Don't know when I'll add more to this or what kind of pace I'll keep, but the idea kept nagging at my brain so here it is. Hope you enjoy it!

I pull my shoulders and knees together to recapture some of my body heat. The temperature of the room has been set 2 degrees too cold, and I can't help but think that's on purpose. I am sitting in a plastic chair which has existed since before ergonomics was invented. My hands are in plain view on the table, left cupping my right. I deliberately do this so often my hands take this position without my conscious effort. It's necessary: people who know about my Quirk get nervous at the sight of my pinky and ring fingers. The cloth coverings are firmly in place on those fingers, forest green on the right hand and ashen gray on the left with black string securely tied between the first and second knuckles. There is no chance of both falling off at once, but I've found this doesn't do much to put people at ease.

The man in front of me is sitting in another chair of similar design and construction to my own, though his is missing a few jagged chunks of the backrest due to time and/or mischief. He is wearing a suit which only vaguely fits, the sleeves too short for his lanky build and the collar too wide. His eyes are bloodshot and he has heavy bags under them. There is a scar under his right eye. It takes mental effort not to stare at it. He thumbs through a set of manila folders, spreads them out like they were playing cards. By his expression he got dealt a lousy hand. "Hmmmm, can I have your name?" The tone of his voice indicates he doesn't particularly care.

"Shigaraki," I respond with as much confidence as I can manage. "Tomura Shigaraki."

The man's eyes narrow as he deciphers the kanji: 'death', 'grip', and 'tree' for Shigaraki, 'funerals' for Tomura. "Not a very heroic name," he mutters. He picks one of the folders out and places the rest of them aside. "My name is Aizawa, I'll be conducting your entrance interview. It's been a couple weeks since the entrance exam, but try to think of this as a continuation of it. This is something new we at UA are trying with this year's incoming freshman. We're trying to give people with great Quirks that are a bad matchup with the robots in the practical exam a fair shot, while also weeding out people with no potential before they get to the school." His face doesn't change but he suddenly looks much more menacing. "Guessing which category you fall into isn't worth any points."

Without waiting for a response he opens up my folder and peruses the contents. He nods his head and hums. I can't see what's grabbed his interest. "There was such a delay because we have different questions for each student, but we needed to balance that with the need to hold this interview quickly before your memory of the exam fades. We will ask you to think back on both the written and practical exam and put yourself in the same mindset you were in at that time. The first question I have is about the written portion. You ran out of room on the essay question and tried to write small to compensate: this did not work. Can you clarify what you meant by your response?"

I look down and to the side. My eyes fall on the stack of folders, I can only see the name on the top: "Shinso Hitoshi". I avert my eyes from it before I get distracted. "Remind me which question that was." I know very well the question he's referring to, but I need a moment to collect my thoughts.

Aizawa taps his finger against the sheet of paper. "Let's see… 'Describe the circumstances in which a hero would be justified in killing a villain.' You clearly had trouble fitting your response in the space provided."

"I did," I admit. "What I meant to answer was…" Deep breath. I stare at my hands while I speak. "A hero may l-legally use lethal force only to prevent imminent loss of life or serious bodily harm… um, when any or all potential victims are unable to safely retreat, and no less extreme method of prevention is available. Let's see… 'imminent' means the danger must be immediate, not at some uncertain point in the future. A civilian who is able to safely flee is not in immediate danger; they must be escorted from the scene if possible. A hero with a Quirk which can disable the villain without killing them is obligated to use it before attempting to use deadly force. B-but that's about what's legal. The public doesn't like heroes who frequently maim or kill villains, even the dangerous ones. Even accomplished heroes like Overtkill have a hard time climbing the rankings because people don't trust them. And… I think killing a villain represents a loss to all society. A dead villain's Quirk can't be extracted and studied by the MIQR ('mike-er')… um, the Monomythical Institute of Quirk Research. So a hero is almost never justified in using lethal force. In my opinion." I swallow. "Sorry, just… the question didn't say whether it's asking about legal self-defense, public relations, or our personal feelings."

