The acrid smell of melted metal and burning rubber permeated the Development Studio, a scent that Mei Hatsume had long since associated with progress. She stood before her cluttered workbench, goggles magnifying her golden eyes to cartoonish proportions, surrounded by a chaotic symphony of half-assembled inventions that would have given any safety inspector a coronary. Her fingers, stained with grease and copper dust, trembled—not with nervousness, but with the barely contained excitement that always preceded her greatest innovations.

Across from her, Izuku Midoriya shifted his weight from foot to foot, his scarred hand unconsciously reaching up to adjust his notebook's position under his arm. The boy's green hair, perpetually unruly despite his best efforts, caught the harsh fluorescent lighting of the workshop, creating a halo effect that Mei barely registered. She was too busy staring at his legs—specifically, at the structural integrity of his costume's lower half and the biomechanical possibilities they represented.

Focus, Izuku, he told himself, feeling the familiar flutter of anxiety in his chest. You need to explain this clearly. Mei's brilliant, but when she gets excited...

"Hatsume-san," Izuku began, his voice carrying that characteristic earnestness that made most people want to either help him or protect him, "I've been thinking about my fighting style, and I realized that I've been too dependent on my arms for—"

"YOUR LEGS!" Mei exploded forward, grabbing Izuku's shoulders with such force that he actually stumbled backward, his emerald eyes widening in surprise. "Midoriya, you absolute genius! Do you realize what you're proposing? A complete paradigm shift in your combat methodology! The redistribution of impact force through reinforced lower extremity support systems! The applications!"

Izuku's face flushed red—partly from Mei's proximity (she had completely invaded his personal space, as usual), but mostly from the overwhelming enthusiasm radiating off her like heat from a forge. "I-I-I just thought that since I keep breaking my arms, maybe I should—"

"Should ABSOLUTELY utilize a kicking-based combat style that preserves your primary manipulation appendages for strategic deployment of your Quirk!" Mei released him just as suddenly as she'd grabbed him, whirling toward her workbench with the manic energy of a mad scientist who'd just discovered a new element. "This is PERFECT! I've been developing a prototype sole enhancement system that increases impact distribution through microfilament shock absorption, but I needed a field tester willing to—wait, wait, WAIT!"

She spun back around, and Izuku could practically see the gears turning behind those magnified eyes. Steam was literally rising from a nearby invention, creating an almost theatrical atmosphere as Mei's mind raced through possibilities at what he estimated to be approximately four hundred thoughts per minute.

"The leg parts," Mei said, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a normal volume but was still considerably louder than necessary. "I'll need to completely redesign your costume's lower half. Reinforced knee joints, enhanced ankle mobility, probably some kind of hydraulic assistance in the calves for explosive acceleration, shock-absorbent plating along the shins, maybe even a—"

"W-wait!" Izuku held up both hands in a placating gesture, his notebook nearly slipping from his grip. "Hatsume-san, I really appreciate your enthusiasm, but I need you to understand something important."

Mei paused, head tilting like a curious bird examining a particularly interesting insect. "Hmm?"

Izuku took a deep breath, centering himself the way All Might had taught him. Be clear. Be firm. Don't let her steamroll you, even if she means well.

"I don't want any major changes to my costume's basic design," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "My costume is inspired by All Might—by the Symbol of Peace. It represents something important to me, something I can't just... change on a whim. The colors, the overall silhouette, the feeling it gives me when I wear it—those things matter."

For a moment—just a heartbeat—Mei's expression shifted. The manic excitement dimmed, replaced by something more thoughtful, more human. Izuku had often wondered if people underestimated Mei Hatsume. They saw the explosions, the disregard for social norms, the single-minded focus on invention, and assumed she lacked emotional intelligence. But in moments like these, he saw the truth: Mei understood passion better than almost anyone he knew. She just expressed it differently.

"You're attached to it," Mei said softly, almost too quietly for Izuku to hear over the ambient noise of the workshop. "Not just practically. Emotionally."

"Yes," Izuku admitted, feeling vulnerable in a way he hadn't expected. "It's... it's my hero costume. It's who I want to be."

Mei's grin, when it returned, was different from her usual manic smile. It carried understanding, respect, and—if Izuku wasn't mistaken—a hint of genuine warmth.

"PERFECT!" she shouted, and Izuku jumped despite himself. "THIS is the challenge I've been waiting for! Anyone can redesign something from scratch, Midoriya! The REAL test of an engineer's skill is working within constraints! Making something amazing within parameters that limit your options! THIS—" she gestured emphatically at him, nearly knocking over a precariously balanced pile of circuit boards, "—this is going to be my MASTERPIECE!"

Oh no, Izuku thought, recognizing the particular gleam in Mei's eyes. I've made her MORE excited.

"Hatsume-san, I really don't want to cause you extra work—"

"Extra work?! EXTRA WORK?!" Mei laughed, a sound that echoed off the metal walls of the Development Studio like a mad symphony. "Midoriya, constraints breed innovation! Limitations force creativity! Do you think I became the genius I am today by taking the easy route?!"

You became the genius you are by repeatedly violating safety regulations and treating every project like it's going to revolutionize hero society, Izuku thought but wisely kept to himself.

Before he could respond, Mei was already moving, darting between workbenches with the grace of someone who had memorized every centimeter of her chaotic domain. She began pulling out materials—metal plates with strange hexagonal patterns, what looked like compressed spring coils, some kind of gel padding in an alarming shade of neon green, and several components Izuku couldn't even begin to identify.

