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Saiki Kusuo was born with amazing powers. From the second he took his first breath, the world seemed to warp in his favor and bend to his will. It started simple when he levitated toys to play with, or projected demands for milk into his family’s mind, but quickly the Saikis grew to understand the sheer strength of their little boy.
As a toddler, Kusuo was lifting cars above his head with one hand. From there, his powers appeared and grew at an alarmingly fast rate. His parents, Kuniharu and Kurumi, tried to note them all at first, but after they filled an entire notepad, they gave up after that. They knew realistically the potential their boy held, but above all else, he was their boy, and that was good enough for them.
When it came time to fill out the preliminary quirk form, Kurumi squinted at her son in concentration. She flipped through the old legal pad with his listed talents, looked at Kusuo who was trying to trade his homework for coffee jelly using his newfound apport ability, and back at the notepad. Countless powers, little correlation between any of them. She bit the tip of her pen between her teeth. Her quirk was simple, amplified strength tied with her anger levels. Kuniharu’s quirk was simple, his passive good luck gave him minor but consistent good luck in everyday situations. Her older son Kusuke’s quirk was simple, he could draw fully-fledged blueprints from the craziest of ideas. Simple. The Saikis were all straightforward with their quirks. So Kusuo’s endless arsenal of power was unknown to them.
Unknown.
There was no better way to put it. So that’s what Kurumi wrote down on the quirk form.
Naturally, the school asked for clarification. The doctor asked for clarification. Clubs, events, extended family, everyone asked for clarification, but Kurumi had none. Kusuo’s quirk was unknown, and that was that.
Kusuo knew he had psychic powers, but he just didn’t care to explain that to anyone. His business was his own, and bluntly, it was exhausting to be the center of everyone’s questions.
He just wanted to be average, to blend in and get the eyes off of him. He made it through junior high under the radar, only having to deal with a couple of people who unfortunately regarded him as a friend.
It wasn’t until the last half of his third year in junior high that the topic of high school crossed his mind.
And the minds of every classmate ever.
UA. UA. UA.
UA.
It was all anyone could think of, and for Saiki, it was quite frankly annoying to hear all the time. His germanium telepathy-neutralizing ring wasn’t even an issue, the conversation of the UA entrance exam was the only thing on the tip of every student’s tongue. There was no escape from it. Which meant there was no escape from his classmates dragging him into study sessions or his teachers from pushing every student to give it their best effort.
Before he knew it, and despite his best efforts, Saiki walked into the entrance exam of the most sought after high school in all of Japan.
UA.
Good grief.
The written exam was easy enough for Saiki to get through. A little bit of mind reading to get the average answer, mixed with some classic bullshitting on essay questions and he was left with the perfect, most nondescript answer sheet ever written. So average, he thought, that anyone grading it would be sure to grow bored even before getting to the second page.
Saiki didn’t actually want to be a hero. He knew, theoretically, that his powers could be useful in a multitude of ways for helping society, but the front-facing glitz and glam and flair of the whole career was so vehemently unappealing to him that the job was out of the question entirely.
The only reason Saiki was at the entrance exam in the first place was that it would have been odd, and isolating, for him to not be there given that his middle school had an 100% attendance rate at the exam. He would have been the only one in the entire grade to not be present today, and the thought of standing out like that and having to face a barrage of questions and interrogations made him more sick than having to go take a test on a weekend.
His goal was straightforward. Keep his head low, give it his “all” and come out the other end with a rejection letter held victoriously in his hand.
The next stage was the physical exam. Kids from all across the city changed into gym uniforms and were split into smaller, albeit still large, groups and transported to different arenas on campus.
Saiki was sent to Practice Center A, and when the bus pulled up and the students unloaded, all nerves and jitters, and even Saiki had to hold back honest feelings of awe at the sheer size of the training zone. It was a small city, not unlike the one he was from, and it seemed to sprawl on for blocks. He knew UA had money, but this truly went further than he could have imagined.
The students gathered at the entrance, and a voice explained the rules once again.
Fight robots, get points. Don’t fight the zero-pointer.
Light work. Especially for a psychic who just needed to score worse than sixty percent of the others to fail comfortably and leave this whole mess behind him.
Without any flair at all, the voice, probably the same guy who ran the first test if Saiki remembered correctly, called out over the speaker system. “What are you waiting for? Villains aren’t going to wait for you to get ready, and you only have twenty minutes. Go, go, go!”
