Yoshikage Kira had no intention of attending the U.A. Sports Festival.
It was a publicity circus, a spectacle designed to turn children into entertainment for the masses while hero agencies scouted for profitable investments. The entire concept was morally bankrupt—forcing first-year students, teenagers who'd had maybe two months of actual hero training, to fight each other on national television for the amusement of millions.
It was also, he had to admit, an excellent opportunity for intelligence gathering.
He needed to understand the next generation of heroes. Their capabilities, their weaknesses, their psychology. Especially Class 1-A, which contained not only Izuku but also several individuals who would become major players in the coming years.
And he needed to see if his training with Izuku had made any difference.
So on the day of the Sports Festival, Yoshikage found himself in the stadium stands, wearing his "Hikaru Saito" identity, surrounded by screaming civilians who treated this child fighting tournament like it was the most important event in human history.
This society is sick, he thought, watching the crowd cheer as Present Mic announced the opening ceremony. They're literally gambling on which child will beat the others unconscious, and nobody sees a problem with this.
Killer Queen manifested invisibly beside him, and Yoshikage felt the Stand's agreement.
The students marched into the stadium, and Yoshikage pulled out a notebook, preparing to document what he suspected would be a masterclass in wasted potential and poor fundamentals.
He was not disappointed.
Opening Ceremony: First Impressions
The students assembled in the arena, and Yoshikage studied them with a tactical eye, analyzing their body language, their positioning, their awareness.
Most were chattering nervously, excited, treating this like a game. A few were focused, serious. Even fewer showed any signs of actual combat readiness.
They're children playing at being soldiers, he observed. And society is encouraging it.
Bakugo Katsuki stood near the front of Class 1-A, scowling at everything, hands shoved in his pockets in a deliberate display of aggressive nonchalance.
Yoshikage noted with cold satisfaction that Bakugo's eyes were constantly scanning the crowd, his shoulders tense, his jaw tight. The boy had transferred schools as instructed—Yoshikage had confirmed that through his information network—but clearly the threat still weighed on him.
Good. Fear keeps people honest.
Izuku stood in the middle of the class formation, muttering to himself, arms moving through what looked like shadow-boxing motions.
Yoshikage leaned forward slightly. The motions were familiar—the jab-cross-hook combination they'd been drilling, the proper hip rotation, the footwork adjustment.
He's practicing even now. That's good. The muscle memory is setting in.
Then Bakugo was called up to give the opening speech as the first-place finisher from the entrance exam, and Yoshikage watched with morbid fascination as the boy walked to the microphone and said, with absolute confidence:
"I'm going to win."
That's it. No inspiring words, no acknowledgment of his classmates, no recognition that this was supposed to be about more than his ego.
Just "I'm going to win."
The crowd's reaction was mixed—some cheered, some booed, and Yoshikage noted that Bakugo's own classmates looked mortified.
Fourteen years of unchecked ego, Yoshikage thought. Fourteen years of being told he's special, that his Quirk makes him better than everyone else. And this is the result—a teenager who genuinely cannot conceive of a world where everything doesn't revolve around him.
He wrote in his notebook: Bakugo - No social awareness. No team mentality. Will either learn humility through repeated failures or become a liability to any hero team he joins. Prediction: liability.
First Event: Obstacle Race - A Study in Inefficiency
The first event was announced: a four-kilometer obstacle course race through various terrain and obstacles.
"Finally," Present Mic's voice boomed through the stadium, "let's see what these students can do!"
Let's see how poorly they've been trained, Yoshikage thought cynically.
The race began, and immediately it was chaos.
Students bottlenecked at the entrance, shoving and fighting each other for position instead of finding alternate routes or using their Quirks creatively to bypass the crowd entirely.
No tactical thinking, Yoshikage noted. They're treating this like a conventional race when they all have superpowers. The optimal strategy is to avoid the crowd completely, not fight through it.
Todoroki Shouto demonstrated actual intelligence by freezing the ground behind him as he passed through the bottleneck, simultaneously propelling himself forward on ice and trapping his classmates.
Finally, someone using their brain, Yoshikage thought, making a note: Todoroki - Shows strategic thinking. Uses Quirk for both offense and defense simultaneously. Worth watching.
But then the students reached the first major obstacle—massive robots from the entrance exam—and the tactical failures resumed.
Most students either tried to fight the robots head-on or ran around them in panic. Very few looked for structural weaknesses or environmental advantages.