Aizawa patiently listens to my entire answer and hums when I finish. "Interesting," he says, though he doesn't sound interested. "You're right, the question probably should have said 'legally justified' to prevent rambling like that. Moving on. A dangerous Quirk like yours has to have a story behind it. How did you discover your Quirk?"

My hands clench around each other. I continue looking in the corner but don't see anything, my eyes lack focus and everything blurs. I wonder how much of the story I have to give before he'll be satisfied. "The first thing I ever decayed was my dad's left arm."

Aizawa's expression does not change but I can tell he means it when he says, "Sorry."

"It was a long time ago," I brush off, and it's true, it was more than ten years ago now. Dad never held a grudge about it. He said it was bad luck, could have happened to anyone, blah blah you know the drill. He's told me a thousand times since then that I shouldn't beat myself up over it. But it's hard to see that dangling empty sleeve and not take it personally. It's hard not to think, 'If I had waited a half-second longer the damage would have reached his heart. I almost killed my dad.' It's a lot of weight to put on a kid who could barely write his own name at the time.

"You don't have to say anything more," Aizawa sighs. "I can grasp the shape from your answer. Third question… and here's the meat of it." He sets the open folder down and pushes it toward me. "You had to have known this was coming. Because we definitely have to talk about the practical exam. Do you recognize this?"

I wince. On the right side (his left) is a type-written paper with numerous bullet points and check boxes. There are some marks and notes on it but I can't read either the notes or the paper itself from this far away. On the left side (his right) is a photograph of a lanky boy with pale blue hair, though one patch of it is marred red with fresh blood. He is standing in a field of cement rubble and metallic wreckage, clouds of dust billowing out all around him. He is wearing a hoodie and slacks, but the hoodie has a basketball-sized hole with burnt edges blown into the back of it. His back is visible through the hole; where the skin isn't red and peeling it's black and blistering. A streak of blood seeps down next to his eye and narrowly curves around the mole on his cheek. Only a fraction of the boy's face can be seen from the angle of the photo, but what is visible is terrifying. His eyes shine brilliantly and his smile rises painfully high on his cheeks in a way only the half-crazed can manage.

Of course I recognize it. It's me.

Aizawa notices me staring at the picture. I figured they would want to know about that. They had to have wondered what could make someone so deliriously happy at the very moment they blew the entrance exam for the most prestigious hero school in the country. Still, seeing myself in that state… it takes me aback. "So. Care to explain what happened?"

I close my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus on what happened the day of the practical.

We compared our tickets to one another, noticing each of us had a different number. "So we're all in different fields?"

"Looks like," Midoriya swallowed hard. "Th-they probably split up anyone who goes to different schools. So we don't make agreements to secretly cooperate or something."

"Like I'd ever help either of you!" Bakugo slouched past me, hands in his pockets. "If you can't hack it by yourself ya don't belong here. It's just too bad I couldn't personally take some of my competition out right from the gate, huh Deku?!" He leered in Midoriya's direction, causing the green-haired boy to yelp and flinch backwards. "Go home before you get hurt! As for you, Tomura, don't you go getting any ideas either! I'm gonna be number one on this exam! If you score higher than me I'll kill ya!"

"You don't need to worry about that," I admitted. "I'll have to go full power just to pass, let alone top your score." Bakugo turned his head with a "heh!", satisfied that I accepted my place. It was not as though I was meek or scared of him, I was simply accepting reality. With or without our Quirks Bakugo would have the edge; he was stronger, more agile, and had much more combat experience. He also had a more versatile Quirk while mine was limited in application despite its high potential for damage. He may have been a big fish in a small pond but he was still a really big fish. If he wasn't born to a lower-middle class family he probably could have gotten a recommendation and skipped this whole rigamarole. Being in different arenas was a blessing; I'd have a much better chance of standing out if I wasn't hiding in Bakugo's shadow.

And then there was Midoriya, while we were on the subject of accepting reality. Honestly no one would blame him if he tapped out of the hero exam and went for general studies. He could probably make it; his grades weren't far behind Bakugo's. But if he could have recognized his own hopeless situation he wouldn't be Izuku Midoriya. He held his arms in front of his chest defensively and gave us a strained smile. "U-um! Good luck, you two!"

