What if Deku Had a Bomb Quirk

The first time Izuku Midoriya realized he was dangerous, the world went white.

It was a humid afternoon, the kind that made the sand in the neighborhood park stick to the knees of your shorts. The cicadas were screaming, a droning buzz that usually filled the air, but on this day, they were about to be silenced.

Izuku stood between a weeping boy and the jagged, snarling grin of Katsuki Bakugo.

"You're making him cry, Kacchan!" Izuku’s voice trembled, his small fists bunched at his sides. "If you don't stop, I’ll… I’ll stop you myself!"

Bakugo laughed. It was a cruel, popping sound, accompanied by the sweet-sugar smell of burnt caramel. Smoke curled from his palms. He pounded a fist into his open hand, creating a small, sparks-filled explosion. "You? Stop me?" Bakugo jeered, flanked by his two lackeys who sprouted wings and long fingers. "You don't even have a Quirk, Deku. You’re just a bug on the road."

Bakugo lunged.

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in Izuku’s chest. He didn't want to fight. He just wanted it to stop. As Bakugo swung a right hook, explosions popping along his knuckles, Izuku flinched. He scrambled back, his hand scrabbling blindly against the ground for anything to use as a shield. His fingers closed around a smooth, grey river stone, slightly larger than a golf ball.

Stop him, Izuku thought desperately. Just go away!

A strange sensation flooded Izuku’s right arm. It felt like sticking a fork into a toaster—a sudden, rushing current of heat that traveled from his shoulder, down his elbow, and pooled rapidly into his palm. The stone in his hand grew instantly hot, vibrating with a humming energy that rattled his teeth.

He threw it.

He didn't know how to throw a punch, but he knew how to throw a ball. The stone left his hand, sailing through the three feet of space between him and Bakugo.

Bakugo, confident and sneering, swatted the pebble aside with the back of his hand.

KRA-KOOM.

The sound wasn't a pop. It wasn't a firecracker. It was the thunderous, chest-compressing roar of a kinetic detonation.

A shockwave of condensed air rippled outward, visible as a distortion in the sunlight. The sandbox exploded upward in a geyser of grit and dust. The force picked Bakugo up off his feet and threw him backward three meters, tumbling him end-over-end until he crashed into the park slide with a hollow clang. The two lackeys were knocked flat on their backs.

Then, silence.

The cicadas had stopped. The birds had fled.

Izuku stood frozen, his arm still outstretched. His hand was smoking. The skin of his palm was red and angry, stinging as if he’d touched a hot stove. But he couldn't hear his own whimpering. A high-pitched ringing—eeeeeeeeeeee—drilled into his skull, drowning out the world.

Through the dust cloud, he saw Bakugo sitting up. The blonde boy wasn't crying. He looked shell-shocked. His shirt was torn, his face covered in soot, and he stared at the crater in the sand where he had been standing seconds ago. He looked at the crater, then he looked at Izuku.

For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo didn't look at Izuku with pity or disdain.

He looked at him with fear.

Ten Years Later

Aldera Junior High was a place of mediocrity, filled with students who would grow up to be salarymen with minor telekinesis or construction workers with slightly enhanced strength. And then, there were the two outliers.

"Midoriya, stop muttering. You're disturbing the class."

Izuku snapped his mouth shut, his head ducking low. "Sorry, Sensei," he whispered.

He adjusted his gloves. They were thick, cumbersome things, made of a heavy-duty, fire-resistant polymer blend that looked like industrial work gear. He never took them off in public. Not when he ate, not when he wrote, and certainly not when he was agitated.

"As I was saying," the teacher continued, slapping a stack of papers against his desk, "it’s time you all started thinking seriously about your futures. Though, I suppose I could just pass out the hero forms, seeing as everyone here wants to go to U.A.!"

The class erupted. Quirks flared—eyes extended, fingers turned to wood, weak telekinesis floated pencils.

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful Quirks," the teacher dismissed, "but no power usage in school. Get a hold of yourselves."

"Hey, teach!" A rough, arrogant voice cut through the noise. Katsuki Bakugo reclined in his chair, feet on the desk. "Don't lump me in with these extras. They’ll be lucky to end up as sidekicks to some D-lister. I’m going for the top."

The class jeered, but Bakugo just grinned, small explosions popping in his palms.

"Ah, Bakugo," the teacher noted, checking his clipboard. "You’re aiming for U.A. High, correct?"

"Damn right. I aced the mock tests. I’m gonna be the only one from this trash heap to make it big."

"Oh," the teacher murmured, scanning further down the list. "That’s right. Midoriya wants to go to U.A. as well, doesn't he?"

 The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. It wasn't the silence of mockery that usually accompanied such a statement for a quirkless child. It was the silence of unease.

Every head turned toward the back of the room. They looked at the green-haired boy hunched over his notebook. They looked at the thick, padded gloves resting on his desk.

"Midoriya?" Bakugo’s voice was low. He took his feet off the desk and stood up.

Izuku flinched, instinctively pulling his hands into his lap. "I-It’s just a goal, Kacchan. There’s no rule against trying—"

"Don't give me that!" Bakugo slammed his hand onto Izuku’s desk. BOOM. The explosion scorched the wood, but Izuku didn't move. He sat perfectly still, eyes wide.

"You think you can stand in the same ring as me?" Bakugo hissed, leaning in close. Smoke drifted from his hand. "You think because you have that... that curse, you can be a hero? You're a walking liability, Deku. You don't save people. You break things."

Izuku swallowed hard. The ringing in his ears—a phantom sound that visited him whenever he was stressed—began to whine. He felt the heat rising in his palms, itching beneath the protective fabric of his gloves.

Don't touch anything, he told himself. Don't charge it. Just breathe.

"I can learn to control it," Izuku whispered, though his voice lacked conviction. "I have to try."

Bakugo scoffed, turning away. "Whatever. Just stay out of my way. If you blow up the exam arena, don't expect me to dig you out."

The tension in the room dissipated slowly, but the glances remained. They whispered about him in the halls. The Bomb. The Minefield. Don't high-five Midoriya, or you'll lose a hand.

When the final bell rang, Izuku packed his bag quickly. He needed to get out. He needed air. He grabbed his hero analysis notebook—Hero Analysis for the Future, No. 13—and hurried toward the door.

He was intercepted at the threshold.

Bakugo snatched the notebook from Izuku’s hand. "We aren't done talking, Deku."

"Give it back, Kacchan."

Bakugo looked at the cover. "Hero analysis? You're still taking notes? You’re such a nerd it’s painful." He clamped the notebook between his hands.

Izuku’s eyes widened. "Kacchan, don't—"

BANG.

Bakugo detonated an explosion directly into the spine of the book. Charred paper fluttered to the floor. He tossed the smoking remains out the open window.

"If you want to be a hero so bad," Bakugo said, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper, "there’s a quick way to do it. Take a swan dive off the roof and pray you’re born with a quirk that doesn't make you a public safety hazard in the next life."

Izuku stood trembling as Bakugo walked away. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip off a glove, touch the wall, and bring the whole ceiling down on top of them. The energy was there, boiling under his skin, begging to be released.

Contact Charge. That was the name the doctor had given it. A Quirk that allowed him to infuse kinetic energy into any solid object he touched with his five fingers. He could control the yield, the timing, and the direction, theoretically. But in practice? It was volatile. It was loud. It was destructive.

He looked at his gloved hands.

“You don’t save people. You break things.”

Izuku retrieved his burnt notebook from the koi pond outside—ignoring the fish that scattered in terror at his presence—and began the long walk home.

The tunnel under the overpass was cool and dark. It was the only place Izuku felt his tinnitus subside. He walked with his head down, flipping through the soggy pages of his notebook.

Page 14: Kamui Woods. Pre-emptive binding lacquered chain prison. Low collateral damage. Efficient.

My Quirk: High collateral damage. Lethal potential. How do I rescue a hostage without blowing them up? Maybe if I charge the air around them? No, gas isn't solid enough. Maybe the floor? But shrapnel...

A shifting sound, like wet mud sliding over concrete, echoed behind him.

Izuku spun around.

A massive, fluid entity rose from the sewer grate. It was a sentient sludge, dark green and viscous, with bulging, manic eyes.

"A medium-sized invisibility cloak..." the villain gurgled, lurching forward.

Izuku stepped back, his heart hammering. "Stay back!"

"Don't worry, kid. It'll only hurt for about forty-five seconds. I just need to hide inside you."

The sludge lunged.

Izuku reacted on instinct. He raised his right hand, the glove heavy on his skin. If he touched the villain, could he blow him apart? But the villain was liquid. Liquids dispersed shockwaves poorly; the force would travel through the slime and likely rupture Izuku’s own organs if he was engulfed. Or worse, the explosion would just splash the villain everywhere, achieving nothing.

Analysis paralysis.

The hesitation cost him. The sludge slammed into him, forcing itself into his mouth and nose.

It tasted like sewage and oil. Izuku clawed at the fluid, his gloved fingers slipping uselessly. He couldn't breathe. His vision began to spot with black.

I’m going to die, he thought, panic freezing his blood. I’m going to die here, and I never even got to use this curse for something good.

His consciousness began to fade. The edges of his vision turned gray.

Then, the manhole cover exploded upward.

"HAVE NO FEAR!"

A voice, booming and heroic, reverberated off the tunnel walls.

"FOR I AM HERE!"

A massive figure stood in the entrance, backlit by the afternoon sun. All Might. The Symbol of Peace.

The villain shrieked, lashing out with a tendril of slime. All Might ducked under it, moving faster than Izuku’s eyes could track.

"TEXAS... SMASH!"

The punch didn't even connect. The wind pressure alone was like a hurricane. The sludge was blown backward, scattering across the tunnel walls in a splatter of green goop. Izuku was released, gasping for air, falling to his knees.

He coughed, hacking up slime, his eyes watering. When he looked up, All Might was already gathering the unconscious sludge into empty soda bottles.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT, YOUNG MAN?" All Might asked, flashing a smile that shone brighter than the sun. "APOLOGIES FOR GETTING YOU CAUGHT UP IN MY JUSTICE-ING!"

Izuku stared. The number one hero. The man who saved people with a smile. The man who could punch hurricanes into existence.

