UA University

The morning sun hangs low over Musutafu, casting long shadows across the sprawling, fortified campus of UA University. This isn't the school of childhood dreams and hopeful teenagers; this is a fortress for the next generation of hardened professionals. The air carries the faint metallic tang of training equipment and the distant sound of explosions echoing from Ground Beta.

You walk through the massive reinforced gates, your footsteps echoing against the pristine concrete pathways. The scale of the complex is overwhelming advanced holographic displays flicker near the entrances, showing real time Quirk casualty statistics and historical hero data. Students pass you by, but they aren't the chatty kids you might remember from years past. They move with purpose, scarred, focused, and carrying themselves with the weight of people who have already seen too much combat.

Following the campus map leads you toward the main academic hub. The building itself is a monolith of glass and steel, designed to withstand both natural disasters and villain assaults. Eventually, you find yourself standing before the towering doors of Classroom 1A.

Inside, the atmosphere is thick with tension. The room is equipped with state of the art holographic interfaces that hover above desks like ghostly blue specters. At the front of the room, Shota Aizawa stands behind his podium. He looks more exhausted than ever, his eyes bloodshot beneath his messy black hair, his yellow sleeping bag slumped in a corner like a discarded skin. He doesn't look up as you enter; he's busy scrolling through a digital file containing your combat assessment.

"You're late," Aizawa says bluntly without breaking eye contact with his screen. "Or maybe you're just early for the shitshow that's about to begin. Sit down. Find a fucking seat."

A few desks away, Katsuki Bakugo has his boots propped up on his desk, his crimson eyes narrowing as he sizes you up. "Great," he mutters loud enough for half the room to hear, a small spark popping in his palm. "Another extra to get in the way."

Izuku Midoriya, sitting nearby, flinches at Bakugo's tone and offers you a small, anxious smile. "Ignore him," Midoriya whispers, though his hands are shaking slightly as he scribbles notes into a battered journal. "Welcome to the Vanguard."

.

The sun beats down on the concrete pathways of UA University as the Vanguard of Class 1A makes their way toward Ground Beta. The atmosphere among the students is heavy, charged with the kind of restless energy that only comes from knowing a brutal training session is imminent. These aren't the wide eyed teenagers from years past; they move with a practiced, lethal grace, their faces hardened by years of near death experiences and the relentless pressure of the Hero Public Safety Commission.

Katsuki Bakugo stomps at the front of the pack, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Small, involuntary sparks pop from his palms with every aggressive stride he takes, the faint smell of nitroglycerin clinging to him like a second skin. "This better not be another fucking waste of time, Aizawa," he growls loud enough for everyone to hear, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon with impatience. "If I'm not breaking something within the next ten minutes, I'm gonna lose it."

A few paces behind him, Izuku Midoriya is muttering under his breath, his fingers flying across a holographic display projected from his wrist. Green sparks of One For All flicker unconsciously around his limbs, a physical manifestation of his anxiety and focus. "If we're heading to Ground Beta, the simulation parameters could be anything from urban rescue to full scale combat infiltration..." he mumbles, his analytical mind already spiraling through possibilities.

Ochaco Uraraka walks beside him, though her usual cheerful demeanor has been tempered into something more determined and sharp. She adjusts the straps of her gear, her knuckles white. "Whatever it is, we need to stay coordinated," she says, her voice steady despite the tension. "Last time we went into Beta without a proper briefing, half the class ended up with concussions."

Shota Aizawa walks at the rear of the group, his yellow sleeping bag slung over one shoulder like a discarded skin. His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles under them deeper than usual, but his gaze remains piercing. He watches every student, noting every micro expression, every slight stumble. He knows exactly how volatile they are, and he knows exactly how much pain he is about to put them through.

"Shut the fuck up and keep moving," Aizawa's voice cuts through the chatter like a blade, blunt and utterly exhausted. "You're already wasting stamina with your fucking mouthpieces. We're approaching the checkpoint. Prepare yourselves."

As the massive gates of Ground Beta loom ahead, the students instinctively tighten their formation, the reality of the Vanguard's life settling in: training isn't just practice here it's survival.

The UA University cafeteria is a cavernous space, filled with the overwhelming clatter of trays, the hum of hundreds of conversations, and the distant sounds of students decompressing after the morning's brutal training sessions. The air smells faintly of industrial cleaner and whatever protein heavy meal was served for lunch.

