What if deku had a T rex quirk thats so powerful that he literally makes every single trouble

 

 

 

 

To understand Izuku Midoriya, one must first understand the fundamental laws of physics.

 

Physics dictate that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. They dictate that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed. They dictate that a four-year-old boy, weighing roughly forty pounds, should not be capable of altering the atmospheric pressure of the Shizuoka Prefecture with a sneeze.

 

Unfortunately for the laws of physics, Izuku Midoriya’s Quirk did not care about them.

 

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The Midoriya household was a portrait of domestic tranquility. Four-year-old Izuku was sitting on the living room rug, passionately mashing an All Might action figure against a villain action figure. His mother, Inko, was in the kitchen, humming a soft tune as she prepared katsudon for dinner. The scent of frying pork filled the air, warm and comforting.

 

Izuku felt a tickle in his nose.

 

He dropped his All Might figure. He rubbed his freckled nose with the back of his chubby hand. The tickle persisted, digging deep into his sinuses. He inhaled.

 

"Ah—"

 

Inko glanced over from the stove, a fond smile on her lips. "Bless you in advance, Izuku, sweetie."

 

"Ah—"

 

Suddenly, a blinding, emerald-green light engulfed the living room. Inko dropped her spatula. The light was so intense it cast stark, terrifying shadows against the floral wallpaper. Accompanying the light was a sound—a deep, guttural, subterranean rumbling that vibrated through the floorboards, rattling the teacups in the cupboards and causing the windows to groan in their frames.

 

The light faded in a microsecond, revealing that her four-year-old son was gone.

 

In his place sat a prehistoric monstrosity.

 

It was a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Or, at least, something that closely resembled one, scaled down to roughly the size of a family minivan, though it was rapidly expanding. It had forest-green scales that shimmered like polished emeralds, massive, muscular hind legs, a thick tail that had already accidentally crushed the coffee table into fine sawdust, and a comically oversized head with jaws that looked capable of snapping a bank vault in half.

 

The creature blinked its large, emerald eyes. It looked down at its tiny, two-fingered forelimbs. It looked at Inko.

 

Then, the sneeze finally arrived.

 

"CHOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

It wasn't a sound. It was a localized meteorological event.

 

The force of the air expelled from the green dinosaur’s nostrils hit the ceiling of their apartment. There was no resistance. There was no structural integrity that could withstand it. The ceiling simply ceased to be an obstacle.

 

With a deafening CRACK-BOOM, the entire roof of the Midoriya apartment complex was violently liberated from the rest of the building. It shot straight up into the sky like a rocket, spinning gracefully into the stratosphere, leaving the apartment completely open to the blue sky above. Pigeons miles away were blown off their perches. A local weather station reported a sudden, inexplicable Category 5 hurricane that lasted for exactly one-tenth of a second.

 

Silence descended upon the roofless apartment. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

 

The green T-Rex sniffled, rubbed its massive snout with its tiny arm, and then, in another flash of light, reverted back into a four-year-old boy.

 

Izuku looked up at the sky, where his ceiling used to be, then looked at his mother.

 

"Mommy," Izuku said, his voice completely normal. "I think I got my Quirk."

 

Inko Midoriya looked at the sky. She looked at the sawdust that used to be a coffee table. She looked at her son, who was completely unharmed, sitting in the epicenter of ground zero.

 

She fainted straight onto the kitchen linoleum.

 

 

 

Doctor Tsubasa was a man who had seen it all. He had seen kids who could breathe fire, kids who could pull their eyeballs out of their sockets, and kids who were literally just anthropomorphic bicycles. But he had never seen an x-ray quite like the one currently displayed on his lightboard.

 

He took off his thick glasses, rubbed his eyes, put the glasses back on, and stared at the film again.

 

"Well, Mrs. Midoriya," the doctor said, his voice trembling slightly. He looked at Inko, who was sipping nervously from a paper cup of water, and then at Izuku, who was happily swinging his legs on the examination table, reading a superhero comic.

 

"Does he have a Quirk, Doctor?" Inko asked, her voice barely a whisper. She was still traumatized by the impromptu skylight in her living room.

 

"Mrs. Midoriya, to say your son has a Quirk is like saying the Pacific Ocean is somewhat damp," Dr. Tsubasa said, gesturing wildly to the x-ray. "I don't even know how to classify this. It’s a Transformation/Mutation hybrid. I’m calling it 'Apex T-Rex'."

 

"A T-Rex?" Inko asked. "Like the dinosaur?"

 

"Yes, but no," the doctor said, sweating profusely. "Normally, animal-transformation Quirks scale the animal's natural abilities to human proportions. If someone turns into a bear, they get the strength of a bear. Your son... your son’s Quirk has taken the concept of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, stripped away all biological limitations, and multiplied its stats by a factor of... well, infinity."

 

Dr. Tsubasa pointed a trembling pen at Izuku's skeletal x-ray. "Look at this bone density. The machine almost broke trying to penetrate his arm. His bones are roughly as dense as a dying neutron star. His cellular regeneration is instantaneous. His muscle fibers are tighter than carbon nanotubes. If I tried to give him a shot right now, the needle would shatter, the syringe would explode, and I would probably break my wrist."

 

Izuku looked up from his comic. "Does that mean I can be a hero, Doctor?"

 

Dr. Tsubasa stared at the boy. "Son, you could walk into a volcano, drink the magma, and complain that it needed salt. Yes. You can be a hero. In fact, I pity the fool who tries to be a villain in whatever city you choose to live in."

 

From that day forward, Izuku Midoriya's life changed. But not in the way one might expect.

 

When a child discovers they have a powerful Quirk, they usually become arrogant, boisterous, or eager to show off. But for Izuku, the realization of his power brought a profound, inescapable sense of melancholy.

 

By the time he was ten years old, Izuku had realized a horrifying truth: Nothing could hurt him.

 

And consequently, nothing was exciting.

 

He loved heroes. He worshipped All Might. He kept meticulous notebooks on hero strategies, villain Quirks, and combat tactics. But his notebooks weren't written so he could figure out how to defeat villains.

 

They were written so he could figure out how to defeat villains without accidentally turning them into pink mist.

 

His daily life was an exercise in extreme, agonizing restraint. If he stubbed his toe on a doorframe, the entire wall would collapse. If he hugged his mother too tightly, he risked shattering her spine. If he got a papercut, the paper would instantly dull and disintegrate against his impenetrable skin.

 

He didn't even need to transform into the giant green T-Rex to access his power. His human form retained the passive durability and strength of the beast. He was a god trapped in the body of a freckled, perpetually tired middle schooler.

 

And then, there was Katsuki Bakugo.

 

 

 

Aldera Junior High was, for all intents and purposes, a thoroughly average school. But for Katsuki Bakugo, it was his kingdom. He was the alpha, the star pupil, the undisputed king with a flashy, powerful Explosion Quirk.

 

Bakugo believed he was the main character of reality.

 

Izuku, on the other hand, just wanted to get through the day without accidentally snapping his pencil in half for the fourth time.

 

It was a brisk Tuesday afternoon in their third year of middle school. The homeroom teacher, a balding man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, was standing at the front of the class with a stack of career aptitude tests.

 

"Since you're all third years, it's time for you to think seriously about your future," the teacher announced, holding up the papers before dramatically tossing them into the air. "But who am I kidding? You're all aiming for the hero course, right?!"

 

The classroom erupted. Students cheered, showing off their Quirks. Long fingers stretched, minor flames flickered, and one kid’s eyes bugged out of his head.

 

"Hey, teach!" a loud, arrogant voice cut through the noise.

 

Katsuki Bakugo leaned back in his chair, his feet resting on his desk, a smug smirk plastered across his face. "Don't lump me in with these bunch of losers. I'm the real deal. These guys will be lucky to end up as sidekicks to some busted D-lister."

 

The class broke into angry murmurs, but nobody dared challenge him. Bakugo's explosions were no joke.

 

"Ah, yes, Bakugo," the teacher said, glancing at a clipboard. "You're applying to U.A. High, aren't you?"

 

The class gasped. U.A. was the national academy. The acceptance rate was in the decimals.

 

Bakugo leaped onto his desk, basking in the shock and awe. "That's right! I aced the mock test! I'm the only one at this school who could possibly get in! I'll surpass All Might and become the top hero, and my name will be etched in gold!"

 

The teacher adjusted his glasses. "Oh, right. Midoriya is also applying to U.A."

 

The classroom fell completely, dead silent.

 

All eyes slowly turned to the back of the room. Izuku Midoriya was slumped over his desk, his cheek resting against the wood, staring blankly out the window at a cloud that looked vaguely like a pork cutlet. He blinked slowly, turning his head to look at the teacher.

 

"Hm?" Izuku hummed softly. "Oh. Yeah. U.A. Sounds okay, I guess."

 

Bakugo froze on his desk. The smug grin slid off his face, replaced by a twitching, rabid snarl. A vein bulged on his forehead, pulsing dangerously.

 

To the rest of the class, Izuku was a mystery. He was quiet, he never used his Quirk, and he always looked bored. But to Bakugo, Izuku was a walking, breathing insult to his existence. Bakugo had tried for years to establish dominance over Izuku.

 

It never worked.

 

"DEKU!" Bakugo roared, launching himself off his desk. He propelled himself through the air with a blast from his palms, soaring over the rows of desks until he landed squarely in front of Izuku.

 

Bakugo slammed his hands down onto Izuku’s desk.

 

BOOM!

 

A massive, fiery explosion engulfed the desk. Smoke filled the back of the classroom. The other students shrieked and ducked for cover. The teacher sighed, rubbing his temples, not even bothering to intervene.

 

The smoke slowly cleared.

 

Izuku’s desk was gone. It had been reduced to a pile of charred, smoldering splinters on the floor.

 

Izuku, however, was still sitting in his chair, in the exact same position, his cheek resting on his hand in mid-air where the desk used to be. His uniform—custom-ordered by his mother and woven with carbon-fiber and Kevlar just so it wouldn't rip when he stretched—didn't have a single scorch mark on it. Not a single green hair on his head was singed.

