Mailin’s POV

The arena still hums with the energy of the last match, the faint scent of sweat and metal in the air. The crackling tension in the atmosphere has finally settled as the students regroup, all the intensity of battle momentarily fading into hushed murmurs. I stand with Shota, observing the aftermath of the second match—Team Yaoyorozu versus Team Kendo. Even though Class 1-A gave their best, Class 1-B came out victorious.

I glance at Shota, his eyes fixed on the arena where Kinoko apologizes to Fumikage for the mushrooms still sprouting on his body. The medic bots rush Momo to Recovery Girl’s office, and despite her loss, there’s a fire in her eyes—a determination I know well. I can’t help but smile faintly at her spirit.

“She’s tough,” I murmur to Shota, more to myself than to him, as I watch Momo try to walk despite the medic bots’ insistence on carrying her.

“She's going to reflect on this loss,” Shota replies, his voice as steady as ever, though I can feel the subtle flicker of pride he has for his students. “But next time, she’ll be better for it.”

I nod, glancing over at Hitoshi. He’s standing silently beside Neito, watching the damage that Team Kendo and Manga left on the training ground. There’s a look on his face—one of quiet observation, of calculation. He’s measuring himself, I can tell. Always assessing, always judging how he fits into this strange new world of heroics.

He catches my eye, and I give him a small nod of encouragement. He’s done well so far, but I can see the frustration eating away at him. I make a mental note to speak with him after his next match—there’s something about him that makes me want to shield him from the weight of his past.

---

Shota’s POV

The repairs in the arena take longer than expected, and it gives us all time to reflect. I watch as All Might and Midnight chat quietly, their eyes on Hitoshi. All Might praises his performance earlier, saying he’s got potential, but I know there’s more to this than just potential.

This exercise is a test—a real test—for Hitoshi. He’s come a long way since I first started training him, but he still has so much to learn. He needs to push himself beyond his limits if he wants to make it into the hero course. I’ve seen that determination in him before, that flicker of something raw and fierce, but today he seemed hesitant.

Mailin nudges me gently, her eyes on the students. “He’ll get there,” she says, reading my thoughts as easily as ever. “He just needs a little more time.”

I grunt in response, my usual way of agreeing without having to say much. She knows me well enough to understand what that means.

The third match is about to start—Team Ida versus Team Tetsutetsu. I watch as the students line up, their faces a mixture of excitement and nerves. This match will be interesting. Ida’s team is quick, strategic, while Tetsutetsu’s team is strong, resilient. I lean back slightly, crossing my arms, my eyes scanning the battlefield.

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Mailin’s POV

The battle between Team Ida and Team Tetsutetsu is intense—both teams pushing themselves to their limits. My eyes flick to Tenya, his Recipro Turbo cutting through the air with precision, and then to Shoto, his ice and fire mixing in a flurry of power. Tetsutetsu is tough, though. He’s giving Shoto a real challenge, and I can see the frustration building in Shoto’s expression.

But after 20 minutes of grueling effort, the match ends in a tie. A 1-1 draw.

As the dust settles, I watch as the students catch their breath, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and disappointment. Tetsutetsu’s gaze flicks to Shoto, and I can tell that even though the match was declared a draw, both of them feel like they lost something.

I approach the students, a gentle smile on my face as I gesture for them to follow me. “Alright, let’s get you all to Recovery Girl,” I say, my tone light but firm. “You fought hard, and now you need to rest.”

Shoto looks at me, his eyes filled with that same quiet intensity that always reminds me of Shota. He’s frustrated, I can tell. But there’s something else there too—a spark of determination.

“Come on,” I add gently. “Let’s get you patched up.”

---

Shoto’s POV

The infirmary is quiet, the soft hum of the machines the only sound as I sit on the edge of the bed, my arms crossed over my chest. Tetsutetsu is next to me, his face bruised but his spirit still intact. He glances at me, his voice low but steady.

“Even though it was a tie,” he says, his voice rough from the fight, “I still feel like I lost.”

I look at him, nodding slowly. “Me too.”

Tenya, sitting across from us, frowns deeply. “I wasn’t fast enough. I should have—”

“No,” I interrupt, shaking my head. “You did great. You helped me. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to hold him off.”

Tenya’s frown softens slightly, but I can still see the disappointment in his eyes. Juzo, sitting nearby, chuckles lightly.

“I couldn’t handle the flames,” Juzo admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Or Recipro. You guys were tough.”

Tetsutetsu grins, despite the bruises. “We’ll have to have a rematch,” he says, his voice filled with determination. “Next time, no ties.”

I smirk slightly, nodding. “Agreed.”

---

Mailin’s POV

I watch the boys from the doorway of Recovery Girl’s office, my heart swelling with pride as they talk about the match. Despite the exhaustion, the bruises, and the frustration of a tie, there’s something else in their voices—something I recognize. It’s the desire to grow, to push themselves beyond their limits.

“Alright,” I say, stepping into the room. “Time to get out of Recovery Girl’s office before she kicks us all out.”

The boys look up at me, and I can see the faint smiles on their faces. Shoto, always so serious, gives me a small nod as he stands up, his posture straight despite the fatigue.

As they file out of the office, I feel a sense of warmth wash over me. These kids—my kids—are growing stronger every day. And no matter how tough things get, I’ll always be here to support them, just as Shota is. We’re in this together, every step of the way.

---

Shota’s POV

As I watch the students walk back to the training ground, my eyes linger on Hitoshi. He’s quiet, but I can see the gears turning in his mind, the way he’s analyzing every detail of the match. He’s getting stronger, more confident. But there’s still more for him to learn.

“He’ll make it,” Mailin says softly, stepping up beside me.

I glance at her, my lips twitching into a faint smile. “Yeah,” I reply, my voice low. “He will.”

We watch the students for a moment longer, the silence between us comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that we’re doing something right. These kids are going to be heroes. And we’re going to make sure they get there.