You sit at one of the long communal tables, perhaps still feeling the phantom ache of muscles pushed to their limit during Aizawa's drills. The relative peace of your meal doesn't last long. The heavy footsteps approaching the table carry a familiar, aggressive energy that makes several nearby students tense up.

Katsuki Bakugo stomps up to you, his face already twisted into its default expression of pure, unadulterated rage. His palms crackle with tiny, warning sparks, smelling faintly of nitroglycerin. He slams his hands down on the table hard enough to make your drink slosh dangerously close to the rim.

"What the fuck was that back there during the simulation, huh shithead?!" Bakugo roars, his voice echoing off the high ceilings and drawing stares from across the room. "Everyone else was fucking moving, covering angles, and putting in work, and you were just fucking standing there like some useless goddamn extra! You think this is some fucking game? You think you're just gonna coast through UA University on pure luck?!"

He draws in a massive breath, his chest expanding as he prepares to unleash another torrent of insults, his veins popping in his neck. "I'll fucking I'll "

He opens his mouth to deliver what clearly should have been a devastating verbal assault, but instead of a roar, only a pathetic, airy wheeze emerges. His throat constricts, and his face turns from angry red to a frustrated purple. He tries again, grasping at his throat, but nothing comes out but a dry, rasping sound.

The explosive blond staggers back half a step, clutching his neck. His eyes go wide with genuine shock as his voice simply cuts out entirely. He tries to force out one more 'fuck,' but it sounds like wind whistling through a broken pipe. He stares at you, mouth hanging open in silent fury, looking less like a terrifying combatant and more like a man who has just been betrayed by his own vocal cords.

The sun beats down mercilessly on Ground Beta, the sprawling urban simulation zone of UA University. The concrete streets and towering mock buildings cast long, jagged shadows across the battlefield as two massive groups of young adults face off across a neutral intersection. On one side stands Class 1A, the Vanguard hardened, volatile, and carrying the reputation of survivors who have weathered hellish training protocols. Opposite them, Class 1B stands in formation, their expressions equally grim and determined, ready to prove they aren't just backup to the elite.

Aizawa stands between the two groups, his capture scarf coiled loosely around his neck like a sleeping serpent. His eyes are bloodshot, the exhaustion evident even through his usual pragmatic demeanor. He doesn't look like a teacher giving a lesson; he looks like a commander preparing for war.

"Listen up, because I'm only saying this once," Aizawa's voice carries across the asphalt, blunt and devoid of any encouragement. "This isn't some schoolyard scrap. The Hero Public Safety Commission wants to see how you handle coordinated team dynamics under pressure. Class 1A versus Class 1B. This is a full contact exercise."

Katsuki Bakugo steps forward, sparks already popping in his palms like warning shots. A feral grin splits his face as he glares at the opposing class. "Finally. Some fucking useful entertainment instead of sitting around reading Quirk theory bullshit."

"Bakugo, dial it down," Midoriya mutters, though his own stance is tense, green electricity flickering sporadically around his limbs as he analyzes the positioning of Class 1B. "We need to maintain tactical cohesion, not just charge in like idiots."

"Shut up, Deku! I'll charge in whenever I fucking feel like it!" Bakugo snaps back, turning his venomous gaze toward the other class.

Aizawa ignores the bickering, his gaze shifting to you as you stand among the Vanguard. "New blood, don't expect any special treatment just because you're fresh. In this simulation, if you hesitate, you're dead weight. And dead weight gets left behind."

The atmosphere thickens with killing intent as both classes begin to spread out, taking up strategic positions among the buildings and alleyways. The holographic interfaces embedded in the nearby streetlamps flicker to life, displaying the countdown timer.

"The objective is simple," Aizawa continues, his voice dropping an octave. "Neutralize the opposing class's designated 'Commanders' while maintaining control of the central intersection. Any Quirk usage that results in permanent injury will result in immediate expulsion. Now, get to your positions."

"Fuck yeah," Kirishima grins, hardening his arms until they shine like rock. "Let's show them what we're made of!"

The sun beats down on the bustling streets of Musutafu as you walk alongside your classmates. This isn't the controlled environment of UA University; this is the real world, where the line between a hero and a victim is razor thin. The air smells of asphalt, exhaust, and street food, a constant reminder of the civilians you're sworn to protect.

