Chapter Text
A mighty wind blew night and day
It stole the oak tree’s leaves away
Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark
Until the oak was tired and stark
But still the oak tree held its ground
While other trees fell all around
The weary wind gave up and spoke,
“How can you still be standing Oak?”
The oak tree said, “I know that you
Can break each branch of mine in two
Carry every leaf away
Shake my limbs, and make me sway
But I have roots stretched in the earth
Growing stronger since my birth
You’ll never touch them, for you see
They are the deepest part of me
Until today I wasn’t sure
Of just how much I could endure
But now I’ve found, with thanks to you
I’m stronger than I ever knew!”
~Johnny Ray Ryder Jr.
Six Weeks Ago
“What’s up, UA candidates?!”
Present Mic cupped a hand to his ear, grin wide as he leaned toward the crowd. “Thanks for tunin’ into your school DJ! Come on, lemme hear ya!”
Silence.
Painful, deafening silence.
“…Oookay,” he said, dropping his hand with a laugh. “Keeping it mellow, huh?”
Sachiko glanced around the auditorium from her seat on the far right, arms folded tight as her fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against her bicep.
A blond boy lounged back a few rows ahead, hands laced behind his head, a cocky grin plastered on his face—one wrong move away from kicking his feet onto the desk. A couple rows over, a blue-haired girl with a fancy braid chewed on her lip, eyes darting like she expected the floor to swallow her whole.
At least it’s not just me.
They’d been told on the application that they were to face ten-minute mock battles. The packet they had received went into more detail—too much detail, if you asked her. One page in particular, shaded with ominous villain silhouettes, still made her stomach twist.
The screen behind Present Mic flickered, drawing her attention back.
“After I drop the mic here”—Sachiko couldn’t stop the small smile at the pun—“you’ll head to your assigned battle centre. Sound good?”
She unfolded her arms and grabbed the slip of paper on her desk. Her middle school photo stared back at her, alongside her exam number, time slot, and—most importantly—battle centre.
F.
Great. A forecast of my exam score.
“Okay, okay! Let’s take a look at your targets!” Present Mic continued. “Each battle centre's got three types of faux villains. You’ll rack up points based on their difficulty!”
Pixelated footage filled the screen and Sachiko’s heart dropped straight through the floor.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath in despair. “It is fucking robots!”
Present Mic finished reminding everyone that attacking fellow examinees was strictly un-heroic when a voice cut in.
“Excuse me, sir! I have a question!”
A boy in the middle rows stood sharply, arm raised. A spotlight beamed down as he launched into a formal tirade about their handouts clearly depicting four types of robots, not three—and how shameful it would be if UA had made such a mistake.
The balls on this guy. Seriously.
And as if that weren’t enough, he turned and called out another student for muttering under his breath. Sachiko winced in second-hand mortification as attention snapped to a green-haired boy shrinking into his seat, laughter rippling through the room.
Present Mic waved his hands, unfazed. “Easy, easy! That fourth bot’s a zero-pointer—worth absolutely nothin’! Think of it as an obstacle. Best move? Avoid it!”
The explanation wrapped up, and the auditorium buzzed to life. Papers shuffled. Chairs scraped. One by one, candidates stood and filed toward the rear exits.
Outside, half a dozen buses waited with engines rumbling, each marked with a battle centre designation. The cold air bit at her cheeks as Sachiko scanned the line until her eyes landed on the one stamped with a bold F.
Climbing aboard, she slid into a window seat. The vinyl was stiff beneath her palms, the faint smell of oil and exhaust clinging to the air. Through the glass, she watched the other candidates file in until only a few stragglers remained.
As the doors hissed shut and the bus lurched forward, a guy with eye-searing yellow hair dropped into the seat next to her.
“Hey, uh… mind if I sit here? Everywhere else looks packed.”
Sachiko glanced over at him, "Oh, ah... sure, go ahead."
“Thanks." He replied with a cheeky grin. "Kaminari Denki, by the way. Guess we’re both headed to the big showdown, huh?”
"Sato Sachiko, and showdown is certainly one word for it." She responded with a wry smile.
Kaminari tilted his head, "Why, what word would you use?"
"Slaughter." She grimaced.
Kaminari chuffed out a breath, "Come on, can't be that bad, right? What's your quirk?"
Sachiko shifted in her seat, stalling as she debated whether to tell him. Reluctant but willing, she turned more towards Kaminari with her back to the glass.
“Well…,” she began—briefly noting that his golden eyes matched his hair surprisingly well—“I can sense and influence people's emotions."