"Sit!" Mei commanded, gesturing to a worn stool that looked like it had survived at least three explosions. "I need to take measurements! Precise measurements! Your legs, your stance, your natural gait, the distribution of your weight when you kick, the—"

"Hatsume," a gruff voice interrupted from the doorway, and both Mei and Izuku turned to see Power Loader standing there, his excavator helmet gleaming under the lights. The Support Course teacher surveyed the scene with the weary resignation of a man who had dealt with Mei Hatsume's "enthusiasms" for far too long. "What's this about?"

Izuku straightened automatically, respect for authority kicking in. "Power Loader-sensei! I was just asking Hatsume-san if she could help me with some modifications to—"

"He wants to develop a kicking-focused fighting style and needs specialized equipment that maintains his costume's current aesthetic while providing maximum impact enhancement and injury prevention!" Mei rattled off at roughly the speed of an auctioneer on caffeine. "I need access to the advanced fabrication lab, the reinforced testing chamber, approximately 50,000 yen worth of materials, and permission to keep the workshop open for extended hours for the next four days!"

Power Loader was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind his helmet. Izuku felt his stomach drop, certain they were about to be rejected.

Of course, he thought miserably. I should have gone through proper channels, filled out request forms, maybe asked Aizawa-sensei first...

"Four days?" Power Loader finally said.

"FOUR DAYS!" Mei confirmed, bouncing on her heels. "Maybe three if I skip sleep, but Midoriya will probably insist I maintain basic human biological functions because he's RESPONSIBLE like that."

Power Loader looked at Izuku, and the boy could have sworn he saw a hint of amusement in the man's posture. "Midoriya, are you prepared for what you're signing up for? Hatsume has a tendency to get... carried away."

"I've noticed," Izuku said weakly, remembering the Sports Festival and Mei's "babies" that had resulted in him essentially becoming a walking advertisement. "But she's brilliant, sensei. If anyone can do this, it's Hatsume-san."

Mei practically glowed at the compliment, her grin threatening to split her face in half.

Power Loader sighed, a sound that spoke of countless similar conversations. "Fine. You have permission, Hatsume. But—" he held up one finger in warning, "—no explosions this time. And Midoriya walks out of here in one piece with functional equipment, not another promotional disaster. Understood?"

"UNDERSTOOD!" Mei saluted with such enthusiasm that she knocked over a jar of bolts, sending them scattering across the floor like metallic rain. Neither she nor Power Loader seemed to notice.

As their teacher left, Mei turned to Izuku with an expression that was equal parts terrifying and inspiring.

"Midoriya," she said, suddenly serious, "I'm going to create something that perfectly balances your needs with your identity. You're going to walk out of here in four days with equipment that makes you stronger, faster, and safer—without losing what makes you you."

Izuku felt something warm bloom in his chest, a feeling he'd come to associate with U.A.—with being surrounded by people who believed in him, who wanted to help him become the hero he dreamed of being.

"Thank you, Hatsume-san," he said sincerely. "I trust you."

"EXCELLENT!" The moment of sentimentality passed like a summer storm, and Mei was back to her usual intensity. "Now sit down, take off your shoes, and prepare for the most COMPREHENSIVE biomechanical analysis of your lower extremities you've ever experienced! We're going to make you LEGENDARY, Midoriya! The Symbol of Peace's successor with the kick of a god! They'll call you—they'll call you—what's a good hero name that involves kicking?"

"I already have a hero name," Izuku said, removing his red shoes and rolling up his pants legs as instructed. "Deku."

"Right, right, Deku with Devastating Kicks! DEKU THE KICKING HERO! We'll workshop it!" Mei was already pulling out measurement tools that looked vaguely medieval and deeply concerning. "Now, let's talk about your flexibility. How high can you kick? What's your range of motion? Have you ever considered joint mobility exercises? What about—"

As Mei continued her rapid-fire questions, pulling out more and more elaborate measurement devices, Izuku found himself smiling despite the overwhelming nature of it all.

This is what it means to work with specialists, he thought, obediently following Mei's increasingly bizarre instructions (stand on one leg, kick at this angle, hold this position for thirty seconds). Everyone at U.A. is so dedicated to their craft, so passionate about what they do. Hatsume-san might be eccentric, but she cares. She really cares about making something that will help me.

"—and if we incorporate a spring-load mechanism in the heel, you could theoretically double your impact force, but we'd need to account for the recoil, which means reinforcing the ankle joint, which actually works in our favor because—Midoriya? MIDORIYA! Are you listening?!"

"Yes!" Izuku jolted back to attention, his analysis notebook momentarily forgotten. "Spring-load mechanism, double impact, ankle reinforcement!"

Mei studied him for a moment, then broke into a softer smile. "You're thinking about how this will help you save people, aren't you?"

Izuku blinked, startled by her perception. "I... yes. If I can fight effectively without breaking my arms, I can help more people. I can be there when they need me."

"Then let's make sure you can," Mei said, and her tone carried a weight of understanding that Izuku hadn't expected. "Let's make sure that when people need you, you have everything you need to be their hero."

For the next several hours, Izuku sat, stood, kicked, balanced, and followed Mei's increasingly complex instructions as she took measurements, sketched designs, muttered calculations, and occasionally let out triumphant shouts when a particular concept came together. The sun began to set outside the workshop windows, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, but neither of them noticed.

They were too busy building the future, one carefully measured kick at a time.