 

Izuku blinked. He looked down at his lap.

 

His favorite All Might mechanical pencil had been caught in the blast. It was melted into a sad, twisted piece of plastic.

 

Izuku let out a long, heavy sigh. The kind of sigh a middle-aged accountant makes when the printer jams at 4:55 PM on a Friday.

 

"Kacchan," Izuku said, his voice flat, devoid of any anger or fear. "That was my favorite pencil. I bought it at the merchandise store in Roppongi."

 

Bakugo’s hands were smoking. His eyes were wide with a mix of fury and deep, repressed terror. "Shut up! You think you can look down on me?! You think you can compete with me, Deku?! You don't even use your Quirk! You just stand there looking stupid!"

 

Izuku tilted his head. He looked at Bakugo’s smoking hands. "Your explosions are getting warmer, Kacchan. It felt like a nice summer breeze today. Very exfoliating for the pores. Good job."

 

Bakugo’s jaw dropped. A strange, strangled noise escaped his throat—a cross between a scream and a whimper. "Exfoliating...? I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL BLAST YOU INTO ASH!"

 

Bakugo pulled his arm back, sparking another massive explosion, aiming right for Izuku's face.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He just stared at Bakugo with dead, fish-like eyes. He slowly raised his left hand, holding up a single finger.

 

He didn't do anything. He just held the finger there.

 

Bakugo’s fist stopped an inch from Izuku’s face. His entire body trembled. Every primal instinct in Bakugo’s DNA—the lizard brain that kept his ancestors alive—was screaming at him. DO NOT STRIKE THE APEX PREDATOR. DO NOT ENGAGE. FLEE. FLEE. FLEE.

 

Bakugo swallowed hard. He slowly lowered his arm, his chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face.

 

"Whatever," Bakugo muttered, his voice cracking slightly. "You're... you're not worth my time, you damn nerd."

 

Bakugo turned around and marched stiffly back to his desk, looking like he was walking to the gallows. The rest of the class stared in awed, terrifying silence. Nobody understood the dynamic between the two, but everyone knew one thing: Midoriya was the only person on earth who could make Katsuki Bakugo back down without throwing a single punch.

 

Izuku sighed again, picking up the melted remains of his pencil. "Now I have to use a pen," he muttered. "I hate using pens. You can't erase."

 

He truly led a difficult life.

 

 

 

The school day finally ended, much to Izuku's relief. He grabbed his yellow backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and began the walk home.

 

The afternoon sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the pavement. Izuku walked with a slow, lethargic gait, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. His mind was miles away, contemplating the great mysteries of the universe.

 

Should I ask Mom to make pork cutlet bowls tonight? he thought. Or maybe hamburger steak? Hamburger steak sounds good. I hope we have that special sauce...

 

His route took him through a concrete underpass—a shortcut he usually took to avoid the crowded main streets. It was dim and echoed with the sound of his red sneakers scuffing against the pavement.

 

Clack. Clack. Clack.

 

As he reached the middle of the tunnel, a strange noise broke his train of thought. It sounded like wet mud slopping against the concrete, accompanied by a foul, sulfuric odor that smelled distinctly like an open sewer on a hot day.

 

Izuku stopped walking. He looked behind him.

 

Oozing out of a nearby manhole cover was a massive, undulating pile of dark green, viscous sludge. It bubbled and shifted, rising up to the ceiling of the underpass. Two massive, bulbous eyes formed in the muck, followed by a jagged mouth filled with rotting, yellowish teeth.

 

"A medium-sized meat shield!" the Sludge Villain gurgled, his voice a wet, echoing rasp. "Perfect! Just what I needed to hide from him!"

 

Izuku stared at the towering mass of living sewage. He didn't scream. He didn't take a fighting stance. He just looked mildly inconvenienced, like a man who had just realized he stepped in a puddle wearing fresh socks.

 

Gross, Izuku thought. That's going to ruin my uniform.

 

"Don't worry, kid," the Sludge Villain sneered, lunging forward like a tidal wave of mud. "It'll only hurt for about 45 seconds! Then, it'll all be over! You're my hero!"

 

The sludge crashed down upon Izuku, completely enveloping him in a sphere of thick, suffocating fluid. The villain laughed maniacally, forcing his liquid body down Izuku's throat, intending to hijack his body from the inside out.

 

For the first three seconds, the Sludge Villain was ecstatic. He had a hostage. He had a vessel. The number one hero, who had been chasing him all day, would never find him now.

 

But at the fourth second, the Sludge Villain realized something was horribly, terribly wrong.

 

When you hijack a human body, you expect to feel soft tissue. You expect to feel yielding muscles, fragile bones, and the desperate, struggling panic of a weak mammalian host.

 

The Sludge Villain felt none of that.

 

Trying to force his way into Izuku Midoriya’s mouth felt like trying to force wet toilet paper through a wall of solid, reinforced titanium. The boy’s skin wasn't skin; it felt like an impenetrable fortress. The villain pushed harder, pouring all of his strength into suffocating the boy.

 

Inside the sludge, Izuku opened his eyes. He wasn't choking. His lung capacity was so immense he could comfortably hold his breath for three weeks if he needed to.

 

He tasted the sludge. It tasted like rotten eggs, old gym socks, and stagnant river water.

 

Izuku frowned. Okay, that's disgusting.

 

Suddenly, the Sludge Villain felt the "hostage" move. It wasn't a struggle of panic. It was a slow, deliberate movement, driven by an overwhelming, unfathomable physical strength that completely disregarded the fluid pressure of the sludge.

 

Izuku raised his hand and wiped a bit of sludge away from his eyes.

 

"What the...?" the Sludge Villain gasped, his liquid body churning in confusion. "Why aren't you choking?! Let me in! Let me take over!"

 

Izuku closed his eyes. He took a deep breath—inhaling a massive chunk of the Sludge Villain in the process, which only confused the villain more—and activated his Quirk.

 

Apex T-Rex: Partial Transformation.

 

The Sludge Villain felt a sudden, violent shift in the mass of the boy he was trying to engulf. The boy's head began to expand, shifting, morphing, and growing at a terrifying speed. The soft, human skin hardened into dense, emerald-green scales. The human mouth extended outward, forming a massive, elongated snout. Rows of teeth—each one the size of a kitchen knife and sharper than a diamond-tipped saw—sprouted from the gums.

 

In a matter of milliseconds, the boy’s head had been replaced by the head of a monstrous, prehistoric apex predator, perfectly proportioned to swallow a compact car.

 

The Sludge Villain's bulbous eyes widened in absolute, soul-crushing horror.

 

"Wait... what are you—?!"

 

Izuku didn't give him time to finish.

 

The massive T-Rex jaws opened wide, unhinging slightly to accommodate the sheer volume of the villain. And then, with the force of a hydraulic press crushing a watermelon, the jaws snapped shut.

 

CHOMP.

 

The sound echoed through the underpass like a gunshot. Izuku’s jaws completely enveloped the main body of the Sludge Villain, scooping up his eyes, his mouth, and ninety percent of his liquid mass in a single, devastating bite.

 

Izuku tilted his massive, scaled head back, and swallowed.

 

Gulp.

 

The Sludge Villain slid down Izuku's esophagus. The villain tried to thrash, tried to expand, tried to burst out from the inside. But the walls of Izuku’s stomach were lined with muscles so dense they could withstand a nuclear blast. The villain found himself trapped in a dark, invincible cavern, completely immobilized by the sheer, crushing pressure of a digestive tract that was technically capable of digesting depleted uranium.

 

Oh god, the Sludge Villain thought, weeping liquid tears inside the stomach of a bored teenager. I'm in hell. This kid is hell.

 

Izuku shrunk his head back down to its normal, freckled human proportions. He wiped a bit of leftover sludge from his lip with the back of his hand, grimacing at the taste.

 

"Ugh," Izuku muttered, patting his stomach, which felt slightly bloated but otherwise fine. "I definitely need a mint."

 

He looked around the underpass. It was quiet again. The threat was neutralized. The epic battle of life and death had lasted exactly eight seconds.

 

Izuku sighed. He adjusted his backpack straps and continued his walk. He still needed to figure out what was for dinner.

 

He walked out of the underpass and into a small, nearby alleyway. He noticed an empty, two-liter plastic soda bottle sitting next to a recycling bin. He stopped, staring at the bottle.

 

Right, Izuku thought. I shouldn't digest him. That's probably illegal. And it might upset my stomach before Mom's cooking.

 

He bent down, picked up the empty soda bottle, and unscrewed the cap. He brought the rim of the bottle to his lips. He took a deep breath, flexing his diamond-hard abdominal muscles.

 

BURP.

 

It was a polite, quiet burp, but the force behind it was absolute.

 

A stream of concentrated, highly compressed green sludge shot out of Izuku's mouth like a fire hose, perfectly funneling straight into the two-liter bottle. The Sludge Villain poured into the plastic container, screaming soundlessly as he was packed tighter and tighter into the small space.

 

Within two seconds, Izuku had regurgitated the entire villain into the bottle. He quickly screwed the plastic cap back on tight.

 

He held the bottle up to the light. The Sludge Villain’s two eyes floated in the compressed muck, staring out at Izuku with a look of pure, unadulterated trauma. The villain was shivering.

 

"Sorry about that," Izuku said softly, giving the bottle a gentle shake. "It was dark in there."

 

Izuku turned to leave the alley, perfectly content to drop the bottle off at the nearest police box and go home to his pork cutlets.

 

But destiny, it seemed, had other plans.

 

Before Izuku could take a single step, the manhole cover in the center of the street a few yards away exploded upward into the air. A massive, towering figure erupted from the sewers, landing on the pavement with a ground-shattering THUD.

 

The man was a mountain of muscle, dressed in a white t-shirt and cargo pants. He had slicked-back blonde hair with two prominent tufts sticking up like rabbit ears. Shadows naturally obscured his chisled face, highlighting a massive, pearly-white smile that radiated pure, unbridled charisma.

 

It was him. The Symbol of Peace. The Number One Hero.

 

All Might.

