能ある鷹は爪を隠す。

Nō aru taka wa tsume wo kakusu.

Hide your supposed knowledge and prowess until it is requested.

I ran down the school hallway frantically, scanning every door. My waist-long braids flew behind me as I zoomed across the top floor of the school, checking the signs hung over every classroom doorway. The bell had already rung, and I was very, very late. Finally noticing a sign all the way down the hall, reading "1-A", I sighed in relief. I skidded to a stop in front of the plain grey door, gasping for air. My cheeks were flushed from exertion, and my uniform was in disarray.

Patting down my black, mid-thigh length skirt and straightening my uniform grey jacket, I opened the door. Every eye in the class was focused on me instantly. I blushed in embarrassment, hurrying across the front of the classroom, where a familiarly scruffy man was standing, holding up at blue and white gym uniform.

"M-Mister Aizawa," I whispered, ducking my head to hide behind my bangs. I held out a shaking a hand, clasping a crumpled note. "R-Recovery Girl w-wanted m-my help in th-the nurses' office." I explained quietly, desperately trying to ignore the prying eyes of my new classmates.

Mister Aizawa snatched the note from my hand, reading the pink-slip of paper quickly. He then crunched it into a ball and casually tossed it into the trash can next to his desk. "Alright then," he said. "I've been waiting for you anyways. We're going out to the athletics field," he handed me the gym uniform in his hands, along with the clipboard on his desk. "Kurosaki, you're in charge." I gulped, clutching the clip board to my chest as the other students gasped, examining me curiously.

One kid, who had bright yellow hair with a black streak, whispered to his seatmate, "Is she a teachers' assistant or something?" I blushed in humiliation, hiding my face behind the clipboard.

Mister Aizawa, undeterred, simply started towards the door. "Let's get going," he urged apathetically. "If you take longer than twenty minutes to change and get to the field, I'm dropping you from the course," he turned around, smiling garishly with dead eyes, and held up a sleek black device. On the screen, I could see a timer reading 19:58. "The timer's already started."

I gaped at him, as the other students jumped to their feet, rushing out the door. I watched them zoom by, narrowly avoiding being knocked over by the hurrying crowd. After most of them had cleared out, I tip-toed forward timidly. Mister Aizawa was still standing outside the classroom, observing the last of the students run away.

I narrowed my eyes at him sternly. "Mister Ai-Aizawa," I stammered, crossing my arms. "Th-the athletics f-field is only f-five m-minutes f-from here max. Y-you just made th-them all panic over n-nothing."

Mister Aizawa shrugged, canceling the timer and pocketing the device. "It's a rational deception," he excused, before adding pointedly. "Now they definitely won't be late." I blushed, clenching my fists.

"M-Mister Ai-Aizawa! Th-there was an e-emergency! O-one of th-the support department's m-machines m-malfunctioned, and several s-students w-were injured!" I informed him, outraged. "A-and anyways, I'm r-running your t-test, s-so don't be m-mean!" I spun around, storming down the hall, stomping as I went.

I reached the girl's locker room soon enough, and slipped inside. The other girls had already changed and rushed out to the field, hurrying to avoid Mister Aizawa's inane threat, so I could switch into my gym uniform in peace. Leaving my folded school uniform in a bottom locker, I exited the locker room, straightening my uniform as I went.

The other students had already gathered at the edge of the athletics field, talking amongst themselves. They went silent as I walked by, eyeing me suspiciously, and my cheeks turned red all over again. Bitterly, I noted that I was the shortest kid in the class, save for a boy with purple bubbles for hair. I was only 134 centimeters tall, however, so that wasn't surprising.

I scanned the clipboard, memorizing the various activities to distract myself as I waited for Mister Aizawa to arrive. The black-haired man finally exited the school building five minutes later, the last person to arrive. I glared at him sullenly, wondering how hypocritical he could get.

Striding to the middle of the softball throw, Mister Aizawa faced the class. The class was quick to gather around him, and I rushed over as well, taking a spot standing next to Mister Aizawa reluctantly.

"We'll be having a Quirk Assessment Test," Mister Aizawa began abruptly, yanking the rug out from under the entire class' feet.

"A QUIRK ASSESSMENT TEST?!" They repeated loudly, wide eyed and shocked. I rolled my eyes, hiding my amused smile behind the clipboard. Mister Aizawa's bad habits were amusing, if I wasn't the butt of his joke.

A brunette girl with rosy cheeks big eyes stepped out of the crowd, eyebrows wrinkled in frustration. "But what about the ceremony?" She protested. "What about the guidance counselor meetings?!" She sounded distraught.

