Chapter Text
Once Yamada Taro realized he was the same age as Class 1-A—confirmed via an accidental shoulder bump with a middle schooler Midoriya Izuku on some random sidewalk—he made the most impulsive decision of his second life.
He was going to apply to U.A.
With absolutely no regard for how underqualified he was.
The encounter itself had been stupidly mundane, nothing special. Shoulders colliding, a startled apology that evolved into full muttering from the greenie side while Taro had stared at the kid for a good minute as Midoriya stumble and fumble with his apology before finally skittering away.
He stood on the pavement for a while. Brain lagging behind at its sudden realization.
That uniform…
They're both the same age.
That meant the events of My Hero Academia hadn't yet unfold.
Which means—
Well.
Someone had to do something.
Unfortunately Taro sees himself as the (not so) perfect candidate to do so.
When Taro announced his sudden decision at dinner that night, his father reacted with surprising enthusiasm.
This was the same son, mind you, who had spent the last few years loudly ranting about how stupidly black and white the hero system was. The same son who insisted that glorified celebrity whose revenue also comes from overpriced merchandise policing the very same society which worshipped them—was not a healthy social structure in any way. The same son who had sworn up and down that he would never participate in such idiotic pompous circus.
And yet.
Here he was.
Declaring with full seriousness that he was going to become a pro-hero.
Taro’s dad had stared at him for a moment… then nodded like this was a perfectly reasonable character development arc for a teenager his age.
He didn't even ask what's with the sudden change of mindset. But honestly, Taro suspected his Dad wanted him to stop wasting his life on drawing gay people kissing and be motivated to do something else for once. Who knows. His Dad works in a mysterious way sometimes.
Anyways…
He had one year until the entrance exam.
One year to stop being a useless chud in his bed and start being… marginally useful; for the plot and the mental well-being of a bunch of soon-to-be-traumatized teenagers.
They were tenth graders.
Tenth graders.
That fact alone made him want to throttle every single Shounen mangakas out there (especially fucking Horikoshi).
So he trained.
Sort of.
Push-ups. Sit-ups. Jogging ‘round the neighbourhood until he fucking dies. All that jazz, y’know. He also took advice from Future Japan equivalent of TikTok. Which meant half his fitness routine was probably pseudoscience, but at least it made him feel productive.
His breakfast evolved from “whatever was in the fridge” to protein shakes and whatever online gym bros insisted would “maximize gains.”
He even installed a pull-up bar in the doorway of his room. He used it often enough that his arms eventually didn't look like uncooked spaghetti noodles by the time it's January.
And then the Entrance Exam came.
It was waaayyy worse than the anime.
For starters, robots were a lot more terrifying when they were actually trying to crush you.
He spent most of the practical exam getting his ass handed to him—only managing to lobotomize three one-pointer robots with his premade bomb seals through sheer dumb luck, before his vision went spotty and his stamina said “bye bitch.”
He did not die.
Unfortunately.
The written exam results came later.
His score was… surprisingly high.
To be fair, it was a highschool level academic test, and Taro had already completed one life’s worth of schooling before this one.
Though it was not enough for the Hero Course.
But still enough to be accepted.
And that was how Yamada Taro found himself enrolled in General Education.
Gen Ed.
Damn.
Not even Support Course.
Damn.
Not that he particularly wanted to build gadgets for trigger-happy teens or anything—he could barely assemble Future Version of IKEA furniture without emotional damage—but still.
Instead he got… Normal highschool experience. With a bonus of having the highest probability of the campus exploding at least once per semester.
Maybe.
Probably.
That was fine.
Totally fine.
Because his absolutely genius brain had already devised a marvelous plan.
And that is: Get Close with Shinsou Hitoshi.
In canon, the guy clawed his way into the spotlight despite starting in General Studies. He caught the attention of Aizawa Shouta and ended up receiving personal training (if his memory serves him correctly).
If Taro’s strategy involved earning the trust of actual pro-heroes before the timeline inevitably went through Horikoshi’s bullshit, then befriending the future Eraserhead’s secret love child was an excellent first step.
First day at U.A. arrived faster than expected.