With that, everyone took off running. Many kids went to the right, some right down the middle road, and Saiki and a handful of others went left. For the first stretch, the city street was fairly empty. Saiki let some of the more uninhibited students take the first wave of robots. They were gigantic, much like the city. He hoped that their loud and flashy quirks would be distracting enough for his own to slip under the radar. Saiki hadn’t yet decided how he wanted to present his powers. He needed to be very careful to not punch anything hard and risk sending it into the stratosphere, and he definitely couldn’t use telekinesis and display for everyone how much he was holding back.
Saiki approached his first medium level, two-pointer robot. However, before he could make a move, a maniacal shout echoed above him and someone leapt over his head. A blond boy, with spiked hair and bright blasts exploding from his palms cleared the distance and touched down on the ground in front of the robot before powering up again and pressing his palm to the machine’s right leg. Another blast from his hand had the robot’s leg blowing up in an impressively dangerous display of superheated shrapnel.
Saiki shielded his face with his arm as the dust settled. The robot had fallen, the other boy claiming the points that would have been Saiki’s.
Ah. Saiki thought. An aggressive type. How annoying. I can’t imagine he’d make a very popular hero with that attitude or reckless behavior.
Then, for the cherry on top, the other boy with clearly no proper understanding of how close he got to slicing up hypothetical bystanders turned back to Saiki with a scowl.
“Stay out of my way,” he snarled before he took off to the next robot down the street without another word.
Good grief. How does anyone stand to be around this guy? I can’t imagine his thoughts are any more pleasant to hear Saiki thought, glancing wistfully at his prized telepathy-blocking ring.
Turning on his heel and heading the opposite way of the blond, Saiki quickly crossed his eyes and used clairvoyance to locate the nearest robot, up the block and over one street. Time was running out and he needed a few points at least.
Taking a page out of the other guy’s book, Saiki went for the legs. He gripped the weakest appendages of the robot and mangled them with his strength just enough to unceremoniously bring it down. If Saiki had counted correctly, and he did, he needed 27 points to just miss the gen-ed passing score. He had taken his downtime during the written test to analyze everyone’s skillset and figure out what combination of robots he would need to fight to fly under the radar of prospects.
As the minutes ticked by, Saiki did just that. Taking down the exact right amount of machines and leaving behind an unremarkable trail of parts. Everything went off without a hitch, up until the last minute.
Saiki hadn’t been watching where exactly he was geographically compared to everyone, and he wound up near the blond guy again, right in the last remaining minute of time for the exam. Said blond guy was hanging from the top of a three-pointer and blasting it in the face, repeatedly. Eventually, after sustaining too much damage, the robot’s lights, literally, went out, and the thing slowly keeled forward.
The blond student leapt from the back of the green robot and landed sturdily on his feet. But from where Saiki was standing, he couldn’t miss the boy with light blue hair standing directly in the path of the falling machine. The boy, instead of running, began to unwrap a red bandage from around one of his forearms.
What an idiot.
The boy struggled to get the wrapping off, but eventually the red cloth fell to his feet and he lifted his arm as if he could possibly brace against the robot as it crashed down around him. Only it didn’t crash down. Right before it compressed the kid into smithereens, the robot shot back up. Floating.
Saiki stood, now on the rooftop of a nearby building he had quickly teleported to, hand slightly outstretched to hold the robot afloat in the air with telekinesis.
The other students below looked at the blue-haired kid in amazement, congratulating him on his amazing save and quirk. The kid took the compliments in stride, pointing at his own unwrapped hand and waving it around with vigor.
Saiki just sighed.
I really don’t care if he takes the credit, as long as the attention’s not on me.
The kid, who was more than happy to play off the save like it was his own, was still droning on about some “Jet Black Wings” when Saiki made it back to the crowd that had gathered. The test had officially ended sometime during the mess, and people were discussing how it had gone for them.
At least I stayed under the points threshold compared to them, I can call this a successful failure and finally put it all behind me. Perhaps I deserve to treat myself to a coffee jelly thought Saiki as he walked away from UA with a victorious smile ever so slightly gracing his face, both at the thought of his favorite dessert, and the future of a boring life.
