What If Deku Joined The BakuSquad

 

The lingering phantom pains in Izuku Midoriya’s right arm served as a cold, unrelenting reminder of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint.

 

It had been nearly two weeks since the League of Villains had shattered the illusion of safety at U.A. High School. The physical wounds were healing—thanks to the exhausted efforts of Recovery Girl and a frankly absurd amount of sleep—but the psychological scars were still fresh. Every time Izuku closed his eyes, he saw the horrifying visage of the Nomu, the decaying hands of Tomura Shigaraki reaching for Asui’s face, and the desperate, bloodied form of his mentor, All Might, pushing past his limits to save them.

 

But beneath the terror and the awe of that day, a different kind of realization had been gnawing at the edges of Izuku’s mind. A tactical realization.

 

Sitting at his desk in Class 1-A, staring blankly at the grain of the faux-wood surface, Izuku twirled a yellow pencil between his scarred fingers. We survived, he thought, his brow furrowing. But survival isn't the same as victory. And survival definitely isn't the same as being a Pro Hero.

 

During the USJ attack, the class had been scattered, divided, and conquered. Izuku had managed to work reasonably well with Tsu and Mineta in the Shipwreck Zone, improvising a strategy to escape the aquatic villains. But that had been born of pure, desperate necessity. It wasn't coordinated. It wasn't rehearsed.

 

And then there was Kacchan.

 

Izuku’s green eyes flicked unconsciously toward the front of the classroom. Katsuki Bakugo sat with his feet propped up on his desk, arms crossed over his chest, his signature scowl etched deeply into his features. Even from three rows back, Izuku could practically feel the waves of aggressive heat radiating from his childhood friend. During the USJ, Bakugo had teamed up with Eijiro Kirishima to decimate the villains in the Ruins Zone. From what Izuku had gathered, they hadn't really worked together so much as they had simply fought in the same general vicinity, relying entirely on raw, overwhelming power to crush their opponents.

 

It had worked against low-level street thugs. But against an organized threat like Shigaraki? Or against the pros they would eventually have to face? Raw power without coordination was a recipe for disaster. Izuku knew it. And, as the heavy classroom door slid open with a metallic screech, Izuku knew their homeroom teacher knew it, too.

 

The chatter in Class 1-A instantly died.

 

Shota Aizawa shuffled into the room. He looked less like a teacher and more like an extra from a low-budget mummy movie. His face and arms were wrapped tightly in pristine white bandages, a stark contrast to his dark, perpetually disheveled clothing. He moved stiffly, clearly still in agony from the Nomu’s brutal assault, yet his presence was as commanding and suffocating as ever.

 

"Morning," Aizawa rasped, his voice muffled slightly by the gauze covering his mouth and nose.

 

"Good morning, Aizawa-sensei!" the class chorused, a mix of immense relief and lingering anxiety in their voices.

 

Tenya Iida immediately shot up from his seat, his arm chopping the air with robotic precision. "Sensei! Are you sure you should be teaching? Your injuries were severe! A true hero knows when to rest and let their body recuperate!"

 

"My well-being is irrelevant, Iida," Aizawa replied, his single visible eye fixing the class representative with a deadpan stare. "Take your seat. We have more pressing matters to discuss than my medical chart."

 

Iida sat down instantly, suitably chastised.

 

Aizawa walked slowly to the podium, leaning his weight against it. He let the silence stretch for a long, agonizing moment. Izuku felt his heart rate tick upward. Aizawa's silences were never empty; they were always loaded, waiting to detonate.

 

"The USJ incident," Aizawa began, his voice low but carrying effortlessly across the quiet room. "You all experienced firsthand what the real world of heroism looks like. You saw the malice of villains. You survived. For that, the faculty and I are relieved."

 

A collective, quiet sigh seemed to ripple through the room.

 

"However," Aizawa continued, the word dropping like a lead weight, instantly killing the relief. "Survival is the bare minimum. While reviewing the security footage and the post-incident reports, a glaring, frankly embarrassing flaw in this class was brought to my attention."

 

Izuku swallowed hard. He knew exactly what was coming.

 

"Your individual quirks are strong," Aizawa said, his gaze sweeping over them. "Your combat instincts, for a bunch of first-years, are commendable. But your teamwork is completely, utterly nonexistent."

 

A murmur ran through the class. Denki Kaminari leaned back in his chair, scratching his blonde hair. "Wait, teamwork? But didn't we all fight the villains off? Me, Jiro, and Yaoyorozu totally held our own!"

 

"Holding your own is not teamwork, Kaminari," Aizawa shot back. "It’s a localized brawl. Yaoyorozu created a blanket to protect you from your own indiscriminate electrical discharge because you lack the control to fight alongside others without frying them. That isn't synergy. That's damage control."

 

Kaminari winced, sinking lower in his seat.

 

"You were scattered," Aizawa went on, his tone merciless. "You fought as islands. Some of you actively hindered your classmates. In a real crisis, villains will exploit those gaps. They will isolate you, divide your attention, and kill you."

 

The bluntness of the word kill hung in the air. Izuku felt a shiver run down his spine.

 

"The U.A. Sports Festival is approaching," Aizawa reminded them. "It is the premier event of the year, a chance to show the world—and prospective hero agencies—what you are capable of. But I refuse to send a class of uncoordinated brawlers onto that stage to represent me. Therefore, for the next week, our regular curriculum is being suspended."

 

Izuku sat up straighter. A week-long suspension of regular classes? That was unprecedented.

 

"We are undertaking an intensive, week-long practical assignment," Aizawa announced. "This project will account for fifty percent of your midterm grade in Hero Informatics."

 

A collective gasp echoed through the room. Mina Ashido threw her hands on her head. "Fifty percent?! But midterms are weeks away!"

 

"Consider this a preemptive strike on your GPA, Ashido," Aizawa said dryly. "The assignment is simple in concept, difficult in execution. You will be divided into small squads. For the next seven days, you will do everything with this squad. You will study together, train together, and formulate tactical strategies together. At the end of the week, you will participate in a round-robin combat and rescue simulation. You will be graded not on your individual performance, but on how effectively you utilize every member of your team."

 

Izuku’s mind immediately began racing. A team project. Grading based on synergy. He looked around the room, his analytical brain automatically cataloging his classmates' quirks. If I'm paired with Uraraka and Iida, we already have established communication. Iida provides mobility, Uraraka provides hazard clearance, and I can act as the vanguard. Or maybe Tsu and Tokoyami? Tsu's versatility combined with Dark Shadow's offensive power...

 

"Before you start mentally pairing yourselves with your friends," Aizawa interrupted, shattering Izuku's train of thought, "know that I have already selected the teams. These selections were made specifically to force you out of your comfort zones, address your weaknesses, and correct the most glaring tactical errors I witnessed at the USJ."

 

Izuku tensed. Out of his comfort zone. That didn't sound good.

 

Aizawa pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with a slow, deliberate motion. "Listen closely. I will not repeat myself."

 

He began reading off the groups.

 

"Group A: Yaoyorozu, Jiro, Koda, Shoji, and Tokoyami."

A reconnaissance and stealth heavy team, Izuku noted mentally. Aizawa is forcing Yaoyorozu into a definitive leadership role among quieter students.

 

"Group B: Todoroki, Iida, Uraraka, Asui, and Ojiro."

Izuku blinked. That was a powerhouse team. High mobility, high elemental control, and exceptional close-quarters combat. He felt a pang of disappointment that he wasn't with his friends, but he understood the logic.

 

"Group C: Mineta, Aoyama, Sato, Hagakure, and..." Aizawa paused, his visible eye narrowing slightly.

 

Izuku held his breath. Was he in Group C? It was a strangely unbalanced team.

 

"...and no one," Aizawa finished. "Group C is a five-man cell. Which leaves the remaining six of you for Group D."

 

Izuku quickly did the math in his head. He looked around to see who hadn't been called.

 

There was Kaminari.

Ashido.

Sero.

Kirishima.

And...

 

Izuku’s blood ran cold. The breath hitched in his throat. He looked toward the front of the classroom, where the ash-blonde hair of Katsuki Bakugo practically bristled with static tension.

 

No, Izuku thought, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. No, no, no. Aizawa-sensei wouldn't. He knows. He has to know.

 

"Group D," Aizawa read, his voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. "Kaminari, Ashido, Sero, Kirishima, Midoriya, and Bakugo."

 

For a span of three seconds, the classroom was dead silent. It was the kind of heavy, pressurized silence that precedes a massive thunderclap.

 

Then, the explosion happened.

 

"HAH?!"

 

Bakugo violently kicked his desk forward. It screeched against the floor, tipping over with a loud crash as he vaulted to his feet. Small, crackling pops of nitroglycerin ignited in the palms of his hands, shedding a harsh, orange light across his furious face. His crimson eyes were blown wide with absolute, unrestrained outrage.

 

"Are you screwing with me, Aizawa?!" Bakugo roared, completely abandoning any pretense of respect for the teacher. He spun around, his murderous glare locking onto Izuku. Izuku instinctively flinched, shrinking back into his chair. "You're putting me on a team with these damn extras?! And worse, you're tying my grade to this useless, quirkless-wannabe Deku?!"

 

"Sit down, Bakugo," Aizawa commanded, his voice devoid of any inflection. It wasn't a request; it was a warning. The bandages shifted as Aizawa’s eyes flared a vibrant, threatening red. His hair, defying gravity, began to float upward, a visual manifestation of his Erasure quirk activating.

 

The small explosions in Bakugo’s hands instantly vanished. The sudden absence of his quirk seemed to jar him, but it did nothing to quell his fury. He stood his ground, his chest heaving, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

 

"I don't need a damn team!" Bakugo snarled, though he wisely lowered his voice a fraction. "I don't need 'synergy.' I showed you at the USJ! I can crush any villain you put in front of me. I'm going to win the Sports Festival, and I'm going to do it by myself! I don't need dead weight dragging me down, especially not him!"

 

He jabbed a furious finger in Izuku's direction. Izuku felt the stares of the entire class boring into him. He wanted nothing more than to melt through the floorboards.

 

Aizawa’s hair slowly lowered back to his shoulders. He blinked, deactivating his quirk, though his stern expression remained unchanged. "You are exactly the reason I formed this team, Bakugo."

 

Bakugo’s eye twitched. "What did you say?"

 

"Your raw power is undeniable. Your combat instincts are sharp," Aizawa stated, stepping out from behind the podium. He walked slowly down the aisle, stopping inches from where Bakugo stood. Even bandaged and injured, Aizawa loomed over the aggressive teenager. "But your ego is a fatal liability. You view everyone around you as stepping stones or obstacles. You charge into battle without communicating, without analyzing your environment, and without considering the collateral damage or the positioning of your allies."

