Chapter Eight — Meeting Class 1-A
The muffled voices inside Class 1‑A drifted through the oversized door, indistinct but energetic. Takeshi stood just outside, hand hovering near the handle. He could hear Iida's voice — unmistakably earnest, unmistakably loud.
"…you realized the true nature of the practical exam!"
Takeshi pushed the door open.
The room was bright and spacious, sunlight pouring through tall windows. Students were scattered around — some seated, some chatting, some nervously fidgeting.
Near the front, Iida was speaking animatedly to a green‑haired boy who looked like he might pass out from sheer embarrassment.
"You must have understood the deeper purpose behind the point system!" Iida declared.
Midoriya flailed slightly. "N‑No, I— I didn't really— I just—"
Both boys turned as Takeshi stepped inside.
Iida straightened. "Ah! Takeshi! Good morning!"
Midoriya blinked rapidly. "O‑Oh! Um— h‑hi!"
Takeshi nodded. "Morning."
Midoriya swallowed, then stepped forward.
"I'm Izuku Midoriya," he said, bowing slightly. "It's nice to see you again. And… thank you. For saving me during the exam."
Takeshi blinked once. "You were in danger. Anyone would've done the same."
Midoriya shook his head. "Still… thank you."
Takeshi accepted the gratitude with a simple nod.
The door slid open again.
"Good morning!"
Uraraka stepped inside, bright and cheerful. She spotted Midoriya first.
"Oh! It's you! The boy who almost fell on his face!"
Midoriya made a strangled noise.
Then she saw Takeshi.
Her face lit up. "Oh! And you're here too! The Dense Guy!"
The room paused.
Takeshi blinked.
Iida sputtered. "U‑Uraraka! That is not an appropriate nickname!"
Uraraka waved her hands. "No! I mean— the way he made himself super heavy and smashed that robot? It was awesome!"
Takeshi exhaled softly. "It's fine."
Uraraka grinned. "See? He gets it!"
As the three continued talking, Takeshi let his gaze sweep the classroom — not out of curiosity, but assessment. These were the people he'd be training beside. Competing with. Learning from.
He took them in one by one, quietly cataloging details.
A blond boy near the back, posture sharp, eyes sharper — like a fuse waiting for a spark. Volatile energy radiated off him.
A boy with split-colored hair, half white, half red, sitting with perfect stillness. His expression was unreadable, distant. Controlled. Cold.
A tall girl with long black hair, elegant posture, notebook already open, pen moving with practiced precision. Prepared before being told to.
A red-haired boy with pointed teeth, laughing loudly with a confidence that felt genuine rather than arrogant. Bright, open presence.
A blond boy with a relaxed grin, leaning back in his chair, chatting easily with a dark-haired boy beside him. Easygoing, maybe too much so.
A boy with tape-like appendages from his elbows, posture casual, expression amused. Quietly observant.
A student with a birdlike head, sitting with disciplined stillness, an air of quiet intensity surrounding him. Solemn.
A girl with frog-like features, calm and steady, watching the room with a level gaze that missed nothing.
A pink-skinned girl with horns, bright and energetic, practically vibrating with excitement.
A girl with short dark hair and earphone jacks, tapping one of them against her desk rhythmically, expression cool and unimpressed.
A boy with a long, muscular tail, sitting upright with disciplined posture. Controlled movements — a martial artist's bearing.
A tall, multi-armed student, silent and imposing, presence more protective than threatening.
A large, gentle-looking boy, hands folded neatly on his desk, eyes soft despite his intimidating size.
A tiny student with a round head, eyes darting nervously, posture tense and jittery.
An empty uniform floating in a seat, sleeves waving animatedly as an invisible girl chatted with the person next to her.
A sparkling blond boy, striking dramatic poses even while seated, radiating confidence — or the need for attention.
Tenya Iida an earnest boy with glasses, structured, intense, determined.
Izuku Midoriya, nervous but attentive, heart practically visible on his sleeve.
Uraraka Ochako a cheerful girl who'd called him "Dense Guy," warm and open, her smile bright enough to soften the room.
And finally…
Himself — the twentieth seat. The outsider. The unknown variable.
A class full of the best Japan had to offer.
Takeshi took a slow breath.
This was the field he'd be measured against.
A faint rustle drew his attention.
Someone was lying inside a yellow sleeping bag at the front of the room.
Takeshi stared.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't acknowledge the class at all.
But Takeshi felt it — a sharp, assessing gaze peeking out from behind the fabric.
A moment later, the zipper slid down.
A tired-looking man with messy black hair and half-lidded eyes emerged like a disgruntled caterpillar.
"Homeroom teacher," he muttered. "Shota Aizawa."
The room fell silent.
"It took you all eight seconds to quiet down," Aizawa said flatly. "That's… not great."
Takeshi straightened instinctively.
"I don't like wasting time," Aizawa continued. "So let's get this over with."
He reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a stack of gym uniforms, tossing them onto a desk.
"Put these on. All of you. We're going outside."
A few students blinked.
"For the Quirk Apprehension Test," Aizawa said. "You're here to become heroes. So, we're going to see what you can actually do."
His gaze swept across the room — and Takeshi felt it land on him for a fraction of a second.
Aizawa didn't wait.
"Get changed," he said, already walking toward the door. "Now."
Takeshi stood, calm and steady.
This was the beginning.
And he was ready.