From the security feed room where all the UA teachers gathered to monitor the new applicants, Principal Nezu sat perched in his chair, rewinding and rewatching one specific student.
“Look,” he began, beckoning over Ectoplasm and Midnight, “watch the boy with the pink hair and green glasses.”
Nezu pressed play on the video, and the three watched as Saiki took down a one-pointer by compressing its spindly legs. Nezu skipped to another clip, already pulled up, and the three watched as Saiki did it again. Nezu played a third clip and the same action was repeated yet again. And a fourth time, and then a fifth. Nemuri cast a side-eye to Ectoplasm before speaking up.
“Nezu darling, what are we supposed to be seeing here? It’s just some kid doing the bare minimum,” she said.
“Precisely!” the principal exclaimed. “The exact, precise, ideal bare minimum, in fact. Mathematically speaking, there isn’t a more perfect, average score this boy could have gotten or method he could have taken to be so unremarkable. It’s nearly flawless.”
“Nearly?” Ectoplasm questioned, hearing the sly note in Nezu’s voice.
“Nearly.” Nezu confirmed. “Watch.”
He switched again to another clip. This time it was Saiki up against a two-pointer. The security camera tracked Saiki as he darted back from the swinging mechanical tail. As it looped back around to try and hit the boy again, Saiki ducked under it and ended up squarely underneath the flat underbelly of the green robot. Before the robot could make another move, Saiki went for the legs like he always did. However, a flicker of light flashed the second before Saiki’s hands made contact with the metal. The robot tensed and froze before falling like it usually did.
“Was that electricity?” muttered Nemuri, squinting at the scene. “I assumed he had a strength-based quirk. Is it possible he has two?”
“Saiki Kusuo, registered quirk: unknown,” said Nezu in lieu of a response.
“Unknown?” both teachers asked at the same time.
Nezu yet again pulled up another clip, the grand finale of Practice Center A that all the teachers had seen already, the one with the floating robot. This time around, a tuft of pink hair stood out to Midnight and Ectoplasm now that they knew what to look for. While the chaos reigned on, the boy simply disappeared. Gone completely.
“Invisibility?” Ectoplasm wondered aloud.
Nezu grinned wide. “No. Teleportation.” He pressed a button on his remote and a second window opened to show the feed of a different viewpoint, this one pointed at a rooftop that a pink-haired boy just so happened to appear on. The video carried on as the kid raised his hand ever so slightly in a focused effort. At the same time in the original video, the robot rose slowly, steadily.
“Strength, electricity, teleportation, telekinesis, who exactly are you Saiki?” asked Nemuri to the screen.
Nezu answered anyway. “One of UA’s newest hero students.”
A few weeks after the UA entrance exam, Saiki was sitting in class when his middle school principal burst through the door, waving a letter frantically above his head.
“Saiki! Letter for Saiki!” he panted, bending over to gasp for air as he caught his breath. After he composed himself, he handed the envelope over and Saiki outwardly grimaced at the beads of sweat that actively dripped from the principal’s forehead and onto the paper. “It’s from UA!”
The whole class sat up at that, interests piqued.
The envelope was surprisingly heavy, something inside was weighing it down. Saiki’s x-ray sight let him see that it was a metal hologram disc.
“Well go on, open it up,” the principal urged.
Why me? Saiki bemoaned inside his own head, his skin crawling at the awfulness of every eye locked onto him.
With much disdain, Saiki peeled the envelope open and let the contents fall onto his desk. The disc immediately lit up, and a hologram popped to life before his eyes, floating above the desk for everyone to see, unfortunately.
All Might, the number one hero of all of Japan, stared back with his annoyingly big smile. He did a little dance before beginning to talk.
“Hello young Saiki Kusuo! I am here!” All Might began, moving so close to the camera that only his nose and teeth were visible for a second. “I am here to welcome you to the UA hero course,” the hero all but yelled.
What.
The class was in uproar. Everyone crowded closer, cheering for Saiki and yelling, and thinking so loud it made Saiki’s head spin. But for once he couldn’t even begin to care because he was too busy in his own thoughts.
No. Unbelievable, someone must have made a mista-
“This was not a mistake,” All Might said, cutting his thoughts off. “While you scored low on both the written and physical exam, you were personally recommended to the hero program by our very own Principal Nezu!”
Of course. I should have seen this coming, the principal is known for his intelligence and observation skills, I was doomed from the start.
