The air was crisp with spring.
Sunlight peeked through the window slats, striping the futon where Jura lay still, staring at the ceiling.
A breath.
Then another.
He sat up, the blanket falling from his shoulders, muscles shifting beneath his shirt as he rolled his neck loose. The quiet hum of a home getting ready filled the Midoriya apartment. Pots clattered faintly in the kitchen. Pipes groaned behind the bathroom door.
Jura grabbed a towel and made his way to the sink.
Toothbrush. Cold water. Mint foam.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, foamy paste clinging to his mouth, and let his thoughts wander.
Ten months.
Ten months since he woke up in a body that wasn't quite his own, in a world where strength was law, and destiny played favorites. He'd trained, endured, even thrived. But still—he was an anomaly. A ghost among stories.
And now, somehow, he was about to take an official exam for the most prestigious hero school in Japan.
"All Might really went all-in…" Jura muttered through his toothpaste. "Forged documents, fake transcripts, even a student record with fake transfer papers. Guess even the Symbol of Peace knows how to bend the system."
He spat and rinsed. Then turned to the bundle neatly folded on the nearby chair.
A black and yellow training jumpsuit, stitched with reinforced seams and stretch panels. Inko had gifted it to him two nights ago, smiling nervously as she'd held it out like she was afraid he'd reject it.
"It's not much," she'd said, "but you boys should match, right?"
Now, Jura tugged it on, fitting snug but flexible. Simple, but striking. Yellow tracing along the arms and chest like lightning veins, the rest jet-black.
Matching Midoriya, huh? he thought with a faint smile. Yeah. Guess that's what we are now.
He leaned on the door frame.
"Hey," he called into the bathroom, smirking. "You planning on defeating the entrance exam with soap? Or are we actually gonna make it on time?"
The door finally creaked open.
Izuku stumbled out, hair damp, tugging on his green jumpsuit in a hurry. He was hopping on one foot while trying to jam the other into his signature red sneakers.
"Sorry sorry sorry—!" he laughed, still breathless. "I had to… strategize my… conditioner?"
Jura stared.
Then smirked. "Right. That's what took you twenty minutes?"
"Shut up," Izuku muttered, chuckling. "It's a very sensitive process."
The train ride was quiet. Tense. Izuku bounced his leg nervously. Jura leaned back with his arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but alert.
When they finally arrived, and the U.A. gates came into view, Izuku froze mid-step.
Jura followed his gaze—and stopped.
The school towered above them. Gleaming glass and steel, curved towers rising like monuments to ambition. A place built by greatness, for greatness.
And for the first time in a while, Jura understood why Izuku had always looked up.
It wasn't just a school.
It was a threshold.
"…This place is insane," Jura muttered.
"I know, right?" Izuku breathed, wide-eyed. "It looks like something out of a pro hero anime! And that main hall—it's shaped like a zero. You know, 'zero to hero' symbolism—!"
WHAM.
A sharp shove from behind knocked both boys forward.
Jura caught himself instantly. Izuku nearly tripped—but was steadied just in time.
"Tch. Outta my way, extras."
They turned.
Katsuki Bakugo, hands in pockets, sneer on his face, scowled at them like they'd personally offended his bloodline.
"Deku," he spat, glaring at Izuku. "And you—mop head."
Jura raised an eyebrow. "That the best you've got? Might want to pace yourself. The written portion hasn't even started."
Bakugo shoved past them, barking: "Try not to trip over your failures."
And right on cue—
Izuku did trip.
He flailed with a yelp—
And never hit the ground.
"Gotcha!"
A hand caught his chest gently, fingertips glowing with a faint, soft shimmer.
Izuku blinked.
A girl stood before him, short and slender, her frame balanced perfectly even as she tilted slightly to compensate for catching him. She had auburn hair, cut bob-short with two soft strands framing her round face. Her eyes were wide, pink-cheeked, lashes long and fluttery.
"Oh!" she gasped. "Sorry—almost missed you there!"
Izuku floated. Literally. His feet dangled off the ground as if gravity had temporarily lost interest.
