"I'm Shota Aizawa, and I'll be proctoring the written exam. Let's not waste any time."

Izuku feels that familiar voice like an ice cold drop of water sliding down his back, and immediately he slumps down in his seat in a foolish attempt to hide a face Eraserhead has never actually seen.

What god did he piss off to put him so close to the hero that's gunning for him? Izuku can't fathom the depths of his abysmal luck. He runs a hand down his face, attempting to take calming breaths.

He doesn't know you. There's no way he'd ever recognize you. Focus.

He promised his mom he'd do well today. He promised he'd care about Izuku. Today has nothing to do with Yami, and everything to do with Izuku's future. Eraserhead reads a series of proctored instructions in a bored voice designed to put people to sleep. His tired eyes haven't landed on him once. He's okay. He can do this.

Even if he can't find it in himself to care much for his own future, he'll do this for his mom. He'll give her something she can boast about to her coworkers, or the friends she's steadily making during her morning workouts. Making his mom proud is the least he can do for all the hell he's put her through. Fourteen years of worrying over him, working double time to replace his school uniforms, bending over backwards to make sure he feels loved.

Aizawa instructs them to open their test booklets and begin, and Izuku finds that he can answer the questions easily. It's like muscle memory, the way his pencil flies across the page. He hardly has to think. Confidence surges through him—an rare, exhilarating feeling—and he knows without a doubt that, if he doesn't get into UA, it won't be because he was too dumb for the written test.

Time flies in a series of questions and bubbled in answers, and before he knows it, the test is over. Aizawa announces that those taking the support recommendation test will have an hour break for lunch, and everyone else can leave. He's surprised by the amount of people that stick around. He doesn't know much about support, or how many people he'll have to beat to make it in, but the sheer number of kids with recommendations makes his stomach hurt. Thirteen people. Thirteen people with Quirks that will most likely give them an edge. He tries not to look at them as he pulls out the bento his mother left for him this morning.

"Hey, you!"

Izuku nearly jumps out of his skin when an energetic girl with pink hair shoves a pointed finger in his face. He looks up at her. She's leaning over his desk, and it reminds him of Kacchan in the way that neither of them care about personal space, or boundaries.

"You mumble a lot! Better not do that in the support exam, or you'll be helping out the competition," she says—practically screeching, though she's uncomfortably close to his face.

"Sorry. It's a bad habit of mine." Izuku tries to lean back in his chair as subtly as possible. He needs some space. The girl completely ignores everything he said.

"I'm Hatsume Mei, soon-to-be number one UA support student, and future owner of Hatsume Industries—the best support company around!"

Izuku is dumbfounded in the wake of her overbearing confidence. The sheer energy she emits is exhausting. Izuku gives a weak smile, looking anywhere he can to avoid her bright, golden eyes.

"I've never heard of Hatsume Industries…" he says lamely. He wishes he had his mask. It's so much easier to talk to people when no one can see his face—when he doesn't have to be Izuku. She gives a manic laugh in return.

"That's because I haven't started it yet! I'm only fourteen!"

"Oh. That's great."

Hatsume seems vaguely put off by his lack of enthusiasm, eyeing him skeptically. He hates when people do this—when they size him up. He can always see the exact moment they decide he isn't worth much.

"How'd you get a support rec acting like this? Don't you care?"

Not really, he thinks. If he's being honest, the support track is a means to an end. It's a way to be able to build his own gear… and maybe to find a common interest with his dad. They've been talking more lately. It's all about spec inventions, and his support studies, and the prototypes he wants to get a hold of for his Yami suit, but it's something. It's more than they've had in years. Hatsume is still staring at him, unnerving him with her eyes. Her pupils are shaped like crosshairs, and he feels like he's under fire.

"Um, my dad works on I-Island," he says, because it's all he can muster. He wishes she would leave. Hatsume narrows her eyes slightly, finally standing back to give him some much-needed personal space. She crosses her arms, and literally turns up her nose at him.

"Thought you'd be good competition. A rival, you know? I didn't realize you're just some legacy."

The way she looks at him cuts clean through him. Irritation buzzed under his skin, and he realizes that being capable isn't enough. It isn't enough to do this so his mom will be proud, so his dad will have a reason to call. He has to do this because he has something to prove to the world. He stands stiffly, bracing his hands on the desktop.

"I am competition," he barks, feeling as powerful as he does behind his mask. "You'll see. And I'll do it without announcing it to anyone who'll listen. You'll remember my name whether I tell it to you, or not."

