her without ceremony. No warning. No explanation. He stepped away and vanished around the corner like she’d never been there at all.

Emi stayed where she was, heart still racing, palm pressed flat against the wall until her breathing evened out. Her Quirk slowly dialed back from overload, leaving behind a dull ache behind her eyes.

When she finally looked down the corridor, Midoriya was gone.

But Todoroki remained.

He crouched near the wall, forearms braced on his thighs, head bowed like he was holding himself together by sheer will. Sunlight filtered in through the open archway, carrying the scent of grass and blossoms from the courtyard beyond. Soft, almost cruel in its normalcy.

Emi hesitated. Her Quirk pulsed. Not alarm. Not urgency.

Concern.

She approached slowly, every step measured, ready for him to snap, or leave, or remind her. Politely or otherwise, that she didn’t belong here.

He didn’t move. Didn’t look at her.

So she stopped a few feet away.

Silence stretched between them. Not empty, but dense. Emi felt it press against her ribs, filled with everything he wasn’t saying. Grief. Rage. Exhaustion. A lifetime of expectations carved into him without consent.

She wanted to ask if he was okay. She knew better. She wanted to offer water. Food. Something practical. Something that didn’t feel useless.

But her Quirk told her the truth before her thoughts could rationalize it:

He didn’t need fixing. He needed space that wasn’t empty.

So she stayed. No words. No pity. Just presence.

The wind stirred again, lifting a few loose strands of her hair. She tucked them behind her ear without thinking. Todoroki’s gaze flicked up briefly, catching the motion, then dropped again.

But he didn’t leave. And somehow, that felt like permission.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

But somehow, time didn’t matter.

Chapter Text

“Alright, sports fans!!” Present Mic’s voice tore through the stadium. “Are you ready for the real battles to begin?!”

The field had been transformed while the crowd buzzed through the break. Where grass and churned earth had been before, there was now a wide cement arena scored with sharp white lines. Clean. Severe. Out-of-bounds marked with unforgiving clarity. Emi noted it absently. The way there was no room for ambiguity here. You either stood inside the lines, or you didn’t.

She sat quietly between Iida and Ochako, hands folded in her lap, posture composed. The roar of the crowd pressed in on her from all sides, but her focus narrowed instead of scattering. Big moments always did this to her. Noise compressing into something sharper, denser. Like the air itself was waiting.

A tap landed on her shoulder. Kaminari leaned forward from the row behind them, his grin easy and bright. “This is the real exciting part,” he said. “This is where your help with our training is really going to pay off.”

Emi turned, smiling warmly. Then caught Bakugou’s glare from the corner of her eye.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Her Quirk reacted instantly, a faint pressure blooming behind her sternum, like static before a storm. She didn’t look at him again. Instead, she angled her attention deliberately back to Kaminari. “I can’t wait to finally see your Quirks in battles like this,” she said, meaning it.

Bakugou scoffed under his breath.

The pressure didn’t ease.

“Let’s welcome our first fighters to the ring!!” Present Mic announced. “Woah! He looks a little nervous in his picture, doesn’t he! From Class 1A—it’s Izuku Midoriya!”

A cheer erupted.

“Versus!”

“Hitoshi Shinso from General Studies!!”

Emi leaned forward slightly. She recognized him immediately. The boy from the crowd that day. The one who had spoken plainly, almost bitterly, about transfers and opportunity. About how the Sports Festival could change everything. She hadn’t paid him much attention during the obstacle course, and his team hadn’t stood out to her in the cavalry battle, despite placing well.

Which meant this mattered to him.

Her Quirk stirred. Not sharply, but curiously. A quiet tug. Like a loose thread asking to be pulled. What’s your angle? she wondered.

“The rules for this final game are simple!” Present Mic continued. “Immobilize your opponent or force them out of bounds! You can also win if your opponent cries uncle! Recovery Girl is standing by, so don’t be afraid to play rough. But no life-threatening nonsense! Heroes don’t kill, folks!”

