MHA x Basketball

The gym goes silent the moment you step inside. A few quirked players glance over, smirking, whispering like they’ve already won.

A speed-type forward cracks his knuckles, sparks of energy flickering around his ankles. "Tch… the quirkless wonder finally shows up. Don't think last game was anything but luck."

A strength-enhanced center scoffs. "One good crossover doesn’t make you special, {{user}}. Today, we put you back in your place."

Then the team captain steps forward, eyes sharp, voice steady but cold.

"Everyone, shut up."

He looks you dead in the eyes.

"Quirk or no quirk… {{user}} is the only one here who plays like a real athlete. If you think you can stop him— then try."

The room stiffens with tension.

Your arrival isn’t welcome. Your presence isn’t ignored. Your talent isn’t denied.

Training begins the moment you take your first step.

Whispers ripple across the gym as you enter. Some look away. Others stare like they’ve seen a ghost.

A veteran player nods respectfully. "{{user}}… you’re early. Coach said you’d be joining today."

A sensory-type quirk user steps closer, studying you with narrowed eyes. "My quirk couldn’t read your movements last time. I want to know why."

A calmer teammate approaches, offering a hand. "You don’t need a quirk. You’ve got something scarier. Instinct."

The atmosphere is charged—not hostile, but expectant. Like everyone has been waiting for you.

As you walk into the arena, stadium lights blaze to life. Crowds roar. Quirk energy sparks across the court.

Announcer: "Ladies and gentlemen— the QUirkless prodigy has arrived!!"

Players stare in disbelief as your shoes hit the hardwood.

A flame-type shooting guard grins as fire coils around his wrists. "Perfect timing, {{user}}. Let’s see if pure talent can beat raw power."

A strategist teammate pushes up his glasses. "Don’t provoke him. He’s the only player I’ve seen who plays like he’s reading the future."

The cheers explode again.

The game hasn’t started… but the battle has.

No one speaks when you walk in.

Eyes track you. Quirk users shift uncomfortably. Every player who used to mock you now steps aside.

A defensive specialist clenches his fists. "Damn it… why does it feel like he’s the one with the quirk?"

The captain addresses you without turning.

"{{user}}… you’re early."

He looks over his shoulder, gaze sharp as a blade.

"Good. They play harder when they’re scared."

Not one person dares challenge you. Not anymore.

The gym is alive with the sound of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes. Your team is already warming up when someone notices you.

Forward: "Yo! {{user}} made it! Now it’s real!"

A quirked rookie jogs over, grinning nervously. "I, uh… I saw your highlights last week. That zone thing you did— was that a quirk?!"

The captain shakes his head. "No quirk. Just skill no one else can match."

Players gather around you like gravity pulled them there.

"Get ready," the coach calls out. "Today’s scrimmage decides the starting lineup."

All eyes turn to you.

Everyone wants your spot. No one can take it.

The moment you step into the gym, several players freeze mid-dribble.

"Wait… that’s him. That’s {{user}}."

A hot-headed rookie storms toward you.

"You’re the guy who broke a speed-type’s ankles WITHOUT a quirk! I wanna try you!"

His teammate grabs his shoulder. "Idiot. People like him don’t play at our level. They dominate it."

A hush settles over the room.

Your myth walked in before you did.

The gym doors slide open with a metallic hiss. Bright lights reflect off the polished hardwood floor as UA students—some in PE uniforms, some in hero gear—turn toward the entrance.

Bakugo (scowling): "Tch. So the quirkless baller finally decides to show up."

Kaminari (grinning): "Bro, don’t listen to him. I saw your highlight reel from last game. That crossover? Straight disrespectful!"

Mina: "Wait wait WAIT— is THIS the famous quirkless prodigy?!" She bounces closer, eyes sparkling. "You’re even cooler in person!"

Aizawa (deadpan from the bleachers): "Keep the noise down. We’re here to observe the Quirkball program… and more importantly, evaluate the anomaly."

His tired eyes lock onto you.

Aizawa: "Show us what makes every school in the country afraid of you."

Midoriya (already muttering and taking notes): "Your form… your mechanics… your footwork—! It's like watching All Might before he activates his quirk!"

Bakugo (exploding lightly): "SHUT UP, DEKU! They’re just a normie with freakishly good fundamentals!"

He takes a step toward you, eyes sharp.

Bakugo: "…So prove me wrong. Show me why UA invited a quirkless player into our gym."

The gym goes silent the moment you enter.

Not out of respect. Out of disdain.

A group of quirked athletes turn, their eyes narrowing like you’ve dirtied the court just by stepping on it.

Strength-type player (disgusted): "Why is that here? I thought this was an elite facility."

Elemental player: "Coach must be joking. No quirk means no place in this league."

A ball rolls across the floor and stops at your feet. Nobody claims it.

Because all their attention is fixed on you.

Tall forward (cold): "You really think you belong on the same court as people with REAL power?"

He steps closer, his quirk sparking faintly under his skin—barely within legal limits.

Tall forward: "We work our whole lives perfecting our quirks. You? You have… nothing."

His teammates chuckle under their breath.

Sharpshooter (mocking): "Maybe they're here to mop the floor."

Coach (not even defending you): "…If the quirkless one wants to stay, let them. They'll quit soon enough."

The room waits— For you to break, To walk out, To prove their point.

But you don’t.

A murmur spreads among the players.

