What If Deku Became Close Friends With Momo Yaoyorozu Early

 

The smell of rust, salt, and decaying seaweed was something Izuku Midoriya was rapidly becoming intimately familiar with. 

Dagobah Municipal Beach Park was less of a park and more of a monument to human apathy. For years, the tides had dragged the city’s forgotten refuse onto the sand, and the citizens had taken that as a green light to treat the coastline as a personal dumping ground. Refrigerators, gutted cars, shattered televisions, and rusted microwaves formed jagged, metallic dunes that stretched as far as the eye could see. 

It was a graveyard of metal. And it was Izuku’s personal training ground. 

“Ten months, young Midoriya! That is all we have to forge this vessel of yours into something capable of holding my power!” 

All Might’s booming voice echoed in Izuku’s memories, a constant, driving force that pushed him past the limits of normal human endurance. For the past three weeks, Izuku had been hauling trash. He had pulled tires from the deep sand, dragged water-logged dressers across the beach, and hoisted chunks of rusted iron that weighed more than he did. 

Right now, the afternoon sun was beating down on his back mercilessly. Sweat stung his eyes, dripping from his unruly mess of dark green hair onto the sand below. His breath came in ragged, burning gasps. His hands, wrapped in cheap, frayed work gloves, were blistered and bleeding beneath the fabric. He was currently attempting to move a defunct, water-logged washing machine onto the bed of a nearby pickup truck. 

His muscles screamed. Every fiber of his upper body felt like it was submerged in boiling water. His legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath the immense weight. 

‘Push,’ Izuku told himself, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached. ‘Push harder. If I can’t even move this, how can I save anyone? How can I accept his quirk? I have to be worthy. I have to be stronger!’

With a final, agonizing, full-body heave, Izuku shifted the washing machine. It tipped over the edge of the truck bed with a deafening metallic clang, settling into place. 

Izuku immediately collapsed backward, falling into the soft, warm sand. He lay there, his chest heaving, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. His vision swam with black spots. His arms felt like lead, entirely unresponsive to his brain’s commands. 

All Might wasn’t here today. The Number One Hero was dealing with a sudden surge of villain activity in the neighboring prefecture, leaving Izuku with a meticulously detailed workout schedule and strict instructions not to overdo it. 

Naturally, Izuku had already pushed past the recommended limit. 

“A vessel,” Izuku muttered to the sky, bringing a trembling hand up to block the glare of the sun. “I need to build a vessel.”

The reality of his situation was still difficult to process. He, Izuku Midoriya, the quirkless nobody from Aldera Junior High, the boy whom Bakugo and the rest of his peers treated like dirt on their shoes, was going to inherit the greatest power in the world. One For All. But the power came with a terrifying caveat: if his body wasn't physically prepared to handle the sheer, unadulterated kinetic energy of the quirk, his limbs would blow off. 

That thought terrified him. It wasn’t just the fear of injury; it was the fear of failure. It was the fear of letting down the man who had finally looked at him and said, “You can be a hero.”

Slowly, painfully, Izuku forced himself to sit up. He checked his phone. It was only 2:00 PM. He had planned to work until sunset, but his arms were currently vibrating with a terrifying, numb sensation that meant muscle failure was imminent. If he tore a muscle now, he would lose weeks of training time. He couldn't afford that. 

"Okay," Izuku whispered, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet, his joints popping in protest. "Physical training is done for the day. I need to rest."

But resting didn't mean stopping. If his body was too exhausted to train, his mind would have to pick up the slack. 

He needed to understand quirks. More specifically, he needed to understand the biomechanics of quirk expression. How did the human body adapt to sudden influxes of power? What were the physiological changes that occurred when a quirk manifested? If he was going to receive a quirk at age fifteen—something entirely unprecedented in medical history—he needed to know how his nervous system, his bone density, and his muscle fibers were going to react. He couldn't just rely on All Might's vague explanations of clenching his buttocks and yelling from his heart. 

He needed science.

Izuku gathered his things, swapping his sweat-drenched t-shirt for his middle school uniform jacket. He trudged toward the municipal showers to wash the stench of the beach off his skin, his mind already shifting gears. Today, he wasn't going to focus on hero tactics. Today, he was going to dive into the deep end of biology. 

He was going to the library.

The Musutafu Public Library was a massive, modern architectural marvel located in the heart of the city's academic district. With four stories of glass, steel, and endless rows of bookshelves, it was a sanctuary of silence and knowledge. For Izuku, who had spent most of his life hiding from bullies or loud, explosive quirks, the library was a safe haven. 

The air-conditioning hit him like a physical blessing as he pushed through the revolving glass doors. The quiet hum of the building, the soft shuffling of pages, and the distinct, comforting smell of old paper and polished wood instantly lowered his heart rate. 

Izuku made his way past the fiction sections, past the general hero history aisles—which he already knew by heart—and headed straight for the stairwell. He needed the third floor: Advanced Sciences, Medical Journals, and Quirk Genetics. 

His legs ached with every step, a dull reminder of the morning's labor, but his eyes were bright with determination. He walked down the quiet, carpeted aisles, running a finger along the spines of the books. 

Fundamentals of Genetic Mutation. 

The Cellular Engine: How Quirks Synthesize Energy. 

Somatic Adaptation in Emitter-Class Quirks.

Izuku pulled three heavy, intimidatingly thick textbooks off the shelves. He cradled them to his chest, wincing slightly as the weight pressed against his bruised forearms, and scanned the area for an empty table. 

The third floor was usually deserted, populated only by university students or medical researchers. Today was no different. He spotted a secluded table near a large window overlooking the city street below. There was a single book resting on the far edge of the table, but no one was sitting there. Assuming the previous occupant had forgotten it, Izuku claimed the side nearest the window, set down his textbooks, and pulled out Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. 

For the next hour, the rest of the world ceased to exist. 

Izuku was entirely submerged in the text. He rapidly cross-referenced the medical journals with his own notes on pro heroes. He read about how heroes with fire-based quirks naturally developed higher internal body temperatures and sweat glands that produced a cooling, flame-retardant enzyme. He read about how strength-enhancers possessed denser muscle fibers and reinforced skeletal structures to withstand their own kinetic output.

‘So the body adapts to the quirk, but the quirk also shapes the body,’ Izuku muttered to himself, his pencil flying across his notebook in a blur of erratic, passionate scribbles. ‘It’s a symbiotic relationship. If an outside quirk is introduced to a body that hasn’t naturally mutated to support it... the sudden kinetic load would bypass the body's natural shock absorbers. The bones would take the brunt of the force. I need to increase my bone density. Calcium supplements? No, that’s not enough. Weight-bearing exercises increase osteoblast activity. I’m doing that at the beach, but is there a way to safely condition my nervous system to handle the pain of the recoil?’

He reached out blindly with his left hand, searching for his copy of Somatic Adaptation in Emitter-Class Quirks. His fingers brushed against a hardcover, and he dragged it over, flipping it open without breaking his gaze from his notebook. 

He stared at the page. 

Instead of anatomical diagrams of muscle tissue, his eyes were met with a terrifyingly complex lattice of hexagonal shapes, molecular structures, and chemical equations. 

Izuku blinked, his brain grinding to a halt. He adjusted his focus, reading the header of the page. 

Thermodynamics of Lipid Conversion and Atomic Restructuring.

"Wait, what?" Izuku whispered, thoroughly confused. He looked at the cover of the book. It wasn't his medical journal. It was a university-level textbook titled Advanced Molecular Chemistry: The Science of Matter Generation. 

"Oh, excuse me," a soft, cultured voice spoke up from directly in front of him. "I believe you might have grabbed my reference material."

Izuku jumped, his knee violently striking the underside of the table with a loud thud. He gasped in pain, scrambling backward in his chair as he looked up. 

Standing on the opposite side of the table was a girl roughly his age. 

Izuku’s breath hitched, his chronic social anxiety immediately flaring to life. He wasn't used to talking to people in general, let alone girls, and especially not girls who looked like her. She was tall, poised, and possessed an elegance that felt entirely out of place in a public library. She had sleek, raven-black hair tied back into a spiky ponytail, with a single, thick strand framing the right side of her face. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and a striking shade of dark onyx. She wore a high-end, tailored summer dress that practically screamed old money. 

She was looking down at him with a mixture of polite amusement and mild curiosity. She held a stack of three more impossibly thick chemistry books in her arms. 

"I-I-I am so sorry!" Izuku squeaked, his face instantly exploding into a brilliant shade of crimson. He practically shoved the heavy chemistry textbook across the table toward her like it was a live bomb. "I didn't—I wasn't looking! I just reached out, and I thought it was my book, but it wasn't, and I wasn't trying to steal it, I swear! I was just—I was in the zone, and I didn't see you, and—"

"It's perfectly fine," the girl said, her voice smooth and calming. She set her stack of books down and offered him a gentle, reassuring smile. It wasn't the mocking smirk Bakugo gave him, or the pitying look the teachers gave him. It was just... kind. "Please, there's no need to apologize. I left it on the table to reserve my spot while I went to find these."

She gestured to the new stack of books she had brought. 

"R-Right," Izuku stammered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, wishing the floor of the library would open up and swallow him whole. "I-I'll just move. I didn't mean to take your table."

He began hastily gathering his notebooks, shoving them clumsily into his yellow backpack. As he did, one of his textbooks—The Cellular Engine: How Quirks Synthesize Energy—slid across the table. 

The girl’s eyes dropped to the book. Her elegant eyebrows arched upward in genuine surprise. 

"You're reading Dr. Arisawa’s thesis on cellular energy synthesis?" she asked, her tone shifting from polite detachment to acute interest. 

Izuku froze, his hand hovering over the book. "Um... y-yes? I mean, I'm trying to. A lot of the biochemistry goes over my head, but the practical applications are really interesting."

The girl tilted her head, observing him more closely. She took in his worn middle school uniform, his messy hair, and the battered, heavily used notebook peeking out of his bag. "That's a post-graduate medical text," she noted, her voice tinged with awe. "Are you taking advanced placement courses? I didn't think any of the local middle schools offered curriculum on quirk biomechanics."

"O-Oh, no, they don't," Izuku said quickly, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about his nerdiness. "I just... I like studying quirks. It's a hobby. I'm trying to get into the hero course at U.A., so I figure I need to understand how quirks affect the human body on a physical level. You know, to maximize efficiency and avoid long-term damage."

The girl’s eyes widened slightly. "U.A. High School? You're aiming for the hero course as well?"

Izuku nodded, though a familiar wave of insecurity washed over him. If she knew I was quirkless, she'd laugh. Everyone laughs. "Y-Yeah. It's my dream."

To his immense shock, the girl didn't laugh. Instead, her smile grew wider, brighter, and suddenly, the intimidating aura of elegance gave way to a look of pure, unadulterated excitement. 