Emi blinked. Life-threatening?

“Ready?! BEGIN!”

At first, nothing happened.

The two boys circled each other. Shinso didn’t move much. Didn’t posture or provoke. Emi frowned slightly. That restraint was deliberate.

Then Shinso spoke.

She couldn’t hear what he said, but she felt the shift immediately. The air tightened. Something clicked into place with the wrongness of a lock snapping shut.

Midoriya lunged forward ...

… And stopped.

Suddenly. Completely.

Emi was on her feet before she realized she’d moved. Ochako and Iida stood with her, breath caught, eyes wide.

Behind her, Ojiro shot upright. “Damn it! I warned him not to respond!”

“What’s going on?!” Present Mic shouted. “The match has just begun and Midoriya is completely frozen! Is this a Quirk at work?!”

“Ojiro,” Emi said, her voice tight but steady. “What is it?”

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. “He can brainwash people. He did it to me during the cavalry battle.”

Her stomach dropped. Not with shock, but with something colder.

Control without consent. Power without resistance. Her Quirk reacted sharply now, like grit under skin. This wasn’t just dangerous. It was wrong.

“Tch,” Bakugou muttered behind them.

“No, Deku!” Ochako cried. “What are you doing?!”

Midoriya turned away from Shinso and began walking. Slowly and obediently. Toward the out-of-bounds line.

Iida waved his arms frantically. “You’ll lose if you step outside the ring!”

“He has to break the Quirk,” Emi whispered. “But how?”

Time stretched, elastic and merciless. This wasn’t a test of strength. Or skill. It was a test of autonomy, and watching someone lose that felt unbearable. Emi’s breath came shallow as Midoriya neared the line. She glanced at Ojiro, saw the guilt etched across his face, and knew he was blaming himself.

He shouldn’t, she thought fiercely. This isn’t on him.

Then…

A burst of force detonated around Midoriya. Not outward, but inward. He bent sharply at the waist, gasping, hands clawing for breath as smoke curled around him.

The crowd exploded.

“He stopped!” Present Mic roared. “Just in time!!”

Relief crashed through Emi so fast it left her dizzy.

Iida thrust his fists into the air. “That’s the way to do it!”

Ojiro sagged, exhaling hard. “That just about killed me.”

As Midoriya came to his senses, Shinso’s composure fractured. He started talking again. Faster. Sharper. Clearly trying to catch his opponent with another response, another slip. When the green-haired boy didn’t react, didn’t even look at him, Shinso’s frustration curdled into something louder. Angrier.

He began yelling. Most of his words were swallowed by the stadium. By the roar of thousands of voices layered over Present Mic’s commentary. But Emi still caught pieces. Jagged fragments that slipped through the noise like glass. “It’ll be so easy for you, won’t it?!”

Her breath stuttered.

Midoriya moved then, breaking into a run, eyes locked forward, jaw clenched tight as he ignored Shinso completely.

And then Shinso shouted it. “You’re lucky enough to have a heroic Quirk!!”

The words rang out. Too clear and too sharp. Emi felt them hit before she fully understood why. Her Quirk reacted instantly. Not violently or explosively. But inward, like a sudden compression in her chest, as if the air had been knocked from her lungs. The noise of the stadium dulled, the crowd blurring at the edges, her focus snapping tight around that single word.

Lucky.

The word scraped.

She’d heard it before. In classrooms. In passing comments. In the way people tilted their heads when they talked about power and potential. As if it were something bestowed, not earned. As if it explained everything. As if it excused everything.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants.

Shinso wasn’t wrong. Not entirely. That was the worst part. Midoriya did have a Quirk built for heroics, one that fit neatly into the public’s idea of what strength looked like. One that inspired cheers instead of skepticism. But the bitterness in Shinso’s voice wasn’t really about Midoriya.

It was about doors that never opened. About being told over and over what kind of power counted, and what kind didn’t. About watching others sprint ahead while you were still proving you deserved to stand at the starting line.