 

Aizawa pointed a bandaged finger at Bakugo’s chest. "At the USJ, you survived because you were lucky enough to be warped alongside Kirishima, whose quirk allowed him to survive the crossfire of your indiscriminate explosions. If you had been warped with someone like Uraraka or Jiro, your reckless combat style would have likely gotten them killed."

 

The words hit the classroom like a physical blow. Bakugo’s jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, but for the first time, he didn't immediately yell back. A vein pulsed visibly on his forehead.

 

"A Pro Hero rarely works alone in the modern era," Aizawa continued, his tone softening just a fraction, taking on a purely educational cadence. "You will be part of an agency. You will lead strike teams. If you cannot learn to coordinate with people you deem 'extras,' you will fail. You will cause casualties. And I will not allow you to enter the field with that mindset."

 

Aizawa turned his gaze toward Izuku. Izuku stiffened, his posture ramrod straight.

 

"And you, Midoriya," Aizawa said.

 

"Y-Yes, Sensei!" Izuku squeaked, his voice cracking slightly.

 

"You have the opposite problem," Aizawa noted bluntly. "You are deeply analytical, but you lack assertiveness in combat scenarios unless you are pushed to the absolute brink. You defer to others, even when you have the superior tactical read. Furthermore, your quirk control is self-destructive. You cannot rely on shattering your own bones to win every fight. You need to learn how to utilize a team to cover your physical shortcomings while utilizing your strategic mind to direct those with greater combat stamina."

 

Aizawa looked back and forth between Izuku and Bakugo. The tension between the two boys was a physical, almost magnetic repulsion.

 

"This team is not a punishment. It is a crucible," Aizawa declared to the room at large. "Bakugo, you are surrounded by highly mobile, highly cooperative individuals. Kirishima, Sero, Ashido, and Kaminari. They are a versatile unit. And Midoriya... Midoriya is the tactical anchor. Your assignment is to learn how to operate under his strategies without blowing him up, and Midoriya, your assignment is to learn how to wrangle this chaotic vanguard into an effective fighting force."

 

Aizawa walked back to the front of the room. "If you refuse to cooperate, Bakugo, you will fail the midterm. And if you fail the midterm, you will be benched during the practical exercises leading up to the Sports Festival. Is that understood?"

 

It was the ultimate threat. Threatening Bakugo’s pride and his chance to prove himself was the only leverage that could possibly work.

 

Bakugo stood perfectly still for a long moment. He slowly lowered his arm, his hands falling to his sides. He righted his desk with a violent, jerky motion and slammed himself into his seat. He didn't look at Aizawa, and he didn't look at Izuku. He just stared straight ahead, his eyes burning with a hateful intensity.

 

"Whatever," Bakugo muttered, the word laced with enough venom to kill a grown man.

 

Aizawa nodded once. "Good. The rest of the period is yours to begin planning. I expect preliminary schedules and role assignments on my desk by the end of the day. Get to work."

 

With that, Aizawa zipped himself into his bright yellow sleeping bag and collapsed behind the podium, immediately feigning sleep.

 

The classroom erupted into chaotic chatter as chairs scraped against the floor, students rushing to group up with their assigned teams. Izuku remained frozen in his seat. His mind was spiraling.

 

A team with Kacchan. A team where I have to... wrangle him? Aizawa-sensei wants me to be the tactical anchor for Katsuki Bakugo? That's impossible. It's a death sentence. Kacchan hasn't listened to a word I've said since we were four years old. How am I supposed to—

 

"Hey, Midoriya!"

 

Izuku snapped out of his spiral, nearly jumping out of his skin.

 

Eijiro Kirishima was standing beside his desk, a wide, razor-toothed grin on his face. Behind him stood Mina Ashido, looking slightly apprehensive but smiling, Hanta Sero, who was nervously scratching his neck, and Denki Kaminari, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

 

"Looks like we're squadmates, man!" Kirishima said, clapping a heavy, calloused hand onto Izuku’s shoulder. The impact made Izuku wince slightly, but the sheer warmth and earnestness in Kirishima’s voice was instantly disarming.

 

"Y-Yeah," Izuku managed to stammer out, his eyes darting nervously toward the front of the room, where Bakugo was aggressively ignoring them. "It... it seems so."

 

"Don't look so terrified, Midoriya," Mina chimed in, leaning over Izuku’s desk. Her pink skin and bright yellow horns gave her a vibrant, energetic aura that was hard to ignore. "I know Blasty over there is basically a walking anger management problem, but we've got your back!"

 

"Blasty?" Izuku repeated, his eyes widening. She gave Kacchan a nickname? And she's still alive?

 

"She means Bakugo," Sero supplied helpfully, offering a lopsided smile. "Though to be honest, I'm kinda with you, Midoriya. I feel like we're being thrown to the wolves here. Did you see the look he gave us? He's gonna murder us in our sleep."

 

"Oh, come on, you guys are being so unmanly right now!" Kirishima protested, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. "Bakugo’s just... intense! He’s got a lot of passion. We just need to channel that passion into the right direction. A real man can work with anyone, no matter how explosive their personality is!"

 

Kaminari snorted. "Easy for you to say, Kirishima. You're basically indestructible. If he blows you up, you just get a little crispy. If he blows me up, I die."

 

"He's not gonna blow anyone up," Kirishima insisted. "Right, Bakugo?!"

 

Kirishima turned and shouted across the room. Izuku’s heart leaped into his throat. Don't provoke him!

 

At the front of the room, Bakugo slowly turned his head. His glare could have melted titanium. "Shut your damn mouth, Shitty Hair, before I blow you into next week."

 

"See? He's engaging in friendly banter!" Kirishima laughed, seemingly completely immune to Bakugo’s hostility. He turned back to the group. "Alright, so Aizawa-sensei wants a schedule by the end of the day. We need to figure out when and where we're going to hold our first official squad meeting."

 

Izuku took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands. Kirishima’s positive energy was infectious, but it didn't negate the terrifying reality of their situation. Still, Aizawa’s words echoed in his mind. Your ego is a fatal liability... You defer to others, even when you have the superior tactical read.

 

Aizawa had seen something in him. The teacher believed that Izuku possessed the strategic capability to make this work. He couldn't back down now. He had spent his entire life watching Bakugo's back as he charged ahead. If he was ever going to become a hero who could stand on the same stage as All Might, he needed to learn how to stand alongside Katsuki Bakugo.

 

"W-We should meet after school," Izuku spoke up, his voice quiet but remarkably steady.

 

The group looked at him, slightly surprised by his sudden input.

 

"The library has private study rooms we can reserve," Izuku continued, his analytical mind kicking into gear. "It's a neutral space. If we meet in the dorms or an empty classroom, there are too many distractions. The library enforces a noise ordinance, which might... um... discourage Kacchan from using his quirk indoors."

 

Sero raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. "That's... actually really smart. Use the librarian as a human shield against Bakugo's wrath. I like it."

 

"It's not about a human shield," Izuku quickly corrected, waving his hands defensively. "It's about establishing a professional environment! If we're going to formulate tactical strategies, we need a place where we can lay out blueprints, study our quirks, and focus."

 

Mina groaned playfully. "Ugh, studying. I thought this was a practical assignment! Why do we have to do book work?"

 

"Because strategy is built on knowledge, Ashido," Izuku said, warming up to the topic. He reached into his yellow backpack and pulled out a worn, slightly singed notebook with the words Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13 scrawled on the cover. "Before we can figure out how to fight together, we need to completely understand what each of us is capable of. Not just the basics of our quirks, but our stamina limits, our reaction times, and our mobility ranges."

 

Kaminari leaned over, trying to peek at the notebook. "Dude, what is that? Looks like a mad scientist's diary."

 

"It's... just some notes I take," Izuku mumbled, his cheeks flushing pink. He quickly pulled the notebook closer to his chest. "Anyway. The library. After school. Say, 3:30 PM? That gives everyone time to change out of their uniforms and grab a snack."

 

"Works for me," Kirishima said, giving a thumbs up. "I'll make sure to drag Bakugo along."

 

"Wait," Izuku said, stopping Kirishima before he could walk away. He swallowed the lump in his throat. His palms were sweaty, but he forced himself to stand up from his desk. "I... I should be the one to tell him."

 

The squad stared at him as if he had just volunteered to juggle active grenades.

 

"Bro," Kaminari said slowly, his eyes wide. "Are you sure? Because you look like you're about to pass out, and I don't know CPR."

 

"I have to," Izuku said softly. He gripped the edge of his desk. Aizawa-sensei said I need to stop deferring. I'm supposed to be the tactical anchor. An anchor doesn't hide behind a shield. "If we're going to be a team, I can't let Kirishima do all the communicating for me. Kacchan respects strength. If I cower away from him on day one, he'll never listen to a single strategy I propose."

 

Kirishima stared at Izuku for a moment, his red eyes softening. A wide, genuine smile broke across his face. He reached out and punched Izuku lightly on the shoulder. "Man, Midoriya. That is incredibly manly. Respect."

 

Mina offered a sympathetic grimace. "Good luck, Midoriya. We'll be preparing your eulogy just in case."

 

"Thanks," Izuku muttered, though the joke did little to settle his stomach.

 

He took a deep breath, clutching his notebook to his chest like a piece of armor, and stepped out from behind his desk. The walk to the front of the classroom felt like walking the green mile. Every step was heavy. The chatter of the other groups—Uraraka and Iida discussing training regimes, Yaoyorozu delegating tasks—faded into a dull roar in the background. His entire focus narrowed onto the spiky ash-blonde hair of his oldest friend and greatest tormentor.

 

Bakugo was sitting rigidly in his seat, staring at the chalkboard with a look of murderous intent. He was furiously tapping a pencil against the desk, the rapid tap-tap-tap sounding like a ticking time bomb.

 

Izuku stopped beside Bakugo’s desk. He didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, waiting to be acknowledged.

 

The tapping stopped. Bakugo slowly turned his head. His crimson eyes met Izuku’s green ones. The sheer hostility radiating from Bakugo was suffocating. It was the same look he had given Izuku when he had destroyed his notebook in middle school, the same look he had given him during the Battle Trial when he had tried to blow him out of the building.

 

"What the hell do you want, Deku?" Bakugo growled. His voice was remarkably quiet, but it vibrated with a dangerous, barely suppressed rage. "Come to gloat? Come to rub it in my face that the teacher thinks I need your help?"

 

"No," Izuku said. He was trembling, but he forced his voice to remain steady. "I came to tell you the schedule. Like Aizawa-sensei asked."

 

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "I don't give a damn about your schedule. I'm not playing house with you and those idiots."

 

"You don't have a choice, Kacchan," Izuku said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

 

Bakugo visibly twitched. "What did you just say to me?!"