Yoshikage watched a girl with a Creation Quirk—Yaoyorozu Momo, according to the announcer—create a giant metal staff to pole-vault over the robots.
Inefficient, he observed. She has molecular creation abilities and she makes a STICK? She could create explosives, acid, a vehicle, anything—and she makes a medieval weapon?
He wrote: Yaoyorozu - Massive Quirk potential, minimal creativity. Either she's been trained to be conservative with her abilities or she lacks imagination. Probably both. Classic case of powerful Quirk with underdeveloped user.
A student with engine-leg Quirks—Iida Tenya—was using his speed to simply run past obstacles.
Straightforward but predictable, Yoshikage noted. Iida - Speed-based Quirk used exactly as expected. No tactical variation. If an enemy can counter high-speed movement, he has no backup strategy apparent.
Then Bakugo came flying through the obstacle course using his explosions, blasting robots aside with overwhelming force and zero finesse.
Yoshikage felt his eye twitch.
He's using explosions like a hammer, he thought. No precision, no conservation of energy, no thought to stamina management. Just maximum power, maximum aggression, maximum property damage.
Bakugo - Still relying entirely on raw power. No technique improvement since middle school. If he faces an opponent who can absorb or redirect kinetic energy, his entire strategy fails. One-dimensional fighter with one-dimensional thinking.
And then there was Izuku.
Yoshikage watched carefully as his student approached the robots. Instead of trying to fight or bypass them, Izuku grabbed a piece of debris—a metal plate from a destroyed robot—and positioned himself carefully.
Then he used One For All.
But not recklessly. Not with the full-body explosion of power that Yoshikage had seen in their first encounter.
Izuku channeled the Quirk through his arm in a controlled burst—maybe 10%, Yoshikage estimated—and struck the metal plate with proper form.
The plate launched forward like a missile, striking the zero-pointer robot in what Yoshikage recognized as a structural weak point, and the massive machine began to topple.
Izuku ran forward as other students panicked, using the falling robot as a bridge to get ahead of the pack.
He learned, Yoshikage thought with something approaching satisfaction. He's using his brain instead of his power. Analyzing structure, finding leverage points, creating opportunities instead of forcing through obstacles.
Midoriya - Significant improvement. Showing tactical awareness and controlled Quirk usage. Still needs work on combat applications, but problem-solving ability is developing well.
The race continued, and Yoshikage documented failure after failure after failure.
A student with a tape Quirk who used it only for mobility, never for restraining opponents or creating obstacles.
A student with acid abilities who used it to melt through barriers but never considered using it defensively or creating area denial.
A student with a hardening Quirk who turned himself into a ball and rolled through obstacles—effective, Yoshikage admitted, but limited.
Every single one of them is using their Quirk in the most obvious way possible, he realized. No creativity. No lateral thinking. They've been taught that Quirks are THE solution, so they never learned to think tactically beyond "use my power in the straightforward way."
He wrote a general note: U.A. students show poor tactical training. Most are relying on raw Quirk application rather than strategy, environmental awareness, or creative problem-solving. This is a systemic educational failure.
The Cavalry Battle: Team Dynamics and Organizational Failure
The second event was announced: a cavalry battle where students formed teams of four, with points assigned based on their race placement, and the goal was to steal headbands from other teams.
Yoshikage watched the team formation process with clinical interest.
Izuku, as the first-place finisher—he'd somehow pulled ahead in the final stretch using his tactical approach—was worth ten million points.
Immediately, every other student looked at him like a target.
And he just announced his team composition publicly, Yoshikage thought incredulously as Izuku shouted across the arena to potential teammates. No discrete negotiation. No strategic secrecy. Just openly telling everyone who has what abilities and how they might be used together.
Tactical security: ZERO. These children wouldn't last five minutes in actual combat situations.
The teams formed, and Yoshikage analyzed the compositions:
Team Todoroki: Todoroki, Iida, Yaoyorozu, and a girl with some kind of support Quirk.
Strong on paper, Yoshikage noted. Offensive power, speed, versatility, and support. But will they actually coordinate or just rely on individual abilities?
Team Bakugo: Bakugo, plus three students Yoshikage didn't recognize.
Bakugo isn't a team player, he thought. This will either be a disaster or his teammates are skilled enough to work around his ego. Probably disaster.
Team Midoriya: Izuku, a girl with a Zero Gravity Quirk, a support course student with various gadgets, and a pink-skinned girl with acid abilities.