Four days later, Gym Gamma stood like a monument to heroic ambition—a massive, cathedral-like structure with soaring ceilings and industrial architecture that made every sound echo with dramatic importance. The facility had been designed to simulate urban disaster scenarios, and today, its artificial cityscape of steel and concrete served as the testing ground for U.A.'s newest generation of heroes.

Izuku Midoriya stood at the center of the training area, his new costume feeling both familiar and foreign against his skin. The changes were subtle—elegantly subtle, he'd realized when Mei had presented them with the pride of an artist unveiling their masterpiece. The basic design remained intact: the green bodysuit, the white accents, the red boots and gloves, the respirator-style mask, the ear guards reminiscent of All Might's hair tufts. Everything that made it his costume, everything that connected him to his dream, remained.

But the boots...

The boots are amazing, Izuku thought, flexing his toes and feeling the responsive give of Mei's "microfilament shock absorption system." The soles were thicker now, with a distinctive pattern that Mei had explained would distribute impact force across multiple vectors. The material felt different too—still flexible, but with an underlying strength that promised protection without sacrificing mobility.

Inside the boots, cushioning pads that Mei had called "kinetic redistributors" hugged his feet, ankles, and lower calves. They were barely noticeable when he walked normally, but when he'd tested a kick against one of the Development Studio's reinforced dummies, he'd felt the difference immediately: the force flowing through his leg smoothly, efficiently, without the jarring impact that usually accompanied his full-power strikes.

Plus Ultra, he thought, the phrase that had become his personal mantra. I can do this. I can fight without destroying myself.

"HEADS UP!" All Might's voice boomed across the training area, and Izuku's head snapped up instantly.

A massive chunk of concrete—easily the size of a small car—was plummeting toward where All Might stood, having been dislodged from the artificial building structure by one of the other students' training exercises. The former Number One Hero looked thinner than ever in his deflated form, his sunken eyes tracking the falling debris with the trained awareness of someone who had faced death a thousand times and always emerged victorious.

But All Might wasn't moving. He wasn't dodging. He was just... standing there, presumably trusting that someone would handle the situation.

He's testing us, Izuku realized, his analytical mind processing the scenario in microseconds. He wants to see if we've learned to be aware of our surroundings, to protect others even during routine training.

One For All sparked to life in his legs—not at full power, never at full power, not after everything he'd learned about control and consequences—but enough. Green lightning crackled around his lower body, dancing across the new boots like electric serpents, and Izuku's muscles coiled with barely contained energy.

Shoot Style, Mei had named it during their final testing session, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as Izuku had demolished target after target with kicks that would have shattered his legs just months ago. Because you're going to shoot forward like a bullet, Midoriya! Like a green bullet of JUSTICE!

Time seemed to slow as Izuku bent his knees, calculated the angle, adjusted for wind resistance (negligible indoors but his mind couldn't help analyzing), and launched.

The world blurred. Gym Gamma's floor cracked under the force of his takeoff, spider-web fractures spreading from where his feet had been. Air rushed past his face, tugging at his mask and hair, and Izuku felt that familiar surge of exhilaration that always came with One For All—the sensation of moving faster than his body had any right to move, of defying the limitations that had defined his quirkless childhood.

I'm flying, he thought, even as his analytical mind corrected him. Not flying. Jumping. Controlled falling with style, as Uraraka would joke.

The falling concrete filled his vision. Izuku twisted in mid-air, his core muscles engaging as he brought his right leg around in a perfect roundhouse kick, the motion drilled into his muscle memory through countless hours of practice under Gran Torino's unforgiving tutelage.

"MANCHESTER—" his voice echoed through the gym, "—SMASH!"

His foot connected with the concrete chunk with a sound like a thunderclap, and Izuku felt the impact travel up his leg—not painfully, not destructively, but efficiently. Mei's shock absorption system activated, the kinetic redistributors doing exactly what they were designed to do: spreading the force of impact across his entire lower body, protecting his joints and bones from the catastrophic damage that would have resulted from a full-power blow without proper equipment.

The concrete didn't just break. It exploded, fragmenting into dozens of smaller pieces that rained harmlessly across the training area like deadly hail rendered impotent. Dust billowed outward in a perfect sphere, backlit by the gym's overhead lights to create an almost cinematic effect.

Izuku landed in a crouch, his new boots absorbing the impact of his descent with barely a whisper of sound. Green lightning still crackled around his legs, dissipating slowly like morning mist, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest—not from pain, not from injury, but from pure adrenaline and the satisfaction of a technique executed perfectly.

It worked, he thought, almost dizzy with relief. No broken bones, no torn ligaments, no—

"DUDE!" Denki Kaminari's voice cut through the settling dust, crackling with electricity and excitement. "THAT WAS AMAZING!"

Izuku straightened, turning to find several of his classmates staring at him with expressions ranging from impressed to shocked to—in Katsuki Bakugo's case—complicated and unreadable.

Denki rushed forward, his own costume now featuring what looked like targeting devices mounted on his arms—new support items from the Development Studio, Izuku presumed. The electric hero-in-training's yellow hair practically stood on end with excitement, though that might have just been his quirk's passive effect.

"Seriously, Midoriya!" Denki continued, gesturing wildly. "I knew you were strong, but that kick—did you see how that concrete just obliterated?! It was like—like—" he made explosion noises and hand gestures that were frankly adorable in their enthusiasm.

Eijiro Kirishima jogged up beside Denki, his own costume now featuring additional plating across his shoulders and torso, presumably to complement his Hardening quirk. The redhead's shark-tooth grin was infectious, radiating the kind of pure, uncomplicated support that made Izuku grateful to have him as a classmate.

