What If Deku Had a Silverback Gorilla Quirk That Broke All Might's Record

 

 

All men are not created equal.

 

This was the harsh, unyielding reality of the world that Izuku Midoriya learned at the tender age of four. In a society where eighty percent of the global population possessed some sort of uncanny ability—a "Quirk"—the hierarchy of humanity had been drastically rewritten. It was no longer about wealth, or politics, or pure intellect. It was about power. It was about what you were born with.

 

And on a humid afternoon in a sandy neighborhood park in Musutafu, that hierarchy was being violently enforced.

 

"You're making him cry, Kacchan!"

 

Izuku’s voice was high-pitched, trembling like a leaf caught in a gale. He stood with his arms splayed wide, tiny knees knocking together in his red sneakers. Behind him cowered a boy with small, leathery wings, tears streaming down his bruised face.

 

Standing opposite to them was Katsuki Bakugo. Even at four years old, Bakugo radiated an aura of absolute dominance. He had recently awakened his Quirk, an explosive power that allowed him to sweat nitroglycerin and detonate it from his palms. He was a prodigy, a star in the making, and the local playground was his kingdom.

 

"Move, Deku," Bakugo sneered, his ruby eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Small pops and crackles of fire sparked from his small hands, releasing the acrid scent of burnt sugar and ozone into the stifling summer air. Behind Bakugo stood his two lackeys, grinning like hyenas waiting for the lion to strike. "You don't even have a Quirk yet. You're just a weak, useless Deku. Are you really trying to pretend you're a hero?"

 

Izuku’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Every instinct in his small, fragile body was screaming at him to run, to step aside, to apologize and let the natural order of things proceed. Bakugo was the alpha. Izuku was the beta. It was how the world worked.

 

But his feet wouldn't move. His green eyes, though welling with tears, were locked onto Bakugo’s. "If... if you keep hurting him," Izuku stammered, his voice cracking, "I'll... I'll stop you myself!"

 

Bakugo’s smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl of pure, unadulterated childish fury. The sheer audacity of this nobody, this weakling, standing up to him was an insult to his newfound supremacy.

 

"You're just asking for it!" Bakugo yelled, lunging forward. He reeled back his right fist, a large spark igniting in his palm.

 

Time seemed to slow down for Izuku. He saw the fist coming. He saw the flash of heat, the sneer on Bakugo’s face, the dirt kicking up beneath his boots. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut and raised his arms, waiting for the burning impact. He expected pain. He expected to be thrown to the ground, beaten, and mocked.

 

But the pain never came.

 

Instead, a strange, terrifying heat erupted—not from Bakugo’s explosion, but from deep within Izuku’s own chest. It felt as though a dormant volcano inside his very DNA had suddenly violently erupted. A loud, sickening crack echoed across the playground, followed by another, and another.

 

Bakugo’s fist connected, but it didn't hit soft, yielding flesh. It hit something that felt like solid steel covered in thick, coarse wire.

 

"What the...?" Bakugo gasped, his explosion fizzling out as the kinetic force of his punch rebounded painfully up his own arm. He stumbled back, his eyes widening in absolute horror.

 

The lackeys stopped laughing. The winged boy behind Izuku stopped crying. The entire park fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

 

Izuku Midoriya was changing.

 

His small, four-year-old frame was expanding at a grotesque, terrifying rate. His clothes—his favorite yellow t-shirt and blue shorts—shredded into absolute tatters as his bone density multiplied exponentially. His muscles swelled, bulging beneath his skin like thick, coiling pythons. A dense coat of coarse, pitch-black hair erupted from his pores, covering his arms, his chest, and his legs. His jaw thrust forward, his teeth elongating into sharp, thick canines. His arms grew grotesquely long and thick, his hands expanding into massive, leathery paws that dwarfed his own head.

 

The final change occurred down his back. A streak of shimmering, metallic silver fur burst down his spine, glistening in the afternoon sun like a suit of armor.

 

Where a crying, four-year-old boy had stood a moment ago, a towering, six-foot-tall, incredibly muscular humanoid Silverback Gorilla now crouched.

 

Izuku opened his eyes. They were no longer the soft, bright green of a child. They were a piercing, glowing emerald, burning with a raw, primal intensity. The world looked entirely different to him. Colors were sharper, smells were overwhelmingly distinct, and his body felt like a coiled spring possessing the power to shatter mountains.

 

He didn't fully understand what was happening, but the adrenaline and the sudden influx of feral, animalistic instinct flooded his young, underdeveloped brain. He felt cornered. He felt threatened by the boy smelling of smoke.

 

The beast let out a sound. It started as a low, guttural rumble deep in his massive chest, vibrating the very ground beneath their feet, before escalating into a deafening, earth-shaking roar.

 

"ROOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRR!"

 

The shockwave of the sound rattled the playground equipment and blew the leaves off the nearby cherry blossom trees.

 

Bakugo, paralyzed by shock and a sudden, primal fear he had never experienced before, could only watch as the massive primate swiped a colossal arm toward him. It wasn't even a punch; it was a casual, instinctual swat to remove a threat.

 

The back of Izuku’s massive, calloused hand connected with Bakugo’s chest.

 

Bakugo didn't just fall over. He was launched. The young explosive prodigy flew through the air like a ragdoll, soaring over a sandbox and violently crashing into the trunk of a large oak tree nearly twenty feet away. He slumped to the grass, wheezing, all the air completely knocked out of his lungs.

 

The two lackeys screamed in terror and fled, abandoning their leader without a second thought. The winged boy scrambled backward, looking at Izuku with as much fear as he had looked at Bakugo.

 

The Silverback stood panting, its massive chest heaving. Izuku looked down at his gigantic, hairy hands. He blinked, the primal fog slowly lifting from his mind, replaced by the panicked, rational consciousness of a four-year-old boy.

 

What... what is this? Izuku thought, his mind racing. Are these my hands? Did I do this?

 

He looked over to the oak tree. Bakugo was groaning, clutching his chest, looking up at Izuku not with his usual arrogant sneer, but with wide, trembling eyes.

 

"K-Kacchan?" Izuku tried to say.

 

But what came out of his mouth was a series of low, deep grunts. Panic seized Izuku. His breathing hitched, and as his heart rate began to slow, the immense energy sustaining the transformation suddenly vanished. The black hair receded, the muscles dissolved, the bones shrank with a series of sickening pops, and within seconds, Izuku collapsed to the sandy dirt, completely naked, shivering, and entirely exhausted.

 

Bakugo remained by the tree, coughing, his eyes locked onto the small, frail boy who had just minutes ago become a monster.

 

The hierarchy had indeed been rewritten. But Katsuki Bakugo was no longer at the top.

 

 

 

"Transformation-Type: Silverback."

 

Dr. Tsubasa adjusted his round glasses, tapping his pen against the glowing X-rays displayed on his monitor. He was a bald, eccentric-looking man with a thick mustache, but his expression was entirely professional as he looked across his desk at Inko Midoriya and her son.

 

Inko looked like she was on the verge of fainting. She clutched her purse with white-knuckled intensity, her eyes darting between the doctor and Izuku, who was currently wrapped in a hospital blanket, eating his fourth consecutive protein bar with ravenous hunger.

 

"It is a truly remarkable mutation, Mrs. Midoriya," Dr. Tsubasa continued, pulling up a secondary scan of Izuku’s skeletal structure. "As you know, most Quirks manifest by the age of four. Usually, they bear some resemblance to the parents' abilities. You can pull small objects toward you, and your husband breathes fire."

 

"Yes," Inko said weakly. "Is it... is it a combination?"

 

"Hardly," the doctor chuckled dryly. "Quirk genetics are a lottery. Sometimes, the combination of two completely unrelated genetic markers creates an entirely new, dominant mutation. In Izuku’s case, his DNA has written a code that allows for rapid, extreme biological metamorphosis. When his adrenaline spikes or he actively engages his Quirk factor, his cellular structure rapidly multiplies, drawing on his body's energy reserves to temporarily alter his species-state to that of a mutated, hyper-evolved primate."

 

Izuku stopped chewing on his protein bar. "A... a monkey?" he squeaked.

 

"An ape, actually," Dr. Tsubasa corrected, smiling at the boy. "And not just any ape. A Silverback. But significantly larger and denser than anything found in nature. When he transforms, his bone density increases by roughly eight hundred percent. His muscle fibers undergo rapid hypertrophy, weaving together like steel cables. His physical strength, durability, and agility skyrocket to levels that, frankly, rival some of the top Pro Heroes I’ve seen."

 

Inko gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Top... Pro Heroes?"

 

"Yes," the doctor nodded gravely. "However, there is a catch. The laws of thermodynamics still apply, even to Quirks. Energy cannot be created from nothing. To undergo such a massive physical change in a matter of seconds requires a staggering amount of calories. If Izuku transforms without enough stored energy, his body will begin to consume its own fat and muscle tissues to compensate. He could literally starve to death in a matter of minutes if he overuses it."

 

Inko looked at her son, her eyes welling with tears. Izuku was looking at his hands, his green eyes sparkling with an emotion that wasn't fear, but absolute, unbridled wonder.

 

"Furthermore," Dr. Tsubasa added, leaning forward, his tone turning serious. "The transformation affects his endocrine system. When he shifts into the Silverback state, his testosterone and adrenaline levels spike immensely. He will be flooded with primal, animalistic instincts. Aggression, territoriality, and a lack of impulse control. He threw young Katsuki twenty feet with a mere flick of his wrist. If he had punched him directly..." The doctor let the implication hang heavily in the air. "Mrs. Midoriya, your son has been given an incredibly powerful Quirk. But it is also incredibly dangerous. He must learn absolute emotional and physical control, otherwise, he could severely hurt someone."