Interesting composition, Yoshikage admitted. Mobility through Zero Gravity, technical support, area control through acid, and Izuku's developing tactical awareness. Could work if they coordinate properly.
The battle began, and it was immediately clear that "coordination" was a generous term for what most teams were doing.
Team Bakugo's strategy consisted of "Bakugo explodes things while his teammates try not to get in the way."
Called it, Yoshikage thought. He's treating his teammates like accessories instead of assets.
Team Todoroki was more coordinated, but Yoshikage could see the problem: Todoroki was making all the decisions, using his teammates' Quirks like tools he controlled rather than collaborating with equals.
He's tactically sound but socially inept, Yoshikage observed. He sees this as a puzzle to solve, not a team exercise. Effective in the short term, but it's building bad habits.
Then there was Team Midoriya, and Yoshikage had to admit—grudgingly—that Izuku was actually leading his team.
He watched as Izuku coordinated with the Zero Gravity girl—Uraraka, according to the announcer—to create a defensive float-and-maneuver strategy. As he positioned the support student to provide equipment at critical moments. As he used the acid girl to create barriers.
He's not just using them, Yoshikage realized. He's adapting strategy based on their suggestions. Actually listening to his team instead of imposing his will.
Midoriya showing leadership development. Unexpected but positive. Question: Is this from my training or natural aptitude? Monitor.
But even Izuku's team showed fundamental problems that made Yoshikage's eye twitch.
When a team attacked, Izuku's response was defensive maneuvering—good—but he never counterattacked effectively. Never created opportunities to steal headbands from distracted opponents. Never capitalized on the chaos to improve his position.
He's thinking too defensively, Yoshikage noted. Protecting what he has instead of actively pursuing victory. Conservative strategy from someone afraid to lose rather than determined to win.
He watched other teams make similar mistakes:
A team with strong offensive Quirks that clumped together, making themselves one target instead of spreading out to force opponents to split attention.
A team with excellent mobility that kept running in predictable patterns, never using feints or misdirection.
A team with a perfect support-and-offense composition that never communicated, each member doing their own thing with no coordination.
This is what happens when you train students in individual Quirk usage without teaching team tactics, Yoshikage thought, writing furiously. U.A.'s curriculum is fundamentally flawed. Students learn to use their Quirks but not to work together, think strategically as a unit, or adapt to changing battlefield conditions. They're being trained as solo combatants in a profession that requires team coordination.
The cavalry battle ended with Todoroki's team in first place—raw power and his strategic thinking overwhelming less coordinated opponents.
Bakugo's team placed, but only because his teammates compensated for his aggressive tunnel vision.
And Izuku's team barely scraped into the tournament bracket, having spent the entire battle defending rather than attacking.
Defensible given the target on his back, Yoshikage admitted. But it shows he's still thinking like a victim rather than a competitor.
Tournament Bracket: Where Technique Goes to Die
The tournament bracket was announced, and Yoshikage settled in for what he suspected would be a painful display of students with powerful Quirks and absolutely no idea how to actually fight.
He was, once again, not disappointed.
Match 1: Midoriya vs. Shinso
Shinso had a brainwashing Quirk—speak to him and answer, and he could control you.
Interesting ability, Yoshikage thought. Non-combat Quirk that's incredibly powerful if used correctly. This should be a good test of whether students have been trained to handle mental manipulation.
The match began, and Shinso immediately started trash-talking, trying to bait Izuku into responding.
Obvious tactic, Yoshikage noted. Anyone with intelligence training would recognize this as psychological manipulation.
Izuku responded.
Yoshikage put his face in his hands.
Of course he did. Of course. Because apparently U.A. doesn't teach "don't talk to the brainwashing villain" in their curriculum.
Izuku froze, clearly under Shinso's control, and started walking toward the boundary line.
The crowd gasped. Present Mic shouted something about "incredible Quirk usage!"
Yoshikage just sighed.
This match should have lasted five seconds. Midoriya knows about Shinso's Quirk—they announced it before the match. The strategy is simple: Don't. Talk. Rush in, use superior combat training to end the fight before Shinso can bait a response.
But Midoriya doesn't have combat training from U.A. He has what I've taught him, which is only a few months of basics, and his instinct is still to respond when challenged verbally.
Then something happened—a burst of energy, One For All manifesting unexpectedly—and Izuku broke free from the brainwashing.
Interesting, Yoshikage thought. The previous users of One For All interfering? Or just the Quirk's power overwhelming the mental manipulation? Either way, not something Izuku can reliably count on.
