Chapter Text
Pro-hero life wasn't something you were unfamiliar with. You'd lived in the spotlight for longer than you could remember. It was just something that came with the title. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn't mind the media or even the long and stressful hours your parents worked. The scariest part about the whole thing was having to live up to your parents' expectations.
"Alright, hit me again," your father called, widening his stance. Tears trailed down your face and your legs shook underneath you.
" I can't!" You called to him, your runny nose blurring your words, "I'm so tired!"
He relaxed, kneeling down to pull you close, "Then, let's take a break! You have all the time in the world to become the number one hero I know you'll be!"
Your parents had never been cruel to you. They supported you in almost everything you did. Almost. They wanted nothing more for you than to follow in their footsteps. To become a pro-hero like the both of them.
And you wanted nothing more than to live up to those expectations. No matter what it took. No matter how many stupid training sessions you had or how many private tutors it took for you to get your grades up. You would succeed. Even if you were only doing it for them.
"What are you up to, love?" your mother stood behind you, stroking your hair gently. You turned from your computer, pulling out an earbud.
"I was just mixing a song," You smiled up at her, closing the lid of your laptop slightly, "Nothing too important,"
She cocked her head at you, "It's time for you to train, that's what's important,"
You pursed your lips, nodding, "Yeah, of course,"
You didn't dislike training. Spending time with your parents was always appreciated. More often than not, they'd be out for days at a time, leaving you to fend for yourself. When they trained with you, they gave you their undivided attention, but that was rarer than you liked. At least you were strong. Stronger than your peers.
But now middle school was over, and you were stuck not only going to a new school, but a new school in a new country. There were so many unknowns, it was almost frightening.
You slammed your hands on the dinner table, your chair sliding out from under you, "This isn't fair! I don't want to go!"
Your father pinched the bridge of his nose, your mother sighing heavily, "It'll be good for you,"
Your father looked up from his plate, chipping in, "U.A. spits out heroes like it's no one's business. It's for your future,"
You felt tears well in your eyes, "But my future's here! I don't see why I have to go somewhere else!"
"You're already in on recommendation," You mother's voice was firm, "You're going,"
The tears that had been threatening to spill finally took their dive, "Do you want to get rid of me that badly?"
" What, no-"
A sob wracked your chest, "You're going to send me halfway across the world, and I'm not gonna see either of you!"
"Honey, no that's not our intent, this is for you!" Your mother reached out for you but you pulled back, clutching your hands to your chest. Your chest tightened and you felt like you could barely breathe. Regardless of the school's status, you didn't want to go. There were plenty of great hero schools in the U.S., why did they feel the need to send you away?
"That is enough," Your father stood from the table, plate in hand, "There will be no further discussion about this."
So there you stood, the tall walls and heavyset gate of U.A. towering above you. It would've been a lie to say you weren't intimidated. Tugging on your skirt and holding your breath, you crossed the threshold. Surprisingly, your world didn't implode when you did so. You sighed, clutching onto your backpack. This was going to be interesting.
The school was huge. You had a hard time navigating. All of the walls looked the same and you couldn't be sure that you weren't lost. You at least knew you were on the right floor, the numbered rooms relayed that much. Looking down at your phone, you mentally confirmed the room you were looking for. Now all you needed to do was to find it.
Nose down in your phone, you didn't register the shock of blonde hair heading your direction. You set off towards what you guessed to be your destination, walking directly into the path of a certain angry blonde. He pushed past you harshly, knocking you to the ground, "Out of my way, beanpole,"
You sat there for a moment, watching him pass. You felt your eyes begin to water and it took all the willpower you had to keep the tears from falling. You pushed yourself to your feet, collecting your belongings. Man, that couldn't have gone any better.
You took a deep breath, pushing back the tears. It seemed that boy knew where he was going; your best chance of finding your destination appeared to be with him. You broke into a jog, searching your brain for the right thing to say, "Hey! Wait up!"
The boy slowed to a stop, and turned slowly. The snarl on his face was enough to make a grown man quiver in his boots. You did your best to hide your fear, extending a hand, " Nice to meet you! I'm (Y/N) (L/N),"
He looked down at your hand, letting it sit in the air, "What do you want, nerd?"
You laughed nervously, taking your extended hand to now run through your hair, "I was just wondering if you knew where class 1-A was?"
