Chapter 29
₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄
⤷ you could tear the building apart.
THEY FOLLOWED AIZAWA through the double doors and into the main living space, the sound of their footsteps echoing faintly off polished floors that still smelled faintly of new paint and fresh construction. The interior was clean and open, dominated by calming shades of green and tan. Sunlight streamed in through wide windows, casting warm rectangles across the floor and illuminating furniture that still looked like it had never been sat on.
“Each student dormitory holds one class,” Aizawa told them as he walked ahead. “Girls are on the right, and boys are on the left. The entire first floor is a common area. That’s where you’ll find your kitchen, baths and laundry rooms.”
“There’s even a courtyard,” Sero gawked, pressing his face a little too close to the glass as he stared out at the open space beyond the windows, complete with benches and greenery.
“So spacious and new!” Ashido chimed, spinning in a slow circle.
“I’m living in a mansion,” Uraraka’s voice jumped at least three pitches.
“Doth mine ears deceive me?” Mineta let out dramatically, hands flying to his cheeks. “Our baths… are located in the common space? Is this heaven?”
Aizawa stopped walking just long enough to shoot him a harrowing glare. “They’re separated by gender and you’ll behave yourself.”
“Yessir,” Mineta squeaked immediately, posture snapping straight.
“Living quarters start on the next floor,” Aizawa went on, resuming his pace like Mineta hadn’t even spoken. “A few boys and girls on each level. Everyone gets their own room. You should be comfortable. You’ve got your own AC, toilets, fridges and closets.” He held up a sheet of paper. “These are your dorm assignments. The belongings you sent ahead have already been placed in your new rooms so spend the day unpacking and getting settled. I’ll tell you more about your next few lessons tomorrow. For now, get to work.”
“Yes, Mr. Aizawa!” the class chimed together, the sound bouncing off the walls.
As eyes immediately dropped to the list.
2nd Floor: Minoru Mineta, Izuku Midoriya, Yuga Aoyama, Fumikage Tokoyami
3rd Floor: Koji Koda, Denki Kaminari, Tenya Ida, Mashirao Ojiro, Kyoka Jiro, Toru Hagakure
4th Floor: Rikido Sato, Shoto Todoroki, Hanta Sero, Momo Yaoyorozu, Tsuyu Asui
5th Floor: Mezo Shoji, Eijiro Kirishima, Odasaku Edogawa, Katsuki Bakugo, Ochaco Uraraka, Mina Ashido
“Fifth floor, huh,” Kirishima grinned, slinging an arm around Oda’s shoulders without thinking. “Man, this lineup is manly as hell.”
“Shut up,” Bakugo snapped from Oda’s other side, already hoisting his bag up onto his shoulder and stomping off.
“Wow, Bakugo, you sound thrilled,” Ashido teased, skipping ahead toward the stairs.
Uraraka glanced back at Oda, smiling softly. “Guess we’re neighbors now.”
“Yeah,” Oda replied, the word coming out quieter than he meant it to, a small smile tugging at his mouth despite himself.
They broke off toward the stairwells in clusters, the building quickly filling with the sounds of footsteps, laughter, and the distant echo of doors opening for the first time.
Oda lingered in the hallway for half a second longer than the others, fingers curled around the strap of his bag as he watched everyone peel off toward their respective rooms, voices echoing down the corridor in a way that felt strange and unreal.
Dorm life. Living on campus. No curfews enforced by Ango’s clipped voice, no quiet, watchful Yokohama apartment with files locked behind steel doors and eyes always on him. Just… a hallway. A normal hallway. With scuffed shoes already marking the floor.
He found his room easily enough, his name printed cleanly on a small placard beside the door.
Odasaku Edogawa.
He stared at it for a second, jaw tightening, then reached out and pushed the door open.
The room was bigger than he’d expected. Not huge, but comfortable in a way he wasn’t used to. A single bed against the wall with crisp sheets already made, a compact desk on the other side, a rolling chair tucked in neatly like it had never been sat in. There was a mini fridge humming softly in the corner, a closet door slightly ajar, and a small bathroom tucked behind a sliding door, complete with a sink, and a toilet.
Sunlight spilled through the window, casting pale gold across the floor and catching dust motes in the air. Outside, he could see the UA wall and the tops of hedge bushes lining the building.
For a long moment, Oda didn’t move.
Then he shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, letting his head thunk softly against the wood.
“…Huh,” he muttered.
His belongings had already been brought up, just like Aizawa said. His other duffel sat near the foot of the bed, along with a second box that had clearly been packed by someone far more methodical than him—Ranpo, probably. The sight of it made his stomach twist briefly, but he pushed the feeling down and crouched to unzip the bag.