Mister Aizawa stared at her, unimpressed with the interruption. "If you want to be a hero, you won't have time for frilly niceties. You all understand the school's reputation for freedom on campus," his eyes glittered evilly, mouth spreading in a Cheshire-cat grin again. "That 'freedom' goes for us teachers too." He gestured to the athletics field behind him. "The softball pitch, standing long-jump, 50-meter dash, endurance running, grip strength, sustained sideways jump, upper body exercises, and seated toe touch." These are all activities you know back from middle-school, naturally," he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Physical tests where you were barred from using your quirks. The country still hasn't gotten around to standardizing those sorts of records - well, that's mostly negligence on the part of MEXT." He stopped in front of a blonde boy, with an aggressive frown on his face. "Bakugo, how far could you pitch a softball in middle school?"

Bakugo glared at Mister Aizawa with dull red eyes, unhappy at being singled out. "67 meters," he grunted.

Mister Aizawa pointed towards the softball throw. "I want you to try using your quirk this time," he instructed, tossing Bakugo a ball. "As long as you don't exit the circle, anything you do is fine. Don't hold back."

Bakugo looked pumped at the idea of "anything goes." He grasped the ball in both his hands, lifting his arms over his head. "You got it," he said, reeling back. Then, he snapped forward, ball flying from his hand and into the air, propelled by a humongous explosion. "DIIIIEEEEEE!" He screamed furiously. The following shockwave blew my hair out of my face, my braids flapping behind me. My eyes were glued wide in shock, and I gripped the clipboard so tight my knuckles turned white. Had he just said die?

The ball soared through the air, until it finally vanished in the distance. A soft beep echoed from the device in Mister Aizawa's pocket. He checked it, expression unchanging, before revealing Bakugo's score to the class. "705.3 meters," he announced, before continuing. "Before anything else, one must know what they're capable of. This is the rational metric that will form the base of your 'hero foundation'." I stared at the number on the screen in stunned silence. Bakugo's display of raw power was awesome, and a bit terrifying.

"AWESOME! That looks so fun!" Someone shouted from the back of the crowd. The other students were quick to start adding their own excited comments, getting hyped for their new assignment. I bit my lip, remembering what Mister Aizawa had told me the day before during my hand-to-hand drills. He would be using today to determine who was worth teaching, and would drop anyone he thought wasn't.

"It looks… fun?" He repeated chillingly, and I sighed, knowing what was coming next. "Do you plan to spend your next three years having a good 'ol time? What happened to becoming heroes?" He continued, sounding very, very menacing. "New rule then: the student who ranks last will be judged 'hopeless', and instantly expelled." There was no excited muttering this time, as the entire class stared at Mister Aizawa in horror. "Our 'freedom' as teachers means we can dispose of students as we please!" Mister Aizawa announced, grinning again. "Welcome to the Department of Heroics! Your test starts now!" There was a moment of silence, while the students waited with anticipation for their instructions. Mister Aizawa looked to me, extending his remote that only teachers were supposed to touch.

I inhaled deeply, preparing myself. Stepping forwards and taking the remote, I turned to the class, doing my best to hide my shaking hands. "W-w-will everyone p-please s-split into p-pairs," I stammered, having already planned out how to run each test. "O-once you h-have a g-group, g-g-go to one of th-th-the stations. Y-you can b-begin i-immediately, m-move in a c-clockwise r-r-rotation." As the class broke into groups, chattering anxiously, I glared again at Mister Aizawa over my shoulder. He had somehow summoned his yellow sleeping bag from out of nowhere, and was making himself comfortable in the middle of the field, ignoring my baleful stare. He knew I despised being the center of attention, and naturally decided that exposure therapy was the proper response.

Mister Aizawa could be very sadistic, at times.

Being in charge of the exercises wasn't all that difficult. Machines did most of the work. A timer told the students when to rotate to the next exercise, motion sensors recorded their scores. My job was just to oversee everything, and get involved if there were complications. Watching the device screen update again, I scanned the numbers. I noticed several incredible scores on the list – the most markedly being Ochako Uraraka reaching infinity on the softball throw – and several underperforming students. I didn't want Mister Aizawa to expel anyone on the first day. Frowning, I followed the scores of Izuku Midoriya, who was performing poorly.

"Hey, excuse me?" I looked up in surprise to see a tall boy with spiky red hair. He was looking at me curiously. "Uh, I'm Eijiro Kirishima. You're the teacher's assistant, right?"

