The uniform felt stiff against my shoulders.
I adjusted the tie one last time in the bathroom mirror. Gray blazer. White shirt. Red tie. The UA crest gleamed on the breast pocket.
Three months ago, this would've felt kinda impossible. Now it was just another Tuesday morning.
"Nii-san! You're going to miss your train!" Hana's voice carried through the apartment.
I opened the door. She stood there with her phone raised, grinning.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking a picture." The camera clicked. "First day at UA. This is important."
She showed me the screen. A boy in a hero school uniform, black hair combed back, expression neutral.
"You look good," she said. "Like a real hero."
I ruffled her hair. "Thanks. Did you eat?"
"Yes, Mom." She rolled her eyes. "Go. You'll be late."
Train Station – 7:42 AM
The platform buzzed with morning commuters. Salarymen scrolling through phones. Students chatting in clusters. The usual rhythm of the city waking up.
I found a spot near the edge and checked my phone.
Masaru: "Good luck today. Show them what you've got."
I typed back: "Will do."
The train arrived with a hiss of brakes and compressed air. I boarded, found a seat by the window, and watched Tokyo blur into a watercolor of concrete and glass.
My reflection stared back. Tired eyes. Three months of training, working, surviving. It showed.
But I was here.
That had to count for something.
UA High School – Main Building – 8:23 AM
The hallways stretched impossibly wide, designed to accommodate students of every size and shape. Footsteps echoed against polished floors. Voices bounced off high ceilings.
I found Class 1-A on the first floor, east wing.
The door towered above me—three meters tall, maybe more. Built for giants.
I slid it open.
Half the class had already arrived. Conversations overlapped. A few students demonstrated their Quirks in small bursts of light and sound.
Midoriya sat by the window, hunched over a notebook. Bakugo had commandeered a desk near the front, feet propped up, radiating hostility.
Iida stood rigid near the door, hands chopping air as he lectured Bakugo about proper posture.
I walked to the back corner. To an empty seat.
Perfect.
Then, I sat down. Pulled out my phone. Opened a news app and pretended to read.
"Hey! You're Yamamoto, right?"
Red spiky hair. Sharp teeth. Infectious grin.
Kirishima.
"Yeah," I said.
"I'm Kirishima Eijirou! Saw you at the practical exam. That save during the zero-pointer chaos was awesome! Really manly!"
I shrugged. "Just reacted."
"Still!" He dropped into the seat beside mine. "Most people were running. You kept your head. That's what heroes do!"
Before I could respond, Bakugo and Midoriya got in an argument, voices rising.
"—stay out of my foot's way, you damn nerd, or I'll blast you into next week!"
"Please, everyone!" Iida's voice cut through like a bullhorn. "Take your seats! Class begins in thirty seconds!"
Students scrambled. The noise settled into whispers.
8:29 AM.
The door opened, but no one entered.
Then something on the floor moved.
A yellow sleeping bag. It writhed. A man emerged from the fabric cocoon—messy black hair, stubble, exhausted eyes that had seen too much and slept too little.
"Took eight seconds to settle down. Not rational."
Aizawa Shouta. Eraserhead and our homeroom teacher.
He stood, holding a juice pouch, and regarded us like we were mildly disappointing lab rats.
"I'm Aizawa. Your teacher. Put these on." He tossed a box onto the desk. "Meet me outside. Five minutes."
He left.
The box contained gym uniforms.
Outdoor Field – 8:47 AM
Twenty-one students stood in neat rows, blue and white gym uniforms rustling in the breeze. The field stretched behind UA's main building, bordered by woods on one side and training facilities on the other.
Aizawa stood before us, hands buried in his pockets.
"Quirk Apprehension Test," he announced flatly. "Eight physical challenges. You'll use your Quirks however you want. Show me your limits."
He pulled out his phone and displayed the list:
50-meter dash. Grip strength. Standing long jump. Sustained sideways jumps. Ball throw. Distance run. Sit-ups. Toe-touch.
Excited murmurs rippled through the group.
"One more thing." Aizawa's eyes sharpened. "Lowest total score gets expelled. Immediately."
The murmurs died.
"Welcome to UA," he said. "Let's begin."
50-Meter Dash
Iida launched forward, engines roaring in his calves. Wind whipped grass flat.
3.04 seconds.
Ojiro went next, using his tail for balance and propulsion.
5.49 seconds.
Ashido slid across the ground on acid, grinning.
5.51 seconds.
Bakugo exploded down the track, palms crackling.
4.13 seconds.
"Yamamoto. You're up."
I stepped to the line. Bent slightly at the knees then focused.
