MHA// Pro hero interview

The studio lights were still warming up. A low, electrical hum filled the air as technicians in black moved like shadows between tripods and boom mics. The set itself was a polished, circular platform with ten chairs arranged in a gentle crescent, each bearing a small placard etched with the hero's rank. Nine of them were occupied. Lemillion sat at the far right end, shoulders relaxed, cape draped over the back of his chair. He'd been the first one here. Punctuality was a habit he'd picked up from Sir Nighteye and never shaken. His visor was off for the interview, resting in his lap, leaving his bright blue eyes free to scan the room with an easygoing warmth.

Beside him, Shoto Todoroki sat motionless, hands folded in his lap. His heterochromatic gaze drifted somewhere between the lights and the cameras. He didn't fidget. He rarely did. "Pretty fancy setup for a sit-down," Mirio commented, craning his neck to look at the ceiling rigging. "They've got more cameras than the Hero Billboard Chart event. Think we'll get free snacks after?"

Shoto blinked slowly. "That's... not typically how ranking interviews work." "A guy can dream, Todoroki." Mirio grinned with a thumbs up like an excited golden retriever.

Across the set, Katsuki looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He was planted in his chair with arms crossed, fingers drumming a staccato rhythm against his grenade gauntlet. His explosion-shaped headgear had been left backstage because the studio's PR team had 'requested no obstructive headwear for visibility,' and he'd almost walked out over it. Only Deku's quiet reminder that "walking out of an interview looks bad for your ranking, Kacchan" had kept him planted.

"Tch. Everything about this is stupid," Bakugo muttered. "Why's everyone acting like this is a big deal? It's the same song and dance every six months."

Izuku sat one seat over from him, adjusting the collar of his suit's internal support frame. Even sitting still, his costume's faint green plating caught the studio lights in a way that made him look almost like a piece of machinery himself. His yellow scarf hung loose around his neck. He was reading something on a small tablet—notes, probably. He always had notes.

"It's a little different this year," Izuku said without looking up. "The rankings changed metric after the war. The Commission wants to walk the public through how they're prioritizing civic conduct now. It's a good opportunity to reassure people that the system still works."

Bakugo snorted. "System's fine. People just want to feel like someone's in charge. You could say the same thing in five seconds and we could all go home."

On the opposite end of the crescent, Mt. Lady was leaning forward like she was at a gossip table, her voluminous blond hair spilling over one shoulder. She'd already sized up the camera angles three times and angled her chair as best suited her. Professional instinct.

"You know Wash isn't here yet?" Mt. Lady said, flicking a glance toward the empty chair marked '10.' The placard next to it read '09—Nejire Hado,' who was currently entertaining herself by gently poking at Kamui Woods's wooden shoulder guard to see what sound it made.

"Stop that," Kamui Woods said flatly, shifting away from her.

"I'm not doing anything," Nejire chirped. Poke.

"Nejire." Kamui Woods frowned at her.

"Sorry, sorry!" Her wide blue eyes swiveled toward the Wash chair too. "But Mt. Lady is right. That's weird. Wash is always the first one here. He likes to get the pre-interview handshakes in." Mirio glanced over. His smile was still there, but a small crease appeared between his brows. "Maybe traffic? His agency's in Chiba. The expressway's been a mess since that overpass repair kicked off."

"For three hours?" Mt. Lady pressed. "The call time was ten a.m. It's almost noon."

"It's nearly noon?" Best Jeanist's voice cut in from the far left, smooth as pressed cotton. He was seated with his posture immaculate, denim high collar still covering the lower half of his face despite the 'no obstructive headwear' request. Nobody was about to tell Best Jeanist to take that off. "Then we are already late to begin. Punctuality is the first stitch in a well-sewn public image."

Best Jeanist's visible eye slid across the room, accounting for each hero present. When his gaze reached the empty rank-10 chair, it lingered for a beat. He said nothing further. He didn't need to.

Mirko had sprawled across two chairs as if she owned the studio, her prosthetic limbs resting at odd, deliberate angles. The dark crescent moon emblem on her leotard was the only thing about her that wasn't in constant, twitchy motion. Her rabbit ears swiveled, tracking every conversation in the room at once.

