The faculty lounge was unusually quiet for a day that was about to become one of the most chaotic of the year. Y/N Gojo stood near the window, hands in his pockets, watching the stadium fill with spectators through his Six Eyes. Even from here, he could perceive every detail—the excited crowds, the nervous energy radiating from Class 1-A in their waiting room, the pro heroes scattered throughout the audience scouting for potential sidekicks.

The U.A. Sports Festival was here.

Aizawa sat at a nearby table, grading papers with his usual exhausted diligence despite the fact that a massive event was about to begin. His coffee cup was already empty, the fourth one this morning if Y/N's count was correct.

"You know, most teachers take the day off from grading during the Festival," Y/N observed, not turning from the window.

"Most teachers waste time," Aizawa replied without looking up. "I'm maximizing efficiency."

"You're avoiding socializing."

"That too."

Before Y/N could respond, the door burst open with enough force to make even Aizawa look up. Present Mic—Hizashi Yamada—strode in with his characteristic explosive energy, his blond hair styled into its signature directional point, his outfit already prepped for commentary duty complete with his headset microphone.

"Y/N!" Mic's voice was loud even without his quirk amplifying it. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Y/N turned, eyebrow raised behind his blindfold. "I've been right here for the past hour, Mic. Where else would I be?"

"I don't know, man! You're like a cat—you show up in random places!" Mic grinned, pointing at Y/N with both hands in an exaggerated gesture. "But I'm glad you're here because I need you!"

"That sounds ominous," Y/N said dryly.

"Not ominous—AWESOME!" Mic corrected, his enthusiasm undimmed. "I need you to be my plus-two on the radio today! We're commentating the Festival together! You, me, and the ENERGY of YOUTH showing the world what U.A.'s students can do!"

Y/N blinked. Then blinked again. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Commentary!" Mic repeated, as if that explained everything. "You know—talking about the matches, hyping up the crowd, providing expert analysis! It's gonna be LEGENDARY!"

"Mic," Y/N held up a hand, already shaking his head. "You know I'm not good at doing commentary like that. I'm a teacher, not a sports guy. I teach PE, I don't... announce it."

"But that's exactly WHY you'd be perfect!" Mic insisted, moving closer with the persistence of a man who'd already decided this was happening. "You're a teacher! You know the students! You understand their quirks better than almost anyone! Plus, you've got that whole mysterious, cool vibe that the audience will eat up!"

"The 'mysterious cool vibe' is just me existing," Y/N pointed out.

"EXACTLY! It's effortless! That's even better!"

From his seat, Aizawa spoke up without lifting his eyes from his papers. "You could try."

Y/N's head whipped around so fast his blindfold nearly shifted. "What did you say, Shouta?"

Aizawa continued grading, his expression perfectly neutral. "Nothing, dummy."

There was a beat of loaded silence. Y/N stared at Aizawa, who steadfastly refused to look up. Present Mic's grin widened as he sensed the dynamic playing out.

"Ohhhhh," Mic drew out the sound, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, well, well. This is interesting." He looked between the two teachers, his grin taking on a knowing quality. "Shouta thinks you should do it, Y/N. That's basically an endorsement. From AIZAWA. The man who endorses nothing except sleep and logic."

"I didn't endorse anything," Aizawa muttered, finally looking up with narrowed, exhausted eyes. "I merely suggested he could attempt it. There's a difference."

"That's an endorsement from you," Mic said confidently.

"It's not."

"It totally is."

"Yamada—"

"But come on, Y/N!" Mic turned his full attention back to his target, hands clasped together in an almost pleading gesture that was entirely theatrical. "Do this for the school! For the students! For the SPECTACLE! We need fresh energy in the commentary booth! Someone who can match my enthusiasm!"

"Nobody can match your enthusiasm," Y/N said. "You're literally powered by enthusiasm. It's like fifty percent of your quirk."

"Which is why I need balance!" Mic insisted. "Someone cool and collected to play off! Someone the audience hasn't heard from before! Someone with actual combat expertise who can break down what's happening in the fights!" He paused, then added with strategic sincerity, "Plus, the students would love hearing their teacher commentate. Especially after everything at the USJ. It would show them you're invested in their success."