"That is wonderful!" she said, her voice rising just enough to border on too loud for a library. She quickly caught herself, clearing her throat and lowering her volume. "I mean, that is a highly admirable goal. I am also preparing for the U.A. entrance exams." She gracefully pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, resting her hands on the table. "I'm Momo Yaoyorozu. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister...?"

"M-Midoriya," Izuku stammered, completely blindsided by her friendliness. "Izuku Midoriya."

"Midoriya," she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "Well, Midoriya, if you don't mind the company, I would be delighted to share this table. It's incredibly rare to find someone our age who appreciates the hard sciences. Most people our age just want to train their quirks by destroying things."

Izuku slowly sat back down, still feeling like he was in a bizarre dream. A beautiful, incredibly smart girl had just introduced herself to him and actually wanted to sit with him. "I-I don't mind at all, Yaoyorozu-san."

"Please, just Yaoyorozu is fine," she smiled, pulling her textbook toward her and opening a pristine, leather-bound notebook. 

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, save for the soft scratching of pencils and the turning of pages. Izuku tried to focus on his reading, but his mind was racing. He kept sneaking glances at her over the top of his book. 

She was reading Advanced Molecular Chemistry. And before that, he had seen Lipid Conversion and Atomic Restructuring. 

Izuku’s analytical brain, the part of him that spent countless hours dissecting the quirks of pro heroes, began to hum with life. The puzzle pieces were laid out in front of him. Why would a middle school girl be studying advanced, post-graduate chemistry and lipid restructuring? What kind of quirk required a comprehensive understanding of molecular bonds? 

He couldn't help himself. The curiosity was a physical itch he had to scratch. 

"Um, excuse me, Yaoyorozu?" Izuku whispered, breaking the silence. 

She looked up, her dark eyes meeting his. "Yes, Midoriya?"

"I-I don't mean to pry," he started, his hands fidgeting with his pencil. "But I couldn't help but notice the books you're reading. Molecular chemistry, atomic restructuring... those are incredibly specific fields of study. Does it... does it have something to do with your quirk?"

Momo blinked, looking down at her textbook as if she had forgotten what she was reading. Then, a slight, almost bashful smile touched her lips. "You are very observant. Yes, it does. My quirk is called Creation." She held up her right hand. Slowly, the skin on her forearm seemed to shimmer. A soft, pinkish light emanated from her flesh, and a moment later, a perfect, gleaming metal fountain pen emerged, dropping neatly into her palm. 

Izuku's eyes practically bulged out of his skull. 

"I can create any non-living object from my exposed skin," Momo explained, a hint of practiced pride in her voice, though she sounded a bit tired, as if she had given this speech a hundred times before. "As long as I understand the atomic structure and chemical makeup of the object, I can manifest it."

For three seconds, Izuku was dead silent. 

Then, the dam broke. 

"That... that is incredible," Izuku breathed, leaning forward over the table, his eyes shining with an intensity that made Momo lean back slightly in surprise. "Wait, if you can create anything as long as you know the molecular structure, the versatility is practically limitless! But the law of conservation of mass dictates that matter cannot be created from nothing, which means you have to be drawing the raw materials from somewhere. Is it from your own body? The book you were reading mentioned lipid conversion—are you breaking down your own fat cells to synthesize the materials?"

Momo's eyes widened. "I—yes. That's exactly—"

Izuku didn't hear her. He was already spiraling into the mutter-storm, his hands flying to his notebook as he rapidly began sketching a rough outline of a girl with arrows pointing to energy conversion pathways. 

"If you're using lipids as a fuel source and raw material, your caloric intake must be astronomical compared to a normal person," Izuku muttered rapidly, his voice a low, buzzing engine of pure analysis. "Fat is highly energy-dense, but converting human adipose tissue into, say, heavy metals like iron or tungsten would require immense energy expenditure just to rearrange the atomic bonds. Which means the larger the object, the more of your own body weight you consume. There has to be a physical limit, otherwise, you could literally starve yourself to death by creating something too large."

Momo sat frozen in her chair. The pen she had just created slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table. 

"And the cognitive load!" Izuku continued, completely lost in his own world, tapping his pencil against his chin. "It's one thing to know that steel is made of iron and carbon. It's entirely another to visualize the atomic lattice structure and force your cells to replicate it in real-time. You must have to memorize the periodic table, right? But not just the elements, you'd need to know the exact ratios for complex compounds. Plastics, polymers, electronics! If you wanted to make a cell phone, you wouldn't just need to know the shape, you'd need to assemble the silicon chips, the lithium battery, the glass screen—the amount of simultaneous processing power your brain requires is bordering on super-computer levels! How do you not suffer from constant, crippling migraines?"

Izuku finally stopped to take a breath, looking up. 

Momo was staring at him. Her mouth was slightly parted. Her dark eyes were wide, fixated on him with an expression he had never seen before. 

Instantly, the reality of the situation crashed down on Izuku. Panic seized his chest. He had done it again. He had gone full creep. He had analyzed a total stranger's quirk, invaded her personal space, and rambled like a lunatic. 

"I-I am so sorry!" Izuku gasped, violently bowing his head over the table, his face burning hot enough to fry an egg. "I did it again! I just start muttering when I see an amazing quirk, and I don't know when to shut up! It's creepy, I know! Please forgive me, I'll leave right now, I—"

"Midoriya."

Her voice was soft, but it cut through his panic like a knife. 

Izuku slowly raised his head, expecting to see disgust, or perhaps annoyance. He had seen that look a thousand times from Bakugo. 

Instead, Momo Yaoyorozu was looking at him with a profound, almost overwhelming sense of wonder. The polite, elegant mask she had worn since they met had completely vanished. Her eyes were shining, and a genuine, radiant smile had broken across her face. 

"You..." Momo started, her voice trembling slightly. She took a breath, composing herself. "You figured all of that out... in less than thirty seconds?"

Izuku swallowed hard. "I... um. I just... it's just basic chemistry and physics, really. Applied to your explanation."

"Midoriya, there is nothing 'basic' about what you just said," Momo said, her tone filled with a fierce, quiet intensity. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Do you have any idea how people usually react when I tell them about my quirk?"

Izuku shook his head slowly. 

Momo let out a small, breathless laugh, looking down at her hands. "They tell me it's 'convenient.' They tell me I could be rich by making gold, or that I'll never have to buy clothes. They see the result. The objects. They treat me like a... like a human vending machine." 

She looked back up at him, her dark eyes locking onto his. "No one—no one—has ever asked about the cognitive load. No one has ever realized how much I have to eat just to keep from fainting. No one has ever understood the sheer volume of studying, the sleepless nights memorizing molecular textbooks, the headaches, the fatigue... no one looks at the work."

Izuku listened, captivated by the raw emotion in her voice. He saw it then. Beneath the wealth, beneath the elegance, and beneath the incredibly powerful quirk, she was just a girl who felt entirely unseen. She was praised for the magic trick, but no one respected the magician. 

It was a different kind of isolation than his own, but it was isolation nonetheless. 

"Your quirk isn't a magic trick," Izuku said softly, his voice steadying. All of his anxiety melted away, replaced by a deep, empathetic sincerity. "It's a reflection of your intellect. Anyone else with your quirk wouldn't be able to use it. Without your brain, 'Creation' is useless. You're the one who makes it powerful, Yaoyorozu. You."

Momo stared at him, her eyes glistening suspiciously under the harsh fluorescent lights of the library. She blinked rapidly, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink. She looked away for a moment, delicately wiping the corner of her eye with her knuckle. 

"I... apologize," Momo said, her voice wavering slightly before she cleared her throat, returning to her poised posture, though her smile remained brilliantly genuine. "I didn't expect to be psychoanalyzed so thoroughly today. But... thank you, Midoriya. Truly. That is the kindest, most insightful thing anyone has ever said about my quirk."

"I-It's just the truth," Izuku muttered, his own face heating up again as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

Momo looked at his notebook, the one filled with chaotic sketches and dense paragraphs. "May I ask... what kind of quirk requires you to study somatic adaptation so intensely? You said you're aiming for U.A. You clearly have a brilliant analytical mind, but what is your physical power?"

Izuku's heart skipped a beat. The age-old question. The question that usually ended his friendships before they began. 

He looked down at his scarred, blistered hands. He thought about the beach. He thought about All Might. He thought about the secret he was sworn to protect. He couldn't tell her the truth. But, looking at the girl across from him, someone who had just opened up to him, he found he couldn't bear to lie completely, either. 

"I'm... a late bloomer," Izuku said carefully, his voice low. "My quirk... it's an extreme strength-enhancer. But my body didn't develop the natural resistance to it. It's too powerful for my current physical frame. If I try to use it right now, the kinetic backlash would shatter my bones. That's why I'm here. I have to train my body to the absolute limit just to be able to turn my quirk on without destroying myself."

He waited for the judgment. He waited for her to call him weak, or a liability, or a dreamer who should give up. 

Momo hummed thoughtfully, bringing a hand to her chin. "A strength-enhancer that outpaces the body's natural somatic durability... that is exceptionally rare. It's like strapping a jet engine to a bicycle. If you activate the engine, the frame will tear itself apart."

Izuku nodded eagerly. "Exactly! That's exactly it!"

"So you're studying biomechanics to find ways to reinforce your frame," Momo deduced, her eyes lighting up with the thrill of a puzzle. "You're trying to understand how the body naturally absorbs shock so you can replicate those conditions through physical training."

"Yes!" Izuku beamed, feeling a surge of joy. She understood. She didn't pity him; she analyzed the problem alongside him. "I'm focusing on increasing bone density and muscle mass right now, but I also need to figure out how to mitigate the recoil during the actual point of impact."

Momo tapped her pen against her notebook. "Have you considered external compression gear? If you're worried about your bones shattering from kinetic recoil, reinforcing the joints from the outside could artificially simulate the resistance your body lacks. Similar to how power-lifters use knee wraps to prevent joint dislocation under extreme stress."

Izuku's eyes widened. "Compression gear... I thought about support items, but I didn't think about localized joint compression! If I could distribute the kinetic shockwave away from the point of impact and force the energy to disperse across a larger surface area..."

"You would reduce the localized damage significantly," Momo finished, her smile mirroring his excitement. "I could help you design something. I have extensive knowledge of impact-resistant polymers and high-tensile fabrics. If we map out the specific torque and stress points your joints experience when you activate your quirk, I could calculate the necessary resistance and create a prototype."

Izuku was speechless. "You... you would do that for me? We just met."

Momo tilted her head, a soft, teasing glint in her eyes. "Well, you just validated years of my life's work in thirty seconds. I'd say I owe you at least one prototype." 

For the next three hours, the library ceased to be a place of quiet study and became a war room. 