 

Inko burst into tears, rushing forward to wrap her arms around Izuku’s blanket-covered shoulders. "Oh, my poor baby! I'm so sorry, this sounds so scary!"

 

But Izuku didn't cry. He looked up over his mother's shoulder at the doctor. The image of All Might, the Symbol of Peace, flashing his brilliant smile on the television screen burned brightly in his young mind.

 

"Doctor," Izuku asked, his voice soft but surprisingly steady. "With this Quirk... can I be a hero? Can I save people with a smile, just like All Might?"

 

Dr. Tsubasa looked at the four-year-old boy. He saw the fire in the kid's eyes, a stark contrast to the absolute destructive potential hidden in his DNA. The doctor smiled softly.

 

"With power like yours, kid? You won't just be a hero. If you can tame the beast inside you... you might just be unstoppable."

 

 

 

The dynamic between Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo changed permanently that day.

 

In most stories, the bully torments the weakling, the weakling discovers a hidden power, and the bully is put in his place, leading to a role reversal or a newfound friendship. Reality, however, was far more complicated, especially when dealing with Katsuki Bakugo’s ego.

 

Bakugo did not become Izuku’s friend, nor did he cower in fear. He had been bruised, both physically and mentally, but Bakugo was not a creature of submission. He was a creature of pride.

 

A week after the playground incident, Bakugo cornered Izuku near the shoe lockers at their kindergarten. Izuku tensed, instinctively preparing for a fight, his heart rate ticking up. But Bakugo didn't raise his hands. He just glared at Izuku, his red eyes burning with a fierce, competitive fire.

 

"You've been holding out on me, Deku," Bakugo growled.

 

"I-I didn't know, Kacchan!" Izuku stammered, waving his hands defensively. "It just... happened! I couldn't control it!"

 

"Shut up," Bakugo snapped. He stepped closer, jabbing a finger into Izuku’s chest. "You think because you turned into some giant hairy ape that you're better than me? You think you're stronger than me?"

 

"No! Of course not!"

 

"Good. Because you're not," Bakugo declared, his voice dripping with venomous determination. "I don't care how big you get, or how hard you hit. My explosions are going to be the strongest in the world. I'm going to be the Number One Hero, and I'm going to surpass All Might. And I'm going to surpass you."

 

From that day on, the relationship shifted from "predator and prey" to "predator and predator." Bakugo stopped viewing Izuku as a useless pebble in his path. Instead, he viewed him as a massive, imposing boulder that he had to train relentlessly to shatter. Bakugo still called him "Deku"—insisting that it meant "one who can't do anything right"—mostly to mock Izuku’s notoriously clumsy and gentle baseline personality.

 

Because, despite possessing the Quirk of a monstrous apex predator, Izuku remained entirely, wonderfully human. He was soft-spoken, incredibly polite, highly analytical, and prone to mumbling up a storm whenever heroes were mentioned.

 

The contrast was jarring to everyone who knew him.

 

As the years went by, Izuku dedicated his life to mastering the Silverback. The journey was grueling. The most immediate challenge was his diet. To sustain the caloric demands of his Quirk and prevent his body from cannibalizing itself, Izuku had to eat. A lot.

 

By the time he was ten years old, Izuku was consuming upwards of ten thousand calories a day. Inko had to take on extra shifts just to afford the sheer volume of rice, chicken, beef, and dense nutritional pastes required to keep her son healthy. Izuku learned to carry high-calorie, compact rations with him at all times.

 

The second challenge was control. The animalistic instincts of the Silverback were overwhelming at first. In the early years, whenever Izuku transformed, he would roar, pound his chest, and act on raw emotion. He accidentally broke doors, shattered windows, and once crushed a steel park bench into a metallic ball just by sitting on it too aggressively.

 

He realized early on that if he wanted to be a hero, his greatest enemy wouldn't be villains; it would be collateral damage.

 

So, Izuku trained his mind. He studied anatomy, physics, and structural engineering. He needed to know exactly how much force it took to break a bone, to bend steel, to shatter concrete, so he could ensure he never applied a single ounce of force more than necessary. His famous "Hero Analysis for the Future" notebooks weren't just about cataloging other heroes' abilities; they were meticulous, mathematical self-evaluations of his own biomechanics.

 

He also begged his mother to enroll him in martial arts. Not Karate or Muay Thai, which focused on striking, but Judo and Aikido.

 

"Striking is too dangerous, Mom," an eleven-year-old Izuku had explained, adjusting his oversized gi. "If I punch a villain in my transformed state, I could accidentally kill them. The kinetic force is too high. I need to learn how to grapple, how to redirect momentum, and how to pin opponents without causing lethal trauma."

 

His senseis were baffled at first by the green-haired, stuttering boy. But when they saw the sheer density of his base musculature and his uncanny ability to memorize and execute complex throws with flawless leverage, they realized they were training a prodigy. Izuku learned to use his massive, low center of gravity to his advantage. He learned discipline. He learned how to breathe, how to meditate, and how to keep his mind like a calm, unrippled lake, even when the beast inside him was thrashing against its cage, begging to be let out.

 

By the time Izuku reached his third year at Aldera Junior High, he was fourteen years old, and he was a physical anomaly.

 

 

 

"So, as third-year students, it's time to start thinking seriously about your futures and what you want to do with your lives," the homeroom teacher announced, standing at the front of the classroom with a stack of papers.

 

Izuku sat near the back, furiously scribbling in his notebook, Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. He was analyzing Mount Lady’s recent debut, sketching out the kinetic output of a giant-sized dropkick versus a Silverback body slam.

 

Despite being in his untransformed, baseline human state, Izuku was massive. The constant physical conditioning and the underlying genetic modifications of his Quirk had given him a physique that looked entirely out of place in a middle school classroom. At fourteen, he stood a solid six-foot-two. His shoulders were incredibly broad, straining the seams of his black gakuran uniform. His arms were thick with dense, corded muscle, and his large hands were heavily calloused from years of gripping judo mats and lifting weights.

 

Yet, despite his imposing stature, he hunched over his desk, trying to make himself look as small and inconspicuous as possible. A massive, three-tiered bento box sat open next to his notebook, which he absentmindedly picked at, shoving rice into his mouth as he muttered under his breath.

 

"...Mount Lady's size gives her an advantage in raw destructive output, but her center of gravity is compromised. If she were to face a villain with high agility, her reaction time would be too slow. In contrast, if I shift into a partial transformation, I can maintain high mobility while maximizing muscle density in the lower quadrant..."

 

"I could pass out these career aptitude tests," the teacher continued, suddenly tossing the stack of papers into the air with a laugh. "But why bother? I know you all want to go to the hero track!"

 

The classroom erupted in cheers. Students activated their Quirks—stretching limbs, shooting small bursts of water, glowing in the dark.

 

Izuku didn't cheer. He just kept his head down and took another bite of chicken.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful Quirks," the teacher sighed, "but remember, using your powers in school is against the rules."

 

"Sensei, don't lump me in with this bunch of losers!"

 

The loud, arrogant voice cut through the noise like a knife. Katsuki Bakugo sat leaning back in his chair, his feet resting casually on his desk. He smirked, looking around the room with absolute disdain. "I'm not gonna be stuck at the bottom with the rest of these rejects. Their Quirks are C-listers at best."

 

The class immediately erupted in outrage.

"Who are you calling a reject, Bakugo?!"

"You think you're so great?!"

 

"Bring it on, extras!" Bakugo laughed, small explosions popping in his palms. "I've already aced the mock exams. I'm the only one at this school who actually has the stuff to get into U.A. High School. I'm going to surpass All Might and become the top hero!"

 

"Oh, right," the teacher said, glancing at a clipboard. "Midoriya, you're going for U.A. too, aren't you?"

 

The classroom fell dead silent.

 

All eyes slowly turned to the back of the room. Izuku froze, a piece of chicken halfway to his mouth. He blinked, looking up at the staring faces.

 

In a normal timeline, the class would have burst into laughter. They would have mocked the Quirkless boy for having impossible dreams. But in this timeline, nobody laughed. They remembered the rumors. They had seen the dents in the school’s concrete walls when Izuku had accidentally tripped during a dodgeball game. They knew that beneath that shy, muttering exterior was a force of nature.

 

Bakugo slowly turned his head. His ruby eyes locked onto Izuku. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a deep, ferocious scowl. He didn't blow up Izuku’s desk. He didn't yell. He just stared, the tension in the room thickening until it was hard to breathe.

 

Izuku swallowed his chicken, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and met Bakugo’s gaze. He didn't flinch.

 

"Yes," Izuku said, his voice deep and calm, lacking his usual stutter. "I'm aiming for U.A."

 

Bakugo scoffed, standing up from his desk. He walked down the aisle, stopping right next to Izuku. Bakugo was tall, but he still had to look slightly up to meet Izuku’s eyes, even with Izuku sitting down.

 

"You think you can beat the entrance exam without killing anybody, Deku?" Bakugo whispered, his voice dangerously low. "You think they're going to let a wild animal into the hero course?"

 

"I'm not an animal, Kacchan," Izuku replied softly, adjusting his grip on his pen until the plastic creaked slightly. "I'm in control. And I'm going to save people."

 

"We'll see," Bakugo sneered, turning on his heel and walking back to his desk. "Just stay out of my way, or I'll blow that monkey fur right off your back."

 

Izuku sighed, releasing the tension in his shoulders. The bell rang shortly after, signaling the end of the day.

 

 

 

Walking home, Izuku took the long route. It was a route that passed beneath an overpass—a quiet, shaded tunnel that allowed him to walk in peace without accidentally bumping into crowded pedestrian traffic. He walked with a heavy, rhythmic gait, his nose buried in his notebook, jotting down ideas for a specialized hero costume.