“Congratulations, Saiki Kusuo. See you at UA!” The hologram video turned off, and Saiki was left to face the music.
His principal was quick to shove his face through where the hologram once was, invading Saiki’s space and breathing gross hot air all over him.
“Wow, a PK Academy student… going to UA. I am telling everyone about this,” the principal exclaimed.
Please don’t.
“Everyone in the whole world is going to know you got in, Saiki,” he continued.
So you hate me.
“I’ll call your parents right now and tell them the good news!” The principal was already dialing the Saiki home by the end of his sentence.
Just my luck.
To no surprise, Kurumi and Kuniharu were over the moon at the news. The house had been completely overthrown with balloons and streamers and several cakes by the time Kusuo made it home that afternoon. He took a confetti cannon to the face when he opened the front door.
“Oh Ku, we’re so proud of you, my little boy is going to be a hero,” Kurumi cooed, her voice rising in pitch at every word.
“And when you’re a hero you can be a sponsor for my shoe-licking business, too” Kuniharu nodded as he began to think about all the money and shoes Kusuo could bring in.
“That’s never going to happen,” Kusuo told him.
“Aw man, think about it at least for more than a second at least,” his father responded dejectedly.
“No.”
Later that night, up in his room, Saiki sat at his desk with his head in his hands.
Well I can’t drop out now because everyone already knows I got in, and I’d have to answer questions for the rest of my life about why I didn’t go, so I have to rule that out. Maybe I can flunk out? No, that won’t work either. If I couldn’t pass under the radar in a group of thousands, I definitely can’t do it under much more scrutiny. That damn principal, I bet he’s the one who sent the letter to school too, so now I can’t throw it away or deny I got it.
Saiki groaned.
How inconvenient.
A few months later, Saiki found himself clad in a new school uniform, back where he never wanted to be.
UA.
On his way up the stairs and into the building, he passed by kids taking first-day-of-school photos and grinning from ear to ear. Why? He had no idea. UA was just another school and likely they would be held to higher rigorous standards than any other school, so really they should be frowning. Crying even. He wouldn’t judge.
So there he was, trudging his way to class 1-A where he was doomed to spend the next three years of his life. Right as Saiki reached out to open the door, he was shouldered to the side roughly by someone unfortunately all too familiar.
“Out of my way you pink nerd,” the blond guy from the entrance exam said with a scowl.
What does that even mean?
Said blond man scowled as he entered the classroom, and Saiki followed behind him silently. A few steps into the class, the blond guy stopped suddenly and Saiki walked right into his back.
Seriously, what is this guy’s problem?
“You” he shouts far too loudly for how early it is. “Oi, Deku, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Hi Kacchan,” a green-haired kid says sheepishly, apparently the one at the center of the blond’s attention. “I got into UA, too. Looks like we’re going to be classmates again.”
Kacchan? Deku? Do parents just not love their kids anymore?
The blond, Kacchan, grits his teeth and smoke practically flows from his ears at his evident anger. “No, no way. You cheated. How could you pass the exam if you’re q-”
The green-haired kid, Deku, stands up abruptly, raising his voice and cutting the other off. “I’m going to be a hero too, Kacchan.”
And suddenly, breaking through the telepathic-suppressing ring, Saiki’s mind is filled with the image of a younger version of both Kacchan and Deku, Deku’s arm outstretched to pull the other up from a river.
A grating child’s voice rings out in the memory, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Then quick as it came, Kacchan shakes his head and it’s gone.
“Whatever. I’m going to be the number one hero, so stay in your fucking lane,” Kacchan huffs before taking the seat directly in front of Deku with a scowl.
Saiki stands frozen for another second, thoroughly confused at the recent series of events before moving to take the most inconspicuous seat in the middle of the class. At the same time, another student, tall with glasses, reprimands Kacchan for his language, to which Kacchan scoffs and flips him off.
More classmates continue to pile in, filling up the seats around him. There were some interesting looking people, one had several arms and another was entirely invisible, save for her uniform. Amidst his distraction, two people approached Saiki’s desk, both grinning from ear to ear.
“Hey man, cool hair! I’m Kirishima,” said the first.
“And I’m Kaminari,” interjected the other, “nice to meet you. What’s with the antennas?”
Internally, Saiki groaned, weighing his options.