I bit my lip, and shook my head. "I-I'm n-not actually. M-Mister Aizawa just l-likes avoiding w-work," I explained softly, ducking my head to hide my reddening face.

"Oh!" Kirishima's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? But then, why don't you have to take the test with the rest of us?"

I fidgeted nervously, not really wanting to answer. "I'm a s-scholarship student, s-so I t-took a q-quirk a-assessment to g-get into the school th-this s-summer," I stuttered. "M-Mister Aizawa s-saw m-my test, s-so he doesn't n-need to s-see me perform again." I shuddered, remembering how scary the final stage of my scholarship exam had been, and how close I had been to failure.

I stood in the middle of the testing room anxiously. Applying for the Yuuei Scholarship Program was very difficult. I had already managed to pass the paper exam and combat exam, which required I display both "academic and physical excellence". The final test was the Quirk Assessment. I would display my quirk to one of the teachers, and they would determine my eligibility.

Tightening my fists inside my giant black coat, I tried to keep from shaking. Yuuei's scholarship program had a 0.001% acceptance rate, despite the thousands of applicants every year. If they were only assessing quirk abilities, there would be more who passed. There was something more to the final test, but I couldn't figure out what.

The door hidden in the far corner clicked open. I flinched reflexively, soft green eyes glued to the man stepping inside. His hair was long and messy, and around his neck there was a large scarf. My hands reached up to grab my own scarf compulsively. Although the man seemed relaxed, his eyes were quick and sharp. I shivered, feeling his gaze cut through me. In this man's presence, I felt insignificant.

"You're Ichigo Kurosaki," he began, sounding utterly disinterested. I nodded frantically, shrinking into my jacket. "Your quirk is listed by the examiners as 'self-healing'. It doesn't specify. You don't name your quirk in your paperwork either."

I winced at the all too accurate statement. "Ah-um, yes," I stuttered, eyes flicking around the room anxiously. I fidgeted nervously. "My q-quirk is r-related to healing-"

"It doesn't matter." The man cut me off, disinterested tone becoming hostile. "You won't become a hero." I recoiled at the teacher's harsh tone, shoulders slumping immediately at the rejection. "You have no confidence in your abilities. Working as a hero would be impossible, you would be taken down by the media or a villain in no time, if you even survived Yuuei's education." He turned away, walking towards the door as I shook in fear. "Go home kid."

Those final three words stopped my trembling. I had left my home to come here, I couldn't turn back. This was my last hope, and this man was ready to turn me away before I could ever even start! "Y-you didn't let m-me f-finish speaking!" I protested, hands clenching into fists at my sides.

He paused in front of the door. "I don't have to," he turned, one hand still holding the door knob. "You aren't hero material."

"I th-think I am," I disagreed angrily. "M-my quirk is Mitotic R-Regeneration, w-which I can share t-too. I know I scored p-perfectly on th-the academic exam, and I p-placed f-fourth in the c-combat trials."

The man let go of the door handle, facing me fully. "Placing fourth isn't all that stellar," he pointed out dully.

"F-fighting c-can be taught, and m-my academic s-scores p-prove I learn quickly," I negated firmly. "A-and as f-for m-my attitude—" I inhaled, lifting my chin and narrowing my eyes. "I d-don't think you were r-right at all!"

There was a moment of silence, where the man scanned my ready posture and I held my breath. Then he bared his teeth in an imitation of a smile. It reminded me of a shark. "I suppose not. You do have potential." He strode forward, looming over me with all the presence of a predator about to strike. "You want to be hero? Consider yourself part of the program. My name is Shouta Aizawa," I just barely stopped myself from flinching at the fire in his eyes. "I'll be sponsoring your education."

Kirishima nodded, appearing thoughtful. "That's pretty cool," he said, before noticing that his groupmate had moved on. "Sorry, I gotta go! It's my turn for the long jump! It's nice to meet you…" he looked at me expectantly.

I blinked in surprise. "I-Ichigo Kurosaki," I answered his unspoken question unsurely. "It's n-nice t-to meet you t-too, Kirishima." The red head grinned, running off, and I stared at him in bewilderment, before returning to my task of grading.

Several minutes later, while watching the scores continue to grow and change, I heard a furious scream. I flinched, spinning around with my hands up defensively, only to see Mister Aizawa restraining Bakugo, who was reaching towards a green haired boy in vain. "DEKU, YOU LIAR!" He shouted, eyes burning with hatred. I shuddered at the rage in his red eyes, turning around to let Mister Aizawa deal with the problem. I noted the green haired boy's damaged finger, before returning by eyes to the device screen. My eyes widened in shock, and I shot back around to stare at the green haired boy. That was Midoriya?! He had just thrown a softball 705.4 meters!