Bakugo scoffed, "I'd rather die than need luck from you!" He walked off toward his assigned battleground without so much as a farewell. Midoriya watched him go, visibly shuddering.

"Hey," I said. The sound made Midoriya scream. "Just do your best and stay safe out there, okay?"

"Y-yeah." He rubbed the back of his head and breathed out short wisps that I assumed were supposed to be a laugh. I guess it was too late for me to have any kind of camaraderie with him. I could only hope he took it to heart. I waved goodbye and went to my own staging area.

When I arrived there were a bunch of other kids already there, too many to get a good count of but not so many to not pick out individual people. Nobody I knew or recognized, which I guessed wasn't surprising. The doors to the field opened up, revealing a vast cityscape. According to the scenario we were heroes called to deal with a full-scale attack. There were no civilians left in the area but the attacking robots needed to be eliminated. All of us watched as the dust from the massive doors settled and waited for the "ready, set, go".

"In real life there are no countdowns," the announcer chastised. "The clock's ticking." Wait, what?! We all realized the test had already started at about the same time and flooded through the doors. As soon as I was away from the throng I pulled the strings on my left fingers and yanked off the coverings. Kids called them "finger condoms". Most adults didn't know what they were for and treated me with pity, figuring they must be to hide a disfigurement. Most of my classmates knew exactly what they were for and kept me at literal arms length just in case they failed. I only remember one time they ever slipped off, and that's why I covered two fingers on each hand instead of just one. This Quirk was too dangerous to ever risk a slip-up like that again. But now I had the chance to cut loose.

I turned a corner and came face to face with a test robot, one of the bigger 3-pointer ones. It tried to draw a bead on me but I was already running at full speed; I slipped behind it faster than it could follow and grabbed the back of its head. Immediately the metal rusted and cracked, the paint chipped and peeled, and a fine layer of dust began seeping out from between the seams. The robot shuddered once before collapsing, the head disintegrating into a pile when it smacked against the pavement. In an instant I was on the board with 3 points, but there was no time to dawdle. I had to manage my time well; close in fast, go for an instant kill, move on. Robots were vulnerable to my Quirk I only needed to put a hand on them for a moment to rot their bodies to the point where they would crumble. But unlike a lot of other Quirks I had to personally close the distance; I could not attack from afar. That was time another Quirk user could spend looking for more targets or steal my kill out from under me. That was fine, running speed and stamina were two of my strong points, but it also meant I couldn't lose focus or take the time to tally my points. I ran down an alleyway, away from the sounds of combat. Assists weren't worth anything, so I would have to strike off on my own.

After a while I actually started to have fun. There was a seductive rhythm to it, seek, destroy, seek, destroy. Smash as many robots as you can, protect the city, be a hero. I narrowed my thoughts down to that simple mantra. I honestly don't remember much of the exam; I moved like water, dismantling robots with a touch. If I had a moment to myself while I was searching for more enemies I thought about what I would say if I saw somebody who wasn't one of the other heroes. We had been told there were no friendlies or victims in the area, but someone could be missed on a sweep. No searching technique, technology, or Quirk was infallible. I would probably have them grab me around the neck and get them to an evac zone, as I had neglected to leave the coverings on at least one of my hands. Sometimes a wire or a stream of acid knocked out a robot I was aiming for and once some pretty boy ran past me and tapped me on the shoulder with an airy "thanks for the Quirk" but I don't see much of the other applicants. Until, that is, a wave of dust and debris flattens out a block of the city in an instant. Then I could see them around the edge of the clearing created by the destruction, vague shapes in the dust. But I didn't pay attention to them. After all, the massive shape rising in the middle of that cloud commanded all of my notice.