Great, my biggest headache. Extroverts. I can ignore them, but they don’t seem like the type to give up easily. I can use my biggest weapon, my disgusted face, but I also can’t risk my likability meter shooting down too low on the first day. But if I seem too interested, they might think I like them and try to talk to me, and I can’t have that either.
Alright.
“Hi,” Saiki says, nodding politely.
Tweedledee and Tweedledum side-eye each other briefly in confusion before Kirishima tries again. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.”
You literally have shark teeth.
“What’s your name, bro?” Kirishima asks.
Please leave me alone.
“Saiki.”
There, I said it. Now go away.
“Woah, manly name, man,” Kirishima says, far too enthusiastic for anyone's liking.
And much to Saiki’s distaste, Kaminari slides into the seat right next to him. “Look dude, we’re desk buddies now,” he grins. Kirishima takes the seat behind Kaminari. Saiki tries not to slam his head into the table.
The class fills up pretty quickly, and Saiki quickly realizes how much he underestimated the sociability of hero students. A pink-skinned girl twirls up to slam her hands on his desk, before pointing a finger in his face.
“We match!” she squeals.
Saiki raises an eyebrow at her.
“Our hair, silly. We’re both pink!” She twists a curl around to emphasize her point. “I’m Mina Ashido and I can already tell we are going to be very good friends.”
Saiki looks around for help, but somehow miraculously, Kirishima comes to his rescue by pulling Mina into a conversation of their own and sending a sly thumbs up to Saiki.
This time Saiki really does let his head drop to the table.
Thankfully, before anything else can happen, class begins. It does so in dramatic fashion by the teacher sitting up from the floor and unzipping himself out of his yellow cocoon of a sleeping bag.
“Hello. I’m Shota Aizawa, your teacher.”
The class gasps as if this is somehow shocking to them. As if the only adult already in the room, dressed like a pro hero, would be anything but.
“Right, let’s get to it,” Aizawa deadpans, “put these on and head outside.” From his sleeping bag he pulls a blue training uniform to hold up as an example.
Only a few minutes later, Class 1-A was gathered outside on the training grounds, specifically one that looked like a pitching field, as Aizawa explained the day’s activity– a quirk assessment test.
One girl, a short-haired brunette, spoke up. “But orientation… we’re gonna miss it.”
Aizawa turns to glare at the class, as if what the girl had said was offensive somehow. “If you really want to make the big leagues, you can’t waste time on pointless ceremonies. Here at UA we are not tethered to traditions. That means I get to run my class however I see fit. You've been taking standardized tests all of your lives but you never got to use your quirks in physical exams before. Bakugo, you managed to get the most points on the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance throw with the softball when you were in junior high?”
Ah, so he does have a normal name, Saiki thinks.
Bakugo answers tentatively, “67 meters, I think.”
Ha.
“Right, try doing it with your quirk,” says Aizawa. “Anything goes, just stay in the circle. Go on, you're wasting our time.”
Bakugo steps up to the plate, and his thoughts ring clear in Saiki’s head. “Alright man, you asked for it.” Bakugo smirks to himself. “I’ll add a little heat to my pitch and drop their jaws.”
What is he even going on about.
Bakugo winds up, and with a massive explosion, lets the ball fly.
“All of you need to know your maximum capabilities,” Aizawa begins. “It’s the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero.” He holds up the speedometer. It reads 705.2 meters.
If I used my maximum capabilities, the world would end. Really, I need to be finding my minimum threshold. Saiki thinks, reflecting back on the time he left a crater in the ground after sneezing once.
While the rest of the class shouts in excitement at the prospect of using their quirks unrestrained, Saiki silently dreads it.
Throwing balls is where I have the most trouble masking my power. I’ve never quite gotten a grasp on the right amount of force to use to not send it into orbit.
“So this looks fun, huh? You have three years here to become a hero, you think it's all going to be games and playtime? Idiots. Today you'll compete in 8 physical tests to gauge your potential. Whoever comes in last has none, and will be expelled immediately,” Aizawa reprimands.
Saiki grinned to himself like a kid on Christmas.
This is it, this is my chance. It’s a get out of jail free card on a silver platter.
The first test was a 50 meter dash. Saiki didn’t need to do anything but jog to lose to his opponent.