He packs up his uneaten bento and moves to the hall, righteous anger radiating through him, burning him from the inside out. He's sick and tired of being nothing. Yami isn't nothing, and neither is Izuku. Izuku made Yami because he was tired of sitting idly by while the world misjudged his worth. He may not be a hero, but he'll show the world exactly what he's made of.

—

Izuku stands at a workstation in one of the larger labs in the support building. On the desk in front of him lay every tool known to man—even if they aren't known to Izuku—and a roll of blueprints with an orange tape seal. It reads: do not open before exam. Izuku takes a calming breath, allowing his previous anger to shift to a determined zeal—a need to succeed. Hatsume is, unfortunately, set up at the workstation directly to his left, but she doesn't speak to him. Good. He doesn't need any distractions. Power Loader stands in the middle of the room, his support gear taking up ample space even if his physical body does not.

"If you have questions, or need to run something by me, don't hesitate to ask for help. This exam is more theoretical than practical, so just show what you know. You'll have five hours. Begin."

Izuku rips the orange seal and spreads the blueprints out across the table. There's an exam prompt in the middle of the blueprints, which Izuku finds are completely blank. He takes it in hand, determined to do well.

Included with the blueprints is the costume design for Prospective Hero Student, No. 198, [name redacted]. Quirk: Explosion.

Izuku rolls his eyes. What are the chances? He shakes his head and resolves to read the prompt in its entirety, even if he knows exactly how this Quirk works.

The user sweats a substance similar to nitroglycerin that ignites in their palms. PHS No. 198 requests moisture wicking bracers and gauntlets, stylized to fit a grenade aesthetic. PHS No. 198 has included their own sketches. Fulfill the request to the best of your abilities.

Izuku flips the sheet to find photocopies of Kacchan's original sketch, and Izuku can't hold back his shocked gasp. Everyone in the room spares him a glance, and Izuku reddens, tilting his head to hide in his curls. Kacchan's sketch is ripped straight from one of Izuku's notebooks. He can see the edges of the ripped page, and the gray lines of his notebook. Kacchan has added his own things here and there, complete with angry little notes like kill with my knees and badass, but the costume stays true to Izuku's original design. How on earth did he get this? Izuku can hardly remember which notebook it's from. He's not sure whether to be pissed or flattered that Kacchan likes his design enough to steal it. For now, he'll go with flattered because it means Izuku has a knack for the very thing he's being tested on.

Power Loader said the test was theoretical. It appears they won't be asking them to actually make the design, so Izuku goes all out, make sure to add adjustments where he sees fit while still staying true to what Kacchan—no, the client—wants. He does all his math and measurements on a sheet of scratch paper, labeling every step as he goes, so whoever grades him will know exactly how he worked everything out. He tries to be neat, but eventually his stream of consciousness style bleeds through, and the sheet is a mess, but it's beyond thorough. He supposes he'll just have to be extra neat on the final blueprint.

At the three hour mark, Hatsume barks out a demand for a welding rig.

"How do you expect me to build this without a welder, and the proper materials?"

Izuku clenches his teeth, angry because he didn't even think to try building. From the terrified looks on everyone's faces—no one else did, either.

"We don't," Power Loader says simply. "UA's insurance isn't high enough without inexperienced test-takers blowing up the lab. Remember, theoretical."

Izuku breathes a sigh of relief, while putting the finishing touches on his blueprints. He doesn't want to be the first to finish, so he awkwardly looks around the room, trying to gauge everyone's progress. Was he supposed to fill up the entire five hours? His dad says the worst thing he can do is over-design. Kacchan's request is already heavily detailed, and he's already included ideas for joint supports to relieve the strain on his arms. Adding anymore would make the design too cumbersome. He decides to go with his gut, and rolls the blueprints up again, sealing it with green tape that reads: Midoriya Izuku, Prospective Support Student (Recommended), No. 6. He feels a surge of pride as he cleans up his workstation and puts the blueprints in Power Loader's waiting hand. He does his best not to crumble under the other prospective students' gazes.

"Thank you for the opportunity, Sensei. I look forward to hearing from you." He bows, and takes his leave, heart beating a mile a minute, a beaming smile on his face.

He's in. He knows it.

—

He practically sprints off the campus, backpack bobbing around with his pace. In his haste, he trips over absolutely nothing. Muscle memory kicks in, and he's prepared to break his fall with a roll, when a familiar weapon wraps around his waist, and his momentum halts. Against his will, he lets out a pathetic squeal as Eraserhead sets him back on his feet.