 

"You heard Aizawa-sensei," Izuku pushed on, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Don't back down. Stand your ground. "If you don't cooperate, you fail. If you fail, you don't get to participate in the Sports Festival. You won't get to show everyone that you're the best. Is your pride really worth throwing away your chance to be scouted by a top agency?"

 

For a second, Izuku thought he had gone too far. Bakugo’s hands slammed flat onto his desk. Smoke literally began to curl upward from his palms, carrying the acrid scent of burnt sugar. The temperature in the immediate vicinity seemed to spike by ten degrees.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He tightened his grip on his notebook and held Bakugo’s gaze. He poured every ounce of his resolve, every memory of his grueling training with All Might on the beach, into his eyes. He wasn't the weak, quirkless Deku anymore. He was a student of U.A. High School. He had a quirk. He had a right to be here.

 

Bakugo stared at him, searching for the familiar weakness, the familiar cowering posture. When he didn't find it, his expression shifted minutely. The unbridled rage morphed into something darker, something far more complicated. It was a mix of intense frustration, confusion, and a bitter, grudging realization that Izuku was right.

 

"You think you're so smart now, don't you, nerd?" Bakugo whispered, leaning forward so heavily that his face was only inches from Izuku’s. "You think because you suddenly got a quirk and managed to trick the teachers into thinking you're something special, that you can give me orders?"

 

"I'm not giving you orders, Kacchan," Izuku replied evenly. "I'm giving you tactical information. What you do with it is up to you."

 

Bakugo scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Fine. Give me your stupid information."

 

Izuku blinked, slightly stunned that his approach had actually worked. He quickly recovered. "We're... we're meeting in the library after school. At 3:30. In one of the private study rooms on the second floor. We need to go over everyone's quirk parameters and start formulating a baseline strategy for the simulation."

 

Bakugo stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest once again. The smoke ceased curling from his palms.

 

"The library," Bakugo muttered, rolling his eyes as if the mere concept of studying was beneath him. "Of course the damn nerd wants to go to the library."

 

"It's a practical location," Izuku defended mildly.

 

Bakugo didn't argue. He just turned his head away, staring out the window at the U.A. courtyard below. The conversation was clearly over.

 

Izuku stood there for a second longer, letting out a slow, shaky breath. He had done it. He had initiated contact, delivered the information, and survived without a scratch. It was a small victory, incredibly small in the grand scheme of things, but it felt monumental.

 

He turned on his heel to walk back to Kirishima and the others.

 

"Hey, Deku," Bakugo’s rough voice cut through the air, stopping Izuku in his tracks.

 

Izuku froze, bracing himself for the inevitable insult. He slowly looked back over his shoulder.

 

Bakugo was still staring out the window, his profile sharp and unyielding against the morning light. He didn't look at Izuku.

 

"If you're late to your own damn meeting," Bakugo said, his tone devoid of its usual explosive volume but carrying a terrifyingly calm promise of violence, "I'll kill you."

 

Izuku stared at the back of Bakugo’s head. A slow, tentative smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It wasn't an agreement. It wasn't friendly. But from Katsuki Bakugo, an aggressive threat about punctuality was as close to an RSVP as anyone was ever going to get.

 

"I'll be there," Izuku said quietly.

 

He walked back to where his new squad was waiting. Kirishima was beaming, Mina was giving him a dramatic, slow clap, Kaminari looked incredibly relieved that the room hadn't exploded, and Sero offered an impressed nod.

 

"You alive, man?" Kirishima asked as Izuku approached.

 

"Yeah," Izuku said, feeling a strange, unfamiliar spark of excitement warring with his lingering anxiety. He looked at the four smiling faces of his classmates, then glanced back at the brooding, isolated figure of Bakugo at the front of the room.

 

They were chaotic. They were disjointed. They had a vanguard who actively hated his tactician, a tactician who was terrified of his vanguard, and a supporting cast who seemed more interested in banter than battle planning.

 

They were an absolute mess.

 

But as Izuku looked at the team Aizawa had forcefully cobbled together, his mind began to spin with possibilities. He pictured Kirishima’s hardening quirk acting as an impenetrable phalanx. He imagined Mina’s acid creating hazard zones to funnel enemies into Sero’s tape traps. He saw Kaminari functioning as a devastating area-of-effect suppression tool. And at the head of it all, moving with terrifying speed and destructive power, was Katsuki Bakugo.

 

If—and it was a massive, mountainous if—Izuku could somehow figure out how to weave all of these distinct, volatile elements together into a cohesive strategy... they wouldn't just pass Aizawa’s midterm.

 

They would be unstoppable.

 

"Alright," Izuku said, pulling out a fresh yellow pencil and opening his notebook to a blank page. He looked up at his new team, the trepidation in his eyes finally giving way to a fierce, undeniable determination. "Let's get to work."

 

The final bell of the day rang through the sprawling halls of U.A. High School, a melodic chime that usually signaled freedom and relief for the students of Class 1-A. Today, however, the bell felt more like the tolling of a gong in a gladiatorial arena.

 

Izuku Midoriya remained frozen at his desk, his yellow pencil hovering over the blank page of his notebook. The rest of the classroom had erupted into a flurry of activity. Chairs scraped against the polished floor, zippers zipped, and voices overlapped in a chaotic symphony of teenage energy.

 

"Alright, Group B, let's meet up by the front gates!" Iida’s booming voice carried over the din, accompanied by his signature robotic arm chops. "We must establish a foundational training regimen before sunset!"

 

"Sounds good, Iida-kun!" Uraraka cheered, pumping her fist in the air.

 

Izuku watched them from the corner of his eye, a pang of longing twisting in his chest. A team with Iida and Uraraka would have been comfortable. It would have been safe. They understood him, they supported him, and they didn't actively look at him as if he were a bug waiting to be squashed.

 

He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze away from his friends and toward the front of the classroom.

 

Katsuki Bakugo was already on his feet. He slung his bag over his shoulder with unnecessary force, his scowl so deep it looked permanently carved into his features. He didn't look at Izuku. He didn't look at Kirishima, or Mina, or any of the people Aizawa had deemed his 'squad.' He simply shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked out of the classroom, the heavy door sliding shut behind him with a definitive thud.

 

Izuku exhaled a shaky breath. He didn't say anything. That's good, right? He didn't blow up my desk. He didn't yell. He just left. But... does that mean he's actually going to show up at the library? Or is he just blowing us off?

 

"Earth to Midoriya!"

 

A hand waved wildly in front of Izuku’s face, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. He blinked, refocusing his vision to see Mina Ashido leaning over his desk, her golden eyes sparkling with an almost terrifying amount of enthusiasm.

 

"You in there, tactician?" she chirped, resting her chin in her hands.

 

"A-Ah, yes! Sorry, Ashido," Izuku stammered, hurriedly tossing his pencil into his bag. "I was just... thinking."

 

"Well, save some of that brainpower for the library," Denki Kaminari groaned as he slouched against Izuku’s desk. He looked utterly exhausted despite the day having just ended. "Man, I still can't believe Aizawa-sensei is making us do an exam project this early. And with Bakugo, no less. I value my life, you know? I have so much left to live for. I haven't even gotten a girlfriend yet!"

 

Hanta Sero walked up, adjusting the straps of his backpack, and playfully smacked the back of Kaminari’s head. "If you complain any louder, Bakugo’s gonna hear you from down the hall and come back to fry you himself. Come on, we should get going. Midoriya said 3:30, right? We've got about twenty minutes to grab a snack and head over."

 

"Snacks are a highly manly priority," Kirishima declared, clapping his hands together. He looked at Izuku, his sharp teeth on full display in a wide, encouraging grin. "Ready to roll, Midoriya?"

 

Izuku looked at the four of them. They were so vastly different from each other—Mina with her vibrant pink skin and horns, Sero with his tape-dispenser elbows and laid-back posture, Kaminari with his lightning-bolt hair and dramatic complaining, and Kirishima, the red-haired embodiment of unshakeable optimism. Yet, despite their differences, they seemed to orbit one another with a natural, effortless ease. They were a cluster of chaotic, high-energy extroverts.

 

And then there was Izuku. The nervous, overthinking fanboy who broke his own bones.

 

"I'm ready," Izuku lied, zipping up his yellow backpack and slinging it over his shoulders.

 

The walk through the sprawling corridors of U.A. High was an exercise in sensory overload. The school was massive, a glass-and-steel labyrinth of cutting-edge technology and architectural grandeur. As they navigated the crowded hallways, dodging upperclassmen and support-course students carrying bizarre gadgets, Izuku observed his new squadmates.

 

They were loud. Incredibly loud.

 

"I'm just saying," Kaminari argued, gesturing wildly with his hands, "if I could figure out how to shoot my electricity in a straight line, like a laser beam, I'd basically be a human railgun. I'd be unstoppable. Girls love railguns."

 

"Girls do not love railguns, Kaminari," Jiro noted dryly as she passed them in the hall, not even breaking her stride.

 

Kaminari deflated instantly. "Why must she wound me so?"

 

Mina laughed, a bright, bubbly sound that echoed off the high ceilings. "Maybe you should focus on not turning your brain into mush every time you sneeze, sparky! Remember last week in training? You went 'yay' and wandered around like a zombie for an hour."

 

"It was a tactical short-circuit!" Kaminari defended, though his cheeks flushed red.

 

"There's no such thing as a tactical short-circuit, bro," Sero chuckled, leaning against the hallway wall as they waited for a throng of third-years to pass. "But seriously, how are we supposed to do a tactical simulation? Like, no offense to us, but we aren't exactly the 'planning' type. We're more the 'run in and see what happens' type. Bakugo especially."

 

"That's exactly why Aizawa put us with Midoriya!" Kirishima said, throwing an arm over Izuku’s shoulders. Izuku stiffened at the sudden physical contact, still not used to people casually touching him without malice. "Midoriya’s got the brains. Did you see him during the Battle Trial? He figured out Bakugo’s entire attack pattern and countered it! That takes serious guts and serious smarts."

 

Izuku felt his face heat up, a furious blush spreading across his freckled cheeks. "T-That was mostly luck! And... and knowing Kacchan for a long time. I didn't exactly have a master plan. I just... reacted."

 

"Modesty isn't going to help us pass, Midoriya," Mina teased, poking him in the cheek. "We are officially putting all our brain cells into your hands. Do not drop them."

 

"Don't worry, there aren't many to drop," Sero muttered, earning a swift kick to the shin from Kaminari.

 

As they bantered, Izuku’s anxiety began to curdle into something else. A profound sense of responsibility. Aizawa hadn't just thrown them together to torture them. He had identified a fatal flaw in the way these four operated. They were incredibly powerful, yes, but they were reactive. They relied on instinct. Against thugs, instinct was enough. Against villains like the ones at the USJ, instinct got you killed.