Emi swallowed hard. She understood that feeling more than she wanted to.

On the field, Midoriya closed the distance. He didn’t shout back. Didn’t flinch. He moved with intention now, careful and controlled, like every step was a choice. When they collided, his goal was simple. Push Shinso out of the ring. He could overpower him if he had to, so long as he didn’t speak. So long as he didn’t give Shinso what he wanted.

“Get the hell outta this ring!” Shinso yelled. Then he punched him.

The impact made Emi wince, a sharp flash of pain echoing through her Quirk like a sympathetic nerve being struck. But before Shinso could pull back, Midoriya caught his wrist, both hands locking down, firm and unwavering.

And then he flipped him.

Shinso hit the ground on his back with a dull, final thud. Out of bounds.

The crowd erupted, sound crashing back in all at once, but Emi barely heard it. Her gaze stayed fixed on Shinso as he lay there, chest heaving, eyes burning with something that looked dangerously close to grief.

Lucky, she thought again, quieter this time.

Maybe.

But luck didn’t look like that. She committed the sound of Shinso’s voice and the way Midoriya fought it to memory. Knowing she’d need it later.

Chapter Text

“Shinso is out of bounds!” Midnight declared. “Midoriya advances!”

Emi sank back into her seat, heart still racing.

Behind them, Kaminari laughed. “Midoriya used that shoulder throw on Bakugou before.”

“Shut your damn face, Sparky” Bakugou snapped.

Emi didn’t turn, but her Quirk noted the edge in his voice. It wasn’t anger this time. Something closer to tension that hadn’t found its outlet yet.

As the crowd settled and the bracket shifted on the screens, Emi’s thoughts drifted back to Todoroki. Unwanted and insistent. The quiet intensity. The pain she’d overheard by accident. The way his power felt less like dominance and more like restraint barely held together.

“Deku!” Ochako called. “We saved you a seat!”

Midoriya dropped down between them, smiling sheepishly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emi caught movement at the edge of the ring.

Todoroki had entered.

She stilled without meaning to. Her Quirk did the same thing it always did when he was nearby. It quieted and focused. Her thumb pressed briefly into the side of her index finger before she noticed she was doing it.

She hesitated. Asking outright would be dangerous. She couldn’t let it seem like she’d overheard anything beneath the stands. She told herself she could justify it. She was getting to know Class 1A better. Even if she hadn’t asked about anyone else’s parents yet.

It still felt risky.

“Midoriya,” she said carefully. “Do you… know who Todoroki’s dad is?” The words came out slower than she wanted. Measured. Almost stiff. She hated that she couldn’t stop herself from watching Midoriya’s face for a reaction.

He blinked. “Todoroki?” he echoed.

Before Emi could explain, heat spiked to her left. Sharp. Sudden. Like a match struck too hard. Her Quirk flared, snapping her attention sideways.

"Tch."

Bakugou hadn’t turned his head. His eyes were still on the ring. But his jaw had tightened. The air around him felt compressed, like pressure building behind a sealed door.

Emi’s pulse stumbled. She forced herself to look away, lifting her drink and taking a sip she didn’t need. “It’s just… I’ve heard people talking all day,” she said lightly. “You know. ‘Don’t you know who his father is?’ ‘Can you believe that’s his kid?’ Stuff like that.”

Midoriya hesitated and Emi felt it immediately. His uncertainty and an instinct to protect. Guilt pricked at her chest.

“He's the Number Two Hero in the country,” he said finally. “He goes by Endeavor. The Flame Hero.”

Her Quirk surged. Not violently or chaotically, but with sudden clarity. Threads she hadn’t known she was holding snapped into place. Relentless heat. Expectation disguised as legacy. Power treated like inheritance instead of choice. Pressure sharpened into something unforgiving.

No wonder Todoroki felt ...fractured. No wonder his presence felt muted and distant. Like a flame smothered into perfect control.

Beside her, Bakugou’s energy shifted again. Hotter now. Restless. Not aimed at Todoroki.