The two teenagers pushed their tables together, their textbooks overlapping. Izuku brought his unparalleled tactical analysis and theoretical knowledge; Momo brought her encyclopedic grasp of chemistry, physics, and material science. It was a perfect, symbiotic clash of intellects. 

Izuku found himself explaining his theories on hero combat, breaking down the weaknesses of various pro heroes. Momo listened with rapt attention, occasionally interjecting to correct his physics or offer a chemical solution to a tactical problem. 

When Izuku pointed out that Momo’s quirk would leave her vulnerable in close-quarters combat because creating large objects took too much time, Momo looked crestfallen. But Izuku immediately countered his own critique. 

"You don't need to make large things to be effective," Izuku explained, sketching rapidly in his notebook. "You have the ultimate utility quirk. If a villain charges you, you don't need to create a whole shield. It takes too long. What if you just created a handful of flash-bang grenades? Or a localized smoke screen? Or even just a simple canister of pepper spray? Small, fast, tactical items that take almost zero time and very few calories, but completely disable the opponent."

Momo stared at his sketch. "I... I've always focused on large, complex constructs. Weapons, barricades. I never thought about micro-tactics. I assumed... bigger was better."

"In hero work, unpredictability is better," Izuku said, tapping the paper. "If you can create anything, your greatest weapon isn't a sword. It's surprise. You can adapt to any situation in seconds. You are the ultimate tactician's dream, Yaoyorozu."

Momo looked at the boy sitting across from her. Izuku Midoriya. Messy hair, bruised hands, overly anxious, and yet, he possessed one of the most brilliant, observant minds she had ever encountered. He saw her not as a wealthy heiress, and not as a quirk-dispenser, but as a hero. 

"You know, Midoriya," Momo said softly, a warm feeling blossoming in her chest. "You are going to make a terrifyingly effective hero."

Izuku blushed furiously, shrinking down into his collar. "Ah, w-well, I have to get in first. The physical exam is going to be incredibly tough."

"We will pass," Momo said firmly. "Both of us."

Before they knew it, the overhead speakers chimed with a soft melody, and the librarian's voice announced that the building would be closing in fifteen minutes. 

Both Izuku and Momo blinked, looking out the large window. The sky had turned a deep, bruised purple, the city lights flickering on below them. They had been talking for over four hours. 

"Wow," Izuku breathed, quickly gathering his notebooks. "I didn't realize how late it got. My mom is probably worrying."

"Time truly does fly when you're engaged in stimulating conversation," Momo agreed, elegantly stacking her heavy textbooks. She stood up, smoothing out her dress. 

They walked out of the library together, stepping into the cool evening air of Musutafu. The streets were bathed in the neon glow of storefronts and streetlamps. They stood awkwardly near the steps of the library, the silence stretching out between them. 

Izuku clutched his backpack straps, his heart pounding. He had never had a conversation like that in his entire life. He had never felt so... respected. He didn't want it to end. He wanted to ask her to study again, but his old insecurities reared their ugly heads. Why would she want to hang out with you? She's clearly rich, popular, and a genius. Don't push your luck, Deku.

He bowed slightly. "T-Thank you for letting me share your table today, Yaoyorozu. I learned a lot. Good luck with your U.A. prep."

He turned to walk away, fully expecting to return to his lonely, exhausting routine at the beach tomorrow. 

"Wait. Midoriya."

Izuku stopped, turning back around. 

Momo was holding out a sleek, expensive-looking smartphone. Her cheeks were slightly dusted with pink, and for the first time all day, she looked genuinely nervous. She wasn't the poised, confident heiress right now. She was just a fourteen-year-old girl asking a boy for his number. 

"You... you mentioned earlier that the U.A. entrance exam has a written portion that is notoriously difficult," Momo said, her voice unusually fast. "And while I am confident in the sciences, my knowledge of modern hero history and quirk regulations is somewhat lacking. And you clearly possess an encyclopedic knowledge of those subjects."

Izuku stared at the phone. "I... yeah. I do."

Momo swallowed, holding the phone out a little further. "If you wouldn't mind... perhaps we could exchange contact information? We could study together. I can assist you with the physics and chemistry of your compression gear, and you could help me with tactical analysis and hero history. A... mutually beneficial academic partnership. If you want to, of course."

Izuku looked at the phone, then up at Momo’s hopeful, nervous eyes. 

A massive, brilliant smile broke across his face, lighting up his freckled features. He pulled his own battered, slightly cracked phone from his pocket. 

"I would love that, Yaoyorozu."

They exchanged numbers, the digital ping feeling monumental to both of them. 

"I'll text you my availability," Momo smiled, her posture relaxing completely. "And Midoriya?"

"Yeah?"

"Please, call me Momo. I think... I think we're going to be good friends."

Izuku’s chest swelled with an emotion he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. 

"Okay, Momo," he smiled. "You can call me Izuku."

They parted ways, heading in opposite directions down the street. Izuku walked toward the train station, his legs still aching from the beach, his hands still blistered, and the daunting, impossible shadow of One For All still looming over him. 

But for the first time since All Might had chosen him, Izuku didn't feel like he was carrying the weight of the world entirely alone. 

He pulled out his phone, looking at the new contact saved in his device. 

Momo Yaoyorozu (The Creator).

Izuku slipped the phone back into his pocket, his step a little lighter, his resolve burning brighter than ever. He had ten months to build a vessel worthy of a god. But he no longer had to figure out the science alone. 

The Tactician had found his Creator. And U.A. High School wasn't going to know what hit them.

The alarm clock did not ring, because Izuku Midoriya had been awake for two hours before it even had the chance. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed in the stiff, pristine grey-and-green uniform of U.A. High School. The golden buttons gleamed in the early morning light filtering through his window. The fabric felt foreign against his skin—too crisp, too heavy. It felt like a costume he hadn’t yet earned the right to wear. 

He raised his right hand, staring at his palm. The calluses were thick, rough like sandpaper, a physical testament to ten months of agonizing labor at Dagobah Beach. But beneath the calluses lay a dormant, terrifying storm. 

One For All.

Ten months ago, he had been a quirkless nobody with an impossible dream. Now, he harbored the power of the Number One Hero in his veins. The transfer had happened just hours before the entrance exam. He had eaten the hair, rushed to the testing site, and, in a moment of sheer, unadulterated panic and adrenaline, unleashed the power to save Ochaco Uraraka from the Zero Pointer. 

The result had been catastrophic. The sheer kinetic output had obliterated the massive robot, but it had also completely shattered his right arm and both of his legs. If it hadn't been for Recovery Girl's specialized healing quirk, he would be sipping meals through a straw right now. 

“My body still isn't ready,” Izuku thought, his fingers curling into a tight fist. “Even after cleaning the whole beach, the power is just… too much. It’s like trying to channel a tsunami through a garden hose.”

He let out a shaky breath and reached for his yellow backpack. As he hoisted it onto his shoulder, the zipper jingled, catching his eye. Hanging from the metal pull was a small, meticulously crafted keychain in the shape of a silver microscope. 

Izuku’s anxious frown melted into a soft, fond smile. 

The past ten months hadn't just been about hauling trash. They had been about learning, adapting, and, surprisingly, finding his first real friend. 

Ever since that fateful afternoon in the Musutafu Public Library, he and Momo Yaoyorozu had become inseparable study partners. They met twice a week—sometimes at the library, sometimes at a quiet cafe, and, on one memorable and incredibly overwhelming occasion, at the sprawling Yaoyorozu estate. 

They had formed a unique, perfectly balanced ecosystem. Izuku helped Momo break out of her rigid, macro-level thinking. He ran her through hundreds of hypothetical combat scenarios, drilling the concept of "micro-tactics" into her head until she could instinctively create small, highly effective utility items—flashbangs, zip-ties, pepper spray, smoke pellets—in under a second. In return, Momo became Izuku’s personal science tutor. She took his frantic, scattered theories on quirk biomechanics and grounded them in hard physics and chemistry. 

She had even drawn up blueprints for the compression gear they had hypothesized. But because Izuku couldn't actually use his quirk until the day of the exam—a detail he had vaguely excused as a "mental block" to keep All Might's secret—they had never been able to test a working prototype. 

“We’ll pass,” she had told him. “Both of us.”

And she had been right. Momo had breezed through the Recommendation Exams. Izuku had scraped by on Rescue Points. They were both officially enrolled in Class 1-A.

"Izuku!" his mother's voice called from the kitchen, trembling with barely contained emotion. "Breakfast is ready! And… and you need to get going, or you'll be late for your first day!"

Izuku slapped his cheeks with both hands, stinging his skin to banish the lingering anxiety. "Right. I can do this."

He was a U.A. student now. He had the quirk. He had the knowledge. He had a friend waiting for him. 

It was time to begin.

Navigating the labyrinthine halls of U.A. High School was an intimidating experience. The corridors were massive, clearly designed to accommodate students with gigantification or mutation-type quirks. 

Izuku clutched his backpack straps so tightly his knuckles turned white as he searched for his classroom. 

1-A. 1-A. Where is it?

He finally stopped in front of a door that looked like it belonged on a bank vault. The letters 1-A were painted in massive, bold red font across the metal surface. 

“This is it,” Izuku swallowed hard. “The top of the top. The elite. Only twenty students made it into this class. Momo is definitely in here. But… who else?”

He thought back to the entrance exam. The terrifying boy with the engines in his legs who had scolded him. The intimidating, explosion-happy ghost of his childhood, Katsuki Bakugo. 

‘Please don't let them be in my class. Please, let me just have a peaceful first day.’

Izuku cautiously slid the massive door open, just a crack, and peeked inside. 

"Take your feet off of that desk immediately!" a loud, authoritative voice barked. "It is disrespectful to our upperclassmen and the craftsmen who made it!"

"Hah?! Who the hell do you think you are, Four-Eyes?" an aggressive, raspy voice snarled back. "What middle school did you go to, you extra?!"

Izuku’s soul left his body. 

Standing in the center of the room, chopping his arms like a malfunctioning robot, was Tenya Iida. And sitting at a desk, his feet propped up dismissively, sneering with absolute contempt, was Katsuki Bakugo. 

‘The two scariest people in the world are in my class,’ Izuku mentally wept. ‘God really does hate me.’

Izuku tried to quietly slide the door shut, contemplating transferring to the General Studies department, when a hand gently clamped onto his shoulder from behind. 

"Midoriya? Are you quite alright? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Izuku shrieked, spinning around defensively. 

Standing behind him, looking as immaculate and radiant as ever, was Momo Yaoyorozu. She wore the U.A. uniform with an effortless, aristocratic grace. Her raven hair was tied up in her signature spiky ponytail, and she was carrying a sleek leather satchel. 

"M-Momo!" Izuku gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs. "You—you startled me! I didn't hear you walk up!"