He scoffed at you, turning once more and continuing on his path. You couldn't help but deflate. Well, that was the last time you'd ask for help. Wasted on some rude brat who wouldn't even help you out. You kicked nervously at the ground, defeated.
"What are you doing, idiot?" He called, not bothering to turn to face you again.
"What do you mean?" you called back.
"You want to get to class 1-A?" He stopped for a second and you perked up, "Follow me."
You couldn't help the smile that grew across your face, and you bolted to his side, "Thank you so much!"
He didn't acknowledge your thanks. He just rolled his eyes and called you a loser.
--
The heavy door loomed in front of you. The nameless boy who'd walked with you had entered the class without as much as a look in your direction. You, however, were stuck in your tracks. This was it. If you walked through that door, you'd be admitting defeat. Your parents' plan for you would be set into stone. You gulped, sweat beading on your brow. You couldn't go back. As much as you hated it, this would help you become a pro-hero, just as your parents wanted.
And with that, you pushed open the heavy door, expecting to come face to face with your whole class. Instead, the room was quiet. The only other student in the room was the boy from earlier, who sat with his feet propped up on his desk on the far side of the room. You checked your phone. Damn, you were really early.
You cleared your throat, looking for a place to sit. You had your fair share of options, all but one of the desks being occupied. You sighed, disappointed with yourself. Now was not the best time to be indecisive. On one hand, if you sat in the back, the likelihood that people would talk to you would be less. On the other, being in the front would give you a better view of the board. Your kanji reading skills aren't what they should've been, afterall. There was no way you'd sit in the middle, it was practically guaranteed to be noisy and you weren't one to draw attention to yourself.
The boy from before - still nameless - scoffed as you set your bag down on the desk in front of him. He didn't seem all that horrible, if only a tad ill-mannered. It seemed that more likely than not, he wouldn't strike up a conversation with you. That was a win.
Despite not particularly wanting to talk, you felt the need to thank him again. You turned in your seat, jumping slightly as his bright crimson-red eyes met yours. Your mouth felt dry. He was just as intimidating as before. As you struggled to get your words out he rolled his eyes at you again, "Do you have a staring problem, string bean?"
"Ah, no! I just wanted to say thank you again for your help," your words escaped you quickly, and your cheeks grew warm from embarrassment.
The boy sat up, dropping his feet to the floor, "Look, it's not a big deal, you can stop thanking me,"
You scratched the back of you head, looking away, "I know, I just feel like a bit of an idiot for getting lost already,"
"Maybe it's because you're an idiot," he retorted, "I'm Katsuki Bakugo,"
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Katsuki," You said, giving him a small smile. He frowned, looking at you suspiciously. The smile fell from your face, "Did I say something wrong?"
"What makes you think you can use my first name, idiot?"
Realization dawned on you, and you threw your hands up in social surrender,"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it offensively!" Pausing for a second you continued, "We don't really use last names in America,"
No insult came this time. In fact, he said nothing. Instead, he threw his feet back up on his desk and ignored you. Your luck with today kept getting better and better.
Whilst the two of you sat in silence, the other students slowly began to trickle in. It was an interesting bunch, to be sure.
There was a flash of pink hair, the swish of a tail against the floor, a jolt of static. A few students stuck out to you. A large boy - with more than the average number of arms - sat besides you. He said nothing. The girl behind him seemed like someone you might've wanted to befriend. Sadly, she didn't even glance your way. Another student walked through the door, his red hair spiked upwards. He caught your gaze and smiled, waving at you enthusiastically. You flushed almost as red as his hair, waving back nervously. For a second you thought he might approach you, but instead he leaned up on the desk of the pink girl near the door. Not that you had been making an effort, but it seemed at this rate, no one would want to befriend you.
You put your head down on your desk, trying to shut out the voices around you. You debated sleeping for a moment, still slightly groggy from your early morning. Sleep seemed like a good option. That was until someone finally approached your desk. Well. Not yours. Bakugo's.
You lifted your head, looking over your shoulder curiously. Looming over Bakugo's desk was a tall boy, whose dark blue hair swept severely across his face. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he barked angrily at the borderline delinquent behind you.
"Don't put your feet on the desk!" You rolled your eyes. You had been familiar enough with the teacher's pets, but you didn't want to believe they'd be an issue before the day'd even begun. "Don't you think that's rude to the U.A. upperclassmen? And the people who made the desk?"
"Nope," Bakugo sneered, "What junior high did you go to, you side character?"