Unpacking felt oddly intimate.
Clothes came first. Black shirts, dark hoodies, a couple pairs of jeans that were worn soft at the knees and sweatpants. He stacked them on the bed before realizing, vaguely embarrassed, that he could just… put them away.
The closet door slid open with a quiet hiss. Inside were hangers, empty shelves, and space. Actual space. He hung up his jackets, pausing briefly when his fingers brushed the fabric of one hoodie that still faintly smelled like smoke and antiseptic.
The desk drawer held notebooks—mostly blank, some half-filled with cramped handwriting and equations that only made sense to him—along with pens, a few cracked mechanical pencils, and a battered lighter he stared at for a second too long before shoving it into the back of the drawer.
From the box came more… curated items. Medical supplies. Extra contact lenses. Eye drops. He set those in the bathroom cabinet, arranging them carefully, methodically, like order could keep everything else from spiraling.
Last out of the box was a small painting.
Oda froze.
It was old. Slightly faded. Something Oda had painted long ago with his mother and father at his side. He swallowed hard and set the frame inside the desk, hiding it away.
The LEDs were the last thing.
Oda had put it off for as long as possible, but eventually he sighed and climbed onto the chair anyway. He worked carefully, methodically, pressing the adhesive strip along the top corners of the walls where the ceiling met the paint, fingers steady despite the faint tremor in his hands. The soft white glow flickered to life as he plugged them in, washing the room in something gentler than the harsh overhead light.
It helped. A little.
He adjusted the brightness until the shadows softened instead of disappeared entirely, until the room felt less like a box.
Only then did the thought hit him.
His stomach dropped so suddenly it felt like he’d missed a step.
He slid off the chair slowly and crossed the room, kneeling in front of his bag again, unzipping pockets he already knew were empty. He checked the desk drawer. The bathroom cabinet. The inside pocket of his jacket, even though he knew better. His fingers moved faster with every check, pulse creeping up his throat as the reality settled in.
Nothing.
No orange bottle. No foil packs. No emergency dose.
The medication wasn’t optional. It wasn’t something he took to relax or sleep better. It was the only thing that kept his body from reacting to his nightmares like they were real, from responding to fear with instinctive, catastrophic force. Without it, his startle response was brutal.
He swallowed hard, shoved his shoes back on, and left the room without bothering to lock the door.
The walk to Recovery Girl’s office felt longer than it should have, every step echoing too loudly in his head. Students passed him in the hall, laughing, arguing about room layouts, arguing about who had the better view, but Oda barely registered them. His mind had already started racing ahead, cataloguing worst-case scenarios like it always did when something slipped out of control.
Don’t panic yet, he told himself. Just ask. They’ll have it. Of course they’ll have it.
Recovery Girl looked up from her desk when he knocked, glasses perched low on her nose, expression softening immediately when she saw him.
“Ah, Edogawa,” she said gently. “Settling in alright?”
“Yeah,” Oda lied automatically, then cleared his throat. “Uh. I wanted to ask about my sleep meds. I didn’t realize I was out.”
Her smile didn’t vanish, but it shifted.
“I was wondering when you’d come by,” she said, folding her hands together on the desk. “We’ve already put in the request for them.”
Oda’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “Okay. So… I can pick them up tonight, or—”
“They’re not stocked domestically,” she interrupted kindly. “The compound you’re prescribed isn’t approved for general distribution here, so we had to order it from overseas.”
The words landed slowly. One by one.
“Oh,” Oda said again, quieter this time.
“It’ll take a few weeks,” Recovery Girl continued, voice calm, reassuring, “Shipping, customs, verification. We’re doing everything we can to expedite it.”
A few weeks.
Oda nodded, because that’s what a normal student would do. He nodded and kept his face neutral and his breathing steady while something cold and sharp wrapped around his ribs from the inside.
“That’s… fine,” he said. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
“You’ll be alright for a little while,” she added, watching him carefully. “We’ll monitor you closely, and if anything feels off, you come straight back here. Understood?”
“Yeah,” he said again, too quickly. “Of course.”
He thanked her, bowed his head politely like he’d been taught, and walked out before his composure could crack.
The hallway felt too open now. Too flimsy.
His mind spiraled the moment he was alone, images flashing unbidden behind his eyes. Waking up in the dark, heart slamming against his ribs. Instinct firing before thought. Gravity bending. Walls collapsing. Floors buckling. People screaming because he startled awake from a nightmare he couldn’t even remember.