"Get back to work," Mister Aizawa ordered, releasing Bakugo. His eyes met mine, and I nodded slowly, this time forcing myself to slowly turn around again. If Midoriya scored last, I'd have to speak to Mister Aizawa. I didn't think he should fail, he had potential. Flipping through the scores, I wondered how I could convince Mister Aizawa to let Midoriya pass.

Finally, the tests wrapped up. I handed the remote over to Mister Aizawa, who's fingers quickly skimmed the screen, before a projection of the final scoreboard appeared in the air. The other students scanned it for their own names curiously, muttering in disappointment or cheering triumphantly. I tensed, eyes locked on the last name. Izuku Midoriya had come in last.

"Oh, yeah, that whole 'expulsion' thing was a lie," Mister Aizawa announced randomly. The entire class fell silent, and I gaped at him, flabbergasted. I had read his teacher's record a few weeks ago, he was lying! Last year, he'd expelled an entire class of students! Meanwhile, Mister Aizawa smiled savagely. "It was a logical ruse, to bring out your best performances." I sighed, shaking my head, and resigned myself to a year of Mister Aizawa's little "pranks". "And… right. Yep, with that, it's over," he strolled over to the Midoriya. "Your curriculum sheets are back in the classroom, so give them a once over. And Midoriya," Mister Aizawa extended a paper slip to the boy. "Go to Recovery Girl and get yourself patched up." Midoriya accepted the paper shakily.

The other students were quick to clear out of the area. I waited for them to leave, before walking up behind Midoriya. Anxiety bubbled in my stomach, but I wanted to help him. I tapped him on the shoulder. "Um, e-excuse me?"

Midoriya spun around, eyes wide. "W-wha-?!"

"S-sorry!" I squeaked, surprised by his speed. We both stared at each other for a moment, before I mustered up the courage to speak, face hot. "Um, y-your hand! C-can I see it?" Midoriya nodded frantically, holding out his uninjured hand. "Y-your other hand," I corrected.

Midoriya extended his hand, blushing even brighter. Gently, I reached out and grasped his wrist. Closing my eyes, I concentrated, imagining lighting a torch in my gut. Opening my eyes, I focused on pushing that energy into Midoriya. There was a moment of silence, and then a curl of steam floated up. Midoriya's hand was completely healed, small bits of white vapor rising from newly healed the skin.

The green haired boy looked at his finger, dumbfounded, then held his hand up in front of his face. "HUH?!" He screeched, stunned. "Wait, how did you-?!"

My face turned redder than an apple. "It-It's my quirk, p-please d-don't be loud about it," I begged, scanning the area for any straggling students. "I j-just didn't w-want you t-to m-miss class, and m-my quirk isn't t-taxing like R-Recovery Girl's!"

"Oh," Midoriya was quietly shocked. Then, he bowed, making me stare at him in surprise instead. "Thank you, Miss Kurosaki!"

"Ah!" I held my hands up, waving them desperately. "N-no, it's o-okay! Y-y-you d-don't need to b-bow!"

Midoriya straightened, also flushed. "Right!"

A far-off laugh caused us both to turn. A pretty brunette was standing a few feet away, eyes bright as she giggled. We both turned red as fire-hydrants, trying to stammer out excuses. She waved her hands at us placatingly. "No, you're fine! It's just - your conversation was adorable! You're both so shy!" Midoriya and I shifted awkwardly, and the girl stepped forward, smiling at me. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Kurosaki! I'm Ochako!"

"Oh-um, Ichigo Kurosaki," I winced, hoping this girl wasn't an anime fan. Luckily, she didn't notice.

"Your quirk is really cool! You fixed Izuku's hand like that!" Ochako snapped her fingers to emphasize.

I pressed my hands to my cheeks, mumbling, "Th-thank you," sheepishly. There was a pregnant pause, and then I rushed out, "PleasecallmeIchigo!"

Ochako didn't hesitate. "You got it, Ichigo!" She turned to Midoriya. "And Izuku-kun, are you okay?"

Midoriya's face was still red, and he flinched in surprise. "H-huh? Y-y-yeah!" He stuttered. "I-I'm f-fine!" He turned to me. "Th-thank you a-again, Ichigo! Y-you can c-call me Izuku!" I smiled nervously in response.