He blinked. “Wait, so you can tell what I'm feeling right now?”
She sea-sawed her hand in a so-so motion. “Right now… kind of? It's harder to tell since there’s lot of us so tightly packed together and we’re all high strung. It's like..” Sachiko paused to think of an analogy. “It's like everyone's feeling is a word, and you're all shouting it over the top of each other. Too many people and it's all just white noise.”
She wiggled her fingers in his direction. “It's easy to single people out with touch though, helps me focus.”
Kaminari’s eyes dropped immediately to her wiggling fingers.
“…With touch,” he repeated slowly.
Sachiko instantly froze. “—Not like that.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You absolutely thought something.”
“I always think something!”
She sighed. “It’s not mind reading, I promise. It’s… tuning a radio. Physical contact just turns the dial so the signal’s clearer.”
Kaminari leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, squinting at her like she’d just revealed she was secretly a villain.
“So if you touched me right now,” he said carefully, “you’d know exactly what I’m feeling.”
“More clearly, yeah.”
“And you could, uh… influence it?”
“Within reason. I can’t, like, rewrite your personality or force you to do stuff. Mostly just nudge what’s already there, think of it as the volume buttons on a remote. I can bring down someone’s stress level or ramp up their anxiety for example.”
He stared at her for a beat. “That is terrifying.”
Sachiko winced. “There it is.”
“But also,” he added quickly, eyes lighting up, “kind of amazing? Like—you could calm people down before they freak out. That’s huge.”
She glanced away, shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I try not to use it unless I have to.”
There was a pause. Kaminari rocked forward slightly, curiosity winning out over caution.
“…Hypothetically.”
Sachiko shot him a look. “Kaminari-san.”
“Hypothetically,” he repeated, holding up his hands, “if you touched my arm or something, what would you get?”
She hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yeah! I mean—” He laughed nervously. “I think? Probably?”
“…Okay.” She reached out and lightly tapped two fingers against his wrist.
The effect was immediate.
Sachiko blinked. “Wow.”
“What? What is it?”
“You’re—” She snorted despite herself. “You’re a mess.”
“HEY.”
“Like… excited, nervous, curious, and hungry all at once.”
Kaminari’s mouth fell open. “That’s scarily accurate.”
“And you’re trying really hard not to look cool in front of me,” she added.
He yanked his hand back. “OKAY. UNCALLED FOR.”
She laughed, genuine this time. “See? That’s why I don’t do that often.”
Kaminari rubbed the back of his neck, grinning anyway. “Still. That’s a really good quirk, Sato.”
She blinked. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” he said easily, then smirked. “Plus, if you ever wanted to calm me down before the exam—”
“I think that might be cheating.” She pointed out.
He shrugged, as if to say, what can you do? “Eh, worth a shot.”
Sachiko looked towards the front of the bus. “While you may think my quirk is good, robots couldn't care less.”
He followed her gaze, out to where what appeared to be giant sections of a city not too far away.
“It’d be handy if we were up against people, sure. But robots? About as effective as yelling at a toaster. I'll essentially be running this exam quirkless.”
“…Man,” he muttered. “That sucks.”
Silence.
“Well, now I'm depressed.” Sachiko quipped with a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Enough about me though, what's your quirk?”
Kaminari laughed, "Mine’s Electrification —pretty flashy and super strong, if I do say so myself" he said, looking self-satisfied, before he paused and sheepishly scratched his cheek. "Buuuuut I gotta be careful not to use it with people nearby or overload and short-circuit my brain.”
Sachiko, eyes widened, horrified. "Short-circuit your brain!?"
I'm sorry, what the actual fuck?
"Yeah." He said, oddly blasé. "Overuse my quirk and it turns me into this-" Kaminari's face went dopey and vacant as he gave two thumbs up and a giggle. "Completely fries my brain." At her look, he continued. "It's totally fine, really. I'm always fine after. Just... essentially useless for like an hour."
Sachiko leaned back against the window, not completely pacified, but no longer seconds from dragging him to the hospital and demanding an MRI.
Sachiko gave a light smirk. "I don't know~" she drawled, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I wouldn't call a meat shield useless."
Inner Sachiko however, had her head in her hands to muffle her scream of frustration. Aaaand there I go again ladies and gentlemen, making an inappropriate joke about something that makes me uncomfortable. Why am I like this…?
"Wha-hey!" Kaminari clutched dramatically at his chest. She could see the sparkle in his eyes—he was enjoying the banter.