 

"FEAR NOT, CITIZEN!" All Might bellowed, his voice booming like a foghorn, striking a dramatic, heroic pose with his fists planted on his hips. "FOR I AM HE—"

 

All Might froze.

 

He had been tracking the Sludge Villain all day. He had exhausted his time limit, pushing himself to the absolute brink, ready to unleash a Texas Smash to save whoever had been caught in the villain's clutches. He was ready for a fight. He was ready for blood, sweat, and tears.

 

Instead, he saw a scrawny, green-haired middle schooler standing in an alley, holding a two-liter soda bottle filled with his target.

 

The boy wasn't out of breath. He wasn't injured. He wasn't even dirty. He just looked incredibly, profoundly bored.

 

All Might blinked. He lowered his fists. The heroic wind that perpetually blew his hair seemed to die down.

 

"Uh," All Might articulated eloquently.

 

Izuku stared at his idol. Inside, a small part of him—the fanboy that had filled thirteen notebooks with hero analysis—was doing backflips. But outwardly, Izuku's face remained a mask of apathetic calm. The sheer disparity between his physical power and reality had long since killed his ability to outwardly panic.

 

"Oh. Hi, All Might," Izuku said, his voice flat.

 

"Greetings, young man!" All Might recovered quickly, flashing his trademark smile, though a bead of sweat rolled down his massive temple. He marched over to Izuku, leaning down to inspect the bottle. "Did you... did you apprehend this villain?"

 

"Yeah," Izuku said, holding the bottle out. "He jumped me in the underpass. I ate him, walked over here, and burped him into this bottle."

 

All Might stared at the boy. He stared at the bottle. He processed the words "ate him" and "burped him."

 

All Might’s brain, famously concussed in several battles, struggled to compute this information. "You... ate him?"

 

"Just for a minute," Izuku clarified, not wanting to sound weird. "I didn't chew."

 

All Might looked closer at the Sludge Villain inside the plastic prison. The villain saw All Might, but instead of looking angry, the villain looked relieved. The villain mouthed the words, Take me to jail, please keep me away from him.

 

"Well!" All Might boomed, letting out a hearty, booming laugh that sounded slightly forced. "HA HA HA! Excellent work, young citizen! You possess a powerful Quirk, it seems! To subdue a villain of this caliber without causing collateral damage... truly remarkable! I will take this scoundrel off your hands and deliver him to the authorities!"

 

All Might reached out and took the bottle. "Now, I must be off! Justice never sleeps!"

 

All Might crouched down, preparing to leap into the sky. But before he could, Izuku reached into his backpack.

 

"Wait," Izuku said.

 

All Might paused. Ah, he thought. The boy wants an autograph. Or perhaps, he wants to ask me a question. A boy with such a strong Quirk... perhaps he needs guidance. Perhaps he needs to understand the true weight of heroism. This could be a teaching moment.

 

All Might turned back, his smile softening into something more genuine and paternal. "Yes, my boy? What is it?"

 

Izuku pulled out his notebook, Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13, and a pen. He held it out.

 

"Can you sign this? Please?" Izuku asked politely.

 

"Of course!" All Might laughed, taking the notebook. He quickly signed his name across a massive, two-page spread in bold marker. He handed it back to the boy. "There you go! Keep training that Quirk of yours, young man! The world always needs strong heroes!"

 

All Might waited for the boy's eyes to light up. He waited for the tears of joy, the passionate declaration of a dream, the desperate plea of 'Can I be a hero like you?'

 

Izuku just nodded, put the notebook back in his bag, and zipped it up. "Cool. Thanks. Have a good afternoon."

 

Izuku turned around and started walking away.

 

All Might stood frozen in the alleyway, the bottle of sludge in his hand, watching the boy walk away with a slight slouch in his shoulders.

 

Wait, All Might thought, his smile twitching. That's it? He just leaves? He just soloed a B-rank villain in five seconds, got my autograph, and walked away like he just bought a carton of milk from a convenience store?

 

For the past year, All Might had been searching for a successor. His body was failing him. The wound from All For One was slowly killing him. He needed someone with the heart of a hero, someone who could inherit the sacred torch of One For All.

 

He looked at Izuku's retreating back.

 

Could it be him? All Might wondered. He has the strength. He has the calm demeanor under pressure. Perhaps... perhaps I should stop him. I should offer him my power!

 

All Might took a step forward. "Young man! Wait!"

 

Izuku stopped and turned around, looking mildly annoyed. "Yeah?"

 

All Might opened his mouth. The words were on the tip of his tongue. I want to give you my Quirk. I want you to be the next Symbol of Peace.

 

But as All Might looked into Izuku's eyes, he stopped.

 

There was a terrifying depth to those emerald green eyes. A complete, unshakeable void of conflict. All Might had faced the greatest monsters in history, and he had seen the fire of ambition, rage, or fear in all of them. But in this fourteen-year-old boy, All Might saw absolutely nothing to conquer. He saw a boy who had already reached the summit of the mountain, looked around, realized the view was boring, and sat down to take a nap.

 

All Might suddenly felt a profound sense of obsolescence.

 

If he gave this kid One For All, the power stockpiling Quirk would stack on top of whatever ridiculous power the boy already had. The universe might literally shatter. The boy didn't need his power. In fact, All Might had a sneaking suspicion that if he punched this boy at 100% of his strength, the boy would just complain about a draft.

 

"Uh," All Might stammered, the Number One Hero momentarily losing his legendary composure. "I... um. Make sure you look both ways before crossing the street."

 

Izuku stared at him. "Okay."

 

Izuku turned around and walked out of the alley.

 

All Might stood alone with his bottle of sludge. He let out a long, deflating breath. Suddenly, with a puff of steam, his massive, muscular form gave way. His body shrunk, his muscles evaporating until he was left as a frail, skeletal man swimming in oversized clothes.

 

Toshinori Yagi coughed, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth.

 

"Well," Toshinori muttered to himself, looking at the empty street where the boy had disappeared. "I guess Japan is in good hands. I wonder what's on TV tonight."

 

 

 

Later that evening, the Midoriya household was peaceful.

 

Izuku sat at the dining table, wearing an oversized t-shirt, happily munching on a perfectly fried pork cutlet. Inko sat across from him, sipping green tea, watching her son eat with a warm smile.

 

The television in the living room was on, playing the evening news.

 

"In local news today," the newscaster reported, "Pro Hero All Might apprehended a dangerous Sludge Villain in the downtown area. However, witnesses report that All Might was seen carrying the villain in a plastic soda bottle before handing him over to the police. Authorities are baffled, but grateful for the Symbol of Peace's eccentric methods..."

 

Inko chuckled. "Oh, that All Might. He always finds the most creative ways to save the day, doesn't he, Izuku?"

 

Izuku chewed his pork cutlet slowly. He swallowed.

 

"Yeah, Mom," Izuku said, taking a sip of water. "He's really creative."

 

"Are you excited for the U.A. Entrance Exam, honey?" Inko asked, her eyes shining with maternal pride. "I know you've been wanting to go there since you were a little boy."

 

Izuku looked down at his chopsticks. He thought about the entrance exam. He knew it was a practical test. He knew there would be robots. He knew thousands of kids across the country were currently training their bodies to the breaking point, sweating blood and tears just for a chance to walk through those gates.

 

He wondered if he should transform his whole body for the exam, or just a leg.

 

If I use a whole leg, I might kick a robot into orbit and hit a satellite, Izuku reasoned internally. That would cost the government a lot of money. I should probably just use my tail. Or maybe I can just walk really fast and let the shockwave do it.

 

"Yeah," Izuku said, offering his mother a small, lazy smile. "I'm sure it'll be a breeze."

 

He finished his dinner, washed his plate, and went to his room. He sat on his bed, looking at the posters of All Might plastered across his walls. The Symbol of Peace smiling down at him, promising that everything would be okay.

 

Izuku laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

 

He didn't need a Symbol of Peace. He didn't need to overcome adversity. He was Izuku Midoriya, the Apex T-Rex, and his biggest challenge tomorrow would be trying not to accidentally rip the handle off the train door on his way to school.

 

He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, dreaming of a world where maybe, just maybe, someone could give him a decent back massage without their fingers breaking.

 

But until then, he would just have to settle for being the strongest, most bored creature to ever walk the earth.

 

 

 

 

In standard superhero narratives, the ten months leading up to a prestigious academy's entrance exam are a grueling montage of blood, sweat, and tears. The protagonist pushes their mortal shell beyond its limits, pulling trucks, lifting weights, and screaming at the sky in the pouring rain.

 

Izuku Midoriya spent his ten months catching up on sleep.

 

Dagobah Municipal Beach Park had once been a beautiful coastline, but over the years, ocean currents and illegal dumping had transformed it into a sprawling, dystopian mountain range of rusted refrigerators, bald tires, and broken microwaves. It was an eyesore to the local community. To aspiring heroes, it might have looked like the perfect training ground to build muscle by clearing the debris.

 

To Izuku, it looked like a custom-made orthopedic mattress.

 

It was a brisk Saturday morning in November, roughly four months before the U.A. exam. Izuku had wandered down to the beach wearing a baggy grey hoodie and sweatpants. He surveyed the jagged, dangerous piles of rusted metal and sharp fiberglass.

 

"Perfect," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

 

He didn't bother looking around to see if the coast was clear. Even if someone saw him, they wouldn't believe it anyway. He took a deep breath, letting the salty sea air fill his impossibly large lungs, and activated his Quirk.

 

Apex T-Rex: Full Transformation.

 

The transformation was silent, save for the sudden, violent displacement of air. One moment, a freckled teenager stood on the sand. The next, a fifty-foot-tall, emerald-green Tyrannosaurus Rex blotted out the morning sun. The ground beneath his massive, three-toed feet compacted instantly, turning the loose sand into a sheet of solid glass from the sheer, instantaneous pressure of his weight.

 

Izuku let out a lazy yawn, revealing rows of teeth that could easily double as greatswords. He stretched his thick, muscular neck, cracking it with a sound like a thunderclap, and lumbered toward the largest pile of trash on the beach. It was a towering, precarious structure made of three crushed pickup trucks, a dozen washing machines, and a rusted-out bus.