 

If I use a high-tensile carbon fiber weave, it should stretch enough to accommodate the sixty-percent mass increase during transformation without tearing. But the breathability will be low. I'll need heat-venting ports around the shoulders...

 

He didn't notice the strange gurgling sound at first.

 

It wasn't until the smell hit him—a foul, rotting stench like open sewage and stagnant water—that Izuku’s heightened senses flared to life. He stopped walking, his emerald eyes darting up from the notebook.

 

From a manhole cover a few yards ahead, a massive, gelatinous mass of dark green sludge was pouring out of the sewer. It bubbled and shifted, coalescing into a towering, formless blob with two large, crazed eyes and a jagged mouth.

 

"An invisible cloak... a perfect meat suit to hide in," the Sludge Villain rasped, his voice echoing wetly in the tunnel. His eyes locked onto Izuku’s large, muscular frame. "Oh, and look at the size of this one! You've got some great muscles, kid! I'll be able to smash that blonde hero to a pulp in a body like this!"

 

Izuku didn't panic. The judo training, the meditation, the years of suppressing the beast—it all kicked in. His mind went into hyper-analytical overdrive.

 

Villain. Liquid body type. Physical strikes will be ineffective. Grappling is impossible; no solid mass to hold onto. Threat level: High. Objective: Incapacitate without causing lethal collateral damage.

 

"Don't worry, kid," the villain laughed, lunging forward with blinding speed. Tentacles of thick sludge whipped through the air. "It'll only hurt for about 45 seconds! Then it'll all be over!"

 

The sludge slammed into Izuku, wrapping around his thick arms, his torso, and surging upward to cover his mouth and nose. The villain forced his way into Izuku’s airway, choking him.

 

Suffocation tactic, Izuku thought calmly, even as his lungs screamed for oxygen. He's trying to take over my motor functions.

 

Izuku dropped his notebook. He planted his feet wide, anchoring himself to the concrete. He closed his eyes.

 

Deep breath. Engage Quirk Factor.

 

The transformation was no longer the painful, accidental explosion of his childhood. It was a practiced, deliberate ignition.

 

Izuku flexed every muscle in his body simultaneously. A shockwave of pure biological energy pulsed outward from his core. His bones thickened instantly with a loud, ratcheting CRACK-CRACK-CRACK. His broad shoulders expanded further, tearing his school uniform jacket clean off his back as massive slabs of dark muscle erupted beneath his skin. The coarse black fur sprouted in an instant, and the shimmering silver streak rushed down his widening spine. His jaw elongated, his teeth sharpening into fearsome fangs, and his eyes snapped open, glowing a brilliant, feral emerald.

 

Within two seconds, the Sludge Villain wasn't holding a fourteen-year-old boy. He was holding an eight-foot-tall, eight-hundred-pound apex predator.

 

"What the hell?!" the Sludge Villain shrieked as his tentacles were violently stretched and torn by the sudden, massive expansion of Izuku’s body. "What kind of Quirk is this?!"

 

Izuku let out a low, vibrating growl. He reached up with his massive, leathery hands and dug his thick fingers into the sludge covering his face. He didn't just pull; he ripped the sludge away with terrifying, mechanical force, freeing his mouth and nose.

 

He took a massive gulp of air, expanding his barrel-like chest.

 

Physical strikes won't work on liquid, Izuku’s rational mind analyzed beneath the roaring instinct of the beast. I need to disperse his mass. I need area-of-effect damage. Wind pressure.

 

Izuku looked down. The manhole cover the villain had emerged from was lying on the ground a few feet away. It was solid cast iron, weighing over a hundred pounds.

 

Moving with a blinding agility that defied his massive size, the Silverback lunged. He dropped to his knuckles, closing the distance in a fraction of a second, and clamped his right hand around the edge of the manhole cover.

 

"You think you can beat me with a piece of metal, you oversized ape?!" the Sludge Villain roared, reforming his tentacles into a massive, spear-like appendage and thrusting it toward Izuku’s chest.

 

Izuku didn't dodge. He let the sludge spear hit him. It struck his thick pectoral muscles and completely shattered against his dense fur and bone-hard muscle tissue, doing absolutely no damage.

 

Izuku stood up to his full, towering height. He gripped the iron manhole cover in his right hand as if it were a lightweight ping-pong paddle. He pulled his massive arm back, his bicep bulging, the silver fur on his back standing on end as kinetic energy pooled into his shoulder.

 

He didn't aim at the villain. He aimed slightly past him.

 

With a deafening roar that shook the very foundation of the tunnel, Izuku swung the manhole cover in a wide, vicious arc.

 

"HRRRRRAAAAAAAAGH!"

 

The swing was so fast, so unbelievably powerful, that the cast iron tore through the air faster than the speed of sound. A visible, conical shockwave of compressed air erupted from the swing. It sounded like a bomb going off inside the tunnel.

 

The sheer concussive force of the wind pressure hit the Sludge Villain like a freight train.

 

"NOOOOO!" the villain screamed.

 

He didn't stand a chance. The wind tore his liquid body apart at the molecular level, blasting the sludge backward in a violent explosion of green slime. The sludge splattered against the walls, the ceiling, and far out into the street beyond the tunnel, completely atomized and incapacitated.

 

The wind pressure continued outward, blowing debris, trash cans, and leaves down the street in a howling gale.

 

Izuku stood breathing heavily, the manhole cover still gripped in his hand. The tunnel was silent, save for the wet dripping of sludge from the ceiling.

 

Izuku blinked. The feral glow in his eyes faded. He looked down at the mess, then at the manhole cover in his hand.

 

Oops, he thought. I used a bit too much force. Calculating wind resistance in a confined space is tricky.

 

He carefully placed the manhole cover back over the hole, ensuring it was seated properly so nobody would trip. Then, closing his eyes, he released the breath in his lungs and let the transformation fade.

 

The muscle melted away, the fur receded, and his bones shifted back into place. Within moments, Izuku was standing there in his torn uniform pants and his white undershirt, his black gakuran jacket entirely ruined. He sighed, bending down to pick up his notebook, which had miraculously survived the blast.

 

"I'm going to have to explain this to Mom," he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "She's going to kill me for ruining another uniform."

 

Unbeknownst to Izuku, he was not alone.

 

Standing at the entrance of the tunnel, partially obscured by the shadow of a streetlamp, was a man. He was incredibly tall, gaunt, and skeletal, with sunken eyes and messy blonde hair. He was wearing baggy clothes, and he was currently coughing up a small amount of blood into a handkerchief.

 

Toshinori Yagi—the civilian guise of All Might, the Number One Hero—stood utterly paralyzed.

 

He had been tracking the Sludge Villain all day. He had lost him in the sewers after reaching his three-hour daily time limit for his muscular hero form. He had dragged himself here, forcing his broken, failing body to keep moving, desperate to catch the villain before he hurt a civilian.

 

He had arrived just in time to see a fourteen-year-old boy transform into a mythical behemoth and obliterate a villain with nothing but the air pressure generated from a single, physical swing.

 

Toshinori stared at the spot where the sludge was scattered. The sheer physical power he had just witnessed... it was staggering. It wasn't an explosion. It wasn't telekinesis. It was pure, unadulterated, earth-shattering physical strength.

 

It was strength that rivaled his own.

 

Toshinori looked at the boy, who was now quietly muttering to himself, meticulously taking notes on his own combat performance, ensuring that the sludge villain’s eyes were intact so he wouldn't die.

 

What incredible power, Toshinori thought, his heart pounding in his bony chest. But more than that... what incredible restraint. He didn't hit the villain directly. He calculated the wind pressure to incapacitate without killing.

 

Toshinori had spent the last five years searching for a successor. He was looking for someone who possessed not just strength, but the heart, the intelligence, and the absolute will to protect others. He had been looking for a diamond in the rough.

 

As Izuku Midoriya walked out of the tunnel, respectfully bowing to a passing elderly woman as if he hadn't just shattered the sound barrier with a piece of iron, Toshinori Yagi couldn't help but smile.

 

I think, the Symbol of Peace thought to himself, wiping the blood from his chin, I may have just found the apex of the next generation.

 

The morning of the U.A. Entrance Exam began not with a montage of frantic studying or nervous pacing, but with the steady, rhythmic sounds of a massive breakfast being prepared.

 

In the small Midoriya apartment, the kitchen felt more like the galley of a battleship. Izuku sat at the modest dining table, his broad, heavily muscled frame dwarfing the wooden chair he occupied. Before him sat a staggering spread: six whole grilled mackerel, a towering mound of white rice, an entire carton of scrambled eggs, three bowls of thick tofu miso soup, and a liter of high-protein nutritional slurry.

 

To the average person, it was a feast meant for a family of five. For fourteen-year-old Izuku Midoriya, it was simply fuel.

 

"Eat up, Izuku," Inko said, her voice wavering slightly as she set down a final plate of steamed sweet potatoes. She wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes tracing the dense, corded muscles of her son’s forearms. Even in his baseline, untransformed state, Izuku was a giant. Standing at six-foot-two, with shoulders so broad he had to turn sideways to fit through the hallway, he looked less like a middle school student and more like a seasoned professional athlete.

 

"Thanks, Mom," Izuku replied, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that still held the gentle, polite cadence of a shy child. He didn't eat like a beast; he ate methodically, chewing his food thoroughly, his green eyes focused on a notebook resting beside his plate. Hero Analysis for the Future No. 14: U.A. Exam Theories.

 

He was meticulously calculating the caloric burn required for sustained, high-intensity combat. His Quirk, "Silverback," was a ravenous engine. If he transformed fully, his bone density and muscle mass would increase by eight hundred percent. That kind of biological metamorphosis demanded an astronomical amount of energy. If he went into the exam on an empty stomach, his body would cannibalize its own tissues within minutes, leaving him paralyzed—or worse, dead.