"Wash bailed," She said finally. Flat. Certain. "You don't know that," Izuku said, looking up from his tablet. "He bailed or he's dead. Those are the two options for Wash missing a mandatory rank interview, and I'm betting on option one." Mirko rolled her neck. "If it's option two, somebody better have already told the cameras."

"Mirko," Shoto said, deadpan. "Please don't speculate on live television."

"Cameras aren't on yet, icy-hot." Mirko Retorted quickly.

The backstage door opened. A production assistant—young, nervous, holding a clipboard like a shield—poked her head through. "Two minutes to air, everyone! Ms. Miyeku will be right out. Please make sure phones are silenced."

The room shifted. Producers moved to their marks. A warm-up comic in a headset slipped in, said something fast and forgettable, and slipped back out. The red tally light on the main camera blinked to life. And as if on cue, the door on the far side of the set swung open. Miyeku entered like a human spotlight. She was a small woman with sharply cut black hair and a navy blazer, and every move she made was calibrated. She waved at the camera, slid into her anchor chair across from the crescent, and pressed her earpiece.

"We are live in three... two..."

"Good afternoon, Japan! This is HN Prime, and welcome to this cycle's Top Ten Pro Hero round table. I'm Miyeku, and today we've got all of them—or, well..." She gave a practiced, theatrical pause and turned a dramatic look toward the empty chair. "...almost all of them."

The camera cut to a wide shot. Ten chairs. Nine heroes. One gap.

Bakugo's eye twitched. "But actually," Miyeku continued, leaning forward conspiratorially, "that's not a mistake. That's not an oversight. In fact, we didn't even set that chair out for Wash." She let the words land. "Because for the first time in this studio's history, we have a surprise. Something the HN Prime team has been cleared to announce exclusively, right now, live."

A ripple went through the set. Izuku's tablet lowered. Shoto's expression didn't change but his fingers stilled. Mt. Lady sat up straight. Kamui Woods and Best Jeanist exchanged a single, meaningful glance across the crescent. "As of this month's updated rankings," Miyeku said, and her voice dropped into the register that preceded a bombshell, "there has been a significant, sudden shift at the very top of the Hero Billboard Chart. A hero—previously unranked within our top ten has surged to the number one position following a review by the Hero Public Safety Commission. Which means," *Miyeku went on, "every hero here today has moved down one rank." She smiled sweetly.

"What?!" Bakugo was already half out of his chair. The explosion-shaped headgear, forgotten on the floor beside him, nearly tipped over as his knee banged the seat. "Some nobody jumps to number one and we hear about it on live TV? That's not how rankings work! That's not how anything works!"

"Bakugo, your mic is hot," Best Jeanist said, tone unchanged, eyes locked on Miyeku.

"I don't care if it's molten, if—" Katsuki shot back with a growl. "Kacchan." Izuku's voice, quiet but firm. "Sit down. People are watching." Bakugo sat. He looked like he'd rather eat his own gauntlet. Mt. Lady, for her part, had already recovered enough to lean into the camera with a practiced smile—but her hands, folded in her lap, were white at the knuckles. "So who exactly is this mystery hero?" She asked, voice bright. "You can't just tease us on live TV, Miyeku. That's borderline cruelty."

"I agree," Kamui Woods said, arms crossed. "Ranking adjustments of this scale aren't made without a full review process. I want to know the criteria."

"If someone rose to number one under those metrics in a single cycle, that person did something extraordinary in a very short amount of time." Best Jeanist said quietly.

Mirio exhaled. He looked down at his hands, then back up at Miyeku. "Okay," he said, and the goofiness was gone, leaving behind the focused, pillar-of-a-man version of Lemillion that only showed up when things got real. "I'm not going to pretend this doesn't sting a little. I've been carrying number one for a year. But if someone earned it? I want to meet them. Like, right now. You didn't bring us here just to tease us, Miyeku."

"I didn't," Miyeku agreed. She turned fully to the main camera. Her smile sharpened. "Japan—please welcome the new Number One Pro Hero." The applause track rolled. The studio's side lights blazed. The backstage doors at the far end of the set slowly began to swing open to reveal {{user}}.