 

Izuku didn't clear it. He simply turned in a circle like a dog making its bed, and collapsed on top of it.

 

CRUNCH.

 

The mountain of solid steel and iron flattened instantly under his colossal bulk, contorting into a perfect, custom-fitted nest. The jagged metal edges pressed against his scales, providing the perfect amount of pressure. For someone whose skin was infinitely dense, regular beds felt like sleeping on empty air. It was uncomfortable. But a crushed city bus? That felt like a high-end memory foam mattress.

 

Izuku closed his massive, reptilian eyes and began to snore. Every exhale created a localized windstorm that sent empty soda cans skittering across the beach.

 

Up on the sea wall overlooking the beach, a gaunt, skeletal man in an oversized trench coat was out for his morning jog. Toshinori Yagi—better known as All Might—froze in his tracks.

 

He had come to Dagobah Beach to scout for potential successors. He had heard rumors of youths trying to clean the beach to build character. Instead, he found the boy from the alleyway—the one who had burped the Sludge Villain into a bottle—currently masquerading as a Kaiju, using several tons of solid steel as a beanbag chair.

 

Toshinori watched as the giant T-Rex sleepily shifted its weight, completely vaporizing a washing machine beneath its thigh.

 

The Number One Hero slowly backed away, turned around, and jogged in the opposite direction.

 

Yes, Toshinori thought, wiping a cold sweat from his brow. Not giving him One For All was definitely, undeniably, the smartest decision I have ever made in my entire life.

 

 

 

The morning of the U.A. Entrance Exam arrived with crisp, chilly air and a bright blue sky.

 

Inko Midoriya was a nervous wreck. She was fluttering around the kitchen like a trapped moth, aggressively packing a bento box.

 

"Izuku! Do you have your pencils? Your eraser? Your registration card? Did you pack an extra pair of underwear? What if you sweat through your uniform? What if the exam has a water-rescue portion and you get soaked? I packed a towel! I packed three towels!"

 

Izuku sat at the kitchen table, casually sipping a bowl of miso soup. "Mom. It's okay. I have everything."

 

"But it's U.A.!" Inko cried, clutching a spatula to her chest. "The acceptance rate is less than two percent! What if the robots are too hard? What if—"

 

"Mom," Izuku interrupted gently, setting his soup bowl down. "It's going to be fine. I promise."

 

Inko looked at her son. He was so calm. Too calm. But then she remembered the time he accidentally sneezed the roof off their apartment building, and her anxiety immediately shifted from 'Will my son be okay?' to 'Will the U.A. campus survive the morning?'

 

"Just... please try not to break the school, Izuku," she pleaded, handing him his bento box. "We can't afford to replace a national monument."

 

"I'll be careful," Izuku said, taking the lunch. "I'm just going to do the bare minimum to pass. I don't want to stand out too much."

 

This was, perhaps, the most inaccurate statement Izuku Midoriya would make in his entire life.

 

The walk to U.A. High School was uneventful. Izuku listened to a podcast about the history of watching paint dry, finding the narrator's monotone voice soothing. As he approached the towering, glass-and-steel gates of the legendary academy, the sheer volume of anxious, hyper-energetic teenagers began to give him a slight headache.

 

Everyone was buzzing with nervous energy. Some kids were muttering to themselves, others were doing dynamic stretches, and some were already showing off minor Quirks to intimidate the competition.

 

Izuku just slouched forward, his hands in his pockets, his eyes half-closed.

 

"Out of my way, Deku!"

 

Izuku didn't even turn his head as Katsuki Bakugo stormed past him, radiating aggressive, explosive energy. Bakugo gave him a wide berth, actively making sure his shoulder didn't brush against Izuku's. Ever since the incident with the melted pencil, Bakugo had adopted a strategy of loud, verbal aggression from a safe, physical distance of at least five feet.

 

Izuku watched Bakugo stomp into the building and sighed.

 

He took a step forward, his foot catching slightly on an uneven paving stone. Because Izuku walked with such a lethargic, heavy gait, the slight trip caused him to pitch forward. He didn't panic. He just prepared to let his face hit the concrete. The concrete would shatter, he would stand up, dust off his uniform, and keep walking. It was standard operating procedure.

 

But before gravity could introduce his indestructible nose to the pavement, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

 

"Oops! Catch!"

 

Izuku suddenly felt a strange sensation. The gravitational pull on his body vanished. He hung suspended in mid-air, tilted forward at a forty-five-degree angle.

 

He looked to his left. A girl with a round face, large brown eyes, and permanent pink blush on her cheeks was standing there, holding her hands together in a triangle formation. She was smiling brightly, though she looked slightly strained.

 

"Whew! That was close!" the girl said, her voice bubbly. "Sorry for using my Quirk on you without asking, but it'd be bad luck if you fell right before the exam, right?"

 

Izuku blinked. Zero Gravity, he analyzed instantly. A touch-based Quirk that nullifies the gravitational pull on an object.

 

What Ochaco Uraraka didn't know was that Izuku's base physical density was so astronomically high that her Quirk was currently fighting the equivalent mass of a small battleship.

 

"Oh," Izuku said, his voice monotone as he floated sideways. "Thank you."

 

Uraraka released her Quirk. "Release!"

 

Izuku dropped the remaining three inches to the ground. When his red sneakers touched the pavement, a localized tremor rippled through the courtyard. The ground cracked slightly under his feet.

 

Uraraka stumbled back, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Wow, you're... really dense! I mean, heavy! I mean... you have a lot of presence! Ah, I'm nervous! Let's do our best, okay?"

 

She gave him a bright wave and hurried into the building.

 

Izuku stared after her. She seems nice, he thought. I hope she doesn't get stepped on today.

 

 

 

The written portion of the exam was a profound exercise in physical restraint.

 

Izuku sat in the massive auditorium, a tiny, fragile 2 pencil pinched delicately between his thumb and index finger. The test itself was easy. Izuku was smart; his hero analysis notebooks required a high level of critical thinking, physics, and mathematics. He knew all the answers.

 

The problem was filling in the little bubbles on the scantron sheet without pressing too hard.

 

Okay, question 42, Izuku thought, sweating slightly. The answer is C. Just... gently... shade it in...

 

He lowered the pencil lead to the paper. He applied a micro-fraction of an ounce of pressure.

 

SNAP.

 

The pencil lead exploded into graphite dust. The wooden barrel splintered in his grip, turning into toothpicks.

 

Izuku let out a long, silent exhale. He raised his hand.

 

The proctor, a lanky hero named Snipe, walked over. "Problem, examinee?"

 

"My pencil broke," Izuku whispered. "Can I have another one?"

 

"Sure thing, kid. Here." Snipe handed him a fresh pencil.

 

"Thank you." Izuku took it.

 

Ten minutes later. SNAP.

 

Izuku raised his hand again.

 

By the end of the two-hour written exam, Izuku had gone through fourteen pencils, completely atomizing each one. The desk beneath him was covered in a thick layer of graphite dust and wooden splinters. Snipe was staring at him from across the room with a look of deep, terrified confusion.

 

Izuku finally finished the test, feeling more mentally exhausted than he had in years. Next time, I'm bringing a crayon, he vowed to himself.

 

Following the written exam, the students were ushered into a massive, stadium-seating amphitheater for the practical exam orientation. The lights dimmed, a spotlight snapped on, and the Voice Hero, Present Mic, strutted onto the stage.

 

"WELCOME TO MY LIVE SHOW, EVERYBODY!" Present Mic roared into his directional speaker system, his voice rattling the fillings in the students' teeth. "EVERYBODY SAY HEEEYYYY!"

 

Silence. Pure, unadulterated silence.

 

Izuku, sitting a few rows behind Bakugo, let out a quiet yawn, leaning his chin on his hand.

 

Present Mic didn't miss a beat. "I LOVE THE CHILLS! ALRIGHT, EXAMINEES, I'M GONNA GIVE YOU THE LOWDOWN ON HOW THIS PRACTICAL TEST IS GONNA GO DOWN! ARE YOU READY?!"

 

The screen behind him lit up, displaying a map of a mock cityscape and three silhouettes of robots.

 

"You'll be conducting a ten-minute mock urban battle!" Present Mic explained. "You can bring whatever you want! After this presentation, you'll head to your assigned battle centers! The rules are simple! There are three types of faux villains in every center! They're worth one, two, or three points depending on their difficulty! Use your Quirks to disable these faux villains and rack up that high score!"

 

Izuku tuned out. Robots, he thought. Metal. Easy to break. Ten minutes is way too long. I wonder if they have a buffet after this.

 

"EXCUSE ME, SIR!"

 

A tall, broad-shouldered boy with blue hair and glasses suddenly stood up a few rows down, his arm shooting into the air as stiff as a board.

 

"I have a question!" the boy declared, his voice booming with authority. "On the printout, there are clearly four types of villains! If this is a misprint, then U.A., the most prominent school in Japan, should be ashamed of that foolish mistake!"

 

The boy then spun around, pointing an accusatory, robotic finger directly at Izuku.

 

"And you! In the back!"

 

Izuku blinked, pointing a finger at his own chest. Me?

 

"Yes, you!" the blue-haired boy barked. "You've been slouching and yawning this entire presentation! This is not a vacation! If you're not going to take this seriously, you should leave immediately!"

 

The entire auditorium turned to look at Izuku.

 

Izuku stared back at the boy. He evaluated the situation. This boy was intense. He was loud. He was demanding an emotional reaction.

 

Izuku didn't have one to give.

 

"Okay," Izuku said softly, his voice completely flat. "Sorry."

 

The blue-haired boy faltered. The absolute lack of pushback, the complete absence of defensive energy, completely derailed his rant. It was like throwing a punch at a concrete wall covered in pudding.

 

"Uh... very well," the boy stammered, sitting back down, adjusting his glasses nervously. "Just... see that you behave."

