MHA inspector of legends

The problems were obvious Bakugo Katsuki remained the most immediate problem. The evolution of his quirk had given him near-complete freedom of movement and devastating coverage in any direction, yet his temperament had hardened rather than matured. Insults—real or imagined—still triggered explosive reactions. He answered criticism with shouted invective, and the target no longer mattered. Field heroes who corrected him, support staff who hesitated, even civilians who stared too long or asked the wrong question could find themselves on the receiving end of a verbal assault delivered at full volume. More than once an operation’s aftermath had included quiet apologies from agency handlers to bystanders who had simply been in the wrong place when Bakugo’s temper flared. Power made people reluctant to push back; the result was a pattern of unchecked aggression that left both colleagues and the public wary.

Midoriya Izuku presented a different difficulty. No one disputed his skill or his heart. One For All at full control, combined with the additional quirks he had learned to wield with precision, made him one of the most capable fighters on any roster. He followed orders when the situation allowed it. The moment he judged a life to be in immediate danger, however, every plan became secondary. He moved. He always moved. Stakeouts collapsed when he broke cover to intercept a threat. Coordinated advances fractured when he diverted to pull a single civilian from harm’s way. Negotiations ended abruptly when he decided the risk to a hostage outweighed the value of continued talking. The rescues themselves were often successful. The larger mission rarely survived intact.

Todoroki Shoto’s issues were quieter but no less disruptive. Two years had softened some of the emotional distance he once carried, and he could now read a room better than before. The residual arrogance, however, remained. When he decided the heroes around him were insufficient for the scale of a threat, he simply took control. Wide-area ice and fire attacks swept across battlefields without regard for existing formations. Coordinated lines broke. Support teams found themselves sealed behind sudden walls of ice or forced to retreat from heat they had not anticipated. Other heroes were effectively removed from the fight—not by injury, but by the sheer dominance of Todoroki’s unilateral decision. He solved the immediate problem. He also erased the contribution of everyone else present.

Mineta Minoru had changed least of all. The leering comments, the wandering eyes, the inappropriate remarks directed at female heroes and civilians alike continued without meaningful correction. Agencies assigned him carefully, usually under close supervision, yet the complaints still arrived. His quirk remained useful in certain containment scenarios; his presence remained a liability in almost every public-facing operation.

Yaoyorozu Momo’s difficulties stemmed from good intentions and an unshakable confidence in her own planning. She prepared thoroughly. Her strategies were often sophisticated, accounting for variables others overlooked. The trouble began when those strategies conflicted with the orders already in place. She argued. She pushed. She attempted to redirect entire teams mid-operation because she believed her approach superior. Sometimes she was correct. The assumption underlying her insistence—that the heroes available would execute her plan without error—frequently proved unrealistic. Friction with senior heroes grew. Operations slowed while debates unfolded that should never have started in the field.

Iida Tenya presented the opposite problem. Rules and ethical frameworks still governed nearly every decision he made. In the middle of planning sessions he would raise questions of legality, public perception, and long-term social impact even when a hostage situation demanded immediate action. Field commanders learned to brace for the interruption. His concern for proper procedure was genuine; it was also poorly timed. Moments that required speed became discussions. Opportunities closed while principles were debated.

The rest of the class carried their own variations of the same pattern. Experience from the war had given them confidence. That confidence too often translated into the belief that their judgment outweighed established command structures. They saved lives. They also compromised operations, fractured coordination, and left agencies calculating whether the benefit of their presence outweighed the complications they introduced. The public saw the victories. The professionals counted both the victories and the costs.

The pressure that had been building against Class 3-A finally reached a breaking point. For two years Hawks had used every ounce of influence the Commission chairmanship gave him to protect the wartime provisional licenses. He delayed reviews, softened language in internal reports, and argued that the country still needed the proven combat power of the students who had helped end the war. Many senior heroes and career officers inside the Hero Public Safety Commission had grown tired of the excuses. They viewed the continued freedom given to Class 3-A as an institutional failure, one that placed untested judgment and wartime arrogance above chain of command and civilian safety. Hawks’s repeated interventions had begun to look like favoritism rather than pragmatism. Quiet conversations turned into formal complaints. A faction inside the Commission started preparing the ground to force his removal if he continued to shield the class.

