The students all held their breath, their eyes fixed on Aizawa’s lips. Some looked at Tori with sympathy, while others wore expressions that said, "Serves him right."
Aizawa began,
"Oh, and about the expulsion..."
A faint but unmistakable smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"That was a lie."
"EEEEEEEEEHHHHHHH?!?!"
The students erupted in shocked screams that seemed to shake the very grounds of the school.
"It was a calculated deception designed to bring out your fullest potential."
"It was... a lie?"
"Wow, that’s so harsh, Sensei!"
"I thought my heart was going to stop!"
"Isn’t it obvious? There’s no way they’d expel a student on the very first day. If you think about it for a moment..."
Yaoyorozu replied evenly, though a sheen of cold sweat betrayed her unease. Ignoring the tumult around him, Aizawa gathered his papers and prepared to return to the classroom.
Watching that indifferent gesture, Marumine’s thoughts raced:
*A lie... A lie, you say…?*
His pupils trembled as if struck by a minor earthquake.
*What is this emotionless, glassy-eyed weirdo talking about right now?*
*A rational deception? A performance meant to extract potential?*
*Is he saying that some educational bullshit has just ruined my perfect plan and shattered my bright future?*
20th place. Last.
An obvious failing score by any measure.
He had clutched the dynamometer lever until his arm screamed, run until his lungs burned, and even deliberately fumbled the ball in front of everyone—just to earn this humiliating rank.
And yet, somehow, it was still a pass.
*I’m done for... It’s really over now.*
The word “Withdrawal” flashed in his mind like a neon sign. Then he saw his parents’ faces—his mother, who had wept uncontrollably upon receiving the acceptance letter, and his father, who had clapped him on the shoulder with a quiet determination.
If Marumine announced that he was quitting on his own, they might have a heart attack or even erase him from the family register.
Being expelled for lack of ability was the only peaceful escape available.
And yet, that escape was now being sealed off with concrete right before his eyes.
Tori lowered his head, feigning concentration as he counted the grains of sand beneath his feet. The entire world had turned to shades of gray.
Step. Step.
Then, in that moment of despair, a heavy, rough cadence of combat boots broke the stillness.
The sound was like the march of a hero shattering hopelessness beneath his feet.
Every footfall on the sand dripped with defiant hostility and raw dissatisfaction.
"Hey, Sensei."
A sharp voice cut through the air.
Lifting his head, Tori saw a boy with spiky blonde hair that gleamed like a gold medal—Bakugo Katsuki—breaking formation to stride purposefully toward Aizawa Shota.
With both hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders slumped and his eyes narrowed like those of a predator, Bakugo radiated an aggressive aura that instantly dispelled any relief lingering in the air.
Aizawa halted his shuffling of papers and regarded him with an annoyed expression.
"What is it, Bakugo? Save your questions for the classroom."
"I’m not buying it."
Bakugo growled, cutting Aizawa off. After glaring at the teacher, his gaze slowly and disdainfully swept over to Marumine Tori.
"I get the idea behind this 'rational deception'—scare you all into unleashing your true potential. Fine, I hear you."
The corner of Bakugo’s mouth twisted into a chilling smirk.
"But really, just look at that piece of trash."
His finger jabbed precisely at Tori.
"See how he’s just moping around? If someone as much of a Deku as him can exist, then maybe it’s time we start handing out expulsions."
In an instant, the atmosphere on the field froze.
The students fell silent at Bakugo’s harsh words. Uraraka covered her mouth, and Iida opened his mouth to protest before being swallowed by the oppressive tension.
Then, at that very moment, a spark of life returned to Marumine Tori’s dim eyes.
*Bakugo...!*
A fanfare roared inside Tori’s heart.
That rough, arrogant, and downright disrespectful blonde punk—the very idiot he had sworn to avoid—now appeared, in this moment, as a savior descended from the heavens. For a fleeting second, Tori even imagined a halo shining behind Bakugo’s head.
*Yes! Exactly! You’re absolutely right! Go for it, Bakugo! You’re the real hero! More! Insult me even more! Hammer home that I’m nothing but trash!*
Tori silently cheered and applauded Bakugo with heartfelt enthusiasm. He had never genuinely rooted for anyone before; every one of Bakugo’s biting remarks resonated like a revered scripture.
"Look at these numbers."
Bakugo stepped forward, his every stride exuding a mix of bloodlust and the unmistakable tang of gunpowder.