"That was super manly, Midoriya!" Eijiro said, bumping his fists together in his characteristic gesture. The metallic clang echoed through the gym. "But what's with the new fighting style? I've never seen you kick like that before! You're usually all about those Detroit Smashes and Delaware Smashes and—wait, are you switching to leg attacks?"

Izuku felt his face heat up, that familiar embarrassment at being the center of attention warring with pride in his accomplishment. Stay confident, he told himself. You earned this moment.

"I received powerful new soles from Mei Hatsume," he explained, lifting one foot to show off the distinctive boot design. "She spent four days developing a shock absorption system that would let me deliver full-power attacks without injuring myself. I realized that I've been too dependent on my arms for combat, and with the kind of damage I tend to accumulate..." he trailed off, not wanting to explicitly mention the scarring that covered his hands and arms beneath his costume.

"That's brilliant!" Denki said, leaning closer to examine the boots with the fascination of someone who appreciated good engineering. "So you can just kick stuff now? Without the whole—" he mimicked a bone breaking, complete with sound effects.

"More or less," Izuku confirmed, lowering his foot. "Though I wouldn't call it quite a super move yet. I still need to refine the technique, practice the angles, work on—"

"I'd say it's a big step in the right direction, my boy!" All Might's voice boomed as the skeletal man approached, his oversized suit hanging off his frame like a child playing dress-up in their parent's clothes. Despite his diminished physical form, All Might's presence still commanded attention, his smile still carrying that echo of the Symbol of Peace he'd once been.

Teacher, Izuku thought warmly, seeing the pride in All Might's sunken eyes. Mentor. The person who believed in me when no one else did.

"You've come so far," All Might continued, placing a bony hand on Izuku's shoulder. "When I first met you on that rooftop, you could barely activate One For All without shattering your bones. Now look at you—adapting, evolving, finding new ways to be a hero that don't require you to destroy yourself in the process."

"All Might," Shota Aizawa's distinctly unimpressed voice cut through the moment like a knife through butter, "how many times do I have to tell you to stay a safe distance away from active training sessions?"

Izuku's homeroom teacher emerged from the shadows near the gym's perimeter, his capture weapon trailing behind him like sentient scarves and his expression set in that perpetually exhausted scowl that somehow conveyed both deep concern and mild annoyance. Aizawa's dark eyes scanned the area, taking in the scattered concrete fragments, the crack in the floor where Izuku had launched, and All Might's proximity to the danger zone.

"Your body can't handle the kind of collateral damage these training sessions generate," Aizawa continued, his tone flat but carrying an undercurrent of genuine worry. "If another piece of debris falls, you can't dodge like you used to. You can't protect yourself. So unless you want to end up in Recovery Girl's office again—or worse—move."

All Might's face fell slightly, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his features before he masked it with his signature smile. "Ah, right you are, Aizawa! My apologies! I got caught up in the excitement of young Midoriya's progress!"

As All Might began to shuffle toward a safer observation area, Katsuki Bakugo stormed past, his crimson eyes fixed forward and his expression thunderous. The explosive hero-in-training had been silent during the entire exchange, observing from a distance, and Izuku felt his heart sink at the familiar tension radiating off his childhood friend.

He's upset, Izuku thought, watching Katsuki's retreating back. But about what? The kick? All Might's safety? Something else?

"Oi, All Might," Katsuki's voice was lower than usual, missing its typical aggressive edge but somehow more intense for it. "Be more careful, damn it. Not everyone here can afford to babysit your skeletal ass."

And then he was gone, hands shoved deep in his pockets, heading toward the other side of the gym where the remaining training equipment waited.

All Might froze, his entire body going rigid. Izuku watched emotions play across his mentor's face—surprise, realization, guilt, and finally, something that looked almost like bittersweet pride.

"I see," All Might murmured, so quietly that Izuku almost didn't catch it. "The ones being protected... is me now."

The weight of that statement settled over the small group like a heavy blanket. Izuku felt it in his chest—the fundamental shift in their dynamic, the changing of the guard, the reality that All Might was no longer invincible, no longer the pillar that could support the entire world on his shoulders.

But that's okay, Izuku thought, clenching his fists with renewed determination. Because we're here now. Because the next generation is ready to carry that weight. Because All Might doesn't have to be alone anymore.

"Hey, Midoriya!" Denki's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Izuku turned to find his classmate grinning and gesturing to his own costume modifications. "Since we're showing off new gear, check this out! These pointer devices on my arms help me direct my electricity with more precision! No more accidentally zapping my friends!"

"That's a significant improvement," Izuku said genuinely, his analytical mind already cataloging the potential tactical applications. "Before, your quirk's area-of-effect nature made it difficult to use in close quarters without risking friendly fire. With directional control, you could—"

"—actually be useful in team situations instead of just a walking taser!" Denki finished, laughing. "Exactly! I swear, Midoriya, sometimes I think you understand my quirk better than I do."

Eijiro flexed, his additional armor plating gleaming under the gym lights. "I got some upgrades too! This reinforced plating can withstand even higher impact forces, which means I can take hits that would have broken through my Hardening before. Plus—" he activated his quirk, and Izuku watched fascinated as the armor integrated seamlessly with his hardened skin, creating an even more impressive defensive shell, "—it works WITH my quirk instead of just covering it!"

"That's incredible!" Izuku said, his notebook already appearing in his hand as if by magic, his pen flying across the page. "The integration between support equipment and natural quirk manifestation is exactly the kind of synergy that separates good heroes from great ones! If you consider the psychological impact on villains—facing someone who looks virtually indestructible—combined with the actual defensive capabilities—"

"Geek," Denki said fondly, nudging Izuku with his elbow.