Oh thank god, I didn't overstep.
The bus stuttered to a stop at a giant gate.
"All right, everyone" the driver boomed. "Welcome to Battle Centre F! Please exit in a single, orderly file." Pulling the parking break, he stood and turned. "Give it your best today, and go Plus Ultra!"
Cheers erupted around her. Kaminari pumped a fist into the air. “Hell yeah!”
Once they were released, he stepped into the aisle and made an over-the-top “ladies first” gesture. Sachiko snorted but accepted.
Outside, the looming gates made her anxiety creep back in.
“Fuck me,” she breathed.
Kaminari's head whipped towards her, grin widening as he lifted a finger at her and inhaled.
"Don't."
He deflated dramatically. “Wasn’t gonna say anything.”
"Uh-huh" she replied, unconvinced.
After a brief silence, Kaminari asked, "Hey, Sato, what's your favourite food?"
"Huh?" The random question threw her. "Uh... anything fried, really."
"Great! There's this amazing tempura place a couple of train stops from here. How about after this you and I-"
"And start!"
Cut off mid-sentence, Kaminari whirled towards the pillar where Present Mic’s voice blasted from. He didn’t need speakers to be heard from anywhere.
"Get moving! There's no countdown in battle, run listeners!"
After a pregnant pause, students surged forward. Sachiko dashed after them, not wanting to be left behind.
Shouting over to a dejected Kaminari, she gave him a thumbs-up "Good luck, Kaminari-san."
He perked up, nodding. "Yeah, you too, Sato! You've got this!" Then he sprinted off—far from anyone else.
Deeper in the testing grounds, surrounded by fake apartment blocks, office buildings and the occasional planted tree, everything devolved fast. Metal crumpled and circuits blew, glass shattered as someone hurled a one-pointer into a building.
"Seventeen points and counting!" a brown-haired kid with large pupils bragged nearby, standing beneath a bent streetlight. When a two-pointer came at him, scorpion-like tail poised ready, he turned and exhaled. The robot crashed into an invisible wall before getting any closer.
Sachiko skidded around a corner of an empty copy of a 7-Eleven, narrowly avoiding flying projectiles courtesy of a boy who turned his body into steel and smashed through a three-pointer like it was made of cardboard.
"Hey, watch it!" she yelled.
“Sorry!” he called back unapologetically, already moving on.
Grinding her teeth, Sachiko pressed herself against a wall, scanning desperately for anything she could take on.
Five minutes later, she still had zero points.
Too many people. Every robot gets picked off before I can get close.
She left the main road and slipped into side streets and alleyways to find somewhere less crowded.
Bent over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath near a park area, she heard squealing tires. She snapped her head up just in time to see a lone one-pointer barrelling toward her.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Dropping to the ground, she scrambled for anything she could use as a weapon. Her hand closed around a long, thin piece of mangled green scrap metal—probably from a robot someone else had trashed.
Heart hammering, she stood just as the robot swung at her. She ducked beneath it and spun as it screeched, turning in a tight circle to charge again.
Pushing off her back foot, Sachiko lunged for the wheel, driving the scrap metal through the spokes. It caught, wrenched itself from her grip and shredded the skin on her hands as the robot tried to keep moving.
She hissed in pain and prepared to make a break for it, until the metal jammed against the robot’s chassis, halting it. The engine screamed as sparks popped and skittered across the asphalt. Then the scrap snapped.
Shrapnel exploded outward.
Sachiko covered her face with a shout.
Peeking through her arms, she saw a small explosion at the robot’s base just before it shot forward uncontrollably and crashed headfirst into a steel support beam. Sachiko watched, disbelieving, as it slumped over, red eye dull. When it stayed down, she exhaled sharply.
“I did it…” she mouthed—then a grin spread across her face. “I—I actually did it!”
She laughed, breathless with relief.
Sachiko didn't get to bask in her victory for long, since that's when it all went to shit.
She felt it before she heard it.
The ground shook in a localised earthquake before concrete and glass exploded, roaring debris down onto the street. Through the dust, the zero-pointer towered over them like a death sentence. Students poured out into the open, screaming, scattering like ants.
Sachiko’s stomach plunged.
She couldn’t fight that.
She turned and ran.
Reaching the main road—the gate finally in sight, though still agonizingly far—Sachiko spotted the blue-haired girl again. The same one from the induction.
She was rooted to the pavement, eyes wide and dull, chest hitching as she stared up at the zero-pointer looming overhead.