Mina Ashido walks with a spring in her step, though her eyes constantly scan the alleyways. "Man, patrol is kind of boring when nothing's happening, right?" she complains, stretching her arms above her head. "I feel like I'm itching for some actual action instead of just walking until my feet hurt."

Denki Kaminari is distracted, scrolling through his phone while walking backward for a few steps before nearly tripping over a curb. "Tell me about it," he mumbles, shoving the phone into his pocket. "Though, honestly, I'd rather deal with a boring patrol than another one of Aizawa's 'Deadweight' drills. My legs still feel like jelly from last week." He glances down at the yellow ring tied to a string hanging from his wrist. "At least I've got this to keep things interesting."

Aoyama sparkles in the sunlight, his cape catching what little breeze there is. He strikes a pose, tilting his chin up as if expecting a camera crew to appear at any moment. "Non, non! We must not complain about the mundane! We are performing the noble duty of vigilance! The citizens require our radiant presence to feel safe!" He pauses, checking his reflection in a nearby shop window. "Though, I must admit, the lighting in this district is absolutely dreadful for my complexion."

The group continues their route through the commercial district, passing holographic advertisements for new hero support gear and Quirk enhanced appliances. Everything seems normal, but in this era, normalcy is often just the calm before the storm.

The air outside the Musutafu Central Bank was thick with tension and the acrid smell of burnt concrete. The League of Villains had struck hard, and they hadn't just come for the currency they had come armed with something far more dangerous.

Inside the lobby, the white flame of the Lantern of Lazerius flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows across the marble floors. As the light washed over the area, a nauseating sensation crept through the veins of every hero in the vicinity. It felt like their very life force was being leached away, their Quirks flickering like dying candles in a storm.

Dabi stood near the shattered main entrance, his scarred skin twitching as he gripped the ornate Lantern. The white glow pulsed in rhythm with his breathing, visibly dampening the flames that usually danced at his fingertips. He looked bored, almost amused by the weakened state of the heroes outside. "Pathetic," Dabi muttered, his voice raspy as he glanced toward the hostages. "You heroes look like shit when you can't rely on those flashy powers of yours."

Near the vault, Toga giggled manically, her knife gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. She held a knife to the throat of a terrified bank teller, pressing just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. "So quiet now, isn't it? No more big explosions, no more scary powers. Just us and the pretty red blood."

Twice was a whirlwind of motion, his clones emerging from the shadows to haul heavy duffel bags stuffed with cash toward the exit. "We're rich! We're fucking broke!" one clone shouted while another shoved a bag into a getaway vehicle. "Move it, you idiots, before the cops show up with more of those useless toys!"

Outside the perimeter, the students of Class 1A stood frozen, their hands hovering near their weapons but their bodies betraying them. The proximity to the Lantern made their enhanced abilities feel sluggish and foreign.

Izuku Midoriya gripped his arms, green lightning crackling weakly around his form before sputtering out like a faulty wire. His breathing was shallow, his analytical mind racing through the implications of the Lantern's presence. "It's worse than I thought," Midoriya whispered, his voice tight with anxiety. "The Quirk suppression field is expanding. If we rush in now, we won't have the output to subdue them."

Katsuki Bakugo slammed his fist against a concrete barrier, but instead of a thunderous explosion, only a weak, pathetic pop emerged from his palm, accompanied by a small puff of smoke. "Fuck this shit!" Bakugo roared, his crimson eyes blazing with fury despite the weakness coursing through him. "That fucking lantern is cheating! I'll blow that goddamn thing to hell regardless of what my hands say!"

Ochaco Uraraka hovered nervously near them, her fingers pressed together as she tried to activate her Quirk, only to feel the familiar weight of gravity pressing down on her with unusual force. "Bakugo, wait! We can't just charge in blind. If our Quirks fail mid fight, we're dead meat."

The bell above the door chimed with an aggressive jingle as Twice and Toga burst into the small, pastel colored ice cream parlor. The sweet smell of waffle cones and vanilla bean suddenly felt suffocating as the two villains made their presence known.

Twice pointed a finger dramatically at the terrified teenager behind the counter, his voice splitting between two conflicting tones. "Nobody move or I'll kill you all! Actually, we're just here for dessert, so please stay calm!" The man's hands trembled as he reached for a weapon that wasn't there.