"Enthusiast," Izuku corrected automatically, not looking up from his notes. "There's a difference."

Their moment of camaraderie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and voices from the gym's entrance. Izuku looked up to see Vlad King entering, followed by the entirety of Class 1-B, their rival class from the same hero course. The Blood Hero cut an imposing figure—tall, muscular, with that distinctive mask and costume that made him look like a wrestling champion and professional hero had combined into one intense package.

Class 1-B, Izuku thought, his analytical mind immediately cataloging the students he could see. Monoma, Kendo, Tetsutetsu, Shiozaki, Awase, Kaibara...

"Well, well, WELL!" Neito Monoma's voice rang out across the gym, carrying that particular tone of condescending amusement that he seemed to reserve specifically for Class 1-A. "If it isn't U.A.'s most PROBLEMATIC class! Tell me, have you attracted any new villain attacks this week? Or are you saving those for special occasions?"

The blonde student's smile was sharp as a knife, his posture radiating theatrical superiority as he strolled forward with the confidence of someone who believed they'd already won an argument that hadn't started yet.

Here we go, Izuku thought with an internal sigh. Monoma's... passionate about class rivalry.

"I heard that you've been getting SPECIAL TRAINING," Monoma continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestured broadly. "Private sessions, famous heroes visiting, all the attention a group of problem children could want! Meanwhile, Class 1-B has been working DILIGENTLY, CONSISTENTLY, without requiring constant supervision because we're not constantly attracting life-threatening situations!"

"Monoma," Itsuka Kendo's voice was tired but fond as the orange-haired class president approached her classmate, "maybe don't start a fight before we even know what we're doing here?"

"I'm not starting a FIGHT, Kendo! I'm merely OBSERVING—"

Whatever Monoma was about to observe was cut off by Aizawa clearing his throat, the sound somehow loud enough to silence the entire gymnasium. The exhausted teacher stepped forward, his presence commanding attention despite his perpetually disheveled appearance.

"Since both classes are here," Aizawa began, his tone suggesting he'd rather be literally anywhere else, "I should clarify something important regarding the upcoming Provisional Hero License Exam."

Izuku felt his breath catch. The License Exam. The chance to become a real hero, to legally use our quirks to help people outside of supervised training. This is huge.

"Class 1-A and Class 1-B will not be competing against each other," Aizawa stated flatly, and Izuku watched Monoma's triumphant expression falter mid-gloat. "You'll both be competing against hero students from across Japan—most of whom will be more experienced than you are."

More experienced, Izuku thought, his mind racing. Second-years, third-years, students from hero schools that don't get attacked by villains as frequently, students who've had more time to develop their skills and work on their teamwork...

"The exam has a pass rate that varies by year," Vlad King added, stepping forward to stand beside Aizawa. His deep voice carried authority and concern in equal measure. "Some years, it's as high as sixty percent. Other years, it drops below thirty percent. The point is: this isn't a school sports festival where you're competing against your peers. This is you competing against the standards of professional heroics."

"So instead of worrying about whether Class 1-A or Class 1-B is 'better,'" Aizawa fixed Monoma with a pointed look, "you should all be focusing on whether you're good enough to pass at all."

The weight of that statement settled over both classes like a lead blanket. Izuku glanced around, seeing the shift in expressions—Denki's excitement tempered by nervousness, Eijiro's determined grin taking on a more serious edge, even Katsuki's scowl deepening as he processed the implications.

We need to be better, Izuku thought, his fists clenching unconsciously. Not just good. Not just improving. We need to be ready.

And then, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, she arrived.

The gym's massive doors burst open with a dramatic flair that suggested either incredible timing or a quirk-based sense for dramatic entrances. Y/N Gojo strode in, her presence immediately commanding every eye in the facility despite her relatively unimposing physical stature. She was young—early twenties at most—with an energy that seemed to vibrate through the air around her, making the space feel simultaneously more exciting and more dangerous.

Y/N-sensei, Izuku thought, recognizing the newest addition to U.A.'s faculty. He'd seen her around campus, heard rumors about her abilities, but hadn't yet had the opportunity to work with her directly.

"Hello, hello, my adorable future heroes!" Y/N called out, her grin wide and infectious, her eyes sparkling with barely contained mischief behind stylish sunglasses that she absolutely did not need indoors. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything BORING!"

"Y/N," Aizawa's tone was flat, exhausted, and somehow conveyed seventeen different types of 'please don't' in a single word. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Shota," Y/N said, using Aizawa's first name with the casual comfort of someone who either didn't understand professional boundaries or simply didn't care, "I was listening to your little speech about the License Exam—through the door, very compelling stuff by the way—and I thought to myself: 'You know what these kids need? A REAL challenge!'"

She sauntered further into the gym, her movements loose and confident, like a cat that knew exactly how dangerous it was and found the whole situation amusing. Izuku noticed several of his classmates tensing, their hero instincts recognizing something in Y/N's posture that screamed 'THREAT' despite her friendly demeanor.

She moves like a predator, Izuku analyzed, his hand unconsciously reaching for his notebook. Like someone who's so confident in their abilities that they don't need to prove anything. That's... that's the kind of presence that All Might used to have.