Even the largest of the other robots was maybe the size of a large car or small truck. This thing towered at several stories, each of its fingers as big as I was. Its head swiveled left and right, single large red eye striking menace into our hearts. Like the elementary school experiment of dropping soap into a bowl of water with pepper floating in it, the students immediately fanned out and away from the new threat. Caught up in the crowd I followed them. That thing was too dangerous for any one person to take on alone. That thought seemed out of place the moment it crossed my mind. I slowed to a jog, then a walk, then stopped entirely. I turned back toward the enemy, taking in what I was seeing. It crunched down the road towards the fleeing people with implacable ease, knocking over lampposts and crushing parked vehicles underneath its treads. It sheared off the top half of an office building with a wave of its left hand. It had miniature machine guns mounted on each side of its head and a massive cannon on its right arm; it could have easily mowed us all down but showed no interest in doing so. I realized it must have been programmed to only attack the city and not the heroes, but it would almost certainly fight back if attacked or if anything moved toward it aggressively.

I grit my teeth and ran toward the special enemy. This was a city. We had been told no civilians were in the area, but how much could we trust that? There may be a small child or a person left behind, trapped by falling debris or hiding in absolute terror. Should I ignore that possibility and save my own skin? Some hero I would be then! No, this thing had to be stopped. Maybe I wasn't much of a hero, maybe it was out of my league, but dammit I wasn't about to let this thing do whatever it pleased!

My Quirk could take out this enemy in one shot as long as I could corrupt the CPU directly. I had scrapped enough of the smaller robots to realize it was stored in the head. So I needed to bring the head within arm's reach, as fast as possible. But to get there I would have to run all the way up the arm and onto the shoulder. The whole way there I would be a sitting duck. I could not dodge without plummeting to the street below, I couldn't fly or jump up the rest of the way, and I doubted I could control the direction of my corrosion well enough to burrow underneath the plating and up the arm without destroying the floor underneath me. So the only way up was through. First, disable its movement. I ran right up to the robots side and slapped my left hand against the treads. In less time than it took to take a breath they cracked and corroded, turning from black to light gray and then to a fine silt. The enemy realized what I was doing and rotated its chassis to bring its massive left hand down on top of me. I darted out from under its palm and leapt to avoid the shockwave from the impact against the pavement, then planted my feet against the nearby building and kicked off back toward the hand. I latched onto the end of one finger and scrambled up, taking care to extend my left pinky to keep at least one fingertip off it so I wouldn't lose my handhold.

I didn't wait until I had a good footing; I jumped to my feet and ran up the wrist, studying its armor plating as I went. I needed a piece in a particular shape and size… there! Just at the start of the forearm I took a moment to kneel down and tapped my fingertips against the corners of one section of plating. The plate rusted in neat quarter-circles around where I imagined the screws holding it in place were; one solid kick loosened the plate, and two more uses of my Decay Quirk dislodged it entirely. Preparation complete, I hefted the armor plate and held it in front of me with both hands (extending my ring finger, because trust me when I say most of your grip strength is in your pinkie) as I charged up the arm. I was right on time; the robot's head turned toward me and opened fire. I had hardly taken three steps before I felt numerous tiny somethings slam into the armor plating, each impact numbing my arms a tiny bit. I grit my teeth and rushed forward, keeping more careful track of my footing than how many bullets were striking at me and whether or not they were training bullets or live ammo. You never knew with UA.

I passed the elbow and scaled half the upper arm when the hail of bullets finally stopped. I didn't have the presence of mind to be suspicious of this, and poking my head above the shield would have been a good way to get shot in the forehead. I would have realized its goal if I had stopped to think about it. Instead I was caught completely off-guard as something hard and heavy like a bowling ball slammed into my shield and knocked it away from my trembling fingers. I heard a loud explosion followed by a ringing in my ears, and a thick cloud of black smoke and a wave of oppressive heat obscured my vision. The cannon on the right arm; it must have used the heavier firepower to knock away the shield. As soon as the smoke cleared a tiny bit the head guns would begin firing again… and on the thin arm with unsteady footing there would be nowhere to run or hide. The smoke began to dissipate and I could make out the menacing shape of the robot's head; I had only a few seconds, not enough time to craft another shield. So there was only one way out. It was too late to take a deep breath, if I didn't want to inhale smoke I had to not inhale at all. I rushed forward, lungs burning, through the smoke and the last few feet to the head. I felt rather than heard the machine guns firing but I was too close now; the guns could not turn inward at a steep enough angle to reach me. I took a firm grab of the head in both hands and planted my feet. I grinned in satisfaction as I watched the green armor turn gray and begin to flake away.