At her.

Not anger. Something closer to offense.  Emi’s thumb pressed into her finger again, harder this time.

Present Mic's voice echoed through the stadium. For a moment longer, Emi felt all three of them at once;

One burning too tightly contained.
One burning too loudly to ignore.
And herself. Caught between. Realizing this wasn’t just about power.

“Next up! From Class 1A—Hanta Sero! VERSUS! “Shoto Todoroki!”

The temperature shifted before the ice appeared.

Emi felt it immediately. Not like a shock or chaos, but as an intention. A controlled cold that slid along her skin like a held breath. Her Quirk stirred. Alert but calm, registering the change the way it always did when something meant what it was doing.

Then the wall erupted upward.

Ice tore from the ground in a clean, decisive surge. Towering, gleaming and  impossibly precise. It wasn’t explosive. It wasn’t reckless. It was exact. Reaching so high it swallowed the edge of the stadium and cast a long, pale shadow over the seats.

Emi didn’t remember deciding to move. Her hand lifted on instinct, palm pressing flat against the frozen surface as if to steady herself. Or maybe to steady it. The ice was brutally cold, but not hostile. It didn’t bite. It didn’t rage.

It endured.

Her thumb pressed into the side of her forefinger. Once. Twice. Grounding herself before she realized she was doing it.

“Sero has been immobilized!” Midnight announced, her voice trembling through chattering teeth.

As the ice began to melt, water cascading down in steady rivulets, Todoroki stood at its center. His left hand remained pressed to the surface, heat carefully meted out, controlled down to the last degree.

And then Emi saw it.

The way his shoulders sagged. Not with exhaustion, but with something heavier. Like relief laced with resignation. Like winning hadn’t brought him anything at all.

Her eyes burned before she could stop them. “He looks…” The words slipped out softer than she intended. “…sad.”

“Sad?” Ochako echoed, gentle and unsure.

Emi swallowed, throat tight. She shook her head, a small, dismissive motion that didn’t convince anyone, least of all herself. “Never mind.”

But her Quirk didn’t let go. It lingered on Todoroki the way it lingered on deep water or open wounds. It wasn’t pulling her in. It wasn’t sounding any alarms. It was just …aware. Recognizing something familiar in the shape of his restraint. In the way his power obeyed him perfectly, yet seemed to cost him something every time he used it.

This wasn’t attraction. Not yet. Attraction demanded want without weight and this? This feeling had weight. A quiet, unsettling sense that if she stood close enough to him. She might understand something about herself she hadn’t put words to yet.

“Tch.”

The sound was small. Sharp. Almost nothing.

But Emi felt it anyway. Her Quirk shifted again, attention snapping sideways. Not toward the ring, but behind her. Toward heat that had spiked suddenly, unevenly and restless. Toward pressure coiled too tight to be dismissed. Present. Aggressive. Impossible to ignore.

Bakugou.

His jaw was set and eyes locked forward. From the outside, it could’ve passed for irritation. Impatience. The usual.

But Emi felt the undercurrent.

Not only anger. There was friction there. A grind of something raw and unsettled. Like he’d been measured against something he hadn’t agreed to compete with and noticed where her attention had gone. And he didn’t like that. 

Jealousy?

Maybe.

Inferiority?

Unlikely.

More like… threat.

Chapter Text

Midoriya took out a notebook and pen and wrote, quite furiously on the next couple of matches; all the while mumbling to himself as he wrote. Emi watched him curiously, her Quirk registering the familiar hum of focus spiraling just past awareness before she heard Ochako giggle. “He does this a lot.” She gently tapped him on the shoulder.

The green-haired boy gasped. “Oh! Sorry! Sometimes I don’t realize I’m mumbling out loud when I’m taking notes.”

Emi laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with taking a minute to relax before planning too many matches ahead.”

Midoriya looked to the ring below them. “It’s just a rare opportunity to see the Quirks of students outside our class. I want to take everything in.”