"All... All Might," Izuku wheezed. He scrambled for his notebook. "Can... can I get an autograph?"

He opened the soggy book to a blank page, only to find All Might had already signed it. A massive, sweeping signature.

"THERE YOU GO! NOW, I MUST BE OFF TO THE POLICE STATION! EVIL DOESN'T WAIT!" All Might crouched, preparing to leap.

"Wait!" Izuku scrambled up. "Wait, please! I have to ask you something!"

"NO TIME!" All Might launched himself into the air.

Without thinking, Izuku grabbed onto All Might’s leg.

What followed was a terrifying ascent into the sky, a struggle against wind pressure, and a frantic landing on a rooftop.

"THAT WAS RECKLESS!" All Might scolded, steam rising from his body. "YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED."

"I had to ask," Izuku panted, clutching his chest. He looked at his gloved hands. "I... I have a Quirk. But it’s... it’s dangerous. It hurts people. It destroys things." He looked up, his eyes desperate. "Can someone with a power made for destruction... can someone like that ever be a hero like you? Can I save people without breaking them?"

He waited for the answer. The reassurance.

But when he looked up, All Might was gone. In his place stood a skeletal, emaciated man, coughing up blood.

After the initial shock and explanation of All Might’s injury, the answer came. And it shattered Izuku’s heart.

"Pros are always risking their lives," the skeletal All Might said, looking out over the city. "Some powers are just... ill-suited for the job, kid. If your power is purely destructive, police work might be better. They get a lot of flak, but it’s a noble profession."

All Might walked toward the stairwell door. "It’s good to dream, young man. But you have to be realistic."

The door clicked shut.

Izuku stood alone on the roof. The wind whipped at his dark school uniform. He looked down at his hands, encased in the thick safety gloves.

Realistic.

Even the Symbol of Peace agreed with Bakugo. He was a bomb. And bombs didn't save people. They just ended things.

The explosion shook the windows of the convenience store three blocks away.

Izuku jerked his head up. He had been walking aimlessly, lost in a spiral of self-loathing. He saw the plume of smoke rising from the Tatoin shopping district.

A villain attack?

Old habits died hard. His feet moved before his brain could stop them. He ran toward the smoke.

When he arrived, the scene was a nightmare. The shopping district was an inferno. Flames licked up the sides of buildings. Heroes were held back, helpless. Death Arms was lifting debris. Kamui Woods was struggling with the fire. Mount Lady couldn't fit in the narrow street.

And in the center of the chaos, surrounded by a ring of fire, was the Sludge Villain.

"It’s my fault," Izuku whispered, horror dawning on him. "I distracted All Might. The bottle must have fallen..."

The villain had a hostage. A student. He was suffocating him, using his body as a shield and his quirk to create massive explosions.

Wait. Explosions?

Izuku squinted through the smoke. The Sludge Villain didn't have an explosion quirk.

He saw a flash of ash-blond hair. He saw red eyes, wide with terror, struggling for air.

Kacchan.

Bakugo was thrashing, his palms setting off uncontrolled blasts that only fueled the fires around them. The heroes were paralyzed.

"My quirk isn't suitable for this!"

"I can't get close to those explosions!"

"We have to wait for someone with a water quirk!"

They’re just watching, Izuku realized. He’s dying, and they’re just watching.

Bakugo’s eyes met Izuku’s across the crowd. For a second, the arrogance was gone. There was only a silent plea. Help me.

Izuku’s legs moved on their own.

"Hey! Get back here, kid!" A hero shouted.

Izuku ducked under the police tape. He sprinted toward the alley of fire. The heat was intense, singing his eyebrows, but his mind was strangely clear.

Analysis.

Target: Sludge Villain. Liquid body. Physical strikes ineffective.

Hostage: Katsuki Bakugo. Located in the upper torso mass.

Obstacle: Fires, distance, and the villain’s vigilance.

Asset: Contact Charge.

Izuku didn't run blindly this time. He stopped ten meters away, sliding to a halt behind a piece of broken concrete masonry.

The villain saw him. "You again? The brat from the tunnel!"

The villain raised a slime tendril to strike.

Izuku ripped the glove off his right hand.

The air felt cool against his scarred palm. He slapped his bare hand onto a chunk of concrete rubble, about the size of a softball.

Focus.

He didn't need a nuke. He didn't need to level the city block. He needed a shaped charge. He poured energy into the stone, feeling the vibrations hum up his arm, turning the grey rock into a glowing ember of kinetic potential.

Timer: Impact.

Yield: 15%.

Vector: Outward.

Izuku stood up and wound his arm back. He channeled every ounce of frustration, every fear, every moment he was told he was dangerous, into the motion.

"Get off of him!"

He threw the stone.

It flew true, cutting through the smoke. It didn't hit Bakugo. It didn't hit the villain’s core. It struck the ground directly between the villain’s eye and Bakugo’s shoulder.

SNAP-BOOM.

The explosion was sharp, precise, and deafening.

A condensed sphere of air pressure expanded instantly. It acted like a scalpel made of wind. The force blew the sludge away from Bakugo’s face, severing the fluid hold the villain had on his mouth and nose. The villain recoiled, his liquid form rippling violently from the shockwave.

Bakugo gasped, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air.

"Kacchan!" Izuku screamed, running forward now.

The villain recovered faster than expected. "You little brat! I’ll blow you to bits!"

The sludge reformed, massive and angry, looming over Izuku. Izuku skidded to a stop. He had one charge left—the debris under his feet. If he detonated it, he might hurt Bakugo.

He raised his bare hand, trembling.

Suddenly, a blur of motion cut between them. A hand gripped Izuku’s wrist, pulling him back, while another fist slammed into the air.

"I REALLY AM PATHETIC!"

All Might.

"I TOLD YOU TO BE REALISTIC, BUT I DIDN'T LISTEN TO MY OWN LECTURE! PROS ARE ALWAYS RISKING THEIR LIVES!"

Blood sprayed from All Might’s mouth, but his smile was fierce. He pulled back his fist.

"DETROIT... SMASH!"

The air pressure changed. A literal tornado spiraled upward, blasting the villain into droplets, extinguishing the fires, and sending clouds swirling in the sky. Rain began to fall.

Izuku sat on the pavement, shielding his face from the wind. His right hand throbbed, the skin red and smoking slightly from the discharge.

He looked up at All Might, who stood victorious in the rain.

The aftermath was a blur of flashing lights and stern voices.

The heroes were furious.

"You were reckless!" Kamui Woods scolded, pointing a finger at Izuku. "You have a powerful quirk, kid, but using unauthorized explosives in a hostage situation? You could have killed him! You could have killed us!"

"That was insanity," Death Arms added. "Leave the fighting to the pros."

Izuku bowed his head, accepting the berating. He put his glove back on, hiding his burned hand. They’re right. I’m dangerous.

Meanwhile, the heroes were fawning over Bakugo.

"That bravery! And that quirk!"

"You held out for so long!"

"You'll be a great sidekick one day!"

Bakugo didn't answer them. He just stared at the ground, then glared at Izuku from the corner of his eye.

When they finally released him, night had fallen. Izuku walked home, exhausted. His bones ached. His ears were still ringing slightly.

Well, he thought bitterly. At least I tried. I guess All Might was right. I should look into the police force.

"Deku!"

Izuku froze. He turned to see Bakugo running after him, panting slightly.

"Kacchan?"

Bakugo stopped a few feet away. He looked furious, his shoulders shaking. "I didn't ask for your help! You didn't save me! I was fine on my own!"

"I..."

"But," Bakugo gritted his teeth, looking away. "You... that shot. You didn't hit me. You aimed for the fluid." He kicked the ground. "Don't think this changes anything! I still don't owe you anything!"

Bakugo turned and stomped off.

Izuku blinked. That was... as close to a 'thank you' as Katsuki Bakugo was capable of.

Izuku turned to continue home.

"I AM HERE!"

All Might burst around the corner, sliding to a halt in a dramatic pose, before instantly deflating into his skeletal form with a massive cough of blood.

"All Might?!" Izuku yelped. "Why are you here? You were surrounded by reporters!"

"I shook them off," All Might wiped his mouth. "Young man. I have a correction to make. And a proposal."

Izuku straightened up.

"Earlier today, I told you to be realistic. I told you that a destructive power couldn't save people." All Might took a step forward. "I was watching. At the scene."

Izuku flinched. "I know. The other heroes yelled at me. I interfered."

"No," All Might said firmly. "Those 'heroes' stood by and watched. You were the only one who acted. And more importantly... you were precise."

All Might looked at Izuku’s gloved hands.

"I saw what you did. You didn't just blow things up. You calculated the blast radius. You used the shockwave to clear the airway without harming the hostage. That wasn't the act of a bomb, Young Midoriya. That was the act of a marksman."

Izuku felt tears pricking his eyes.

"Top heroes have stories about their early days," All Might continued. "And almost all of them agree: their bodies moved before they could think."

Izuku clutched his chest. The memory of running into the fire flooded back.

"That happened to you, didn't it?"

Izuku dropped to his knees, sobbing. "I just... I just wanted to save him. My quirk... everyone says it just destroys. That I'm a walking minefield."

All Might looked down at the boy. He saw the spirit. He saw the tactical mind hidden behind the fear.

"Destruction and protection are two sides of the same coin," All Might said softly. "You can break down walls to let people escape. You can blast away debris to find the trapped. You can fight the monsters that no one else can scratch."

All Might extended a hand.

"You don't have to be a gentle hero. You can be the hero who clears the path. You can be a hero."

Izuku looked up, tears streaming down his face, blurring the streetlights. For ten years, he had waited for those words.

"And," All Might smiled, "I believe you are worthy to inherit my power. But that is a conversation for tomorrow. For now... stand up, Young Midoriya."

Izuku took the skeletal hand. He stood up.

His palm, usually cold inside the glove, felt warm. But this time, it wasn't the burning heat of an explosion waiting to happen. It was the warmth of hope.

The sun had not yet risen over Dagobah Municipal Beach Park, but the smell of rotting kelp, rusted iron, and wet garbage was already awake and pungent. The ocean breeze, usually a source of relief in the humid Japanese summer, was choked by the mountains of debris that lined the coast. Tires, refrigerators, broken cars, and drift-wood formed a jagged, chaotic skyline against the pale purple dawn.