Something collided with my back and sent me flying forward into the head, the gray section of the armor exploding into a fine powder from the shock of my body hitting it. The cannon! I had forgotten about the cannon! I smelled cooked meat and came to the nauseating realization that it was me. But I could still move. I had not lost yet! The concussive force of the blast had knocked away the corroded part of the head, leaving a convenient little cubby hole for me to crawl into. I dove in and shoved my hand as deep into the tangle of wires and servos as I could, finding purchase on I didn't care what. I held on as tightly as I could, even as I could feel but not see it lose all its integrity. The disintegration reached deeper inside the robot, and all I could do was hope it found its mark quickly enough.

After a few moments the machine stopped suddenly and I felt its torso buckle. The dying sounds of the machine were all around me. I was inside the belly of the beast as it gasped its last breaths. It creaked, it whirred, it shuddered, and finally it collapsed. The interior of the robot's head became choked with dust as the shock blasted apart the withered wires and circuitry. I kicked myself backwards out into the open air, but this was futile. Even here the clouds of dust were thick like a fog near the water on a cold winter day. I could hardly see anything around me and could not even tell how high up I was. I slipped on the robots shoulder, and when I grabbed onto it to keep from falling I did not have enough control to keep all five fingers from touching it. I cursed as my lifeline crumbled away and I fell.

I managed to twist myself in the air to land on my side and my head knocked against the asphalt, stars exploding in my field of vision. The cacophony as the robot collapsed around me was deafening, I wanted to cover my ears but my arms wouldn't move right. By the time I was able to get myself to my knees the rumbling and crashing had died down but I was still hearing an unceasing high-pitched whine. I bit back the bile threatening to crawl its way up my throat. I stood up and surveyed the wreckage. I was bruised and sore, lightheaded from the hit to my head, and with every move I made I could feel the skin on my back tear and crack. My eyes burned from the dust and every breath I took was agony but I felt alive. That damn robot wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, and I'm the one who took it down. Me! All by myself!

A moment later a buzzer sounded. A buzzer? Had backup from the pro heroes finally arrived? No, I realized with horror. That was the end of the exam. That was all this was, an exam. I had gotten so into the scenario I had forgotten I was not a hero, I was not responding to a call for help, I was in the middle of a test. Instead of trying to do what was right or protecting the city or its people I should have been following the rules. The rules that said all my effort, everything I did to take down this huge robot…

… was worth absolutely nothing.

All my adrenaline left me. My back felt like someone used meat cleavers to play a drum solo on it. The one saving grace is that the dust was so thick and choking I couldn't smell my own roasted flesh, but the pain was so unreal I could not consciously have that thought or any other which did not consist of horrid wailing. I collapsed in a heap. I tried to curl into a ball but it hurt so much I could not even move. I attracted a lot of attention, first with destroying the huge robot and now with my screaming. I could feel the presence of the other students around me but I didn't care. I couldn't care about anything.

"So why, is what we want to know." I'm in the interview room. Not even five seconds have passed since I first saw the photo of myself in that field of ruin, triumphant at what was clearly my worst moment. "Why did you throw yourself at that enemy? You had to have known it would take valuable time and energy away that could have been used to hunt other faux-villains. You even got banged up so badly Recovery Girl had to step in and fix your wounds. Why go that far when there was no value in doing so?"

Why indeed? I know why, but explaining it would hardly be in my favor. Still… I have to tell him. "I… I guess I got a little too caught up in the role."

His eyes narrow. "Could you elaborate a little on that?"

I sigh. Even when I was going over my reasons afterward it sounded crazy to me. It still sounds crazy. "You ever try role-playing games, Mr. Aizawa?" He shakes his head no. "In them you take on the role of someone other than yourself. You act as they would, even if they would do something you wouldn't. You can pretend to be smarter, cooler, and braver than you really are. I… was doing the same thing in the test. I imagined I was a hero responding to a crisis, not a student taking an exam. And what kind of hero would I be if I saw how dangerous that thing was and did nothing to stop it even in the middle of its rampage? I… completely forgot it was all a test. I wasn't paying attention to points. I saw an enemy, realized I could stop it when none of the other heroes were willing to try, and did what I felt I had to. That's all."

