While some found comfort in the warmth of new friendships, others stood alone — caught between the weight of their choices and the path ahead.
Further down the hall, most of the other recommendation students had already left. The chatter that once filled the waiting area had faded, leaving only the low hum of lights and the muted sound of the wind brushing against the tall glass windows.
At the far end of the corridor, a lone figure stood near the windows — Inasa Yoarashi.
His usually boundless energy seemed distant now, replaced by a quiet stillness as he stared out toward the fading light spilling across the campus.
Footsteps approached from behind.
"You wanted to speak with me?"
Aizawa's voice was calm, even, as always.
Inasa turned, trying to smile but failing.
"Yeah. About my application. I… I don't think I'll be attending U.A."
Aizawa studied him quietly for a few seconds.
"You performed well. Better than most applicants I've seen. Mind telling me why?"
Inasa looked toward the field, eyes shadowed.
"Todoroki. It's him. When I saw his eyes during the race… it was the same look I saw years ago. The same as Endeavor's. Cold. Angry. The kind that looks through people, not at them."
He laughed once, short and hollow.
"I couldn't focus. Not properly. And I realized, I can't study at the same place as someone who looks at others like that. Not again."
Aizawa's gaze softened slightly, though his tone stayed steady.
"You're basing your decision on emotion. That's not very heroic."
"Maybe," Inasa admitted. "But heroes aren't supposed to carry hatred in their eyes. I'd rather train somewhere I can keep my focus, not spend every day feeling like I'm fighting ghosts from the past."
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of wind rustling against the window.
Aizawa finally nodded.
"You're free to make that choice. But remember, running away from what unsettles you doesn't erase it. One day, you'll have to face that kind of person again."
Inasa smiled faintly, bowing deeply.
"Maybe then, I'll be strong enough to handle it. But for now… please withdraw my application."
Aizawa exhaled quietly, pulling out a tablet and typing in a few commands.
"It's done. Good luck, Yoarashi."
"Thank you, sir."
As Aizawa turned to leave, the sound of his footsteps faded into the long hallway.
Inasa remained where he was, eyes fixed on the golden light that filtered through the glass.
The grounds outside shimmered faintly under the setting sun — calm, unchanging, and vast.
"Still," he murmured to himself, "with students like Izumi, Ayaka, Yaoyorozu, and others here… It's a shame I can't attend U.A."
As dusk settled over U.A., the campus grew silent — yet within that silence, the spark of a new generation had already begun to stir.
The path ahead would test them all… but the first steps had already been taken.
***
The lights in the U.A. recording room dimmed as the final recommendation exam data finished compiling.
Dozens of screens flickered to life, displaying highlights from the day's recommendation exams — Izumi's lightning run splitting the air, Ayaka's seamless spatial folds, Todoroki's expanding ice barrage, Inasa's roaring wind bursts, Yaoyorozu's calm strategic precision, Tokage's disassembly agility, and Honenuki's precise terrain control.
Present Mic leaned back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear.
"Now that was a show! Every one of them could headline a hero agency by graduation! Especially those Adachi twins, blink once and you miss them!"
Aizawa stood with arms folded, eyes half-lidded but focused on the playback.
"Raw talent is one thing," he said evenly. "Control and temperament are another."
He rewound Izumi's footage, pausing on the exact frame where the lightning trail tore through the air like a blade.
"Izumi's speed is terrifying. But it's not random, every step was pre-calculated. That kind of precision doesn't come from instinct alone."
Principal Nezu, seated on his elevated platform, chuckled softly, paws folded neatly over the console.
"Quite right, Eraser. His synchronization between quirk output and bodily reaction time is exceptional. But what impressed me more was his mindset. He understands responsibility. Power means nothing to him without purpose. You don't often hear that from someone his age."
All Might — in his deflated form — stood nearby, his hands resting on his hips as he watched the replay with quiet admiration.
"Indeed," he said, voice calm but carrying weight. "That level of discipline at his age is rare. Reminds me of a few pros who never had to shout to command respect."
Present Mic let out a laugh.
"Yeah, calm geniuses all around! Yeah, calm geniuses all around! And his sister — that Ayaka girl — she's got the same look in her eyes. When she talked about empathy and precision, it felt like she'd already mapped out the world in her head."
Aizawa exhaled slowly. Eyes flicking toward another screen showing Ayaka's performance.
"She probably has. Her control's surgical — and she's aware of it. That kind of composure isn't confidence, it's understanding. She knows exactly how much space to take — and how much to leave."
All Might smiled faintly, nostalgia softening his expression.
