Shinji woke early on the first day of school, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was a new beginning, a chance to step into a world he had only ever dreamed about, U.A. High School. As he swung his legs out of bed and padded to the small kitchenette, he made himself some coffee, trying to steady his racing thoughts.
The events of the past few months into his own dorm at U.A., starting a new life, felt surreal, like he was still caught in a dream. The scars on his chest were reminders of what he had been through, but he had learned to live with them, to accept them as part of his story.
He was pulled aside by Azaiwa the day before he wanted him to wait outside at a small training field, instead of going straight to the classroom. He said it was better for him to meet his class in a more open environment than a small classroom
Shinji's heart pounded as he made his way to the small training field that Aizawa had pointed out the day before. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm, golden hue over the campus. It was still early, and the air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of morning dew. Shinji tried to take slow, steady breaths, the rhythm helping to calm the nervous energy that bubbled within him.
The side path to the field was quiet, almost serene. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that the main road was, filled with hundreds of other people both his fellow students and for some an odd form of his students. Now, as he walked alone, Shinji allowed himself to reflect on just how much had changed in such a short amount of time.
"Hey," Aizawa's voice cut through his thoughts, and Shinji turned to find the older hero walking alongside him, his gaze steady. "You ready for today?"
Shinji nodded, though it felt like his voice was stuck in his throat. "As ready as I can be."
Aizawa glanced at him briefly, then looked ahead. "Good. You've been through a lot lately, and you're doing better than I expected."
"Thanks," Shinji said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't feel like it sometimes."
"Feeling overwhelmed is normal," Aizawa replied, his tone reassuring. "This place, U.A. is going to be a big change for you. It's okay to be scared. Just remember why you're here."
"Yeah," Shinji said, his fingers tapping nervously against the strap of his bag. "I keep thinking about it. About what Nezu said, how this is my chance to start over."
Aizawa nodded, his eyes focused on the path ahead. "It is. And not everyone gets that chance. But it's not going to be easy. You're going to have to work for it."
"I know," Shinji replied, his gaze shifting to the distant horizon. "I've been working. But… I don't know if it's enough."
Aizawa didn't say anything for a moment, and Shinji felt the need to fill the silence. "Training with you has helped. A lot. But there's still… so much that I don't know."
Aizawa glanced at him again, his eyes thoughtful. "That's why you're here. To learn. To grow. And to find your place in all of this."
Shinji nodded slowly, the words sinking in. "Yeah, but… what if I'm not ready? What if I can't–"
"Then we'll work on it together," Aizawa cut him off, his tone firm. "That's what I'm here for. You don't have to do this alone."
They reached the small training field, surrounded by tall trees that cast shadows over the ground. Aizawa led the way, stopping near the center where there was enough space for a few students to gather.
"Why here?" Shinji asked, glancing around. "Why not the classroom?"
Aizawa stopped and turned to face him, his eyes steady. "Because I think it's better for you to meet your class in a more open environment. It's less intimidating. And besides, you've spent so much time alone lately; this will be a good way to ease you into it."
Shinji nodded, looking out at the field. "You think this will help?"
"I think it will," Aizawa replied, his gaze softening slightly. "You need a moment to breathe and adjust before you're thrown into the deep end. And this way, you can sort of… ease into it."
"I've been easing for a while now," Shinji said, his voice tinged with frustration. "It's just–what if it's not enough? What if I can't, "
Aizawa placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. "You've done more in the past few months than most people do in years. You've faced things no one should ever have to, and you're still here. That's proof enough that you can do this."
Shinji took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. "I just… don't want to mess this up."
"You won't," Aizawa said firmly. "But you will have bad days, and that's okay. Just take it one step at a time."
Shinji nodded, his fingers twitching at his sides. "One step at a time," he repeated softly.
"Exactly," Aizawa said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Now, I have to go get ready. I'll be out with your classmates in around an hour."
Shinji stood there, his fingers twisting and turning the fabric of his UA outfit nervously. It felt strange to be wearing it, nothing like the old clothes he'd been used to. The outfit was designed for mobility and durability, but it wasn't his. It was a reminder of what he'd become, a hero student, even if he didn't feel like one.
He glanced around at the empty field, his eyes tracing the cracks in the pavement and the faded lines that marked old boundaries. It was just him, the early morning sun warming the air, and the distant sound of birds in the trees. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the faint tingle he felt in his right arm, it still didn't like to work despite months of rehabilitation.
Aizawa's words echoed in his mind, just be yourself. But how was he supposed to do that when he didn't even know who he was anymore? He picked at the threads on his sleeve, trying to keep his hands occupied, his thoughts from spiraling.
"Hey," Aizawa's voice broke through his thoughts, and Shinji looked up to see him standing a few feet away, his usual stoic expression in place. "Ready?"
Shinji hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his fingers stilling as he looked down at the ground. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Aizawa's eyes searched his, assessing the unease in Shinji's posture. "You're not alone in this, you know," he said softly. "You have support. From me, from Nezu, and from your sister."
Shinji nodded again, his grip tightening on his arm. "Yeah, I know. I just… I keep thinking I'm going to mess this up."
"Everyone does when they start," Aizawa replied gently. "That's why they call it training. It's about learning, not perfection."
Shinji took a deep breath, forcing himself to release his arm. "I don't know if I can do it, Aizawa."
"Mr Azaiwa now, I'm officially your teacher now," Aizawa said firmly. "But you've got this. Just take it step by step. You've got the determination, and that's half the battle."
Shinji glanced up as the door to the building opened, and students started to pour out. They were dressed in their uniforms, ready for the day ahead, talking and laughing as they made their way toward the training field. His heart rate picked up, and he turned back to Aizawa, his brow furrowing. "What if they… what if they see?"
"Then let them," Aizawa said simply. "Let them see you for who you are. They're going to find out eventually, so why not start today?"
Shinji hesitated, then took a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "Okay," he said, more confidently this time. "Let's do this."
Aizawa nodded, his gaze steady. "Good. Just remember, you don't have to be perfect today. Just be you."
Shinji looked down at his hands, then back up at Aizawa. "I don't even know who I am anymore."
Aizawa took a step closer, his expression softening. "That's the beauty of it, today is the start of figuring that out. You get to decide who you want to be."
Shinji swallowed hard, the weight of the moment settling over him. "Thanks, Aizawa. I think… I think I'm ready."
"Good," Aizawa said with a small smile. "Then let's get out there and show them what you're made of."