Aizawa stares at me for a long moment. His eyes bore into me and I can't match his gaze for long. I can't tell whether he is impressed or disgusted with my answer. "Hm," he says finally. The tone of his voice betrays nothing. He picks my folder back up and makes a note in it. "It's not a bad thing, to want to do good. But you can't lose focus on what's important. The last question I have is… would you prefer to have a different Quirk?"

I blink. I should realize what he's trying to ask but somehow it sounds like nonsense. "Huh?"

"You aren't stuck with the Quirk you have now, you know. The MIQR accepts trades. You can get a Quirk that's more suited to hero duty. You could be strong, or fast, or have some other incredible power. Someone else might find your Quirk to be better than the one they were born with, too. What do you think?"

Honestly, it's tempting. My Decay Quirk is extremely strong on offense but its activation is involuntary; that was a dangerous combination. A lapse of judgment or carelessness could easily kill someone I intended to save. Heaven knew I had enough nightmares of trying to catch someone falling and watching them disintegrate in my arms. But… "I'd like to keep the Quirk I've got for now. I get that it's creepy and dangerous and doesn't fit a hero image, but still… it's mine. There's lots of things it can do that other powers can't. So I'd like to see how far I can take it, rather than give it up before I start."

He studies me for a moment but he's got a heck of a poker face. I can't tell whether he's pleased displeased by my answer. "I see."

"Was that a part of the test, too?"

"Meh." Aizawa makes another mark on his sheet. "You weren't graded on whether you said 'yes' or 'no'. I wouldn't stress about it." He closed the folder. "That concludes the interview. Thanks for your time, sorry to make you come all the way down here for just a few minutes but that's all we needed you for. You can register complaints with the admissions board. Send in the next person on your way out, Shigaraki."

"Th-thank you, Aizawa-san." I stood up and left the interview room. The next person in line has wild blue hair and a resentful stare; I tell him he's next and he nods without a word. I walk out of the building with my brain still in a whirlwind. If it had gone well I could be excited; if it had been an extremely poor interview I could at least prepare myself for the inevitable result. As it was I can't say whether I did well or not. Aizawa is a hard person to read and I can't tell whether he liked or disliked my answers, though it was clear he disliked me personally. It's entirely possible I lie on the cusp between "UA material" and "not quite good enough". It's a bad place to be.

The results come a week later. I am well aware of the adage, "thick envelope good news, thin envelope bad news". The envelope is thick but contains nothing but a video disc; I can't decide whether I should be happy or not. My parents insist on watching with me so we all sit on the couch together, dad on my left with his good arm over my shoulder and mom on my right leaning forward with only a sliver of her bum on the couch. The screen comes to life and all of us suck in our breath. On the screen is a masked man dressed head to toe in a blinding white bodysuit with bright red accent marks and a large gold "M" medallion on his chest. His mouth is the only exposed part of his body; it's shaped into a small but unshakable grin. A yellow cape flutters out behind him as though ruffled by an unseen breeze. This was a man anyone in the country if not the world would recognize on sight. The man never seen out of costume because he was always on duty to protect the innocent and bring evil to justice. The founder of MIQR who single-handedly created and nurtured the hero society we all live in. The greatest hero of all time, Monomyth.

"Greetings, Tomura Shigaraki," Monomyth says. "This may come as a surprise to you, but you will be among the first to know that I, Monomyth, will be joining the UA faculty as of this year. As part of hazing the newcomer-" His grin widens as he turns to address someone off camera sotto voce "-what, you know it's true!-" before returning his attention to the camera. "-I was given the responsibility of recording this video detailing the results of your exams. Of everyone's exams, actually."

Dad is bouncing in his seat, eyes shining with child-like glee. "I really hope it's good news," he says. "A personal message from Monomyth! I want to keep this forever." I have to agree with him; it would be rough for such an invaluable keepsake, an heirloom we could pass on for generations, to detail the moment my UA dream ended. Mom angrily "Shush!"es both of us and we go back to watching.