"If you want to improve your quirks," Y/N continued, stopping in the center of the gym and spreading her arms wide in a welcoming gesture, "you should fight against me! All of you! Both classes! Come at me with everything you've got, and I'll show you exactly where you're lacking!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Izuku's mind immediately began cataloging the problems with that suggestion:

One teacher against 40+ students. Potential for serious injury. Unknown variables regarding Y/N-sensei's quirk capabilities. Training environment not designed for such large-scale combat. Risk of—

"Absolutely not," Aizawa's voice cut through the silence like a katana through silk, sharp and final. He stepped between Y/N and the students, his capture weapon beginning to float around his shoulders in that telltale way that meant he was seconds away from erasing someone's quirk. "Y/N, I know you're enthusiastic about teaching, but you're also HUMAN and DESTRUCTIBLE, no matter what you think. Forty students with their quirks active in an enclosed space is a recipe for disaster."

"Aww, Shota!" Y/N pouted, but her eyes gleamed with amusement. "You're worried about little old me? That's so sweet! But I promise, I can handle—"

"No," Aizawa repeated, his tone suggesting the conversation was over. "End of discussion. If you want to train the students, you can do it in supervised, controlled sessions with appropriate safety measures. Not in a free-for-all that will inevitably result in someone getting hurt."

Aizawa-sensei is right, Izuku thought, relieved that someone was being the voice of reason. Even if Y/N-sensei is incredibly skilled, there's too much potential for accidents. And we're supposed to be learning to be heroes, not—

"I'll do it."

Every head in the gym swiveled to stare at Katsuki Bakugo, who had walked back from the far side of the training area, his hands crackling with small explosions and his expression set in that particular mix of determination and aggression that Izuku had learned meant 'challenge accepted.'

Oh no, Izuku thought. Kacchan, what are you doing?

"Bakugo—" Aizawa started, but Katsuki cut him off.

"If she's offering to fight," Katsuki said, his crimson eyes locked on Y/N with intense focus, "then I'm taking her up on it. One-on-one. Right now. Unless she's all talk."

Y/N's grin widened, transforming from playful to predatory in an instant. "Oh, I LIKE you! What's your name, explosion boy?"

"Bakugo Katsuki," Katsuki said, cracking his knuckles. Small detonations sparked between his fingers, creating a sound like distant firecrackers. "And I'm going to blast that smug look right off your face."

"Bakugo, stand down," Aizawa ordered, his eyes beginning to glow red as his quirk activated. "This is not—"

"Shota," Y/N interrupted gently, placing a hand on Aizawa's shoulder, "let the kid try. I promise—" her grin never wavered, "—I'll be perfectly fine. And he might learn something valuable."

The tension in Gym Gamma had transformed from nervous anticipation to something electric, almost tangible. Izuku stood with his classmates, his mind racing through calculations and concerns while his heart hammered against his ribs. Around him, he could hear the whispered conversations:

"Is she serious?"  Uraraka's voice, worried.

"This is so unmanly," Eijiro muttered. "A teacher shouldn't fight a student like this."

"I dunno," Denki whispered back. "Bakugo looks pretty confident. Maybe he knows something we don't?"

Kacchan always looks confident, Izuku thought, watching his childhood friend take his position in the center of the training area. Even when he probably shouldn't be.

Katsuki stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, his palms already smoking with the buildup of nitroglycerin-like sweat that powered his Explosion quirk. His entire body language screamed readiness—muscles coiled like springs, eyes tracking Y/N's every micro-movement, breathing controlled despite the adrenaline that had to be flooding his system.

He's taking this seriously, Izuku noted, his analytical mind cataloging details. That's his combat stance, the one he uses when he's genuinely preparing for a threat. But does he understand what he's up against? Y/N-sensei wouldn't make this offer if she wasn't absolutely certain she could handle it.

Y/N, for her part, looked utterly relaxed. She'd removed her stylish sunglasses, revealing eyes that seemed to shift colors in the gym's lighting—sometimes blue, sometimes an almost otherworldly violet. She stood casually, hands in her pockets, weight on one leg, like she was waiting for a bus rather than preparing for combat with one of U.A.'s most aggressive students.

"Ground rules!" Aizawa announced, his voice cutting through the murmurs. The exhausted teacher had clearly accepted that this was happening whether he liked it or not, and had shifted into damage control mode. "This is a DEMONSTRATION, not a death match. Bakugo, you stop the moment I tell you to stop. Y/N—" he fixed her with a particularly intense stare, "—you don't actually hurt him. Am I clear?"

"Crystal!" Y/N chirped, while Katsuki just grunted in acknowledgment.

"The match ends when either participant yields, is incapacitated, or I call it," Aizawa continued. "Everyone else, maintain a safe distance. If this gets out of hand, I'm canceling the whole thing and assigning extra homework to everyone involved. Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, sensei!" echoed through the gym.

Izuku found himself holding his breath as Aizawa raised his hand. The moment stretched like taffy, tension building until it felt like the very air might snap.

"Begin!"

Katsuki moved first—because of course he did. His combat philosophy had always been aggressive, overwhelming, giving opponents no time to think or plan. Explosions detonated from his palms, propelling him forward in a blast of sound and fury, closing the distance between himself and Y/N in less than a second.

AP Shot, Izuku recognized the attack immediately. One of Kacchan's most focused techniques, concentrating the blast into a narrow area for maximum penetrating power. He's not holding back.

But Y/N...

Y/N didn't move. She didn't even flinch as Katsuki's attack came screaming toward her, a concentrated explosion that should have sent her flying across the gym.

Instead, the blast simply... stopped.