"Careful, kid," he says, sounding even more tired than he did during the exam. Izuku feels like he has a horrified, dumbstruck expression on his face, but he can't find the will or the motor function to correct it.

"Eraserhead," he squeaks out, and Izuku wants to slap himself.

"Not many students recognize me. You were going to roll out of that fall. Where'd you learn that?"

"P-parkour," he stutters, somehow unable to lie to the man who threatened to put him behind bars less than a week ago. Don't get caught. Don't get caught. Run, run, run away, he thinks, a frantic mantra in his head. "I...have to go home!" He says, at an obscene volume that actually makes Eraserhead wince. Izuku shakily goes to walk away, only to remember that the capture weapon is still securely around his waist. It yanks him back like a fish on a hook. Eraserhead lets his capture weapon go limp.

"What's your name?"

Izuku actually considers pretending he didn't hear him, but that would be extremely suspicious. Izuku berates his penchant for falling victim to his crippling anxiety. He tries his best to beat his paranoia down with logic. He has no idea who you are. Relax.

"Midoriya Izuku."

"Support rec?"

"Y-yes, Sensei." Stop stuttering, idiot.

"Ever thought about the hero track?"

Izuku's eyes tighten with distrust. What is he playing at? There's no way he can know who Izuku really is. His paranoia ratchets up another degree, but Izuku does his best to look meek and unassuming.

"I can't. I really do have to get home. My mom worries," he says, ducking his head, looking at the gate like it's his only chance for salvation.

"Hmm. Go on, then."

Breathless with relief, Izuku runs.

—

Shota watches the odd child run away like his feet are on fire. He's a nervous, little thing, but Shota saw something in him when he stood up to that insufferable girl during the lunch break. He saw fire and determination peek through, like the sun through the clouds after a rainstorm, and Shota decided he was someone worth keeping an eye on. Despite the nervous stutter, the lack of coordination, and middling awareness, Shota can see the wiry muscle under his long sleeve shirt, the lithe way he carried himself before his fall.

When he learned about the parkour, he saw the kid for what he was—a hero fanatic reality almost certainly crushed. Luckily, he had a support recommendation to fall back on, and, if the fact that he was the first one to finish the exam is a sign of talent, and not hubris, a good head on his shoulders. He wanted to ask about his Quirk, but a name will do.

—

A week later, after proctoring the last set of written exams, Shota heads to the support labs, where Maijima is combing through a sheaf of papers, blueprints spread out on his desk.

"I need the file for Midoriya Izuku," Shota says, wasting no time with pleasantries. Maijima's face is obstructed by his support gear, but the way he crosses his arms hints at slight annoyance.

"You're kidding," he says.

"You know I don't kid." Shota takes the liberty of leading through the other files on the desk. Maijima puts a possessive, steel covered hand on the stack.

"You are not poaching one of my most talented recommendations."

"You recommended him?"

"No. His father did. Midoriya Hisashi, head of security on I-Island. Support is in his blood," Maijima says, without even acknowledging how ridiculous he sounds.

"The file, Maijima. It's important."

"So is the future of the support industry!" Maijima throws himself on top of the files like a beached whale. "He's Quirkless, anyway!"

Shota stops short of manhandling the files out from under him. Suddenly, the kid's nerves make more sense, his downright refusal at the idea of the hero course. Shota smiles, big and broad, and wrestles the files away. Maijima grunts, grabbing for the files, but Shota has already moved clear across the room.

"Ugh, I hate that creepy smile! No wonder you're Nezu's favorite."

Shota thumbs through the files, searching for the correct M.

"I'm Nexu's favorite because I'm driven by logic… and because he likes how warm my capture weapon is," he mutters, just as he's found the file. He fights the urge to let out an illogical aha!

"It's illogical to try to put a Quirkless support prodigy in the hero course!" Maijima is literally chasing him around the room at this point, and Shota decides enough is enough. He makes a break for his office on the other side of the building.

By the time, Maijima catches up, Shota's already behind his desk, stamp in hand. Maijima stands in the doorway just as Shota brings the rubber stamp down. When he lifts it, Midoriya Izuku's file officially reads Prospective Hero Candidate.

"I hate you."

"He's all yours until the sports festival," Shota says, smug. He closes the file, and holds it out for Maijima.