Aizawa glanced at them and waited a bit till everyone went quiet again and sighed, pushing up his capture scarf.
"Because of the… overwhelming response from the public, Principal Nezu thought it would be beneficial for this class to see more of U.A.'s newest faculty member and get some valuable insight. He'll be overseeing your Quirk Assessment. I'll be nearby. Just in case."
He jerked a thumb toward a shaded tree nearby, then casually walked over and collapsed into his sleeping bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Wake me if anyone explodes."
The students turned their attention back to Kratos, whose silent gaze swept across the group.
Then—
A voice.
Bright, lilting, with a spark of mischief.
"Oho! That's the sky again, is it? Thought I'd gone blind for a minute there, stuck facin' nothin' but leather and silence."
Everyone froze.
The voice hadn't come from Kratos.
Or Aizawa.
The students looked around, confused.
"Where… where is that coming from?" someone asked.
Then—Kratos moved.
He reached back behind his waist.
And drew something out from behind his belt.
A… head?
No—a head with life. Eyes glowing like twin fragments of stars, faintly blue with Bifrost shimmer, a neatly braided beard, and a mouth already curled into a smirk.
The moment Mimir faced the crowd, he blinked once—then chuckled.
"Oho… well now. Either we've walked into a prodigy's playground… or I've finally gone mad. That's a lot of eyes starin' back."
The head spoke.
The class screamed.
A few stumbled backward. Others just stared in horrified fascination.
"What is that?!"
"That thing's alive?!"
"IS THAT A ROBOT?!"
Kratos simply held Mimir up, one arm raised with the ease of long habit.
Mimir chuckled, unfazed. "Ahh, don't be afraid, little ones. I'm not some robot or cursed artifact. Well… not technically. Name's Mimir—smartest man alive, trusted advisor, and currently... independent support consultant for this institution."
One girl raised a shaky hand—or rather, the sleeve of her uniform hovered in the air.
"Um… why are your eyes glowing?" asked Hagakure, her voice cautious, but curious.
Mimir's eyes pulsed gently, like frostlight under glass.
"Ah, that'd be my Quirk," he said with a bright little grin. "Gifted me with boundless wisdom… and, well, took the rest o' the package in return."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
"…Wait, what?" whispered Ashido.
Mimir gave a theatrical sigh. "A tragic case, I know. But I've been officially designated a support consultant here at U.A.—quirk-induced complications and all. So rest assured, I'm very much approved and accounted for."
A few students exchanged puzzled glances. The glow in his eyes. The missing body. The fact he was being held by a walking war machine.
But none of them quite dared question it further.
Especially not when Kratos was still standing there like a statue carved from rage and restraint.
Mimir chuckled, pleased with the silence he'd earned.
"Just think o' me as your… talking encyclopedia for the year. With a bit more charm."
That last line earned a few chuckles—light, unsure, but genuine.
The tension that had wrapped itself tight around the group finally loosened, like a pressure valve easing open. A few students even smiled. The atmosphere settled—not relaxed, not entirely—but the air didn't feel so heavy anymore.
Whatever else this class might face… it was off to a memorable start.
"Enough chatter Mimir," Kratos said, voice low, rumbling like stone shifting beneath a mountain.
The students fell silent again.
Mimir, floating gently in Kratos' grip, nodded.
"Aye, fair point. Let's get to it."
His tone shifted slightly—still warm, but more focused now.
"This is your Quirk Assessment," Mimir began, voice bright but edged with sharp intent. "You'll be tested on a variety of physical and power-based metrics—speed, strength, control, creativity, and raw application."
He spun slightly in Kratos' hand to scan the group. "It's not just about what your Quirk can do, mind ye. It's how well you control it, how you adapt under pressure, and how far you're willing to push when it matters most."
The students shifted uneasily, absorbing every word.
"You'll be graded across all events," Mimir continued, "and your overall performance—not just one flashy moment—will determine your ranking. After all the scores are tallied…"
He paused, letting that silence hang like a guillotine.
"…the one at the very bottom?"
A sly grin crept across his face.
"Expelled."
"Wait, WHAT?!"
"Expelled?! Already?!"
Mimir gave a theatrical shrug. "Oh, and just so ye know—the sleepy one under the tree? He's the one who said it. I'm just deliverin' the message."
A wave of panic swept through the students.
"But—this is our first day!"
"How-How can U.A do this?"
Mimir shrugged. "You'll have to take it up with him."
He gestured with his eyes—toward the sleeping bag under the tree.
From within, Aizawa gave a thumbs up without even opening his eyes.
Mimir grinned. "Told ye. And let's not fool ourselves, lads and lasses—if you're lookin' for icebreakers and trust falls, you've walked into the wrong bloody academy," Mimir quipped, eyes gleaming. "U.A. doesn't exactly play by the book—if there ever was one. And the teachers? Well, they've got the freedom to run things however they see fit. Lucky you."
Kratos let Mimir finish before he lifted the clipboard from the other hand, the same hand that tore gods from their thrones—and now held a clipboard.
He looked at it for a second before speaking, "Bakugo. You were first in the exam. Tell me—how far could you throw a softball before you came here?"
Bakugo, ever confident, smirked. "Sixty-seven meters."
Kratos said nothing at first.
He then hooked Mimir to the front of his hip like one might adjust a weapon before battle. The head bobbed slightly in place, blinking as if settling into a better viewing angle.
Then, without a word, Kratos unclipped a small, rectangular device from his belt.
He turned his eyes to Bakugo—calm, unreadable.