Monomyth explains, "Your written exam, by the numbers, was adequate. However, we were really impressed by your response to the essay question. It revealed a keen mind that could analyze all the results and think on several wavelengths at once! That's a rare talent, and that pumped your score up. The practical exam…" Here he deflated. "You had a strong start but wasted a lot of time going after an opponent worth zero points. If you had kept going at your previous pace until the end of it you would have gotten enough points to make the cutoff. As it is… you fell a little short of what we wanted to see."

Getting chastised by the Eternal Hero himself brings it home. Mom lets out a long slow sigh. Dad squeezes my shoulder. Yeah, I should have expected that. UA was a bit too high for me to reach after all. Bakugo will be insufferable for sure and that's going to suck, but in the end I have no one to blame but myself.

Monomyth continues talking, and the tone of his voice is upbeat enough to rouse me from my disappointment. "However, in the interview it came out that you tackled the special enemy to protect the city. Treating the exercise as reality might show a lack of focus, but how could an institution dedicated to producing the very best of a generation of heroes turn away a student with such pure motives? We at UA recognize there is more to being a hero than simply defeating evil. Intangibles such as personality, ability to stay calm under pressure, dynamic tactics, and a selfless nature would all be lost if Villain Points were all that mattered. Therefore, a team of judges watches the exam closely and rates each participant on those factors and other factors, awarding points at their discretion. Thus: Rescue Points, the other half of being a truly exemplary hero. When those are factored in…"

Monomyth steps to the side to reveal two sets of numbers. The digits on the left are marked "Villain Points" and the right numbers are marked "Rescue Points". There's a 40 on the left and a 28 on the right. He spreads his arms wide, and his smile finally shows the tiniest hint of his teeth. "Young man. Allow me the great pleasure of informing you of your acceptance into the next hero class at UA."

Then Dad is shouting and Mom is crying and hugging me and I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe and the television drones on but no one is listening to a word Monomyth says because everyone is a bundle of firecrackers someone tossed a match into and it's real it's really real.

We celebrate by ordering takeout. Mom and Dad both leave to go pick it up because they're sure there's at least one person from school who'd want to know the good news. They're under the impression that I'm not particularly popular but I have a small circle of friends. Heh, too bad. I don't really have anyone at middle school I can talk to. They all steer clear of me, thinking that even with my finger protectors on I can still turn them to dust with a tap on the shoulder or a high five. The closest thing I have to a friend is Bakugo, who tends to grudgingly treat me as a worthy foe only because he recognizes that if we got serious I'd only need one hit to end him. Realistically I was unlikely to get that hit, but you know what they say about luck being a skill. When we were younger, right after my Quirk manifested, he was the only one who dared come close to me. He told everyone he wasn't scared of me even though I could disintegrate anyone or anything just by touching all five fingers on either hand to it. Looking back I think I'm the only classmate he had even the slightest respect toward: he had managed to bully every other kid out of applying to UA except Midoriya, who was too stubborn to take the hint. While me… well, he wasn't happy about it, but he seemed to think I at least deserved a fair shot. I have his cell number, so I give him a call. He picks up on the second ring. "So," he answers imperiously. "If you're calling to whine then save your breath. I don't talk to losers. How'd it go?"

"Much better than I thought," I say with a smirk. "Thanks to a little thing called 'Rescue Points'."

"Huh?!" He's shouting so loud I have to yank the speaker away from my ear. "If you only beat me 'cuz of some damn judges-!"

So, to absolutely no one's surprise he didn't get many rescue points. I puff out my chest in pride. "Forty villain points, and twenty-eight rescue points. That's a 68 in total."

"Bah-ha-ha-ha-ha!" His laughter is emotionally painful and strips my ego to the skeleton. I immediately regret getting so conceited. "Too bad! I got seventy-seven! I gotta be number one in the whole region, maybe even in the country! That's what you get for challenging me!"

"Damn, man," I say. Honestly it is really impressive, even for Bakugo. "How much of that was Rescue?"