 

"Are you nervous?" Inko asked, placing a trembling hand on his massive shoulder.

 

Izuku swallowed a mouthful of rice and looked up. He offered his mother a soft, reassuring smile. "A little," he admitted, his cheeks dusting with a faint pink. "It's U.A., after all. But I've been preparing for this for ten years, Mom. I've mapped out every conceivable scenario. I know the exact kinetic limits of my base form, and I have strict thresholds for my transformed states. I won't lose control. I promise."

 

Inko smiled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I know you won't, sweetie. You're going to be a wonderful hero."

 

An hour later, Izuku stood before the towering, fortress-like gates of U.A. High School.

 

The sheer scale of the architecture was breathtaking. The main building gleamed in the morning sun, a towering monument of glass and steel shaped like an 'H'. Surrounding him were hundreds of other examinees, chattering nervously, stretching, or sizing each other up.

 

As Izuku walked through the crowd, an unconscious path cleared for him. It wasn't intentional on the other students' part, but a primal, instinctual reaction to his sheer physical presence. Despite his unassuming dark green uniform and his messy, curly green hair, the heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots and the sheer width of his chest commanded space. People moved aside, shooting nervous glances at the giant walking among them.

 

"Out of my way, Deku."

 

The familiar, gravelly voice made Izuku pause. He turned to see Katsuki Bakugo striding up behind him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his explosive red eyes glaring daggers.

 

"Good morning, Kacchan," Izuku said politely, stepping slightly to the side to give Bakugo room.

 

Bakugo didn't thank him. He just scoffed, his gaze raking over Izuku’s broad chest. "Don't think just because you ate a buffet this morning that you're going to beat me. The entrance exam is about points. It's about taking down targets. Your oversized ape trick is just gonna make you a bigger target."

 

"We'll see," Izuku replied calmly. There was no tremor in his voice, no flinching. The years of suppressing the hyper-aggressive endocrine spikes of his Quirk had given Izuku an unparalleled emotional baseline. Bakugo’s rage washed over him like water off a stone.

 

Bakugo clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed by the lack of reaction, and stormed past him toward the auditorium.

 

Izuku watched him go, letting out a soft sigh. He adjusted the strap of his heavy duffel bag and took a step forward.

 

Suddenly, a blur of motion caught his eye. To his right, a girl with short, bobbed brown hair had tripped over an uneven paving stone. She was falling face-first toward the hard concrete, her hands flailing uselessly in the air.

 

Distance: Three meters. Trajectory: Downward, high velocity. Time to impact: 0.8 seconds, Izuku’s brain calculated instantly.

 

He didn't need to transform. His baseline physical attributes were already superhuman. Izuku pivoted on his heel, dropping his center of gravity. He lunged forward, his legs coiled like springs. His arm shot out—an arm that was unnaturally long and thickly corded with muscle—and his large hand caught the front of her jacket right beneath her collarbone.

 

With a gentle, controlled pull, Izuku halted her momentum entirely, suspending her mid-air just inches from the ground. He then effortlessly pulled her back up onto her feet, as if she weighed no more than a feather.

 

"Wha—?" the girl gasped, blinking in shock as she found herself upright.

 

"Are you alright?" Izuku asked, his deep voice laced with genuine concern. He quickly released her jacket, taking a polite step back.

 

The girl looked up. And up. She tilted her head back to meet Izuku’s eyes, her own large, brown eyes widening as she took in his massive, hulking physique. For a second, she looked intimidated, but then Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish, incredibly dorky smile spreading across his face, and the illusion of a terrifying brute shattered.

 

"Oh! Yes! Thank you so much!" she beamed, clapping her hands together. "I’m Ochaco Uraraka! Man, that would have been a really bad omen, tripping right before the exam!"

 

"I'm Izuku Midoriya," he replied, bowing slightly. "It's, um, it's nice to meet you. You should be careful, the paving stones here have a slight grading to allow for rainwater runoff."

 

"Wow, you really noticed that?" Uraraka laughed, completely at ease. "You have really fast reflexes! And super long arms!"

 

"Oh, uh, y-yes," Izuku stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of his abnormal proportions. "It's... it's a byproduct of my Quirk. Sorry if I startled you."

 

"Not at all! You totally saved me!"

 

A few feet away, observing the entire interaction, stood a tall boy with glasses and meticulously combed blue hair. Tenya Iida pushed his glasses up his nose, his eyes narrowed in assessment. Incredible reaction time, Iida thought. He didn't even activate a Quirk, yet he moved with the speed and precision of a pro. And despite his terrifying appearance, his demeanor is impeccably polite. This boy... is a serious contender.

 

 

 

The orientation in the massive auditorium was, for Izuku, an exercise in physical discomfort. The seats were designed for average fourteen-year-olds. Izuku had to squeeze his broad shoulders tight and practically fold his long legs to fit into the cramped plastic chair. He looked completely absurd, like a full-grown grizzly bear trying to sit in a sports car.

 

Down on the main stage, the Voice Hero: Present Mic was explaining the rules of the practical exam with deafening enthusiasm.

 

"As it says in the application requirements, you listeners will be conducting ten-minute mock urban battles!" Present Mic shouted, striking a dramatic pose. "You'll be deposited in various battle centers. Inside, you'll find three types of faux villains, each assigned a point value based on difficulty! Your goal is to use your Quirks to rack up a high score!"

 

Izuku pulled out his notebook, his pen flying across the page. "Three types of targets. That implies a tiered point system. The difficulty likely scales not just with durability, but with offensive capabilities. If they're using faux villains, they must be robotic. That changes the engagement rules. I don't have to hold back my striking force for fear of lethal trauma. I can utilize higher percentages of my transformed state..."

 

His muttering was a low, rapid-fire drone that vibrated through the row of seats. Uraraka, sitting a few seats down, looked over with an amused smile. Bakugo, sitting in front of Izuku, gritted his teeth, his hands smoking slightly in irritation.

 

"Excuse me!"

 

A loud, booming voice interrupted Present Mic. The boy with glasses—Iida—stood up tall, pointing rigidly at the stage. "On the printout, there are four types of villains! If this is a misprint, then U.A., the top hero academy in Japan, should be ashamed of this foolish mistake! Furthermore!" Iida pivoted sharply, pointing directly at Izuku. "You, the giant boy with the curly hair!"

 

Izuku blinked, pointing to himself in confusion.

 

"You've been muttering this entire time! It's distracting! If you're not going to take this seriously, you should leave!"

 

A few students snickered.

 

Izuku didn't get angry. Instead, his cheeks flushed bright red. He bowed his head as best as he could in the cramped seat. "I apologize," Izuku said, his voice carrying easily through the silent auditorium. "I was conducting real-time tactical analysis of the exam parameters. It's a habit of mine to verbalize my thoughts. I will ensure it doesn't happen again. Thank you for pointing it out."

 

Iida faltered, his rigid posture loosening slightly in surprise. He had expected the massive boy to be a hotheaded brute, but the apology was flawless, articulate, and completely devoid of ego. "Ah... well. As long as you understand!" Iida coughed, sitting back down.

 

Present Mic quickly diffused the tension, explaining that the fourth robot was the "Zero Pointer"—an obstacle meant to be avoided rather than fought.

 

Izuku jotted that down, too. Zero points. An obstacle. High durability, likely massive scale to force a retreat. Engaging it is mathematically useless. Objective: Avoid and focus on point-dense areas.

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Izuku stood before the colossal metal gates of Battle Center B. He was wearing his specialized workout gear: a tight, sleeveless compression shirt made of advanced, hyper-elastic synthetic fibers, and a pair of reinforced, baggy martial arts pants. The sleeveless shirt exposed his heavily scarred, muscular arms—scars not from battles, but from the early years of his Quirk tearing his own skin before his body had adapted to the rapid growth.

 

Around him, dozens of examinees were stretching, whispering, and looking up at the towering mock city beyond the gates. Many of them were eyeing Izuku nervously. Without his bulky school uniform, the sheer density of his musculature was fully on display. He looked like an immovable object.

 

"Right, let's start!"

 

Present Mic’s voice echoed suddenly from a watchtower high above.

 

The other students jumped, looking up in confusion. There was no countdown. No buzzer.

 

"What's wrong? There are no countdowns in real fights!" Present Mic yelled. "Run, run, run! The die has been cast!"

 

Before the other examinees could even process the command, a concussive shockwave rippled through the crowd.

 

Izuku Midoriya hadn't hesitated. The second the word "start" left Present Mic's mouth, Izuku dropped forward.

 

He didn't run like a human. He dropped into a quadrupedal stance, plunging his knuckles into the asphalt. His biomechanics shifted instantly. His massive back arched, his long arms acting like front struts, his incredibly powerful legs coiled tight beneath him.

 

With a single, explosive thrust of his legs and arms, Izuku launched himself forward. The asphalt beneath his boots and knuckles cratered, spider-web cracks shooting out from his launch point. He moved with a terrifying, fluid grace, a blur of dark green and heavy muscle that rocketed through the opening gates before they were even fully ajar.

 

"W-Whoa!" one of the examinees gasped, shielding their face from the wind pressure of Izuku’s departure.

 

"What the hell is that guy?!" another yelled.

 

"Don't just stand there! Go!" Iida shouted, activating his engine calves and sprinting after the green blur.

 

Inside the mock city, the faux villains were already mobilizing. A group of three One-Pointers rolled out of an alleyway, their red optical sensors locking onto the approaching target.

 

"Target acquired," their mechanical voices droned.

 

Izuku didn't slow down. As he galloped toward them on all fours, he took a deep, steadying breath.

 

Engage Quirk Factor. State: Partial Transformation. Focus: Upper body density, maintain lower body agility.