The second test was one of grip strength. On accident, Saiki sent the meter far too high than anyone else, but he was able to squeeze the device a little harder to get it to revolve all the way around to the start and earn him a better, lower, score.
By the third test, Saiki noticed that he was starting to have some competition for the lowest score. The boy Deku, or apparently Midoryia, from earlier was failing spectacularly. As the kid tried to do the long jump and only succeeded in landing on his ass, Saiki began to resent him.
Damn it, Midoriya. We can’t both suck.
The more activities that passed, the worse Midoriya performed, and the worse Saiki had to one-up him. By the side-to-side steps, Saiki was dragging his feet.
The last test was right where they had started, at the ball-throwing assessment. Midoriya, after some argument with Aizawa, finally made a name for himself. After a boring and dramatic heroic monologue inside his head, Midoriya launched the ball, giving it power from the tips of his pointer finger as it shattered on impact.
YES.
Saiki cringed at his own enthusiasm, even if it was deep within his mind.
Finally, it was his turn. Saiki took the ball from Aizawa and took his spot at the pitcher’s mound.
This has got to work because I don’t have another plan.
He wound up, pulling his wrist up by his ear before letting the ball fly. Only, the second it left his grip, Saiki activated his telekinesis to float the ball a few meters forward. As intended, it landed not very far away.
He felt his likeability meter plummet. For once it didn’t matter.
Victorious, he turned to face Aizawa.
“You must be Saiki Kusuo,” Aizawa said.
Please don’t do it.
“Nezu warned me about you, said you might need some extra motivation,” Aizawa continued. “Try again.” He handed Saiki another ball from his pockets.
Nezu. Goddamit.
Saiki scowled, but took the ball anyway. He went back to the pitching spot and threw the ball, with the aid of his telekinesis a little further this time. When he turned around again, Aizawa already had another ball in his outstretched hand.
“We can do this all day until you actually put in some effort,” Aizawa said.
Saiki could not hate this school and its stupid professors and stupid principals and stupid tests any more than he already did. He sighed, gripped the ball and chucked it. As expected, it vaporized a few meters up when it immediately hit the speed of light.
The class was eerily silent for a second before simultaneously, they burst into rabid chatter. Ooh-ing and aah-ing, and possibly a little fearful, all looking at and talking about Saiki.
There’s nothing I hate more than being the center of attention, and yet here I am, all eyes on me.
To his distaste, they turned their questions for each other onto him, causing Saiki to recoil minutely.
“Manly throw, dude!” Kirishima calls out.
“Woah, Saiki, where have you been hiding that all day?” Kaminari asks at the same time.
But Saiki barely hears them over a muttering ringing through his head. It sounds like Midoriya. His thoughts are spiraling a mile a minute at the implications of Saiki’s quirk, the different uses and skills that it could enhance.
Nevermind, Saiki was annoyed by him again.
Eventually, Aizawa got the class to quiet down and join him to review the leaderboard. Not to his surprise, Midoriya came in last.
That should have been me, Saiki thought begrudgingly.
Midoriya wasn’t expelled. So the whole thing was a pointless ruse and a big waste of time.
Everyone went back to the classroom to pick up their things for the next class, but before Saiki could sneak out, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.
It was Aizawa. “Principal Nezu wants to see you in his office, Saiki. Don’t worry, you’ll be excused from your next class,” he said.
I can’t even be surprised anymore. Fine, I already know there’s no getting out of it.
Saiki nodded unenthusiastically as a confirmation, and Aizawa kept an eye trained on him as he left the classroom.
“Something’s up with that kid,” Aizawa thought, loud and clear for Saiki to hear.
There really isn’t.
Saiki made the light trek to Principal Nezu’s office, knocking lightly on the door when he arrived. Immediately, the door swung open.
“Come in, come in! Greetings, Saiki, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person,” Nezu called cheerfully from his desk, waving a paw in hello.
Saiki dipped his head respectfully in return.
“Please, take a seat,” Nezu said, and Saiki felt nothing but distrust as he pulled out the chair across from where the principal sat.
“Have you been enjoying your first day at UA?” said Nezu cordially.
“What did you want to talk about?” Saiki asked instead of responding.
“So quick to cut to the chase, alas I’m not surprised,” Nezu tutted, “Fine, Saiki Kusuo I believe you are hiding the true nature of your quirk and I would like to know why. As principal it is my duty to uphold the safety and transparency of my students and that cannot happen until we are on the same page. I see true potential in you, but you clearly have ulterior motives and I am curious to know what they are.”