Iida’s match was with the second girl on Midoriya’s team for the cavalry battle. Mae Hatsume was in the Support Course. Emi couldn’t help but notice a twinge of jealousy in her expression when Midoriya spoke of how incredible the … ‘babies’ are …? Emi made sure to note the fact that Ochako’s zero gravity was the more key element to their team’s success. Ochako turned a slight shade of pink, but smiled.

The next thirty minutes of Iida’s match with Hatsume was basically an infomercial. Between talking about the gear Iida had on and what she used to counter, the match was most definitely not an actual battle. Hatsume eventually stepped out of bounds leaving Midnight to declare Iida the winner.

“That was … interesting?” Midoriya offered.

Ochako put a hand over her stomach, taking in a deep breath before turning to him and Emi. “Alright, then. I guess it’s my turn to go get ready for my match with Bakugou.”

Emi smiled at her friend and reached out for her hand. “You will do great! Right, Midoriya?”

But he was too busy buried in his notebook once more, mumbling furiously on what Hatsume could bring to Heroes when it came to their gear. Ochako looked expectantly at him, assuming he would snap out of his revere like before. But he never did. Emi felt the absence before she noticed the empty seat. Tsu and Jiro also noticed what happened as all three girls exchanged an eye roll, Jiro mouthing ‘boys are so stupid’.

Mina and Aoyama’s match didn’t last long. You could tell she knew what she was doing when it came to her combat with the boy. Using her acid as a way to skate across the ring, she dodged every single beam Aoyama shot from his navel laser. Eventually he doubled over in pain, giving up the fight, which advanced Mina to the second round.

Emi heard Midoriya mumbling again about how the match ended the way he predicted it would. “You got to see a lot of Mina’s Quirk, didn’t you, Uraraka …? Hey, where did she go?”

“Now you notice,” Emi scolded him. “She went to prepare for her match. We tried to get your attention but you were too stuck in that notebook of yours."

Midoriya stared at Ochako’s empty seat. “Oh no,” he lamented, as he began flipping through the pages of his notebook. It landed on a page with a drawing on it that looked oddly familiar.

“Hey, isn’t that Bakugou?” Emi asked.

Midoriya nodded. “I’ve taken notes on everyone in Class 1A. I have the most information on Kacchan. We’ve known each other since we were kids, so I’ve had a lot of time to get to know his Quirk.”

Emi felt it then. The way Bakugou’s name landed heavier than the others. More present. More charged. Like a live wire instead of a note on a page.

He closed the notebook and stood from his seat. “I think I’ve got an idea that could help Uraraka win her match. I should. I should go talk to her about it?”

“Yes. I think that’s a good idea,” she smiled.

Midoriya nodded and made his way out of Class 1A’s seating area. The next match was between Kirishima and Tetsutetsu from Class 1B. No offense to either boy, but this particular battle wasn't the best match-up. The boy from 1B's Quirk turned his body into steel. Basically the same as the red-head boy. Midnight should have redrawn their particular lots to at least make the battling powers different from each other. After fifteen minutes of nothing really happening, Emi decided to go for a walk around the floor of the stadium where her classmates were sitting. There was a concession counter right up the stairs and she bought a couple bottles of water to stash in her messenger bag.

It was nice to stretch her legs. If she stayed put, there’s a good chance her mind would start to wander. And overthink. She took her phone out of her pocket and Googled Endeavor. The first few photos that showed up in the results were intimidating to say the least. He wasn’t smiling in any of them. And had his arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face. If you didn’t know who he was, it might be easy to mistake him for a Villain. Shouldn’t Heroes be smiling in their photos? The professional headshots at least. It would be better for your brand to look approachable and kind.

Against her better judgement, she typed in ‘Shoto Todoroki injury’, and hit search.

Then her body collided with another. “Oh crap! I’m so sorry –“she looked up to see a familiar pair of two-toned eyes. Emi gasped and fumbled to get her phone back in her pocket. “Todoroki,” she mumbled. “Sorry. I have a stupid habit of not paying attention to my surroundings.”