Slowly, the class began to fill the space in front of Shinji and Aizawa, some arriving in pairs or small groups while others came by themselves. The air was thick with tension as the students exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued by the new face before them. Shinji stood tall, trying to look more confident than he felt, his gaze moving from one unfamiliar face to the next.
Once the whole class had arrived, Aizawa cleared his throat, catching their attention. His gaze swept over the gathered students, his eyes lingering for a moment on each one before he spoke. "Alright, listen up, class," he said, his voice steady and calm. "As I mentioned earlier, this year, your class will have 21 students instead of the usual 20. And to kick things off, I have a surprise for you."
There was a murmur of curiosity that spread through the crowd as the students exchanged puzzled looks. Aizawa's eyes shifted to Shinji, who stood quietly beside him, his hands clasped in front of him. "This is Shinji," Aizawa said simply, motioning for him to step forward. "Due to some special circumstances, he'll be joining you this year. Shinji, why don't you introduce yourself?"
Shinji took a deep breath, his hands gripping the edge of his hoodie tightly as he stepped forward. "My name is Shinji Takeyama," he said, his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest.
The class fell silent, and then there was a sharp intake of breath as multiple students gasped. Shinji's eyes flicked over their faces, confusion, and recognition mixing on their expressions. One student's eyes widened as she whispered something to the person next to her, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
"Takeyama?" a voice called out, disbelief clear in her tone. "You're that guy who went into the breach?"
Shinji took a deep breath and glanced over at the person who had recognized him first. His eyes met the girl's, her features were sharp, her long hair pulled back into a high ponytail. There was a hint of curiosity and wariness in her eyes, her expression a mix of concern and caution.
"Shinji Takeyama?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. "The one who came out of the breach?"
Shinji nodded, his grip on his hoodie tightening. "Yeah, that's me," he replied, his voice quieter than he intended.
There was a moment of silence, and then the girl's gaze softened. "Must be… tough, coming back," she said gently.
Shinji looked away, brushing a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you could say that," he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else.
The girl nodded slowly, then stepped back to join the rest of the class as Aizawa's voice cut through the moment. "Alright, introductions are done. Let's get moving. Form up, everyone. We're starting with a quirk assessment to get a baseline on your current abilities."
Shinji watched as the girl with the bob cut spoke up, her voice slightly anxious. "We're gonna miss the orientation!" she pointed out, her eyes wide with concern.
"If you really want to be heroes, you can't waste time on pointless ceremonies," Aizawa stated firmly, his gaze sweeping over the class. "Here at UA, we are not tethered to traditions. That means I get to run my class how I want"
The class, still somewhat hesitant, fell into formation, and Shinji found himself at the end of the line. He took a deep breath and followed suit, ready to face the first challenge of his new life.
"You've been taking standardized tests your whole lives, but never with your quirks," Aizawa continued, his voice steady and calm despite the weight of his words. "Despite villains looming around every corner and kaiju growing stronger, the country likes to pretend we are all equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It's not rational."
"Bakugo you managed to get the most points on the entrance exam, what was your farthest distance throw with the softball when you were in junior high?
"67 meters, I think," came the reply from the gruff-looking boy with spiky ash blonde hair. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his UA uniform, his expression a mix of indifference and curiosity as he watched the assembled students.
"67 meters, I think," came the reply from the gruff-looking boy with spiky ash-blonde hair, his voice confident as he stared at the marker in front of him.
"Right," Aizawa said, looking at Bakugo. "Try doing it using your quirk."
As Bakugo stepped inside the circle, his hands crackling with sparks, Azaiwa nodded. "Anything goes, just stay inside the circle." Bakugo stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to use his quirk. He eyed the marker with a determined expression, his fingers already forming the shape of his explosive blasts.
Bakugo reared his arm back, then shot it forward with a yell. "Die!" The ball launched from his hand with an explosion of flames, soaring into the air before disappearing from sight.
The sharp crack of the explosion echoed across the training ground, drawing gasps and murmurs from the class. Shinji, standing slightly apart from the group, felt his body tense instinctively. A familiar rush of energy surged through his veins, his quirk sparking faintly to life without his conscious effort.
Shinji clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as he forced himself to take slow, deliberate breaths. Not now. Keep it under control. The familiar flicker of energy that had surged around his body moments ago began to fade, the fragments dimming and retreating as though it had never been there. His muscles trembled faintly, the lingering heat and prickling sensation in his limbs refusing to dissipate entirely.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to mask the unease tightening in his chest. His gaze flicked around, settling briefly on the other students who had gone back to their murmured conversations or focused on their own trials. For a moment, it seemed like no one had noticed the brief flash of instability.
But Shinji felt the weight of a single pair of eyes on him.
Aizawa's sharp, calculating gaze was impossible to ignore. His expression was unreadable, no raised brow, no smirk, no hint of approval or disappointment. Just a quiet intensity that spoke volumes. Shinji swallowed hard, willing his shoulders to relax, though his body remained taut like a coiled spring. He glanced down briefly, breaking eye contact as if it might shield him from further scrutiny.
The silence stretched for another second before Aizawa looked away, seemingly satisfied for now. Shinji exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. Whatever Aizawa thought, Shinji couldn't let it matter, not more than holding himself together. Not when there was still so much ahead.
"All of you need to know your maximum capabilities, it's the most rational way to figure out your potential as pro heroes" Azaiwa turned around holding a phone before showing it to the class. The number read 705.2 meters
Various murmurs broke out among the class. A kid with yellow hair and black markings spoke up, his voice full of disbelief. "Woah, 705 meters? You've got to be kidding me!"
A student with pink skin, hair, and a pair of horns leaned forward slightly, clasping her hands together. "I want to go next! That looks like fun!"
"This is what I'm talking about using our quirks as much as we want," a kid with black hair and weird elbows said excitedly.
"So, this looks fun, huh?" came Aizawa's dark reply. His head tilted down slightly, the shadows from his unkempt hair obscuring his eyes. The corners of his mouth tugged into a sadistic smirk as his gaze pierced through the class.
The playful chatter died instantly, an uneasy tension filling the air. Some students shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his expression, while others straightened up instinctively, sensing that their carefree attitude might have just landed them in trouble.
"This isn't a game," he continued, his voice low but cutting. "You're here to push your limits, not to enjoy yourselves. Let's see how fun it is when it's your turn to prove what you're capable of."
"Whoever comes last will be expelled," Aizawa said coldly, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.
The class froze, a collective gasp rippling through the group. Some students exchanged nervous glances, while others stiffened, their faces paling. The gravity of his words settled over them like a heavy cloud.
"You're kidding, right?" someone blurted out, their voice a mixture of disbelief and fear.