Izuku, now free, rushed forward with a tackle that—
Yoshikage winced.
—was technically terrible. Dropped shoulder, telegraphed movement, no setup or feint.
But it worked because Shinso had no physical combat training whatsoever and went down like a sack of potatoes.
Midoriya vs Shinso: Victory through luck and superior firepower, not technique. Midoriya showed poor verbal discipline, poor tactical awareness, and sloppy execution. Shinso showed excellent psychological manipulation but zero physical combat ability. Both students are severely undertrained for actual hero work.
Match 2: Todoroki vs. Sero
This wasn't even a match. It was a massacre.
Sero had a tape Quirk—useful for mobility and restraint. Against Todoroki's overwhelming ice abilities, he lasted approximately three seconds before being frozen into a glacier.
Todoroki isn't holding back, Yoshikage observed, watching the boy create a massive ice structure that filled half the arena. He's using overwhelming force to end fights before they begin. Tactically sound if you have the power reserves to support it.
But there was something else. Todoroki was only using his ice. Never his fire, which Yoshikage knew he had based on his research into Endeavor's family.
Psychological issue, he noted. Todoroki - Deliberately handicapping himself by refusing to use half his Quirk. Either trauma-based or rebellion against his father. Makes him predictable—anyone who knows about his fire side can plan for ice-only attacks. Self-imposed limitation is tactical weakness.
Match 3: Iida vs. Hatsume
This match was... something.
Hatsume was a support course student who used the match as a product demonstration for her inventions, spending the entire time showing off gadgets while Iida stood there confused.
Eventually, she walked out of bounds herself, having accomplished her goal of commercial exposure.
Yoshikage stared.
She just used a combat tournament as a business pitch and nobody stopped her. The judges allowed this. The teachers allowed this. They let a student make a mockery of their "prestigious event" because... why? Entertainment value?
This entire institution is a joke.
Match 4: Bakugo vs. Uraraka
Yoshikage leaned forward for this one. Bakugo versus the Zero Gravity girl who'd been on Izuku's cavalry team.
This will be telling. Bakugo against a less powerful opponent with a tactical Quirk. Does he adapt or just explode everything?
The match began, and Uraraka immediately showed more strategic thinking than most of her classmates. She grabbed debris, used it as projectiles, created a multi-layered attack pattern.
Bakugo's response was to explode everything.
Every rock. Every piece of debris. Every attack.
He's not even trying to dodge, Yoshikage observed. Just destroying threats with overwhelming force. It's effective but incredibly wasteful. His sweat glands produce the explosive compound—finite resource. He's burning through it like he has infinite ammunition.
Uraraka's strategy became clear: she'd been using the debris as a distraction while floating chunks of the arena above Bakugo, preparing to drop them all at once.
Actually clever, Yoshikage admitted. Using his aggression against him. Making him waste power on distractions while preparing the real attack.
Then she released the meteor shower of debris.
Bakugo looked up, saw it coming, and—
Created an explosion so massive it vaporized everything and knocked Uraraka unconscious with the shockwave.
The crowd went silent, then erupted in mixed reactions. Some cheered. Others booed, shouting that Bakugo was being too aggressive against a girl.
Yoshikage had a different critique.
Bakugo showed zero tactical development. Against an opponent with a solid strategy, his response was "bigger explosion." It worked because he has massive power reserves, but against an opponent who could absorb or redirect that energy, he would have lost. Also: he correctly identified and countered Uraraka's strategy, showing he CAN think tactically, but his execution is still brute force.
Uraraka showed good strategic planning but poor execution. The meteor strategy was sound but too slow to develop, giving Bakugo time to recognize and counter it. In actual combat, she would be dead before completing her setup.
Present Mic was defending Bakugo's actions, pointing out that holding back would have been more insulting than fighting seriously.
The one time the announcer says something intelligent, Yoshikage thought. Though he's right for the wrong reasons. The problem isn't that Bakugo fought seriously—it's that "fighting seriously" for him means maximum aggression with no tactical variation.
Match 5: Tokoyami vs. Yaoyorozu
This match was frustrating to watch because both students had incredibly versatile Quirks and used them in the most limited ways possible.
Tokoyami had Dark Shadow, a sentient shadow creature he could control. Yaoyorozu could create any non-living object from her body.
Tokoyami should be using Dark Shadow for reconnaissance, multi-directional attacks, feints, and environmental manipulation, Yoshikage thought.
What actually happened: Tokoyami sent Dark Shadow forward in straightforward attacks while staying stationary.
