"A quirk assessment test?"
The confused murmur ripples through our group as we stand on UA's massive training field. We're all wearing the blue and white UA gym uniforms Aizawa handed out, clearly designed for durability and mobility over style.
"But what about the orientation ceremony?" a girl with iridescent scales asks. "Or the guidance sessions?"
Aizawa's bloodshot eyes fix on her with an expression of pure boredom. "No time for that nonsense. If you want to be heroes, you need to make every second count."
He gestures to the field around us, which I now realize is set up with various testing stations, running tracks, strength equipment, target ranges. Standard physical education stuff, but on steroids.
"UA is known for its freestyle educational approach," Aizawa continues. "That applies to teachers as well. I run my class my way."
Something about his tone sends a chill down my spine. I've read enough of the manga to know that Aizawa isn't just a hardass, he's ruthlessly practical. If he thinks you don't have what it takes, he won't hesitate to cut you loose.
"You've all been taking standardized tests most of your lives," he says, pulling out his phone and tapping on it. "But you've never been allowed to use your quirks in those tests. The country still pretends we're all created equal by not letting you use your full capabilities. It's irrational."
He looks up from his phone. "Torino."
My head snaps up. "Yes, sir?"
"What was your best result in the softball throw in middle school?"
"Uh, 67 meters, sir,"
He tosses me a softball that looks exactly like the ones from middle school. "Try it with your quirk. Do whatever you need to, just stay in the circle."
I step into the white circle on the ground, weighing the ball in my hand. This is a test, not just of power, but of control and judgment.
I focus on channeling electricity through my arm, just enough to enhance my muscles and add a charge to the throw. The gauntlet on my right arm hums with energy, helping direct the current precisely where I want it.
With a quick wind-up, I throw the ball, releasing a surge of electricity at the moment it leaves my fingertips. The added propulsion sends it rocketing skyward, trailing blue sparks as it arcs through the air.
Aizawa holds up his phone, showing us the result: 324.5 meters.
"This is the first rational step to understanding your potential as heroes," he says.
Impressed murmurs spread through the class. I try not to look too pleased—324 meters is good, but I know I could have sent that ball into orbit if I'd really tried. Better to keep some tricks in reserve.
"Whoa, that looks like fun!" one of our classmates exclaims. "Getting to use our quirks as much as we want!"
The temperature around us seems to drop several degrees as Aizawa's expression darkens.
"Fun? You think being a hero is fun?" His voice remains monotone, but there's an edge to it now. "You have three years to become heroes. You think you'll have time for 'fun' when people's lives are on the line?"
He surveys the now-silent group, his gaze lingering on each face. "Let's make this interesting. The person who scores lowest across all eight tests will be judged hopeless... and expelled."
A collective gasp rises from the class. Beside me, I can feel Nejire tense up.
"That's not fair!" someone protests. "It's only the first day!"
"Natural disasters. Highway pileups. Villain attacks." Aizawa's voice cuts through the objections. "The world is full of unfairness. As heroes, it's our job to restore order. If you were expecting school trips and pep rallies, you came to the wrong place."
He pulls his hair back, giving us a glimpse of the intensity behind his usually bored expression. "Go beyond. Plus Ultra. Show me what you're made of."
The test begins, and it quickly becomes clear this isn't just about raw power. Each exercise is designed to test different aspects of quirk application, speed, strength, agility, precision, and creativity.
The 50-meter dash is first. I use my electricity to enhance my speed, focusing the current through my legs. Not quite as fast as Grandpa can move with his Jet quirk, but quick enough to clock in at 4.13 seconds. Only two students beat my time, a girl with a wind manipulation quirk and a boy who can transform his skin into a slick, friction-reducing material.
Nejire performs admirably too, using controlled blasts of her waves to propel herself forward. Her time of 5.02 seconds puts her in the upper half of the class. Tamaki transforms his legs and manages a surprising 4.78 seconds.
As we move through the tests, grip strength, standing long jump, repeated side steps, and more, I carefully monitor my power output. Enough to perform well, but not enough to raise too many eyebrows. The last thing I need is Aizawa thinking my "recently manifested" quirk is suspiciously well-controlled.
By the time we reach the ball throw again, everyone's had a chance to showcase their abilities. Some quirks are naturally better suited to physical tests than others, but most students find creative ways to apply their powers. A girl whose quirk lets her secrete a sticky substance uses it to grip equipment better. A boy who can harden specific parts of his body creates leverage where he normally wouldn't have any.