 

"Alright, alright, examinee 7111!" Present Mic interjected, saving the awkward silence. "Thanks for the great catch! The fourth villain is worth ZERO points! It's an obstacle! A gimmick! There's one in every battle center! It's not impossible to defeat, but there's no reason to! My advice? RUN AWAY FROM IT!"

 

Izuku perked up slightly. A zero pointer? An obstacle to avoid?

 

He mentally filed that information away. Note to self: Don't trip over the obstacle.

 

 

 

Battle Center B was the size of a small metropolitan district. High concrete walls surrounded a fully realized, abandoned city, complete with skyscrapers, streets, and alleyways.

 

Hundreds of students stood gathered before the massive, towering gates, waiting for the signal. The air was thick with tension. Kids were sweating, hyperventilating, and visualizing their strategies.

 

Izuku stood at the very back of the crowd. He had decided against doing stretches. Stretching usually led to him accidentally tearing his clothes or creating shockwaves that knocked people over. He just stood there, staring blankly at the massive doors.

 

He spotted Uraraka near the front, taking deep breaths and slapping her cheeks to hype herself up. He saw the blue-haired boy from the auditorium marching around, looking like a drill sergeant.

 

Everyone is so stressed, Izuku thought. I guess this is a big deal to them.

 

High above the gates, Present Mic stood on a watchtower with a microphone.

 

"RIGHT, LET'S START!" Present Mic screamed.

 

The massive gates began to slowly groan open. The examinees at the front hesitated, taking a collective breath, preparing to sprint the moment the doors were fully open.

 

Izuku didn't hesitate.

 

I want to go home and play video games, Izuku thought. Let's get this over with.

 

"GET MOVING!" Present Mic bellowed. "THERE ARE NO COUNTDOWNS IN REAL BATTLES! RUN, RUN, RUN!"

 

The crowd surged forward, a tidal wave of teenagers charging into the mock city. Quirks flared to life—speed boosts, energy blasts, animal mutations. The sound of metal clashing and explosions soon echoed from within the walls.

 

Izuku walked casually through the gates. He checked his imaginary watch. Ten minutes.

 

He looked down a long avenue. A group of three One-Pointer robots rolled out from an alleyway, locking onto him with glowing red optic sensors.

 

"TARGET ACQUIRED," the robots droned in unison, raising their mechanical arms.

 

Izuku sighed. He didn't want to run around finding robots. That sounded exhausting. He looked at the towering buildings around him. He looked at the sky.

 

If I just step on everything, this will go much faster, he reasoned.

 

Izuku stopped walking. He closed his eyes.

 

In the observation room, located in a high-tech bunker deep within U.A., the faculty of heroes were watching hundreds of screens, monitoring the examinees.

 

"We have a good crop this year," Midnight purred, crossing her legs. "Look at that explosive boy in Center A. So aggressive!"

 

"The gravity girl in Center B is showing good situational awareness," Snipe added, pointing at a screen.

 

Principal Nezu, a small, impeccably dressed creature that resembled a hybrid of a bear, mouse, and dog, sipped a cup of Darjeeling tea. "Indeed. But the true test of a hero is not just their Quirk, but how they apply it under pressure. Let us see who shines."

 

In the back of the room, standing in the shadows, All Might was sweating profusely. His eyes were glued to a specific monitor tracking Battle Center B.

 

Oh no, All Might thought, panic rising in his chest. He's stopped moving. Oh god, he's closing his eyes. He's going to do it. He's actually going to do it.

 

"Wait," Eraserhead (Shota Aizawa) muttered, leaning forward in his chair, his tired eyes narrowing. "What is Examinee Midoriya doing? He hasn't moved. Is he frozen in fear?"

 

On the screen, Izuku took a deep breath.

 

"He's not frozen," All Might whispered, his voice trembling. "Hold onto your teacups."

 

Back in Center B, Izuku unleashed the beast.

 

Apex T-Rex: Full Transformation.

 

It was not a gradual shift. It was an explosion of biological mass.

 

A shockwave of displaced air erupted from Izuku's position, carrying the force of a Category 3 hurricane. The three One-Pointer robots in front of him didn't even have time to process the threat before the wind caught them, ripping their chassis apart and hurling their metal components through the windows of the adjacent buildings.

 

The green light faded.

 

Standing in the middle of the main avenue, completely blocking out the sun for three city blocks, was the Tyrant King.

 

Izuku stood fifty feet tall at the hip, his massive, spiked tail stretching another sixty feet behind him. His emerald scales gleamed like armor plating. His thighs were as thick as redwood trunks. His jaws hung open in a lazy, terrifying gape, revealing teeth the size of traffic cones.

 

The silence that fell over Battle Center B was absolute.

 

Every single examinee within a one-mile radius stopped fighting. The blue-haired boy dropped the robot he was holding. Uraraka froze in mid-air. Kids who were mid-punch simply hung their arms, their jaws dropping to the pavement.

 

The robots stopped too. Their rudimentary AI processing units completely locked up, failing to compute the existence of a prehistoric, mythological extinction event standing in the middle of the street.

 

Izuku blinked his massive yellow eyes. He looked down.

 

The street looked very small. The robots looked like tiny green army men. The buildings barely reached his shoulders.

 

Okay, Izuku thought, his voice echoing in his own head. Time to get some points.

 

Izuku took a single step forward.

 

His right foot, weighing several tons and backed by infinite kinetic density, slammed into the pavement. The street simply ceased to exist. A crater twenty feet deep and fifty feet wide spiderwebbed outward. The seismic tremor knocked every student within a four-block radius flat on their backs.

 

A group of five Two-Pointers happened to be in the area of that footstep. They weren't crushed; they were atomized. The metal was compressed so violently into the earth that it fused with the concrete.

 

"Uh," Present Mic's voice stuttered over the PA system, completely devoid of his usual hype. "Examinee Midoriya... scores... ten points? I... I think?"

 

Izuku didn't stop. He just started walking down the main avenue.

 

He wasn't running. He wasn't rampaging. He was just taking a leisurely stroll.

 

But a leisurely stroll for the Apex T-Rex was a localized apocalypse for the mock city.

 

With every casual swing of his tail, the top three floors of a skyscraper were cleanly sheared off, sending concrete and rebar raining down into the empty streets below. Whenever a Three-Pointer locked onto him and fired a missile, the projectile bounced off his scales with a pathetic ping, and Izuku would accidentally step on the robot while trying to see what hit him.

 

He sneezed.

 

The resulting gale-force wind blew a cluster of twenty One-Pointers straight through a reinforced concrete wall, embedding them into the adjacent building like modern art.

 

"EXCUSE ME! WHAT IS THAT?!" the blue-haired boy screamed, clinging to a lamppost for dear life as the ground shook violently with every one of Izuku's footsteps.

 

Uraraka was hiding behind a flipped car, her hands over her head. "Is that a student?! Is he allowed to be that big?!"

 

In the observation room, the faculty was in utter, catastrophic disarray.

 

Power Loader, the hero in charge of the robot manufacturing, was on his knees, openly weeping, clutching his head. "My budget... my beautiful babies... he's not even attacking them! He's just walking on them! It took me six months to calibrate those sensors!"

 

"Good lord," Midnight whispered, fanning herself aggressively. "That is... terrifyingly raw power."

 

Aizawa was furiously typing on a terminal. "His score is climbing exponentially. He's destroying robots by proxy. The collateral damage is causing structural collapses that are crushing more targets. He's at two thousand points. Three thousand. This is ridiculous."

 

Principal Nezu's teacup was rattling against his saucer. He slowly lowered it. "Fascinating. A Quirk that utterly defies the laws of conservation of mass and energy. He's a walking natural disaster. And yet... he looks incredibly bored."

 

"He is," All Might whimpered from the back of the room. "He's just trying to get it over with."

 

"We can't let him destroy the entire center!" Eraserhead barked. "He's already leveled sector four and five! If he keeps going, there won't be any robots left for the other examinees!"

 

"Release the Zero Pointer," Nezu commanded, his beady eyes gleaming with a mixture of terror and scientific curiosity. "Let us see how he handles an obstacle of equal scale."

 

Someone slammed a large red button on the console.

 

Back in Battle Center B, Izuku had just reached the center of the city. He had stopped walking because he couldn't find any more robots. He looked left. He looked right. Just empty, crushed streets and terrified students peeking out from behind rubble.

 

I think I have enough points, Izuku thought, letting out a heavy sigh that knocked over a billboard. I wonder if I can just sit down until the timer runs out.

 

Suddenly, the ground beneath him began to shake. Not from his own weight, but from something beneath the city.

 

The street two blocks ahead exploded outward. A massive, towering colossus of grey steel and glowing red lights rose from the subterranean hangar. It was the Zero Pointer. The gimmick. The obstacle.

 

It was massive, towering over the skyscrapers, easily standing a hundred feet tall. Its treads crushed the asphalt, and its gigantic, clawed hands swung back, ready to obliterate anything in its path.

 

"LESS THAN TWO MINUTES REMAINING!" Present Mic announced, his voice trembling slightly.

 

The students who had been hiding from Izuku now realized they were caught between a Kaiju and a Mega-Mech. Panic erupted.

 

"Run!"

 

"It's the Zero Pointer! It's huge!"

 

"Are we supposed to fight that?!"

 

Izuku turned his massive head to look at the Zero Pointer.

 

The robot's optic sensors scanned the area, locking onto the largest target. It raised a massive, steel-girder-sized fist and drove forward, directly toward Izuku.

 

Down on the ground, a cry of pain rang out.

 

Izuku glanced down. Uraraka was trapped under a piece of rubble that had fallen from a building. Her leg was pinned. She was staring up at the impending clash of titans, terror etched into her features.

 

Izuku looked back at the Zero Pointer. The giant robot was barreling down the street, mindless and destructive.

 

Izuku didn't feel a surge of heroic adrenaline. He didn't hear a soaring orchestral soundtrack in his head. He just felt a mild sense of annoyance that this loud, ugly robot was interrupting his attempt to take a nap, and it was threatening the nice girl who had stopped him from tripping.

 

It looks like a giant piece of broccoli, Izuku thought, analyzing the robot's green-tinted armor plating. I don't like broccoli.