Fear clenched in Sachiko’s gut.
She's not going to move!
She swore under her breath and changed course.
“Hey. Hey!” She skidded to a stop in front of her. “Look at me!”
Nothing. The girl didn’t even blink.
Sachiko grabbed her shoulders, fingers digging in. “Name. What’s your name?”
Still nothing—just ragged gasps and the distant thunder of an apartment complex that got significantly shorter, caused the huge mechanical kaiju behind them.
There was no time.
Heart throbbing in her chest, Sachiko reached out with her quirk.
Does this count as ‘attacking’ another examinee? The thought flashed through her mind, hysterical and sharp.
She brushed against the girl’s emotional core—raw panic, fraying at the edges—and carefully, gently, eased the terror back. Not erasing it. Just… softening it. Giving it somewhere to settle.
The girl’s breathing stuttered… then slowed.
“There you go,” Sachiko murmured. “Come on.”
Caramel-coloured eyes finally focused on her.
“Come on, Aoi-san.” Sachiko took her arm and pulled. “We gotta run.”
They broke into a sprint together, the zero-pointer’s shadow stretching long and monstrous behind them.
Ahead, a familiar flash of yellow wandered in useless, meandering circles.
Sachiko sucked in a breath. “Kaminari-san! Kaminari-san—over here!”
Nothing.
He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch.
Her stomach dropped as she remembered.
“Overuse my quirk and it turns me into this—” two thumbs up, vacant grin.
Shit.
Still gripping Aoi’s wrist, Sachiko forced her way through the fleeing crowd until she reached him. Kaminari stood there, thumbs raised, face slack and utterly empty.
Sachiko’s jaw tightened.
He’s not getting out on his own like this.
She shifted her grip. “Can you help me get my friend out of here?” she asked Aoi, already manoeuvring her to Kaminari’s other side.
“I… I c-can help,” Aoi whispered, fingers trembling as she clutched Kaminari’s sleeve.
“Thanks,” Sachiko breathed.
Together, they dragged him toward the starting area—step by step, ground lost inch by inch—until the alarm blared.
The zero-pointer shuddered… then froze, silent.
The threat was gone.
Sachiko finally let go of Kaminari’s arm. Her muscles screamed. Her lungs burned.
And then it hit her.
It was over.
And she’d earned one villain point.
One.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she swallowed hard and turned to Aoi.
“I’m gonna see if I can get myself-” she held her hand and motioned to the cuts, blood and dirt smeared up to her wrists “-and this idiot to a nurse.” She jerked a thumb at Kaminari, brows pulled inwards with worry.
He responded by drooling slightly.
“Do you want to come with us, Aoi-san? Or…?”
“A-Aoi?” the girl echoed faintly.
Sachiko blinked. “Oh—sorry. I didn’t actually get your name earlier.” She gestured awkwardly at her head. “I kinda just… with your hair and all...”
Aoi bit her lip, then bowed quickly. “N-no, that’s my fault. I’m Sorayama Himari. It’s nice to meet you.” She hesitated, then added softly, “And… thank you. For saving me.”
Relief loosened something in Sachiko’s chest. She smiled and bowed back.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Sorayama-san. I’m Sato Sachiko.”
They ended up in a long, slow-moving line of battered examinees funnelled toward a pop-up medical stand where they were told Recovery Girl could see them.
Kaminari shuffled between them like a human paperweight, still locked in his post-overuse stupor.
Sorayama Himari stayed close, shoulders still tense but no longer shaking. Every so often, she glanced back at the gate, like she wasn’t quite convinced the test was over.
When they finally reached the front, a very small, very stern elderly woman peered up.
“Well now,” Recovery Girl said, eyes sharp despite her size. “You three look like you tried to fight a tornado.”
Sachiko straightened reflexively. “Uh—sorry, sensei.”
Recovery Girl hummed and pointed her cane at Kaminari first. “Overuse?”
“Yes, sensei,” Sachiko said. “Electricity.”
“Thought so. Sit him down.”
Two attendants guided Kaminari to a bed. He gave them a sunny, vacant grin. “Wheeyy" he droned.
Recovery Girl smacked his forehead lightly with her cane. “Hush.”
She moved next to Sachiko, eyes flicking over the cuts and grime on her hands.
“And you,” Recovery Girl said as she raised her cane. “Sit.”
Sachiko obeyed, wincing as she did.
With a quick rinse to get rid of the dirt and debris embedded in her skin and a kiss from Recovery Girl, the stinging cuts sealed. The ache in her muscles dulled to a manageable throb. The exhaustion, unfortunately, remained.