Aizawa's smirk didn't waver. "Do I look like I'm kidding?" he replied, his tone as sharp as ever. "Heroes don't get participation trophies. Out in the real world, failure means people die. If you can't handle the pressure, you don't belong here."
Shinji's gaze shifted toward a boy with messy green hair and freckles, standing stiffly among the group. His hands were trembling slightly, clutching at his uniform pants, and his wide, nervous eyes shimmered as if he was holding back tears.
It was subtle, but Shinji could see how the boy's shoulders hunched inward, as though he was trying to shrink into himself and disappear. The pressure of Aizawa's announcement seemed to weigh on him more heavily than the others.
For a moment, Shinji found himself strangely empathetic. He wasn't sure what the boy's story was, but he recognized the look, one of fear, self-doubt, and the crushing weight of expectations. It was a look he'd worn himself countless times before.
The boy whispered something under his breath, his lips barely moving. Shinji couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable, a mantra, perhaps, something to keep himself steady in the storm of anxiety.
Aizawa, of course, seemed to notice everything. His sharp eyes flicked toward the boy for a fraction of a second, but he said nothing, his expression unreadable.
Shinji shifted uncomfortably, looking away to avoid drawing attention to either of them. He could feel the tension mounting in the group, the quiet unease settling deeper with every passing second.
Still, the image of the trembling boy stayed with him. Shinji didn't know why, but a part of him hoped the kid wouldn't come last. Something about the way he stood there, fragile yet determined, made Shinji think he deserved a chance to prove himself.
A girl with short, chestnut-brown hair styled in a bob stepped forward, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her eyes blazed with defiance as she leaned slightly forward, her voice trembling with emotion.
"You can't send one of us home!" she exclaimed, her tone both pleading and firm. "It's the first day! That isn't fair!"
The rest of the class turned to her, some nodding slightly in agreement, while others seemed too stunned to react. Her words hung in the air, a sharp contrast to the suffocating tension that Aizawa had created.
Aizawa's gaze slowly shifted toward her, his eyes as piercing and cold as ever. His smirk vanished, replaced by a steely expression that silenced even the faintest whispers among the students.
"Fair?" he repeated, his tone icy and deliberate. He straightened, the full weight of his presence pressing down on the group. "Do you think being a hero is fair? That villains are fair? That the people you fail to save will care about your feelings?"
The girl flinched but held her ground, her fists trembling slightly.
"I'm not here to coddle you," Aizawa continued, his voice like a blade cutting through their resolve. "I'm here to prepare you for the reality of what it means to be a hero. Do you think a kaiju will just go away because you asked nicely? If you can't handle the pressure, you're better off leaving now."
The girl's lips parted as if to say something else, but she hesitated, her defiance flickering like a dying flame. Finally, she stepped back into the group, her clenched fists relaxing just slightly.
Aizawa swept his gaze over the class, his expression unyielding. "This isn't a game. This is your first step into the real world. You have three years Prove to me you deserve to be here or not."
Shinji suppressed a small chuckle, glancing down to hide the brief flicker of amusement that crossed his face. It was a strange thing to find humor in, but he couldn't help it. The tension in the air, the wide-eyed stares of his new classmates, and the way Aizawa's words cut through their hesitation like a scythe, it all reminded him of how blunt and unyielding the man could be.
In the short time Shinji had known Aizawa, he'd come to appreciate that about him. His methods weren't conventional, and his words often felt like a slap to the face, but they were undeniably effective. Watching the students' initial panic shift into something more resolute, fists clenching, jaws setting, eyes narrowing, was proof enough of that.
Shinji's gaze swept over the group, noting the way their expressions hardened, determination replacing fear. Even the green-haired boy, who moments ago had looked ready to crumble, now stood with his hands balled into fists, his lips moving as if silently coaching himself.
Aizawa didn't just push people, he pulled something out of them, a fire they might not have known they had. Shinji could see it, could feel the shift in the air, and it made him wonder.
Is this what he's trying to do with me too?
The thought lingered as he shifted his stance, his fingers twitching at his sides. He couldn't decide if the realization comforted him or unnerved him. But one thing was certain: Aizawa's unorthodox methods weren't just for show. They worked.
Shinji exhaled quietly, his gaze flicking back to Aizawa, who stood as calm and unshaken as ever. Unorthodox, sure, Shinji thought, the corners of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. But you can't argue with the results.
The first test was the 50-meter dash. Aizawa stood nearby with his phone, his sharp eyes tracking every movement on the field. At the end of the track, a small sensor with a speaker waited to measure and announce each student's time. The device beeped occasionally as students completed their runs, adding to the tense atmosphere.
Shinji stood off to the side, stretching out his legs. His focus was fixed on the test, his mind tuning out the chatter of the others. Each run brought his turn closer, and his thoughts were a steady mantra of control. He couldn't afford a misstep. Not now, not here.
"Takeyama, Iida," Aizawa called out, snapping Shinji from his thoughts.
Shinji sighed quietly, stepping forward to the starting line. The crunch of gravel underfoot seemed louder than it should have been, filling the silence between him and his partner. The boy standing next to him was tall, with sharp, angular features and glasses that gleamed in the sunlight. His every movement was precise, almost mechanical, as if he were a machine perfectly calibrated for this moment.
It wasn't just the rigid posture or the formal way he adjusted his glasses that grated on Shinji's nerves. It was the hair. That blue hair. Shinji's jaw tightened as he glanced away, unable to bring himself to look directly at it. The color was too familiar, too vivid, and it tugged at memories he desperately wanted to leave buried. Memories of searing light, of jagged pain and fear, of things he couldn't name but could never forget.
His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he felt the faintest flicker of energy ripple along his legs. Focus, he told himself, forcing a steady breath. This wasn't the time to spiral, not here, not now. He shifted his weight slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground ahead of him as he waited for the signal.
The tall boy beside him adjusted his stance, the whirring sound of his engines breaking the tension in the air. Shinji risked a glance, noticing how the boy's expression was one of calm determination. It wasn't his fault, Shinji reminded himself. He didn't choose his hair color. But that didn't make it any easier.
"Ready," came the robotic voice of the sensor at the finish line, snapping Shinji back to the present. He bent his knees slightly, channeling the flickering energy into his legs. The faint golden glow reappeared, wrapping around his calves and ankles like translucent armor.
"Set," the speaker continued, its mechanical tone unfeeling and cold.
Shinji crouched slightly, shaking his arms out as he prepared. He took a deep breath, letting his energy pool in his legs. A faint metallic sheen began to spread over his calves, quickly forming into sleek, Orange armor. The armor pulsed faintly, a mechanical hum syncing perfectly with his movements.