 

I have to take this seriously, Izuku thought, his hands tightening on the straps of his backpack. If I'm supposed to be a hero who saves everyone with a smile, that includes saving my classmates from their own bad habits. Even Kacchan's.

 

They finally reached the U.A. grand library. It was less of a traditional high school library and more of a national archive. Three stories of towering, mahogany bookshelves stretched toward a massive glass atrium ceiling, casting long, geometric shadows across the polished marble floor. The smell of old paper, binding glue, and floor wax hung heavily in the air. The silence in the room was absolute, enforced by the terrifying, eagle-eyed gaze of the head librarian, a pro hero with a sound-dampening quirk who glared at the BakuSquad the moment they stepped through the double doors.

 

Mina immediately slapped her hands over her mouth, suppressing a giggle as Kaminari mimed being shot by the librarian's glare.

 

"Study room 4B," Izuku whispered, pointing toward a glass-walled enclosure on the second-floor mezzanine. "I booked it during lunch."

 

They quietly ascended the spiral staircase, doing their best to muffle their footsteps. Once inside the soundproofed glass room, Sero firmly shut the door, and the group collectively let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.

 

The study room was pristine. It featured a large, oval mahogany table, six plush office chairs, a massive digital whiteboard taking up one entire wall, and a view that looked out over the sprawling library below.

 

Izuku walked to the head of the table, placing his backpack down with a soft thud. He pulled out a stack of blank paper, a pencil case, and, most importantly, his weathered, slightly scorched Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13 notebook.

 

He glanced up at the digital clock on the wall. 3:25 PM.

 

"Alright," Kirishima said, dropping his bag onto a chair and stretching his arms over his head. "We got five minutes. Anyone want to take bets on whether Bakugo actually shows up, or if he's gonna make us drag him here by his ankles?"

 

"I bet he doesn't show," Kaminari said instantly, slumping into a chair and kicking his feet up onto the table. "He's probably at the gym, blowing up punching bags and screaming about how much he hates us."

 

"Ten yen says he shows up, but he kicks the door open and breaks the glass," Sero wagered, leaning back and balancing his chair on its two hind legs.

 

"You guys have no faith!" Mina scolded, though she was currently occupied with trying to balance a pencil on her upper lip. "I bet he shows up right on time, just to prove he's better at being punctual than we are."

 

Izuku didn't participate in the betting. He just stared at the clock, watching the digital numbers flip.

 

3:27 PM.

 

His heart rate began to climb. What if Bakugo didn't show? If he didn't, the team would fail. Aizawa had made it perfectly clear. This wasn't an individual grade. If Bakugo decided his pride was worth an F, he would drag all of them down with him. Izuku couldn't let that happen. If 3:30 came and went, he resolved to march straight to the dorms—or the gym, or wherever Bakugo was hiding—and physically drag him back.

 

3:29 PM.

 

Kaminari sighed, swinging his legs off the table. "Well, looks like I owe you—"

 

CLACK.

 

The heavy, soundproofed glass door swung open.

 

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Katsuki Bakugo stood in the doorway. He had changed out of his standard U.A. blazer. He wore a black t-shirt that hugged his athletic frame, the collar of his uniform shirt peeking out from underneath, completely unbuttoned. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his baggy uniform pants, and his red eyes swept the room with an expression of pure, unadulterated contempt.

 

He didn't kick the door. He didn't yell. He simply walked into the room, let the door shut itself, and pulled out the chair at the absolute furthest end of the table, directly opposite Izuku. He slumped into it, crossed his arms, and glared.

 

The digital clock clicked to 3:30 PM.

 

"Well?" Bakugo grated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "I'm here, aren't I? Start talking, nerd. And make it quick. I have better things to do than sit in a glass box with a bunch of extras."

 

The room was painfully silent. Kaminari exchanged a panicked glance with Sero. Mina slowly lowered the pencil from her lip. Even Kirishima looked momentarily at a loss for words, the sheer hostility radiating from Bakugo acting like a physical wall.

 

Izuku stood at the head of the table. His hands were shaking. He could feel the eyes of the squad bouncing between him and Bakugo, waiting to see who would break first. The old Izuku—the middle school Izuku who flinched at the sound of a popping firecracker—screamed at him to apologize, to pack up his bags, and to run away.

 

But then he looked at the notebook on the table in front of him. Hero Analysis for the Future.

 

He had spent his entire life studying heroes. He had analyzed All Might’s smiles, Endeavor’s ruthless efficiency, Best Jeanist’s battlefield control. He understood the mechanics of heroism better than almost anyone his age. He had earned his spot at U.A. He had earned his quirk.

 

He took a deep, steadying breath, pulling the cool, air-conditioned air of the library deep into his lungs. He placed his hands flat on the table, grounding himself.

 

"Thank you for coming, Kacchan," Izuku said. His voice wavered slightly on the first word, but he forced it to steady, projecting it clearly across the long wooden table.

 

Bakugo just scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 

"Alright," Izuku continued, turning his attention to the rest of the group. "Aizawa-sensei gave us a week to prepare for a combat and rescue simulation. We will be graded heavily on synergy. That means we can't just run out and use our quirks independently. We need to create combinations, cover each other's blind spots, and establish a clear chain of command on the battlefield."

 

Kaminari raised a hand slowly. "Uh, chain of command? Doesn't that usually go to the strongest guy? No offense, Midoriya, but Bakugo's kind of... you know." He gestured vaguely toward the ticking time bomb at the end of the table.

 

"Combat strength does not equate to tactical leadership," Izuku countered quickly. "If we put Kacchan in charge of giving orders, his natural instinct is to press the offensive. He operates as a vanguard. A vanguard cannot see the entire battlefield because they are in the thick of the fighting. We need someone who can observe, assess, and redirect from a slightly removed position."

 

"So, you," Sero summarized, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

 

"Yes," Izuku nodded, his confidence building as he fell into the familiar, comfortable territory of tactical analysis. "But before I can give any orders, I need to know exactly what I'm working with. I need to know the exact parameters, limitations, and drawbacks of your quirks."

 

Mina groaned, slumping back in her chair. "Aw, man. I thought we were going to talk about cool combo moves! You want us to just list our stats like a video game?"

 

"It's not just stats, Ashido," Izuku said, flipping open his battered notebook. The pages were filled with incredibly dense, cramped handwriting, alongside detailed, hand-drawn sketches of hero costumes, quirk manifestations, and physics equations. "It's about understanding how those stats interact with the real world."

 

He flipped past pages dedicated to Mt. Lady, Kamui Woods, and All Might, until he found the section he had started immediately after the Battle Trials and the USJ incident. The section labeled Class 1-A.

 

"Let's start with Kaminari," Izuku said, his eyes scanning his notes.

 

Kaminari sat up straight, pointing to himself. "Me? Sweet. Hit me with it, coach. Tell me how awesome I am."

 

Izuku traced a line of text with his finger. "Your quirk, Electrification, is incredibly powerful. You can discharge up to 1.3 million volts of electricity. In terms of raw, destructive area-of-effect capability, you are arguably the most dangerous person in our class."

 

Kaminari smirked, shooting a smug look toward Bakugo. "Hear that, Blasty? 'Most dangerous.' Read 'em and weep."

 

Bakugo’s eye twitched violently. "I'll kill you."

 

"However," Izuku continued loudly, cutting off the impending homicide, "your quirk is practically useless in a team setting right now."

 

Kaminari's smirk vanished. "Hey! What do you mean 'useless'? I took out an entire squad of villains at the USJ!"

 

"You did," Izuku agreed calmly. "But only after Yaoyorozu created a 100mm thick insulating blanket to cover herself and Jiro. Your discharge is indiscriminate. It goes everywhere. If you use your quirk while we are fighting in close proximity, you will paralyze or electrocute all of us. You are a liability to your own team."

 

The blunt, analytical truth hung in the air. Kaminari opened his mouth to argue, but closed it, realizing Midoriya was entirely correct.

 

"Furthermore," Izuku pressed on, flipping the page. "Your 'short-circuit' drawback occurs because the high voltage overwhelms the neural pathways in your brain. You're effectively frying your own synapses. If you exceed your wattage limit, you become dead weight on the battlefield, forcing the team to divert resources to protect you."

 

"Okay, okay, I get it," Kaminari muttered, looking incredibly depressed. "I'm a liability. So what do we do about it? Do I just sit on the sidelines?"

 

"No," Izuku said, his eyes lighting up with a sudden, intense fervor. He grabbed a dry-erase marker and quickly walked over to the whiteboard. He began drawing a rapid, remarkably accurate diagram of Kaminari's support gear and costume. "You need to change how you think about your quirk. You treat it like a bomb. You need to treat it like a scalpel."

 

The squad watched in rapt attention as Izuku’s hand flew across the board. Even Bakugo uncrossed his arms, leaning forward just a fraction of an inch to see what the nerd was drawing.

 

"Right now, you expel electricity outward from your entire body," Izuku explained, circling Kaminari's arms on the diagram. "Electricity naturally seeks the path of least resistance to ground itself. If we equip you with a localized support item—say, a conductive directional pointer or a specialized wrist-mounted firing mechanism—you could funnel that 1.3 million volts into a concentrated beam. By focusing the discharge, you lower the overall ambient voltage, meaning less strain on your brain, and completely eliminate the indiscriminate threat to your teammates."

 

Kaminari’s jaw dropped. He stared at the whiteboard, then at Izuku. "Wait. You... you can do that? Like, support companies can make that?"

 

"Absolutely," Izuku nodded enthusiastically. "And until you get that gear, we can use the environment. If we fight in a city zone, we can use Sero's tape to drag enemies into contact with metal streetlights or water pipes. You don't have to touch them; you just have to touch the conductive material. You can shock them from a distance using significantly lower voltage, keeping your brain intact and our team safe."

 

Kaminari looked like he had just been handed the keys to the universe. "Midoriya... that's... that's genius. I can shoot lightning from a distance. I'm going to be a sniper! A lightning sniper!"

 

Izuku smiled, a genuine, warm expression that eased some of the tension in the room. He turned back to his notebook. "Next is Sero."

 

Sero sat up, suddenly eager. "Alright, hit me. What's wrong with me?"

 

"Nothing is wrong with you," Izuku said, finding the right page. He had a detailed sketch of Sero's bizarre, tape-dispenser elbows. "Your quirk, Tape, is phenomenal for mobility and capture. The tensile strength of your tape is incredible. Based on what I saw during the Battle Trial, it can hold the weight of a full-grown person without snapping."

 

"Yeah, pretty much," Sero nodded. "But it's not exactly an offensive quirk. I can't blast people like Bakugo or Kaminari."