“Remember,” Recovery Girl said as she stepped back, “my quirk converts your stamina into healing. You’re not walking out of here ready to run a marathon.”
Sachiko nodded. “I understand.”
Recovery Girl turned to Sorayama next. “And you, dear?”
Sorayama flinched but stepped forward. “I—I think I’m okay. Just… scared.”
Recovery Girl studied her for a moment, then gave a gentler nod. “That’s not something I can fix with a quirk. But you’ll recover.” She patted Sorayama’s shoulder. “Both of you did well.”
The words settled heavier than Sachiko expected.
A few minutes later, Kaminari was declared “medically fine but mentally fried” and sent off with a proctor to wait it out. Sorayama was guided toward the exit with the rest of the examinees, pausing once to bow to Sachiko again.
“Thank you,” she said, quieter this time—but steadier.
Sachiko smiled tiredly. “Anytime. Good luck.”
Then she was alone.
UA’s gates felt different on the way out. Quieter. Like the school was already judging her.
One villain point.
Sachiko shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and exhaled slowly.
The train ride home passed in a blur of reflections in dark windows and the hum of the city. By the time she reached her stop, the adrenaline had fully worn off, leaving only bone-deep fatigue.
Her mother was waiting for her past the genkan when Sachiko finally got home.
“How did it go, Sa-chan?” her mother asked, brown eyes warm.
Sachiko hesitated, shoulders slumping as she toed off her shoes. “It went… not well.”
Her mother paused, watching her for a moment longer than necessary. Then she hummed softly, as if filing the answer away. “Yakisoba for dinner?”
Sachiko peeked up through her auburn hair, grateful for the exit. “With chicken karaage?”
Her mom gave a faux-offended look. “I’m not a heathen, child. Of course.”
Sachiko laughed weakly and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her. “You’re the best, Kaa-chan.”
Her mother squeezed her, firm and warm, projecting all the reassurance she could manage. Then she leaned down and muttered into her hair. “Take a shower before you sit down for food. You stink.”
"Kaa-chan!"
Exactly one week later, the letter arrived.
The UA's crest, stamped in red wax, stood stark against the white envelope. Sachiko sat at the kitchen table with her elbows planted firmly against the wood, staring down at it as she turned it over in her hands. Over and over. Like if she didn’t look directly at it, the answer inside might change.
She needed to know whether the cat was dead, but hadn’t quite worked up the motivation to check the box.
Her dad was at work, having volunteered to cover an early shift at the hospital. Her mother was out catching up with an old friend at a local tea shop. There was no one home to tell her to stop being ridiculous and just open the thing.
Though if her mother were there, Sachiko could give a good guess as to what she'd say.
“Sa-chan, you’re a human, not an ostrich. Stop burying your head in the sand.”
With a long, resigned sigh, Sachiko slid her thumbnail under the wax seal and pried it free. She unfolded the letter, bracing herself for a polite, neatly worded rejection.
Instead, a small disk rested inside the envelope.
“…Huh?”
She tilted it upside down, and the disk slipped out, clattering onto the table. Sachiko leaned closer—
—and Present Mic’s voice exploded into the kitchen as a bright hologram flared to life inches from her face.
“YOOO! Listener! Lemme hear you say HEY!”
Sachiko shrieked and nearly launched herself out of the chair.
The projection carried on, utterly unfazed. “Alright, alright—down to business! You scored one villain point. Oof. Not exactly a knockout!”
Sachiko winced at his blunt delivery.
“But that’s not all we were testin’ ya for!” Mic continued. “Heroics ain’t just about punchin’ bad guys—it’s about savin’ people! And thanks to that, our panel of awesome judges awarded you a whopping twenty-three rescue points!”
…Rescue points?
“Sadly, a total of twenty-four points isn’t enough for the Hero Course—BUT!” Mic threw his arms wide. “Your written exam scores were toppin’ the charts! So raise those hands up, ‘cause UA is proud to welcome you to our General Studies Program! MIC DROP!”
True to his word, he let the microphone fall. The hologram flickered, crackled, and vanished.
Sachiko sat there in stunned silence.
She hadn’t expected anything. Not after how the practical had gone. But there it was—a door cracked open. Not the Hero Course.
…but close enough to dream.
She slumped back in her chair, a dry laugh slipping out of her throat.
Still—
A small, stubborn spark warmed her chest.
Maybe this was the start of something after all.