Yaoyorozu should be creating flashbangs to weaken the shadow, nets to restrain it, shields to defend herself, and weapons to counterattack, Yoshikage thought.
What actually happened: Yaoyorozu created a shield and a staff and tried to fight defensively.
Dark Shadow overwhelmed her through persistence and she was pushed out of bounds.
Yoshikage wrote: Both students showed fundamental failures in creativity and tactical application. Tokoyami is one-dimensional with a multi-dimensional Quirk. Yaoyorozu has MOLECULAR CREATION and used it to make medieval weapons. This is what happens when students are taught Quirk mechanics but not tactical theory or creative problem-solving.
This is why the supporting cast of this series is so forgettable, he added in a separate note. Characters are given interesting abilities and then use them in the most obvious, boring ways possible. No growth, no creativity, no development beyond their initial concept. Yaoyorozu should be one of the most powerful students here—she can create ANYTHING—and she loses because she thinks like a medieval knight instead of a modern combatant.
Tokoyami has a SENTIENT SHADOW CREATURE and uses it like a trained attack dog. The potential applications are endless—scouting, distraction, multi-point attacks, psychological warfare—and he uses exactly none of them.
Match 6: Kirishima vs. Tetsutetsu
Two students with hardening Quirks punched each other until one fell down.
That was it. That was the entire match.
No technique. No strategy. Just two teenage boys hitting each other with hardened fists until someone's stamina gave out.
Yoshikage didn't even bother taking detailed notes. He just wrote: This is what peak male performance looks like, apparently. U.A. has failed these students so thoroughly that their idea of combat is "punch harder than the other guy."
Match 7: Ashido vs. Aoyama
Acid versus laser beams. Should have been interesting.
Ashido could produce acid of varying corrosiveness and had good mobility. Aoyama had a naval laser with recoil issues.
Ashido should use her acid to create terrain hazards, force Aoyama to move into disadvantageous positions, limit his ability to aim, Yoshikage thought.
What actually happened: She tried to dodge his lasers while shooting acid at him in a straight-forward exchange of ranged attacks.
Aoyama should use his laser's recoil for mobility, create unpredictable firing angles, force Ashido to divide her attention between attack and defense.
What actually happened: He stood in place and shot lasers until his stomach hurt too much to continue.
Ashido won by default when Aoyama's Quirk gave him a stomach ache.
No notes. This match doesn't deserve notes. Both students are so poorly trained that calling it "combat" is generous. This was children playing with powers they don't understand.
Match 8: Izuku vs. Todoroki - The Only Interesting Match
Finally, something worth paying attention to.
Izuku versus Todoroki. One For All versus Half-Cold Half-Hot. Yoshikage's student versus the most tactically competent student in Class 1-A.
The match began, and Todoroki immediately created a massive ice wave—the same overwhelming force strategy that had worked in every previous match.
Izuku responded with a Delaware Smash—flicking his finger with One For All to create a wind pressure blast that shattered the ice.
Good, Yoshikage thought. Using the technique I showed him for ranged attacks. Sacrificing a finger but maintaining mobility.
Todoroki attacked again. Izuku countered again.
This is going to be a war of attrition, Yoshikage realized. Izuku has ten fingers—ten counterattacks maximum before he's out of usable digits. Todoroki has effectively unlimited ice. The math doesn't favor Midoriya.
But then something unexpected happened.
Izuku started talking.
Not trash talk. Not taunts. He started psychoanalyzing Todoroki mid-match, calling him out for not using his fire side, questioning why he was handicapping himself.
What are you doing? Yoshikage thought, leaning forward. This is a FIGHT, not a therapy session!
But it was working. Todoroki was responding, his ice attacks becoming less focused, his expression conflicted.
Midoriya is using psychological warfare, Yoshikage realized. Not intentionally, probably—he genuinely seems to care about Todoroki's personal issues—but the effect is the same. He's disrupting his opponent's mental state.
The match escalated. Izuku broke more fingers. Todoroki created larger ice structures. The arena became a frozen battlefield.
And then Todoroki used his fire.
The left side of his body erupted in flames, the heat so intense it melted his own ice instantly. His expression was anguished—clearly this was a massive psychological barrier he'd just crossed.
Izuku smiled, actually smiled, like he'd accomplished something.
He threw the match, Yoshikage realized with disbelief. He just sacrificed his tactical advantage to make a point about Todoroki using his full power. He HELPED HIS OPPONENT power up.