 

The change was instantaneous. As Izuku leaped into the air, soaring twenty feet above the street, his upper body exploded with mass. The hyper-elastic compression shirt stretched taut as his chest doubled in size. Thick, coarse black fur erupted across his arms and back, a shimmering silver streak racing down his spine. His jaw jutted forward, his teeth elongating into thick canines, and his eyes ignited with a brilliant, feral emerald fire.

 

He didn't fully shift into the eight-foot behemoth—he kept his legs relatively human to maintain a lighter overall weight for vertical mobility—but from the waist up, he was a monstrous, six-foot-wide silverback gorilla.

 

He dropped from the sky like a meteor.

 

Izuku landed directly on top of the center One-Pointer. His sheer, dense weight instantly crushed the machine's outer chassis, driving it straight into the concrete with a deafening screech of rending metal. Without missing a beat, Izuku’s massive, hairy hands shot out. He grabbed the remaining two One-Pointers by their sensory array heads.

 

With a low, guttural grunt, Izuku flexed his colossal arms and slammed the two robots together. The kinetic force was so immense that both robots instantly crumpled, their steel frames buckling like soda cans. Sparks rained down onto the street as their batteries short-circuited.

 

Three points, Izuku’s rational mind tallied beneath the roaring instinct of the beast. Time elapsed: 12 seconds. Keep moving.

 

He didn't run down the street like the other examinees, who were just now pouring into the city. The street was too crowded, too linear. To a silverback, the urban environment wasn't a maze of roads; it was a canopy.

 

Izuku turned to a four-story concrete building on his right. He leaped, closing a fifteen-foot gap in a single bound. He slammed against the side of the building. His fingers—thick, calloused, and possessing a grip strength that could crush diamonds—dug directly into the solid concrete facade as if it were soft clay.

 

Crack. Crunch.

 

Using the handholds he was carving into the wall, Izuku scaled the building in seconds, vaulting over the edge of the roof. He ran across the rooftop on all fours, his silver back gleaming in the sun. He looked down into the adjacent street and spotted a massive Three-Pointer cornering two terrified examinees.

 

Izuku launched himself off the roof. He plummeted down, aiming not for the ground, but for a thick steel streetlight pole. He grabbed the pole with one hand, his momentum bending the thick steel in a violent arc. He used the bend of the pole like a slingshot, whipping himself directly at the Three-Pointer.

 

"Look out!" one of the examinees screamed, diving out of the way.

 

Izuku collided with the Three-Pointer mid-air. He didn't punch it. A punch would create a shockwave that could hurt the examinees behind it. Instead, he grappled it.

 

Landing squarely on the robot’s massive armored back, Izuku dug his feet into its treads. He reached down, wrapping his monstrous, fur-covered arms around the robot’s main turret. His biceps bulged to the size of tree trunks. The silver streak on his back bristled as he let out a deafening, primal roar.

 

"RAAAAAAARGH!"

 

With a horrifying shriek of tearing metal, Izuku didn't just break the robot. He literally ripped the main turret and chassis completely off its base through raw, unadulterated physical strength. Wires snapped, hydraulic fluid sprayed like blood, and the top half of the robot was hefted into the air.

 

Izuku tossed the massive chunk of metal aside, letting it crash safely onto an empty sidewalk. He dropped back down to the street, panting, thick plumes of steam rising from his overheated, fur-covered body.

 

The two examinees he had just saved stared at him in absolute, petrified awe. Izuku, in his terrifying, half-transformed state, turned to look at them. His glowing green eyes softened. He gave them a quick, jerky thumbs-up, then dropped back to all fours and bounded away down the alleyway in search of more prey.

 

 

 

High above the mock cities, in a darkened observation room, the faculty of U.A. High School watched the carnage unfold on dozens of massive monitors.

 

"In this practical exam, the examinees have not been informed of the number of villains or their locations," a small, white, bear-like creature in a suit said, sipping from a teacup. This was Nezu, the principal of U.A. "They have a limited amount of time in a vast area. They have to draw the villains out. Information gathering ability, mobility, judgment, and pure combat prowess... these are the basic abilities needed to keep the peace."

 

The teachers murmured in agreement, their eyes darting between the screens.

 

"There are some promising candidates this year," noted the heroine Midnight, pointing to a screen showing Katsuki Bakugo violently exploding a Three-Pointer. "That boy's Quirk is incredibly destructive, and his combat instincts are sharp. He's not hesitating at all."

 

"Ah, but look at Area B," a deep, booming voice said from the back of the room. Toshinori Yagi, in his muscular All Might form, stood with his arms crossed, a massive grin on his face as he stared intently at one specific monitor. "We have a true powerhouse on our hands."

 

Every teacher in the room turned their attention to the screen showing Izuku Midoriya.

 

On the monitor, Izuku—now fully transformed into an eight-foot-tall, towering silverback—was a force of utter devastation. He grabbed a Two-Pointer by its treads, spun it around in a circle like a hammer thrower, and launched it into a cluster of three other robots, destroying them all in a spectacular explosion.

 

"Good lord," Snipe muttered from beneath his mask. "What is that kid's Quirk? Transformation-type? His physical output is off the charts. He's tearing through solid steel plating with his bare hands."

 

"Transformation-Type: Silverback," Nezu read from a file on his tablet. "Izuku Midoriya. Quirk grants him hyper-evolved primate biology. Extreme enhancements to bone density, muscle mass, and kinesthetic agility."

 

"He looks like a rampaging beast," observed Vlad King. "With a Quirk like that, his endocrine system must be flooded with adrenaline and testosterone. Can he even tell friend from foe in that state?"

 

"Look closer," a dry, exhausted voice countered.

 

Sitting in the corner of the room, wrapped in a yellow sleeping bag, was Shota Aizawa, the Erasure Hero: Eraser Head. His bloodshot eyes were narrowed, meticulously analyzing Izuku's every movement on the screen.

 

"He's not rampaging," Aizawa said, his tone devoid of its usual apathy. "He looks chaotic, but his movements are surgically precise."

 

Aizawa pointed a finger at the monitor. "Watch the replay of that last sequence. When he swung that Two-Pointer, he didn't just throw it blindly. He checked his blind spots. He waited exactly 1.4 seconds for a fellow examinee to clear the blast radius before releasing the projectile. And notice his strikes. He's not throwing wild haymakers. He's grappling, disassembling, and targeting the mechanical joints to minimize concussive shockwaves that could cause collateral damage to the surrounding buildings."

 

The room fell silent as the teachers watched closely. Aizawa was right. Despite his monstrous, terrifying appearance, the boy was fighting with the calculated intellect of a veteran hero.

 

"He's maintaining total situational awareness," Aizawa continued, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "He's deliberately shielding other examinees with his massive frame while drawing the aggro of the robots. He's not a wild beast. He has absolute, ironclad control over his instincts."

 

All Might's smile widened until his cheeks hurt. Yes, he thought proudly. You're showing them, Young Midoriya. You're showing them exactly what it means to be a hero.

 

"Well then," Nezu chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously. "He clearly has the brawn and the brains. But how does he perform under true, overwhelming pressure? It's time to test their true mettle."

 

Nezu reached out and flipped a small, red switch on his control console.

 

"Let's see how the apex predator handles a bigger monster."

 

 

 

Down in Battle Center B, Izuku was panting heavily. He had long since stopped counting his points. He was operating purely on flow state.

 

Caloric reserves dropping. Heat exhaustion setting in. Heart rate at 180 BPM, his mind calculated. I need to pace myself. I've destroyed at least twenty targets. That should be well above the passing threshold.

 

He was standing in the middle of a large intersection, surrounded by the crushed, mangled remains of over a dozen robots. Other examinees had begun to actively follow him, realizing that the giant beast boy was carving a safe path through the city.

 

Uraraka came jogging up, using her Zero Gravity Quirk to drop a piece of a robot she had just floated into the air. She was sweating but smiling. "Midoriya! You're amazing! You're like a superhero from a comic book!"

 

Izuku, still fully transformed, looked down at her. He couldn't speak in this state—his vocal cords were too thick and elongated to form human words—so he gave her a gentle nod, being careful not to make sudden movements that might frighten her.

 

Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble.

 

It wasn't a small tremor. It felt like a localized earthquake. The asphalt buckled and cracked, and the windows of the surrounding buildings shattered from a low, rhythmic booming sound.

 

BOOM... BOOM... BOOM...

 

Izuku spun around, his feral instincts instantly flaring. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

 

At the end of the long avenue, the buildings themselves seemed to part ways. A colossal hand, the size of a bus, slammed down onto a rooftop, instantly crushing the concrete structure to dust. Rising from the dust cloud, blocking out the sun, was a machine of absolute, nightmarish proportions.

 

It was easily the size of a skyscraper. Its single, glowing red eye swept across the city, locking onto the cluster of examinees in the intersection.

 

"T-The Zero Pointer..." an examinee stammered, dropping to his knees in terror.

 

Present Mic’s warning echoed in Izuku’s mind: An obstacle. Avoid it.

 

"Run!" Iida yelled, sprinting past them, waving his arms frantically. "It's not worth any points! Everyone, retreat!"

 

The crowd of examinees panicked, turning and fleeing in the opposite direction. Uraraka turned to run as well, but as she took a step, a chunk of debris from the crumbling buildings suddenly dislodged, bouncing off a wall and striking her ankle.

 

She cried out, collapsing to the hard asphalt.

 

Izuku, who had been preparing to retreat, snapped his head back. His glowing green eyes locked onto Uraraka. She was trying to crawl, but her ankle was visibly swelling. Above her, the colossal treads of the Zero Pointer were slowly, inevitably grinding forward, crushing everything in their path. The shadow of the behemoth fell over her.

 

Time seemed to stop.