Taro didn’t dilly-dally. The moment he stepped through the front gates he headed straight for the building, weaving through clusters of excited students.
Wow.
He was a tenth grader again.
That was… surreal.
And crazy.
Damn. Anyways.
He found the 1-C classroom, stepped inside, and dropped his bag onto an empty desk.
Okay.
Now he just had to wait.
Sooner or later, Shinsou would walk through that door.
Taro leaned back in his chair, trying to look casual in the way people who were absolutely not casual about anything attempted to look casual. One arm rested on the desk, his phone loosely in hand, eyes not-so-subtly flicking to the classroom entrance every few seconds.
Any minute now.
…
…
…?
Taro pulled out his phone, and checked the time.
Five minutes until the bell.
Okay.
That was fine.
Maybe Shinsou just missed the train, public transport could be brutal during the morning rush. Or maybe he overslept—isn't he an insomniac though?—and also U.A. was huge, maybe he got lost trying to find the classroom. Maybe—
Hahaha, don't be so nervous now, Taro!
He was literally a canon character. A plot-relevant one. The universe wouldn’t just… forget to spawn him in.
Right?
Hahahahaha…
The classroom continued being filled. Students filtered in two or three at a time. Some lpoked excited, others exhausted; a few were already forming early social clusters while at the other side of the spectrum, some kept to themselves.
Taro kept glancing at the door.
Three minutes until the bell.
Still no gravity defying purple hair.
Two minutes.
A pair of unfamiliar students walked in.
Neither of them was Shinsou.
One minute.
Taro’s foot started bouncing under the desk.
The bell rang.
Students began settling into their seats. Conversations died down. Backpacks were shoved under chairs. A few late arrivals hurried through the door just before it closed.
The door opened once more.
A cold pit starts to form in his stomach.
The homeroom teacher walked in, carrying a stack of papers and the weary expression of someone who had already dealt with too many shits before seven in the morning.
He began speaking… about something. An introduction? Who fucking knows. Taro couldn’t hear a single word.
Because one horrifying question was screaming through his brain at maximum volume.
Where the fuck was Shinsou?
No way he dyed his hair or something and Taro just happened to miss his chronically sleep deprived face, right???
His eyes darted around the room again.
Left side.
Right side.
Back row.
Front row.
Every single seat was filled by someone who was not Shinsou Hitoshi.
The pit in his stomach dropped straight through the floor.
No.
No no no no no no no no—!
It can't be.
His thoughts began spiralling violently.
Did he mess up the plot?
Did he fuck up the plot?!
HE DID DIDN'T HE?!
Was this a god-forsaken butterfly effect?!
Did him enrolling in General Education somehow boot Shinsou out of the class roster?!
Did the universe decide there could only be one vaguely antisocial Gen Ed kid with narrative potential and just… delete the other one???
Oh god.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Oh my fucking god—
BANG
Every head turned toward the source of the noise.
It was Yamada Taro, who was currently bent over his desk, having just slammed his forehead directly into the surface with enough force to make the wood sound like a fucking gun shot.
Silence followed.
Slowly, baffledly, the other students stared.
Someone in the back whispered, “Dude… what the hell?”
Up at the front, the teacher slowly lowered his attendance sheet.
He was openly gaping, staring at the boy who had just headbutted school property on the first day of class for no visible reason.
“Are… are you alright?” asked the teacher with a note of concern.
Taro remained face down on the desk. Not responding.
While internally he was screaming, shitting, crying, sobbing, full on tweaking—
No.
No the fuck he's not, teach.
Fuck his shitty stupid fuckass life decisions. He shouldn’t have touched canon at all. He just completely destroyed Shinsou’s life—the already fucked-over-by-plot kid. Fuuck—
You know what. Fuck it. He's tracking down where Shinsou lives. He could not let the kid fall into villainy or depression just because A Guy was far too deep into his saviour complex. He will make Aizawa be impressed by Shinsou's Whatever so that he'll let him in the Hero Course and then—
The class resumed its activity after a silent agreement between everybody in the class, leaving Taro behind with his trails of thoughts and definitely-not-illegal planning.