The next morning at UA Academy began in chaos. A living wall of journalists had formed at the main gates: camera flashes blinded their eyes, and microphones practically thrust themselves into the faces of everyone entering. The press was interested in only one thing: what was All Might like as a teacher?
Taiko slipped through the crowd, skillfully ignoring the persistent questions and maintaining a mask of complete indifference. Principal Nezu's words from the previous day surfaced in his mind. «He was absolutely right,» the young man thought as he entered the cool hall of the academy. «He must have foreseen this influx. Or is this some kind of test? Will I be able to keep my mouth shut and not blurt out anything unnecessary under pressure?»
When he entered the classroom and took his usual seat, the room had already fallen silent. Almost immediately, Aizawa-sensei appeared in the doorway. His appearance, as usual, promised nothing but a harsh everyday life.
—Good morning,— the teacher said dispassionately, throwing a stack of papers on the table. —I've reviewed the notes from your training yesterday. The results were mixed. Bakugou, you're gifted, that's a fact. So stop acting like a spoiled brat and wasting your potential on empty anger.
—I understand,—Katsuki snapped, though his voice held an unusual complaisance.
—And you, Midoriya,—Aizawa's gaze shifted to Izuku, who immediately hunched his shoulders. —You won again only by injuring yourself. The excuse of an uncontrollable quirk is no longer acceptable. I don't like to repeat myself: once you harness your power, your possibilities will be limitless. Until then... you're just a burden to your own body.
The teacher paused and turned his heavy gaze to the brunette. —Taiko.—Your plan with Momo was strategically flawless. But your staff skills leave much to be desired. You shouldn't rely solely on luck or tactics—hon your technique.
—Who would doubt it,—Bakugou hissed, crossing his arms. Denki, in response to the criticism, merely waved cheerfully at Taiko, encouraging his friend, while Momo nodded reservedly, taking the teacher's remark into account.
—Let's move on to organizational matters,— Aizawa said, looking around the class with a weary gaze. —Today, you'll be electing a class representative.
A murmur immediately arose in the class. Every second person was eager to take the leadership position. Iida, who had been the loudest in his calls for order and democracy, raised his hand comically higher than anyone else, literally standing at attention.
Taiko didn't participate in this commotion. Being class president seemed like a dubious pleasure to him—an extra headache, responsibility for a crowd of rowdy teenagers, and mountains of paperwork. He needed to think about becoming stronger, not organizing the "underage kids." But his classmates had their own opinions on the matter.
When the voting results were posted on the board, silence fell over the classroom. Taiko—4 votes, Midoriya—3 votes, Shoto—2, Momo—3.
—What nonsense,— Taiko said quietly, looking at the numbers. The prospect of Izuku as his deputy didn't appeal to him either—the boy already twitched at the slightest sound.
—I have... three votes?!— Midoriya gasped, turning pale.
—Why Deku?! Who voted for him?!—Bakugo jumped up, nearly knocking over his desk.
—Well, better him than you,—Sero snapped from the back of the class, causing Katsuki to explode with another round of curses.
—So,—Aizawa interrupted. —Representative is Taiko, vice-representative is Midoriya.
Taiko rose slowly. —Ahem. I haven't voted yet,—his voice was calm but firm. —Therefore, I'm giving my vote to Momo and ceding the position of representative to him. Sorry, Midoriya-kun, you're not fit to be class president.
The class froze. Taiko returned to his seat, leaving Midoriya trembling at the board even more than before. Aizawa narrowed his eyes. He understood perfectly well that the young man had simply shied away from his position, but he decided not to interfere. With Taiko's vote, the score was even, but priority was given to the voluntary decision.
—Indeed, there were only eighteen votes out of nineteen on the board,— someone remarked.
—In that case,—Aizawa concluded, —Midoriya is the class representative, and Yaoyorozu is the vice-president.
The teacher decided to offer Taiko a little help in his quest for peace. Momo was a far more suitable candidate for administrative work than the stupefied Izuku.