Izuku Midoriya stood before a towering pile of scrap metal, his hands trembling inside his thick, fire-retardant gloves.

"SO!"

The booming voice made Izuku jump, nearly tripping over a discarded microwave. All Might stood atop a rusted van, his hands on his hips, his muscular form casting a long shadow over the trash.

"THIS IS YOUR FIRST STEP, YOUNG MIDORIYA!" The hero leaped down, landing with a soft thud that kicked up a cloud of sand. "YOU WANT TO BE A HERO? YOU WANT TO ENTER U.A. HIGH? THEN YOU MUST CLEAN THIS BEACH!"

Izuku looked at the expanse of garbage. It stretched for miles. "Clean... all of it?"

"THAT’S RIGHT!" All Might gave a thumbs up. "BUT NOT JUST WITH MUSCLE! YOU TOLD ME YOUR QUIRK IS TOO DESTRUCTIVE. YOU SAID YOU BREAK THINGS. WELL, THIS IS A GRAVEYARD OF BROKEN THINGS! IF YOU BREAK THEM FURTHER, NO ONE WILL COMPLAIN!"

All Might suddenly deflated, steam hissing from his body as he reverted to his skeletal, true form. He wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth and sighed, his posture slumping.

"Listen, kid," Toshinori Yagi said, his voice raspy. "The entrance exam is in ten months. Your body is... frail. If I gave you my power now, your limbs would pop off like bottle rockets. You need a vessel that can hold the stockpile of power I'm offering. But more importantly..."

Toshinori walked over to a rusted safe, tapping it with a bony finger.

"You need to master your own power first. Contact Charge. I looked into your registry file. It says you can turn anything you touch into an explosive. But you're afraid of it, aren't you?"

Izuku gripped his gloved hands together. "I... I hurt Kacchan when we were four. I blew up a classroom desk when I had a nightmare. Every time I use it, it feels like... like holding a grenade with the pin pulled. I don't know if it's going to be a firecracker or a bomb."

"That is because you lack discipline," Toshinori said sternly. "You treat your quirk like an accident. You need to treat it like a tool. A hammer can crush a thumb or drive a nail. It depends on the swing."

He pointed to the safe.

"Your first test. Move this safe to the truck. But you can't lift it. It's bolted to a concrete block underneath the sand. Use your quirk."

Izuku stared at the safe. It was heavy iron, rusted shut. He knelt in the sand, his heart hammering against his ribs. Use it as a tool.

He removed his right glove. The cool morning air kissed his scarred palm. The skin there was slightly discolored, a patchwork of old, minor burns from his childhood.

He placed his hand on the concrete base beneath the safe.

Don't blow it up, he told himself. Just... nudge it.

He closed his eyes, feeling the hum of potential energy flow from his core, down his shoulder, into his fingertips. It felt like static electricity, buzzing and angry. He pushed it into the concrete.

Charge.

"Release!" Izuku whispered, snapping his fingers.

BOOM.

The explosion was louder than he intended. Sand sprayed everywhere, blinding him. The safe didn't just detach; it launched six feet into the air, spinning wildly, before crashing down onto the hood of the truck All Might had brought. The truck’s suspension groaned, and the windshield shattered.

"OH MY... GOODNESS!" All Might (who had buffed up for safety) shielded his face.

Izuku coughed, waving away the dust. His ears were ringing—a high, piercing eeeeeeee that drowned out the sound of the ocean. He looked at his hand. It was red, smoking slightly.

"I... I used too much," Izuku said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. "I'm sorry about the truck!"

All Might reverted to his skinny form, staring at the shattered windshield. He wasn't angry. He was calculating.

"You didn't shape the blast," Toshinori observed, walking over to the crater. "You just let the energy expand in a sphere. That's why the sand went everywhere, and why the safe flew up. You wasted energy."

He looked at Izuku.

"We have a lot of work to do. You aren't just building muscle, Midoriya. You're going to learn physics. You're going to learn structural engineering. You're going to learn how to make an explosion go left instead of everywhere."

Month 3: The Junkyard Laboratory

The training was grueling. It wasn't just the physical conditioning—the running, the lifting, the diet plan All Might had ominously titled "The American Dream Plan." It was the mental strain.

Izuku sat on top of a pile of tires, a physics textbook open on his lap. He was covered in soot. His gloves were tattered.

"Vector analysis," he muttered, chewing on the end of a pen. "If the charge is placed on a concave surface, the force is directed inward. If it's convex, it disperses. To shear a bolt, I need a high-velocity, low-yield charge focused on the stress point."

"Less muttering, more exploding!" All Might shouted from below. He was timing him.

"Right!"

Izuku slid down the pile of tires. His target was a rusted car door. The objective: Remove the door from its hinges without damaging the door itself.

Izuku approached the car. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. He visualized the energy. Not a raging fire, but a flowing liquid.

He placed two fingers on the top hinge. Contact. A small pulse of energy, no bigger than a coin.

He placed two fingers on the bottom hinge. Contact. Another pulse.

He stepped back, turning his back to the car. He covered his ears with his hands.

"Detonate."

Pop. Pop.

Two sharp, cracking sounds echoed through the junkyard. The heavy steel door groaned, then simply fell off the car frame, landing in the sand with a dull thud. The door was pristine. The hinges were sheared clean off.

"EXCELLENT!" All Might cheered, clapping his hands. "THAT WAS SURGICAL! YOU'RE GETTING THE HANG OF IT!"

Izuku smiled, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked at his hands. The gloves were designed by Mei Hatsume—a support course student he’d met on an online forum for quirk analysis. She’d sent him the prototypes: Recoil Dampeners. They absorbed some of the kinetic kickback, saving his wrists from shattering.

"It still stings," Izuku admitted, flexing his fingers. "But I can control the direction now. I can make the blast push away from my palm instead of into it."

"Blast Shaping," All Might nodded. "A vital skill. If you can direct the force, you minimize collateral damage. You become less of a bomb and more of a cannon."

Month 8: The Threshold

The beach was almost clean. The mountains of trash were now small hills. Izuku’s body had changed. Gone was the scrawny, hollow-chested boy. In his place was a lean, corded athlete. His arms were scarred from burns, yes, but underneath the scars was muscle built from hauling iron and fighting recoil.

But the anxiety remained.

"U.A. won't just test power," Izuku said one evening, sitting on the sea wall with All Might. "They test adaptability. Kacchan... Bakugo... he has instinct. He knows how to move in the air using his explosions. I can't do that."

"Why not?" All Might asked, eating a bento box.

"He sweats nitroglycerin. He creates the explosion outside his body. I have to touch something to charge it. I can't fly because I can't touch the air."

"So don't touch the air," All Might said simply. "Touch the ground."

Izuku blinked. "The ground?"

"If you create a directed blast beneath your feet, what happens?"

"I lose my legs," Izuku said flatly.

"Not if you shield them. And not if you time it right. Use the environment, Midoriya. You are a grounded fighter. You need to think about mobility in a different way. Not flight... but propulsion."

That night, Izuku didn't sleep. He was in the backyard, wearing a pair of old steel-toed boots he had modified with rubber soles.

He crouched low. He touched the grass. He charged a small patch of earth with kinetic energy.

Three, two, one... Jump.

As he sprang upward, he triggered the charge.

BOOM.

The earth erupted. The force slammed into the soles of his boots. It wasn't graceful like Bakugo’s flight. It was violent. It jerked his spine and rattled his teeth. But it launched him. He flew ten feet forward, tumbling into the laundry line.

He lay in the dirt, tangled in bedsheets, staring at the moon.

"Propulsion," he whispered, a grin spreading across his face. "I can work with this."

The Day of the Exam

The entrance to U.A. High was intimidating. The massive glass structure gleamed in the sunlight, a fortress of heroism. Students swarmed the gates, a sea of black uniforms.

Izuku stood at the gate, clutching the straps of his yellow backpack. He felt nauseous.

He had cleaned the beach. He had swallowed the hair (a disgusting experience he tried not to think about). All Might had told him that One For All would take hours to digest and integrate. He likely wouldn't be able to use it during the exam.

That’s fine, Izuku thought. I’ve spent ten months training Contact Charge. I don't need the superpower yet. I just need to not die.

"Out of my way, Deku."

Izuku stiffened. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The smell of burnt caramel preceded him.

Katsuki Bakugo walked past him, hands in his pockets. He didn't look at Izuku. He just stared straight ahead at the school.

"Don't think just because you got a little buff that you can stand next to me," Bakugo muttered as he passed. "I'm going to crush this exam. Try not to trip on the starting line."

Izuku watched him go. "Good luck to you too, Kacchan," he whispered.

He took a step forward, tripped on his own shoelace, and began to fall.

Great. I’m going to die before I even enter.

He braced for impact, but it never came. He was floating.

"Whoa there!" A cheerful voice chirped.

Izuku looked up. A girl with a round face and brown bobbed hair was smiling at him, her fingers touching his backpack.

"It’s bad luck to fall on the first day, isn't it?" She released him, and he dropped gently to his feet. She pressed her fingertips together. "I’m Uraraka! Nervous?"

"I... uh... y-yes!" Izuku stammered. "Midoriya. I mean, I'm Midoriya!"

"Well, good luck, Midoriya!" She waved and skipped off toward the entrance.

Izuku stood there, his face burning. I talked to a girl! Well, she talked to me. And I didn't explode! This is a good sign.

The Written Exam

The written portion was a breeze. Izuku had spent his life analyzing quirks, laws, and hero ethics. While other students groaned over the quadratic equations and quirk history questions, Izuku’s pen flew across the page. This was his turf. The battlefield of the mind.

The Practical Exam

The orientation was loud. Present Mic screamed about "villain bots" and "points." Izuku sat next to Bakugo, who was surprisingly quiet, vibrating with intensity.

"Three types of villains!" Mic shouted. "One pointer, two pointer, three pointer! And the Zero Pointer—an obstacle to avoid! It’s like a mine in a video game! Just run away!"

Run away, Izuku noted. Got it.