 

The Zero Pointer threw a massive punch, aiming dead center for Izuku's snout.

 

Izuku didn't dodge. He didn't block.

 

He just opened his mouth.

 

As the massive steel fist hurled toward him, carrying enough kinetic energy to level a city block, Izuku lunged forward. His jaws unhinged, stretching to a physically impossible degree, and snapped down around the entire head and upper torso of the Zero Pointer.

 

CRRRUUUUNNNCHHH.

 

The sound of shattering titanium, tearing steel, and exploding hydraulics echoed across the entire U.A. campus.

 

The Zero Pointer's forward momentum stopped instantly. The force of the bite was so absolute, so overwhelmingly devastating, that the robot's armor plating crumpled like wet tissue paper.

 

Izuku clamped his jaws shut, severing the robot's head and shoulders from its torso entirely.

 

Sparks showered down like fireworks. The headless, torso-less remains of the Zero Pointer stood frozen for a second, circuits shorting out in spectacular fashion, before the massive chassis tipped over backward and crashed into the street, completely immobilized.

 

Izuku stood there, the top half of the giant robot resting in his mouth. He chewed once.

 

Definitely tastes like pennies, he thought. Gross.

 

With a casual toss of his head, Izuku spit the mangled, unrecognizable ball of crushed steel into an empty lot. It landed with a dull, heavy thud, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop.

 

The silence that followed was louder than the explosion.

 

Every student in Battle Center B was frozen in place. Uraraka, still trapped under the rubble, was staring at the T-Rex with her mouth wide open, her brain completely failing to process how a flesh-and-blood creature had just eaten a building-sized robot like an hors d'oeuvre.

 

Izuku looked down at Uraraka. He gently lowered his massive snout, being very careful not to exhale too hard and blow her away. With surgical precision, he used the very tip of his snout to nudge the piece of rubble pinning her leg, flipping it away as easily as a human flipping a coin.

 

He gave her a slight nod, then shrank back down.

 

In a flash of green light, the fifty-foot monster was gone, replaced by a scrawny, freckled teenager standing amidst a war zone of catastrophic destruction.

 

Izuku dusted off his pants, which were perfectly intact. He looked up at the sky.

 

"TIME'S UP!" Present Mic's voice finally crackled over the speakers, sounding deeply, profoundly relieved. "THE EXAM IS OVER!"

 

Izuku let out a long breath. He turned and started walking back toward the entrance gates, stepping casually over the millions of dollars of destroyed U.A. property.

 

The blue-haired boy, Iida, was staring at him, his glasses askew. Uraraka was sitting on the ground, rubbing her leg, watching him walk away.

 

Izuku stopped, turned his head slightly, and called out to no one in particular.

 

"Does anyone know if the cafeteria is open?" Izuku asked, rubbing his stomach. "I have a weird metallic taste in my mouth, and I really want a juice box."

 

Nobody answered him.

 

 

 

Up in the observation room, the screens flickered and went dark.

 

The silence was deafening.

 

Power Loader was curled into a fetal position on the floor, softly sobbing. "He ate it... he just bit its head off... do you know how much the central processing unit cost? Do you?"

 

Eraserhead rubbed his eyes, which were bloodshot and twitching. He looked at the final tally on his terminal.

 

"Examinee Izuku Midoriya," Aizawa read, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Villain points... five thousand, three hundred and twenty. Rescue points... well, he saved the girl, so let's throw sixty on there. Total score... five thousand, three hundred and eighty."

 

Midnight let out a breathless laugh. "The previous record was... what? A hundred? We... we have a god applying to our school."

 

Principal Nezu placed his teacup down. He steepled his paws together, a manic, slightly terrified grin spreading across his furry face.

 

"Well, gentlemen and ladies," Nezu said softly. "It appears our curriculum for the upcoming year will need some... adjustments. Specifically, I recommend we reinforce the walls of classroom 1-A with adamantium, and perhaps triple our insurance policy."

 

All Might just put his head in his hands.

 

"I'm going to retire," Toshinori mumbled to the floor. "I'm just going to retire and move to the mountains."

 

Izuku Midoriya had passed the entrance exam in exactly four minutes and twenty seconds. He didn't know his score, and he didn't care. All he cared about was getting that juice box, and hoping that U.A. had comfortable desks.

 

 

 

 

Shota Aizawa, the Underground Hero known as Eraserhead, was a man who lived by a strict code of logic. He believed that the world was governed by rules. Physics, biology, combat tactics, human psychology—these were tangible, quantifiable things.

 

Aizawa’s Quirk, Erasure, was the ultimate equalizer. By simply looking at a target, he could shut down their genetic superpowers, reducing the most arrogant, flashy heroes and villains to normal, fragile human beings. Once they were ordinary, Aizawa would dismantle them with superior martial arts and his capture weapon. It was a flawless system based on the fundamental law that beneath every Quirk, there was just a squishy, breakable person.

 

Then, Principal Nezu handed him the file for Izuku Midoriya.

 

Aizawa sat in the dimly lit U.A. staff room, a jelly pouch clamped between his teeth, staring at the physical dossier on his desk. He had spent the last three days reviewing the footage from Battle Center B. He had watched it in real-time. He had watched it in slow motion. He had watched it frame-by-frame.

 

Aizawa rubbed his bloodshot eyes and looked at the attached medical report from a Dr. Tsubasa.

 

Patient Name: Izuku Midoriya.

Quirk: Apex T-Rex.

Notes: Subject’s base genetic structure is infinitely dense. Muscle fibers behave like carbon-nanotube bundles wrapped in adamantium. Subject does not require oxygen, though he enjoys breathing out of habit. Subject’s skin cannot be pierced by any known medical or industrial instrument. Do not attempt to draw blood; it will break the needle and hurt your feelings.

 

Aizawa took a long, slow sip from his jelly pouch.

 

"This is a prank," Aizawa muttered to the empty staff room. "Nezu is messing with me. This kid is a CGI construct. He doesn't exist."

 

"Oh, he exists, Shota!" a chipper voice called out.

 

Aizawa didn't look up as Present Mic slid into the rolling chair next to him, propping his leather-clad boots onto the desk.

 

"I saw him eat the Zero Pointer, Shota! He ate it! Like a crouton!" Present Mic cackled, shivering slightly. "The kid is a monster! A totally chill, apathetic monster! I tried to talk to him after the exam, and he just asked me if my hair gel was flammable because he didn't want to accidentally ignite it if he burped. What does that even mean?!"

 

Aizawa let his head fall forward, thunking his forehead against the wooden desk.

 

"I expel students who lack potential," Aizawa said to the wood. "I expel students who are illogical. How am I supposed to teach a student who breaks the laws of thermodynamics just by standing there? If I erase his Quirk... what happens? Does he turn back into a normal kid? Or is this 'base density' thing a permanent mutation?"

 

"Only one way to find out, Eraser!" Present Mic slapped him on the back. "Good luck with homeroom! I hear he's in your class!"

 

Aizawa groaned, sliding out of his chair and slithering into his bright yellow sleeping bag. He zipped it up to his chin. It was the first day of school, and he already wanted to retire.

 

 

 

The door to Classroom 1-A was massive, designed to accommodate students with gigantification or mutant Quirks. For Izuku, it was just a nicely sized door.

 

He stood in the hallway, wearing his standard U.A. uniform. The school had actually sent an apologetic letter to his mother the week prior, explaining that they had to custom-weave his uniform using experimental ballistic fibers developed for orbital reentry, just in case he sneezed and accidentally shredded normal cotton. It was surprisingly breathable.

 

Izuku reached out and grabbed the oversized handle. He turned it with a fraction of a percent of his strength, gently sliding the massive door open.

 

Chaos immediately assaulted his ears.

 

"Remove your foot from that desk immediately!" a loud, robotic voice barked.

 

Izuku blinked, looking into the classroom. The blue-haired boy with glasses from the orientation—Tenya Iida—was standing at the front of the room, furiously chopping his arm up and down like a malfunctioning metronome.

 

He was yelling at Katsuki Bakugo.

 

Bakugo was slouched in his chair, his feet propped up on the pristine wood of his desk, an explosive scowl plastered on his face.

 

"Huh?" Bakugo sneered. "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do, Four-Eyes?"

 

"I am Tenya Iida, from the Somie Private Academy!" Iida declared proudly. "And you are disrespecting the very foundation of this school, and the great upperclassmen who once sat at these desks!"

 

"Somie, huh?" Bakugo scoffed, a dark grin spreading across his face. "So you're a stuck-up elite? I'm gonna have fun blowing you to pieces."

 

"Blowing me to pieces?!" Iida gasped, clutching his chest. "Are you truly aiming to be a hero with that attitude?!"

 

Izuku stood in the doorway, letting out a soft sigh. Kacchan is already making friends, he thought. How nice.

 

Izuku took a step into the room. The moment his red sneaker touched the linoleum floor, a distinct, heavy thud echoed through the classroom. It wasn't loud, but the sheer, microscopic vibration it sent through the floorboards made every student in the room pause.

 

Bakugo’s eyes snapped toward the door. The smug, arrogant grin instantly melted off his face, replaced by a twitching, involuntary grimace of deep, primal discomfort. He violently yanked his feet off the desk and sat up straight, crossing his arms and glaring a hole into the chalkboard.

 

Iida turned around. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes widening.

 

"Ah!" Iida gasped. "You! You're the... the...!"

 

Iida's brain struggled to formulate the words. The boy who ate the Zero Pointer didn't seem like a polite introduction.

 

"I'm Izuku Midoriya," Izuku said softly, bowing his head slightly. "Nice to meet you."

 

Iida immediately snapped into a perfect, ninety-degree bow. "I am Tenya Iida! I must apologize for my behavior during the orientation! You clearly understood the true nature of the practical exam! You were saving your strength for the ultimate threat, while I was foolishly distracted by the point system! I misjudged you, Midoriya! You are clearly superior!"

 

Izuku stared blankly at the top of Iida's head. "I was just sleepy," Izuku replied honestly.

 

"Such humility!" Iida cried, straightening up.

 

"Oh! It's you!"