 

Every rational calculation in Izuku’s mind told him to run. Zero points. Insurmountable mass. Risk of lethal trauma: 100%. Objective: Retreat.

 

But then, the beast within him—and the hero within him—spoke with a singular, united voice.

 

Protect the pack.

 

Izuku Midoriya didn't run away. He turned around, facing the skyscraper-sized machine. He planted his massive, fur-covered legs wide, digging his claw-like toes into the concrete.

 

The air around him seemed to warp. The ambient temperature spiked dramatically. He reached deep into the very core of his Quirk, tapping into reserves of energy he had never dared touch outside of isolated training.

 

Override threshold, Izuku thought, his mind crystal clear. State: Silverback Alpha.

 

Izuku inhaled, his massive chest expanding until the synthetic fibers of his compression shirt began to audibly rip.

 

He tilted his head back, and released a roar.

 

It was a sound that defied description. It wasn't just loud; it was a physical force. The alpha roar of a beast challenging a god. The soundwave visibly distorted the air, shattering every remaining pane of glass in a three-block radius. The sheer concussive force of the roar made the other fleeing examinees stumble, clutching their ears in pain.

 

Even the Zero Pointer seemed to pause, its optical sensors recalibrating in response to the massive acoustic spike.

 

Izuku dropped to all fours, the concrete beneath him entirely disintegrating into powder under the sudden, immense pressure.

 

He didn't just leap. He launched himself like a railgun projectile.

 

Leaving a crater ten feet wide in his wake, the eight-foot-tall silverback tore through the air, completely defying gravity, hurtling directly toward the face of the mechanical titan.

 

In the observation room, every single teacher leaped to their feet.

 

"Is he insane?!" Vlad King shouted. "He can't physically stop a machine that size! It weighs thousands of tons!"

 

Aizawa leaned forward, his eyes wide, his Quirk unconsciously flaring as he gripped the edge of his desk. Show me, kid. Show me what you're really made of.

 

All Might gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. Go!

 

Izuku soared through the air, the wind tearing at his silver fur. He wasn't aiming for the body. He wasn't aiming for the arms. He was aiming for the head.

 

He collided with the face plate of the Zero Pointer. The impact sounded like a bomb going off.

 

Izuku grabbed the edges of the colossal red optical lens with his massive hands. He didn't try to punch through the armor. He knew his limits. Instead, he relied on the one thing a primate possessed in greater abundance than any other creature on earth: Grip strength.

 

He braced his thick legs against the steel chassis of the robot's face.

 

Pull.

 

His muscles bulged to grotesque proportions, the veins thick like ropes against his dark skin. The silver fur on his back stood completely on end, radiating immense heat.

 

With a roar that tore his own vocal cords, Izuku pulled.

 

The thick, reinforced steel plating of the Zero Pointer began to groan. Then, it shrieked.

 

To the absolute disbelief of everyone watching, Izuku’s fingers dug entirely through the armor plating. He was using his body as a wedge, prying the armor apart through sheer, impossible, unadulterated brute force.

 

SNAP.

 

The armor gave way. Izuku plunged his arms deep into the exposed circuitry of the robot’s head. He grabbed hold of a massive, glowing blue cylinder—the main processing unit.

 

He planted his feet again, and with a final, earth-shattering heave, he violently ripped the processor entirely out of the robot's head.

 

Sparks erupted in a massive shower. The red light of the Zero Pointer flickered, rapidly flashed, and died.

 

The machine let out a mechanical groan, its internal gyroscopes failing. The skyscraper-sized robot began to tilt backward, collapsing like a felled titan.

 

Izuku, holding a mechanical component the size of a car above his head, kicked off the falling robot, plummeting back toward the earth.

 

He landed heavily in front of Uraraka, the impact cracking the street once more. He tossed the massive processor aside, letting it crash into a ruined wall.

 

The Zero Pointer hit the ground behind him, sending up a massive cloud of dust and debris that washed over the entire street.

 

When the dust finally settled, Uraraka looked up.

 

Standing over her, shielding her entirely from the falling debris, was the massive silverback. He was panting heavily, his muscles trembling slightly from the immense exertion. Blood dripped from his knuckles where he had torn through the steel.

 

He looked down at her, the feral glow in his eyes slowly fading back to a soft, intelligent green.

 

The buzzer suddenly sounded across the city.

 

"TIME'S UP!" Present Mic’s voice echoed.

 

The exam was over.

 

Izuku closed his eyes. The adrenaline vanished, replaced instantly by crushing, overwhelming exhaustion. He couldn't sustain the transformation a second longer.

 

The massive muscles deflated. The thick black and silver fur rapidly receded into his pores. His bones shifted, popping and cracking loudly as he shrank back down to his normal, human size.

 

He collapsed onto his knees, his specialized compression shirt in tatters, sweat pouring down his face.

 

Uraraka stared at him, her mouth agape. "You... you saved me."

 

Izuku looked at her, managing a weak, utterly exhausted smile. "You... you tripped," he rasped, his voice hoarse from the roaring. "I... I couldn't let you get crushed."

 

And with that, Izuku Midoriya promptly passed out, collapsing face-first onto the ruined asphalt.

 

High above, in the observation room, absolute silence reigned.

 

Nezu slowly lowered his teacup. Aizawa let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, sinking back into his sleeping bag.

 

All Might stood at the glass, staring down at the unconscious boy in the ruined street, his heart swelling with a pride so immense it threatened to burst from his chest.

 

"Well, gentlemen," Nezu finally said, breaking the silence, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his snout. "I believe we have found our apex."

 

 

The silence that followed the buzzer was heavier than the colossal machine that had just been felled.

 

Dust—thick, gray, and tasting of pulverized concrete and ozone—hung in the air over Battle Center B like a burial shroud. It blanketed the ruined streets, settling over the crushed remnants of faux villains and the trembling shoulders of the examinees who had stopped dead in their tracks.

 

A minute ago, there had been the chaotic symphony of battle: explosions, shouting, the metallic grinding of treads, and the panicked screams of teenagers fleeing a skyscraper-sized mechanical titan. Then, there had been the roar. A sound so primordial and immensely powerful it had vibrated in the marrow of their bones. And finally, the deafening, earth-shattering crash of the Zero Pointer collapsing, its armored skull brutally pried open and its electronic brain ripped out by a single, terrifying force of nature.

 

Now, there was only the gentle hiss of steam escaping the downed titan’s severed hydraulic lines, and the ragged breathing of the examinees.

 

Tenya Iida stood fifty yards away, his engine calves still venting hot exhaust. He was frozen, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Behind the square frames of his glasses, his eyes were wide with a cocktail of absolute shock, awe, and a deep, gnawing sense of shame.

 

He looked at the towering, smoking mountain of scrap metal that was the Zero Pointer. Then, his gaze slowly lowered to the base of the wreckage, where the dust was finally beginning to thin.

 

Through the haze, Iida saw the silhouette of the giant boy. The one who had respectfully apologized for muttering in the auditorium. The one who had moved with the speed of a seasoned pro to save a tripping girl. The one who had just transformed into an eight-foot-tall, silver-backed apex predator and achieved the impossible.

 

Iida watched as the monstrous muscles rapidly deflated, the thick black and silver fur retreating into the skin, the bones popping and realigning until the behemoth shrank back down into the form of a heavily muscled, fourteen-year-old boy. Izuku Midoriya swayed on his feet for a fraction of a second before collapsing face-first onto the ruined asphalt, utterly unconscious.

 

The girl with the brown hair—Uraraka, Iida recalled—dragged herself toward him, clutching her swollen ankle, her face pale with shock and gratitude.

 

I ran, Iida thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. The instructors said it was an obstacle. They said it was worth zero points. Logically, tactically, the only correct maneuver was to retreat. But he... he didn't even hesitate.

 

Iida’s nails bit into his palms. The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow. The entrance exam wasn't just testing their Quirks or their tactical judgment. It was testing their instinct to protect.

 

He jumped into the jaws of certain death for a girl he had just met, Iida realized, his rigid worldview cracking at the seams. He didn't care about the points. He didn't care about the rules. He only cared about saving a life. That... that is the essence of a true hero. Compared to him, I am nothing.

 

Across the mock city, murmurs began to break the silence.

"Did... did you see that?"

"He ripped its head open. With his bare hands."

"Who is that guy?!"

 

"All right, all right, good work everyone!"

 

A warm, gentle voice cut through the awe and confusion. Approaching down the cracked street was a small, elderly woman walking with a syringe-shaped cane. It was the Youthful Heroine: Recovery Girl, the cornerstone of U.A.’s medical staff. Behind her trailed several small medical robots carrying stretchers and supplies.

 

"Excellent effort all around. If you're injured, step forward and let me take a look," she said cheerfully, distributing small, brightly wrapped gummies to the exhausted students.

 

She made a beeline for the center of the intersection, stepping delicately over the massive craters Izuku had left in the pavement. Uraraka looked up, tears of relief in her eyes. "Please! Help him! He saved me, but he just passed out!"

 

"Calm down, dearie," Recovery Girl soothed, kneeling beside Izuku’s massive, prone form. She gently turned him over onto his back. Even unconscious, Izuku was a mountain of a boy. His specialized compression shirt hung in shredded tatters around his ridiculously broad shoulders, exposing the thick, overlapping slabs of scarred muscle on his chest and arms.

 

Recovery Girl placed a hand on his chest. Her eyes widened slightly behind her visor.

 

"His core temperature is nearly a hundred and five degrees," she muttered, her professional demeanor sharpening instantly. She checked his pulse; it was racing like a hummingbird's wings, fluttery and erratic. "Hypoglycemia. Severe caloric depletion. His Quirk factor forcibly accelerated his cellular metabolism far beyond its natural limits. He’s burning through his own muscle tissue just to keep his organs functioning."