Momo smiled brightly, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. The sight of her instantly poured a bucket of cold water over his panicking brain. Over the past ten months, that smile had become his anchor. 

"My apologies, Izuku," she said smoothly, using his given name with a natural ease that still made his face flush slightly. She leaned past him to look through the open doorway. "Is there a problem inside? Why are you hovering in the hallway?"

"Ah, well, it's just..." Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. "Kacchan—I mean, Bakugo—is in there. And the guy who yelled at me during the entrance exam orientation. I was just trying to figure out how to sneak to my desk without causing a scene."

Momo’s expression shifted. Her elegant features sharpened slightly, a protective, analytical gleam entering her eyes. Izuku had told her stories about his middle school experiences. He had never explicitly named Bakugo as his primary tormentor, but Momo was far too intelligent not to have put the pieces together. She knew Izuku had been treated terribly for being a "late bloomer."

"You are a U.A. student, Izuku," Momo said softly, stepping up beside him. "You earned your place here just as much as anyone else in that room. You do not need to sneak anywhere."

Without waiting for his response, Momo placed a hand on the massive metal door and smoothly slid it entirely open. The screech of the metal tracks immediately drew the attention of everyone inside. 

The arguing between Iida and Bakugo ceased. A few other students scattered around the room turned to look. 

Momo stepped through the doorway, radiating a calm, commanding presence. Izuku, feeling utterly exposed, shuffled in right behind her. 

"It's him!" 

Izuku jumped as a girl with short, gravity-defying brown hair bounced over to him. It was Uraraka, the girl he had saved during the exam. "The plain-looking boy who destroyed the huge robot! I was hoping you'd be in this class! I wanted to thank you properly for saving me!"

"O-Oh, it was nothing!" Izuku stammered, his face instantly turning tomato-red at the close proximity of a second pretty girl. "R-Really, you saved me from falling, so we're even!"

Iida marched over, adjusting his glasses. "Good morning! I am Tenya Iida from Soumei Junior High. I must apologize for my behavior during the orientation. You perceived the true nature of the practical exam, while I was blind to it. You are clearly the superior candidate."

"No, no, I really didn't!" Izuku waved his hands frantically, completely overwhelmed. "I didn't figure anything out, I just panicked!"

As Izuku was swarmed by Uraraka and Iida, Momo stood a few feet away, watching with a soft, proud smile. She was genuinely happy to see him being recognized for his bravery. 

But across the room, sitting at his desk, Katsuki Bakugo was vibrating with an entirely different emotion. 

Rage.

Bakugo's crimson eyes were locked onto Izuku. His brain was short-circuiting. Deku. The quirkless, worthless pebble from Aldera. He was here. In U.A. In Class 1-A. The very idea was offensive. It was an insult to the natural order of the universe. 

But what enraged Bakugo even more was the girl standing near him. 

Bakugo knew who Momo Yaoyorozu was. He had seen the news reports on the Recommendation Students. She was the heiress to a massive corporate empire, possessing one of the most overpowered creation quirks on the planet. She was an elite among elites. 

And she had walked in with Deku. 

Not only had she walked in with him, but as Bakugo watched, the rich girl turned to Deku, pulled a beautifully wrapped, high-end bento box from her satchel, and smoothly handed it to him over the heads of Round-Face and Four-Eyes. 

"You forgot your lunch notes at the library on Tuesday, Izuku," Momo said loudly enough for the room to hear. "I took the liberty of organizing your caloric intake analysis for the week. And my personal chef insisted on preparing this for you, as thanks for helping me refine my flashbang compound last week."

The entire classroom went dead silent. 

Mineta, a short boy with purple spheres on his head, dropped his jaw. Kaminari, a blonde boy with a lightning bolt streak in his hair, blinked in shock. 

"Wait," Kaminari pointed a shaking finger at Izuku. "You… you know Yaoyorozu? Like, casually? And she makes you lunch?!"

"H-Her chef makes the lunch!" Izuku corrected frantically, clutching the bento box to his chest like a shield. "We just study together! We're study partners!"

"Izuku is a brilliant tactical analyst," Momo added smoothly, addressing the class with polite confidence. "I owe much of my recent practical quirk development to his insights."

Bakugo’s desk groaned ominously as his hands gripped the edges, smoke beginning to waft from his palms. 

Izuku?! She called him Izuku?! Since when did the quirkless loser have a brilliant tactical mind?! Since when did he hang out with billionaire heiresses who smelled like expensive perfume and had quirks that defied physics?! 

"DEKU!" 

Bakugo violently kicked his desk away and stormed down the aisle, small explosions popping like firecrackers in his palms. His face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. 

"What the hell is this, huh?!" Bakugo roared, getting right in Izuku’s face, ignoring Iida’s startled gasp. "How did you get in here?! You don't have a quirk! You're a quirkless nobody! And how the hell do you know the recommendation girl?!"

Izuku instinctively flinched, pulling his shoulders up to his ears. Ten years of conditioning screamed at him to apologize, to back down, to look at the floor. 

But before Izuku could say a word, Momo moved. 

She stepped smoothly between Bakugo and Izuku. She didn't flinch. She didn't adopt a fighting stance. She simply stood her ground, her back perfectly straight, staring Bakugo down with a look of cold, aristocratic disdain. 

"I am unaware of your history with Izuku," Momo said, her voice dropping the warm, friendly tone she had used earlier, replacing it with something akin to liquid nitrogen. "But he placed in the top ten of the practical exam. He destroyed the Zero Pointer single-handedly. He is far from quirkless, and he is certainly not a 'nobody.' I suggest you lower your voice and return to your seat before you embarrass yourself further on the first day of class."

The temperature in the room plummeted. 

Uraraka clapped her hands over her mouth. Kaminari let out a low whistle. Bakugo stared at Momo, his crimson eyes twitching. Nobody—nobody—talked down to him like that. 

"You wanna say that again, Ponytail?" Bakugo snarled, raising a smoking hand. 

"If you're here to socialize and threaten your classmates, get out."

The voice was dry, exhausted, and came from the floor. 

Everyone jumped, turning toward the doorway. Lying on the ground like a massive, yellow caterpillar was a man in a sleeping bag. He unzipped the front, stepping out to reveal a scruffy, unkempt man in all black, a grey capture weapon wrapped loosely around his neck. 

"It took you all exactly eight seconds to quiet down," Shota Aizawa said, his deadpan eyes sweeping over the class, lingering for a fraction of a second on the standoff between Bakugo, Momo, and Izuku. "Time is limited. You kids aren't rational enough."

He reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a blue-and-white gym uniform. 

"I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa. Nice to meet you. Now put these on and head out to the P.E. grounds."

The locker room was a tense affair. Izuku quickly changed into his P.E. uniform, trying his hardest to ignore the burning glare boring into the back of his skull from where Bakugo was lacing up his boots. 

Ten minutes later, Class 1-A stood assembled on the massive dirt field behind the main academic building. The sun was bright, the air was warm, and the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. 

"A Quirk Apprehension Test?!" 

The class chorused in shock. 

"What about the entrance ceremony? The orientation?" Uraraka asked anxiously. 

Aizawa turned his back to them, looking out over the field. "If you're going to become heroes, you don't have time for such leisurely events. U.A.'s selling point is how unrestricted its traditions are. That's also how the teachers run their classes. You kids have been doing these standard fitness tests since junior high, right? Pitching, long jump, 50-meter dash. But you were never allowed to use your quirks. The country is still relying on averages taken from results without quirks. It's not rational. The Ministry of Education is procrastinating."

Aizawa turned, his eyes locking onto Bakugo. "Bakugo. You finished first in the practical exam. In junior high, what was your best result for the softball throw?"

"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugo grunted, his arms crossed, still looking thoroughly pissed off. 

"Try doing it with your quirk."

Aizawa tossed Bakugo a baseball. Bakugo caught it, stepping into the chalk circle. 

"You can do whatever you want as long as you stay in the circle," Aizawa instructed lazily. "Hurry up. Give it all you've got."

Bakugo stretched his arms, a feral, terrifying grin stretching across his face. 'I'll show that damn nerd. I'll show the rich girl. I'll show all of them exactly who the best is.'

He wound up, his muscles coiling like springs. As his arm snapped forward, he detonated a massive explosion directly from his palm against the ball. 

"DIE!"

The blast shook the ground. The shockwave ruffled the hair of the students watching. The ball rocketed into the sky, leaving a trail of black smoke in its wake, disappearing into the clouds. 

Aizawa held up a small digital device. It beeped. He turned the screen toward the class. 

705.2m

"Know your own maximum first," Aizawa said, his voice flat. "That is the most rational way to form the foundation of a hero."

The class erupted into cheers and exclamations of awe. 

"Awesome! We can actually use our quirks!"

"This looks like fun!"

"Seven hundred meters? That's insane!"

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. The exhausted, lazy demeanor vanished, replaced by the terrifying, predatory gaze of an underground hero. 

"It looks like fun, huh?" Aizawa muttered, his voice cutting through the chatter like a scythe. "You have three years to become heroes. Are you going to have an attitude like that the whole time?" 

He smiled, a dark, unpleasant expression. "Alright. Whoever comes in last place in all eight tests will be judged to have no potential, and will be punished with expulsion."

The silence that followed was absolute. 

"Expulsion?!" Uraraka cried out. "But it's the first day! Even if it wasn't, that's entirely unfair!"

"Natural disasters, massive accidents, villain attacks. Calamities whose time or place can't be predicted. Japan is covered in unfairness," Aizawa retorted sharply. "Heroes are the ones who reverse those situations. If you wanted to go talk with your friends at Mickey D's after school, too bad. For the next three years, U.A. will do all it can to give you one hardship after another. Go beyond. Plus Ultra. Overcome it with all you've got."

Izuku felt the blood drain from his face. His heart began to hammer a frantic, terrifying rhythm against his ribs. 

Expulsion. 

He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. 

He hadn't mastered One For All. He hadn't even come close. The only time he had used it, he had broken his arm and legs. If he used it now, during a fitness test, he would incapacitate himself for the rest of the day, guaranteeing he would score zero on the remaining tests. But if he didn't use it, he would be competing as a quirkless student against nineteen teenagers with spectacular, highly-trained superpowers. 

He would come in last. He would be expelled. All Might had given him this power, trusted him with the legacy of One For All, and he was going to lose it on the first day because he couldn't control it. 

“I’m going to fail,” Izuku realized, pure panic flooding his system. “I don’t know how to limit the output. It’s all or nothing.”

Across the group, Momo Yaoyorozu was watching him. 

While the rest of the class was intimidated by Aizawa’s threat, Momo was analytically observing her peers. She noticed the sweat beading on Izuku’s forehead. She saw the way his eyes darted frantically, the way his hands trembled. 