It wasn't deflected. It wasn't absorbed. It just stopped, like it had hit an invisible wall approximately a meter from Y/N's body. The explosion's force dispersed harmlessly, the sound muffled, the heat and pressure vanishing as if they'd never existed.

What?! Izuku's mind reeled. What kind of quirk—

"Nice shot!" Y/N said cheerfully, still not moving from her casual stance. "But you'll need to try harder than that, explosion boy!"

Katsuki's expression shifted from confident to focused, his analytical mind—because despite what people thought, Katsuki Bakugo was brilliant—processing what he'd just seen. He didn't waste time with shocked exclamations or demands for explanations. Instead, he immediately adapted.

Multiple attacks from different angles, Izuku predicted, watching Katsuki shift his strategy.

Katsuki launched himself into the air with another explosion, his body twisting mid-flight with the grace of someone who'd spent countless hours mastering three-dimensional combat. He fired a rapid barrage of blasts from multiple angles—left, right, overhead—each one aimed at Y/N from a different vector, testing the limits of whatever defensive ability she'd just demonstrated.

Every single blast stopped at that same invisible boundary, roughly an arm's length from Y/N's body. It looked like she was standing inside a perfect sphere of protection, an invisible bubble that rendered all attacks meaningless.

It's not a force field, Izuku analyzed, his hands flying to his notebook automatically. Force fields disperse energy or deflect it. This is different. The explosions aren't being redirected—they're just... stopping. Being nullified. Like the space between the attack and Y/N-sensei is infinite, like they can never actually reach her no matter how hard they try.

"Is she blocking them with some kind of barrier quirk?" Ochaco whispered beside him.

"I don't think so," Izuku murmured back, not taking his eyes off the fight. "Look at her—she's not even concentrating. She's not showing any signs of strain or effort. It's like the attacks are just... ineffective."

Katsuki landed, his expression darkening. Izuku knew that look—it was the one Kacchan got when a problem refused to be solved by sheer force, when he was being forced to actually think.

He's going to try something different, Izuku predicted. Something more powerful, or—

"Maximum output, then!" Katsuki snarled, and oh, oh no.

"Bakugo, don't—" Aizawa started, but Katsuki was already moving.

He planted his feet, arms extended forward, palms together in a gesture that made Izuku's stomach drop because he'd seen this before, had felt the shockwave from it, knew exactly how destructive it could be.

"HOWITZER—" Katsuki's entire body spun, centrifugal force combining with his explosions to create a vortex of destructive power, "—IMPACT!"

The resulting blast was deafening. Izuku felt the shockwave from twenty meters away, felt the heat wash over his skin, saw the floor crack under the force of Katsuki's ultimate technique. Dust and debris filled the air, and for a moment, visibility dropped to nearly zero.

That attack, Izuku thought, his heart in his throat, could take down a building. Even if Y/N-sensei can defend herself, the collateral damage—

As the dust cleared, reality became visible again, and Izuku felt his jaw drop.

Y/N stood in the exact same position, hands still in her pockets, expression still amused. Around her, the floor was devastated—cracks spider-webbed outward from where Katsuki's attack had landed, chunks of concrete had been torn up, scorch marks decorated every surface except for one very specific area: a perfect circle around Y/N, where the floor remained pristine and undamaged, as if the attack had never touched it.

"Good effort!" Y/N said, her voice carrying easily through the shocked silence. "You've got power, I'll give you that! But power without understanding is just noise."

Katsuki was breathing hard now, sweat dripping down his face—not from fear, but from the exertion of generating such massive explosions in rapid succession. His palms had to be aching, Izuku knew from experience watching his childhood friend train. Generating explosions of that magnitude took a physical toll, no matter how strong your quirk was.

"What the hell is your quirk?!" Katsuki demanded, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Some kind of perfect defense?!"

Y/N's grin took on a teaching quality, like she'd been waiting for exactly this question. "Not defense, exactly. Let me show you."

She finally moved, removing one hand from her pocket and holding it up. Between her thumb and forefinger, barely a centimeter apart, she held... nothing. Just air. Just space.

"Everything you've thrown at me," Y/N explained, her voice taking on that particular quality teachers used when explaining complex concepts, "never actually reached me. Not because I blocked it, but because the space between your attacks and me became... infinite."

Infinite space, Izuku's mind latched onto the concept like a lifeline. A quirk that manipulates spatial relationships, making the distance between the user and incoming attacks literally impossible to cross. That's—that's incredible. That's—

"That's bullshit!" Denki shouted from beside Izuku, voicing what several students were probably thinking. "How are we supposed to fight against something like that?!"

"You're not," Y/N said simply, and the blunt honesty of it made several students flinch. "At least, not with the skills you have now. And that's exactly my point."

She walked forward—actually forward, not teleporting or using any visible quirk enhancement, just walking—until she stood directly in front of Katsuki. The explosive hero-in-training tensed, clearly prepared to attack again if necessary, but Y/N's body language remained non-threatening despite her words.

"Bakugo Katsuki," Y/N said, and there was something in her tone that demanded attention, "you're strong. Possibly one of the strongest raw offensive fighters in your class. Your quirk is devastating, your instincts are sharp, and your determination is admirable."

Katsuki's expression shifted slightly—surprise at the genuine compliment visible for just a moment before his usual scowl reasserted itself.

"But," Y/N continued, and the word hung in the air like a sword about to fall, "strength alone won't make you the Number One Hero."