They were bussed to Battle Center B. It was a mock city, massive and detailed. Izuku stood in the crowd of examinees, adjusting his gloves. He wore a green tracksuit he’d bought cheap, reinforced with leather pads on the elbows and knees. His boots were heavy, the soles lined with shock-absorbent gel.

He saw Uraraka in the crowd, trying to focus. He saw a tall boy with glasses doing warm-up stretches that looked like a robot malfunctioning.

"AND START!" Present Mic’s voice blared over the speakers.

There was no countdown. The other students hesitated.

Izuku didn't.

Real fights don't have countdowns.

He sprinted. He wasn't the fastest runner, but the beach training had given him explosive acceleration. He was the first one through the gates.

"What? Hey!" The others shouted, scrambling after him.

Izuku turned the corner onto a main street. Immediately, a drone—a One Pointer—rolled out on a single wheel, targeting him with a rubber bullet gun.

"Target acquired!" the robot chirped.

Izuku didn't stop. He ran straight at it.

Analyze. Weak point: the wheel axle.

He slid on his knees, ducking under the first shot. As he slid past the robot, his right hand lashed out, slapping the metal strut connecting the wheel to the body.

Charge.

He rolled to his feet and kept running.

"Release!"

CRACK.

Behind him, the robot’s wheel assembly detonated. The machine toppled over, sparking and useless.

One point.

He turned into an alleyway. A Three Pointer—a massive, tank-like machine—blocked the path. It raised a metal fist.

Izuku couldn't overpower this one. He didn't have the strength to punch through armor. But he knew structural integrity.

He scanned the alley. The walls were brick. Old, mock-brick, but solid.

He ran up the wall, using his momentum to wall-run for two steps. He slapped the brickwork just above the robot’s head.

Charge: High Yield. Delayed fuse: 2 seconds.

He dropped down, landing behind the robot, and sprinted away.

The robot turned to follow him.

One. Two.

BOOM.

The explosion blew the brick facade off the building. Tons of masonry rained down on the robot, burying it in rubble. Its lights flickered and died.

Four points.

"This..." Izuku panted, a grin breaking through his anxiety. "This is just like the beach! Break the trash!"

Ten Minutes Later

The city was a war zone. Smoke billowed from every street corner. The sound of explosions, ice cracking, and engines revving filled the air.

Izuku was in the zone. He was moving like a guerilla fighter. He didn't engage in prolonged brawls. He tagged, he ran, he detonated.

He saw a student struggling with a Two Pointer—a distinct boy with a laser naval laser.

"It’s too tough!" the boy cried.

Izuku sprinted past. He slapped the robot's rear exhaust port. "Get down!" he yelled at the laser boy.

Izuku dove behind a car. The laser boy ducked. The robot’s back exploded, sending shrapnel flying.

"Thanks, mon ami!" the boy shouted.

"Keep moving!" Izuku yelled back.

He checked his mental tally. Twenty-eight points. It’s not enough. I need more.

His hands were burning. The heat inside his gloves was becoming unbearable. The "recoil dampeners" were working, but the vibrations were taking a toll on his bones. His ears were ringing constantly now, a dull roar that made it hard to hear the robots approaching.

Limit approaching, he realized. My palms feel like they're on fire.

He turned a corner and saw the main plaza. It was chaos. Robots were everywhere. Other students were showing off flashy quirks—explosions, engines, acid.

Bakugo was there, flying through the air, blasting robot heads off with glee. He looked like a demon of destruction.

He’s amazing, Izuku thought, a pang of jealousy striking him. He doesn't have to touch them. He just points and shoots.

Suddenly, the ground shook.

It wasn't a vibration. It was an earthquake.

Dust rose from the north end of the city. A shadow fell over the plaza, blocking out the sun.

The Zero Pointer.

It was colossal. Taller than the skyscrapers. Its green paint was chipped and menacing. Its single red eye glowed like a lighthouse. It moved on massive tank treads that crushed buildings like they were cardboard boxes.

"What... is that?!" a student screamed.

"Run! It’s the Zero Pointer!"

The crowd broke. Panic set in. Students fled in the opposite direction, scrambling over each other to escape the titan.

Izuku turned to run. It’s an obstacle. Just run away. There are no points for fighting it.

He took two steps, then he heard it.

"Ouch..."

A pained whimper. Barely audible over the grinding gears of the giant.

Izuku stopped. He looked back.

Uraraka lay trapped under a pile of rubble in the middle of the street. She was struggling to lift a slab of concrete, but her leg was pinned. The Zero Pointer was looming over her, its massive tread descending. It wasn't targeting her; it just didn't care that she was there.

She was going to be crushed.

The other students were gone. The teachers were watching from the observation room, but they couldn't stop it in time.

Move.

Izuku’s body moved before his mind could formulate a plan.

He sprinted back toward the danger.

"Midoriya?" Uraraka gasped, seeing him run toward the monster.

"Don't worry!" Izuku shouted, his voice cracking. "I’ll... I’ll stop it!"

He reached the rubble. He tried to lift the slab, but it was too heavy. He didn't have One For All. He was just a boy with strong arms, but not that strong.

The shadow of the tread darkened the street. Ten seconds until impact.

"I can't lift it!" Izuku panicked.

"Run!" Uraraka cried. "You'll get squashed!"

Izuku looked up at the robot. It was too big to blow up. If he touched the leg, the explosion would just scorch the paint. He needed something bigger. He needed to knock it down.

Physics. Leverage. Center of Gravity.

The robot was top-heavy. It relied on the stability of the ground to stay upright.

Izuku looked at the street. The asphalt. Underneath was the foundation of the mock city.

If I can’t move the robot, I’ll move the world.

"Cover your ears!" Izuku screamed at Uraraka. "Curl up!"

He ripped off both gloves. His hands were blistered, raw and red.

He slammed both palms onto the asphalt, directly in the path of the descending tread.

Contact Charge: Max Output.

He poured everything he had into the ground. He visualized the energy traveling deep, past the asphalt, into the concrete bedding, into the soil. He imagined a cavern of kinetic force expanding like a bubble.

The heat was agonizing. It felt like he was dipping his hands into molten lead. His skin sizzled. The white noise in his ears became a deafening scream.

More. I need more.

He felt a different well of power deep inside him. The embers of One For All, dormant and waiting. He couldn't access the strength, but the will... the will to save was the catalyst.

"SMASH!!" he roared, though it wasn't a punch.

He snapped his fingers against the pavement.

KRA-KOOM.

The world turned white.

The explosion didn't go up; it went down and out. The street erupted. A massive sinkhole opened up beneath the Zero Pointer’s front right tread. The asphalt liquified into shrapnel. The shockwave was so powerful it shattered the windows of every building in a three-block radius.

The Zero Pointer lurched. Its tread dipped into the sudden crater. Its center of gravity shifted. The massive machine groaned, metal screeching against metal. It tipped forward, then sideways, falling away from Uraraka.

It crashed into a row of buildings with the force of a meteor, kicking up a cloud of dust that swallowed the street whole.

Silence returned slowly.

Izuku lay on the edge of the crater he had created. He couldn't feel his hands. He couldn't hear anything. His vision was blurry, swimming with black spots.

He tried to push himself up, but his arms gave out. He stared at his hands. They were black with soot, the skin angry and peeling.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a voice.

"Time's up!"

Izuku let his head drop onto the broken pavement.

I did it, he thought, as the darkness took him. I broke something to save someone.

The Recovery

Waking up was a slow, painful process. The first thing Izuku noticed was the smell of antiseptic. The second was the throbbing in his hands.

He opened his eyes. He was in a temporary medical tent set up outside the exam grounds. An old woman with a syringe-cane was hovering over him.

"You reckless child," Recovery Girl clicked her tongue. She kissed his forehead. A wave of exhaustion washed over him as his stamina was converted to healing energy.

"My hands..." Izuku rasped.

"Second-degree burns," she scolded. "And burst eardrums, though I’ve fixed those already. You have a powerful quirk, sonny, but your body isn't built to withstand that kind of output. You blew a twenty-foot crater in the street!"

Izuku sat up, wincing. His hands were heavily bandaged, looking like white boxing gloves.

"Did... did the girl pass?" Izuku asked.

"She's fine," Recovery Girl sighed. "Just a twisted ankle. She's been asking about you."

Izuku slumped back onto the cot. I got zero points in the last ten minutes. I wasted my time on the Zero Pointer. I failed.

The curtain to the tent parted. A skinny, skeletal figure stepped in.

"All Might..." Izuku whispered.

Toshinori looked at the bandaged boy. He looked at the medical chart.

"You were reckless," Toshinori said softly.

"I know."

"You ignored the objective."

"I know."

"You risked permanent injury to your hands."

"I had to," Izuku said, looking at his bandages. "She was going to die. I couldn't just leave her."

Toshinori pulled up a chair. A small smile played on his lips.

"That robot... the Zero Pointer. Do you know why we include it? It’s not just to scare people."

Izuku looked up.

"It’s a test of character. A villain that offers no reward for defeating it. A threat that encourages self-preservation. Most people run. It’s the logical choice."

All Might leaned forward.

"But a Hero doesn't always make the logical choice. A Hero moves when their body tells them to run. You didn't use the power I gave you. You used your own power, the one you hated, the one you feared... and you used it to save a life."

All Might reached into his pocket and pulled out a holographic projector. He placed it on the bed.

"The results will be mailed in a week. But I couldn't wait that long to tell you."

The hologram flickered to life. It showed the scoreboard.

Midoriya Izuku.

Villain Points: 28.

Rescue Points: 60.

Izuku’s eyes widened. "Rescue... points?"

"A hidden metric," All Might explained. "For acts of selflessness. You saved Uraraka Ochako. And in doing so, you demonstrated the most important quality of a hero."

Toshinori stood up, placing a hand on Izuku’s shoulder.

"You passed, Izuku Midoriya. Welcome to your Hero Academia."

Izuku stared at the hologram. Tears welled up in his eyes, soaking into the bandages as he wiped his face. For the first time, the ringing in his ears was gone. All he could hear was the future.

And it sounded explosive.

The uniform of U.A. High School was a heavy thing. Not in weight—the grey blazer and dark trousers were made of a breathable, high-quality fabric that felt lighter than his old gakuran—but in significance. It was a mantle. It was a target.