"A 50-meter dash clocking in the 7-second range. Grip strength in the 50-kilogram zone. A long jump that wouldn’t impress an elementary schooler. A ball throw of 60 meters. Do you really think those numbers belong in the U.A. Hero Course? And he didn’t even use his Quirk once during the test. Or maybe he couldn’t? Keeping someone no better than a Quirkless loser on the roster under the pretense of a ‘lie’—is that your idea of rationality?"
It was perfect.
Bakugo’s sharp criticism hit every nerve Tori had hoped to target—subpar physical stats, zero Quirk application, and an utter lack of drive.
Tori was so overwhelmed with emotion that tears threatened to spill. He mentally volunteered to become the founding member of Bakugo’s fan club.
*Great job! So logical! Unassailable! Now hurry up and cut me loose—kick this trash out of the school already!*
To bolster Bakugo’s point, Tori exaggerated his forlorn expression and hunched his shoulders even further.
"Ahaha... Well, Bakugo, you’re not entirely wrong—"
Before he could add another word in his meek, croaking voice,
"Quiet."
Aizawa’s icy command sliced through the impromptu alliance between the two, silencing them both.
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed as his hair lifted ever so slightly, defying gravity. His bloodshot gaze locked onto Bakugo.
"I'm the one who evaluates, not you."
His voice carried the inescapable authority of a Pro Hero; even Bakugo flinched instinctively.
"Bakugo, do you really see him as nothing more than a talentless failure?"
"If he’s not a failure, then what the hell is he? He’s nothing but a pebble rolling around on the dirt!"
"Don’t be so blinded by what’s right in front of you."
Aizawa then shifted his gaze back to Tori, his eyes filled with a mix of contemplation and complexity.
"The U.A. entrance exam isn’t a walk in the park. You don’t crack a top-20 spot through mere luck or a fluke. It demands information processing, situational judgment, and—"
He paused briefly, rummaging through his pocket for the tablet containing the entrance exam data. Recalling each detailed record—the ability to dismiss every dummy without leaving a trace of a Quirk in the process—he continued,
"...invisible potential. It’s up to a teacher to nurture that potential into bloom. Determining whether his string of zeroes is due to incompetence, or simply a dormant potential struggling to break free, is my job."
More than anything, he had already reached an understanding with Principal Nezu regarding the anomaly that was Marumine Tori.
Discarding a latent talent solely because of poor physical test results was, in his eyes, the most irrational decision possible.
Of course, even he hadn’t anticipated receiving such an abysmal scorecard with such brazen confidence. Aizawa certainly had his own thoughts on that matter as well.
But that was—
"But—!"
—certainly not something he needed to elaborate on to Bakugo. Aizawa silenced him with a glare that burned red.
"Prove your complaints with results. Over the next three years, show me, through your achievements, just how much better you are than the 'pebble' you claim he is. If you have time to fuss over my teaching methods, spend it memorizing another vocabulary word."
Aizawa let his hair settle back into place as he turned on his heel.
"That’s all for today. Head back to the classroom, check the curriculum schedule, and be ready—because the real hell starts tomorrow."
With that, Aizawa disappeared toward the teachers’ lounge, his retreating figure resembling a flapping sleeping bag.
Silence returned to the schoolyard.
But this time, the silence was different.
Bakugo’s labored breathing and trembling shoulders, fueled by simmering rage, threatened to shatter it at any moment.
"Damn it...!"
Bakugo kicked the ground and muttered a curse under his breath.
Then he turned his murderous gaze toward Tori—a look that wasn’t mere indifference, but one that marked him as a stain destined to be eradicated.
"Hey, Pebble."
Bakugo growled.
"You’d better be grateful you’re still breathing. But mark my words: I’m going to prove that it’s completely irrational for you to be here—and I’ll kick you out with my own two hands."
BANG! BANG!
He deliberately pummeled his palms together, producing a threatening burst of sound as he roughly brushed past Tori’s shoulder. The acrid scent of gunpowder smoke stung Tori’s nostrils.
Tori stared blankly after Bakugo’s retreating back.
As Bakugo’s figure faded into the distance, the other students began to gather their belongings and make their way back to the classroom.
Worried, Uraraka approached, offering, "Marumine, are you okay? Don’t let it get to you..." but Tori couldn’t hear her over the thunder of his own thoughts.
Only one thought occupied his mind.
*...I failed.*
Despite Bakugo’s vehement defense, he couldn’t overcome Aizawa’s stubborn, infuriating resolve.
Inside Tori, his opinion of Aizawa had shifted repeatedly:
A hard-working man in a demanding field.
An angelic figure.
A cold, lifeless weirdo.
And, finally...
In the end, to Tori, Aizawa was nothing more than a piece of shit.
The slackers life is to hard