 

"I-Is he going to be okay?" Uraraka asked, her voice trembling.

 

"He'll live, but my Quirk won't work on him right now," Recovery Girl explained, pulling a specialized communication device from her pocket. "My healing requires the patient's own stamina to accelerate cellular division. If I use it on him now, it will drain the last of his energy and put him in a coma. He needs calories, immediately."

 

She pressed the button on her radio. "Medical team, I need an emergency transport at Sector B, Grid 4. Bring a Class-3 high-density intravenous drip. Pure glucose, liquid lipids, and synthesized amino acids. We have an extreme Quirk-exhaustion case."

 

Within moments, the medical robots swarmed Izuku. They carefully hoisted his massive, heavy frame onto a reinforced stretcher.

 

As they lifted him, Iida finally found his legs. He sprinted over, skidding to a halt beside Uraraka. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking down at her swollen ankle.

 

"I think it's sprained," Uraraka winced. She looked at Izuku as he was wheeled away, her expression a mix of awe and profound worry. "He... he was incredible."

 

"Yes," Iida said softly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "He was."

 

Recovery Girl leaned down and planted a loud kiss on Uraraka’s forehead. Uraraka blinked in surprise as a sudden wave of warmth washed over her leg. The swelling in her ankle rapidly reduced, the pain vanishing in an instant, leaving her feeling overwhelmingly sleepy.

 

"There you go, dearie. But you'll need to rest. Healing takes stamina," Recovery Girl smiled. She turned her gaze to the retreating stretcher carrying Izuku Midoriya. A localized transformation that increases mass and density to that extreme? The kinetic output required to shatter the Zero Pointer’s armor... the boy is a walking nuclear reactor of biological energy. U.A. hasn't seen raw power like this since...

 

Her mind drifted to a certain blonde, skeletal man currently watching from the observation deck.

 

Since Toshinori.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, in Battle Center A, the exam had ended with far less theatrical destruction, though the devastation was no less thorough.

 

Katsuki Bakugo stood atop a pile of smoking, melted robotic chassis, his chest heaving. His gauntlets were scorched black, and the acrid smell of burnt nitroglycerin hung heavy in the air. He glared at the scoreboard holographic display flickering to life above the sector walls. He didn't know his exact score, but he knew he had destroyed everything in his path. He had been a force of absolute, explosive destruction.

 

"Hey, did you hear?" an examinee nearby whispered to another, checking his phone. "Word from Sector B is crazy."

 

"What happened?"

 

"Some giant kid with a gorilla Quirk completely obliterated the Zero Pointer. Like, literally ripped its head off with his bare hands."

 

Bakugo froze.

 

The small sparks that were unconsciously popping in his palms abruptly ceased. He slowly turned his head, his ruby eyes locking onto the two examinees. "What did you say?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

 

The boy flinched, taking a step back from the terrifying blonde. "I-I was just saying what my friend texted me. In Sector B, someone destroyed the Zero Pointer."

 

Bakugo’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth groaned. He didn't need to ask for a description. Giant kid. Gorilla Quirk. There was only one person in the world who fit that description.

 

Deku.

 

He destroyed the Zero Pointer? Bakugo’s mind raced, his pride violently warring with his logic. That thing was the size of a building! It's physically impossible! Even my strongest blast would only dent its armor. How much power has that damn ape been hiding from me?!

 

An inferno of rage and absolute, hyper-competitive drive ignited in Bakugo’s chest. He looked at his own scorched hands. The gap between them hadn't closed. It had widened. Deku wasn't just a boulder in his path anymore; he was a mountain.

 

"You think you can look down on me, Deku?" Bakugo growled to the empty air, small, violent explosions crackling from his knuckles. "I'll tear that silver fur right off your back. Just you wait."

 

 

 

Izuku woke up to the smell of sterile alcohol and the sharp, incessant beeping of a heart monitor.

 

He groaned, his entire body feeling as though he had been run over by a bullet train, reversed over, and then beaten with sledgehammers for good measure. Every single muscle fiber in his body screamed in agonizing protest as he tried to shift his weight.

 

"Easy there, big guy. Don't move too fast."

 

Izuku slowly peeled his eyes open. The bright fluorescent lights of the U.A. infirmary blinded him for a moment. As his vision cleared, he saw Recovery Girl sitting on a stool beside his oversized hospital bed. Attached to his thick arm were three separate IV lines, pumping a thick, yellowish nutrient fluid directly into his veins.

 

"W-Where..." Izuku rasped, his voice incredibly deep and hoarse. His throat felt like sandpaper.

 

"You're in the U.A. infirmary," Recovery Girl said, hopping off her stool and pouring him a large cup of water. She handed it to him. "Drink slowly. Your Quirk took a massive toll on your body. You depleted nearly ninety percent of your caloric reserves in a matter of seconds. You're lucky you didn't trigger multiple organ failure."

 

Izuku took the cup with a trembling, oversized hand. He downed the water in one gulp, relishing the cool liquid. His mind slowly began to piece together the fragments of the exam. The mock city. The robots. The points. The giant machine. The girl.

 

"Uraraka!" Izuku suddenly gasped, trying to sit up, only to wince in pain. "The girl who tripped—is she okay? Did she get crushed?!"

 

"She's fine, Midoriya," a new, booming voice announced.

 

Izuku’s head snapped toward the doorway. Standing there, filling the frame with his immense, muscular presence, was All Might. He was wearing a bright yellow suit, his trademark smile plastered across his shadowed face.

 

"All Might!" Izuku gasped, his green eyes widening to the size of saucers. His fanboy instincts instantly overpowered his physical pain. "Y-You're here! Why are you here? Are you a teacher at U.A.? Of course you are, where else would the Number One Hero go, but wait, you're looking at me, why are you looking at me—"

 

"Breathe, Young Midoriya," All Might laughed heartily, though his eyes held a profound, quiet respect. He stepped into the room. "Yes, I will be teaching at U.A. this year. But I came here specifically to check on you. Your performance in the practical exam was... quite the spectacle."

 

Izuku’s face flushed a deep crimson. He looked down at his lap, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety. "I... I lost control," he admitted softly. "I promised myself I would pace my energy output. I calculated the exact thresholds. But when I saw that giant robot, and I saw her trapped... I didn't think. I just engaged the Alpha state. It was reckless. I probably failed, didn't I? The Zero Pointer was an obstacle. I wasn't supposed to engage it."

 

All Might exchanged a glance with Recovery Girl. The elderly heroine simply smiled and turned back to her charts.

 

"Young Midoriya," All Might said, stepping closer to the bed. "Do you believe that heroism is a mathematical equation? Is it simply about calculating risk versus reward?"

 

Izuku looked up, confused. "Well, no. But the exam parameters—"

 

"To hell with the parameters," All Might interrupted, his smile softening into something intensely genuine. "You saw someone in danger. Your body moved before your brain had time to calculate the odds. You risked your own life—and your own body—to shield a stranger from harm."

 

All Might placed a massive hand on Izuku’s broad shoulder. The physical comparison between the two was striking; even untransformed, Izuku possessed a frame that echoed the Symbol of Peace's own dense musculature.

 

"I cannot tell you your results today," All Might said gently. "But I can tell you this: you have the heart of a true hero. Rest up, Young Midoriya. You have a long journey ahead of you."

 

With a final, blinding smile, All Might turned and left the infirmary.

 

Izuku sat there, stunned into absolute silence. The Number One Hero, his idol, had just validated his very existence.

 

"Alright, that's enough excitement for one day," Recovery Girl huffed, taking the empty cup from Izuku. "I'm going to accelerate your IV drip. Once your blood sugar is stabilized, I'm calling your mother to come pick you up. You are on strict bed rest for the next three days. And when I say strict, I mean it. If you try to transform before your muscle fibers have fully knit, you'll tear your biceps straight off the bone. Understood?"

 

"Yes, ma'am," Izuku nodded meekly, feeling very small despite his massive size.

 

 

 

The week that followed was absolute torture.

 

Physically, Izuku’s body was in a state of hyper-recovery. The damage he had inflicted on himself by forcing his Quirk into the "Alpha" state without proper leverage or pacing was extensive. His muscles suffered from severe micro-tears, and his bones ached with a deep, throbbing fatigue.

 

To combat this, Izuku’s appetite, normally ravenous, shifted into something bordering on terrifying.

 

"Izuku, sweetie, I made a third pot of rice!" Inko called out, carrying a massive steaming bowl into the living room.

 

Izuku was sitting on the floor—the sofa couldn't support his weight comfortably—surrounded by empty plates. He was shoveling grilled chicken breasts into his mouth with mechanical efficiency.

 

"Thankth, Mom," he mumbled through a mouthful of food, taking the bowl and immediately digging in.

 

"How are your arms feeling?" she asked, her brow furrowed in worry.

 

"Better," Izuku said, swallowing hard. "The soreness is localizing. The protein synthesis is working. But I still can't lift more than a hundred pounds without a sharp pain in my deltoids."

 

For any normal human, lifting a hundred pounds while injured would be a feat. For Izuku, who regularly bench-pressed small cars in his baseline state to train, it was agonizingly weak.

 

But the physical pain paled in comparison to the mental anguish of waiting.

 

Every day, Izuku sat at his desk, his notebooks spread out before him, running the calculations over and over again.

 

I destroyed at least twenty One and Two-Pointers. Let's assume a conservative estimate of forty-five points. Is the cutoff line fifty? Sixty? He tapped his pen against his chin, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. I didn't get a chance to finish sweeping the sector because the Zero Pointer appeared. And taking down the Zero Pointer awarded no points. What if I missed the cutoff by one point because I wasted time on an obstacle?