For a brief moment, the world went silent.
"Go!"
The sensor beeped, and both boys surged forward.
Shinji's quirk roared to life, his legs propelling him with a controlled burst of speed. Each step was precise, the mechanical glow around his legs leaving faint trails of light as he powered forward. The wind whipped past him, the world blurring into streaks of green and gray.
Beside him, Iida's engines roared, flames bursting from his calves as they propelled him down the track. The noise was loud and aggressive, but Shinji tuned it out. He didn't need to look to know Iida was fast; he could feel the other boy's presence pushing him to go even harder.
The finish line came into view in a blur, and both boys crossed it nearly simultaneously. The sensor beeped again, announcing their times.
"2.93 seconds."
"3.04 seconds."
Shinji slowed to a stop, his breath coming fast but even. The glow around his legs faded slowly, dissipating into thin wisps of light before vanishing completely. He glanced back at Iida, whose engines sputtered as he came to a halt. The other boy was clearly shocked, though he quickly masked it with a stiff, formal nod.
"Not bad," Aizawa said, scribbling on his clipboard. His tone was neutral, but Shinji could feel the faint hint of approval beneath it.
Shinji walked back to the sidelines, brushing his hair back with a hand, trying to mask his unease. The murmurs among his classmates started almost immediately, whispers buzzing like an undercurrent in the air.
"Did you see that? What was that quirk?"
"Why didn't his right arm move?"
"That Armor on his legs was so cool…"
He kept his gaze down, pretending not to hear, though every word seemed to stick in his mind. His hand twitched slightly, his fingers brushing over his right arm instinctively, a reminder of its limitations.
The questions didn't bother him, they were natural, expected even. What gnawed at him was the attention. He wasn't used to being observed like this, the weight of so many eyes studying his every move.
"Hey," a voice cut through the whispers, louder than the rest. "That was impressive."
Shinji glanced up briefly, catching the speaker's gaze before looking away again. It was the brown-haired girl who spoke up against Aizawa. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice low, almost mechanical.
The student didn't press further, sensing his discomfort. The murmurs gradually shifted focus as the next pair prepared for their turn. Shinji let out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
It's fine, he told himself. They're just curious. Just kids. This is normal.
But deep down, he knew it wasn't normal, for him, at least. The attention, the questions, the assumptions. It felt like a spotlight, and he wasn't sure if he could stay in its beam without faltering.
He leaned back against a nearby tree, letting the sounds of the ongoing test wash over him. Just a few more tests, he thought. Then I can disappear back into the background.
But even as he tried to convince himself, the faint glow of his quirk lingered in his mind, bright and unmissable, just like the murmurs that followed it.
One test down. Many more to go.
After his turn, Shinji stepped back to the sidelines, his breathing steadying as the faint traces of energy from his quirk dissipated completely. He leaned against a nearby post, his arms crossed as he watched the rest of the class take their turns on the track.
The sensor beeped again, signaling the next pair to start. A small burst of wind followed as two students shot down the track, each displaying their unique quirks to gain an edge. A boy with red hair hardened his body like steel as he powered forward, while the girl, the pink-skinned one from earlier beside him propelled herself by skating on what looked like acid, her movements surprisingly graceful despite the chaos.
Shinji's gaze flickered between them and the murmurs of their classmates, who gathered in small groups to chat about each performance. They exchanged laughs and words of encouragement, the kind of easy camaraderie that Shinji couldn't quite bring himself to join.
He sighed quietly, shifting his weight as he glanced at the ground. This was supposed to be the time to start building connections, right? To at least make an effort to interact with his classmates.
But the thought of approaching any of them felt heavier than he expected. It wasn't that they seemed unapproachable, quite the opposite. Most of them seemed open, curious, and even friendly in their own way.
The problem was him.
Shinji's fingers twitched slightly as he remembered the way some of them had looked at him earlier, the recognition in their eyes, the whispers about his name. Even now, he caught glimpses of those lingering stares, classmates stealing glances at him like he was something… different.
"Takeyama." The name felt heavy in his own mind, a label that carried too much weight. Too much history.
Once the 50-meter dash concluded, Aizawa led the class into a nearby warehouse. Inside, a long metal table stood at the center, lined with small, handheld grip-strength devices. The class clustered around as Aizawa gave his instructions.
"These are reinforced devices designed to handle quirks," he said, his voice flat. "Grip strength is the next test. Use your quirks. Don't hold back. If you manage to break one, which is unlikely, just grab another."
The students exchanged glances, a mix of excitement and nervous energy rippling through them. At Aizawa's signal, they all moved forward to grab a device, setting up along the length of the table.
Shinji took one of the devices in his left hand, ignoring the curious glances being thrown his way. As he stood among his classmates, he activated his quirk, focusing on his left arm.
A faint glow rippled across his body before settling into his arm. The transformation was fluid but imposing, dark metallic plates sliding into place, reshaping his limb into a massive, industrialized design unmistakably reminiscent of Cherno Alpha.
The reactions were immediate.
"Whoa, what's that?" a pink-skinned girl murmured, pausing mid-squeeze to stare.
A boy with yellow hair and a lightning bolt streak said, "Did you see that arm? It's huge!"
Even the blue-haired boy, with his usual precision, faltered slightly as he glanced at Shinji out of the corner of his eye.
Shinji didn't react to their comments. He tightened his grip on the device in his mechanical hand. A loud groan echoed as the reinforced steel strained against his strength. The device beeped furiously, recalibrating before displaying 921 kg.
The whispers grew louder.
"921? That's unreal!"
"Is that even possible?"
"What kind of quirk does he have?"
Shinji released the device, placing the now slightly warped tool back on the table with a clang. He stepped back, his arm reverting to its normal form with a faint metallic hum. His face remained unreadable, though he couldn't help but notice the way several of his classmates were still staring.
Shinji took a step back from the table, his hand returning to its normal state as the familiar twinge of discomfort settled in. The small group of students continued to murmur among themselves, the curious glances growing more frequent. Shinji didn't like the attention, it made him feel exposed in ways he wasn't ready to deal with yet.
As the last of his classmates took their turn, the results flashed on Aizawa's phone. The boy with six arms, who had been watching Shinji closely, grunted as his own device beeped and displayed 540 kg. It was enough to secure second place.
Shinji looked down at his feet, unable to meet Aizawa's eyes or acknowledge the growing murmur of shock among his classmates. The stares were becoming harder to ignore, more and more, he felt their gazes on him.