He panicked. "Wha—?! I—am I—?!"
She touched her fingers together. "Release."
He dropped gently onto both feet.
She bowed. "Sorry about that! My quirk activates through my finger pads. I didn't mean to startle you."
Izuku opened his mouth.
And malfunctioned.
"I—uh—th-that—me—uh—I mean, thank you—name—uh—"
She giggled. "You're funny."
Then smiled wide.
"Good luck today!"
She turned and jogged toward the main entrance, backpack bouncing slightly behind her.
Izuku stood frozen in place, cheeks tomato-red.
Jura leaned in, grinning. "Wow."
Izuku didn't move.
"She touched your chest and now your heart stopped. Should I call Recovery Girl or…?"
Izuku finally blinked.
"She was so nice…"
Jura laughed and draped an arm over his shoulder.
"C'mon, lover boy. Let's go pass an exam."
The room buzzed with quiet pressure.
Over a hundred students sat at evenly spaced desks, each hunched over their papers with sharpened pencils and sharp eyes. Some had sweat beading down their foreheads. Others tapped their feet anxiously under the table.
Jura, however, sat perfectly still.
Eyes calm.
Elbow resting on the desk, pencil twirling in practiced rhythm as he skimmed through the multiple-choice section like a calm predator stalking prey.
Physics, math, ethics, hero law… he thought. Not bad. Not easy, but manageable. The wording's tricky, but the logic's consistent. Definitely designed to weed out bluffers.
From a row over, Izuku's paper rustled as he scribbled furiously, mouth whispering softly to himself.
"Section four, question seven… if the hero fails to act during a disaster rescue situation due to hesitation caused by legal ambiguity, would liability fall under—"
"Midoriya," Jura said, barely audible, "whispering doesn't give you a buff."
Izuku flinched, then gave him a sheepish thumbs-up.
Jura smirked and kept writing.
After the exam, the students were shuffled into a massive orientation hall with tall glass walls and an elevated stage. Screens flickered to life as a familiar figure strutted across the platform.
"YEEAAAAAH! What's up, little listeners! Ready to CRANK UP THE VOLUME!?"
Students blinked in confusion. Others winced from the sheer sound of it.
"Welcome to the practical portion of the U.A. Entrance Exam!" Present Mic shouted, arms thrown wide. His massive headphones gleamed under the lights, and his directional speaker collar vibrated faintly with each word.
He struck a pose. His sunglasses reflected the glow of the screen behind him.
"Here's the lowdown! You'll be dropped into a replica urban battleground. Ten minutes on the clock. Your mission? Smash, bash, and CRASH villain bots! Gain points! Score high!"
The screen changed to show blueprints of several different types of robotic villains.
"Robots have point values! One-pointers are your grunts—lightweights, easy cleanup. Two-pointers? A little tougher. Three-pointers? They pack a punch!"
Excitement murmured through the room.
"Remember! Fighting each other is against the rules! Do so, and you're OUT faster than my mixtape in the 90s!"
Some students chuckled.
But one didn't.
A loud voice suddenly cut in.
"Excuse me!"
Heads turned toward the voice—belonging to a tall, broad-shouldered teen with a neat, short navy-blue haircut and a face so intense it could scare a fire into extinguishing itself.
He adjusted his square-rimmed glasses with sharp precision.
"You failed to mention the zero-point robot! And furthermore, that green-haired student in the third row has been mumbling nonstop—it's disrupting the focus of the entire room!"
Izuku nearly choked on his own panic. His eyes darted to the floor, cheeks flushed crimson.
Before anyone could speak—
Jura slowly stood up, stretching with dramatic exaggeration.
"Oh no," he said dryly. "How dare he think out loud in a room full of literal superpowered teenagers. What a menace. Let's expel him now and spare ourselves the horrors of multitasking."
A few students snorted. Someone tried to stifle a laugh.
The blue-haired student stiffened, clearly unimpressed. "Sarcasm is not a substitute for order."
Jura smiled lazily. "Neither is yelling at someone in the middle of a presentation, buddy."