 

Doubt gnawed at him. He knew he had done the right thing saving Uraraka. He wouldn't change that decision for the world. But the logical, analytical side of his brain whispered that U.A. was a school for elite professionals. If he couldn't follow basic instructions—avoiding the obstacle—would they view him as a liability? A wild beast who couldn't adhere to a tactical plan?

 

Bakugo’s words from middle school echoed in his ears. You think they're going to let a wild animal into the hero course?

 

"No," Izuku whispered to himself, clenching his giant hand into a fist. "I was in control. I made a choice."

 

On the seventh day, the waiting finally broke.

 

Izuku was doing careful, slow stretches on the living room floor, testing the elasticity of his repaired muscles, when the front door burst open.

 

Inko practically slid into the living room, panting heavily, her eyes wide. In her trembling hand, she held a thick, heavy envelope sealed with a wax crest. The U.A. logo.

 

"I-Izuku!" she gasped, her voice shrill. "It came! It's here!"

 

Izuku froze. His massive frame went entirely rigid. He stood up slowly, towering over his mother. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers delicately taking the envelope from her hands. It felt impossibly heavy.

 

"I'll... I'll open it in my room," Izuku said, his voice dropping an octave in nervousness.

 

He walked down the hall, each heavy footstep echoing in the quiet apartment. He entered his room, closing the door behind him. The room was a shrine to heroism. Posters of All Might covered every inch of wall space. Action figures, limited edition comics, and meticulously organized notebooks lined the shelves.

 

Izuku sat at his heavy-duty desk, staring at the envelope.

 

He took a deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Control the heart rate.

 

With surgical precision, he slid a claw-like fingernail under the flap of the envelope and tore it open.

 

He expected a letter. A piece of paper detailing his scores. Instead, a small, heavy metal disc slid out, clattering loudly against the wooden surface of his desk.

 

Izuku blinked. "A... projector?"

 

Before he could inspect it further, the disc hummed to life. A bright blue light shot upward, projecting a massive, high-definition holographic screen against the wall.

 

"I AM HERE AS A PROJECTION!"

 

Izuku nearly fell out of his reinforced chair. On the screen, wearing a sharp yellow suit, was All Might.

 

"All Might?!" Izuku gasped. "Wait, this is from U.A... why is All Might on the recording?!"

 

"Surprise, Young Midoriya!" All Might boomed from the hologram, pointing directly at the camera. "As I told you in the infirmary, I am officially a faculty member at U.A. High School! The paperwork took a while, but the Symbol of Peace is now a teacher!"

 

Izuku’s jaw dropped. The Number One Hero was teaching at his dream school. It was almost too much to process.

 

All Might’s demeanor suddenly shifted from bombastic to professional. He cleared his throat. "But enough about me. Let's talk about you, Izuku Midoriya. You applied to the hero course, and you took the practical exam. Your performance was... frankly, it was terrifying."

 

Izuku’s heart sank into his stomach. He looked down at his massive hands. He's going to say I was too destructive. Too wild.

 

"You displayed a level of raw, physical devastation that shocked the entire faculty," All Might continued, the camera zooming in slightly on his face. "In a mere seven minutes before the Zero Pointer appeared, you tore through the urban environment with surgical, calculated brutality. You didn't just break the robots; you dismantled them. You utilized the environment. You optimized your Quirk’s terrifying power perfectly."

 

A scoreboard materialized on the screen next to All Might’s head.

 

"For your combat efforts," All Might announced, "You scored an astounding 85 Villain Points."

 

Izuku stared at the number. Eighty-five. It was massive. It was more than enough to pass. A massive wave of relief washed over him, loosening the tight coil of anxiety in his chest. He passed. He actually passed.

 

"However," All Might said, his voice dropping slightly, drawing Izuku’s full attention back. "The practical exam was not merely a test of combat prowess. If that were the case, a villain could pass just as easily as a hero."

 

The screen flickered. The image of All Might was replaced by security footage from the exam. It was footage of Izuku, in his half-transformed state, saving the two examinees from the Three-Pointer. The video skipped forward, showing Izuku deliberately positioning his massive body to shield a group of students from falling debris.

 

Finally, the footage cut to the climax. The towering Zero Pointer. Uraraka trapped beneath the rubble.

 

"A hero course that rejects people who do the right thing is no hero course at all," All Might’s voice narrated softly over the footage. "What kind of academy would we be if we didn't reward those who risk everything to save others?"

 

The video showed Izuku unleashing his devastating "Alpha" roar, leaping into the sky, and brutally tearing the robot's head open to rip out its core processor.

 

"You possessed the analytical mind to know the obstacle was worth zero points," All Might said. "You possessed the tactical knowledge that engaging it was dangerous. But you also possessed the heart of a true hero, and you threw logic away to save a life."

 

The screen switched back to All Might, who was now smiling so warmly it felt as though the sun had entered Izuku’s room.

 

"This is a job that requires risking your life to put your ideals into practice!" All Might boomed. "And so, there is another metric we use to judge our applicants. A hidden metric, evaluated by a panel of judges. Rescue Points!"

 

The scoreboard on the screen reappeared. Below Izuku’s 85 Villain Points, a new category flashed onto the screen.

 

RESCUE POINTS: 60

 

Izuku’s eyes widened to the point of pain. 60 points. Just for saving Uraraka and shielding the others.

 

"Eighty-five Villain Points. Sixty Rescue Points," All Might said, his voice trembling with palpable emotion. The numbers added themselves together on the screen in massive, glowing gold font.

 

TOTAL SCORE: 145 POINTS.

 

Izuku couldn't breathe. One hundred and forty-five points. It was an astronomical number.

 

"Young Midoriya," All Might said, stepping closer to the camera. The bombastic hero persona faded away entirely, leaving behind a man who was looking at Izuku with profound, boundless respect. "For decades, there has been a record at U.A. High School. A record for the highest score ever achieved on the entrance exam. It was a record set by a young man with a powerful Quirk, who many believed could never be surpassed."

 

All Might placed a hand over his heart.

 

"That record was mine," All Might revealed softly. "I held it for forty years."

 

Izuku gasped, his hands flying to his mouth.

 

"Today," All Might smiled, a single tear glistening in the corner of his eye. "That record has been shattered. You have surpassed me, Izuku Midoriya. You did not just pass the exam. You claimed the absolute pinnacle."

 

The hologram flickered, the U.A. crest appearing behind All Might.

 

"Come, Young Midoriya," All Might said, extending a hand toward the camera as if reaching through the projection to grasp Izuku’s hand. "This is your Hero Academia."

 

The hologram clicked off, plunging the room back into silence.

 

Izuku sat perfectly still. He stared at the blank wall, his mind short-circuiting. The math didn't make sense. The reality didn't make sense.

 

He hadn't just passed. He had broken All Might’s historical record. The untouchable peak of heroism. A quirkless boy who had miraculously awakened the power of a monstrous beast, a boy who spent ten years meticulously training his body and suppressing his primal instincts just to fit into a fragile society, had been recognized by the greatest hero in the world as his superior in that exam.

 

The dam broke.

 

Izuku lowered his head to the desk, his massive shoulders shaking violently. Thick, hot tears poured from his green eyes, soaking into the wood of his desk. He let out a loud, ugly sob, burying his face in his large, scarred arms.

 

The door to his bedroom creaked open. Inko peered in, her own eyes red and puffy. She had been listening from the hallway, unable to contain her anxiety.

 

She saw her giant, hulking son crying at his desk. She saw the metal disc. She didn't need to ask.

 

Inko ran forward, throwing her arms around Izuku’s massive neck. She buried her face in his broad back, weeping openly. "I'm so proud of you, Izuku! I'm so, so proud of you!"

 

Izuku turned, carefully wrapping his enormous, powerful arms around his mother in a gentle, trembling hug. He squeezed his eyes shut, the tears flowing freely.

 

"I did it, Mom," Izuku choked out, his deep voice cracking with emotion. "I really did it."

 

 

 

Two days later, the official rankings were published and mailed out to the accepted students.

 

Across town, Katsuki Bakugo sat on his bed, ripping open the envelope containing his results. He knew he had passed. He knew he had crushed it. He pulled out the paper, his eyes immediately darting to the number one spot on the list.

 

He expected to see his own name.

 

Instead, the paper read:

 

1. Izuku Midoriya - 145 Points (Villain: 85, Rescue: 60)

2. Katsuki Bakugo - 77 Points (Villain: 77, Rescue: 0)

 

Bakugo stared at the paper. His brain refused to process the numbers.

 

Seventy-seven. He had gotten seventy-seven points. It was an incredible score. It was a score worthy of the number one spot in almost any other year.

 

But Izuku Midoriya had nearly doubled it.

 

One hundred and forty-five, Bakugo thought, his breathing growing shallow. A hundred and forty... he shattered the record. All Might's record.

 

The paper in Bakugo’s hands suddenly ignited, bursting into violent flames as his Quirk activated uncontrollably. He dropped the burning ash onto his floor, his hands shaking with a rage so profound, so absolute, it eclipsed anything he had ever felt in his life.

 

Deku hadn't just beaten him. Deku had humiliated him. Deku had established a gap between them so vast it felt like a canyon.

 

Bakugo stood up, walking over to his window. He looked out over the city of Musutafu, his reflection glaring back at him in the glass. The explosive prodigy, the boy who was supposed to be the undisputed king, had been relegated to second place by the very boy he had tormented for years.

 

"You think you're the apex, Deku?" Bakugo whispered, his voice trembling with manic intensity. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, a dark, terrifying smile spreading across his face.

 

"Enjoy the view from the top while you can. Because I'm going to rip you down from that mountain if it's the last thing I do."

 

The rivalry had been permanently altered. The countdown to U.A. High School had begun. And the jungle was about to get incredibly violent.