Izuku Midoriya adjusted his red tie for the tenth time in the reflection of the train window. He looked at his hands. Even covered by the pristine white dress gloves he’d adopted to hide his scars and prevent accidental activation, they trembled.

“You can be a hero.”

All Might’s words from ten months ago still echoed in the hollows of his mind, competing with the persistent, high-pitched tinnitus that had become his constant companion since the entrance exam.

He flexed his fingers. The burns from the Zero Pointer incident had healed thanks to Recovery Girl, leaving behind a web of shiny, pinkish tissue on his palms and fingertips. They were sensitive to heat now. If he drank tea that was too hot, it felt like holding a live coal.

It doesn’t matter, Izuku thought, stepping off the train and merging with the stream of students. I made it. I’m here.

The massive gates of U.A. loomed ahead, a fortress of glass and steel shaped like an ‘H’. It was ridiculous. It was grandiose. It was perfect.

Izuku navigated the halls, checking the map on his phone. Class 1-A. The hero course. The elite.

He found the door. It was enormous, easily three meters tall, designed to accommodate students with mutation quirks. He stood before it, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Okay. Breath in. Breath out. Just don't make a scene. Don't be weird. And for the love of All Might, don't blow anything up.

He slid the door open.

"Don't put your feet on the desk!"

"Huh?"

"It's disrespectful to the upperclassmen and the people who made the desk!"

"Joke's on you, four-eyes. I destroyed the desk at my old school. Who cares?"

Izuku froze. The voices were familiar. Too familiar.

Inside, Tenya Iida—the tall, bespectacled boy from the exam—was chopping his hands robotically at Katsuki Bakugo. Bakugo, looking as relaxed as a slumbering tiger, had his feet propped up on the desk, a sneer plastered on his face.

Of course, Izuku thought, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. Kacchan passed. I knew he would.

Bakugo’s eyes shifted. He saw Izuku standing in the doorway. The sneer didn't vanish; it sharpened into something predatory. The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"Deku," Bakugo growled.

The chatter in the room died down. Everyone looked at the door.

"Oh! It's the curly-haired boy!"

Izuku turned to see the brown-haired girl—Uraraka—beaming at him. "You found the class! I was hoping you'd be here! That punch you did on the giant robot was amazing! You were like—BOOM! And then the ground went CRASH!"

She mimed an explosion with her hands, unaware of the irony.

"I... uh... thanks," Izuku stammered, blushing furiously. "I really... uh... thanks for speaking to me!"

"If you're here to make friends, you can pack up and leave."

The voice came from the floor.

Izuku looked down. Lying in the doorway, wrapped in a bright yellow sleeping bag like a monolithic caterpillar, was a man. He had messy black hair, tired eyes, and stubble that suggested he hadn't slept in a week. He sucked on a pouch of fruit jelly with the enthusiasm of a corpse.

"This is the hero course," the man mumbled, unzipping the sleeping bag and standing up. He was wearing a black jumpsuit and a strange, grey scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. "It took you eight seconds to quiet down. Time is limited. You kids aren't rational enough."

He stared at the class with dead, dry eyes.

"I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa."

Homeroom teacher?! The class collectively thought. He looks like a homeless person!

"Right, let's get to it," Aizawa said, reaching into his sleeping bag and pulling out a blue gym uniform. "Put these on and meet me on the grounds."

The changing room was filled with the sounds of zippers and locker doors slamming. The boys of Class 1-A were sizing each other up.

"Man, I'm pumped!" a redhead with sharp teeth—Kirishima—said, punching the air. "I wonder what kind of ceremony we'll have? U.A. usually goes big, right?"

"Indeed," Iida nodded, buttoning his shirt with precision. "It is a prestigious institution. The orientation will likely outline our curriculum."

Izuku pulled on his tracksuit pants, his back turned to the others. He carefully peeled off his white dress gloves and replaced them with his heavy-duty support gear—black, fingerless tactical gloves with reinforced palms and wrist braces.

"Whoa, heavy gear," a blond boy with a black lightning bolt in his hair—Kaminari—noted, looking at Izuku’s hands. "What's with the Robo-Cop gloves?"

Izuku flinched. "Oh, these? They're... uh... recoil dampeners. My quirk creates a lot of kickback."

"Like an emitter?" Sero asked, his elbows looking like tape dispensers. "Cool. I'm Sero. My elbows shoot tape. It's weird, I know."

"I'm Midoriya," Izuku smiled nervously. "And... yeah. Emitter. Sort of."

From the corner of the room, Bakugo slammed his locker shut. The metal groaned under the force. He didn't say a word, but his glare burned into the back of Izuku's head.

He's watching me, Izuku realized. He still doesn't believe I have a quirk. Or he thinks I stole it. Or he thinks I'm mocking him.

They filed out to the field. Under the bright sun, Aizawa stood waiting, a tablet in his hand.

"A quirk assessment test?" the class shouted in unison.

"What about the entrance ceremony? The guidance counselor meeting?" Uraraka asked.

"If you want to be a hero, you don't have time for such leisurely events," Aizawa said, his voice flat. "U.A.'s selling point is freedom of style. That applies to the teachers as well."

He turned to face them, his hair falling over his eyes.

"Softball throw. Standing long jump. 50-meter dash. Endurance running. Grip strength. Upper-body training. Seated toe-touch. You did all these in middle school, right? But you were prohibited from using your quirks."

Aizawa held up a softball.

"The country still insists on prohibiting quirks when calculating the average of records. It's not rational. The Ministry of Education is procrastinating."

He looked at Bakugo.

"Bakugo, you finished first in the practical exam, right?"

Bakugo scowled. "Yeah."

"In junior high, what was your best result for the softball throw?"

"67 meters."

"Try doing it with your quirk."

Bakugo stepped into the circle. He stretched his arms, a feral grin spreading across his face.

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

Bakugo wound up. "You asked for it..."

He threw the ball, and at the moment it left his fingertips, he unleashed a massive explosion.

"DIE!"

BOOM.

The ball rocketed into the sky, propelled by a blast of fire and smoke. It vanished into the clouds.

"Die?" Izuku muttered.

Aizawa checked his tablet. "Know your own maximum first." He turned the screen to the class.

705.2 meters.

"That is the most rational form of the foundation of a hero."

The class erupted.

"705 meters?! Are you kidding me?" Kaminari shouted.

"This looks like fun!" Ashido cheered.

"We can use our quirks as much as we want! Awesome!" Sero added.

Izuku stared at the number. Over 700 meters. That’s insane. Kacchan really is amazing.

"Fun, huh?" Aizawa’s voice cut through the excitement like a knife. "You have three years to become a hero. Will you have an attitude like that the whole time?"

He lowered the tablet. A shadow seemed to fall over his face.

"All right. Whoever comes in last place in all eight tests will be judged to have no potential... and will be punished with expulsion."

The silence was instant and heavy.

"Expulsion?!" Uraraka cried. "But it's the first day! That's too unreasonable!"

"Natural disasters, big accidents, and selfish villains," Aizawa listed, brushing his hair back. "Calamities whose time or place can't be predicted. Japan is covered with unfairness. Heroes are the ones who reverse those situations. If you wanted to go talk to your friends at Mickey D's after school, you're out of luck. For the next three years, U.A. will do all it can to give you one hardship after another."

He grinned, a terrifying expression that didn't reach his eyes.

"Go beyond. Plus Ultra. Overcome it with all you've got."

Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked at his hands. Last place gets expelled. I can't be last. I have to control this power. I have to use it without breaking myself.

Test 1: 50-Meter Dash

The track was straight and clean.

"On your mark..."

Iida stood next to a girl with a frog-like appearance, Tsuyu Asui.

BANG.

Iida’s engines roared. He crossed the line in 3.04 seconds.

"Like a fish in water," the machine announced for Asui at 5.58 seconds.

"Next group!"

Izuku stepped up to the line. His opponent was Ojiro, the boy with the tail.

How do I use Contact Charge here? Izuku thought rapidly. I can't blast the ground behind me like Kacchan; I’d tear up the track and probably get disqualified for damaging school property. I can’t fly.

He recalled his training at the beach. Micro-dosing. Small, controlled bursts.

"Ready..."

Izuku crouched low, digging the toes of his boots into the starting block. He channeled a tiny amount of energy into the soles of his shoes. Not enough to shatter the block, but enough to create a kinetic shove.

Start.

Pop.

A small, muffled explosion sounded under his feet. It wasn't flight, but it was a boost. He shot forward faster than a normal sprinter, but the recoil jarred his ankles. He couldn't maintain it for every step without tripping. He had to rely on his physical conditioning.

He pumped his arms, his breath hitching.

"5.51 seconds!" the robot announced as he crossed the line.

Ojiro finished in 5.49.

Close, Izuku panted, rubbing his ankles. Faster than my middle school record of 7.02, but nowhere near Iida or Kacchan.

Bakugo ran his heat using explosions to propel himself, crossing in 4.13 seconds. He shot a look at Izuku. "Still slow, Deku."

Test 2: Grip Strength

Izuku held the device. If I use my quirk, I’ll just blow the handle off.

He squeezed with raw muscle.

56 kg.

"Whoa! 540 kilograms?!" Sero shouted.

Everyone looked at Shoji, the multi-armed student.

"That's like a gorilla!" Mineta squeaked.

Izuku sighed. Average. I’m just average.

Test 3: Standing Long Jump

This was it. Izuku stood at the edge of the sandpit.

Propulsion.

He remembered the night in his backyard. The laundry line disaster.

He crouched. He touched his knees, charging the fabric of his pants with kinetic energy, and then touched the heels of his boots.

Timing.

He jumped. Mid-air, he snapped his fingers.

BANG.

The energy in his heels detonated against the air pressure—no, that wouldn't work. He had to push off something solid. He had miscalculated. He had to detonate against the launch board.

He stumbled in his thought process, panicked, and released the energy just as his feet left the ground.

The blast was messy. It propelled him forward, flailing like a ragdoll. He cleared the sandbox entirely, tumbling into the grass on the other side.

"Whoa!" Kaminari laughed. "Graceful!"