Nejire's turn at the ball throw is particularly impressive. She channels her energy waves through the ball in a spiral pattern, creating a drill-like effect that sends it flying to a distance of 401.3 meters. She jumps up and down in excitement when she sees her score, shooting me a triumphant grin.
"Beat you, Shinra!" she singsongs.
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling.
Throughout it all, Aizawa watches with that same impassive expression, occasionally making notes on his phone. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking, who's impressing him or disappointing him.
The final test is the long-distance run, where endurance becomes the key factor. I pace myself, using small bursts of electricity to maintain speed without burning out. It works well enough for a third-place finish, behind Wind Girl and a guy who can partially transform into some kind of canine.
When it's all over, we gather around Aizawa, sweaty and exhausted. He taps his phone a few times, then turns the screen toward us, displaying a ranking of all eighteen students.
My eyes go straight to the bottom name. Hayashi, the boy with a quirk that lets him communicate with plants. Not particularly useful in these physical tests.
"Hayashi," Aizawa calls out. The boy steps forward, trembling slightly, eyes fixed on the ground. "Your quirk has potential for rescue and reconnaissance. But your physical abilities are severely lacking, and you made minimal effort to compensate with strategy."
The boy's shoulders slump further with each word.
"However," Aizawa continues, "expelling just one student seems inadequate when so many of you have shown mediocre results."
A heavy silence falls over the group. I exchange a glance with Nejire, whose usual smile has been replaced with a look of apprehension.
"I've decided," Aizawa says, looking back at his screen, "that the following students have failed to demonstrate the potential necessary for the hero course."
He begins reading names, and with each one, another student's hopes visibly crumble. By the time he's finished, nine names have been called, exactly half the class.
"The rest of you," he says to those of us left standing, "barely passed. Don't get comfortable. If you don't show improvement, you'll be next."
Hayashi's voice breaks the stunned silence. "Sir... is there... is there any way to appeal this decision?"
Aizawa stares at him for a long moment. "You think villains will give you a second chance when you fail? You think civilians trapped in a burning building will wait while you appeal to try again?"
The harshness of his words seems to echo across the training ground.
"You have until the end of the day to clear out your desks," he says to the expelled students. "The General Studies department may have openings if you wish to remain at UA. That decision is up to Principal Nezu."
With that, he turns and begins walking back toward the main building. "The rest of you, be back in the classroom in fifteen minutes."
As he disappears from view, the reality of what just happened sinks in. Half our class—gone. Just like that. On the first day.
Some of the expelled students are crying. Others look angry or shocked. A few approach those of us who remain, offering congratulations through forced smiles.
Nejire immediately starts reassuring those who've been cut, telling them how amazing their quirks are and how well they'll do in General Studies. It's a small comfort, but at least it's something.
I stand back, watching it all unfold, a strange hollowness in my chest. I knew Aizawa was strict—in the manga, he threatened to expel the entire class at one point—but I hadn't expected this level of ruthlessness in reality.
"Hey."
I turn to find Tamaki standing next to me, his gaze fixed on the ground as usual.
"Pretty intense, huh?" I say, not sure what else to offer.
He nods slightly. "I... was worried I'd be cut too. My quirk isn't... it's not always useful without preparation."
"You did well," I tell him honestly. "That cheetah trick for the dash was smart."
"Thanks." He glances up briefly. "Your quirk is... really impressive. The control you have..."
"Still working on it," I say quickly. "It, uh, manifested late, so I'm still figuring things out."
Before he can respond, Nejire bounces over to us. Despite the somber atmosphere, she's somehow maintained at least a portion of her energy.
"Can you believe it?" she says in a hushed tone. "Half the class! Just like that!" She snaps her fingers for emphasis. "I mean, I knew UA was supposed to be tough, but this is just cruel."
"It's a reality check," I find myself saying. "Being a hero isn't just about having a cool quirk. It's about doing whatever it takes to save people, even when the odds are against you."
Both of them look at me, slightly surprised by my serious tone.
"What?" I shrug. "My grandpa drilled that into me since I was old enough to understand words."
Nejire's expression softens. "Your grandfather's a smart man." She looks back at the departing students. "I just wish there was a gentler way to teach that lesson."
"Not Aizawa-sensei style," I say, remembering all the manga panels of his no-nonsense approach. "We should head back. He said fifteen minutes."