You could tear the building apart, a small, traitorous voice whispered. You could hurt someone.
His fingers curled into fists inside his pockets, nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to keep walking at a normal pace. Panic made things worse. Panic always made things worse.
You’ve handled worse, he told himself grimly. You just can’t sleep. That’s all.
The thought didn’t help.
By the time he reached his room again, the LEDs were glowing softly, welcoming and useless all at once. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, forehead pressing to the cool wood as he exhaled through clenched teeth.
“Okay,” he muttered to the empty room. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
He didn’t know how.
But for now, he turned the lights down low, stayed sitting upright on the bed, and waited off sleep.
𓏵
IT TOOK A LITTLE WHILE, but life in the dorms slowly settled into something that almost felt normal. The constant tension that had followed the Kamino incident dulled into background noise, replaced by schedules, bells, and the low-grade exhaustion that came with being a UA student. Course work resumed at full force, especially for the students who had failed portions of the final exams, and the extra classes tacked onto their days became a regular source of misery.
Kaminari and Kirishima complained about it constantly.
Usually within earshot of Oda, who never joined in, even when Kaminari dramatically slumped over desks or Kirishima groaned. Oda listened, occasionally huffed out a quiet breath that might have been amusement, but most of his focus stayed elsewhere. He was getting extra help, just not the kind anyone joked about.
Todoroki had quietly started sitting with him after classes, going over written material line by line with infuriating patience. He never mocked Oda’s grades, never commented on how long it took him to process certain problems, and never once acted like he was doing Oda a favor. He just explained things, again and again if necessary, in the same calm tone he used for everything else. Oda didn’t thank him out loud, but he showed up every time.
Today, they were back in class.
Oda sat at his desk in the front row, one leg hooked around the chair as Shoji occupied the seat beside him, massive arms folded carefully to avoid knocking anything over. Behind them, Kaminari leaned back in his chair at a dangerous angle, yapping.
Oda ignored him.
The classroom fell into immediate silence the moment the door slid open and Mr. Aizawa stepped inside, capture scarf loose around his shoulders, expression unreadable as always. Chairs straightened. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even Kaminari snapped upright like he’d been jolted.
Aizawa’s tired eyes swept over the class before he spoke.
“I believe I’ve mentioned this already,” the teacher started, voice flat but carrying easily through the room, “but your main focus this summer is obtaining provisional hero licenses.”
“Yessir!” the class let out in near unison, the response automatic after months under his instruction.
Aizawa didn’t look impressed.
“Do not take this lightly,” he warned, gaze sharp as it moved from face to face. “A hero license means that you’re responsible for human lives. You can imagine that the exam to receive one is very difficult. Only fifty percent of students pass the tests required for these permits each year.”
A murmur rippled through the room, tension creeping back in.
“It’s that hard to get a provisional license?” Mineta asked, voice small in comparison to his usual bravado.
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed just enough to make the point clear. “In order to prepare,” he said, “today you’ll concentrate on creating something new.”
As if on cue, the classroom door opened again.
Midnight leaned casually in the doorway, confidence radiating off her as always, while Cementoss stood solid and unmoving beside her, and Ectoplasm’s shadowy presence filled the remaining space.
The atmosphere shifted instantly, excitement sparking through the students as Aizawa finished the sentence. “Two ultimate moves.”
“Ultimate moves?!” Kaminari blurted out, barely containing himself.
“An exam is a normal school thing,” Mina said, eyes bright.
“But this is total hero work!” Kirishima added, already grinning.
“When we say ultimate,” Ectoplasm began, “we mean a move that will ensure you win against your opponent.”
“An action so unique to your identity that no other person can hope to copy it,” Cementoss continued, his deep voice steady. “Simply put, you must learn to lean into your own strengths.”
“Your moves represent who you are,” Midnight said smoothly, eyes glinting as she scanned the room. “These days most pro heroes have an ultimate move. Those who don’t are fools.”
Oda felt that settle somewhere in his chest, heavier than it should have.
“This may sound abstract,” Aizawa continued, cutting through the growing chatter, “but we’ll explain more as the day goes on. For now, change into your costumes and meet in Gym Gamma.”
That was all the instruction they were given.
So that’s what they did.
𓏵
ONCE THEY WERE ALL IN costume, they met the teachers in Gym Gamma exactly as they’d been told, filing in through the wide metal doors and immediately slowing to a stop as the sheer scale of the space registered. Gym Gamma was enormous, far larger than any standard training hall, with high industrial ceilings crisscrossed by thick beams and reinforced lights that cast a pale glow over the concrete floor.