 

"You don't need to," Izuku said, pacing back to the table. "You are our battlefield controller. Your tape is sticky on both sides, right?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Then you shouldn't just be using it to grab people," Izuku explained, his hands moving rapidly as he visualized the tactics. "You can set traps. Before the enemy even sees us, you can string tape across alleyways at ankle height to create invisible tripwires. You can string it between buildings to create a literal spiderweb, restricting enemy mobility. If they can't move, Kacchan can hit them easier."

 

Izuku pointed the marker at Sero. "Also, pendulum physics. If you attach your tape to a high anchor point and grab Kirishima, you can swing him into an enemy like a human wrecking ball. The momentum generated by a pendulum swing, combined with Kirishima's hardened mass, would create an impact force far greater than a standard punch."

 

Kirishima’s eyes went wide. He looked at Sero, his face splitting into a massive grin. "Bro! We can do the Fastball Special! We can do the Wrecking Ball!"

 

"Dude," Sero breathed, looking at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "I'm a spider. I'm a wrecking ball spider."

 

"Exactly," Izuku beamed. He was fully in his element now. The anxiety of being in the same room as Bakugo had faded into the background, replaced by the sheer, intoxicating thrill of analyzing quirks. This was his language. This was where he was strong.

 

He flipped to the next page. "Ashido. Your Acid."

 

Mina leaned over the table, her golden eyes wide and unblinking. "Tell me my flaws, tactician. Break my heart."

 

"Your flaw is that you lack fine control over the acid's solubility and viscosity," Izuku said bluntly, though his tone was entirely academic. "Right now, you mostly use a highly corrosive acid to melt through obstacles, or a low-corrosive, high-viscosity acid to slide around on your feet."

 

"Yep! It's great for dodging!" Mina agreed.

 

"It is," Izuku nodded. "But if you can slide on it, so can the enemy. If you secrete a wide pool of low-corrosive, high-viscosity acid across the battlefield, you strip the enemy of their footing. They can't launch attacks if they can't stand up. It effectively nullifies any speed-based or martial-arts-based villains. And since you're immune to your own acid, you can skate through the hazard zone, delivering hit-and-run attacks while they're slipping."

 

Mina gasped, slapping both hands onto the table. "An ice-rink of doom! I love it! I can literally skate circles around them!"

 

"Kirishima," Izuku said, not losing momentum. He turned to the red-haired boy. "Your Hardening."

 

"I know, I know," Kirishima sighed, running a hand through his spiky hair. "It's simple. I just get hard and punch things. Not very flashy."

 

"Flashy is irrelevant," Izuku said firmly, and the sheer conviction in his voice made Kirishima blink in surprise. "Your quirk is arguably the most essential piece of our defensive line. But you're using it wrong."

 

"Using it wrong?" Kirishima frowned. "How do you use 'getting hard' wrong?"

 

"You're treating it like an offensive weapon," Izuku explained, pulling up a new page that featured a detailed breakdown of impact resistance. "You charge in alongside Kacchan. But you don't have his speed or his explosive mobility. When you charge, you leave the rest of us exposed. Your hardening can withstand blunt force, piercing trauma, and extreme heat."

 

Izuku tapped the paper. "You aren't a sword, Kirishima. You are a shield. A phalanx. If we are attacked by a ranged fighter, you shouldn't be running toward them; you should be standing in front of me, Kaminari, and Sero. If Kacchan uses a massive, indiscriminate explosion, you can act as a blast-wall to protect us from the shockwave. You are the immovable object that anchors our entire formation."

 

Kirishima stared at Izuku. For a second, Izuku worried he had offended him by calling his quirk un-flashy. But then, Kirishima’s eyes began to well up with actual, literal tears.

 

"Midoriya..." Kirishima sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his forearm. "That... that is the manliest thing anyone has ever said to me. I'm a blast-wall! I'm an immovable object! I'll protect you guys with my life!"

 

"Please don't die," Izuku added hastily, waving his hands. "The goal is to not die!"

 

"I am so pumped right now," Kaminari declared, standing up and pacing around the small room. "We're a sniper, a spider-wrecking-ball, an ice-skating hazard, and an immovable wall. We're an elite strike force!"

 

Izuku smiled, a deep sense of relief washing over him. They were buying in. They weren't dismissing his notes as creepy stalker behavior. They saw the value in his analysis.

 

But the relief was short-lived.

 

Izuku’s eyes drifted to the far end of the table.

 

Katsuki Bakugo hadn't moved. He hadn't said a word during the entire twenty-minute breakdown. He sat perfectly still, his red eyes locked onto Izuku’s notebook with a terrifying, unreadable intensity.

 

The air in the room suddenly felt very heavy again. The squad's excited chatter died down as they realized Midoriya had reached the final member of their team.

 

Izuku slowly closed his notebook. He didn't need to look at his notes for this one. He had the parameters, the limits, and the terrifying potential of Katsuki Bakugo’s quirk permanently etched into his brain since they were four years old.

 

"And then..." Izuku swallowed, his voice dropping slightly. "There's Kacchan."

 

Bakugo slowly uncrossed his arms. He placed his hands flat on the mahogany table. The faint smell of burnt caramel began to waft through the room, a clear indicator that his palms were sweating nitroglycerin.

 

"Go on, Deku," Bakugo said, his voice dangerously soft. "Tell me my flaws. Tell me how I'm using my quirk wrong."

 

It was a trap. Izuku knew it. If he criticized Bakugo’s combat style—a style that had earned him the top score in the entrance exam and dominance in the Battle Trial—Bakugo would blow the table in half and walk out.

 

"I don't have any flaws to point out regarding your quirk usage, Kacchan," Izuku said honestly.

 

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Bullshit."

 

"It's not," Izuku insisted, holding his gaze. "Your quirk, Explosion, is flawless. Your reaction time is incredible. Your application of the explosions for mid-air maneuverability, redirection, and blunt-force trauma is brilliant. Tactically, you are the most complete fighter in this class."

 

A heavy silence fell over the room. Kaminari looked at Izuku as if he had just surrendered to the enemy.

 

Bakugo’s scowl deepened. He didn't look pleased by the praise; he looked insulted by it. "If I'm so flawless, why the hell did Aizawa put me on a team with you losers? If I don't need fixing, what's the point?"

 

"Your quirk doesn't need fixing," Izuku clarified, his voice growing firmer. He stepped away from the whiteboard and walked closer to the center of the table, cutting the physical distance between himself and Bakugo. "Your battlefield awareness does."

 

Bakugo’s hands twitched. A small pop echoed in the quiet room. "Watch your mouth, nerd."

 

"At the USJ," Izuku pressed on, ignoring the warning pop, "you warped to the Ruins Zone. You and Kirishima fought dozens of villains. You won. But you fought completely blind. You had no idea what quirks those villains possessed. You had no idea if there were civilians trapped under the rubble. You just attacked everything that moved."

 

Bakugo bared his teeth. "I wiped them out. That's a hero's job."

 

"A hero's job is to secure the area, neutralize the threat, and minimize collateral damage," Izuku countered, his tone bleeding into the strict, unyielding cadence of an instructor. "You rely purely on overwhelming force. That works until you meet someone who can absorb force. Like the Nomu."

 

Bakugo flinched slightly at the mention of the monster that had nearly killed Aizawa and All Might.

 

"In our simulation," Izuku continued, his mind mapping out the battle plan, "you are not a lone wolf. You are the spearhead. The absolute tip of our offensive formation. Sero, Ashido, and Kaminari will control the environment. They will funnel the enemies into specific chokepoints. They will strip them of their mobility and their defenses. And once the enemy is trapped, trapped exactly where we want them..."

 

Izuku looked directly into Bakugo’s burning red eyes.

 

"...We unleash you."

 

Bakugo stared at him.

 

"You don't have to hold back," Izuku said softly. "You don't have to worry about hitting us, because we will be positioned safely behind Kirishima's blast-wall. You don't have to chase enemies down, because Sero and Ashido will herd them to you. All you have to do, Kacchan, is strike the target with everything you have. We are building the entire team around maximizing your destructive output."

 

The silence that followed was suffocating.

 

Izuku held his breath. He had played his final card. He had appealed to Bakugo's pride, his desire for victory, and his need to be the strongest. He hadn't asked Bakugo to change his fighting style; he had asked him to trust the team to set the stage for his victory.

 

Bakugo slowly leaned back in his chair. He stared at Izuku, his eyes raking over the boy he had bullied for a decade. He looked at the notebook, at the whiteboard covered in tactical diagrams, and at the faces of Kirishima, Sero, Mina, and Kaminari, who were all looking at Izuku with a mixture of awe and absolute trust.

 

Bakugo’s mind, sharp and fiercely intelligent beneath all the rage, processed the tactical data. It was flawless logic. If the team actually functioned the way Deku described, his own combat effectiveness would increase exponentially. He wouldn't waste stamina chasing enemies; they would be handed to him on a silver platter.

 

But admitting that meant admitting Deku was right. It meant admitting he needed them.

 

"The trajectory on your pendulum swing idea is flawed," Bakugo suddenly said, his voice flat.

 

Izuku blinked, momentarily thrown off by the non-sequitur. "W-What?"

 

Bakugo pointed a calloused finger at the whiteboard. "If Soy Sauce Face uses his tape to swing Shitty Hair, the centrifugal force will pull the tape taut. If the enemy ducks, the tape snaps, and Shitty Hair goes flying into a wall. It's a stupid plan."

 

Izuku stared at the board, running the physics calculations in his head. "No," Izuku said slowly. "Because Sero wouldn't attach the tape to a static point. He would attach it to his own arm. He can act as a mobile pivot point, adjusting the slack of the tape mid-swing to track the target. Right, Sero?"

 

Sero jumped slightly. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, I can totally reel it in or let it out while swinging!"

 

Bakugo clicked his tongue, a sharp sound of annoyance. He glared at the whiteboard, his eyes tracing the imaginary lines of trajectory. He tapped his finger against the table one, two, three times.

 

"Fine," Bakugo grunted, turning his gaze away from the board and staring out the glass window.

 

The squad held their breath.

 

"If that idiot electrocutes me," Bakugo muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner, "I'm killing him. And then I'm killing you, Deku."

 

Izuku let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a whimpering sigh of relief. His knees suddenly felt incredibly weak. He reached out, grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself.

 

He had done it. Bakugo hadn't agreed to be friends. He hadn't even formally agreed to the plan. But he had engaged with the tactics. He had argued a point, lost the argument, and accepted the outcome without an explosion. It was the most civil interaction they had had since they were five years old.

 

Suddenly, a loud squeal shattered the tension.

 

Mina Ashido leaped out of her chair, rushing to the head of the table. Before Izuku could react, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a massive, suffocating hug.

 

"You did it! You actually did it!" Mina cheered, practically lifting Izuku off his feet. "You tamed the beast! Oh my gosh, you are a genius! A terrifying, muttering genius!"

