Chapter 45: Confidence.
(HARUE'S POV)
The bus was quiet.
Just me, Yaoyorozu, and Aizawa-sensei.
No chatter, no idle gossip, no electric Kaminari rambling about snacks or Bakugo trying to pick a fight with the windows. Just the hum of the engine, the rattle of the tires against cracked pavement, and the faint tension in the air between the three of us.
We were heading toward our assigned testing zone—a contained urban training sector or more understandably a fake city.
Man does UA have money.
The setup was the same as in the canon. Same test. Same objective.
Only difference? Todoroki was with Kirishima this time.
And I was with Yaoyorozu.
They must've reshuffled when I replaced Satou. Makes sense. From a tactical perspective, pairing me with Momo was either very smart… or a challenge.
Especially considering who we're up against.
Aizawa-sensei.
Not exactly subtle. If there was a teacher designed to counter me, it's him. Quirk Erasure, high combat awareness, close-quarters scarf techniques, terrain experience. All of it spells trouble for a guy like me.
Still, I've thought of a dozen ways to win.
One of them's simple.
I fly.
Just blast off the moment the test starts, punch through the zone boundary with pure speed, and leave Momo behind to get scooped up while I claim the win. Not the nicest move, sure—but effective.
And honestly? I could do it.
I don't even know my full top speed yet, but in short bursts, I'm easily moving faster than the speed of sound. Probably well beyond that when I build up momentum over longer distances.
But I exhaled slowly and let my head rest back against the window.
Where's the fun in that?
Besides, I'm not helpless without my Quirk.
I glanced down at my arm, rolled my shoulder, and flexed slightly under my hero suit.
Built for power, but not bulky. Tall, fast, trained.
Even if I was Quirkless, I could still fight.
I wasn't Midoriya, I have trained my body since the moment I was able to.
For the better part of a decade I have build this body to the peak possible for my age.
If I were still in my old world, I'd be considered above average. A teen with adult-tier conditioning—comparable to trained athletes in my height and weight class. Nothing supernatural, but enough to turn heads.
But here?
Here, in a world where Quirks exist—where evolution has been fast-tracked by natural selection and supernatural mutation—everything is different.
The human body doesn't play by the old rules anymore.
Even people without strength-based Quirks can develop exaggerated, borderline superhuman physicality. Muscles, reflexes, stamina. It's all elevated.
For Christ's sake, people here can regenerate their teeth if they've got a Quirk factor.
And the Quirkless?
They're not just powerless—they're outdated. An evolutionary dead-end.
It's no wonder society treats them like they're defective even if they tried their hardest and trained their bodies, they still will be weaker than someone with a useless quirk that also trained like them.
Because of the fact that the quirk factor is one hell of a steroid.
That's why people like Endeavor can punch a Nomu into a wall or stop a moving truck dead on its tracks with just one arm.
And honestly?
I'm not far off.
My Quirk may be elemental, but it's more than just flames.
It supercharges my body.
Constant internal energy means constant cellular regeneration. I can recover faster, fight longer, and tank damage most people would pass out from.
All that fire? It's not just for show.
I'm no All Might, sure—but I could still crack through a cement wall, maybe even shatter it if I angle my punch right. I've tested my upper limit on deadlifts. One to two tons raw. More if I use my flames for propulsion or impact force—just like Endeavor does with his jet strikes.
So yeah… I might not be a technical martial artist with my basic MMA training. Aizawa-sensei's got the edge in experience and technique, no doubt.
But physically?
I'm bigger. I'm heavier. I'm faster.
He's restricted by that weighted combat gear for the exam—half his body weight in those bands. Which means a bigger advantage for us.
The only thing that really worries me is that scarf.
That damn capture cloth's probably what he's best known for outside the Pro Hero circles. Flexible, fast, unpredictable.
But It's not like I'm weaponless with Momo here and I have a way to deal with it.
After breaking out of my monologue, I looked forward.
Aizawa sat across from us, maybe two rows ahead. Eyes closed, arms crossed. But I could tell he was awake. Listening. Probably half-mapping out our opening moves already.
That's fine.
Let him prepare.
I turned to the side—and saw her.
Yaoyorozu was sitting next to me, posture tight, hands gently clasped in her lap. She wasn't trembling or panicking—but her body language said enough.
Nervous.
Understandable. This wasn't just an exam. It was a personal match-up against a pro who specialized in shutting people like us down.
She stared down, eyebrows slightly furrowed.
I watched her for a moment, then spoke—smooth, calm, casual.
"I feel lucky I got you on my team."
Her head turned, eyes blinking in surprise.
Truth is, I said it more for her sake than mine. She needed reassurance. Not logic, not plans. Just something solid to stand on.
"With you around," I continued, "I feel a lot more confident we'll pass this thing."
A small beat of silence.
Then, her expression softened—shoulders relaxing just slightly. Her lips curved, not into a full smile, but something close. A faint blush touched her cheeks.
I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, and looked at her with a grin.
"So let's do this, Yaoyorozu-san."
She nodded once, voice quiet but firm. "Right. Let's do this Dai-san."
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement.
Aizawa.
Still seated, but one eye now open.
He didn't speak.
Just a slow, slight nod in acknowledgment.
I stared right back, lips curling.
Alright,let's get this party started!
—————————
Training Grounds, Zone 2
The test grounds were quiet—eerily so.