That last part hit differently, and Y/N's resolve wavered visibly. Mic, perceptive despite his boisterous personality, noticed immediately.

"You care about those kids," Mic said, his voice dropping to something more genuine beneath the hype. "This is their moment to shine. Don't you want to be part of helping them do that?"

Y/N sighed deeply, a long exhale that spoke of resignation and acceptance. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Nope," Mic said cheerfully, his grin returning full force.

"Nope," Aizawa echoed from his seat, the faintest hint of amusement in his tired voice.

Y/N looked between them—Present Mic's expectant enthusiasm and Aizawa's studied neutrality that was definitely hiding satisfaction—and realized he'd been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

"Fine," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! I'll do the commentary. But if I'm terrible at it, I'm blaming both of you."

"YES!" Mic pumped his fist. "This is gonna be AMAZING! The crowd is gonna go WILD! The students are gonna be so hyped! This is—"

"Mic," Y/N interrupted. "Inside voice. We're still in the faculty lounge."

"Right, right, sorry!" Mic's volume dropped by maybe five percent. "Okay, so here's what we need to do—we've got about thirty minutes before the opening ceremony. I'll brief you on the commentary flow, the key things to watch for, how to work the mic system—"

"I know how microphones work."

"—and the most important rule: ENERGY! The audience feeds off our energy! We gotta be EXCITED! We gotta be ENGAGED! We gotta—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa's voice cut through the enthusiasm like a knife. "If you don't let him breathe, he's going to use his Infinity to make you unable to reach him, and then we'll have no commentary at all."

Mic paused, considered this, then nodded seriously. "Valid point. Okay, Y/N, let's head to the booth. I'll explain everything on the way."

As Mic practically bounced toward the door, Y/N lingered for a moment, looking back at Aizawa. The tired teacher had already returned to his grading, but there was something in his posture—a relaxation, maybe, or satisfaction—that suggested he was pleased with this outcome.

"You set me up," Y/N accused quietly.

"I did no such thing," Aizawa replied without looking up. "I merely agreed with Yamada's assessment that you would be suitable for commentary duty."

"Uh-huh. And the fact that you knew Mic was going to ambush me here?"

"Pure coincidence."

"Shouta—"

"Go do your job, Gojo." Aizawa finally looked up, and there might have been the ghost of a smile on his face. "The students are waiting. Try not to say anything that gets the school sued."

"No promises," Y/N muttered, but he was smiling too as he turned to follow Present Mic.

In the hallway, Mic was already explaining the commentary setup at rapid-fire speed, his hands gesturing wildly as he walked.

"—and the key is to play off each other, you know? I bring the hype, you bring the analysis! I'll handle the play-by-play, you drop in with the technical breakdowns! It's gonna be a perfect balance of EXCITEMENT and EXPERTISE!"

"Mic," Y/N said calmly. "Breathe."

"I am breathing! This IS me breathing! This is my natural state!"

"That explains so much about you."

They made their way through the corridors toward the commentary booth, passing other teachers heading to their assigned posts. Midnight gave them a wave and a knowing smile. Cementoss nodded in greeting. Thirteen gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.

"Everyone knows," Y/N observed. "You told everyone I was doing this before even asking me, didn't you?"

"I had faith you'd say yes!" Mic said brightly.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer you're getting!"

They climbed the stairs to the commentary booth—a glass-enclosed space with a perfect view of the stadium and all its various competition zones. The setup was professional-grade, with multiple microphones, monitors showing different camera angles, and a control panel that looked like it belonged in a recording studio.

"Okay!" Mic immediately started adjusting equipment, his movements practiced and efficient despite his chaotic energy. "So this is your mic, this is your monitor, these buttons control which camera feed you're watching—not that you need it with those crazy eyes of yours, but it's there—and this is your headset for communication with the production team."

Y/N picked up the headset, examining it with his Six Eyes. "This is actually pretty sophisticated tech."