He watched her for a moment before looking back at Kirishima’s match. He stood with his hands in his pockets.

Emi couldn’t move. Correction. She didn’t want to move. Her Quirk went still, unnervingly so, and only then did something desperate churn in her chest, urging him to speak. She grasped the strap of her messenger bag, thumb pressing into her forefinger like it was a life preserver. Should she keep walking? Turn around and go back? Should she stay?

His voice brought her out of her racing mind. “Thanks for not prying.”

“Sorry?” she blinked.

“When you saw me earlier. I appreciate you not sticking your nose in my business.”

Ah, there it is. The pompous attitude that was missed with their last interaction. He must have been storing it up. Emi exhaled loudly, looking down at the ground. Her Quirk didn’t recoil. But she did. What role could she possibly play in the type of past he’s had? Let alone a future? “Right,” she said, defeated.

“I’m just,” he continued, “mad, I guess.”

She opened her mouth to say something and closed it quickly, noticing the butterfly-flutter feeling in her stomach. “You advanced. To the second round,” she offered, voice shaking. “You’re doing really well.”

“Thanks,” he sighed.

“I mean it,” Emi continued, taking a step towards him. “It’s not just. Not just your Quirk that’s powerful. You’re reasoning. Problem solving skills. Your athletic abilities. Those are all part of your power too, you know.”

He jerked his head up, jaw clenched. She wasn’t able to name the look in his eyes. A combination of glare and sadness. He removed his left hand from his pocket, studying it. “Thanks,” he repeated, before turning to walk away from her.

Barely three steps in, she called out to him. “Todoroki, wait!” She pulled out one of the water bottles she got from the concession stand and cut off his path of escape. She gently took his right wrist and set the beverage in his hand. “Make sure you stay hydrated,” she said, looking him in the eye.

He was taken aback by her abruptness, no doubt. His eyes searched hers for what felt like hours, all background noise fading away. The way he drank. Too fast, like he’d forgotten to take care of himself. It made something in her chest ache. Panting to catch his breath after drinking so fast, he screwed the cap back on, and placed it in his pocket. “Thank you,” he mumbled before walking away.

Emi watched him until he disappeared into the crowd.

Present Mic’s voice booming from the speakers jolted her. “Let’s get ready for the 8th and final battle of the first round!!”

Chapter Text

Turning toward one of the jumbo screens, Bakugou and Ochako’s pictures caught Emi’s sight.

Her stomach dipped and pivoted on her heel to jog back toward Class 1A’s section, sliding into the empty seat between Midoriya and Iida just as the crowd’s murmur swelled.

“Where did you go?” Iida asked, already half-standing, concern sharp in his voice.

Emi shrugged, forcing lightness into her shoulders. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Ribbit,” Asui said quietly. “This matchup feels… bad.”

Jirou nodded. “Yeah. I kinda don’t wanna watch it.”

Below them, Ochako stepped out from the chute and onto the concrete ring. She rolled her shoulders once, steadying herself.

Midoriya leaned toward Emi, voice low. “Hey, thanks. For making sure I talked to her before this. I would’ve hated myself if I’d missed that chance.”

Emi smiled, soft and sincere. “It’s part of my job, isn’t it? Helping you all succeed.”

Present Mic’s voice boomed through the stadium. “He was a real hotshot back in middle school! And just look at that confidence! From Class 1A, Katsuki Bakugou! Versus the one I’m personally rooting for. from the same class, Ochako Uraraka!”

Class 1A fell unnervingly quiet.

Iida cleared his throat. “Midoriya. May I ask? What strategy were you planning to suggest? Against Bakugou, I mean.”

Midoriya hesitated. “It wasn’t really a strategy. Kacchan’s strongest in close combat. He almost never leaves openings.”

“And the more he moves, the more he sweats,” Emi added without thinking. “Which boosts his Quirk output.”

Both boys looked at her.