 

Izuku turned to see the bubbly girl from the entrance exam, Ochaco Uraraka, bounding over to him. She stopped just short of him, suddenly remembering that standing too close to him felt like standing next to a humming nuclear reactor.

 

"The super-dense guy!" Uraraka beamed. "I never got to properly thank you for saving me! You just flicked that giant piece of rubble off me like it was a pebble! And then you... you bit that robot's head off! It was the most terrifying and amazing thing I've ever seen! My jaw was on the floor!"

 

"You're welcome," Izuku said, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm glad you didn't get squished."

 

Suddenly, a voice, dry and raspy like sandpaper, drifted up from the floor.

 

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

 

The three students froze. They looked down.

 

Laying horizontally on the floor, perfectly still, was a giant, bright yellow caterpillar. Slowly, a zipper ran down the front, and a haggard, unkempt man with bags under his eyes rolled out. He stood up, holding a juice pouch.

 

"It took you exactly eight seconds to quiet down," Shota Aizawa droned, scanning the room with dead, tired eyes. "Time is limited. You kids are not rational enough."

 

The class collectively shivered. The man radiated a terrifying, intense aura.

 

Aizawa’s eyes swept over the students, lingering on Bakugo, moving past Todoroki, and finally stopping on Izuku.

 

Aizawa stared at the green-haired boy.

 

Izuku stared back. He blinked slowly.

 

For a terrifying moment, Aizawa felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. His instincts as a Pro Hero were screaming at him. The boy wasn't doing anything. He wasn't radiating malice. He wasn't even standing aggressively. But Aizawa's brain recognized that he was standing in the same room as an apex predator. It was the same feeling a field mouse gets when a hawk casts a shadow over the grass.

 

Aizawa forced himself to break eye contact, clearing his throat.

 

"I am your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa," he announced, pulling a dark blue P.E. uniform out of his sleeping bag. "Nice to meet you. Now put these on and head out to the training grounds."

 

 

 

The P.E. grounds of U.A. were expansive, consisting of a massive dirt field, running tracks, and various athletic testing stations.

 

Class 1-A stood in a cluster, wearing their gym uniforms, looking nervously at Aizawa. The teacher stood before them, holding a digital tablet and a baseball.

 

"A Quirk Apprehension Test?" the class echoed in surprise.

 

"What about the entrance ceremony? The orientation?" Uraraka asked, tilting her head.

 

"If you're going to become a hero, you don't have time for such leisurely events," Aizawa said coldly, his back turned to them. "U.A.'s selling point is how unrestricted its school traditions are. That's also how the teachers run their classes. You kids have been doing these physical fitness tests since junior high, right? Pitching, long jump, fifty-meter dash. But you were never allowed to use your Quirks."

 

Aizawa turned around, his eyes locking onto Bakugo.

 

"Bakugo, you finished at the top of the practical exam's normal rankings," Aizawa said. He conveniently ignored the fact that Izuku had broken the grading algorithm. "In junior high, what was your best result for the softball throw?"

 

"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugo scoffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

 

"Then try doing it with your Quirk," Aizawa instructed, tossing the baseball to the explosive blonde. "Step into the circle. As long as you don't leave it, you can do whatever you want. Don't hold back."

 

Bakugo caught the ball. A dark, vicious grin stretched across his face. He rolled his shoulders, stepping into the chalk circle. He stretched his arm back, his palm crackling with miniature explosions.

 

I'll show that damn Deku, Bakugo thought furiously. He might be a giant freak, but my explosions are the ultimate power! I'll blow this ball to the moon!

 

"DIIIIIIIIEEEE!" Bakugo roared.

 

He whipped his arm forward, unleashing a massive, concussive blast from his palm that propelled the baseball into the sky like a cannonball. A trail of black smoke followed the ball as it soared over the horizon.

 

The class gasped in awe.

 

"Know your own maximum first," Aizawa said, holding up his tablet as it beeped. "That is the most rational way to form the foundation of a hero."

 

He turned the screen around. It read: 705.2 meters.

 

"Over 700 meters?!" Denki Kaminari, a boy with yellow hair and a black lightning streak, yelled. "That's insane!"

 

"Awesome! We can actually use our Quirks!" Mina Ashido, a pink-skinned girl, cheered. "This looks like fun!"

 

Aizawa’s expression darkened. The air temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

 

"Fun?" Aizawa repeated, his voice dangerously low. "You have three years to become heroes. Are you going to have an attitude of 'fun' the whole time? Idiots."

 

He smiled, but it was a terrifying, feral grimace.

 

"Alright. New rule. Whoever comes in last place in all eight events will be judged as having no potential... and will be punished with expulsion."

 

The class erupted in panic.

 

"Expulsion?!" Uraraka cried. "But it's the first day! That's not fair!"

 

"Natural disasters, massive accidents, villain attacks," Aizawa listed off, his eyes glowing slightly red. "The world is full of unfairness. Heroes are the ones who reverse those situations. If you wanted to go talk to your friends at McDonald's after school, too bad. For the next three years, U.A. will throw hardship after hardship at you. Go Plus Ultra. Overcome it with all you have."

 

He let the threat hang in the air, washing over the terrified students.

 

Except for one.

 

Aizawa glanced at Midoriya. The boy was staring up at a cloud that looked vaguely like a pillow, completely zoning out. He hadn't even flinched at the word 'expulsion'.

 

Aizawa gritted his teeth. We'll see how apathetic you are when you're forced to actually perform, kid.

 

 

 

The Quirk Apprehension Test began.

 

To say that Izuku Midoriya ruined the grading curve would be the understatement of the century.

 

Test 1: 50-Meter Dash

 

Tenya Iida ran against Tsuyu Asui. Iida’s engine legs propelled him across the finish line in a respectable 3.04 seconds. He looked quite proud of himself.

 

Then, it was Izuku’s turn. He was paired against Bakugo.

 

They stood at the starting line. Bakugo was in a low sprinter's stance, his palms facing backward, sparking with explosive energy. He glared sideways at Izuku, who was just standing there, completely upright, his hands in his pockets.

 

"I'm gonna leave you in the dust, Deku," Bakugo hissed.

 

Izuku just blinked. "Okay."

 

The robotic proctor raised its flag. "Ready... Go!"

 

Bakugo launched himself forward with a massive double-explosion, rocketing across the track like a missile.

 

Izuku didn't run. He simply took one single, casual step forward.

 

However, because his leg muscles possessed the raw kinetic power of a tectonic plate shift, that single step propelled his body forward with instantaneous, frictionless momentum.

 

BOOM.

 

A supersonic shockwave shattered the air. A cloud of dust exploded from the starting line. The wind shear violently flipped Bakugo mid-air, sending the explosive boy tumbling into the grass with a shriek.

 

Before the sound of the starting gun had even finished echoing, Izuku was standing on the other side of the finish line, completely still, looking slightly bored.

 

The robotic camera’s digital timer glitched, flashed rapidly, and finally settled on a number.

 

0.001 Seconds.

 

The class was dead silent. Aizawa lowered his tablet, his eye twitching uncontrollably. He just walked. He didn't even use his Quirk. He just took a step.

 

Test 2: Grip Strength

 

Mezo Shoji, a tall boy with multiple arms, squeezed his machine and scored an impressive 540 kilograms. The class cheered him on.

 

Izuku walked up to the testing station. He was handed a digital grip-strength dynamometer.

 

"Just squeeze it as hard as you can," the proctor robot instructed.

 

Izuku looked at the small metal device. If I squeeze this, he thought, it'll break. I'll try to just give it a firm handshake.

 

Izuku gripped the device. He applied roughly 0.0000001% of his muscular capacity.

 

The dynamometer didn't just break. It underwent subatomic compression. The metal screamed, contorting, folding in on itself, and finally collapsing into a sphere of matter so dense that it began to emit a faint, glowing light before disintegrating into fine powder.

 

Izuku opened his hand. A small pile of metallic dust blew away in the breeze.

 

He looked at Aizawa. "I think the battery died."

 

Aizawa just slowly wrote INFINITY on his digital tablet, rubbing his temples.

 

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

 

For the long jump, Izuku simply hopped slightly. He cleared the entire sandbox, flew over the track, and landed perfectly in the neighboring forest, forcing Aizawa to wait five minutes for him to walk back.

 

For the side steps, Mineta—a short boy with sticky purple balls on his head—bounced rapidly back and forth. When Izuku tried, he realized that moving side-to-side too quickly would create localized tornadoes. To avoid hurting his classmates, he just gently swayed his shoulders. The sheer air pressure displaced by his torso still knocked Mineta over like a bowling pin.

 

The class was no longer amazed. They were terrified.

 

"What... what is he?" Kaminari whispered, hiding behind a tall boy with a bird head. "He hasn't even transformed into that dinosaur thing yet. He's just... doing this in his base form."

 

"It's illogical," Momo Yaoyorozu murmured, her brow furrowed in deep, intellectual distress. "His mass-to-power ratio shouldn't exist. He violates the laws of physics just by existing."

 

Bakugo was sitting in the grass, his hands clutching his knees, rocking back and forth slightly, muttering to himself about "exfoliating breezes" and "melted pencils."

 

Finally, they reached the climax of the test.

 

Test 5: The Softball Pitch

 

It was Izuku’s turn. He stood in the chalk circle, holding a fresh baseball.

 

Aizawa stood a few feet away, his capture weapon unwinding slightly from around his neck. The teacher’s eyes were narrowed, glowing with a faint, intense light. His hair began to levitate, defying gravity.

 

I need to know, Aizawa thought desperately. I need to know if this is a physical mutation, or an active emitter Quirk cloaked as a mutation. I will erase his Quirk. I will shut down whatever energy is fueling him. If he's relying on some invisible stockpile of power, I'll cut it off, and he'll just be a normal kid throwing a ball.

 

Aizawa locked his gaze onto Izuku. Erasure: Active.

 

Izuku stood in the circle. He suddenly felt a very mild, almost unnoticeable tickle on the back of his neck, like a single ant crawling across his skin. He scratched it.