 

"A-Ashido! Can't breathe!" Izuku squeaked, his face turning the color of a tomato as he flailed his arms.

 

Kirishima jumped up, laughing loudly, and clapped Izuku on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. "I knew it! I knew you had the brains for this, Midoriya! We're gonna crush this simulation!"

 

"Lightning sniper, baby!" Kaminari cheered, doing a small victory dance near the whiteboard. "Class 1-A is not ready for the sheer tactical dominance of our squad!"

 

"Alright, alright, let the guy breathe," Sero chuckled, gently pulling Mina away from the extremely flustered Izuku.

 

Izuku stumbled back, gasping for air, adjusting his crooked red tie. He looked at the four of them, their faces glowing with excitement and genuine camaraderie. For the first time in his life, his obsessive note-taking, his mumbling, and his intense hyper-fixation on quirks wasn't seen as weird or creepy. It was celebrated. It was valuable.

 

"Okay!" Mina declared, striking a dramatic pose, pointing a finger at Izuku. "I hereby officially declare Izuku Midoriya as our Squad Tactician! What he says, goes! We are your humble soldiers, Commander!"

 

"Please don't call me Commander," Izuku pleaded, his face burning.

 

"Aye aye, Commander!" Kaminari saluted.

 

"We need a squad name," Kirishima said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Something strong. Something that strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies. The Red Riot Squad?"

 

"Too egocentric," Sero vetoed.

 

"The Acid Lightning Tape Wall!" Kaminari suggested.

 

"That's terrible," Mina groaned.

 

At the end of the table, Bakugo aggressively pushed his chair back. It screeched against the floor, instantly silencing the group. He stood up, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He walked toward the door, his posture stiff, his expression dark.

 

As he reached the door, he paused. He didn't turn around.

 

"Don't get cocky, nerd," Bakugo said, his voice low. "Your little plans are useless if these idiots can't actually pull them off in the field. Tomorrow. Training Ground Beta. Four o'clock."

 

Bakugo pushed the heavy glass door open and walked out into the library, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the marble floor until he disappeared down the spiral staircase.

 

The study room remained quiet for a few seconds.

 

"Did he just... schedule our training session?" Kaminari asked, blinking in pure bewilderment.

 

"I think he did," Sero nodded slowly.

 

"He called us idiots," Mina pointed out cheerfully. "But he wants to train with us!"

 

Izuku looked at the empty doorway. A strange, unfamiliar warmth blossomed in his chest. Bakugo was abrasive, aggressive, and fiercely proud. But he was also fiercely dedicated to winning. And, in his own twisted, barely comprehensible way, he had just acknowledged that Izuku's strategy was their path to victory.

 

"He's right," Izuku said, turning back to his squad, a newfound fire burning in his green eyes. "Plans on a whiteboard mean nothing if we can't execute them. We have a lot of work to do. Kaminari, Sero, I need you two to work on synchronized timing. Ashido, we need to measure the exact friction coefficient of your acid. Kirishima, we need to test your impact threshold against Kacchan's explosions."

 

"Hell yeah!" Kirishima roared, punching his fists together. "Let's get manly!"

 

As the squad devolved back into excited chatter, Izuku looked down at his open notebook. He ran his fingers over the meticulously drawn diagrams and the cramped, frantic notes. Aizawa was right. This wasn't a punishment. It was a crucible.

 

And for the first time since inheriting One For All, Izuku Midoriya finally felt like he knew exactly what he was doing.

 

Operation: Nerd Integration was a complete success. Now, the real work began.

 

The air in Observation Room A was thick with an anxious, suffocating tension.

 

A massive bank of high-definition monitors covered the entirety of the northern wall, illuminating the dark room in a patchwork of harsh, artificial light. The screens displayed various angles of Ground Gamma—a sprawling, dense labyrinth of a training city, characterized by its towering industrial factories, complex networks of steel piping, narrow alleyways, and multi-tiered concrete plazas. It was a chaotic, uneven terrain designed specifically to test a hero’s situational awareness and adaptability.

 

Izuku Midoriya stood near the back of the observation room, his hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles white. Beside him stood the rest of his assigned squad: Eijiro Kirishima, Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido, and Denki Kaminari. They were all dressed in their hero costumes, a visual clashing of bright colors, capes, and specialized gear. A few feet away, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his explosive gauntlets, was Katsuki Bakugo, radiating his usual aura of untouchable hostility.

 

Class 1-A had been gathered here for over an hour, watching the first two groups undergo Aizawa-sensei’s brutal tactical simulation.

 

"This is insane," Kaminari whispered, his eyes wide as he watched the monitors. On-screen, Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow was currently pinned under a barrage of laser fire from Aoyama, while Jiro frantically tried to coordinate a retreat. "Aizawa-sensei really isn't pulling any punches with these rules."

 

Izuku nodded slowly, his analytical mind constantly whirring, processing the data from the previous matches. The rules of the midterm practical were straightforward in concept but punishing in execution: a Team Objective Elimination.

 

Each team was given a base to defend—a mock 'civilian' payload that could not be moved. The win condition was either to incapacitate the entire opposing team using capture tape, or to breach the enemy base and secure their payload. The time limit was thirty minutes.

 

It wasn’t just a brawl; it was a chess match.

 

"Group A has failed to protect their payload. Group C wins," Aizawa’s voice crackled through the PA system, dry and devoid of any congratulations. The monitors flickered, showing Aoyama striking a glittering pose over Group A’s mock civilian.

 

Aizawa, still wrapped tightly in his post-USJ bandages, turned away from the control console and faced the remaining students. His visible eye swept over them, cold and analytical.

 

"That concludes the second match," Aizawa stated. "Group A, your communication broke down the moment you took suppressing fire. Yaoyorozu, you attempted to create a complex countermeasure but failed to verbally instruct your vanguard on how to buy you the necessary time. You fought as individuals, and you lost. Reflect on that."

 

Momo Yaoyorozu, standing near the front, bowed her head in shame. "Yes, Sensei."

 

"Which leaves our final match of the day," Aizawa continued, his gaze drifting toward the back of the room. "Group B versus Group D. Please report to your respective starting zones. You have ten minutes to formulate a strategy before the buzzer sounds."

 

Izuku’s breath hitched. This was it.

 

Group B.

 

He looked across the room. Shoto Todoroki stood perfectly still, his heterochromatic eyes staring blankly ahead. Beside him, Tenya Iida was already marching toward the exit, adjusting his glasses with robotic precision. Ochaco Uraraka gave Izuku a small, nervous smile, while Tsuyu Asui and Mashirao Ojiro trailed behind them.

 

It was a nightmare matchup.

 

Group B was, without a doubt, the most balanced and overpowering composition in the class. Todoroki possessed enough raw, elemental area-of-effect power to wipe out an entire city block. Iida provided unparalleled ground mobility and flanking capability. Uraraka could neutralize any target with a single touch or manipulate the environment by removing gravity. Asui offered vertical mobility and rescue operations, and Ojiro was a master of close-quarters martial arts.

 

"Midoriya," Kirishima said, clapping a hand onto Izuku’s shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. "We’re up, man. You good?"

 

Izuku looked at the red-haired boy, then at the nervous faces of Mina, Sero, and Kaminari. He took a deep breath, letting the cool, recycled air of the observation room fill his lungs. He had spent the last four days running drills with these four. He had watched them stumble, adapt, and refine their quirk applications. He knew what they could do.

 

"I'm good," Izuku said firmly, his voice steadying. He reached up and tightened the strap of his respirator mask around his neck. "Let's head to the starting zone."

 

As the squad filed out of the room, Izuku cast a glance at Bakugo. The explosive blonde pushed himself off the wall and walked past Izuku without a word, his jaw set, his red eyes burning with a fierce, competitive fire.

 

 

 

Ground Gamma - Zone D Base (Industrial Refinery Sector)

 

The designated base for Group D was an abandoned, multi-tiered refinery building surrounded by a maze of thick steel pipes and rusted catwalks. At the center of the ground floor sat a mannequin painted in bright neon orange—the 'civilian' payload they had to protect.

 

The squad gathered around a metal crate that Izuku had commandeered as a makeshift war table. He unrolled a laminated topographical map of Ground Gamma, pulling a dry-erase marker from his utility belt.

 

"We have exactly seven minutes," Izuku began, his voice projecting clearly over the ambient hum of the city’s artificial generators. He looked around the circle. No one was smiling now. Even Mina’s usual bubbly demeanor had been replaced by a sharp, focused intensity.

 

Bakugo stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently against the concrete.

 

"Let's break down the enemy," Izuku said, drawing a large circle on the opposite side of the map, marking Group B’s starting zone. "Todoroki is the primary threat. His ice attacks are instantaneous and cover massive ground. Iida is their vanguard, likely to rush us to scout our defenses. Uraraka and Asui will use the verticality of this industrial zone to bypass our traps, and Ojiro will likely stay back to defend their payload with his tail strikes."

 

"So, what's the play, Commander?" Kaminari asked, adjusting the dark visor over his eyes. Since their library meeting, he had visited the Support Course and hastily procured a wrist-mounted, conductive tether—a rudimentary 'sniper' barrel for his electricity.

 

"We do not turtle," Izuku stated flatly. "If we stay here and defend, Todoroki will simply bury this entire building in a glacier, and we lose by default. We have to take the fight to them. But we cannot fight them in a five-on-five brawl. They outclass us in raw versatility."

 

"Speak for yourself, nerd," Bakugo snarled, the loud crackle of a miniature explosion popping in his left palm. "I'm not hiding from that Half-and-Half bastard. He thinks he's top shit because he got in on recommendations? I'm going to blow him to pieces. The moment the buzzer sounds, I'm heading straight down the main avenue."

 

Izuku’s heart spiked, but he didn't shrink back. He knew this was coming. He knew Bakugo’s pride wouldn't allow him to play a passive role, especially not against Todoroki, whom Bakugo viewed as his primary rival.

 

"If you go down the main avenue alone, you lose," Izuku said.

 

The words echoed in the cavernous refinery. The squad froze. Sero sucked in a breath through his teeth.

 

Bakugo slowly turned his head, his eyes narrowing into crimson slits. He took a heavy, deliberate step toward Izuku. "What did you just say to me, Deku?"

 

Izuku’s palms were sweating inside his white gloves, but he forced his feet to stay planted. He met Bakugo’s murderous glare head-on.

 

"I said you'll lose," Izuku repeated, his voice remarkably calm. "Because you won't make it to Todoroki. Iida is faster than you in a straight line. He will intercept you. While you're busy fighting Iida, Uraraka will drop a zero-gravity debris field on your head, and Asui will capture you from a blind spot. You won't even get to lay a hand on Todoroki."