She remembered the library. She remembered the boy who had sketched a terrifying diagram of a human arm shattering from the inside out due to kinetic overload. 

‘His body still hasn't adapted,’ Momo realized with a sharp intake of breath. ‘He told me his quirk was a massive strength-enhancer, but he hasn't figured out how to regulate the power. If he uses it here, he'll destroy his limbs, just like he did against the Zero Pointer. But if he doesn't, Aizawa-sensei will expel him.’

Momo’s mind went into overdrive. The encyclopedic database of her brain began flipping through files at light-speed. 

What did we talk about? Ten months ago. The external compression gear. The localized joint stabilization. We never built the prototype because he didn't manifest the quirk until the exam. I have the blueprints memorized. But I've never actually fabricated it. 

She looked at Aizawa. The teacher was writing something on his clipboard. 

‘He needs help. Now.’

The tests began. 

Test 1: 50-Meter Dash. 

Izuku ran against Bakugo. Bakugo used his explosions to propel himself forward, crossing the line in 4.13 seconds. Izuku, relying entirely on his physical beach training, ran it in 7.02 seconds. It was a good time for a normal teenager, but dead last in a class of heroes. 

Test 2: Grip Strength. 

A massive, multi-armed student named Shoji scored 540 kilograms. Izuku gripped the machine with all his might, his knuckles turning white, scoring a respectable 56 kg. But again, it wasn't a quirk-enhanced score. 

Test 3 & 4: Standing Long Jump and Repeated Side Steps. 

Izuku cleared the sandbox, but just barely. Mineta used his sticky spheres to bounce rapidly between the lines on the side steps, obliterating Izuku's normal score. 

With every test, Izuku could feel the invisible noose tightening around his neck. Despair was clawing at his throat. He was in last place. He knew it. Aizawa knew it. 

"Test Five. Pitching," Aizawa announced. 

The class gathered around the dirt circle again. It was the softball throw. 

Izuku stood at the back of the group, staring blankly at the ground. This was it. The final test where a physical quirk could make a massive difference. He had to use One For All. He had to risk blowing his arm off. If he didn't, he was going home. 

He took a step forward. 

Suddenly, a hand wrapped gently but firmly around his wrist, pulling him backward into the shadow of the equipment shed, away from the eyes of the rest of the class. 

Izuku blinked, snapping out of his panic spiral. "Momo? What are you—"

"Shh," Momo whispered, her dark eyes intense and entirely focused. She didn't let go of his wrist. She pulled his right hand up between them, examining his forearm. "Izuku, listen to me very carefully. You cannot regulate your quirk's output yet, can you?"

Izuku swallowed hard, his shame burning his cheeks. "I… no. I can't. It's all or nothing. If I use it, I'll break my arm again. But if I don't, I'm going to be expelled. I have to do it, Momo. I have to try."

"If you shatter your arm, you will be a liability, and Aizawa-sensei will expel you for self-harm and lack of control," Momo said, her voice a sharp, clinical whisper. It wasn't cruel; it was purely rational. "We discussed this. You are trying to channel the energy of a jet engine through a bicycle frame."

"I know!" Izuku hissed miserably. "But I don't have a choice!"

"Yes, you do."

Momo closed her eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath. 

Her exposed left forearm began to glow with a brilliant, intense pink light. Izuku watched, mesmerized, as the lipids in her body were instantly converted into raw atomic matter. She wasn't creating a solid, simple object like a metal pole or a flashbang. 

‘Carbon nanotubes,’ Momo thought, her mind a whirling supercomputer of chemical equations. ‘High-tensile, impact-resistant poly-aramid fiber. Interlocking hexagonal weave. Layered over a core of non-Newtonian shear-thickening fluid. When at rest, the fluid is malleable. Upon sudden kinetic impact, the molecules lock together, instantly hardening to absorb and disperse the shockwave.’

The light faded. 

Resting in Momo’s hand was a sleek, dark grey compression sleeve. It looked like a fingerless glove that extended halfway up the forearm, reinforced with dull black geometric plating. 

She held it out to him. 

Izuku stared at it, his brain short-circuiting. "Momo… is that…?"

"The prototype," Momo said, panting slightly. Creating something that complex, with non-Newtonian fluids and carbon-fiber weaving, took a severe toll on her blood sugar. She wiped a drop of sweat from her brow. "We designed the theory ten months ago. I memorized the structural blueprints just in case you ever needed it."

Izuku was speechless. "You… you made this… for me? Right now?"

"Put it on," Momo ordered gently, pressing it into his chest. "When you activate your quirk, do not send the power through your whole arm. Channel it entirely into your index finger at the very last second of the throw. The recoil will travel down your finger and hit the metacarpal bones in your hand. The brace is designed to catch that shockwave. The non-Newtonian fluid will instantly harden upon impact, taking the kinetic energy and dispersing it across the carbon-fiber weave around your wrist and forearm."

Izuku quickly slipped his right hand into the brace. It fit perfectly. It felt snug, supportive, and incredibly heavy. 

"Will it stop my finger from breaking?" Izuku asked, flexing his hand. 

"No," Momo said honestly, her eyes softening with sympathy. "Your finger will still take the direct brunt of the initial activation. It will break. I'm sorry, Izuku. But the brace should act as an artificial shock-absorber for the rest of your arm. It will save your wrist and your elbow from shattering."

"Midoriya." 

Aizawa’s dry voice called out from the circle. "You're up."

Izuku looked up. The class was waiting. 

He looked back at Momo. She gave him a firm, determined nod. "You are the tactician, Izuku. Execute the plan."

Izuku took a deep breath. The panic was gone. The overwhelming fear of failure had been replaced by something entirely different. Trust. He wasn't doing this alone. 

He walked out from the shadow of the shed and stepped into the chalk circle. 

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on the dark grey brace on Izuku’s right arm. 'What the hell is that? Support gear? He didn't have that a minute ago!'

Aizawa stood to the side, his eyes half-closed, observing the boy. 'Izuku Midoriya. No quirk registered until the day of the exam. Zero control. Destroyed his own body to pass. He's a liability. If he tries to use that power here, I'll stop him.'

Izuku picked up the baseball with his left hand, transferring it to his right. The grip of the fingerless glove felt rough against the leather. 

He planted his feet. He took a breath. 

‘Channel it into the finger. Just the finger. Minimize the damage.’

He wound up his arm. He closed his eyes, visualizing the power. The egg in the microwave. Don't let it explode. Just heat up one specific spot. 

Red, vein-like lines of pure, crackling energy suddenly flared to life beneath the skin of his right arm. 

Aizawa’s eyes snapped open, glowing a furious, brilliant red. His hair levitated defying gravity. The capture weapon around his neck flared out. Erasure.

The glowing lines on Izuku’s arm vanished instantly. 

Izuku threw the ball. It sailed through the air with a pathetic arc, landing with a dull thud. 

46 meters.

Izuku blinked, looking at his hand. The power was gone. He looked back at Aizawa. 

"I erased your quirk," Aizawa stated, his voice devoid of any warmth. "That ridiculous entrance exam is completely irrational. It allows kids like you to slip through. I saw it. You can't control it, can you? You were going to break your arm again, relying on someone else to fix you afterward."

Izuku flinched. "No! I wasn't—"

"From what I can tell, you have a quirk that destroys your body," Aizawa interrupted, his capture weapon whipping forward, wrapping around Izuku’s torso and pulling the boy violently toward him. Aizawa glared down at him, terrifying and absolute. "Are you hoping someone will step in and save you? Because out in the field, there is no Recovery Girl. There is no one to patch you up. If you break yourself to save one person, you're useless against the next villain. As you are now, Izuku Midoriya, you cannot become a hero."

Silence hung over the field. Uraraka looked terrified. Bakugo looked incredibly smug. 

Aizawa released the capture weapon. Izuku stumbled back, rubbing his chest. 

"I've returned your quirk," Aizawa said, his hair dropping back down. "Take your final throw. Hurry up and get it over with."

Izuku stood in the center of the circle. He looked down at the dark grey brace encasing his right arm. 

‘He’s right,’ Izuku thought, his heart pounding. ‘If I break my whole arm, I’m useless. If I can't control the power, I'm a liability. But… I'm not relying on someone to save me afterward. I'm relying on my partner to help me right now.’

He looked up, catching Momo’s eye in the crowd. She wasn't looking at Aizawa with fear. She was looking at Izuku with absolute, unwavering belief. 

Izuku picked up a second softball. 

He didn't wind up wildly this time. He took a grounded, hyper-focused stance. 

‘Aizawa-sensei thinks I'm going to do the exact same thing I did at the exam. He thinks I haven't learned anything. I have to prove him wrong.’

Izuku threw his arm back. 

He didn't activate One For All. He kept the power suppressed, locked away deep inside his chest. 

His arm whipped forward, using purely his natural, beach-forged muscles. 

Aizawa watched, his eyes narrowing. 'He's given up. He's throwing a normal pitch.'

The ball left Izuku’s palm. It rolled off his middle and ring fingers. 

And in that exact, micro-second fraction of time, right as the ball was touching the tip of his right index finger, Izuku pulled the trigger. 

SMASH!

A localized, terrifying concussive shockwave erupted from Izuku’s index finger. The air cracked like a whip, a miniature sonic boom echoing across the dirt field. 

The ball warped under the sheer pressure of the kinetic blast, rocketing into the sky so fast it was completely invisible to the naked eye. A gust of wind blasted outward from the circle, kicking up a massive cloud of dust. 

But Izuku didn't watch the ball. He felt the recoil. 

The backlash of the Smash slammed violently backward, snapping his index finger with a sickening CRACK. The kinetic shockwave, a force capable of destroying a giant robot, tore down his metacarpal bone and hit his wrist. 

But the wrist didn't shatter. 

The dark grey brace reacted instantly. The non-Newtonian fluid deep within the fabric absorbed the monstrous impact, hardening into an impenetrable shell for exactly half a second. The kinetic force had nowhere to go but outward, dispersing safely across the high-tensile carbon-fiber weave wrapping his forearm. 

The brace hissed, tiny micro-tears appearing in the outer fabric as it vented the excess kinetic energy. 

Izuku stood frozen. His index finger was broken, completely purple and swollen, throbbing with agonizing pain. 

But his wrist was fine. His elbow was fine. His arm wasn't a mangled, bruised mess. He could still move his other fingers. 

The digital device in Aizawa’s hand beeped. 

The dust cleared. Izuku turned around, clutching his right hand in his left, panting heavily. He looked Aizawa dead in the eyes, forcing a trembling, pain-filled smile. 

"Sensei..." Izuku gasped, his voice tight but triumphant. "I can... still move."

Aizawa stared at the boy. Then, he looked down at the device in his hand. 