Toga didn't seem interested in the cash register at all. Her eyes were wide and bright, fixed on the display case filled with colorful scoops of strawberry, mint chip, and chocolate. She giggled, a sound that sent shivers down the spine of the clerk. "Ohhh, Twicey, look at all the pretty colors! They look so good, I bet they taste even better when there's blood mixed in!"

"We're not here for the fucking money, Toga! We're here for the goods!" Twice shouted, though he immediately followed it up with, "Yeah, let's rob them blind of every sprinkle they've got!"

Toga hopped onto the counter, knocking over a stack of napkins. She grabbed an empty ice cream tub and shoved it toward the employee. "Scoop fast, sweetie! I want the red one, the pink one, and whatever that sparkly one is! And don't be stingy, or I'll have to see what color you bleed!"

The employee's hands shook violently as they began grabbing scoops of ice cream, frantically filling containers while Twice kept a lookout, pacing the small shop with nervous energy. "Hurry the fuck up, kid! We've got a schedule to keep! We're running late for our snack time!"

The afternoon sun bled through the windows of the UA University classroom, casting long shadows across the advanced holographic displays that lined the walls. Most of Class 1A was scattered around the room, some reviewing Quirk biology data while others simply tried to survive the post lunch slump.

The peace was shattered by the unmistakable sound of sparks popping and a vein throbbing visibly in Katsuki Bakugo's forehead.

"Are you fucking serious right now, Dunce Face? Say that shit again. I fucking dare you." Bakugo's palms crackled with miniature explosions, the acrid smell of nitroglycerin beginning to waft through the air. He leaned over Denki Kaminari's desk, his face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage and genuine confusion.

Denki didn't even flinch. He looked Bakugo dead in the eye with the kind of serene, empty confidence that only someone with half a brain cell could possess. "I'm telling you, Bakugo, it's basic botany. A potato grows from the ground, it's a vegetable, but scientifically? It's a fruit. Think about it."

"It's a fucking tuber, you absolute moron!" Bakugo roared, slamming a fist onto the desk. "It grows underground! Fruits grow on trees, bushes, vines things that aren't fucking dirt! How the fuck are you still breathing? How has Darwinism not come and snatched your worthless ass off the face of the earth yet?"

"You're just being closed minded," Denki countered, waving a hand dismissively. "Everything is connected, man. Don't let the system poison your mind."

Bakugo ignored him entirely, his crimson eyes locked on Denki like he was trying to incinerate the idiot's skull through sheer willpower. "I will blow you through that fucking window, I swear to God. You're not possibly this stupid, you're just choosing to be this fucking brain dead."

The afternoon sun filters through the windows of the UA University dormitories as you and Denki make your way down the hall toward Mineta's room. The assignment Aizawa handed out earlier was a tedious Quirk theory analysis, and after scanning the room, it became painfully obvious that Mineta was the only one left without a partner.

Denki walks beside you, hands behind his head, looking uncharacteristically serious for three seconds before breaking into a grin. "Man, I really hope he's not doing something weird in there. Last time I checked, his room smelled like cheap cologne and desperation."

When you reach the door, you find it slightly ajar. Denki doesn't bother knocking he never does and pushes the door open, expecting to find Mineta surrounded by questionable magazines.

Instead, the sight that greets you both makes Denki freeze mid step.

Sitting on the edge of the bed is not the short, grape headed boy you know. Instead, a petite, curvy young woman with purple hair is staring at herself in the mirror, adjusting a strange, glowing purple ring on her finger. The transformation is complete; the Quirk of the Ring of Various has taken full effect.

Denki's eyes go wide before he bursts into a loud, obnoxious cackle, pointing at the transformed Mineta. "Holy shit! No fucking way!" Denki wheezes, clutching his stomach as he doubles over. "Mineta, you absolute perv! I knew you were pathetic, but I always figured you could only ever get love from yourself! What, did you finally decide to date yourself because nobody else would?"

Mineta or the woman who used to be Mineta turns toward you both, cheeks flushed bright red as she scrambles to cover herself with a blanket.

"It's not what it looks like, you assholes!" Mineta's voice comes out higher, feminine, and panicked, though the shrill tone remains unmistakably his. "I found this fucking ring in my drawer and I just wanted to see what it did! Shut the fuck up, Kaminari!"