Izuku spat out a mouthful of grass. That was ugly. But I cleared the distance.

Bakugo cleared it by flying over the whole pit, looking bored.

Test 4: Repeated Side Steps

Mineta was the king of this, bouncing off his grape balls. Izuku relied on his agility. He did well, but again, nothing flashy.

By the time the fifth test arrived—the Ball Throw—Izuku was sweating. He was doing okay. He wasn't failing, but he wasn't standing out. And in a class of monsters, "okay" felt like drowning.

Uraraka stepped up. She threw the ball.

Infinity.

"Infinity?!" the class screamed.

"That's insane!"

Izuku felt his stomach drop. Everyone is amazing. Iida’s speed. Shoji’s strength. Uraraka’s gravity. And Kacchan’s... everything.

"Midoriya," Aizawa called out. "You're up."

Izuku walked to the circle. The ball felt heavy in his hand.

He stood there, staring at the field.

If I throw it normally, I’ll get maybe 40 meters. If I use my quirk...

He remembered the entrance exam. The shattered arm. The broken fingers.

I have to hold back. But if I hold back too much, the ball won't go anywhere.

He looked at Aizawa. The teacher was watching him with intense, almost predatory focus.

He’s waiting for me to fail. Or he’s waiting for me to break my arm again.

Izuku took a deep breath. One For All is too much right now. I can’t control it. I have to use Contact Charge. But I can’t just blow up the ball.

He gripped the ball tight.

Think. Physics. Project Orion. The theory that you can propel a spacecraft by detonating nuclear bombs behind it.

He couldn't use a nuke. But he could use a kinetic pulse.

He wound up his arm. He activated his quirk, pouring energy into the ball. Not into the core, but into the surface resting against his palm. A delayed charge.

Fuse: 0.5 seconds after release.

"Smash...!" Izuku muttered, swinging his arm.

He threw it.

But just as the ball left his fingertips, the energy vanished. The red glow in his veins died out.

The ball flew a pathetic 46 meters.

"Huh?" Izuku blinked. I tried to use it... why didn't it trigger?

He looked at his hand. It wasn't burnt. It felt... empty.

"I erased your quirk."

Izuku turned around.

Aizawa stood there, his scarf floating in the air as if defying gravity. His hair was standing on end. And his eyes... his eyes were glowing red.

"That entrance exam," Aizawa said, his voice low and dangerous. "It was definitely not rational. You shattered a street to stop a robot. You destroyed your own body to do it."

Aizawa walked closer, the scarf lowering slightly.

"You have a powerful quirk, Midoriya. But it is a quirk of pure destruction. You are like a cannon that fires once and then breaks apart. Do you intend to become incapacitated after saving one person? Who will save you then?"

"I..." Izuku stammered. "I didn't intend to break..."

"Intentions don't matter. Results do." Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. "There was a hero once who was all about self-sacrifice. He’s a legend. But you? You’re just a liability with a bomb strapped to your chest."

Aizawa blinked. The red glow faded. His hair fell back down.

"I've returned your quirk. You have two tries for the ball throw. Hurry up and get it over with."

Izuku stood frozen. The words stung. Liability. Bomb. Breaks apart.

He looked at Bakugo, who was watching with a mix of confusion and irritation. He looked at All Might—who he knew was hiding around the corner, watching.

Aizawa-sensei is right. If I break my arm, I fail. If I destroy the ball, I fail.

But I am not just a bomb.

Izuku picked up the ball again. He walked back to the circle.

Don't break the arm. Focus the power. Shape the blast.

He didn't need to put the power into his arm muscles. He needed to put the power into the projectile.

He held the ball with his fingertips, like a pitcher throwing a fastball.

Contact Charge. infuse the rear hemisphere of the ball. Kinetic barrier on the front to prevent shattering.

He felt the heat rise. His tinnitus spiked. Eeeeeeeee.

He whipped his arm forward. He didn't use One For All. He used the whip-like motion of his hip and shoulder.

"Go!"

The ball left his hand.

At the exact moment of release, Izuku snapped his fingers.

KRA-KOOM.

It wasn't a fire. It was a kinetic shockwave.

The air behind the ball detonated. A visible ring of white pressure expanded from his fingertips. The force slammed into the back of the ball, which was already charged to accept the kinetic transfer.

The ball didn't just fly; it vanished. It broke the sound barrier with a sharp CRACK that echoed off the school buildings. A streak of displaced air tore through the sky, parting the clouds above the field.

Izuku stumbled back from the recoil, his heels digging into the dirt. His right hand was smoking. The glove was singed, and his fingers throbbed with a dull, hot pain. But they weren't broken.

He clutched his wrist, his chest heaving.

I did it. The Orion Drive throw. External propulsion.

The machine in Aizawa’s hand beeped.

Aizawa looked at the screen. His eyebrows twitched—a microscopic sign of surprise. He turned the screen to the class.

705.3 meters.

0.1 meters further than Bakugo.

Izuku turned to Aizawa, clutching his smoking hand. He forced a shaky smile, sweat dripping down his nose.

"Sensei..." Izuku panted. "I... I can still move."

Aizawa stared at him. The "problem child" hadn't broken his bones. He had adapted. He had used the destructive force as a propellant, controlling the yield just enough to outdo the top student without vaporizing the ball.

"Ho..." Aizawa’s lips curled into a terrifying grin. "This kid..."

"WHAT?!"

The scream was primal.

Izuku flinched as Katsuki Bakugo exploded forward. Small blasts popped in his palms as he sprinted across the field.

"DEKU! YOU BASTARD!"

Bakugo’s eyes were white with rage. Veins bulged in his forehead.

"Since when can you do that?! You said you had a contact quirk! You said you had to touch things to blow them up! How did you shoot it?! Explain yourself, you damn nerd!"

Izuku took a step back, terrified. "K-Kacchan! I—"

"Don't lie to me!" Bakugo raised a hand, sparks flying. "You've been hiding this? You've been laughing at me this whole time?!"

He was fast. Too fast. He was going to reach Izuku in a second.

I have to defend myself! Izuku raised his hands.

Suddenly, the scarf lashed out.

It wrapped around Bakugo’s torso, arms, and neck, binding him tight. Bakugo struggled, his explosions dying out instantly.

"Nggh! What is this cloth? It's stiff!" Bakugo roared.

"It's a capture weapon made of carbon fiber woven with metal wire of a special alloy," Aizawa muttered, holding the other end of the scarf. His hair was up again. His eyes were red.

"Jeez... don't make me use my quirk so much. I have dry eye."

"Dry eye?" The class whispered. That's too normal!

Aizawa glared at Bakugo. "We're wasting time. Whoever is next, get ready."

He released Bakugo. The blond boy stumbled, rubbing his neck. He glared at Izuku with a hatred so intense it felt like physical heat. But he didn't attack again. He just seethed.

705.3 meters, Bakugo thought, his hands shaking. He beat me. The pebble... the useless, quirkless pebble... he beat me.

Izuku hurried back to the group, cradling his hand.

"Midoriya!" Uraraka cheered. "That was incredible! You beat Bakugo's record!"

"That finger snap was so cool!" Kaminari added. "It was like snap and then boom!"

"Your finger looks swollen," Iida noted, pointing at Izuku’s hand. "You should have that looked at."

"I'm fine," Izuku said quietly. He looked over at Bakugo, who was standing alone, radiating menace.

He hates me more now, Izuku realized. Before, I was a bug. Now... now I'm a threat.

Test 6: Sit-Ups

Izuku did well, his core strength from beach cleaning shining through.

Test 7: Seated Toe-Touch

Average flexibility.

Test 8: Long Distance Run

This was grueling. Izuku couldn't use his quirk for sustained running—the recoil would shatter his knees. He relied on stamina. He finished in the middle of the pack, while Momo Yaoyorozu created a scooter and breezed past everyone.

The Results

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field. The class gathered around Aizawa.

"Okay, I'll quickly tell you the results," Aizawa said. "The total is simply the marks you got from each test. It's a waste of time to explain verbally, so I'll show you the rankings."

He pressed a button on the remote. A hologram appeared.

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. Please don't be last. Please don't be last.

He opened one eye.

1.  Momo Yaoyorozu

2.  Shoto Todoroki

3.  Katsuki Bakugo

4.  Tenya Iida

...

8. Izuku Midoriya

...

20. Minoru Mineta

Izuku let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for an hour. Eighth. I’m eighth.

He looked at the bottom of the list. Mineta, the small boy with the grape balls, was shaking, tears streaming down his face.

"By the way," Aizawa said, turning off the hologram. "I was lying about the expulsion."

"Huh?"

The class froze.

Aizawa grinned, a wide, creepy smile. "It was a logical ruse to draw out the upper limits of your quirks."

"WHAAAAAAAT?!" the class screamed.

"Of course it was a lie," Yaoyorozu sighed, hand on her chest. "It was obvious if you thought about it."

"I didn't think it was obvious!" Kaminari cried.

"That was a little scary," Sero admitted.

Izuku looked at Aizawa. The man was walking away, scratching the back of his neck.

Was it a lie? Izuku wondered. His eyes... when he threatened me... that didn't feel like a lie. If I hadn't thrown that ball... if I had broken my arm and gotten a low score... I think he really would have sent me home.

"Midoriya!"

Izuku turned. Uraraka and Iida were walking toward him.

"That was nerve-wracking, huh?" Uraraka smiled. "But you did great! Eighth place!"

"Indeed," Iida nodded. "Your control over such a high-yield quirk is impressive, though risky. You have definitely proven your worthiness to be here."

"Thanks, guys," Izuku smiled.

As they walked toward the changing rooms, Izuku felt a gaze boring into him. He stopped and looked back.

Bakugo stood by the entrance. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't exploding. He was just watching.

Their eyes met.

“You’re a walking liability, Deku. You don’t save people. You break things.”

Izuku clenched his fist. The burn on his hand stung, a reminder of the power he held.

I broke the sound barrier today, Kacchan, Izuku thought. And I didn't break myself. I'm going to keep climbing. Watch me.

Bakugo turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the building.

The rivalry had shifted. It was no longer the bully and the victim. It was the bomber and the saboteur. The nuclear option and the precision strike.