Controlled burst. Enough to place well. Not enough to dominate.
"Go!"
I pushed off. Legs pumped. Wind rushed past. Ground blurred beneath me and I crossed the finish.
4.32 seconds.
Good. Faster than most. Just behind the top tier.
Exactly where I needed to be.
Grip Strength Test
Shouji stepped up first, using his multiple arms.
540 kg.
Gasps spread through the crowd.
Satou followed, muscles enhanced by sugar consumption.
540 kg.
I grabbed the device when my turn came, and squeezed hard. Felt the machine resist.
Gentle pressure. Don't crush it.
The display beeped.
382 kg.
Solid and believable for a strength-type Quirk. Not exceptional.
I released and stepped aside.
Midoriya went next. His face twisted with concentration but nothing happened.
56 kg.
Bakugo barked a laugh. "Still useless, huh?"
I glanced at Aizawa. His eyes tracked Midoriya with clinical interest.
He's testing him. Seeing if he has potential.
Well, he does.
Ball Throw – Bakugo
The blonde grabbed the ball like it had personally offended him. Wound up. Hurled it with an explosion that rattled windows.
705.2 meters.
Students erupted in whispers and exclamations.
Aizawa looked unimpressed. "Next."
Ball Throw – Uraraka
She touched the ball. It floated upward, drifting higher and higher until it became a speck against the clouds.
Infinity.
The class went wild.
"Practical," Aizawa said. "But limited combat application. Next."
Ball Throw – Midoriya
He stepped up, face set with determination, and then threw it.
The ball arced weakly and landed.
46 meters.
Confusion flashed across his face. He stared at his hand like it had betrayed him.
"I erased your Quirk." Aizawa's voice cut through the murmurs. His hair floated. Eyes glowed red. "You'd destroy yourself with that power. Learn control first."
He lectured about responsibility. About precision over raw strength.
Then gave Midoriya another chance.
This time, he threw differently. His finger erupted in green lightning. Bone snapped audibly. Blood spattered. But the ball rocketed skyward.
705.3 meters.
The class fell silent.
His first step towards mastering OFA. It feels amazing to be a part of this.
Suddenly, Bakugo lunged forward, explosions sparking. "DEKU!"
Aizawa's capture scarf intercepted him mid-air, wrapping tight.
"Control yourself."
Ball Throw – My Turn
I picked up the ball. It was smooth leather. I had already done some training with baseballs so this felt somewhat easy.
But, everyone watched now. After Midoriya's dramatic display, attention ran high.
Moderate throw. Good technique. Middle of the pack.
I wound up then released.
The ball flew in a clean arc, wind resistance set to the bare minimal.
523 meters.
Respectable. Behind the top performers. Ahead of the bottom half.
I returned to the group without comment.
Final Rankings
After all eight tests, Aizawa displayed the results:
1. Yaoyorozu Momo
2. Todoroki Shouto
3. Bakugo Katsuki
4. Iida Tenya
5. Tokoyami Fumikage
...
11. Yamamoto Kaito
...
17. Kaminari Denki
18. Kyoka Jiro
19. Hagakure Tooru
20. Mineta Minoru
21. Midoriya Izuku
Eleventh place. Right in the middle.
Midoriya stared at his last-place ranking, shoulders slumped.
"The expulsion was a lie," Aizawa announced. "A rational deception to maximize effort."
Relief washed through the class.
Except Midoriya, who looked ready to collapse.
And me, who knew better.
Aizawa expelled students regularly. We'd gotten lucky.
This time.
After School – 4:17 PM
I walked toward the station, uniform jacket slung over one shoulder. The day had been long but manageable. I made sure to do no mistakes and prevent any slip-ups.
Acted like just another student in Class 1-A.
Great.
"Yamamoto! Hey!"
Kirishima jogged up, flanked by Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido.
"We're hitting up a ramen place near the station. You in?"
I hesitated.
Friendships meant complications. Questions and exposure.
But isolation meant suspicion too.
"Sure."
Kirishima's grin widened. "Awesome! They've got the best tonkotsu in the area!"
We walked together through the cooling afternoon. The conversation flowed easily—complaints about Aizawa's test, speculation about upcoming classes, Kaminari's terrible jokes.
For a few blocks, it felt almost normal.
Like I belonged.
But in the back of my mind, the calculation continued.
I managed to suppress myself and come in the middle. I wonder if I'll be able to keep this up.
The balance between fitting in and standing out.
Between being seen and staying hidden.
I'd walked that line for three months.
I could walk it a little longer.
TO BE CONTINUED...