That's... that's what Kacchan wants, Izuku thought, watching his childhood friend's reaction carefully. Being Number One. Being the best. It's always been his driving force, his motivation, his—

"The villains you'll face won't all be simple, straightforward opponents you can just blast into submission," Y/N said, her voice carrying to every corner of the gym. "Some will have quirks that counter yours specifically. Some will be smarter than you. Some will be faster, or more experienced, or more desperate. And some—" her grin turned sharp, "—will have abilities that make your attacks completely meaningless, just like mine did today."

Katsuki's hands clenched into fists, small pops of explosion still sparking between his fingers, but he didn't interrupt. Izuku could see the war happening behind his childhood friend's eyes—pride and anger battling against the rational understanding that Y/N was right.

"So what do we do?" Katsuki finally asked, and the question was genuine rather than challenging. "If power isn't enough, what the hell else is there?"

Y/N's expression softened, and when she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of personal experience. "You learn to think beyond your quirk. You develop tactics that don't rely solely on overwhelming force. You learn to work with others, because the best heroes understand that teamwork multiplies effectiveness. You study, you analyze, you adapt." Her eyes swept across all the assembled students, including both Class 1-A and 1-B. "You become more than just your quirk."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—it was contemplative. Izuku could practically hear the gears turning in his classmates' minds, processing this lesson that Y/N had delivered not through lecture, but through demonstration.

She's right, Izuku thought, his notebook already filling with observations and connections. I learned this lesson already, in my own way. One For All's power nearly destroyed me until I learned to use it strategically, until I developed techniques like Shoot Style that worked with my limitations rather than against them. But for someone like Kacchan, who's always been naturally powerful, who's always been able to rely on pure strength...

He watched Katsuki, saw his childhood friend's jaw work as he processed the lesson, and felt a strange mix of emotions. Part of him—the small, petty part that still remembered years of bullying and "Deku" used as an insult—felt a twinge of satisfaction at seeing Katsuki humbled. But most of him just felt... understanding. They were all learning, all growing, all discovering that the path to being a great hero was more complex than they'd imagined as children playing at heroics.

"Sensei," Izuku found himself speaking up, his hand half-raised in an automatic gesture left over from middle school, "your quirk—the infinite space manipulation—does it have any weaknesses? Any situations where it doesn't work?"

Y/N's grin widened, and she pointed at Izuku with clear appreciation. "Now THAT'S the right question! Yes, it has limitations. Every quirk does. But—" she waggled her finger playfully, "—I'm not going to tell you what they are. Part of being a hero is analyzing your opponents, figuring out their weaknesses on your own. Consider it homework."

Homework to figure out how to defeat a teacher, Izuku thought, already mentally cataloging possibilities. Quirk limitations usually fall into categories: range, duration, number of targets, physical strain, specific conditions... if I observe her more, maybe I can—

"However," Y/N's voice cut through his analytical spiral, "since I promised Shota I wouldn't just beat up students without teaching them anything useful, let me offer this: the License Exam will throw scenarios at you that test more than just combat ability. You'll face rescue situations, civilian protection, ethical dilemmas, and opponents who might have quirks perfectly suited to countering yours—just like I countered Bakugo today."

She began walking in a slow circle, addressing all the students like a general addressing troops before battle. "The key to success isn't being invincible. It's being adaptable. It's knowing when to fight, when to retreat, when to call for backup, and when to try something completely different. It's understanding that heroism isn't about proving you're the strongest—it's about doing whatever it takes to save people and stop villains."

Plus Ultra, Izuku thought, the phrase taking on new meaning. Going beyond. Not just beyond our current strength, but beyond our current way of thinking.

"So," Y/N clapped her hands together, the sound echoing through the gym, "who wants to try next? And please—" she grinned, "—try something creative instead of just blasting me. Bakugo set a high bar for raw power, but let's see some strategy!"

For a moment, nobody moved. Then, hesitantly, Momo Yaoyorozu raised her hand, her intelligent eyes already calculating possibilities. "Sensei, if this is about strategy and adaptation, perhaps we could attempt a coordinated group effort? Several students working together with complementary quirks?"

"NOW you're thinking like a hero!" Y/N exclaimed, her enthusiasm genuine and infectious. "Yes! Groups! Teams! That's what I want to see! Show me how Class 1-A works together!"

Izuku found himself smiling despite the intimidating nature of the challenge. Around him, his classmates were already beginning to discuss strategies, their voices overlapping in excitement and nervousness:

"Okay, so if we can't hit her directly, maybe we can attack the environment—"

"What if we used Uraraka's Zero Gravity to—"

"My tape could potentially—"

"If I make something that doesn't directly attack but instead—"

This, Izuku thought, watching his friends and rivals begin to collaborate, watching even Katsuki reluctantly join a discussion about potential tactics, this is what it means to grow.

He looked at Y/N, who was watching the students with obvious satisfaction, and then at Aizawa, who had finally allowed his tense posture to relax slightly now that no one had been seriously hurt.

U.A. really does have the best teachers, Izuku thought fondly. They push us, challenge us, force us to see beyond our limitations. And with the License Exam coming up...

His hand unconsciously reached for his notebook again, flipping to a fresh page. At the top, he wrote: "SHOOT STYLE - CONTINUED DEVELOPMENT" and below it: "STRATEGIES FOR OPPONENTS WITH DEFENSIVE/SPATIAL QUIRKS."

Because that was what being a hero meant. Not giving up when faced with impossible odds. Not stopping when your first strategy failed. Always analyzing, always adapting, always pushing forward.

Plus Ultra.

Watch out, License Exam, Izuku thought, his green eyes shining with determination. Class 1-A is coming. And we're not just strong—we're getting smarter.