And the war had just begun.

Omake: The Faculty Lounge

"You're a liar, Aizawa."

All Might stood in the corner of the staff room, still in his hero form, though he looked ready to deflate.

Aizawa sat at his desk, putting in eye drops. "All Might. You were watching."

"You intended to expel him," All Might said. "If he hadn't figured out how to regulate his output... you would have cut him."

"He has zero control over the full extent of his power," Aizawa said flatly. "A hero who hurts himself to save others is just a suicide mission waiting to happen. I don't want to watch a student kill themselves on my watch."

Aizawa capped the eye drops and leaned back.

"But... he adapted. He didn't use brute force. He used physics. He turned a contact explosive into a propulsion system. That shows intellect. It shows he can think under pressure."

Aizawa looked at the file on his desk. Midoriya Izuku. Quirk: Contact Charge.

"Also," Aizawa muttered, "he's got guts. Being the underdog against Bakugo... that creates friction. And friction creates growth."

All Might smiled. "So you see the potential?"

"He's still a problem child," Aizawa grunted, zipping up his sleeping bag. "But he's not a hopeless one. Yet."

The changing room was thick with the scent of new leather and nervous perspiration. The lockers, usually a mundane grey, were today the gateways to transformation.

Izuku Midoriya stood before his open locker, staring at the dark green fabric hanging there. His costume.

It wasn't the flashy, cape-adorned suit he had sketched in his notebooks as a child. That dream belonged to a boy who thought he would punch the sky and smile. The boy who stood here now, hands scarred and ears ringing, needed something practical. Something that could contain a walking disaster.

He pulled on the bodysuit. It was a dark, forest green, made of a ballistic weave resistant to heat and impact. On his knees and elbows were heavy, black armored pads. His belt was utilitarian, filled with pouches for first aid, water, and—at his request—small, throwable objects like ball bearings and metal discs.

But the most important piece was the gauntlets.

Designed by a support company based on his vague sketches (and heavily modified by a frantic, genius girl named Hatsume he’d met online), the bracers were bulky, extending from his knuckles to his elbows. They were a matte black metal with vents along the sides. Inside, a gel layer cushioned his skin, and a mechanism helped disperse the recoil of his explosions back into his shoulders rather than shattering his wrists.

He pulled them on. Click. Hiss. The vents opened and closed as he flexed his fingers.

"Whoa, Midoriya!"

Izuku turned. Eijiro Kirishima stood there, shirtless, showing off a jagged, gear-like shoulder pad. "That look is intense! You look like a spec-ops soldier or something!"

"It’s... uh... practical," Izuku stammered, adjusting his respirator mask. It was a metal guard that covered his nose and mouth, filtering out smoke and dust—essential for someone whose quirk created debris. "My quirk makes a lot of dust. And noise."

"Man, I wish I had something flashy," Kirishima lamented. "My Hardening is strong, but it's kinda boring to look at."

"I think it's cool," Izuku said honestly. "It's reliable. Reliability saves lives."

"Reliability, huh?" Kirishima grinned, showing sharp teeth. "I like that! I'm counting on you, Bomber-man!"

Izuku flinched at the nickname but managed a weak smile. He closed his locker.

Across the room, Katsuki Bakugo was silent. His costume was a statement of aggression—massive, grenade-shaped gauntlets, a black tank top, and an explosion of spikes behind his head. He didn't look at Izuku. He was focused, vibrating with a silent, terrifying intensity.

He’s waiting, Izuku thought. He’s waiting to prove that the ball throw was a fluke.

"I AM HERE!"

The voice boomed through the tunnel, echoing off the concrete walls.

"COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A HERO!"

All Might marched into the observation room, his cape flowing in a non-existent wind. The class gasped in awe. The Symbol of Peace, in the flesh, teaching Battle Training.

"WELCOME TO THE MOST IMPORTANT CLASS OF YOUR LIVES!" All Might announced, striking a pose. "HERE, YOU WILL LEARN THE BASICS OF BEING A HERO THROUGH TRIAL BY FIRE! LITERALLY, IN SOME CASES!"

He pulled out a small box. "NO TIME TO DALLY! WE’RE DOING INDOOR BATTLE TRIALS! TWO TEAMS! HEROES VS. VILLAINS!"

The explanation was simple. The villains guarded a nuclear weapon (a papier-mâché bomb) on a designated floor. The heroes had to capture the villains or secure the weapon within the time limit.

"TEAMS WILL BE DECIDED BY LOTTERY!" All Might shouted, shaking the box.

Izuku watched the screen as names popped up.

Team A (Heroes): Izuku Midoriya & Ochako Uraraka.

Team D (Villains): Katsuki Bakugo & Tenya Iida.

Izuku felt the blood drain from his face.

Of course, he thought, a cold knot forming in his stomach. It had to be him.

Across the room, Bakugo turned. His red eyes locked onto Izuku’s mask. He grinned—a feral, hungry expression. He mouthed one word.

Die.

The Planning Phase

The building was a five-story concrete structure. It was cold, grey, and filled with blind corners.

Izuku and Uraraka stood outside the blueprint map on the ground floor.

"So, we're up against Bakugo and Iida," Uraraka said, tightening her gloves. She looked determined, but nervous. "Bakugo is... scary. And Iida is really fast."

"Iida will likely stay with the weapon," Izuku murmured, his eyes scanning the blueprints. "He's serious and plays by the rules. He’ll fortify the room. Bakugo... won't."

"He won't?"

"No," Izuku said, touching the wall of the building. "He’ll come for me. He doesn't care about the weapon. He cares about crushing me. He wants to prove that my quirk is inferior."

Izuku looked at his hands. The heavy gauntlets felt like anchors.

"Uraraka-san, I can't beat him in a fistfight. His explosions are ranged, faster, and he has better instincts. If I try to punch him, he’ll blast me before I connect."

"So what do we do?" Uraraka asked.

Izuku took a deep breath. His eyes shifted from fearful to calculating.

"We stop playing like heroes. We play like saboteurs."

He pointed to the map.

"We split up. You head for the weapon room on the fifth floor. Use your Zero Gravity to move silently. I’ll draw his fire."

"You're going to fight him alone?" Uraraka looked worried.

"Not fight," Izuku corrected. "stall. My quirk isn't just about big explosions. It’s about Contact Charge. I can turn anything I touch into a trap."

He reached into his utility belt and pulled out a roll of capture tape.

"I’m going to turn this building into a minefield."

The Trial Begins

"START!" All Might’s voice crackled over the comms.

Izuku and Uraraka entered through a second-story window. The interior was dim, lit only by the sunlight filtering through dusty glass.

"Go," Izuku whispered.

Uraraka nodded. "Be careful, Deku-kun." She touched herself, floating lightly toward the ceiling, and drifted away toward the central stairwell.

Izuku waited. He stood in the middle of the hallway, listening.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy boots. Coming from the floor above. Not sneaking. Stomping.

"DEKU!"

The scream was followed by a blast. The ceiling directly above Izuku erupted. Concrete rained down as Bakugo dropped through the hole, smoke curling from his palms.

"I found you, you little stalker!" Bakugo roared, launching a right hook.

Izuku didn't block. He didn't counter. He dropped.

He slapped his hand onto the floor tiles beneath his feet.

Charge. Yield: 5%. Instant fuse.

BANG.

The floor didn't collapse, but the surface detonated upward. A cloud of dust and pulverized concrete sprayed into Bakugo’s face.

"Gah!" Bakugo recoiled, waving the dust away. "Cheap tricks!"

By the time the dust cleared, Izuku was gone.

"RUNNING AWAY?!" Bakugo screamed, blasting down the corridor. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!"

Izuku was around the corner, pressing his back against the wall. His heart was racing so fast it hurt.

He’s angry. Good. Anger makes him sloppy. It makes him tunnel vision.

Izuku looked at the door handle next to him. He gripped it.

Charge. Yield: 10%. Trigger: Contact.

He moved to the next door. Gripped the handle. Charge.

He moved down the hall, touching loose pipes, discarded chairs, and the metal railing of the stairs.

I am the minefield, Izuku repeated All Might's mantra in his head. Control the environment.

"COME OUT!" Bakugo turned the corner. He saw Izuku at the far end of the hall.

"There you are!" Bakugo propelled himself forward with a blast from his hands. He flew down the hallway, closing the distance in seconds.

Izuku stood his ground. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of ball bearings.

"Eat this!" Bakugo prepared a massive blast.

Izuku threw the bearings. Not at Bakugo, but at the walls around him.

Bakugo ignored them. "Pebbles? Seriously?"

Izuku snapped his fingers.

He hadn't charged the bearings. He had charged the air in his own palm before throwing them, infusing the kinetic energy into the throw itself, but that wasn't the trick. The trick was the railing Bakugo was flying past.

Izuku had charged the entire ten-foot section of the metal handrail.

KRA-KOOM.

The railing detonated sideways. The shockwave slammed into Bakugo mid-flight, knocking him off course. He crashed into the wall, tumbling across the floor.

"What the hell?" Bakugo growled, pushing himself up. "You blew up the railing?"

"I'm not fighting you, Kacchan," Izuku called out, his voice trembling but firm. "I'm stopping you."

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the hallway. It looked normal. But now, every shadow looked like a threat.

"You think traps will stop me?" Bakugo stood up, smoke rising from his shoulders. "I'll just blow up the whole damn hallway!"

He raised his gauntleted hand. He pulled the pin on the grenadier bracer.

Izuku’s eyes widened. "Wait! If you use that indoors, you'll compromise the structural integrity! You'll kill us both!"

"If you don't dodge, you'll die!" Bakugo grinned maniacally.

"YOUNG BAKUGO, STOP!" All Might’s voice cut through the comms. "ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM?!"

"He won't die if he dodges!"

Bakugo fired.

A massive torrent of fire and force erupted from the gauntlet. It filled the hallway, consuming everything. The heat was blistering.

Izuku didn't dodge. He couldn't outrun that.

He punched the wall next to him.

Contact Charge: Max Output.

He didn't aim for the explosion. He aimed for the wall separating him from the next room.

BOOM.

