Entering classroom 1-A felt like stepping into a strange and turbulent ecosystem. The air was thick with the raw energy of twenty powerful personalities, each carrying the expectations and pride of having made it into Japan's most prestigious hero school. I found an empty seat in the back row, the perfect vantage point for observation. From the corner of my eye, I saw Toru—or rather, her floating uniform—wave excitedly in my direction before sitting a few rows ahead. I gave her a small nod in return. The main commotion at the front of the class, where Tenya Iida was rigidly reprimanding Katsuki Bakugo, felt like background noise. My mind was more focused on the ponytailed girl near the window. Momo Yaoyorozu. She seemed unaffected by the chaos, her sharp gaze scanning each student as they entered in a silent, efficient data-gathering process. She was a strategist; I could already tell.
Our spirited presence was suddenly interrupted by a most unexpected sight. A bright yellow sleeping bag, looking like a giant caterpillar, was writhing on the floor by the door. The bag stood up, its zipper opened, and revealed a man with a profoundly tired appearance, messy black hair, and bored-looking red eyes. Shota Aizawa. Our homeroom teacher. The entire class fell silent, shocked by his completely unheroic appearance. I was one of the few who showed no reaction. I knew exactly who he was and what was coming next.
"It took you eight seconds to quiet down," he said in a flat monotone. "That's not rational. Time is precious." He stepped out of his sleeping bag. "My name is Shota Aizawa. I'm your homeroom teacher." Without any further ceremony, he pulled a U.A. gym uniform from his bag. "Put these on. We're heading to the field now."
There was no room for debate. We all changed and gathered on the vast training field under the morning sun. The air was filled with a mixture of confusion and anticipation. "A Quirk Apprehension Test?!" most of the class exclaimed in unison after Aizawa explained his intentions.
"But what about the opening ceremony? The orientation?" asked Ochaco Uraraka, the brown-haired girl whose face I recognized from the exam.
"U.A. doesn't have time for irrational things like that," Aizawa answered coldly. "You're here to become heroes. You don't have three years to have fun." His tired yet sharp eyes scanned all of us, pausing for a moment on me. "Tatsumi. You placed first in the entrance exam, correct?"
Every eye in the place immediately turned to me. I could feel Bakugo's piercing glare from across the field. I simply nodded.
"What was your softball throw record in middle school, without using your Quirk?" Aizawa asked.
"Around sixty meters," I answered honestly.
"Try it again. But this time, use your Quirk. Do whatever you want as long as you stay inside the circle."
He tossed a softball at me. I caught it, feeling its rough surface in my palm. This was it. The first moment I was expected to show the power that earned me first place. I stepped into the circle, holding the ball. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the heat in my chest, trying to call upon it. 'Come on, just a little. Just a spark,' I pleaded internally. There was no answer. Only silence and a cold ember. I knew it. This power wasn't going to show up for a simple fitness test.
Aizawa stared at me, impatient. The entire class held its breath. I had no choice. I opened my eyes, hiding my disappointment behind a mask of calm, and threw the ball with all the physical strength I had spent the last ten months cultivating. It was a powerful throw, backed by hard-won muscle. The ball flew far. The device in Aizawa's hand beeped. He showed it to us.
"Eighty-two-point-five meters," he said flatly.
Silence. Then the whispers began. "Is that all?" "Isn't he the top-ranked student?" "What even is his Quirk?"
I ignored them, stepping out of the circle with a blank face. But I didn't miss the strange flicker of interest in Aizawa's eyes. Before anyone could comment further, he smirked, a smile that would make your skin crawl. "You think this is all fun and games? Fine. Whoever places last across these eight tests will be judged to have no potential and will be expelled immediately."
The threat hit the class like a shockwave. Panic and fear spread quickly. Expelled on the first day? It was absurd. But I knew Aizawa was serious—or at least, he wanted us to believe he was. This was his logical ruse, his way of pushing us beyond our limits. For me, the threat felt terrifyingly real. Without access to my power, I was at genuine risk of coming in last.
The tests began, and my awkward position quickly became clear. In the 50-meter dash, I posted a respectable time, but I was demolished by Tenya Iida's turbo engines and Katsuki Bakugo's explosive propulsion. In the grip strength test, I was strong, but nothing compared to Mezo Shoji using multiple arms at once. The standing long jump, the repeated side steps—it was always the same story. I performed at the peak of a normal human's ability, but among these superhumans, I was merely average. I could feel the looks of confusion and even some scorn from a few of my classmates.