"U.A. doesn't do anything halfway!" Mic said proudly. "We've got the best equipment, the best setup, the best—" he gestured to himself and Y/N, "—commentary team in hero school sports!"

"We're the only commentary team in hero school sports."

"Which makes us the best by default! I love winning!"

Despite himself, Y/N laughed. Mic's enthusiasm was infectious, and there was something genuinely fun about his uncomplicated joy in everything he did.

"Alright," Y/N settled into his chair, adjusting the microphone. "Walk me through the event structure. What are we looking at today?"

Mic's eyes lit up—this was his element. "Okay! So, the Festival has three main stages. First is the preliminary round—this year it's an obstacle race through a course filled with challenges. It's designed to narrow down the field from all the first-year students to a more manageable number for the later rounds."

"How many students are competing total?"

"All of them! Every first-year across all departments—hero course, support course, general studies, business. It's their chance to show what they can do, maybe catch a hero's eye for internships."

Y/N nodded, his Six Eyes already scanning the stadium below where students were gathering. He could see Class 1-A in their gym uniforms, nervous energy radiating from them. Midoriya was muttering to himself, probably running through strategies. Bakugo looked ready to explode something. Todoroki stood apart, cold and focused.

"After the obstacle race?" Y/N prompted.

"Second round varies year to year—could be a team battle, could be a tournament bracket, depends on how many students advance. Nezu likes to keep it unpredictable." Mic pulled up a schedule on one of the monitors. "Then the final round is always one-on-one tournament matches. That's the big show, where the real scouts pay attention."

"And we're commentating all of it?"

"Every glorious second!" Mic confirmed. "We'll have breaks between rounds, of course. Time for students to rest, for us to recap, for the audience to process the AMAZING feats they're witnessing!"

Y/N leaned back in his chair, taking it all in. Below, the stadium was nearly full, thousands of spectators filling the seats. Pro heroes were scattered throughout—he could sense their distinctive energy signatures. Endeavor was there, probably to watch Todoroki. Other top heroes had come to scout talent.

This was it. The moment his students had been training for. The moment they'd prove themselves to the world.

And he was going to be the one helping narrate their triumphs.

"Okay," Y/N said, a genuine smile crossing his face. "I'm in. Let's give them a show."

"YEAH!" Mic's volume jumped up immediately. "That's what I'm talking about! This is gonna be LEGENDARY! The audience won't know what hit them! We're gonna—"

"Mic."

"Yeah?"

"Inside voice. We're not on air yet."

"Oh. Right." Mic's volume dropped marginally. "Sorry, I get excited."

"I noticed."

Below them, Midnight was taking the stage to begin the opening ceremony. The crowd was roaring, the energy building to a fever pitch.

Y/N Gojo adjusted his blindfold, settled his headset, and prepared to do something he'd never done before: be a sports commentator for a bunch of teenage heroes-in-training.

Well, he thought with amusement, at least it can't be more chaotic than fighting curses or teaching PE.

He had no idea how wrong he was about to be proven.

The U.A. Sports Festival was about to begin, and Y/N Gojo was along for the ride.

The waiting room for Class 1-A was filled with a strange mixture of anticipation and tension. Some students were stretching, others reviewing strategies in hushed voices. Bakugo sat with his feet up, radiating aggressive confidence. Todoroki stood alone by the window, ice crystals unconsciously forming and melting on his fingertips. Uraraka was doing breathing exercises that looked more like hyperventilating.

And Izuku stood in the corner, taking long, deep breaths that weren't doing nearly enough to calm his racing heart.

In and out. In and out. You can do this. All Might believes in you. You've trained for this. You've—

His thoughts were a chaotic spiral of strategy, doubt, determination, and fear. Everything depended on this. Not just his own future, but living up to the faith All Might had placed in him. Proving that he deserved One For All. Showing his mother that her faith in him wasn't misplaced. Demonstrating to the world that yes, a kid who'd been quirkless for most of his life could stand among the best.

No pressure. Just... everything riding on this one day.

He felt a hand land gently on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around with his heart hammering—

Then immediately relaxed when he saw the familiar white hair and black blindfold.