705.3m

Aizawa’s eyes drifted from the screen to the dark grey brace on Midoriya’s arm. He was an underground hero; he missed nothing. He had seen Yaoyorozu pull Midoriya aside. He had seen the glow of her quirk. 

‘Yaoyorozu’s quirk is Creation,’ Aizawa analyzed rapidly. ‘She assessed his physical drawback during the previous tests, fabricated a highly advanced kinetic shock-absorber on the fly, and equipped him with it. Midoriya then adapted his own destructive power, concentrating it into a single point of failure—the fingertip—while trusting the gear to save the rest of his limb. He sacrificed the minimum amount of his body to achieve maximum results.’

A slow, terrifying grin spread across Aizawa’s face. ‘Resourceful. Tactical. Teamwork. This kid… he has a brain.’

"DEKU!" 

A roar of absolute, unhinged fury shattered the silence. 

Katsuki Bakugo exploded from the crowd, his hands sparking wildly, rocketing straight toward Izuku. "You bastard! Tell me how you did that! Tell me what that quirk is! What the hell is on your arm?!"

Izuku panicked, stumbling backward, holding up his good arm to shield his face. 

Before Bakugo could close the distance, a massive, grey cloth whipped through the air, wrapping tightly around Bakugo’s torso and pinning his arms to his sides. Bakugo hit the dirt, struggling violently against the capture weapon. 

"What the... these cloths are tough!" Bakugo snarled, trying to ignite his explosions, but finding his quirk suddenly deactivated. 

"They're weapons for capture woven with carbon wire and special alloy wire," Aizawa sighed, his eyes glowing red again. "Don't make me keep using my quirk over and over. I have dry eye."

Aizawa released Bakugo, who fell to his knees, panting and glaring daggers at Izuku. 

"We're wasting time," Aizawa said, turning away. "Whoever is next, get ready."

Izuku walked back to the crowd, cradling his broken finger. The pain was sharp and intense, but the relief washing over him was euphoric. He hadn't destroyed his arm. The plan had worked. 

As he rejoined the group, Uraraka and Iida immediately flanked him, praising his throw. But Izuku’s eyes searched the crowd until he found her. 

Momo was standing near the back, looking at him. 

She wasn't smiling her usual, polite smile. She was beaming. The sheer pride radiating from her dark eyes made Izuku’s chest tight. She looked down at his arm, noting the intact, functioning brace, and gave him a single, subtle nod of respect. 

The Creator had built the shield. The Tactician had used it perfectly.

The rest of the tests passed in a blur of localized pain. Izuku had to grit his teeth through the sit-ups and the toe-touches, nursing his broken finger, but because his overall mobility hadn't been compromised, he performed marginally better than he would have with a fully shattered arm. 

When the final results were projected onto the holographic screen, Izuku’s heart hammered. 

1. Momo Yaoyorozu

2. Shoto Todoroki

3. Katsuki Bakugo

...

19. Izuku Midoriya

20. Minoru Mineta

Izuku let out a breath he felt like he had been holding for ten months. He wasn't last. He had survived. 

"By the way, I was lying about the expulsion," Aizawa announced casually, turning off the screen. "It was a rational deception to draw out the upper limits of your quirks."

The class erupted in shock, but Momo merely sighed, shaking her head. "Of course it was a lie. If you think about it logically, it was obvious."

Izuku internally wept. ‘It didn’t feel obvious to me!’

"We're done here. There are handouts with the syllabus in the classroom. When you get back, look them over," Aizawa said, turning to walk away. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Midoriya. Have the old lady fix your finger in the nurse's office. And Yaoyorozu."

Momo straightened her posture. "Yes, Sensei?"

"Good work on the support gear," Aizawa muttered, so quietly only the front row heard him. "Heroism isn't just about punching things. It's about utilizing your resources. Keep it up."

Momo’s eyes widened slightly, a blush of genuine pride touching her cheeks. "Thank you, Sensei."

As the class began to disperse back toward the locker rooms, Izuku walked over to Momo. He reached up with his left hand and carefully unstrapped the dark grey brace from his right arm. He held it out to her. 

"Thank you, Momo," Izuku said, his voice thick with emotion. "I... I would have been completely lost without you today. The brace worked perfectly. You saved me."

Momo looked at the brace, then up at Izuku. She gently pushed his hand back toward his chest. 

"Keep it," she said softly. "It's clearly suffered some micro-fractures in the carbon weave from the kinetic output, so it won't withstand another blast like that without repairs. But consider it a permanent addition to your hero costume."

She smiled, a brilliant, genuine expression that made Izuku’s heart skip a beat. 

"Besides," Momo added, her eyes sparkling with shared camaraderie. "A tactician shouldn't go into battle without his equipment. We have a lot of work to do, Izuku. U.A. has barely even started."

Izuku gripped the brace tightly, returning her smile with a fierce, determined grin. 

"Yeah. We do."

The morning classes at U.A. High School were surprisingly mundane. English with Present Mic was loud but fundamentally just syntax and grammar. Modern Literature with Cementoss was soothing, almost to the point of a lullaby. Mathematics with Ectoplasm was rigorous but straightforward. 

For the first half of the day, Izuku Midoriya could almost pretend he was just a normal high school student. He sat at his desk, furiously taking notes, occasionally exchanging a small smile with Momo Yaoyorozu, who sat near the back of the classroom. She had brought a second, meticulously organized bento box for him that day, this one packed with protein-heavy grilled salmon and quinoa to help repair his muscle fibers after the Quirk Apprehension Test. 

But the illusion of normalcy shattered the moment the afternoon bell rang. 

"I AM..." 

The booming voice echoed down the corridor, rattling the glass panes of the windows. 

"...COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!" 

All Might, the Symbol of Peace, the Number One Hero, and Izuku’s personal mentor, practically ripped the massive door to Class 1-A off its hinges as he threw it open. He marched into the room wearing his Silver Age hero costume, a skin-tight suit of red, white, blue, and gold that showcased muscles so impossibly massive they looked carved from granite. 

The classroom erupted. 

"It's All Might!" Kaminari gasped, leaning so far out of his desk he nearly fell over. 

"Wow, he really is a teacher!" Kirishima cheered, his shark-like teeth bared in a massive grin. 

"That's a costume from the Silver Age, isn't it?" Asui noted, pressing a finger to her chin. 

Izuku’s heart hammered a frantic, joyous rhythm against his ribs. He had spent ten months hauling trash on a beach with this man in his skeletal, deflated form, but seeing him in his prime, wearing his hero costume, in a U.A. classroom? It was surreal. It was a dream made manifest. 

"Foundational Hero Studies!" All Might announced, striking a heroic pose behind the podium, his hands resting on his hips. "For this class, we'll be building up your hero foundation through various trials! You'll get the most units for this subject! Let's jump right in. Today's activity is..." 

He flexed, pointing dramatically at the class. 

"BATTLE TRAINING!" 

Bakugo Katsuki’s head snapped up. A dark, feral grin stretched across his face. 'Battle...'

"And to go with that!" All Might pressed a button on a small remote in his hand. The wall behind him groaned as mechanical panels shifted, revealing rows of numbered, metallic suitcases sliding outward. "Here are the costumes made based on your quirk registrations and requests you sent in before school started! After you change, gather in Ground Beta!"

Izuku stared at the suitcase carrying the number 18. His breath hitched. 

His hero costume. 

He didn't have to wait long. Ten minutes later, Class 1-A filed out of the tunnel leading into Ground Beta, a massive, artificial cityscape composed of towering concrete buildings, faux storefronts, and asphalt streets. 

"They say the clothes make the man, young men and ladies!" All Might boomed, waiting for them at the exit of the tunnel. "Be fully aware... from now on, you are heroes!"

Izuku stepped into the sunlight, tugging nervously at the collar of his teal jumpsuit. It was handmade by his mother—a labor of love that he cherished more than any high-tech armor U.A. could have provided. It featured white stripes, a red utility belt, black knee pads, and a hood with long, rabbit-like ears meant to mimic All Might’s signature hair tufts. 

However, there was one new addition to the suit. Resting snugly on his right forearm, perfectly integrated over the sleeve of his jumpsuit, was the dark grey compression brace Momo had created for him the day before. He had carefully re-wrapped the micro-fractured carbon weave with athletic tape, ensuring it held together. It was a constant, physical reminder of his partner. 

"Izuku!" 

He turned. Momo was walking toward him, and Izuku instantly felt his face explode into a brilliant shade of crimson. 

Momo’s hero costume was striking. It consisted of a skin-tight, dark red leotard with an exposed center running from her collarbone down to her navel, maximizing the surface area of her skin for her Creation quirk. She wore a golden utility belt, matching red boots, and carried a thick, leather-bound encyclopedia strapped to her lower back. 

"Y-Y-Yaoyorozu!" Izuku stammered, his eyes darting wildly to the sky, the buildings, his shoes—anywhere but directly at her exposed skin. "Y-Your costume! It's very... heroic! Highly functional for your lipid conversion!"

Momo chuckled, a soft, elegant sound, though a faint dusting of pink crossed her own cheeks at his flustered reaction. "Thank you, Izuku. The exposed skin is an unfortunate necessity to prevent the tearing of fabric when I create larger objects. I see you've incorporated the brace into your ensemble?"

Izuku eagerly held up his right arm, happy for a distraction. "I did! It fits perfectly over the sleeve. It feels like a piece of armor."

Momo’s eyes softened as she looked at the brace. "I'm glad. Though I still need to fabricate a proper, undamaged version for you. Oh, by the way, I took your advice regarding my costume design."

Izuku finally managed to look her in the eyes, tilting his head. "My advice?"

Momo tapped the golden utility belt around her waist. Instead of being entirely smooth, it was lined with small, tactical pouches. "Micro-tactics," she reminded him with a smile. "You pointed out that creating things in the heat of battle takes time, no matter how small. So, I plan to pre-fabricate several small utility items—flashbangs, smoke pellets, capture restraints—and store them here. It will eliminate my creation lag entirely for basic maneuvers."

Izuku beamed, his tactical mind overriding his adolescent embarrassment. "That is brilliant, Momo! It turns you into a walking armory. You won't even need to use your quirk for minor engagements, saving your caloric energy for emergencies!"

"Exactly," she nodded, pleased by his praise. 

"Now then, it's time for combat training!" All Might called out, drawing the class's attention. 

Iida, wearing an imposing suit of white, knight-like armor with exhaust pipes protruding from his calves, raised a rigid hand. "Sir! This is a battle center from the entrance exam. Will we be conducting urban cityscape battles again?"

"No! We're going to move ahead two steps!" All Might held up two massive fingers. "Most of the time, fighting villains takes place outside. But if you look at the total numbers, atrocious villains appear indoors at a higher rate. Imprisonment, house arrest, backroom deals—in this hero-saturated society, truly intelligent villains hide in the shadows!"