“Why did you recommend me for UA? I had failed both the written and practical exam,” Saiki stated, trying to dodge the impending conversation he would very much rather not have.
“You are a curious case, Saiki. You possess several quirks, do you not? However, you hide them, and you strive for the bare minimum. In fact, I believe you mathematically orchestrated achieving an average score in order to stay under the radar, how very clever. But what I do not yet understand is the why of it all. Most children your age would be flaunting their power, but you actively hide it. So, please, enlighten me,” spoke Nezu, calculatingly calm.
Nothing gets past this guy.
“I don’t want to be a hero and I don’t want attention,” Saiki began to explain.
“Yet, you helped that boy during the entrance exam,” Nezu pointed out.
And now I regret it.
“I barely did anything,” Saiki said.
“You saved his life. That’s not nothing. Like I said, you have true potential within you. Tell me, did you enjoy helping him?”
“No.”
“Let me rephrase. Did you react on instinct?” asked Nezu.
“I guess.”
Nezu leans forward, paws intertwining as he makes direct eye contact. “Then you have the making of a hero, Saiki. Believe me when I say, I do not personally recommend students for no reason. You have the most crucial drive that a hero needs to make the world a safer place, and you have the abilities to back it up. I do not want to see you settle for less when you have the unique opportunity to shine bright.”
“I don’t like and I don’t want attention,” Saiki reiterated.
Nezu looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking up again. “Have you ever considered being an underground hero?”
Saiki paused.
“They’re true heroes, yes, but they are not public-facing. Instead, they operate where they get little credit. Underground heroes are the crucial backbones to society that almost no one hears about. You could use your quirk for good and still avoid fame and publicity entirely. I recommend you ask Aizawa Sensei for more information if this is something you would be interested in pursuing.”
For a moment, Saiki’s entire world rewrote itself in his mind. He had always assumed he would find an average job as a publisher or salaryman, something out of the way and boring, where no one would look twice at him. Perhaps though, there was another option he hadn’t considered, where he could live a more fulfilling life and have no one to know but himself.
Finally he spoke up. “Okay,” Saiki said slowly. “I’ll talk to Aizawa about that.”
Principal Nezu clapped his hands together in a short burst of joy. “How wonderful!” He then moved some papers around on his desk, before seeming to find the one he was looking for. “As for the next course of business, I have a few questions regarding your quirk.”
Saiki’s small smile dropped.
The principal continued on, uncaring. “It says your quirk is listed as ‘unknown’, but I have a feeling there is more to the story.”
“I just didn’t want to list them all or figure out a name for it,” Saiki shrugged.
Nezu looked slightly surprised at that, but pulled himself together. “How many quirks would you say you have, Saiki?”
“I lost track a while ago,” he admitted, before turning around to dig in his backpack. He pulled out a pencil case filled with cheap supplies in it, and dumped them on the desk. He then grabbed a handful of items, mixing and matching until they financially added up to roughly the price of the notepad his mom had first kept track of his psychic quirk on. Without preamble, he apported the materials and passed the notepad to the principal, who was watching on with pure fascination.
Nezu took the pad and flipped through the pages, eyes sparkling with interest with every new word. “I see, perhaps ‘unknown’ was the right descriptor after all. You have a lot of power in your hands, I hope your time at UA will help you to further develop these skills. You may be strong now, but there is always room to grow.”
That’s not the issue. I need to learn to hold back, Saiki thought to himself, biting his tongue. Instead, he nodded as if he was taking the advice to heart.
“Well, I appreciate you taking time out of your day to meet with me. I look forward to watching your progress as the year continues,” Nezu concluded, and Saiki was quick to pick up his stuff and leave as fast as possible, only stopping to briefly bow one more time on his way out.
By the time Saiki made it through the day, he was more exhausted than he had ever been in his life.
At one point he had panicked and teleported to Paris when he overheard Kaminari’s thoughts about asking Saiki to sit with his extroverted group of friends for lunch, and then ended up wandering the city for food to avoid confrontation until it was time for his next class.
When he got home, he teleported once again to his room, foregoing his parent’s incessant questions about his day so that he could bury his head in his pillow and regret every life choice that led to him being here.
Good grief.