"Y/N, hey there, sir!" Izuku bowed automatically, the gesture ingrained from years of Japanese social conditioning and his own nervous energy needing an outlet.

Y/N waved dismissively, his usual easy smile in place. "Izuku, buddy, I've told you to stop bowing. I'm your teacher, yes, but I don't care about formalities." His tone was warm, lacking the stern discipline of Aizawa or the overwhelming presence of All Might. Just... friendly. Genuine. "I came here to wish you luck. All Might wanted to come too, but he's busy."

"I-I-I thank you, Y/N!" Izuku stammered, his nerves making his words trip over themselves. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension.

Y/N studied him for a moment through the blindfold, those Six Eyes undoubtedly seeing everything—the elevated heart rate, the tension in his muscles, the fear and determination warring in his expression. Then he reached out and patted Izuku's head in a gesture that was almost brotherly.

The touch was grounding. Reassuring in a way Izuku hadn't realized he needed.

"No problem, buddy," Y/N said simply.

He turned to leave, his footsteps quiet against the floor, and Izuku watched him go, feeling simultaneously calmer and somehow more anxious. Having Y/N's support meant something—the teacher who'd stopped an army of villains single-handedly believed in him—but it also added weight to the expectation.

Don't disappoint him. Don't disappoint anyone.

Y/N had almost reached the door when Izuku's voice burst out before he could stop it:

"Y/N, wait!"

The teacher stopped mid-step and turned back, his head tilting slightly in that characteristic way that somehow conveyed attention despite the blindfold obscuring his eyes.

Izuku hesitated, suddenly aware that several of his classmates were now watching this exchange. Uraraka had paused her breathing exercises. Iida had turned from his own preparation. Even Todoroki's attention had shifted slightly.

But Izuku pushed through the self-consciousness, because he needed to know:

"Will you watch me at the festival?" The question came out smaller than he'd intended, almost childlike in its vulnerability.

For a moment, Y/N was quiet. Then his smile widened into something genuinely warm.

"Yes," he said. "I'm the one who's going to be the commentator with Present Mic."

Izuku's eyes went wide, his exhaustion and nerves momentarily forgotten as pure excitement took over. "Seriously?! That's so cool! You're going to be commentating?! So you'll see everything! You'll be able to analyze all the matches and provide strategic breakdowns and—oh man, this is amazing! Present Mic's commentary is always so energetic but having someone with your combat experience and quirk analysis will add such a different dimension to the—"

"Izuku," Y/N interrupted gently, holding up a hand. "Please calm down. And no, it's not cool."

He sighed deeply, reaching up to rub his forehead in a gesture of fond exasperation. "I'll never understand how Aizawa managed to grow up with that loud canary. Seriously, Mic's been explaining commentary procedures for the past twenty minutes and I think my eardrums are filing for workers' compensation."

Despite his nerves, Izuku laughed—a genuine, tension-breaking sound that drew small smiles from some of the other students listening.

"But yes," Y/N continued, his tone softening again. "I'll be watching. All of you." His head turned slightly, addressing the room at large now. "Every match, every moment. And I'll be cheering you on—professionally and objectively, of course, because I'm supposed to be impartial—but cheering nonetheless."

"That doesn't sound very impartial, sensei," Yaoyorozu observed with a small smile.

"Then I'll cheer quietly. In my head. Where no one can prove it's happening." Y/N's grin was infectious. "Point is, you've all trained hard. You've been through hell—literally, at the USJ. You've earned this moment. So go out there and show the world what Class 1-A is made of."

"YEAH!" Kirishima pumped his fist. "That's so manly, sensei!"

"We're going to crush this!" Ashido added, her earlier nervousness replaced with determination.

Even Bakugo scoffed, but it was his version of agreement. "Damn right we are."

Y/N's attention returned to Izuku, and despite the blindfold, the green-haired boy felt that gaze—assessing, understanding, supportive.

"You've got this, problem child," Y/N said quietly, just for him. "I know you're nervous. I know you feel like everything's riding on this. But here's what you need to remember: you're not alone out there. You've got classmates, friends, teachers—all of us backing you up. And more importantly, you've got One For All."