—Seriously?!— Midoriya stammered, looking at his classmates with eyes full of horror. It seemed that at that moment, no one but Aizawa realized how gracefully Taiko had just shed an unwanted burden.
...
The morning lesson began almost immediately, without unnecessary formality or time for warm-ups. Taiko sat up straight at his desk, not slouching like many of the others, and looked at Aizawa attentively, though without outward emotion. The teacher's sleepy voice filled the room.
—There will be no training today—Aizawa said. —And no, this is not a gift. We'll talk about how criminals become villains.
He clicked the remote, and a diagram of the interactions between the police and the analytical departments appeared on the screen.
—The police rarely catch anyone for their first serious offense. Their regulations and capabilities are severely limited, as is their use of Quirks when apprehending suspects. Heroic patrols handle this perfectly, so there's no need for the police to expand their powers. Almost always, a series of minor offenses precedes this: most often, illegal or improper use of a Quirk in public places." It's not uncommon for someone to have a rather dangerous Quirk that absolutely must not be used without training.
—There's a system for assessing Quirk abuse,— Aizawa continued. —It creates a profile immediately upon detection. Cameras. Detention. Reporting." "Sometimes a report followed by a background check is enough. If no one is injured, the person is released, but their Quirk and its usage history are already recorded.
These items appeared on the screen, and Aizawa didn't go into detail, as if expecting the future heroes to already understand.
—It's not a criminal record. It's a behavioral history. Quirk usage history. Frequency. Context. Response to criticism. Tendency to escalate. A person can be legally 'clean' and still be considered problematic.
He paused.
—Remember, villains are those who have abused their powers too often, while criminals are generally any deviant element of society who has broken the law.
It all seemed so logical to him that he couldn't argue. He respected such systems. Cold, without moralizing, based on statistics. However, it is not for him, a former Grimm killer, to judge the system.
At the same time, he was thinking about something else. Quinn's idea for a sports festival wasn't just bold, it was relevant. The flow of people, the emotion, the excitement, the sense of occasion. With the director's permission and his silent support, everything fell into place. The kiosk was located at the entrance, not inside the stadium, not to the side, but right there, where it was impossible to miss. Even if the stadium held five thousand spectators, every one of them would be a potential customer. Ten thousand—even more so. People buy when they go to see a show, and even more so when they're already involved in it.
Aizawa continued:
—Profiles are stored for years. Sometimes a person makes a mistake, gets a mark, and never breaks the law again. Sometimes it's the other way around. And then the police know who to investigate first.
—So,—Denki said, —villains aren't created by a single decision, but by a series of actions?
Aizawa looked at him.
—Yes. And almost always, these actions were obvious in advance.
His thoughts returned to Quinn. To the way she'd talked about the kiosk, about sales, about investing profits in improving equipment, training, and reputation. The Faculty of Management was already gathering information about the students, the odds, and the likely winners. Bets were being placed informally, but on a large scale. It was a market, and the market was waiting.
Taiko understood clearly: every improvement Quinn made benefited him. Every move he made benefited her. They acted not as two separate players, but as a single entity, and in a world where systems ruled everything, that was an advantage. While others were thinking about the spectacle, they were thinking about the future. And, unlike most, they were doing so in advance.
Next, we'll discuss preventative measures to combat crime that will help you in your future internship, and we'll look at several situations with examples.
...
The hum of the school cafeteria, filled with the aromas of fresh rice and curry, seemed especially loud after the stressful morning. Shoto walked slightly behind Taiko, maintaining his usual composure, but his gaze betrayed a hint of bewilderment.
—Was it really wise to give up Izuku's place as class rep?— Todoroki asked quietly as they navigated the rows of tables.
Taiko didn't even turn around; his movements were calm and measured. At that moment, he seemed older than his peers, as if the burden of responsibility he had just relinquished had never held any power over him.
—In this case, leadership is merely a burden,— Taiko replied, almost verbatim echoing Shoto's own words. —I prefer to rely on the intelligence of these boys. Let Izuku learn to lead while I focus on something more important.