 

Bakugo bared his teeth, stepping forward until he was inches from Izuku’s face. He grabbed the front of Izuku’s hero costume, his knuckles brushing against Izuku’s collarbone. "You think I can't handle Four-Eyes and Round Face?"

 

"Whoa, hey, Bakugo, chill!" Kirishima stepped in, his arms already hardening into jagged rock, ready to intervene.

 

"No, Kirishima, wait," Izuku said, holding up a hand to stop the red-haired boy. He didn't break eye contact with Bakugo. "I know you can handle them, Kacchan. But is that what you want? Do you want to waste your stamina swatting away extras, only to face Todoroki at half strength? Do you want to give him an excuse for why you beat him?"

 

Bakugo’s grip on Izuku’s suit tightened, but his expression faltered for a fraction of a second.

 

Izuku leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, speaking directly to the core of Bakugo’s colossal ego. "You want to prove you're the undisputed strongest in the class. To do that, you need to crush Todoroki in a pure, uninterrupted one-on-one fight. Let us give you that fight."

 

The silence stretched. The crackling in Bakugo’s palms ceased. His mind, razor-sharp beneath his anger, processed the tactical truth of Deku’s words. If he got bogged down by Iida and the others, it wouldn't be a clean victory over Todoroki.

 

Bakugo slowly released his grip, roughly shoving Izuku back a few inches. He turned his head and spat on the ground.

 

"Fine," Bakugo grunted, his chest heaving slightly. "What's the plan, tactician?"

 

Izuku let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a year. He quickly smoothed down the front of his costume and turned back to the map.

 

"We split their forces," Izuku instructed, drawing rapid arrows across the laminate. "Group B relies on Iida for scouting. He will run ahead. Ashido, Sero, Kaminari—you are the Interception Unit. I want you to set up in Sector 4, right in the middle of these narrow alleyways. You will draw Iida in and neutralize him using the environmental traps we practiced."

 

"Aye, aye!" Mina saluted, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

 

"What about Momo and Uraraka?" Sero asked, tracing the map.

 

"Once Iida is trapped, Yaoyorozu and Uraraka will have to move in to rescue him," Izuku explained. "Yaoyorozu relies on creating metal constructs—cannons, shields, staves. Kaminari, you will use the steel piping in Sector 4 to bypass her shields. Sero, you provide the conductive link. Neutralize them without getting into close-quarters combat."

 

"Lightning Sniper is on the clock," Kaminari grinned, patting his new wrist gear.

 

"And what about us?" Kirishima asked, slamming his fists together.

 

"Kirishima, Kacchan, and I are the Vanguard," Izuku said, looking at the two brawlers. "We are going to walk right down the center of the main avenue, making as much noise as possible. We are the bait. Todoroki will see us. He won't be able to resist taking out three of us at once with a massive ice attack. Kirishima, you are our shield. Kacchan... once Kirishima blocks the ice, you break through and take Todoroki. I will provide tactical support and cover your blind spots."

 

Bakugo rolled his shoulders, a savage, bloodthirsty grin stretching across his face. "Bait? I'm nobody's bait. I'm the executioner. Just make sure you don't get in my way, Deku."

 

"I won't," Izuku promised, pulling his green cowl over his head, leaving the metal faceguard down.

 

A loud, piercing buzzer echoed across the artificial sky of Ground Gamma. The digital timer on the massive screens above the city flashed from 30:00 to 29:59.

 

"Match start," Aizawa’s voice boomed.

 

"Let's move!" Izuku shouted.

 

The squad broke into a sprint. Mina, Sero, and Kaminari immediately veered to the left, diving into the shadowy, pipe-lined alleyways of the industrial sector. Izuku, Bakugo, and Kirishima ran straight ahead, bursting out of their base and onto the wide, concrete expanse of the main avenue.

 

The street was silent, save for the thud of their boots against the pavement. Sunlight glinted off the metal walls of the surrounding factories.

 

"Keep your eyes peeled," Izuku called out, his eyes darting from rooftop to rooftop. "Todoroki doesn't hesitate. He'll strike the moment he has a line of sight."

 

"Let him," Bakugo growled, his palms sparking rhythmically as he jogged.

 

A sudden, unnatural chill swept over the avenue. The temperature plummeted drastically, turning their breath into white puffs of vapor in the air. Izuku heard it before he saw it—a deep, echoing crackle, like a frozen lake fracturing under immense pressure.

 

"Frontal assault! Brace!" Izuku yelled.

 

At the far end of the avenue, Shoto Todoroki stepped out from behind a concrete barricade. He didn't speak. He simply placed his right foot forward and slammed his right hand onto the ground.

 

A massive, jagged glacier of ice erupted from the pavement. It roared toward them at terrifying speed, a tidal wave of frozen death, instantly burying streetlamps and crushing rusted cars in its path. It was the same overwhelming move he had used against Sero in the Sports Festival, designed to end the match in a single, devastating blow.

 

"Kirishima!" Izuku roared.

 

"I'm on it!" Kirishima bellowed, throwing himself directly in front of Izuku and Bakugo. He crossed his arms over his face, planted his feet wide, and activated his quirk to its absolute maximum limit. His skin turned into jagged, darkened stone. "Red Riot: Unbreakable!"

 

The glacier hit them like a freight train.

 

The impact was deafening. The ice crashed against Kirishima’s hardened form, splintering and fracturing around him. The sheer kinetic force pushed Kirishima back half a meter, the heels of his boots carving deep trenches into the concrete, but he held his ground. He acted as a perfect, immovable wedge, splitting the glacier in two. The deadly spikes of ice surged past them on the left and right, leaving a narrow, clear path directly behind Kirishima.

 

"Now, Kacchan!" Izuku yelled over the sound of shattering ice.

 

"Don't tell me what to do!" Bakugo roared.

 

Using the wedge Kirishima had created, Bakugo launched himself forward. He fired a massive, two-handed explosion behind him, rocketing through the narrow tunnel of shattered ice like a human missile. He burst out of the glacier cloud, completely unharmed, and closed the distance between him and Todoroki in a fraction of a second.

 

Todoroki’s eyes widened in genuine shock. He had expected to capture all three of them. He hadn't accounted for someone simply tanking the attack and providing a slipstream.

 

Todoroki quickly raised his right arm, sending a barrage of smaller ice spikes toward Bakugo in a desperate bid to keep him at bay.

 

"Too slow!" Bakugo cackled. He spun mid-air, using a small pop from his left hand to violently alter his trajectory, dodging the spikes by inches. He brought his right hand back, the gauntlet glowing a furious, blinding orange. "Die!"

 

Bakugo unleashed a brutal, localized explosion directly into Todoroki’s chest. The force of the blast sent Todoroki skidding backward across the concrete, his boots smoking. Todoroki grimaced, quickly erecting an ice wall to catch himself and absorb the residual shockwave.

 

The one-on-one duel had begun.

 

Back behind the glacier, Izuku tapped his earpiece. "Interception Unit, sitrep! The vanguard has engaged Todoroki! Where is Iida?"

 

Static crackled in his ear for a second before Sero’s breathless voice came through. "He's here! Sector 4! He's moving way too fast, Midoriya! He just bypassed Ashido's first trap!"

 

 

 

Sector 4 - Industrial Alleyways

 

Tenya Iida was a blue blur.

 

His engines roared, the exhausts on his calves blowing out thick plumes of blue fire as he navigated the tight alleyways with mathematical precision. He had heard the massive explosion from the main avenue. That meant Bakugo was fighting Todoroki. His objective was clear: bypass the vanguard, infiltrate Group D’s base, and secure the payload before Todoroki finished his fight.

 

"Recipro Burst!" Iida shouted, feeling the immense torque build in his legs.

 

He rounded a sharp corner, accelerating toward a long, straight alleyway covered in overhead pipes.

 

"Gotcha, Four-Eyes!"

 

Iida looked up. Mina Ashido was sliding down one of the overhead pipes using a trail of slick acid. She grinned, throwing both hands forward. "Acid Veil!"

 

A wide, shimmering pool of purple fluid splashed across the entirety of the alleyway floor, right in Iida’s path.

 

Iida’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. A hazard trap. Standard. I simply need to clear it. He prepared to jump, planning to vault entirely over the acid pool.

 

But as he coiled his legs to spring, a thin, white strip of tape shot out from the shadows, latching onto his left ankle.

 

"Not so fast, track star!" Hanta Sero yelled from his perch on a fire escape.

 

The tape pulled taut. It wasn't enough to stop Iida’s momentum, but it was enough to ruin his jump trajectory. Iida’s foot clipped the edge of the acid pool.

 

Izuku’s theory had been correct. Mina had dialed down the corrosiveness to zero but maximized the viscosity. It wasn't acid; it was the world’s most dangerous banana peel.

 

Iida’s engine-powered boot hit the slick surface. His friction completely vanished. His legs flew out from under him, and he crashed onto his back, sliding wildly out of control through the purple slime at eighty miles an hour.

 

"Whoa! Whoa! This is highly unsafe!" Iida shouted, spinning like a top.

 

"Sero, now!" Mina yelled.

 

Sero leapt off the fire escape, shooting another strand of tape to attach to a sturdy overhead crane. He kept the tape attached to Iida’s ankle locked tight. Using his own falling momentum, Sero acted as a human counterweight.

 

The slack vanished. The pendulum physics took over.

 

Iida, still sliding uncontrollably on the ground, was violently yanked upward as the tape swung him into the air like a captured fly. He swung in a massive arc, totally disoriented, until he slammed forcefully—but safely—into a thick net of capture tape Sero had pre-strung between two buildings.

 

Iida was hopelessly tangled, his engines sputtering out.

 

"Tenya Iida immobilized!" Sero cheered, landing gracefully on the pavement.

 

"Nice one, tape face!" Mina high-fived him.

 

Suddenly, the heavy thud of footsteps echoed behind them.

 

Momo Yaoyorozu and Ochaco Uraraka sprinted around the corner. Momo took one look at the situation—Iida trapped in a web, Sero and Mina celebrating—and her mind immediately began formulating a counterattack.

 

"Uraraka, clear the tape!" Momo commanded. She unzipped the front of her hero costume slightly, the lipids in her body rapidly converting. From her stomach, she produced a massive, heavy-duty riot shield, slamming it down into the concrete to create a defensive barricade. From her shoulder, the barrel of a heavy, non-lethal riot cannon began to form.

 

Uraraka pressed her fingers together. "Got it!" She reached out, prepared to touch the tape webbing to negate its gravity and free Iida.

 

"Don't let them touch him!" Mina yelled, throwing a barrage of highly corrosive acid globs toward them.

 

Momo effortlessly blocked the acid with her riot shield. "Your attacks are linear, Ashido! Stand back, Uraraka. I will provide suppressing fire!"