He pulled out a small script, openly reading from it. "For this class, you'll be split into villains and heroes and fight 2-on-2 indoor battles."

"Without basic training?" Asui ribbited. 

"This is a real battle to understand those basics!" All Might declared. "However, the key this time is that there's no robot you can just beat up."

He went on to explain the rules. The villains would guard a papier-mâché nuclear weapon hidden somewhere inside a multi-story building. The heroes had to either capture the villains using specialized capture tape or touch the weapon within the time limit. The villains won if they protected the weapon or captured the heroes. 

"Teams and opponents will be determined by drawing lots!" All Might announced, holding up a yellow box. 

Izuku swallowed hard. 'There are twenty of us. Ten teams. The odds of me getting someone I can work with are...'

He stepped up, pulling a wooden ball from the box. He looked down at the letter painted on it. 

Team A.

"I am Team A!" Uraraka cheered nearby. Wait, no. She was holding a different ball. The letters matched, but something was off. 

"Oh, excuse me," Momo said gently, holding up a wooden ball beside Izuku. "I believe I am Team A. I pulled it just before you, Izuku."

Izuku blinked. 'Wait, if Momo is Team A...' He looked down at his own ball again. It wasn't A. It was a slightly scuffed, partially covered letter. He wiped it with his thumb. 

Team A. 

(The butterfly effect was a curious thing. In another timeline, Izuku would have pulled Team A alongside Uraraka. But because he had spent an extra five seconds talking to Momo about her utility pouches, his place in line had shifted by exactly one person. He had pulled the ball meant for Yuga Aoyama.)

"We're together?" Izuku gasped, his eyes lighting up. 

Momo looked at his ball, her smile widening into a look of genuine thrill. "It appears so. The Tactician and the Creator, united on the first day."

Across the crowd, a low, dangerous growl emanated from the throat of Katsuki Bakugo. He stared at the ball in his hand. Team D. He looked up, his crimson eyes locking onto Deku. The nerd was smiling. He was smiling with the rich girl. 

"The first teams to fight will be..." All Might plunged his massive hands into two separate boxes marked 'Villain' and 'Hero'. He pulled out two balls. 

"These guys!" 

Hero Team A vs. Villain Team D. 

The color drained entirely from Izuku’s face. 

Momo stiffened. She followed Izuku’s terrified gaze across the crowd, landing squarely on Katsuki Bakugo. Beside Bakugo stood Tenya Iida, looking incredibly serious and rigid. 

"Deku," Bakugo breathed, a terrifying, predatory smile splitting his face. The palms of his gauntlets let out small, popping sparks. "You're dead."

"Everyone else, head to the monitor room!" All Might commanded. "Team A, you have five minutes to review the building's floor plans before you infiltrate. Team D, get inside and set up your defenses!"

As the rest of the class filtered out, Izuku and Momo were left standing alone on the street outside the towering, concrete building. A table had been set up with the floor plans. 

Izuku stared at the blueprints, but his eyes weren't focusing on the lines. His hands were trembling. 

Bakugo. 

It was always Bakugo. Ten years of explosions. Ten years of burnt notebooks. Ten years of being called useless. The psychological scars ran deeper than any physical burn. Izuku could feel his breathing shallowing out, the familiar grip of panic squeezing his lungs. He was going to fail. Bakugo was going to blast him into a wall, prove that he was still a worthless Deku, and Aizawa would expel him—

A cool, soft hand gently covered his trembling right hand, pinning it to the table. 

Izuku gasped, snapping out of his spiral. He looked up. 

Momo was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. She wasn't looking at the building. She was looking at him. Her dark eyes were intense, piercing through his panic with absolute clarity. 

"Izuku. Breathe," she commanded softly. 

Izuku inhaled a ragged breath, then let it out slowly. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... it's Kacchan. You saw what he did with the softball. His quirk is incredibly destructive. He's aggressive, he's fast, and he hates me more than anything in the world."

To Izuku's surprise, Momo didn't look completely confident either. She looked down at the blueprints, her brow furrowing in a tight line of anxiety. 

"I am terrified of him," Momo admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. 

Izuku blinked, shocked. "You are?"

"Of course I am," Momo said, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. "My quirk is versatile, but it takes time. His quirk is instantaneous, highly lethal, and requires no setup. In a straight physical confrontation, I cannot create a shield fast enough or thick enough to withstand a point-blank detonation from him. He has the ultimate offensive advantage. If he corners me, I lose."

She looked back up at Izuku, her eyes searching his. "But... I also know that I am not fighting him alone. I am fighting alongside the smartest person I know."

Izuku’s breath hitched. 

"I cannot beat him," Momo continued, her voice steadying, drawing strength from her own logic. "But we can. You have been analyzing heroes and quirks your entire life. You analyzed my quirk in thirty seconds. Tell me, Izuku. How does Katsuki Bakugo fight? What is his weakness?"

The panic in Izuku’s chest began to recede, replaced by the familiar, comforting hum of his analytical brain kicking into gear. He looked at the blueprints. He looked at the massive building. 

"He's arrogant," Izuku murmured, his eyes narrowing as the pieces began to click together. "He believes overwhelming power is the only way to win. And he has a massive, blinding grudge against me. He won't care about the nuclear weapon. He won't care about the objective. The second we walk into that building, he's going to abandon Iida and hunt me down."

"He'll separate from his partner?" Momo asked, her eyes lighting up as she caught his train of thought. 

"Absolutely," Izuku nodded, his voice growing stronger. "Which means it turns into two 1-on-1 fights. But here's the thing about Kacchan... he's entirely predictable when he's angry. He always leads with a massive right hook. He uses explosions to propel himself, which means he travels in straight, aggressive lines. In an open field, that's devastating. But in a confined indoor space?"

"He'll be severely limited by corners and narrow hallways," Momo finished, a sharp, tactical smile appearing on her face. 

"Exactly," Izuku grinned, pulling a pencil from his pocket and rapidly tracing a route on the blueprints. "We use the environment against him. I will act as the bait. I know his moves better than anyone. I'll draw his fire and lead him on a chase through the corridors."

"While you distract him, I will locate Iida and secure the weapon," Momo deduced. 

"Right. But I can't outrun him forever, and I can't use One For All to fight him without destroying the building and failing the test," Izuku said, tapping the paper. "I need to incapacitate him without fighting him head-on. Momo... I need you to make me a trap. Something non-lethal, but strong enough to hold someone with extreme explosive output."

Momo’s eyes widened, her mind instantly racing through thousands of chemical compounds. "Explosions generate immense heat and kinetic force. Normal restraints will melt or snap. You need something that resists thermal degradation and neutralizes kinetic movement."

She closed her eyes, bringing a hand to her exposed chest. 

"Cyanoacrylate," she whispered, her skin beginning to glow with a brilliant pink light. "Industrial-grade, rapid-curing resin. Mixed with a high-viscosity thermal-resistant polymer base. It expands upon contact with the air and hardens instantly, binding whatever it touches in a solid block of impact-resistant foam. It's used to seal breaches in deep-sea submarines."

A small, cylindrical metal canister dropped into her hand. It had a heavy magnetic base and a red proximity sensor on the top. 

"Place this on the floor in a narrow hallway," Momo instructed, handing it to Izuku. "When he crosses the sensor, it will detonate, flooding the corridor with the resin. It will harden around his boots and gauntlets in less than two seconds. He won't be able to move or ignite his sweat."

Izuku took the heavy canister, marveling at the genius of it. "This is perfect. But what if he gets a shot off before I can lure him into the trap? I need a way to block at least one point-blank explosion."

"Polycarbonate and titanium composite," Momo answered immediately, her right arm glowing as she pulled a sleek, transparent riot shield from her forearm. It was heavy, reinforced with a steel rim and thick straps. "It won't hold up to repeated blasts, but it will disperse the concussive force of one major explosion."

Izuku strapped the shield to his left arm. He felt the weight of it, the solid, physical proof of his partner's brilliance. He looked at Momo. She had created three small, round flashbang grenades and clipped them to her utility belt. 

"What about Iida?" Izuku asked. "He's incredibly fast. If you run into him, he'll try to rush you."

"Speed requires friction," Momo said, her smile turning almost wicked. "Iida relies on the exhaust from his engines to push off the ground. If the ground offers no resistance, his speed becomes a liability." She patted her side, where a small canister of high-grade industrial lubricant hung. "I have a plan for the knight."

A loud buzzer echoed across the training ground. 

"HERO TEAM... INFILTRATE!" All Might's voice rang through the PA system. 

Izuku and Momo shared one last look. The fear was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, clinical focus. The Creator had supplied the armory. The Tactician had laid the board. 

"Let's go win," Izuku said. 

They slipped through a ground-floor window, the shadows of the building instantly swallowing them. 

The silence inside the building was deafening. The air was cold and smelled faintly of dust and ozone. 

Izuku led the way, his riot shield held up, his footsteps completely silent. He had spent ten months sneaking around piles of rusted metal at the beach without causing a single avalanche; moving quietly was second nature now. Momo followed closely behind him, her eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. 

They moved up the first flight of stairs. Then the second. 

‘He's not waiting at the top,’ Izuku thought, his eyes tracking the dark corridor ahead. ‘He doesn't have the patience to guard. He's coming down to meet us. Any second now...’

As they turned the corner on the third floor, a faint, sizzling sound reached Izuku’s ears. It sounded like bacon popping in a pan. 

Izuku’s pupils dilated. 

"Momo, get back!" 

Izuku shoved Momo violently backward, throwing his own body forward and raising the polycarbonate riot shield with both arms. 

BOOM!

A massive, blinding explosion erupted from the shadows just ahead of them. The concussive shockwave slammed into the shield. Izuku’s boots skidded backward across the concrete floor, his teeth rattling in his skull, but the shield held. The heat washed over the edges, singing the air, but Izuku remained entirely unburned. 

The smoke cleared, revealing Katsuki Bakugo standing in the hallway, his gauntlets smoking, his eyes wide with shock. 

‘He blocked it?!’ Bakugo’s mind raced. ‘The nerd didn't flinch! He didn't cower! He had a damn shield ready!’

"A shield?!" Bakugo snarled, recovering his composure, his fury multiplying. "Did the rich bitch make that for you, Deku?! Relying on toys because you're still a quirkless loser underneath?!"

"Go, Momo!" Izuku yelled, keeping the shield raised, his eyes locked dead on Bakugo. "Stick to the plan!"

"Be careful, Izuku!" Momo called out, instantly turning and sprinting down a side corridor, heading for the stairs to the fourth floor. 

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?!" Bakugo roared, raising his hand to blast after Momo. 

"Your fight is with me, Kacchan!" Izuku shouted. 