With that, you couldn't hold in your laughter any longer. What was this guy's deal? Though you had to admit, it was pretty funny when you weren't on the receiving end. At the sound of your laughter, Bakugo kicked the back of your chair. You jerked forward with a yelp. God, he was such an ass.
The tall boy glanced at you quickly before turning his attention back to Bakugo. He held out a hand - like you had done before - -and introduced himself as Tenya Iida.
Instead of taking his hand, Bakugo sneered once more, insulting Iida's private school, "So you're some damn elite? Looks like I'll have fun crushing you!"
Iida quickly retracted his outstretched hand, jumping back, "That's cruel! Do you truly aim to be a hero?"
Bakugo scoffed and rolled his eyes. But where he retracted from conversation, you tried to insert yourself. You gently tugged on his sleeve, getting him to turn your direction, "It's nice to meet you, Tenya Iida!"
He turned your direction, the grimace on his face slowly becoming a soft smile. He took your outstretched hand, "It's nice to meet you as well. Who would you be?"
You shook his hand firmly, a genuine smile playing across your features, "I'm (Y/N) (L/N)! You can just call me (Y/N) though,"
As he was about to respond, his attention - and Bakugo's as well - were drawn to the boy standing in the door. He muttered something in the boy's direction, now everyone in the class staring his way.
He looked about as scared as you felt, but you wondered why. He'd gotten in off of his test results, so surely he deserved to be here like the rest of them. He wasn't especially striking, with green curly hair and a light dappling of freckles across his cheeks. You weren't striking either, so you almost found comfort in his appearance. You decided then that he would be your friend.
He looked so nervous, even more so when Iida abandoned your desk and raced over. He forcefully introduced himself to the green-haired boy, who threw his hands in the air and interrupted, "I heard!"
You smiled at his bravery, "I'm Midoriya. Nice to meet you, Iida-kun!"
You wanted to stand to introduce yourself to the boy, his nature so similar to your own that you felt a sort of kinship to him. But as Iida and the Midoriya began to chat about the exam, you felt it wasn't your place to talk.
Sooner rather than later, your teacher emerged from what you could only describe as a yellow cocoon. You recognized him before he'd introduced himself. Eraserhead.
You'd remembered meeting him once at a pro-hero function your parents had dragged you along to. You admired him. Not only was his quirk super cool, but he did things differently. He did things his way. When you became a hero, you wanted to be like him.
You did have to admit, he was a little weird. And a little short on words. As such, he demanded that everyone put on their gym uniforms and head outside.
--
You kicked at the dirt below you, dust flying around you. You figured a quirk examination was due anyways. Aizawa was bound to know your quirk, but that was all unofficial anyways. It was time to show what you could do, despite your internal bitching.
Besides, this was just like P.E. back home, right? Just P.E. with potentially dangerous quirks and 19 egotistical teenagers. Should be fun!
It seemed Aizawa was complaining about the lack of quirk usage in official national statistics. You'd kind of zoned out since walking outside. Not that you didn't care, but Japan's national statistics just weren't important to your future. Back home, national averages were calculated using quirk data. It sucked for people without one, but that's how your country worked. It wasn't fair, it never had been. One thing he said did catch your attention though.
"Bakugo, you finished at the top of the practical exam, right?"
A hothead like him? Top of the exam? Yeah, sure. You doubted he had a naturally heroic bone in his body. Still, you weren't sure how the exam was scored, so maybe he was just the biggest prick (as many Pro-Heroes you'd met were).
The boy looked up at Aizawa, only barely respondent, "In junior high, what was your best score in the baseball throw?"
"67 meters,"
Your face flushed as your classmates glanced at you counting on your fingers. It's not your fault the American Education System doesn't teach the metric system. Even without his quirk 200-something feet was super impressive on it's own.
"Now try it using your quirk,"
You stood in one of the adjacent chalk circles. Bakugo stood, and you wondered about his quirk. His appearance didn't seem to reveal it. You bit at your thumbnail as he prepared for his throw.
He stretched and as he posed to throw a loud boom sounded from inside the circle. With a fiery explosion, the ball essentially rocket it into orbit.
You took it back. Everything about his appearance screamed his quirk. The baseball fell from the sky, Aizawa's screen reading 705.2 m. Shit. Very impressive.
Attention fell back on Aizawa as he spoke, "Alright, Whoever comes in last place in all eight tests will be judged to have no potential and faced with expulsion,"
Fuck.