Izuku tensed slightly at the mention of his quirk, but Y/N continued smoothly:

"A quirk you're still learning to control, yes. But one that chose you for a reason. All Might didn't pass his power to just anyone—he gave it to someone with the heart of a hero. Someone who'd risk everything to save others. Someone who, even when quirkless, tried to save his childhood bully from a villain."

Izuku's eyes widened. "How did you—"

"I make it my business to know about my students," Y/N said simply. "Especially the ones who inherited the power of the Symbol of Peace. And here's what I know about you, Izuku Midoriya: you're going to do great today. Maybe not perfect—perfection's overrated anyway—but great. Because you've got something most of these competitors don't."

"What's that?" Izuku asked, leaning forward unconsciously.

Y/N tapped his own head. "You think. You analyze. You see patterns and strategies that others miss. Your notebooks are basically hero tactical manuals at this point—don't think I haven't noticed you filling them with observations about everyone's quirks and fighting styles."

Izuku's face flushed. "I just... I like taking notes..."

"And that's your strength," Y/N emphasized. "Power is important, sure. But intelligence? Strategy? The ability to adapt and overcome? That's what makes a great hero. So use that brain of yours out there. Don't just try to overpower your opponents—outthink them."

He moved toward the door again, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. "Now, I actually do need to go. Mic's probably already started the opening ceremony commentary without me, and I'll never hear the end of it. Good luck, Class 1-A. Make me proud."

"We will, sensei!" Multiple voices chorused.

As Y/N left, pulling the door closed behind him, the energy in the room had noticeably shifted. The tension was still there—this was still the Sports Festival, still the biggest moment of their young hero careers—but it was tempered now with confidence. With determination. With the knowledge that their teacher believed in them.

Izuku looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers, feeling the familiar tingle of One For All waiting beneath his skin.

Outthink them, he repeated mentally. Use strategy, not just power. I can do that. I've been doing that my whole life—analyzing heroes, breaking down their techniques, understanding their tactics.

"Midoriya," Todoroki's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The dual-quirk user had approached silently, his expression as neutral as ever. "Gojo-sensei is right. You're intelligent. Strategic. But don't forget—this is also a competition. We're all here to win."

There was no hostility in his tone, just cold fact.

"I know," Izuku said, meeting his heterochromatic gaze. "And I'm going to give it everything I have."

"Good." Todoroki turned away. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Iida appeared at Izuku's other side, his hand already moving in that characteristic chopping motion. "We should head to the entrance! The ceremony is about to begin! We must be punctual!"

"Right!" Izuku grabbed his gym bag, his earlier nervous energy transforming into focused determination.

As Class 1-A filed out toward the stadium entrance, Izuku found himself thinking about Y/N's words. About being smart, not just strong. About having people supporting him. About being chosen for a reason.

I can do this, he thought, his jaw setting with determination. I'm going to show everyone—All Might, Y/N-sensei, Mom, everyone—that I deserve to be here. That I can be a hero.

The roar of the crowd grew louder as they approached the entrance tunnel, the sound of thousands of spectators waiting to see Japan's next generation of heroes.

Izuku took one last deep breath.

Then he stepped forward into the light.

In the commentary booth...

Y/N slid into his seat just as Present Mic was warming up the crowd with his trademark enthusiasm.

"Did you make it in time?" Mic asked without missing a beat in his crowd work.

"Barely," Y/N replied, adjusting his headset. "Had to give the kids a pep talk."

"How'd they look?"

Y/N's smile was genuine as he looked down at the tunnel where Class 1-A was emerging into the stadium, the crowd's roar intensifying.

"Like heroes," he said simply.

"Then let's make sure the world sees them that way," Mic said, and for just a moment, beneath all the volume and enthusiasm, there was genuine pride in his voice. "Ready to do this?"

Y/N activated his microphone, his Six Eyes tracking every student, every movement, every possibility.

"Ready."

The U.A. Sports Festival had begun.