Bakugo snapped his attention back to Izuku, his eyes flashing with raw hatred. "You're damn right it is! I'm gonna tear that shield apart and then I'm gonna tear you apart!"

Bakugo propelled himself forward with a blast from his left hand, closing the distance in a fraction of a second. He pulled his right arm back. 

‘Here it comes,’ Izuku’s mind processed the movement at lightning speed. ‘The massive right hook. Just like always.’

Izuku didn't block. He stepped inside Bakugo’s guard. 

As Bakugo’s right arm swung forward, Izuku shifted his weight, raising the edge of the heavy riot shield and slamming it directly into Bakugo’s forearm, deflecting the blow upward. The explosion detonated harmlessly into the ceiling, raining concrete dust down on them. 

Before Bakugo could recover his balance, Izuku dropped low, hooked his leg behind Bakugo’s calf, and shoved hard with the shield. 

Bakugo, completely caught off guard by the martial arts maneuver, crashed hard onto his back. 

In the monitor room, the class gasped. 

"Whoa! Midoriya totally read his moves!" Kirishima yelled. 

"He didn't even use his quirk! That was pure martial arts!" Ojiro praised. 

Inside the building, Izuku didn't wait around to celebrate. The moment Bakugo hit the floor, Izuku turned and bolted down the opposite hallway. 

"DEKU!" Bakugo roared, scrambling to his feet, pure, unadulterated rage boiling over. The nerd had tripped him. The nerd had outmaneuvered him. "I'LL KILL YOU!" 

Bakugo blasted himself down the hallway in pursuit. 

The cat-and-mouse game began. 

Izuku ran through the labyrinth of the third floor. He knew the blueprints by heart. He took sharp, erratic turns, forcing Bakugo to slow down at corners or risk crashing into walls. Every time Bakugo got too close, Izuku pulled one of Momo's flashbangs from his belt and tossed it over his shoulder. 

BANG!

A blinding flash of white light and a deafening crack disoriented Bakugo, forcing him to cover his eyes and curse loudly, buying Izuku another ten seconds of distance. 

‘He's getting angrier,’ Izuku thought, his lungs burning as he sprinted. ‘He's not thinking tactically. He's just chasing the red cape. I just need to get him to Sector 3B. It's the narrowest hallway on this floor.’

"Stop running, you coward!" Bakugo screamed, his explosions tearing chunks out of the drywall as he chased Izuku around another corner. "Use your damn quirk! Fight me!"

Izuku rounded the final corner, sprinting into the long, narrow corridor of Sector 3B. He stopped halfway down, turned around, and planted the metal canister Momo had given him squarely in the center of the floor. He pressed the activation button on top. The proximity sensor blinked green. 

Izuku took several steps back, raising his battered riot shield, and waited. 

A second later, Bakugo blasted around the corner. He saw Izuku standing at the end of the hallway, holding the shield. 

"I've got you now, you bastard!" Bakugo laughed maniacally, pulling his right arm back. He reached with his left hand, gripping the pin on his massive, grenade-shaped gauntlet. "They said these gauntlets store my sweat! Let's see your little shield block a full-powered blast!"

In the monitor room, All Might grabbed the microphone. "Young Bakugo, stop! Are you trying to kill him?!"

"He won't die if he dodges!" Bakugo screamed back, yanking the pin. 

A massive, terrifying column of fire and kinetic energy erupted from the gauntlet, filling the entire hallway. The blast tore through the corridor, obliterating the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. 

But Izuku didn't panic. He saw the blast coming. He knew exactly what was about to happen. 

As the heat wave rushed forward, it washed over the metal canister sitting on the floor. The proximity sensor instantly triggered. 

FSSSHHHHH!

A massive, explosive torrent of thick, pink, highly-viscous resin erupted from the canister. Because the hallway was narrow, the resin had nowhere to go but outward, forming a massive, expanding wall of foam that completely filled the corridor. 

Bakugo’s fiery blast slammed into the resin. 

Instead of melting, the thermal-resistant cyanoacrylate rapidly expanded from the heat, instantly curing and hardening into an impenetrable, solid block of industrial foam. The explosion was smothered, absorbed entirely by the chemical mass. 

Bakugo, carried forward by his own momentum, crashed face-first into the rapidly expanding resin. 

Before he could react, the foam swallowed his gauntlets, his boots, and his torso, instantly hardening like concrete. 

"What the—?!" Bakugo choked, struggling wildly. But he couldn't move. His arms were locked in place. He couldn't spark his palms. The more he struggled, the tighter the foam seemed to grip him. He was completely trapped, entombed up to his neck in the center of the hallway. 

The smoke cleared. Izuku walked forward, lowering the cracked, singed riot shield. He stopped a few feet away from the trapped Bakugo. 

"You're right, Kacchan," Izuku said, his voice completely calm, devoid of the stuttering fear he had carried for ten years. "I am quirkless without One For All. But I'm not a loser. And I'm not fighting alone."

Izuku reached into his pouch, pulled out the capture tape, and wrapped it around Bakugo’s foam-encased shoulder. 

"Villain captured."

Meanwhile, on the fifth floor, Momo Yaoyorozu was approaching the weapon room. 

She had heard the massive explosion from two floors down, feeling the building shake beneath her boots. Her heart had stopped for a fraction of a second, but she forced herself to keep moving. 'Trust him. He is the Tactician. He knows what he is doing.'

Momo peeked around the doorframe of the final room. 

Tenya Iida stood in the center of the massive, empty room, guarding the papier-mâché missile. He was completely immersed in the role. 

"Ha ha ha!" Iida bellowed, striking a villainous pose. "I am the embodiment of evil! Bakugo is a fool for abandoning me, but I require no assistance! My speed is absolute! No hero shall lay a finger on this weapon!"

Momo stepped into the room, maintaining her poised, elegant posture. "A bold claim, villain. But speed is merely an equation of force and friction."

Iida snapped his attention to her. "Yaoyorozu! You made it past Bakugo? No matter! You cannot outrun me!"

The engines in Iida’s calves roared to life, shooting blue flames. He dropped into a sprinter's stance and bolted forward, closing the distance between them in a blur of motion. 

‘He is incredibly fast,’ Momo analyzed, her eyes tracking him with terrifying precision. ‘A direct physical confrontation is impossible. But his trajectory is linear, and his stopping distance is poor.’

Momo didn't retreat. She didn't create a shield. She simply brought her right hand up, exposing the palm to the floor between them. 

‘Synthetic industrial lubricant. Polytetrafluoroethylene base. Near-zero coefficient of friction.’

Her hand glowed. A massive, thick puddle of clear, highly slippery oil sprayed across the concrete floor, perfectly intercepting Iida’s path. 

Iida, moving at over fifty miles per hour, saw the puddle far too late. 

"What the—?!"

Iida’s boots hit the oil slick. Instantly, the friction required for his engines to generate traction vanished. His legs spun wildly out of control, like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel. 

"WAAAAAHHH!" 

Iida lost his balance entirely, flying forward through the air. He crashed hard onto his side, skidding helplessly across the frictionless floor until he slammed into the far wall with a heavy metallic CLANG. 

He groaned, his engines sputtering out, his armor battered. He tried to stand up, but his boots were coated in the lubricant, and he immediately slipped and fell onto his back again. 

Momo walked calmly across the dry portion of the floor. She unclipped a long strip of capture tape from her belt, walking up to the immobilized Iida. 

"Speed is a powerful weapon, Iida," Momo said politely, wrapping the tape around his armored wrist. "But it is useless if you cannot stand."

She stood up, walking over to the papier-mâché weapon, and gently placed her hand on its surface. 

"HERO TEAM... WINS!"

All Might's voice echoed through the PA system, full of shock and genuine awe. 

The monitor room was dead silent. 

Class 1-A stared at the screens in disbelief. The match hadn't ended in a massive, destructive brawl. It hadn't ended with a spectacular clash of quirks. 

It had ended with traps, geometry, chemistry, and perfect coordination. 

"They... they totally dismantled them," Kaminari whispered, his jaw practically hitting the floor. 

"That was terrifying," Sero added, swallowing hard. "Midoriya read Bakugo like a book, and Yaoyorozu didn't even break a sweat against Iida."

"It was highly rational," Todoroki noted quietly from the back of the room, his heterochromatic eyes narrowing as he analyzed the playback. "They neutralized the heavy hitters using their own momentum against them."

When Izuku and Momo walked back into the monitor room, the class erupted into applause. 

Uraraka rushed forward, beaming. "Deku! Yaoyorozu! That was amazing! You guys were like secret agents!"

Izuku blushed furiously, scratching the back of his neck. "A-Ah, thank you! It was mostly Momo's creations! The trap was her idea!"

"Nonsense," Momo countered smoothly, smiling at him. "You formulated the strategy, Izuku. I merely provided the tools. Your psychological analysis of Bakugo's combat patterns was flawless. I am simply glad the cyanoacrylate held against his thermal output."

"Cyano-what-now?" Kirishima blinked in confusion. 

All Might stood at the front of the room, looking incredibly proud. "Excellent work, Team A! You minimized structural damage, neutralized the threats non-lethally, and secured the objective! Who can tell me who the MVP of this match is?!"

Momo raised her hand. "It is Izuku Midoriya, sir."

Izuku’s head snapped toward her in shock. "What?! No, Momo, you captured Iida and secured the weapon! You didn't take any damage at all!"

"I agree with Yaoyorozu," Iida said, walking into the room, wiping oil off his armor with a towel. He looked humbled but deeply respectful. "Midoriya orchestrated a plan that neutralized both myself and Bakugo without relying on destructive force. He used the environment and psychological warfare. It was a true display of tactical heroism."

"Correct!" All Might boomed. "Young Midoriya displayed exceptional situational awareness and leadership! Young Yaoyorozu executed her role with perfect precision and resourcefulness! Both of you receive top marks!"

The class cheered again. 

But in the back of the room, leaning against the wall, Katsuki Bakugo stood completely silent. His arms were crossed over his chest, his head bowed, his bangs shadowing his eyes. 

He hadn't been overpowered. He hadn't been beaten by a stronger quirk. 

He had been outsmarted. He had been manipulated, lured into a trap, and entirely neutralized by a kid he had spent his entire life looking down on, and a girl who barely had to lift a finger to build the cage. 

For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo felt something entirely foreign to his explosive nature. 

Doubt.

Izuku noticed Bakugo standing alone. The old instinct to apologize, to shrink away, flared up for a second. But then he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. 

He turned. Momo was holding out her hand, a soft, triumphant smile on her face. 

Izuku didn't apologize to Bakugo. He didn't shrink away. He smiled back, raising his right hand, the hand encased in the dark grey brace, and met Momo’s hand in a firm, solid high-five. 

The Tactician and the Creator had arrived at U.A. High School. And they were just getting started.