At that moment, Denki Kaminari flew up to them, nearly tripping over the edge of the bench. His face glowed with his usual enthusiasm, and sparks of energy seemed to float in the very air around him. He greeted his friends with boisterous delight, plopping down in the empty seat next to Taiko.
Shoto, pulling a plate of cold takeaway toward himself, looked intently from the energetic Kaminari to the distant Garaki. A rare spark of interest flickered in his eyes.
—I couldn't help but notice one detail,— Todoroki said, addressing both of them. —Ever since All Might's test, you two have become suspiciously close. I didn't think your personalities would find common ground so easily.
Taiko merely raised an eyebrow, and Denki laughed cheerfully, clapping his friend on the shoulder, to which the latter responded with only a barely perceptible nod.
Their meal was interrupted by a sharp, piercing siren. The red emergency lights began to pulse from the ceiling, cutting through the cafeteria with alarming flashes. The students leaped to their feet, and an unimaginable noise erupted. Panic, like a wildfire, instantly engulfed the crowd.
Shoto tensed, his gaze hard and focused. He looked questioningly at Taiko, silently asking if he intended to take any action in the face of this threat.
However, Taiko didn't even flinch. He continued methodically stuffing food into his mouth, as if the deafening roar of the alarm was nothing more than the background noise of the foliage outside the window. With his free hand, he pulled out a notebook and began quickly sketching diagrams, outlining the basic properties of his Quirk and the possible ways it could develop.
—It must be those journalists at the gate, —Taiko said casually, not looking up from his notes. —A false alarm, nothing more. What's the point of pushing through the door after these idiots?
He gestured briefly toward the frantic crowd of students, who rushed toward the exit in a single impulse, leaving the cafeteria empty and unusually spacious. Taiko seemed an island of absolute calm in an ocean of chaos.
—If you want, go ahead,— he added, turning to Shoto. —There's probably a giant traffic jam of frightened first-years there right now. I'd prefer to stay here, in silence.
Todoroki hesitated. A sense of duty warred with the logic Taiko had just voiced. Finally, he rose and headed for the exit to check out the situation. As Shoto left their company, Denki's expression revealed the many questions he wanted to ask Taiko. Taiko desperately tried to ignore these signals, continuing to write in his notebook.
Core Quirk: Oneself
-Stealed Quirk: (Staff)What happens if I steal a quirk again? Does the slot get replaced with a new one? What happens to an old fad if it gets replaced?
-Copied Quirk:(Electrification)Activation is no longer possible. Duration: a couple of hours. I'll try copying Principal Nezu's quirk. Maybe I can boost my intelligence for a couple of hours, which will help with my studying. Should I try copying All Might's quirk? Will I be able to steal a mutation Quirk?
—Are you going to tell everyone about your quirk? I wouldn't. Just imagine the faces of the whole class, no, the whole academy! —Denki continued to be on his own wavelength, and Taiko had to dispel his fantasies.
—Let's keep this a secret for now. It won't last very long, of course, but I think suspicions will start to surface by the sports festival, at best. Better tell me what's going on with you and Kyoka?
—I'm usually bad at this, but now she's started giving me signals and hints. I'm not very good at this, but I can definitely understand this! Thanks to the last test, we've become really close, and I even walked her home last time!
Despite his reluctance to participate in this false-signal evacuation, a thin thread of worry for Kuinn was constantly tugging. A few minutes later, Shoto returned, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
—You were right,—Shoto admitted, sitting back down at the table. —And Iida... he's currently trying to restore order, literally hovering above the exit sign.
Taiko merely chuckled, not looking up from his notebook, where the diagram of his Quirk was becoming increasingly complex and detailed. The false alarm not only didn't disrupt his concentration, but also gave him those few moments of solitude he sorely needed.
—Iida, huh? Izuku knows perfectly well he's not cut out for the role of class rep, so he'll voluntarily hand over the job to his friend. As I said, Izuku is not fit to be a class representative.— Taiko's thought gave both friends pause.
—Come to think of it, it sounds pragmatic. Like something a proper Izuku would do,— Denki commented.