"Zero!"

I boggle. "Wait, none?! As in, all of that 77 was villain points? How in the heck did you smash that many robots?"

"That's just the way it is when you're the best," Bakugo says like he's describing the weather. "I figured you'd be too scared to use your Quirk well. But hey, 68 ain't bad. You can join me at UA, Tomura, so long as you don't get any funny ideas. Don't forget who's on top and we won't have any trouble."

That was a real funny way of saying "Good job", but it was about as close to a congratulation as I was going to get from this guy. "What about Midoriya? Have you-"

"I don't need to call him to know he failed, obviously! What the hell's a Quirkless little nobody going to do against those robots, huh?! I don't want to call him, his whining and crappy attitude will drag me down and I don't wanna deal with that today."

Damn, he's harsh when it comes to Midoriya. But he has a point; you'd have to be an incredibly good fighter to scrap those robots without a Quirk, and Midoriya wasn't. Even if he had bulked up a little bit over the last year, it's not something a middle schooler could do easily. Maybe he could take down a few, but not enough to make the cutoff. Still, with Rescue Points in play it might not be completely impossible. He was the kind of plucky little guy that you know is going to fail but you hold out hope that maybe, just maybe, he'll beat the odds. "Just in case, do you have his number? I'd like to hear it from him."

"Why the hell would I have his phone number?" There's a pause. "Uh, actually, yeah, I think I do have it. If I haven't deleted it yet. If you're gonna do it I'll send it over to ya in a minute. Anyway, I'll see you at UA in the spring, classmate!" Then he hangs up on me. Man, when he says that word it sounds like mockery. Having to deal with him for three more years is not gonna be the best, but to study at UA it's a small price to pay.

My phone buzzes when I get the text from him a moment later. It's a phone number, no other message. I add it to my contacts and send a call, wondering if Midoriya would even pick up if it's an unknown number. The third ring cuts off in the middle and I hear a scratchy, "… 'lo?"

"Hey, Midoriya. It's Shigaraki. Me and Bakugo got our results from the UA exam. Did you hear back from 'em yet?"

I hear him breathing in and out through his mouth, but it's an uncomfortably long time before he responds. "Yeah." His voice is wet. He's trying to sound cheerful and it's not working.

"Oh. That bad, huh?" For some reason I try to make it sound joking. I guess I was hoping if I sounded casual it would take the sting out of it, but I immediately realize I sound indifferent to what must be a really traumatizing moment for him.

He breaths in and out through his mouth. His inhales are quick, his exhales shaky and ragged. I miss my chance to apologize. "… I got a zero on the practical."

I blink. "A… a zero?" That didn't sound right. Sure he couldn't have done much against the robots, but he had to have been able to take out at least one. Or failing that, he should have been able to pick up some Rescue points somewhere.

It all comes tumbling out with his sobs. "I tried. I tried so hard! I ran all around until my legs were sore. I beat at them with my fists until they bled but I couldn't make a dent in them. I had to be rescued from the villains over and over, making trouble for everyone. In the end I had to hide until time ran out. I couldn't get a single point. Even though it was for UA, I couldn't…!" What comes out next is a scream of anguish and utter, total defeat. It's hard, listening to him sob like this. Midoriya was always kind of a crybaby, but this is different. This is more than frustration or fear or grief. The image I get is, 'I'm listening to Midoriya die. His body might still move after this, but he'll be dead on the inside from this day on.' I don't think he can recover. What did not bend ended up broken.

In the end I don't tell Midoriya how Bakugo and I passed. I stay on the phone with him for ten minutes while he sobs and screams. He apologizes to me when he's done and says he'll see me at school tomorrow.

But I don't see him at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or ever again before the school year ends. His phone rings and rings and he doesn't pick up. Text messages go unreturned. Once I even visit his apartment, but his mother only shakes her head sadly. Midoriya goes the way of the NEET. It's sad, but there's nothing an outsider to his life can do. How can a hero save someone who doesn't want to be saved? Midoriya's fate leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in my mouth as I get ready to officially join UA as an incoming freshman.