Shinji clenched his fists, forcing the rush of adrenaline coursing through him to fade. He was better than this. Was he? He wasn't fighting anything, it was just a friendly competition in school, yet the anxiety and pressure weighed heavily on his shoulders.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. There was no real danger here, no villains or kaiju lurking around every corner. It was just a test, a way for his new classmates to understand their quirks. But every time he looked at the devices, at the expectations, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still back in the breach, still trying to prove he was more than the echo it had spit out.
"Just take it one step at a time," he murmured to himself, more as a reminder than anything else. "You're here to learn, not to fight."
With a determined nod, he looked up as Aizawa called out that it was time for the next test. He forced his focus to shift, putting the past aside, and steeled himself for whatever came next. He was going to make it through this, one way or another.
Azaiwa led them back outside. The next test was a standing long jump. Shinji stepped forward, watching some of the other students go before him. He could see the various quirks in action, a boy with a laser for a belly button flying across the sand, the green-haired boy who had yet to show his quirk and did not even make it to the sensor on the other side. Each leap was unique, a display of raw power or control.
Shinji activated his quirk on his legs, choosing the Tacit Ronin's legs this time. The transformation was quick, the familiar shimmer of energy enveloped his limbs as they elongated and adjusted, becoming more mechanical and precise. The Jaeger's legs transform with Shinji's presence, seamlessly shifting from standard combat stance to a more versatile configuration. The legs stretch and extend, becoming elongated with articulated joints that allow for increased flexibility and range of motion. The outer armor plates split and reconfigure, exposing hidden thrusters and servo mechanisms that enhance speed and agility.
With a deep breath, he crouched slightly, focused on the power in his legs, and pushed off the ground. The ground underfoot shook slightly as he soared through the air, the energy crackling around him. When he landed, it was with a solid thud, and he glanced down at the distance he had covered, just over fourteen meters, good enough for a high mid spot in the rankings.
Shinji suppressed a sigh of relief as he moved back to join the group. The class had watched in silence, some looking impressed, others curious, and a few with cautious glances. He didn't like the attention, it felt too much like he was back in the breach, fighting just to survive.
The fourth test was repeated side steps, and Shinji stuck to the same plan, utilizing Ronin's legs once more. He scored just above middle this time. As he looked around, he saw some tiny kid with purple balls for hair take first place. Shinji wasn't entirely sure if the human body was made to handle what he was doing, but the kid seemed perfectly fine afterward, so he let it go.
Test 5 was the ball throw that had been demonstrated earlier by the brown-haired girl. She went first this time, her movements smooth and controlled. As she released the ball, it sailed through the air, far beyond the typical range of the others, right off the scale, into the sky scoring an infinity.
The class watched in awe as the ball disappeared into the sky. There were murmurs of disbelief and admiration, many of the students trying to grasp what they had just seen.
"Nice," Azaiwa commented, nodding as he jotted down notes on his tablet. "That's a new record. Anyone else think they can top it?"
Shinji watched as the other students took their turns, each one attempting to surpass the impressive mark set by the girl with the quirk. There was a palpable sense of determination in the air, students pushing themselves, knowing they couldn't beat her score but still striving to get as high as possible.
When it was Shinji's turn, he decided to try something different. He wanted to push his limits by using one of the newest jaegers in his mind. As he approached the line, he activated his quirk. A series of clinks echoed softly as red plates began to form around his chest. The other students already watching, their gazes drawn by the unfamiliar transformation.
Shinji's chest seemed to swell with a sudden rush of energy, the crimson panels of the chest piece of Crimson Typhoon shimmering as they fitted together seamlessly. The third arm above his right shoulder extended slowly, folding out from a hidden compartment within the plates. The arm spun in a slow, controlled circle, its movements mechanical and precise.
"Whoa, what the–?" someone muttered, their voice tinged with awe. The other students watched with wide eyes as Shinji's transformation continued, his eyes fixed on the ball in front of him.
He took a deep breath, feeling the power coursing through the new configuration. He tested out the extra arm for a few seconds, getting a feel for how it moved, how it balanced against his own body. Once done, he carefully picked up the ball with the new third arm, his movements deliberate and slow. The arm's weight felt foreign at first, but as it began to spin, he could feel the additional strength it provided.
If he had tried to spin it with one of his actual arms, Shinji knew he would have definitely broken it, or at the very least, dislocated it. The third arm moved in precise circles, the motion unnatural and disconcerting as it picked up speed, soon becoming a blur of motion. He watched, almost hypnotized, as the ball twirled in the air above his head, the small red plates on his chest piece vibrating with the force of the movement.
Shinji took a deep breath, focusing on the timing, and then with a sudden, fluid motion, he released the ball. It shot through the air, hurtling forward with the force of the spin, vanishing into the distance. As it landed
Shinji turned to look toward Aizawa, who was staring at the phone in his hand. After a moment, he shifted it towards Shinji and the class, the phone screen glowing faintly in the sunlight as it read, "1388.3 meters."
The class went silent, eyes wide with shock as they processed the number displayed on the screen. Azaiwa's gaze flicked up to meet Shinji's, a small nod of acknowledgement passing between them.
Shinji took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He had never tried using only part of his quirk on his torso, and it took a lot more effort than he expected to keep it in control. As he watched the green-haired kid step forward, his expression a mix of determination and fear
"If Midoriya doesn't shape up soon, he's the one going home," the voice broke the silence again. Shinji recognized it immediately. It was the blue-haired kid. It didn't seem like he was speaking directly to anyone; he was just stating a fact, his tone matter-of-fact, almost indifferent.
Bakugo, standing beside the blue-haired kid, grunted in agreement, "Of course he is. He's a quirkless loser." The words were harsh, carrying an edge of contempt that made the air around them feel electric with unease.
"Huh? He has a quirk," the blue-haired kid said, his tone a mix of disbelief and challenge as if daring anyone to question him. "Did you not hear about what he did in the entrance exam?"
The conversation died down as the kid, Midoriya, got ready to throw the ball. Shinji watched in silence, his eyes narrowing as red veins of electricity wrapped around Midoriya's arm. Just as his pitch reached its peak, Azaiwa's hair floated up around him, causing the veins to immediately stop. Midoriya's throw was a disappointment, the ball landing with a meager 36 meters.
No one looked more shocked than Midoriya, his eyes wide as he stared at his hand, disbelief written across his face.
"I erased your quirk," Azaiwa said, his scarf now unfurled and floating around him. "The judges for the exam were not rational enough." He ignored Midoriya's whimpers as he continued, his voice cold and detached. "Someone like you should never be allowed to enroll at this school."