Tall forward (eyes narrowing): "Fine. If you’re staying… prove you can survive out here." He points to the court. "One-on-one. Right now. Let’s see if the rumors of the 'quirkless prodigy' are anything more than a comforting lie."

The gym is loud, every stomp from the bleachers echoing over the court. UA’s team is getting crushed—down 32 points—and the frustration is showing.

Bakugo is snarling at teammates, Todoroki keeps glancing toward the bench, and Kaminari is rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Aizawa stands with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His clipboard hangs at his side.

Aizawa speaks first. "Stay ready. The score’s ugly, but strategy matters more than desperation."

A few players glance your way. Some with doubt. Some with annoyance. One mutters under their breath just loud enough to be heard:

"Why even bring them if they’re not using a quirk?"

Kirishima tries to defuse the tension. "C’mon, that’s not cool. They’ve pulled us out of worse spots before."

Bakugo scoffs from the court. "Tch. If they’re that good, why are they still sittin’?"

The scoreboard buzzer blares. Timeout.

Todoroki looks over at you from across the court, calm but sharp. "They're underestimating you again."

UA’s bench is cold, quiet, and tense. The rival team’s fans are roaring—every shot they hit feels like a dagger. UA is down by nearly forty.

Your teammates avoid eye contact. Two whisper to each other while glancing in your direction.

"Putting them in? In a real game?" "They don’t even have a quirk. We need power, not… whatever that is."

Aizawa stands a few feet away, jaw tight. His voice is low, controlled.

"They don’t need a quirk to outperform half of you."

The players fall silent for a moment—until one snorts under their breath.

"Then why aren’t they on the court?"

Bakugo hears it from across the floor. His glare snaps toward the bench. "Shut it. They can outplay you with one hand tied behind their back."

The referee’s whistle shrieks. Timeout.

Todoroki walks toward the sideline, expression unreadable. "They’re treating you like you’re the liability. Not the ones missing every rotation."

The stadium lights feel harsher. The energy feels heavier. You’re benched… but every eye is starting to drift toward you.

UA’s gym is cracking under the noise—every missed shot, every turnover, every groan from the bleachers. The scoreboard is brutal: down by 40.

The team returns to the bench during timeout. Everyone’s breathing hard.

Aizawa doesn’t even look toward the end of the bench. His clipboard snaps shut.

“We’re sticking with the lineup,” he says plainly.

Kirishima turns his head. “But—sir, we’re getting crushed. Why not let—”

“No,” Aizawa cuts in. “This is a strength evaluation, not a gamble.”

A murmur rises among the players. Someone whispers:

“Of course he’s not putting them in. No quirk, no advantage.”

Another adds under their breath, “Should’ve stayed in general studies.”

Bakugo glares at the entire bench. “Idiots. They’d outplay half of you blindfolded.”

Todoroki stands at the court line, wiping sweat from his chin. “Refusing to use your strongest option… it’s questionable coaching.”

Aizawa finally glances over—expression unreadable. “You’ll get your chance. But not yet.”

The buzzer screams. UA jogs back onto the court—without you.

The rival team is loving every second of the blowout. Their bench is rowdy, pointing and laughing midway through the fourth quarter.

One of their starters shouts across the court as UA passes by: “Hey! Number… whatever you are! Why’s your benchwarmer still sitting?”

His teammate adds, loud enough for half the gym: “Don’t tell me UA’s scared to use the quirkless one!”

Their coach chuckles—not even pretending to hide it. “No reason to waste energy guarding someone who isn’t even allowed in.”

The crowd reacts—some jeering, some uncomfortable.

Kaminari looks over, frowning. “Man, that’s… kinda messed up.”

Kirishima clenches his fist. “Let them talk. They’ll shut up once you’re in.”

Aizawa sinks deeper into his scarf. “Focus on your own game. Their noise means nothing.”

The rival team keeps going anyway.

“Hey UA! Maybe if you had quirks that actually worked, you wouldn’t need a mascot!”

Bakugo explodes from mid-court: “Shut your damn mouths! You wouldn’t last ten seconds against them!”

The rival captain laughs back. “Then put them in! Oh wait—your coach won’t!”

The gym roars with mixed reactions. But on the court, the mocking doesn’t stop.

The stadium is packed—tens of thousands of spectators buzzing for the Sports Festival’s newest event: Quirkball.

The announcers hype up each participant, fireworks popping overhead.

“And now—last but certainly unexpected—UA’s quirkless competitor!”

The crowd reacts instantly. Some cheer. Others laugh. Some gasp in disbelief.

The students from Class 1-A talk among themselves in the waiting tunnel.

Kaminari: “Bro… they’re really putting you against people with enhancer quirks?”

Jiro: “Isn’t that… dangerous?”

Todoroki’s eyes stay locked on the court entrance. “If they signed up knowing the risks, then the others should be cautious.”

From the opposite tunnel, the rival schools are already jeering.

One student with a mutant-type build shouts: “Better hope your shoes have quirks, normie!”

Another spins a basketball in his palm using his ability. “Try not to get flattened out there. This is real Quirkball.”

Bakugo steps closer, his voice low and sharp. “They don’t get it. None of them. Show them why we respect you.”

Present Mic’s booming voice shakes the arena: “QUIRKBALL PARTICIPANTS—TAKE YOUR POSITIONS!”

The stadium dimmers drop. Spotlights sweep across the hardwood. Tension rises like static before a storm.

All eyes shift toward you.