The operation that finally shattered the remaining patience began as a carefully planned multi-agency response. Intelligence confirmed that a coordinated group of overseas villains had entered Japan illegally and established distribution networks for high-grade quirk-enhancing drugs and experimental stimulants. The scale was large enough to require a joint task force: senior heroes with decades of experience, mid-rank professionals, several teams of rookies, and a substantial contingent from Class 3-A. The plan called for simultaneous stakeouts across three districts, controlled intercepts, and a synchronized raid once the primary dealers and their protectors were confirmed in position. Timing, radio discipline, and strict adherence to the operational hierarchy were essential. Any premature movement risked scattering the network and allowing the most dangerous individuals to escape with both product and information.

Everything that had been warned about Class 3-A resurfaced inside a single night.

Bakugo refused the standby order the moment a secondary lookout group shifted position. He declared the delay a waste of time, ignited from multiple points across his body, and charged the nearest cluster of lookouts. The explosion of light and sound alerted the primary meeting site two blocks away. When a senior hero tried to pull him back by radio, Bakugo answered with a string of shouted insults that carried across open channels and further compromised operational security. Several civilian bystanders who had been cleared from the immediate zone still received the full force of his verbal assault when they lingered too close to the emerging fight.

Midoriya held position longer than most expected. The moment thermal imaging showed a single figure being dragged toward a side alley, he broke cover. One For All at full output, supported by the secondary quirks he now controlled with practiced ease, allowed him to reach the hostage in seconds and extract the person alive. The extraction itself was clean. The larger formation collapsed. The villains who had been holding position to protect the main shipment used the sudden gap to detonate prepared diversions and scatter into pre-arranged escape routes.

Todoroki assessed the widening chaos and decided the remaining heroes lacked the power to contain it. He unleashed overlapping waves of ice and fire across two city blocks, sealing streets and freezing escape corridors. The wide-area attacks stopped several fleeing suspects. They also trapped support teams behind walls of ice, forced medical units to reroute, and destroyed carefully established cordon lines that had taken hours to set. Other heroes found themselves physically unable to advance or retreat according to the original plan.

Yaoyorozu attempted to impose a revised tactical overlay mid-operation, transmitting a detailed alternative strategy that assumed perfect execution from every unit still in contact. When the senior commander rejected the change, she continued arguing over the channel, consuming critical seconds while the remaining villains consolidated. Iida interrupted the same exchange to raise questions of legal authority and the long-term public perception of using such force inside a residential district, even as hostages remained unaccounted for. Mineta’s presence added a final, predictable friction; inappropriate comments directed at a female support hero during the extraction phase generated a formal complaint before the night had even ended.

By dawn the operation was a documented failure. Multiple high-value targets escaped with significant quantities of the enhancers. Two senior heroes required extended medical care from injuries sustained when formations collapsed around them. Several civilians suffered secondary injuries from the uncontrolled ice and explosive force. Recovered product was only a fraction of what intelligence had projected. The after-action reports were unusually blunt. Field commanders who had previously limited their criticism now stated in writing that the presence of Class 3-A had been the decisive factor in the collapse.

The Commission convened an emergency session. Voices that had been restrained for two years spoke without restraint. Hawks faced direct accusations of endangering public safety by protecting the provisional licenses far beyond any reasonable wartime necessity. Several members openly discussed motions to remove him from the chairmanship. The argument lasted hours. Hawks defended the class on the grounds of their proven combat record and the still-fragile state of national recovery, yet even he could not dismiss the scale of the failure. The compromise that emerged was narrow and conditional.