I didn't let it bother me. Instead, I used every test as a data-gathering opportunity. I observed every Quirk, noting its strengths, weaknesses, and applications. My adult mind was working in overdrive, creating mental profiles for each student. Iida was incredibly fast in a straight line, but sharp turns were his weakness. Bakugo's explosive power was immense, but there seemed to be a slight delay as he gathered sweat for larger blasts. Uraraka's Zero Gravity Quirk was powerful, but she had a weight limit and got nauseous if she overdid it. I even paid close attention to Momo Yaoyorozu. During the tests, she didn't create spectacular items, but rather small, efficient ones to assist her—shoe soles with better grip, a more ergonomic handle. She was a thinker, just like me. Several times, I felt her gaze on me, not a look of condescension, but the same analytical stare I was giving her. She was trying to solve the puzzle that was me.
It all came to a head at the ball throw test. After Uraraka got her mind-boggling "infinity" score, it was Bakugo's turn. "DIE!" he screamed, launching the ball with a massive explosion. 705.2 meters. An undeniable demonstration of raw power. As he walked back, grinning smugly, he stopped right in front of me.
"Oi, Number One," he snarled, his red eyes burning with rage. "This is a joke, right? What's with your pathetic scores? You looking down on all of us, huh?!"
Katsuki Bakugo was seething. This kid. This Tatsumi kid had stolen his spot, the spot that should have been his. He had trained, fought, and proven he was the strongest. Yet somehow, this plain, weak-looking nobody had beaten him. And now, here, in their very first test, the kid was acting like a damn extra, a pathetic Quirkless wannabe. It was an insult. He had expected a fight, a challenge, maybe a smug smirk. But all he got was calm. Tatsumi's eyes showed no fear or intimidation. Just an empty, infuriating composure. It was as if Bakugo, with all his power and fury, wasn't even important enough to be considered a threat. Bakugo's rage curdled into something else: a hateful curiosity. He didn't understand. And Katsuki Bakugo hated not understanding. He swore to himself, he would solve this mystery, and then he would crush it into dust.
I just stared back at Bakugo, keeping my expression neutral. "I'm doing the best I can with what I have," I said in a calm voice. The simple, honest answer seemed to enrage him even more, but before he could say anything else, Aizawa called the next name. "Midoriya. You're up."
I watched the whole drama unfold. Midoriya stepped up, a nervous wreck. His first throw was nullified by Aizawa's Quirk. I saw Aizawa's scarf float, his eyes glowing red. He delivered a harsh lecture about one-trick-pony heroes. I knew exactly what was going through Midoriya's mind right then—his entire dream was riding on this one throw. He stepped back into the circle. He threw. And I saw it. The concentrated spark of One For All at the tip of his finger, launching the ball into the sky with a small sonic boom, while the rest of his body remained intact. His index finger was broken and swollen, but it was a magnificent victory of control. 705.3 meters. He beat Bakugo by a decimeter. I allowed myself a faint smile. 'Nice one, Midoriya.'
Bakugo, of course, erupted in a fit of rage and had to be restrained by Aizawa. Then, the final results were displayed. My turn had passed during the commotion, my second throw another purely physical one. The final score was 88.4 meters. The whispers of confusion and disappointment were audible across the field.
Aizawa displayed the final scoreboard. I was ranked 18th out of 20 students. Just above Minoru Mineta and, of course, Izuku Midoriya in last place. I had expected as much.
"Oh, and by the way," Aizawa said with a bored tone as Midoriya looked on in despair. "The expulsion threat was a logical ruse."
The entire class, save for myself and maybe Momo, erupted in shouts of shock and relief. As they celebrated, Aizawa's eyes met mine for a moment. I didn't see disappointment there. I saw something else. Assessment. 'Interesting,' Aizawa thought to himself. 'He didn't use the power from the entrance exam at all. He knew he'd rank low and risk expulsion, but he didn't panic. He accepted the terms and did his best within his limits. He didn't rely on a Quirk he can't control. That shows maturity and a tactical mind. Nezu was right. This kid is going to be a problem.'
As we headed back to the locker room, I felt a hard shove on my shoulder. It was Bakugo. "I don't know what your game is, 'Number One'," he growled, tiny sparks popping in his palm. "But I'm gonna find out. And then I'm going to destroy you. You remember that." A declaration of war. Great.
As if that wasn't enough, just as I was about to leave the school building, a calm, dignified voice stopped me. "Tatsumi-san."
I turned. Momo Yaoyorozu was standing there, her school bag held neatly, her posture perfect. Her gaze was just as analytical as it had been that morning. "Your performance today… was illogical," she said, not as an accusation, but as a statement of fact. "Your score on the entrance exam indicated overwhelming power. Yet today, you relied solely on basic human physicality. There is a discrepancy in the data." She tilted her head slightly. "I don't know if you're hiding your power or if you're unable to control it. But either way, you are an anomaly. And I don't like anomalies."
She gave me a curt nod, then turned and walked away, her black ponytail swaying behind her. I stood there for a moment, processing my first day. I had made a rival of the most explosive student in my class and attracted the analytical interest of the most brilliant. All while being essentially Quirkless in my day-to-day life. My first-place rank had painted a giant target on my back. My life at U.A. had just begun, and it was already far more complicated than I could have ever imagined.