"It seems Jin and Aoi have been blessed with wonderful children. I remember visiting Jin after he lost his quirk… Young Izumi was already far too mature for his age. Looks like that hasn't changed."
Midnight, dressed casually and leaning against the wall with her arms folded, gave a knowing smile.
"Maturity like that can shape a great hero — or crush one if the pressure builds too fast. Still, we need more students like him. The world needs their kind of potential."
Nezu tilted his head, whiskers twitching thoughtfully.
"Quite so. Between them, Yaoyorozu's analytical brilliance, Todoroki's dual-element power, Tokage's unpredictable versatility, and Honenuki's adaptability… this year's recommendation batch may be one of U.A.'s strongest in decades."
All Might nodded, his tone both proud and serious.
"Then they'll need the kind of guidance only this school can offer. They already have power. What they'll need… is heart. The heart to go beyond — Plus Ultra Style"
Aizawa gave a slow nod, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"It's a shame about Yoarashi Inasa. He had the potential to become a top-rank pro."
Present Mic sighed, scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah, and that kid Todoroki — he's got his old man's power and his temper. If he picks up Endeavor's outlook too, we might have some fireworks before long."
Nezu chuckled, his voice carrying that familiar mix of warmth and mischief.
"Ah, but conflict often shapes greatness, doesn't it? The question is, who among them will learn to bend before they break?"
All Might nodded gravely.
"I agree, Principal Nezu. But that potential can vanish if they hit an insurmountable wall — and lack the will to climb over it… or the strength to stand tall after falling."
As his words faded, everyone's attention turned toward the largest monitor.
The image frozen on the screen showed Izumi Adachi standing at the finish line — lightning still cracking through the dust and debris, eyes steady, composed.
A quiet moment passed. Then Midnight clapped her hands, breaking the tension.
"Well, let's hope Nezu and All Might's right about that one. I expect him to have the sense to show restraint when it matters."
Present Mic chuckled, his tone light again.
"And hey — don't forget, these were just the recommendation students. The real party starts when the entrance exam kicks off!"
Snipe tipped his hat with a low whistle.
"The entrance exam never fails to surprise us. Always a wild card or two."
All Might straightened slightly, smiling with renewed confidence.
"Right you are, Snipe. I have a feeling we'll see even more incredible students this year."
Aizawa tugged his scarf higher, muttering almost to himself,
"This might just be the most interesting year yet."
"WHAT WAS THAT, AIZAWA?!"
All Might's booming voice filled the room, nearly shaking the monitors.
Aizawa winced, deadpan.
"You have way too much energy for a skeleton, All Might."
The room burst into laughter — a brief, welcome break from the tension.
And as the laughter faded, the monitors continued looping the final frame —
Izumi Adachi standing amidst the lightning and dust, a storm contained within human form.
***
The train hummed softly through the late-evening tunnels, lights flickering across the window beside Shoto.
He sat alone, bag resting against his knee, eyes fixed on his faint reflection in the glass.
Outside, the city blurred by — streaks of orange and blue cutting across the darkness.
His mind wasn't still.
He replayed flashes of the day — lightning that moved faster than sound, folded space that erased distance, inventions born from nothing but intellect.
Not envy. Not admiration. Just… observation.
Each of them moved differently. With purpose. With calm.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
He exhaled slowly, watching the glass fog up before clearing again.
"I only needed to pass," he reminded himself quietly. "Winning wasn't the point."
But the words rang hollow even to him.
He'd seen control in Izumi that wasn't cold, power in Ayaka that wasn't cruel, and determination in Momo that wasn't forced.
For a moment, his thoughts paused there — the way she moved through the course replayed once in his mind before fading.
They carried strength without anger — something he couldn't quite understand.
The train shifted as it surfaced above ground, sunlight fading behind the skyline.
For a brief moment, the glow from the window caught both sides of his face — blue and orange light.
He turned away, jaw tightening.
"No," he thought, "not his power."
He closed his eyes, the sound of the train filling the silence.
When the next station's chime echoed, he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"They're all chasing something," he murmured.
"I guess… I am too."
He stepped off the train into the cold evening air — a boy split between fire and ice, walking steadily toward an academy that would force him to face both.
***
In a vast boardroom atop one of Tokyo's tallest towers, the air was calm, heavy, and precise.
Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the city lights, reflected upside down on the polished table surface.
Seven figures sat around it.
Two were physically present, wearing masks split in half — white on one side, black on the other — the symbol of their collective. The remaining five appeared as holographic projections, faintly distorted but unmistakably similar, each wearing the same mask.