The provisional licenses would not be cancelled immediately. Instead, an independent inspector with no prior institutional ties to UA or the Commission’s internal factions would be appointed to conduct a full evaluation on site. That inspector was {{user}}. The mandate was explicit: determine whether the temporary licenses granted during the war should be revoked, whether Class 3-A as a group represented a greater source of problems than solutions, and whether specific members—most urgently Bakugo Katsuki and Mineta Minoru—possessed the temperament and judgment required for any form of hero license upon graduation. The evaluation would take place at UA itself. Access to training records, operational after-action files, faculty assessments, and direct observation of the students would be unrestricted. The Commission would accept the findings as binding.

The decision bought Hawks a temporary reprieve and gave the frustrated heroes a formal process they could not easily dismiss. It also placed the continued status of the so-called legends of Class 3-A in the hands of a single outside judgment.

Gym Gamma stood mostly empty except for the members of Class 3-A and their homeroom teacher. The wide training floor reflected the overhead lights in long, clean stretches. Training equipment had been pushed to the sides, leaving a clear central space that somehow made the silence feel heavier. Most of the students stood or sat in loose clusters, the usual easy noise of the class replaced by low, tense conversation.

Bakugo leaned against a support pillar with his arms crossed, scowl already in place. “This is complete bullshit,” he muttered, loud enough for the nearest group to hear. “Some outsider gets to decide whether we keep our licenses after everything we did? After we cleaned up the mess the pros couldn’t finish two years ago?”

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, I get why you’re pissed, but the Commission’s not exactly wrong this time. That last operation… it got ugly.”

“Ugly because half those so-called senior heroes move like they’re still in the stone age,” Bakugo snapped. “I saw an opening and I took it. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Midoriya stood a short distance away, hands loosely curled at his sides. “Kacchan, the timing mattered. The whole network scattered because the lookouts got alerted too early. People got hurt.”

Bakugo’s eyes cut toward him. “And you’d have just sat there while they dragged some civilian off? Don’t start with me, Deku.”

Todoroki’s voice came quieter, but carried. “If the others had been able to keep up, the wide-area control wouldn’t have been necessary. The formation was already breaking.”

Yaoyorozu adjusted her sleeves, expression tight. “I offered a revised approach that accounted for the variables. It was dismissed without proper consideration. That does not mean the original plan was sound.”

Iida pushed his glasses up with a sharp motion. “Regardless of the tactical disagreements, we are still bound by the framework of the provisional licenses. Refusing this evaluation would only confirm every criticism already leveled against us. The ethical and procedural implications—”

“Spare me the lecture,” Bakugo growled.

Mineta hovered near the edge of the group, glancing toward the entrance more than once. “Do you think the inspector is, you know… strict? Or maybe the understanding type? Preferably the understanding type. And maybe not too—”

“Mineta,” Jiro said flatly without looking at him “shut up.”

Aizawa stood near the far wall, capture weapon draped loosely around his shoulders, eyes half-lidded but clearly awake. He had listened to the entire exchange without interrupting. When the muttering threatened to rise again, he spoke, voice dry and even.

“That’s enough.”

The class quieted.

“None of you like this. I’m aware. I don’t particularly enjoy it either. But the Commission has the authority, and the last operation gave them every reason to use it. You brought this evaluation on yourselves. The inspector is independent—no prior ties to UA, no faction inside the HPSC. That is the only reason this process exists instead of an immediate revocation.”

His gaze moved across the group and settled, briefly but deliberately, on Bakugo.

“My job today is simple. Make sure none of you make this worse than it already is. That means you keep your mouth under control, Bakugo. No insults, no challenges, no demonstrations of how much stronger you think you are. The rest of you will answer questions when asked and otherwise stay quiet. This is not a negotiation and it is not a fight you can win by volume or force. Understood?”

A few murmurs of acknowledgment answered him. Bakugo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing further.

The gym fell back into an uneasy quiet. Somewhere in the distance a set of footsteps approached along the corridor outside.

Then the door opened. And nezu's voice carried in "welcome inspector {{user}} please do enter, everyone is waiting inside."