Harue and Momo walked side by side through the empty streets of the artificial city, their steps echoing faintly off the hollow walls of faux buildings. The air was still, save for the distant hum of city simulation generators keeping the environment powered and realistic.
A few minutes earlier, Aizawa had explained the rules.
30 minutes.
Capture or escape.
Teachers would wear handicap weights equal to half their body mass.
Something Harue already knew but surprising to Momo.
They walked in silence for a moment longer before Harue came to a stop, glancing around cautiously before turning to face his partner.
"I meant it earlier," he said, his voice even. "I really am lucky I got you on my team."
Momo looked up at him, startled.
"You're the only one in our class who can somewhat counter Sensei's Quirk… if given enough prep time."
"A-Ah—no, that's not true," she replied quickly, flustered. "I-I mean… I'm sure someone else could too…"
Harue chuckled softly, the sound warm and calm.
Then he smiled at her—genuine, not teasing.
"You should be more confident in yourself, Momo-chan. Can I call you that?"
She blinked at him, taken off guard again.
He nodded ahead slightly. "Also, just call me Harue. Since we'll be watching each other's backs in this test… and probably others in the future."
Momo hesitated for a moment, but then gave a small nod. "I… I don't mind."
That earned her another grin.
They didn't linger on it. Time was moving. So were they.
Momo stepped aside and began creating items—a pair of batons, one for herself, one for Harue. He twirled his experimentally as she followed up with a small bundle of tools, smoke and flash bombs, and some utility gear all in her pouch.
Harue reached up and ignited Flame On, his body glowing faintly with internal heat. Not bursting into flames, not yet—but enough to radiate energy like a live wire.
"If I get shut off," he said, nodding toward the quiet glow, "that means Aizawa is nearby. Stay alert."
Momo glanced at him, then down at the faint shimmer around his skin. She looked thoughtful for a moment.
It wasn't just a warning. It was a signal.
Harue had shown her something just before they left the staging area. A small detail in their plan that no one else knew—one that would only matter if his Quirk was erased.
She didn't say what it was.
But her expression made it clear she was impressed.
"You really thought this through," she said, admiration slipping into her tone. "You didn't just come up with a plan—you built in options. Contingencies."
Harue shrugged with a half-smile. "It's nothing special."
"No," she said quietly. "It is. I… I was a recommended student, but even now, I feel like I haven't shown anything noteworthy. Everyone else has had their moment."
Harue turned his head slightly to glance at her—right before it happened.
The light around his body vanished.
His Quirk was off.
He paused mid-step, eyes narrowing as he turned his head toward the rooftops.
"Sorry," Momo whispered. "I didn't mean to talk so much—"
"Don't apologize," Harue cut in quickly.
But it was already too late.
"Too slow," came a calm voice from above.
They both looked up—just in time to see a figure descending, upside-down, scarf wrapped around a steel cable strung between two telephone poles.
Aizawa's eyes glowed red.
The capture cloth shot through the air like a serpent, slithering with lethal speed.
Harue's eyes narrowed the moment it veered toward him.
He moved.
A quick roll to the side, his boots skidding across the pavement as the scarf cracked down where he'd been standing half a second earlier.
But sadly his baton having fallen out of his grip.
"Now, Momo!" he shouted.
Without hesitation, Momo reached into the pouch at her hip and pulled out a compact, folded shape. With a flick, it snapped open—a sleek, black electric scooter with reinforced wheels.
She jumped on and kicked off the ground, accelerating down the street in a flash of movement.
Aizawa turned to intercept.
Too late.
A small, cylindrical object landed at his feet, just in time to go off with a sharp BANG! and a blinding white flash.
The flash grenade detonated hard and fast.
Aizawa cursed under his breath as he winced and reflexively squeezed his eyes shut, his Quirk blinking off for a split second.
That was all Harue needed.
In a blur of motion, flame surged around his legs as he launched himself forward like a missile.
He closed the gap between them in the blink of an eye, heat radiating off his body like a furnace.
Impact.
Harue's hand grabbed a thick coil of Aizawa's scarf mid-swing and superheated his palm instantly. Fabric hissed, melted, and burned into nothingness as he twisted and followed up with a spinning kick right to the teacher's side.
Aizawa grunted as he was knocked backward, boots skidding across the ground as his balance faltered.
Harue landed, steam rising from his hand, fire licking at his boots.
He took one step forward—and stumbled.
The heat vanished.
Gone.
His body dimmed, power cut.
"Damn," Harue muttered, teeth gritted.
Aizawa, now partially scorched and slightly singed, stood up slowly. His scarf was frayed, partially melted on one end, and useless. He took it off and tossed it aside.
"Well played," Aizawa said evenly, brushing ash off his coat. "Your coordination was clean. I didn't expect that level of precision from you two."
Then his expression hardened.
"But the real question is—can you stall me long enough for her to escape?"
Harue's lips curled into a confident smirk.
He cracked his knuckles and raised his fists, slipping into a boxing stance.
"I'm not like the others, Sensei."
"I rely on my Quirk, sure… but I don't need it to fight."
Muscles tensed. Fire or no fire, this body had been sharpened for war.
Aizawa tilted his head slightly in amusement.
"You sound confident."
Then, for the first time, the underground hero adjusted his footing and raised his hands into a close-range combat stance—no scarf, no tricks.
Just raw skill.
"Let's see if you can back that up."
The two stared each other down in the middle of the city street.
One teacher.
One student.
No Quirks.
Just fists.
End of Chapter 45.