Even Present Mic chuckled.
"ALRIGHT, alright! Let's cool the volume and stay in harmony!" he said, spinning his mic around like a lasso. "To answer your question—YES! There is a Zero Pointer!"
The screen flickered again to reveal a colossal machine—the size of a five-story building.
"Zero points. Big body. Massive pain. Don't fight it unless you've got a death wish—or a boulder-sized brain. Our advice: avoid it at all costs!"
Students nodded nervously.
Present Mic grinned. "You've all been randomly assigned to different battle zones. Your goal—get as many points as possible before the timer ends!"
Students spilled out into different loading bays. Izuku fidgeted as he glanced at his assignment card.
"Battle Zone A…" he muttered, before looking at Jura. "What about you?"
"Zone C," Jura said, scanning his own card.
They locked eyes.
Something in both their postures shifted—half serious, half competitive.
"First place?" Jura said, raising an eyebrow.
Izuku grinned, electricity flickering lightly off his shoulders. "You're on."
They bumped fists once—then split off toward their separate buses.
The bus hummed softly as it weaved through the forest roads outside U.A. proper. Jura sat near the back, arms crossed, eyes narrowed slightly as the other students around him whispered and fidgeted in nervous anticipation.
They're actually transporting us by bus to each zone… Individually mapped, multiple replica cities… Just how much money does U.A. pour into this place?
He shook the thought off.
Not important.
Focus on the mission. I don't need to be flashy. Just efficient. Maximize mobility, go for clean takedowns. Conserve energy. Don't open any gates unless I absolutely have to.
As the bus pulled to a slow stop in front of a towering steel gate marked Zone C, Jura stood and cracked his neck with a quiet pop.
He stepped off with the others, the cold wind brushing past his black-and-yellow jumpsuit. The "city" in front of him looked eerily real—cracked pavement, flickering signs, stacked apartments, faux rubble carefully arranged like a disaster waiting to happen.
Jura found an open space near a pillar and dropped into a slow, deliberate stretching routine—starting from the shoulders down. Smooth, practiced, meditative. A controlled exhale with each extension.
That's when he heard her voice.
"Hey, mop-head—what are you, a ninja or something?"
Jura tilted his head slightly without looking up. A girl stood a few meters away, hands on her hips, smirking. She had fluffy, slightly wild pink hair, tiny horns, and sharp golden eyes with black sclera. Her pink skin caught the sunlight like polished stone.
Her athletic form was almost feline in posture—relaxed, confident, like she was always ready to bounce.
Jura blinked once, slow.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
She laughed. "Didn't say it was. Just didn't expect someone to be so serious before the test even started."
He finished his last stretch, rising to his full height. "Stretch now, sprint later."
"Oooh, deep," she teased, walking closer. "What's next? 'Pain is temporary, but cringe is eternal?'"
He let out a small smirk. "I save that one for second rounds."
That made her chuckle—loud and unbothered. "I like you already, mystery guy."
She stuck out a hand. "Name's Ashido. Mina Ashido."
Jura glanced at her hand, then shook it—brief, firm. "Jura. No last name."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mysterious and intense. You're really committing to the 'tall-dark-and-broody transfer student' thing, huh?"
"I wasn't aware it was a thing."
"It is now," she said with a wink. "You've got a whole vibe going on. Watch out or people might start writing fanfiction about you."
Jura stared at her blankly for a second.
Then: "…People are terrifying."
Mina grinned. "Facts."
They were interrupted by a loud, mechanical hiss from the massive steel gate, which began to rise with slow, echoing finality.
Above them, speakers crackled to life.
"BEGIN!"
Without hesitation, the students started rushing forward.
Jura rolled his shoulders once, then glanced at Mina.
"Try to keep up."
She blinked. "Oh? Confident."
He smirked. "Just being polite."
Then he took off—no Gates, no flash—just fluid motion and lethal focus, vanishing between the buildings before the first explosion rocked the zone.
Mina whistled.
"Oh yeah," she said to herself, already following with a skip in her step. "He's interesting."