Oda rolled his shoulders subtly as he stepped inside, the red tank-top jumpsuit of his hero costume leaving his arms and shoulders exposed to the cool air. Standing still always made the cold creep in faster, and he shoved his hands into his pockets out of habit, trying not to visibly shiver.
“Gym Gamma,” Mr. Aizawa announced, voice echoing slightly in the vast space. “Also known at the academy as the ‘Training Dining Land’ or ‘TDL’.”
Cementoss cleared his throat and stepped forward, placing one heavy foot against the concrete floor before activating his quirk. The ground responded instantly, stone rippling upward as if it were soft clay rather than solid rock. A small structure rose smoothly from the floor, clean edges forming under his control.
“This facility was my idea,” he explained. “We can prepare unique terrains and obstacles for each student here. Here you will learn to serve up justice—hence the name.”
“That’s pretty cool,” Kaminari let out beside Oda, eyes bright as he craned his neck to take it all in.
Oda didn’t respond out loud, but his gaze tracked the shifting concrete with quiet interest. Still, the thought of being watched while experimenting with his quirk made something tight coil in his chest.
Iida’s hand shot straight up. “Please allow me a question. What is the advantage of having ultimate moves for our provisional exam? May we know your reasoning?”
“That’s two questions,” Aizawa deadpanned without missing a beat. “Calm down.”
A few students snorted.
“The job of a hero is to save people from all sorts of dangers,” Aizawa continued, eyes half-lidded but sharp. “Crime, accidents, and natural or man-made disasters. Of course, the licensing exam analyzes how well you’re able to deal with such things. It won’t just be fighting. Your ability to gather information and make quick decisions will be judged. In addition to how well you communicate, cooperate, and lead others. Every year a new test is used to evaluate these qualities.”
Oda listened carefully, jaw set. Information gathering. Decision making. Leadership. None of those were things he naturally associated with himself, no matter how many times Ranpo had insisted otherwise.
“One thing is especially important,” Midnight added, “If you want to be a pro hero, you must be able to prevail in battle. If you’re prepared, you won’t have to worry. And those of you with an ultimate move will have stronger results.”
“Your circumstances should not dictate the results of your future battles,” Cementoss said firmly. “Learn to be consistent and you will be a great asset on the front lines.”
Consistency.
The word landed like a weight in Oda’s gut. Consistency was his worst enemy, the thing his body refused to give him no matter how much discipline he applied. His quirk didn’t care about schedules or expectations. It worked until it didn’t, and when it failed, it failed catastrophically.
He glanced sideways and caught Midoriya tensing as well, the green-haired boy’s shoulders tightening as if the same word had struck home for him too.
“Your ultimate move doesn’t necessarily have to be an attack,” Ectoplasm said, his voice echoing strangely as Cementoss walked away, expanding the earlier structure into a massive mountain of concrete. Platforms, ledges, narrow paths, and jagged overhangs formed rapidly, transforming the empty floor into a maze-like terrain. “Take Iida’s Reciproburst for example. This sort of temporary burst in speed is valuable enough that it falls into the category of excellence we’re looking for.”
“You mean I’ve been doing an ultimate move all along?” Iida asked, awestruck.
“So it’s basically our secret weapon,” Sato said thoughtfully. “Something that gives us the edge so we can win no matter who or what we’re facing.”
“There’s a smart boy,” Midnight smiled. “For example, how Kamui Woods is able to use his Lacquered Chain Prison to capture opponents in an instant. That’s exactly what we want to see.”
“The training camp was interrupted,” Aizawa chimed back in, gaze lifting to the towering concrete maze. “But the practice you did get in to develop your quirks was part of the process needed to create these defining abilities. Now that you’re caught up, you’ll be working hard to develop powerful moves of your own for the next ten days or so. This is how you will spend the remainder of your summer vacation.”
A collective stare rose from the class as they took in Cementoss’s creation, the sheer scale of it sinking in. Some looked excited. Others looked nervous.
“Prepare for intensive training,” Aizawa declared. “In addition, you should think about how you can improve your costumes, especially now that you have a better understanding of your quirks. I expect each of you to go Plus Ultra. Do you have it in you?”
“Yessir,” the class declared back, voices overlapping.
“I am so charged up for this,” Kaminari grinned, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
Oda exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes never leaving the concrete mountain ahead. Ten days. Ten days to define himself, to carve something stable out of a power that had never been kind to him.
Whether he liked it or not, this was where he would find out if he could really become the kind of hero he claimed he wanted to be.