"Use your Quirk," he said, voice like stone grinding against stone. "Do what you must. Just don't leave the circle."
He tossed the ball to Bakugo.
The boy caught it easily, stretching his shoulders with that same cocky fire burning in his eyes. That grin—the grin of a predator—spread across his face as he stepped into the ring.
And then—
BOOM!
A deafening blast echoed across the field as Bakugo launched the ball skyward with an explosion from his palm, smoke trailing behind him like a cannon just fired.
"DIIIIIE!"
Izuku flinched at the yell—half from the sound, half from the memory. Die? He's still yelling that??
The ball disappeared into the clouds, leaving nothing but vapor and awe.
Kratos didn't react much.
He simply lifted the device. The screen blinked to life.
705.2 meters.
Kratos stood still, the setting sun casting long shadows across the training field. His eyes, gold like burning embers, swept across the gathered students.
No rage.
No roar.
Only that iron calm he wielded like a weapon.
Then, in a low and steady voice—like stone grinding against stone, he broke the silence. Quiet, firm, without a shred of theatrics.
"Know your limits."
The words fell like a hammer.
"So you understand what must be broken."
A pause.
No one dared move.
"To go beyond."
The silence that followed was absolute.
No wind.
No breath.
Just those three words… etched into the minds of every student standing there.
...
Despite the earlier tension, a quiet eagerness simmered beneath the students' nerves. Kratos' silent presence—and the looming threat of expulsion—kept chatter to a minimum. But inwardly?
They were buzzing.
Finally, a chance to show what they could really do. And so—the tests began.
Test 1: 50-Meter Dash.
Iida Tenya launched forward with roaring engines, blazing across the track in 3.04 seconds.
Asui Tsuyu followed, tongue snapping and legs coiling, landing a respectable 5.58 seconds.
Bakugo Katsuki exploded down the line with pure fury—4.13 seconds.
Then came Midoriya Izuku.
Running hard. Arms pumping, jaw clenched.
7.02 seconds.
Kratos' gaze didn't waver.
Mimir, hanging from his belt, narrowed his eyes.
"Hm. That the same lad who shattered his bones takin' down a Zero Pointer last week?"
Kratos grunted. "It is."
Mimir blinked slowly. "Then what in Hel's name is he doin'? This is barely above average. He's sandbaggin'. Hidin'."
Kratos didn't reply back and kept observing.
Test 2: Grip Strength.
Shoji Mezo crushed the test without effort. His massive Dupli-Arm wrapped around the bar and squeezed.
540 kg.
Midoriya, jaw tight, white-knuckled the grip tester.
56 kg.
Mimir blinked. "Well… that's not gonna get him through a wooden door, much less a battlefield."
Test 3: Standing Long Jump.
Bakugo cleared the sandbox in a single blast.
Aoyama Yuga used his Navel Laser to boost himself—landing dramatically, then clutching his side in dramatic agony.
Tsuyu leapt with perfect frog precision.
Izuku landed barely past the line.
Kratos' brow furrowed again.
"He is hiding his strength."
Mimir hummed. "Aye… either that, or the poor lad's just not cut for it."
Kratos didn't answer.
But he turned his head—briefly—toward the far end of the training field.
Behind the shadow of the auditorium building… he saw him.
All Might.
Hunched. Watching silently. Arms crossed.
Hiding.
Kratos narrowed his eyes.
He did not understand why the man concealed himself—watching from afar like a ghost haunting his own home—but he chose not to ask.
Not yet.
Test 4: Repeated Side Steps.
Mineta, with his sticky Pop-Off Quirk, bounced like a frantic ping-pong ball between the lines.
Izuku did his best—steady, but unspectacular.
"Another middling result," Mimir muttered. "I don't see a strategy in his movement. He's floundering."
Mimir hung from the belt of Kratos, eyes narrowing as he watched Midoriya stumble through another test.
"Hm… why do you think he's holdin' back so much?"
Kratos didn't look at him.
"Stop playing dumb, Mimir."
The head blinked. Then grinned.
"Heh… so you figured it out too, did you?"
Kratos answered with a low grunt—affirmation through silence.
Mimir chuckled. "Aye… so we're on the same page then."
He turned his gaze back to the green-haired boy as he stood quietly, shoulders sagging.
"From what we read in his file, his powers just… awakened. Out of nowhere. No prior Quirk activity. But what we saw last week—when he punched that Zero Pointer into pieces—it wasn't just power."
Mimir's glowing eyes narrowed slightly.
"It felt… familiar."
Kratos muttered the name like a warning carried on a breath.
"Toshinori."
"Exactly," Mimir said, his voice dropping just a hair. "But the lad's body… it's not built for it. Not yet. That much is clear. That punch didn't just break the robot."
He paused.
"It nearly broke him."
Kratos nodded slowly. Eyes still locked on Midoriya.
"So he hides it."
"Aye…" Mimir echoed, quieter now. "So… he hides it."
The other tests passed quickly—distance run, sit-ups, toe touches. The results were consistent.
Midoriya lagged behind.
And the pressure showed on his face—bit by bit.
Until finally—
Ball Throw.
Uraraka stepped up first, cheery as ever. "Infinity!" she chirped, using her Quirk to nullify the ball's gravity. It soared into the clouds.
The device beeped: ∞.
Mimir chuckled. "Now that's clever. Puts the poor throwers to shame, eh?"
Kratos didn't respond.
His eyes had already shifted—to Midoriya, standing quietly at the edge of the group, shoulders tense.
This was it.
His last chance.
And Kratos watched.
Waiting.