Midoriya took a step back, his eyes wide. "You… you're Eraserhead, the underground hero, aren't you?" Various murmurs broke out among the class as they tried to place the name and quirk. Shinji knew this, of course, he did. Azaiwa's quirk was the reason he had trained with him. It was the only way he could prevent himself from losing control.
"You're not ready, you don't have control over your power." Aizawa said, still making eye contact with Midoriya. Were you planning to break your bones again? Counting on someone else to save your useless body?
"No, that's not what I was trying to do!" Midoriya started, only to be grabbed by Azaiwa's scarf and drug closer to him
"No matter what your intentions are, you would be nothing more than a liability," Azaiwa said, his voice steady and unyielding. "You have the same reckless passion as another hero I know, one who saved a thousand people by himself. But even with that drive, you're worthless if you can only throw a single punch before breaking down. Sorry, Midoriya, there's no way you can become a hero."
"What about me then?" Shinji said from his place a ways away from the class. He wasn't sure why he was speaking up, maybe something about the determination in Midoriya's eyes or how he tried so hard despite not being able to use his quirk without hurting himself.
"At least he can throw a punch, two if he used both his arms," Shinji continued, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "When those don't work, he can kick. That's more than what I can do."
"Azaiwa turned to face him, letting Midoyoria go in the process. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped as Shinji spoke again
"I can barely do these stupid tests without losing control" Shinji was looking directly into Azaiwas's eyes now, standing firm with a determination that had been lost in him for a long, long time. "What was it you said earlier? Training is about learning, not perfection, three years can do a lot trust me I know." Shinji's last words were more of a growl than anything else as he continued, so what he hurts himself using his quirk, I hurt others when I use mine so why does he not deserve to be here and I do? By this point, Shinji was breathing heavily his emotions had even caused his right hand to clench
Azaiwa's eyes lingered on Shinji's, his gaze unyielding. "The difference, Shinji," he said firmly, "is in circumstances. Midoriya has potential, but his ability to control that power is fragile. You… you're dealing with a different set of challenges. You've had to fight harder, learn faster. You haven't been given the luxury of mistakes like some of these others have."
Shinji's jaw clenched as he absorbed the words, his breath coming out in shallow, rapid bursts. "So what?" he asked, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Just because I'm broken in a different way means I deserve a chance?"
"No," Azaiwa replied, his tone firm but not unkind. "It means you've earned the right to prove yourself here. You've faced things no one else in this world has, and that's what makes you different. You're not broken, Shinji. You're strong because you keep fighting, despite the odds."
Shinji's eyes narrowed, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "I'm not sure I believe that," he admitted softly, his voice almost a whisper.
"Believe it," Azaiwa urged him, his gaze steady and unwavering. "You've got more fight in you than most people do. Don't let it go to waste."
Azaiwa turned back to Midoriya, his expression stern but not without a hint of understanding. "Look at that," he said, his voice slightly softer, "you got Takeyama to stand up for you. Since you helped him progress a bit, I'll allow you one last chance. I've returned your quirk. Take your throw."
Midoriya's gaze shifted from Aizawa to Shinji, his eyes wide and full of gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Midoriya took a deep breath, his expression a mix of determination and pain. He clenched his right hand into a fist, wincing slightly as he carefully positioned his index finger on the ball. Instead of channeling his quirk into his arm as he had before, he focused the energy solely into his finger. The air around him seemed to crackle with the force he was putting behind it.
Shinji watched from the sidelines, his eyes narrowing as Midoriya's finger began to glow. The moment he released the ball, it shot forward with a powerful burst, soaring far beyond any previous throw. The trajectory was perfect, the ball sailing through the air before it finally landed with a resounding thud.
Azaiwa stared at the distant impact point on his phone screen, then turned back to the class, his eyes lingering on Midoriya. "That was 705.3 meters," he announced, his tone neutral. "Impressive, I'll give you that."
Shinji watched quietly, his tension ebbing slightly after witnessing Midoriya's determined throw. The rest of the class seemed to hold its breath as they waited for Azaiwa's reaction, but Shinji's attention was drawn elsewhere. He noticed Bakugo standing a little ways off, his eyes wide with disbelief. His hands were open, sparking with small explosions as the tension in his muscles grew almost palpable.
Shinji's eyes narrowed as he watched Bakugo's reaction, recognizing the familiar signs of frustration and anger. It wasn't just about the test or the competition for Bakugo, there was something deeper there. The sparking of his quirk felt almost like a warning, a reminder of the powerful, volatile force contained within.
He could see the way Bakugo's body tensed, the set of his jaw, telltale signs that he was on the brink of a violent outburst. It was clear he was about to lash out; Shinji had spent enough time in fights to recognize the signs.
Before Shinji could do anything, Bakugo lunged" DEKU you bastard tell me how you did that or you're dead" Bakugo's hand was outstretched ready to grab Midoriya before being stopped by Azaiwa's scarf
"Why the hell is your scarf so strong," Bakugo grunted out struggling against Azaiwa's scarf
Aizawa's expression didn't waver, his voice calm and measured. "Because it's a capture weapon," he explained, his tone almost bored. "Made from carbon fiber and a special metal alloy. It's designed to hold people like you. those who don't know when to stand down."
Bakugo, thankfully, chose to stand down, his frustrated growls subsiding as Aizawa released the scarf's grip. Sparks still flickered faintly from his palms as he stood rigid, glaring daggers at both Shinji and Midoriya.
Izuku, however, wasted no time slipping past Bakugo, his injured hand cradled carefully against his chest. The girl with the bob cut immediately rushed to his side, her face etched with concern. "Is your finger okay?" she asked, her tone earnest as she leaned in to inspect the damage.
Shinji watched the exchange from a distance, his gaze shifting back to Bakugo briefly. He couldn't help but shake his head. I'm not going to get along with this guy, am I? he thought grimly. Everything about Bakugo screamed aggression, from the way he carried himself to his explosive temper. Headstrong and reckless, with an ego that could probably rival his Jaegers at full size. It was a combination Shinji knew all too well and one that would drag others down around him
Shinji's eyes flicked back to Bakugo, catching the way his head snapped toward Midoriya. The look in his eyes made Shinji's stomach churn, it was raw, unfiltered hatred, an intensity that felt almost too much for a high school rivalry. Bakugo's glare burned like a furnace, the kind of animosity that spoke of something far deeper than a simple grudge.
For a moment, Shinji almost felt sorry for Midoriya. Almost. What happened between those two? he wondered, the tension between them now unmistakable.