She kept her gaze on the ring. She remembered the scorch marks from their one-on-one training. The way his pulse spiked when he was excited. Angry. Alive.

Midoriya nodded slowly. “Right. And he’s gotten really good at using his explosions for aerial movement. But if Uraraka touches him even once …”

“She can nullify his weight,” Iida finished. “And send him out of bounds.”

“So the only way she wins is to …” Midoriya began.

“Let the eighth and final match of the first round… BEGIN!” Present Mic shouted.

“Strike first,” all three said at once.

Ochako moved instantly. Low, fast and grounded. Emi leaned forward despite herself. The intent in her new friend’s posture was unmistakable. This wasn’t reckless. It was deliberate.

“Woah,” Midoriya breathed. “She’s fast!”

Bakugou didn’t retreat. He waited. He set his stance like someone bracing for impact, shoulders loose, right fist curled as if he were about to throw a punch instead of an explosion. Emi felt it then. A flare, sharp and bright, like static crawling across her skin.

Volatile. Fully present.

Ochako closed the distance.

Bakugou blasted her aside with his left hand.

“Counter-focused,” Emi murmured. “He’s reacting, not advancing.”

Midoriya glanced at her. “You really picked all this up from training with us, didn’t you?”

Heat crept into her cheeks. She didn’t answer.

Smoke swallowed the ring. Ochako vanished, then reappeared, but was too slow. Bakugou struck again, faster this time. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t shouting. He was locked in.

Then Emi saw it. Her jacket spinning through the smoke.

Present Mic whooped. “What quick thinking! She used her jacket as a decoy!”

Bakugou exploded again. Reflexive. Violent.

“His reaction time is unreal,” Kaminari said. “No one can get the drop on him.”

Midoriya shook his head. “That kind of reflex puts her at a huge disadvantage.”

Blast after blast echoed through the stadium. Ochako kept getting back up. Concrete shattered. Debris flew. Emi’s chest tightened…

Then, the crowd turned.

Boos rippled outward, anger and discomfort colliding in sound. From the press box, Aizawa’s voice cut through it like a blade. “Who started this?” he demanded. “Are you a Pro? If this is how you think, you can go home and hang up your cape. Find a different career.”

Silence.

“Bakugou’s ferocity is an acknowledgment of his opponent’s strength,” Aizawa continued. “He recognizes her ability. That’s why he’s fighting this way.”

Emi didn’t understand. If he respected her, why not end it quickly? Why drag it out like this? He had the advantage. Anyone could see it. And yet he hadn’t gone for a finishing blow. He wasn’t absent like Todoroki. He wasn’t restrained or distant.

The two stood on opposite sides of the ring, Ochako’s breathing ragged. Bakugou looked… bored. But Emi saw it.tightness in his shoulders, agitation simmering under his skin.

Then a shout from Class 1B. “She stayed low on purpose! His explosions broke up the concrete—she’s been stockpiling debris!”

Emi’s gaze snapped upward.

The sky darkened and moments later, chunks of concrete rained down.

“She planned this!” Midoriya jumped to his feet. “She had a plan from the start!”

Ochako sprinted forward, everything she had left driving her. One touch. That was all she needed.

Bakugou lifted his right palm.

The air screamed.

The explosion was enormous. Violent enough that Emi ducked and shielded her face. Grit stung her skin. The roar swallowed the stadium whole.

“What’s happening?!” Jirou shouted.

“Can anyone see?” Asui asked.

When the dust cleared, Bakugou stood alone.

Unscathed.

But Emi caught it. The way his jaw clenched. The way his right hand trembled as he gripped his wrist.

Pain. Contained. Burning hot.

Ochako collapsed. She tried (desperation) to rise once more, but her body gave out beneath her.

Midnight stepped forward, her arm raised to halt Bakugou. The crowd held its breath. After a moment, she straightened. “Uraraka is KO’d,” she announced. “Bakugou advances to the second round.”

Emi exhaled slowly.

Bakugou didn’t look back.