Above the table a large holographic projection hovered in silence: footage from U.A. High's recommendation entrance exam.
Izumi Adachi — lightning tearing across the track in a single blinding motion.
Ayaka Adachi — folding through space, step by step.
Momo Yaoyorozu — conjuring machinery mid-air as red motes spiralled around her hands.
Three names. Three heirs.
"Adachi and Yaoyorozu," said a calm, older man.
A quiet exhale followed. "Two of the oldest houses in Japan. And two of the few that have refused every approach we've ever made."
A woman's voice came next — smooth, controlled, and deliberate.
"The Adachi family rejected contact twice. The last response came directly from the previous head."
She tapped the table. An old hand written letter flickered into view.
[Please refrain from contacting my family again]
She looked up. "Those were his exact words."
One of the projected figures — a younger man — chuckled quietly.
A sound that immediately drew stillness around the room.
The older man turned toward him.
"You just inherited your predecessor's seat," he said flatly. "You don't yet understand the Adachi. When they say no, it doesn't mean they're afraid — it means you should be."
The woman added, her tone faintly sharp,
"That letter wasn't a refusal. It was a warning — delivered politely."
No one spoke after that.
Another voice broke the silence.
"And the Yaoyorozu?"
The younger man from before replied. "No response. Not even acknowledgment."
A different voice, clipped and cynical, scoffed.
"Still pretending wealth doesn't equal power?"
"They know what power is," the woman replied, "They simply choose not to exploit it. Which makes them far more dangerous than those who do."
The footage played again — Momo sprinting forward, her constructs forming in a seamless rhythm, her movements efficient and steady.
The older man spoke again, his voice measured.
"And now, the Adachi twins and the Yaoyorozu heir — all enrolling in the same academy. Together. Under Nezu's supervision."
The room grew quiet. A fain hum of disapproval followed.
A rough voice from one of the projections said,
"Of all places… U.A. One of the few institutions that refuse to cooperate with us."
Another voice, colder and more precise, added,
"We control governments, corporations, and hero agencies across continents. But U.A. remains outside our reach."
The older man nodded once.
"It's not just U.A. It's what these families represent. They still follow old values — discipline, principle, loyalty. Values that can't be bought. That's what makes them a threat."
The projection froze.
Izumi mid-stride, lightning coiling around him.
Ayaka, her form shifting through space.
Momo, shooting effortlessly towards the finish line.
The older man continued,
"Three future decision-makers. Three possible allies… or future problems."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Watch them closely. They'll grow strong — and worse, they'll grow influential. And influence we don't control spreads instability."
He gestured. The projections faded until only Izumi's image remained.
A closer projection of his face appeared beside it.
"This boy," the man, his voice calm but firm.
"He'll inherit both the Adachi and Shimizu families. That's power stretching beyond Japand — holdings in finance, research, energy, defence and more. If he consolidates them, that would rival nearby one-third of our global network's reach. And that is excluding the Yaoyorozu."
The room fell silent for several seconds.
The younger man finally asked, "Do we approach them directly?"
"Not yet," the older man replied.
"Their families won't tolerate interference. Retaliation from any of those houses would cripple our operations across Asia — and likely draw attention from those in Europe as well."
He paused.
"For now, find their weak points. Friends, mentors… anyone who prefers comfort over conviction. That's where we start."
The central projection dimmed, leaving only the half-mask emblem glowing above the table — white and black split by a perfect line.
Truth and deceit. Order and chaos.
"Keep your distance," the man said quietly. "For now."
The woman beside him spoke, her voice a blend of calculation and curiosity.
"And what of Shigaraki?"
The man's tone didn't change.
"Let him move as he wishes. All Might wounded him, but men like that don't stay down for long. He's gathering something — a new force. Let's see what he builds."
The woman's eyes glinted behind her mask.
"The Nomu, then. His… toys."
A ripple of quiet amusement moved through the projections.
The older man didn't smile.
"If they can break the old guard while we remain unseen, we'll benefit from the chaos. Let the monsters fight the monsters."
One by one the projections began to fade, until only the two masked figures remained.
The woman leaned back slightly, her reflection glimmering on the glass.
"Three heirs," she murmured, almost to herself. "Three houses that don't play our game."
The man's answer was calm, almost satisfied.
"They will. Sooner or later, everyone with power joins the board."
The lights dimmed fully. Only Tokyo's glow remained beyond the glass – a city pulsing with life and ambition, mirrored across the silent table.
A reminder of the world both sides sought to claim.
***