Izuku blew a hole in the wall and dove through it just as Bakugo’s blast incinerated the space where he had been standing. The shockwave threw him across the adjacent classroom. He rolled, crashing into a desk.

"Cough! Cough!" Izuku waved the smoke away. His left arm—the one he’d used to blast the wall—was throbbing. The gauntlet was scorching hot.

That was too close. He’s insane.

"Uraraka-san!" Izuku tapped his earpiece. "Status?"

"I'm at the weapon room!" Uraraka’s voice was shaky. "But Iida has cleared the room! There's nothing to float! He saw me!"

"Keep him busy," Izuku wheezed, getting to his feet. "I... I have to deal with Kacchan."

Through the hole in the wall, Bakugo walked in. The smoke swirled around him like a cape.

"You're slippery, Deku," Bakugo said, his voice dangerously calm now. "But you're out of tricks. No more traps. Just you and me."

Izuku stood up. He adjusted his gloves.

"You're right," Izuku said. "No more traps."

He raised his fists.

Bakugo charged.

The Climax

In the observation room, the class was silent.

"This is brutal," Kirishima muttered. "Bakugo is acting like a real villain."

"But Midoriya is handling it," Yaoyorozu noted, her eyes glued to the screen. "Look. He's not engaging. He's luring him."

"Luring him where?" Kaminari asked. "He's cornered."

"No," Todoroki spoke for the first time. "He's not cornered. He's positioning."

On the screen, Bakugo unleashed a barrage of explosions. Pop-pop-pop-BOOM.

Izuku was weaving. He was using small, concussive blasts on the floor to dodge, skating on the recoil. It was clumsy, desperate, but effective.

Bakugo swung a right hook. Izuku ducked.

Izuku slapped Bakugo’s chest—no, his costume.

Charge.

Bakugo swung his left. Izuku blocked with his gauntlet.

Contact.

"Stop running and fight me!" Bakugo screamed, grabbing Izuku’s shoulder. Here it was. The point-blank blast.

Izuku didn't pull away. He grabbed Bakugo’s wrist with both hands.

"I am fighting!" Izuku yelled.

He triggered the charges.

He hadn't charged Bakugo’s skin—that would be lethal. He had charged the grenade gauntlets on Bakugo’s arms.

SNAP.

The metal of Bakugo’s own gauntlets vibrated violently. The kinetic energy Izuku had infused into them disrupted the firing mechanism. A small, contained explosion occurred inside the mechanism.

Bakugo’s gauntlets hissed and sparked.

"What did you do?!" Bakugo shouted, trying to fire a blast. Nothing happened. The ignition spark was misaligned.

"Sabotage!" Izuku yelled.

He took advantage of Bakugo’s confusion. He crouched low and swept Bakugo’s leg. But Bakugo was a combat genius. He jumped over the sweep, using a small explosion from his palms (which were still functional) to flip over Izuku.

Bakugo landed behind him. He spun around, aiming a blast at Izuku’s back.

"You broke my gear?" Bakugo’s face was twisted. "Fine! I don't need the toys!"

He unleashed a massive explosion from his bare hands.

Izuku turned. He couldn't dodge.

Think. Think. Think.

Detroit Smash.

Izuku stepped into the blast. He raised his right arm.

Contact Charge: 100%.

He didn't punch Bakugo. He punched the explosion.

It was a principle of fluid dynamics. An explosion is expanding gas. If you introduce a counter-force of equal or greater pressure, you can deflect it.

Izuku’s fist met the fireball.

"SMASH!"

KBHHOOOOM.

The two explosions collided. The resulting shockwave was vertical. It tore through the ceiling of the third floor. Then the fourth. Then the fifth.

The entire building shook as a pillar of pressure drilled a hole straight up to the roof.

Izuku was thrown backward, sliding across the floor until he hit the wall. His right sleeve was disintegrated. His arm was red, blistered, and smoking. The gauntlet was shattered pieces of scrap metal.

Bakugo was blown back into the hallway, stunned.

On the fifth floor, the floor beneath Iida’s feet erupted.

"What in the world?!" Iida stumbled, looking at the massive hole that had just appeared.

Debris flew everywhere. Ideally, this would be the distraction.

"Uraraka! NOW!" Izuku screamed into the comms.

Uraraka, who had been holding onto a pillar to avoid being blown away, saw her chance. Iida was distracted by the hole in the floor.

She touched the pillar she was holding. "Release!"

Wait, no. She touched the debris.

"Home Run Comet!"

She grabbed a chunk of concrete that Izuku’s blast had launched upward. She swung it like a bat.

It hit the debris field, sending a shower of rocks at Iida.

"Recipro Burst!" Iida zoomed away to dodge the rocks.

But he moved away from the weapon.

Uraraka tapped herself. She floated over the hole, grabbed the papier-mâché bomb, and hugged it.

"Captured!" she squeaked.

"HERO TEAM... WINS!" All Might’s voice was filled with relief and awe.

The Aftermath

The silence in the building was heavy. The dust began to settle.

Izuku sat slumped against the wall of the third floor. He cradled his ruined right arm. The skin was angry and weeping, the burns severe. His ears were bleeding slightly.

"I won..." he whispered, though it didn't feel like a victory.

Bakugo walked back into the room through the smoke. He looked at Izuku. He looked at the hole in the ceiling. He looked at his own malfunctioning gauntlets.

He didn't scream. He didn't attack. He stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and shaking.

"You..." Bakugo’s voice cracked. "You aimed upward."

If Izuku had aimed that final blast forward, Bakugo would be dead. Or at least, permanently maimed.

Izuku looked up, sweat stinging his eyes. "I told you, Kacchan. I'm not trying to beat you. I'm trying to become a hero."

Bakugo stared at him. For the first time, he saw it. The sheer, overwhelming will. The refusal to stay down. The tactical mind that had dismantled his overwhelming power with nothing but traps and a single, desperate counter.

Bakugo grit his teeth. "Dammit," he whispered.

The Review

Class 1-A gathered in the observation room. The atmosphere was tense.

Izuku was absent—sent to the Nurse’s office immediately. Bakugo stood in the corner, silent.

"WELL!" All Might coughed. "DESPITE THE INJURIES, THE MVP OF THIS BATTLE WAS YOUNG IIDA!"

"Eh?" Iida blinked. "Me?"

"Yes!" All Might pointed. "BECAUSE HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO TRULY ADAPTED TO THE SCENARIO!"

"Wait, All Might-sensei," Tsuyu raised a hand. "Didn't Ochako and Midoriya win?"

"They did, kero," All Might nodded. "But let’s analyze."

Momo Yaoyorozu stepped forward. "Iida prepared the stronghold perfectly. Bakugo acted on a personal grudge and abandoned the objective. He also used lethal force indoors."

She turned to the screen showing the replay of Izuku’s fight.

"Midoriya... his strategy was effective, but terrifying. He rigged the hallway with explosives. He destroyed school property. He baited his opponent into a dangerous situation."

Momo adjusted her ponytail, looking troubled.

"He fights like a guerilla soldier," she said softly. "Sabotage. Ambush. Destruction of infrastructure. It’s effective against a villain, yes. But for a hero? It creates too much collateral damage. If that building had been unstable, he would have brought it down on top of them."

"And that final move," Kirishima added, looking uneasy. "He blew a hole through three floors. That’s... kind of scary."

Aizawa, who had been lurking in the back, stepped forward.

"Scary or not," Aizawa grumbled, "he won. He assessed that he couldn't beat Bakugo in a fair fight, so he made the fight unfair. That is rational."

He looked at Bakugo, who was staring at the floor.

"Bakugo. You have the strongest quirk in the class. But today, you were outsmarted by someone who broke his own arm to stop you. If you don't fix that temper, you'll never be a top hero. You'll just be a bully with a badge."

Bakugo didn't retort. He just clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

Recovery Girl's Office

"You are a menace!"

Recovery Girl bonked Izuku on the head with her cane. "I just fixed you up from the entrance exam! Now you come in with second-degree burns and micro-fractures in your radius!"

"I'm sorry," Izuku mumbled.

"And your hearing!" She sighed, healing him. "I can fix the eardrums, but the tinnitus might become chronic if you keep detonating things next to your head. You need better ear protection."

"I'll ask Hatsume for an upgrade," Izuku promised.

The door opened.

All Might squeezed into the small room. "YOUNG MIDORIYA!"

"All Might," Izuku smiled weakly.

"YOU DID IT! YOU WON!" All Might gave a thumbs up, then shrank down to Toshinori. "But... you really cut it close."

"I had to," Izuku said, looking at his healed arm. "Kacchan... he's amazing. His talent, his instincts. I had to use everything just to survive."

"You did more than survive," Toshinori said. "You broke his ego. That’s a heavy thing to break."

Toshinori sat down. "But Young Yaoyorozu was right. Your fighting style... it creates fear. When people see explosions, they get scared. You need to find a way to make your power reassuring."

"Reassuring explosions?" Izuku laughed dryly. "Is that even possible?"

"Fireworks," Toshinori smiled. "People love fireworks. Because they are controlled. Beautiful, even. You need to master that control."

Outside the School

The sun was setting. Izuku walked out of the main gate, his arm in a sling (just in case).

"Deku."

Izuku froze. Bakugo was waiting for him.

"Kacchan?"

Bakugo didn't turn around. He stared at the pavement.

"I lost," Bakugo said. The words sounded like they were being dragged out of his throat over broken glass. "In the ball throw. And in the battle."

He turned. His eyes were red, wet, and furious.

"But don't think this means you're better than me! I'm just getting started! I'm going to be the Number One Hero! I'll beat you, and I'll beat that half-and-half bastard, and I'll beat everyone!"

Tears streamed down Bakugo’s face, but his expression was pure determination.

"So don't you dare lose to anyone else, you nerd! Because I'm the one who's going to crush you!"

Bakugo spun around and marched away, wiping his eyes aggressively.

Izuku watched him go. A smile slowly spread across his face.

It wasn't the smile of a victim. It was the smile of a rival.

"I won't lose, Kacchan," Izuku whispered to the empty street. "I'll keep blowing past you."

He looked at his hand. He clenched it into a fist.

The Saboteur. The Walking Minefield. The Hero who breaks things to save people.

 Whatever they called him, he was here to stay.