 

He looked at the baseball in his hand. If I throw this normally, he thought, I might accidentally throw it through the moon. The moon controls the tides. Mom likes going to the beach. I shouldn't destroy the moon.

 

Izuku decided the safest way to restrict his power was to use a partial transformation. He couldn't use his full arm, that was too much leverage.

 

In a flash of green light, Izuku’s right arm—from the shoulder down—transformed.

 

The human flesh shifted into dense, emerald scales. But it didn't grow large. In fact, it grew comically small. Izuku had manifested the tiny, vestigial, two-fingered forearm of a T-Rex.

 

The class stared in bewildered silence. Izuku, a normal-sized teenager, now had a tiny, eighteen-inch dinosaur arm dangling from his right shoulder, clutching the baseball between two small claws.

 

Aizawa’s eyes widened in absolute shock. My erasure... it didn't work! He still transformed! But why? Why did he make his arm smaller?!

 

"Um," Izuku said, looking at Aizawa. "Your hair is floating, Mr. Aizawa. Are you okay?"

 

Aizawa blinked, breaking his Quirk. His hair fell flat. His eyes were burning from keeping them open, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the psychological damage he was currently suffering.

 

"I... I erased your Quirk," Aizawa stammered, his stoic persona cracking entirely. "I looked right at you. You shouldn't have been able to transform."

 

Izuku tilted his head. "Oh. Was that you? It felt a little itchy. But my Quirk is a permanent mutation, Mr. Aizawa. It doesn't really 'turn off'. The transforming part is just... flexing, I guess. Like flexing a muscle."

 

Aizawa stared at him. The underground hero, who had fought villains for over a decade, who had dismantled criminal empires using pure logic and martial arts, realized in that moment that he was utterly, completely obsolete.

 

He couldn't erase the boy's power. He couldn't fight him physically. He couldn't teach him anything about combat, because what could a human teach a god?

 

"Just throw the ball, Midoriya," Aizawa whispered, sounding like a man whose soul had left his body.

 

"Okay," Izuku said cheerfully.

 

Izuku didn't wind up. He didn't step into the throw. With his tiny, vestigial T-Rex arm, he simply held the ball up in front of his face, and flicked his wrist.

 

The motion was so small, so deceptively insignificant.

 

But the energy transferred from the T-Rex muscles into the baseball was catastrophic.

 

The baseball didn't fly. It disappeared.

 

Instantly, a massive, deafening CRACK ripped through the training grounds, louder than a thunderstorm. A visible ring of condensed white vapor—a supersonic shockwave—exploded from Izuku’s position, rippling outward and flattening the grass for a hundred yards in every direction.

 

The sheer force of the displaced air hit the class like a physical wall. Iida was blown backward off his feet. Uraraka shrieked, floating herself to avoid hitting the ground. Mineta was launched into the air like a ragdoll.

 

Aizawa dug his heels into the dirt, crossing his arms over his face, his capture weapon whipping wildly in the localized hurricane.

 

Up in the sky, a streak of blue light—the baseball instantly igniting into plasma due to atmospheric friction—shot straight up at an eighty-degree angle, cutting through the clouds and disappearing into the upper atmosphere.

 

Silence slowly returned to the training ground, save for the ringing in everyone's ears.

 

Izuku’s tiny T-Rex arm popped back into a normal, human arm. He rubbed his shoulder. "That was a good stretch."

 

Aizawa slowly lowered his arms. His hair was blown entirely to one side. He looked at the digital tracker in his hand.

 

The screen was cracked, spider-webbed from the shockwave. But the digital readout was still functioning, struggling to process the GPS coordinates of the ball.

 

The numbers climbed. 1,000 meters. 5,000 meters. 10,000 meters.

 

Then, the device simply beeped twice, and displayed a single word:

 

ORBIT.

 

Aizawa stared at the screen. He turned it around, completely silently, and showed it to the class.

 

The teenagers, picking themselves up out of the dirt, stared at the word. Their brains completely blue-screened.

 

"Orbit?" Kaminari choked out. "He threw a baseball... into orbit? With a baby dinosaur arm?!"

 

"He bypassed the escape velocity of the Earth," Yaoyorozu whispered, her knees trembling. "That's 11.2 kilometers per second. He... he flicked his wrist and broke the laws of astrophysics."

 

"Deku..."

 

A low, guttural growl echoed across the field.

 

Everyone turned. Katsuki Bakugo was standing up. His face was obscured by shadows, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. The trembling fear that had held him back all morning was suddenly overridden by a volcanic, irrational surge of prideful rage.

 

For ten years, Bakugo had believed he was the strongest. And here, in front of the elite heroes of U.A., Deku was making him look like an insect.

 

"DEKU!" Bakugo screamed, his voice cracking with absolute hysteria. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! YOU DAMN NERD! WHAT ARE YOU?! TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE!"

 

Bakugo lunged forward, launching himself through the air with a massive explosion, completely abandoning logic. He didn't care about the rules. He didn't care about expulsion. He just wanted to wipe that stupid, bored look off Deku's face.

 

"Bakugo, stop!" Aizawa yelled, reaching for his capture weapon. But he was too slow. Bakugo was already mid-air, his smoking palm aimed directly at Izuku’s face.

 

Izuku sighed. He didn't want to hit Kacchan. Hitting Kacchan would probably turn him into a fine red mist. But he also wanted Bakugo to calm down so they could finish class and go eat lunch.

 

Izuku didn't transform. He didn't move. He just opened his mouth, drew a deep breath, and let out a vocalization.

 

He didn't scream. He roared.

 

But because his vocal cords were imbued with the power of the Apex T-Rex, the resulting sound was not a human noise.

 

It was a guttural, bone-rattling, Jurassic Park-level bellow that resonated at a frequency so low and so powerful, it physically shook the internal organs of everyone on the field.

 

"RRROOOOOOOOAAAAARRRRR!"

 

The sound wave was visible. It hit Bakugo mid-air like a solid wall of kinetic energy. The sheer decibel level completely neutralized the sound of Bakugo's explosions, snuffing out the flames in his palms like blowing out a birthday candle.

 

Bakugo hung suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, pinned by the sonic pressure.

 

Then, the wind from the roar hit him.

 

Bakugo’s spiky, ash-blonde hair—which had defied gravity and styling products for his entire life—was violently blown backward, flattening completely against his scalp. The skin on his face rippled dramatically from the G-force.

 

The roar lasted for exactly three seconds.

 

When Izuku closed his mouth, Bakugo dropped out of the sky like a stone, landing face-first in the dirt right at Izuku’s feet.

 

The entire class stood frozen in sheer, unadulterated terror. Nobody breathed. Nobody blinked.

 

Bakugo slowly pushed himself up on his hands and knees. His normally explosive hair was completely slicked back, giving him the appearance of a very angry, heavily gelled businessman. He looked up at Izuku, his eyes wide, dilated, and completely devoid of hostility.

 

The lizard brain had taken over again.

 

"Are you done, Kacchan?" Izuku asked politely. "Your hair looks nice like that."

 

Bakugo didn't scream. He didn't swear. He just swallowed hard, nodded very slowly, and crawled backward on his hands and knees until he was safely behind Aizawa’s legs.

 

Izuku looked up at his teacher.

 

Aizawa stood perfectly still. The capture weapon hung limply from his hands. His eyes were wide, staring at the boy who had just subjugated the most aggressive student in the school with a burp.

 

"Mr. Aizawa," Izuku said, scratching his cheek. "Are we done? I'm getting kind of hungry. I think they have udon in the cafeteria today."

 

Aizawa looked at Izuku. He looked at the slicked-back Bakugo shivering behind his legs. He looked at the digital tracker that still read ORBIT.

 

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled the last shred of his dignity.

 

"The physical tests are over," Aizawa said, his voice hollow. "I will project the final results."

 

He tapped his tablet. A holographic screen popped up.

 

Rank 1: Izuku Midoriya.

Rank 2: Momo Yaoyorozu.

Rank 3: Shoto Todoroki.

...

Rank 21: Minoru Mineta.

 

Mineta fell to his knees, openly weeping. "No! I'm expelled! I never even got to touch a girl!"

 

"By the way, I was lying about the expulsion," Aizawa said mechanically, turning his back to the class.

 

The class stared in shock.

 

"What?" Uraraka gasped.

 

"It was a logical ruse," Aizawa droned, though his voice lacked any conviction. He sounded like a man reading off a cue card at gunpoint. "It was designed to draw out your upper limits. Nobody is going home."

 

He didn't tell them the truth. He didn't tell them that he couldn't expel anyone because he realized he had absolutely zero authority over this class as long as Midoriya was in it. If Midoriya wanted to stay, Midoriya stayed. If Midoriya wanted to become the principal, Nezu would probably hand over the keys and run for his life.

 

"Go to the locker rooms, change, and return to the classroom," Aizawa commanded softly. "The syllabus is on your desks. Midoriya."

 

Izuku stopped. "Yes, Mr. Aizawa?"

 

Aizawa didn't turn around. He just stared blankly at the horizon, where the baseball had disappeared into the stratosphere.

 

"Please don't sneeze in my classroom," Aizawa whispered. "That's my only rule."

 

Izuku nodded seriously. "I promise, sir. I'll hold it in."

 

"Good. Dismissed."

 

As the students filed away, whispering fearfully among themselves and keeping a minimum fifty-foot perimeter around Izuku, Aizawa stood alone on the training field.

 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a number.

 

"Hello, Recovery Girl?" Aizawa said, his voice completely flat.

 

"Yes, Aizawa? Do you have injured students already?" the elderly heroine replied.

 

"No," Aizawa said, slowly unzipping his yellow sleeping bag and climbing inside it, right there in the middle of the dirt field. "But I need you to prescribe me the strongest anti-anxiety medication you have. Legally or illegally, I don't care. Also, tell Nezu I'm taking a personal day tomorrow. I'm going to lie here and watch the clouds."

 

He zipped the sleeping bag over his head, leaving the world behind, profoundly aware that the era of logical heroism was officially dead, crushed beneath the heel of a sleepy, green-haired dinosaur.