 

Momo finished forming the cannon and mounted it on the top edge of her shield. She was fully protected, entrenched, and heavily armed. It was an unbreakable position.

 

Or, it would have been.

 

From the shadows of the pipes directly above Momo, Denki Kaminari hung upside down, his legs wrapped tightly around a steel beam. He tapped his earpiece. "Commander, the turtle is in the shell. Repeat, the turtle is in the shell."

 

"Execute the bypass," Izuku’s voice crackled back instantly.

 

"With pleasure," Kaminari smirked.

 

He didn't aim at Momo. He didn't aim at Uraraka. He aimed his new wrist-mounted pointer directly at the thick, metal water pipe that ran down the wall of the building, completely bypassing Momo’s forward-facing shield. The pipe ran straight into the ground, inches from where Momo was standing in a small puddle of residual moisture from the industrial runoff.

 

Kaminari took a breath, focusing his mind, visualizing the electricity not as an explosion, but as a thread.

 

"Target locked. One hundred thousand volts. Directional discharge!"

 

A sharp, concentrated beam of golden lightning shot from Kaminari’s wrist gear. It hit the metal pipe with a loud CRACK. The electricity raced down the conductive metal, hitting the puddle, and surged directly into the metal frame of Momo’s riot shield and the soles of her boots.

 

Momo let out a sharp cry of shock as the electricity bypassed her defenses entirely, paralyzing her muscles instantly. Uraraka, standing right next to her, caught the residual shock and collapsed to her knees, her limbs twitching.

 

Neither was seriously injured, but the stun effect was instantaneous and completely incapacitating.

 

Kaminari dropped down from the pipes, landing a bit shakily but keeping his wits perfectly intact. He didn't short-circuit. He hadn't fried his brain. He looked at his hands in sheer awe.

 

"Holy crap," Kaminari breathed. "I'm a genius. Midoriya is a genius! I didn't go 'wheeyyy'!"

 

Sero quickly ran over, wrapping capture tape securely around the paralyzed forms of Momo and Uraraka.

 

"Group B Vanguard and Support neutralized!" Sero called into his comms. "It's all on you guys now!"

 

 

 

Main Avenue - The Vanguard Clash

 

"Half-and-Half bastard!" Bakugo roared, spinning through the air.

 

The main avenue had been turned into an apocalyptic wasteland of fire and ice. Todoroki was fighting flawlessly, his face an emotionless mask of concentration. He threw up defensive walls of ice to block Bakugo’s explosive strikes, immediately countering with waves of searing flame from his left side to keep Bakugo airborne and off-balance.

 

Bakugo was a demon. He used continuous, rapid-fire explosions from his palms to dance around the attacks, never touching the ground for more than a second. But even his immense stamina was being tested. Todoroki’s defense was a fortress.

 

Izuku stood fifty yards back, crouched behind a pile of rubble with Kirishima. His green eyes darted rapidly, analyzing every twitch of Todoroki’s muscles, every fluctuation in the temperature.

 

Todoroki is relying on visual tracking, Izuku noted, his mind racing at a million miles an hour. He watches Kacchan's shoulders to predict the trajectory. He defends with ice on the right, attacks with fire on the left. The transition time between the two is exactly 0.8 seconds. That 0.8 seconds is his blind spot. But Kacchan is attacking head-on, so he can't exploit it.

 

"Kirishima," Izuku said rapidly. "Can you take a direct hit from his fire?"

 

"Unbreakable can take anything!" Kirishima slammed his fists together, rock dust falling from his hardened skin.

 

"Good. On my mark, I want you to charge Todoroki from the left. Force him to use his fire. I will guide Kacchan."

 

Izuku tapped his earpiece. The connection to Bakugo’s comms was live, but Izuku had been terrified to use it, fearing he would just piss Bakugo off and break his concentration. But they were stalling. If they didn't end this now, Todoroki would eventually freeze the entire zone.

 

"Kacchan, listen to me!" Izuku yelled into the comms.

 

"Shut up, Deku! I'm busy killing him!" Bakugo’s voice roared back, accompanied by the sound of a massive blast.

 

"You're attacking his armor! You have to hit the joints!" Izuku barked back, abandoning his usual meekness. In the heat of battle, the tactician took over. "He's tracking your shoulders. Stop initiating with your right hand! Kirishima is going to pull his fire. When he does, you have a 0.8-second window on his right blind spot!"

 

Bakugo dodged a massive spire of ice, landing heavily on a lamppost. He glared down at Todoroki, panting heavily. He hated taking orders. He despised the fact that Deku was analyzing his fight.

 

But... the nerd wasn't wrong. Todoroki was completely entrenched.

 

"Make it fast!" Bakugo grunted over the comms.

 

"Kirishima, go!" Izuku yelled.

 

Kirishima let out a feral roar, bursting from behind the rubble. He charged blindly toward Todoroki’s left side, an unstoppable juggernaut of jagged stone.

 

Todoroki’s eyes flicked to the new threat. Recognizing Kirishima’s durability, Todoroki knew ice wouldn't stop him. He had to use blunt kinetic force and extreme heat. Todoroki raised his left arm, unleashing a massive, roaring torrent of crimson flames.

 

The fire engulfed Kirishima, but the red-haired boy just crossed his arms and kept running, absorbing the inferno.

 

"Kacchan! High right! Drop!" Izuku screamed.

 

Bakugo didn't hesitate. Trusting the call, he fired an explosion from his feet, launching himself high into the air, completely out of Todoroki’s field of vision. He didn't initiate his attack. He simply fell like a stone toward Todoroki’s right side—the side that was currently momentarily defenseless as Todoroki channeled his fire on the left.

 

Todoroki realized his mistake a fraction of a second too late. He cut the flames, turning his head sharply to the right to summon an ice shield.

 

0.8 seconds.

 

"Gotcha, you icy-hot freak!" Bakugo snarled, appearing right beside Todoroki’s face.

 

Bakugo brought both hands together, forming a diamond shape with his thumbs and index fingers. The sweat in his gauntlets had reached maximum capacity.

 

"AP SHOT: AUTO-CANNON!"

 

A concentrated, armor-piercing beam of explosive force erupted from Bakugo’s hands. It hit Todoroki dead in the center of his chest. The force was so absolute, so overwhelmingly precise, that it shattered Todoroki’s hastily formed ice shield instantly.

 

Todoroki was thrown backward, the wind knocked entirely out of his lungs. He hit the pavement hard, skipping twice before coming to a complete, groaning halt.

 

Bakugo landed gracefully, smoke pouring from his gauntlets. He stood over the defeated prodigy, his chest heaving, a savage grin of pure victory on his face.

 

Before Todoroki could even attempt to stand up, a spool of white tape shot out, wrapping tightly around his wrists and ankles.

 

Izuku stepped out from the smoke, holding the spool of capture tape, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He looked down at Todoroki, then up at Bakugo.

 

"Target secured," Izuku said, his voice breathless.

 

The buzzer blared across Ground Gamma.

 

"Group B has been entirely incapacitated," Aizawa’s voice boomed over the speakers. "Group D wins the simulation."

 

For a moment, the avenue was completely silent, save for the crackling of residual fires and the hissing of melting ice.

 

Then, Kirishima let out a deafening, triumphant roar. "YEAH! That’s what I’m talking about! Manly victory!" He ran over, wrapping one massive, hardened arm around Izuku’s shoulders, nearly crushing him, and aggressively ruffled Bakugo’s hair with his other hand.

 

"Get off me, Shitty Hair, before I melt your face!" Bakugo snapped, swatting Kirishima away, though the explosion he produced was remarkably weak.

 

Izuku couldn't help but smile. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, but the sense of accomplishment was intoxicating. They had done it. They had executed a complex, multi-tiered strategy against the strongest team in the class, and they had won decisively.

 

Bakugo turned to look at Izuku. The smoke was clearing around them. Bakugo’s red eyes were intense, searching Izuku’s face for any sign of arrogance, any hint that Deku thought he was superior because he called the shots.

 

He didn't find any. He only found the same earnest, determined nerd who had been following him around since they were kids. But this time, the nerd hadn't been following behind him. He had been guiding him.

 

Bakugo shoved his hands into his pockets, turning away and kicking a loose piece of ice.

 

"Your timing was slightly off on the call," Bakugo muttered, his voice gruff and dismissive. "If I hadn't adjusted mid-air, I would have clipped his ice shield. Fix it for next time."

 

Izuku blinked, stunned. Next time.

 

"Right," Izuku nodded, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across his freckled face. "I'll adjust the calculations, Kacchan."

 

Bakugo just grunted, walking back toward the exit. But as he passed Izuku, the explosive blonde paused for a fraction of a second. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into the smallest, most infinitesimal smirk.

 

"Not totally useless, nerd."

 

Bakugo kept walking.

 

Izuku stood frozen on the ruined street. He felt Kirishima clap him on the back again, heard the static chatter of Sero, Mina, and Kaminari cheering in his earpiece, but his mind was stuck on those four words.

 

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't a declaration of friendship. But in the twisted, combative language of Katsuki Bakugo, it was the highest form of respect Izuku had ever received.

 

 

 

Observation Room A

 

High above the training ground, Class 1-A stood in absolute, stunned silence.

 

They had just watched the "reject" team—the group Aizawa had supposedly thrown together to punish Bakugo—systematically dismantle the strongest students in the class with terrifying precision.

 

They had seen Ashido use non-lethal terrain control. They had seen Sero execute complex physical traps. They had seen Kaminari demonstrate pinpoint accuracy without short-circuiting. And they had seen Midoriya and Bakugo—two boys who had seemingly hated each other since the first day of school—fight in perfect, devastating sync.

 

Aizawa Shota stood silently at the control console, his hands resting on the metal edge. Behind his bandages, a small, knowing smirk graced his lips.

 

"Sensei," Iida’s voice came over the comms, sounding bruised but respectful. "Their coordination... it was flawless. I did not anticipate Midoriya’s trap."

 

"That is exactly why you lost, Iida," Aizawa said evenly, though there was a hint of immense satisfaction in his tired voice. "You assumed strength would win. Midoriya assumed strategy would win. And Bakugo..."

 

Aizawa watched the monitor as Bakugo, Kirishima, and Midoriya walked back toward the exit together. They weren't holding hands and singing songs, but the magnetic repulsion between Midoriya and Bakugo had vanished, replaced by a taut, functional tension.

 

"...Bakugo learned how to be a spear," Aizawa finished quietly to himself.

 

He reached out and hit the button to end the recording. The midterm practical was over. And as far as Aizawa was concerned, the real monsters of Class 1-A had just been born.

 

"Alright, everyone back to the classroom," Aizawa ordered, turning to face his stunned students. "We have a lot of footage to review. And someone wake up Mineta, he passed out ten minutes ago."