"MISS KUROSAKI!" I turned to see a tall, black haired boy stomping forwards, glasses flashing. "TRULY MISS KUROSAKI, YOUR QUIRK IS AMAZING!" My face turned red, and I started to panic as the boy stormed towards me. My head swirled, and my ears felt hot. I broke into a cold sweat as my vision narrowed. The time I'd spent being stared at was catching up with me, as the boy grew closer.

Ochako peered at me in concern. "Ichigo, are you all right? You look kind of… dizzy."

My palms were cold and clammy. My mouth felt dry. "I-I'm f-f-fine-" I tried to lie, as my heart thumped erratically in my chest. My eyes rolled back, and I crumpled to the ground.

At my elementary school, there was an old wooden swing in the back of the playground. It was old and rusted, and every time it moved it creaked and groaned. None of the other children wanted to use it, calling it haunted and scary, so it was my favorite place to spend recess. From the swing, I could see the entire play field. It was the best spot to watch the other children play heroes and villains. I could see all the children pretending to be villains in their hiding places. I could see the kids playing as heroes start searching for the villains. I could even see the teacher, who sat on the bench against the school wall, observing the game like me.

The children playing the heroes weren't very good at searching for people. One girl picked up a rock and looked under it, calling out, "Bad guy, bad guy! Where are you?" I had to cover my mouth to hide my giggles. Another child climbed atop the slide and demanded the villains come out, so he could catch them. I watched the spectacle from my swing, wondering how idiotic my classmates could be.

I glanced towards the world past the playground fence. There was a road, where I could see cars zoom by in blurs of color. My eyes widened as I saw a cat run into the middle of the street. It had a dirty black coat, and no collar, so I knew it was a stray. I jumped off the swing, urgently darting over to the fence and clutching the wooden posts, fitting my head between the bars. The cat was dodging the cars, taking its time before passing each lane. I grinned triumphantly, thinking it would make it across the road safely despite everything – and then another car came by. There was a dull thud, and the metal monster moved on, ignoring the bloody, gory mess it left behind.

I stared at the red, furry scramble of bones and blood left behind for a moment, stunned. The smile slipped off my face. I stepped away from the fence, forcefully turning my back on the cat's crushed corpse. I shuffled back to the swing, hands coming up to tug at my choppy black hair, barely long enough to brush my ears. With every pull, I stopped tears from welling up in my soft, sea green eyes.

Of course, the cat hadn't made it across the street. It was a stray, forgotten and unwanted. People didn't notice forgotten, unwanted things. Sitting back down on the swing, I stared at the ground morosely. I was a lot like the cat, I realized. I promised myself fiercely I would never forget watching that animal die.

I woke up to a white ceiling and bright lights. I smacked my lips, noticing how dry and sand-papery my mouth felt. Covering my eyes from the painfully bright lights, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I scanned the familiar nurses' office blearily, searching for Recovery Girl. I instead spotted a yellow sleeping bag, propped up against the wall.

"It's been about fifteen minutes," Mister Aizawa observed without opening his eyes, as if he was pretending to be asleep. "You fainted again."

I shrunk inwards, disappointed by myself and frightened. "I'm s-sorry, M-Mister Aizawa. It w-won't h-happen again," I whispered.

Mister Aizawa opened his eyes to look at me sternly. "You need to adjust to others watching you. Being a hero means being in the public eye, even for underground heroes like me," When I didn't raise my head, he sighed. "It's fine for now, but you need to adjust. Deactivate your quirk as well, you're steaming up the room." He slouched at the door, waving at me vaguely. "See you tomorrow, Ichigo."

I watched him go, biting my lip in frustration. I had failed again. I had disappointed the only person who had ever believed in me. I turned off my quirk, watching steam continue to pour off my skin. I had toed the line of my time limit. Any longer and my body would've overheated.

I clenched the white hospital-bed sheets, feeling my index finger pulse painfully. Squinting my eyes shut, I suppressed the urge to cry. Standing slowly, I shuffled out of Recovery Girl's office before she could return, and confine me to the bed for longer. I cradled my throbbing hand carefully. It felt like my finger was being torn to shreds, and I wondered how Izuku subjected himself to this suffering willingly. He was a fool… and I was a fool for healing him.

ANSWERING YOUR COMMENTS BEFORE YOU CAN MAKE THEM:

Yes, I understand that my character's name is Ichigo Kurosaki, and that this matches the main character of Bleach.

No, this was not an accident. It was intentional and has narrative relevance.

This story is not a cross-over. I did not tag it as one for that reason.

I am new to fanfiction writing, so if you have any suggestions or constructive criticisms to offer, I'm all ears. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing!

Thanks, Fairy P.