Still, Shinji couldn't ignore the knot forming in his own chest. Bakugo was dangerous, not just because of his quirk but because of the sheer rage driving him. Shinji had faced monsters before, and while Bakugo wasn't one of them, that look in his eyes wasn't far off.
The next few tests passed in a blur. First was the distance run. Shinji tied for first with a girl who had her black hair styled into a high ponytail. Using her quirk, she crafted a sleek, efficient scooter that zipped along the track. Shinji had expected her to pull ahead, but after ten grueling minutes with neither showing signs of slowing, Aizawa called it a tie. Their classmates muttered in awe, though Shinji barely registered it.
With each pounding step, he felt the memories creeping in. The rhythmic motion of his legs reminded him of his time in the breach. Constant movement, constant vigilance, there had been no room for rest there. Every second counted when survival depended on his ability to stay one step ahead of the horrors that pursued him. He could almost hear the distant echo of metallic footsteps and the unrelenting shake of danger closing in.
When Aizawa finally called the match, Shinji came to a stop, his breath steady but his mind racing. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he glanced at his opponent. The girl with the scooter stepped off gracefully, giving him a polite nod. He returned the gesture, but his thoughts remained elsewhere, anchored in the past.
The applause from his classmates barely reached him. As he walked back to the sidelines, he tried to shake the feeling off. He wasn't in the breach anymore, this was just a school test. But the nagging reminder of how much he'd changed, how much he couldn't fully escape, lingered like a shadow.
Next up was the seated toe touch. Shinji found himself paired with the kid with six arms. The boy introduced himself as Mezo Shoji with a polite nod, his calm demeanor contrasting his intimidating appearance. Shinji returned the nod but kept quiet, his thoughts elsewhere.
As they settled onto the mats, Shoji's extra arms moved with practiced ease, each one assisting in his stretch. Shinji, however, hesitated. He'd always been flexible, the years in the breach had made sure of that, but his body was broken. The years had left its mark, and while his movements were still fluid, he could feel the strain in ways he hadn't before. His limbs didn't bend quite as easily, and the ache in his joints reminded him of battles fought and won at a cost.
Shoji leaned forward with impressive flexibility, his fingertips grazing the farthest edge of the mat. "Just take your time," Shoji said, glancing Shinji's way. "No need to push past your limit."
Shinji grunted in acknowledgment and leaned forward, feeling the pull along his back and legs. The faint hum of his quirk flickered briefly in his arms, not enough to manifest but just enough to remind him of the care he needed to take. He reached his toes without much trouble, but the ease he once had was noticeably absent.
Despite the internal frustration, Shinji managed a respectable score, though Shoji outperformed him with his extra limbs assisting the stretch. Shoji looked over with a small nod. "You've got good form. It's clear you've trained hard."
Shinji blinked, a bit surprised by the comment. "Thanks," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he straightened up. He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He couldn't help but wonder how far he could push himself before his body gave out again. Back in the breach he never learned, likely due to the near-constant adrenaline rush he was in.
As they walked back to the sidelines, Shoji added, "It's not always about being the best, it's about knowing your limits and working from there. You'll figure it out."
Shinji didn't respond, but the words stuck with him as the next test loomed ahead.
Shinji ended up scoring 3rd for the sit-ups. The pink skinned girl had gotten first and Shoji 2nd.
The next and final test was sit-ups. The students lined up in pairs, one holding the other's legs while they counted off repetitions. Shinji paired with Shoji again, the six-armed boy proving to be a reliable partner as he effortlessly kept Shinji's legs pinned in place.
Shinji started strong, his core engaging as he pulled himself up with practiced rhythm. Each lift brought a brief, sharp twinge in his abdomen, a reminder of the strain he'd already put his body through during the day. He gritted his teeth, determined to push through the discomfort.
"Come on, keep going," Shoji encouraged, his calm voice steady amidst the sound of other students counting their reps or grunting with effort.
Shinji nodded, sweat trickling down his temple as he forced himself to keep moving. By the time he hit 40, his pace slowed, the accumulated stress on his body finally catching up with him. His breathing was labored, and the ache in his muscles became harder to ignore. He managed a few more before finally collapsing back onto the mat, panting heavily.
"That's 47," Shoji announced, releasing Shinji's legs.
Shinji sat up slowly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He glanced around and noted the scores being recorded. He wasn't at the top this time, he placed fourth. Shoji had gotten first, clocking in an impressive 60 sit-ups. The spiky redhead kid was close behind him with 55. Followed by Bakugo who had gotten 53.
He couldn't help but feel frustrated. His body just wasn't keeping up the way it used to, not after all it had been through. He clenched his fists briefly before forcing himself to relax. No point in dwelling on it, he thought. I'm still standing. I'm getting better. That counts for something.
Azaiwa stepped forward, clipboard in hand. "With that, the tests are complete," he announced. His sharp gaze swept over the class. "Take five minutes to cool down. Then I'll announce the results."
As the class gathered back together, tension was thick in the air. The students whispered among themselves, speculating who might be at the bottom and who had performed best overall. Shinji stood off to the side, arms crossed, still catching his breath. His gaze remained fixed on Aizawa, who was flipping through the clipboard in his hands.
"Listen up," Azaiwa began, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "I've tallied your scores across all the tests. While some of you performed better in specific areas, the rankings are based on your overall performance."
Shinji kept his expression neutral, but his heart thudded in his chest. He hadn't gone into this trying to be the best; survival had been his priority, as it always was. Yet, a flicker of curiosity and apprehension gnawed at him.
Azaiwa's gaze swept across the group, lingering briefly on each student before he finally spoke. "First place: Shinji Takeyama."
The announcement hit like a shockwave. A ripple of reactions spread through the group. Some students murmured in awe, while others, like Bakugo, scowled deeply. The explosion-prone boy's hands crackled faintly with sparks, though he restrained himself from making a scene this time.
Shinji's shoulders stiffened. He hadn't been seeking recognition, and now the weight of everyone's eyes felt heavier than he'd anticipated. First place? He looked at Aizawa as if expecting some kind of explanation, but the teacher simply moved on.
"In second place: Momo Yaoyorozu. And third: Shoto Todoroki." Azaiwa's voice was steady, giving no indication of favoritism or judgment. He continued down the list, naming students one by one until finally, he reached the bottom.
"And last place…" Azaiwa paused, his tone growing sharp. "Izuku Midoriya."
Midoriya's face fell, his expression stricken. The whispers among the students grew louder, but Azaiwa quickly silenced them with a glare.
"Before any of you jump to conclusions, let me make something clear," Azaiwa said, his tone cold. "I told you earlier that whoever came in last would be expelled. And I meant it."
Midoriya looked ready to collapse, his trembling hands clenched into fists. Shinji felt a pang of guilt, his earlier words echoing in his mind. He hadn't meant to shine a light on Midoriya's struggles, but he couldn't deny that the green-haired boy's determination had left an impression.
Azaiwa's sharp gaze turned to Midoriya, then softened ever so slightly. "But," he continued, "expelling someone on the first day would be a waste of potential. You all have room to grow, even those of you at the bottom."
Relief washed over Midoriya, his knees almost buckling as the tension drained from his body. The class seemed to exhale collectively, the heavy atmosphere lightening just a bit.
Azaiwa turned his attention back to the class as a whole, his tone as sharp as ever. "Don't get comfortable. This was just the beginning. If you don't push yourselves, you'll fall behind. And trust me, I won't hesitate to drop anyone who doesn't meet my expectations." His gaze swept across the group, ensuring his message sank in.
There was a pause before he continued, his voice losing just a fraction of its edge. "Go change and take the rest of the day off. Your actual training begins tomorrow. Your syllabus is on your desks; make sure you grab it before you leave. Don't lose it, or you'll regret it."
The class hesitated for a moment, absorbing the words, before slowly beginning to move. Conversations bubbled up as students made their way back toward the changing rooms, some already speculating about what the next day might bring. Shinji hung back, watching as a few students exchanged lighthearted banter while others, like Midoriya, seemed lost in their own thoughts.
Shinji let out a quiet breath, the tension of the day finally starting to ease. His body ached from the exertion of the tests, a reminder of just how far he still had to go. Even so, there was a strange sense of anticipation bubbling beneath the surface. Tomorrow would be grueling, he had no doubt, but for the first time in a while, it felt like he was moving toward something, something worthwhile.
He glanced over at Midoriya, who was gingerly cradling his injured finger while the bob cut girl fussed over him. Despite his earlier struggles, there was a spark of determination in the green-haired boy's eyes that hadn't dimmed. He's got guts, Shinji thought, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
With a final look toward Aizawa, who was already heading back toward the school, Shinji turned and followed the rest of the class. Tomorrow was a new day, and whatever it brought, he'd be ready. Or at least, he'd try to be.
Once the boys had made their way into the lockers and began to change out of their uniforms, Midoriya made his way over to Shinji, his expression still conflicted and uncertain.
"Hey, Takeyama," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Thanks, back there. For standing up for me."
Shinji glanced over, his brow furrowing slightly. "Don't mention it," he replied gruffly, trying to avoid eye contact. "I just… don't like seeing someone get kicked when they're down."
Midoriya hesitated, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his uniform shirt. "I guess I'm still learning how to control my quirk," he admitted, his tone tinged with frustration. "I've never had to deal with this before."
Shinji's eyes softened just a fraction as he pulled his own shirt over his head, tossing it into his locker. "It's not just about control," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the bitterness in his words. "It's about finding your own path with it, accepting that you're going to screw up sometimes and learning from it."
Midoriya nodded, his hands stopping for a moment as he considered Shinji's words. "You seem to have a pretty good handle on things," he said, a hint of awe in his voice.
Shinji snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed a clean T-shirt. "Good handle? Ha! If only you knew half of it," he muttered, turning his gaze back to the locker in front of him.
Mineta, the purple ball-haired kid, piped up from across the room, his eyes lingering on Shinji as he made a few perverted comments under his breath. "Damn, chicks must dig those scars, huh? Real manly," he said with a lecherous grin, his eyes roaming over Shinji's scars with a crude fascination.
Shinji turned his head slightly, his expression hardening as he locked eyes with Mineta for a moment. "Yeah, something like that," he replied, his voice cool and detached, though there was a hint of annoyance behind it.
"So how'd you get them?" Mineta asked, wandering up to Shinji, his eyes lingering on the scars across Shinji's torso.
Shinji glanced at him, his brow furrowing. "You know who I am?" he asked, his tone wary.
Mineta shrugged, his eyes still roving over Shinji's scars with that same perverted curiosity. "Not really, I don't pay attention to the news unless it's someone hot," he replied, his voice nonchalant. "What? You been on the news before"
"Mineta! It is rude to ask people about their personal life," Lida said sharply, making a chopping motion with his hand. Shinji glanced over at him but quickly turned his head away, not wanting to make this worse by letting his hair bring back some bad memories.
"Relax, man," Mineta shrugged, his eyes flicking over to Lida. "Chicks must dig 'em, right? Makes you look like a real hero, battle-hardened and all."
Something in Shinji snapped, maybe it was a mixture of the stress, the exhaustion marring his body from trying to keep his quirk in check, but he couldn't help himself. He started laughing, a rough, almost hysterical sound. "You know, Mineta," he said, his voice rough, "you might want to be careful asking someone about their scars. Not everyone's as amused by your little jokes."
Mineta's eyes narrowed, his bravado faltering for a moment. "What, you think you're hot stuff just because you've got all these scars?" he sneered, taking a step closer. "I bet you did it to yourself to get attention huh?"
Shinji's laughter died abruptly. His eyes narrowed, the darkness returning as he stepped closer, his tone low and dangerous. "You want to see what these scars look like up close, Mineta? Because I can show you what I really did to get them."
The room fell silent, tension thick in the air as the other boys in the locker room watched, unsure whether to intervene or let it play out.
"Have you ever seen a kaiju Mineta?" Shinji asked, crouching down to the boy's level.
Mineta's bravado faltered, his eyes narrowing as he took a step back. "What does that have to do with anything?" he retorted, trying to mask his unease.
"Answer the question."
Mineta hesitated, looking away for a moment before finally meeting Shinji's eyes. "I… I've heard stories, seen them on tv" he stammered, his bravado failing him. "But that's not the same, right?"
Shinji's gaze softened just a fraction. "It's not," he agreed quietly. "But when you ask someone about their scars, you should at least know what they mean first." With that, Shinji turned and walked away, leaving Mineta standing in silence behind him."When you get home, search up Shinji Takeyama that'll tell you how I got these scars."
Shinji left the locker room not even bothering to put his shirt on until he was already well into the hallway, he stormed down the pristine halls of UA barely registering him brushing past one of his classmates, one of the girls, the pink-skinned one-Mina Ashido if he remembered, he heard her start to yell something before she cut herself off, she probably saw his scars. He made his way farther down the hall quickly putting on his shirt. Once outside instead of going home, he made his way to one of the training grounds.
He was going to do something he was probably going to regret later but right now he wanted to blow off some steam.