Both students prepared final attacks. Ice and fire on one side, One For All at 100% on the other.
They charged.
The collision was massive, an explosion of force that shook the entire stadium—
And when the smoke cleared, Todoroki was standing inside the arena, barely.
Izuku was unconscious outside the boundary line.
Todoroki won.
The crowd erupted in applause, calling it an amazing match.
Yoshikage had his face in his hands again.
Midoriya vs. Todoroki: Technically impressive, tactically INSANE. Midoriya showed good use of ranged attacks and finger-sacrifice strategy, but then completely sabotaged himself by helping his opponent overcome a psychological limitation. This is hero thinking at its most idiotic—prioritizing someone else's personal growth over victory in a competition.
Todoroki showed his tactical capabilities when using his full power, but the fact that he needed a pep talk from his OPPONENT to use it reveals massive psychological issues that will be exploited by any enemy with basic intelligence.
Both students are severely damaged by their respective backgrounds and receiving inadequate psychological support from U.A. staff.
He paused, then added: That said: Midoriya's instinct to prioritize helping others over personal victory is... not entirely without merit. It's stupid in a competitive context, but in actual hero work, that mentality could be valuable. If he survives long enough to develop actual combat skills to go with it.
Semifinals and Finals: Diminishing Returns
The semifinals were less interesting than the quarterfinals.
Bakugo versus Todoroki should have been compelling—the aggressive explosion user versus the newly unlocked dual-element user.
Instead, Todoroki had an apparent mental breakdown mid-match, stopped using his fire side again, and Bakugo won by overwhelming his ice-only defense with sustained aggression.
Todoroki's psychological issues are severe enough to affect his combat performance, Yoshikage noted. Needs therapy, not combat training. U.A. is failing him by putting him in these situations without addressing his trauma.
Iida versus Todoroki's earlier match had been Iida running fast and Todoroki freezing him. Speed versus ice. Ice won.
The finals were Bakugo versus Todoroki, and it was possibly the most unsatisfying match Yoshikage had ever witnessed.
Todoroki, still in the middle of his psychological crisis, barely fought back. Bakugo won decisively but looked furious about it, screaming at Todoroki to fight seriously.
Bakugo wanted to win against Todoroki at full power to prove he's the best, Yoshikage observed. His ego won't accept a victory against a half-fighting opponent. Interesting. His arrogance has standards, apparently.
The awards ceremony was awkward—Bakugo had to be chained and muzzled because he was throwing a tantrum about his "tainted victory," which said everything about both his character and U.A.'s ability to handle problem students.
Yoshikage closed his notebook, having filled nearly forty pages with observations, critiques, and increasingly frustrated commentary.
Final Assessment of U.A. Sports Festival:
Overall: A systematic demonstration of everything wrong with hero education in this society.
Positive observations:
Several students showed creative problem-solving (Uraraka's meteor strategy, Midoriya's psychological warfare)Some tactical awareness is developing (Todoroki's overwhelming force doctrine, though limited)Physical Quirk control is generally adequate for first-year students
Negative observations (extensive):
Almost universal lack of formal combat trainingNo evidence of tactical education beyond "use your Quirk effectively"Zero psychological preparation for mental manipulation or emotional exploitationPoor team coordination trainingNo apparent instruction in energy conservation or stamina managementLack of creative Quirk application—students use powers in obvious ways onlyInadequate psychological support for traumatized studentsTeachers allow dangerous situations without proper intervention or safety protocolsThe entire event is structured as entertainment rather than education
Regarding the supporting cast specifically:
This is why Class 1-A feels so forgettable outside the main characters. Students are given interesting Quirks and then:
Use them in the most obvious way possibleShow no creative development or evolution of techniquesReceive minimal character development beyond their initial introductionBecome background characters who show up to lose fights and make the protagonists look good
Yaoyorozu has CREATION and uses it to make STICKS.
Tokoyami has a SENTIENT SHADOW and uses it as a BATTERING RAM.
Ashido has ACID and just... throws it at people.
None of them think tactically. None of them develop their abilities beyond the baseline. None of them become genuinely competent because the narrative doesn't NEED them to be competent—they just need to be present so Midoriya and Bakugo and Todoroki can be the "real" heroes.
It's lazy character writing in the source material, and it's creating genuinely unprepared students in this reality.
He stood, preparing to leave the stadium, and felt Killer Queen manifest beside him.
"Forty students just demonstrated that they have no business being heroes yet," he said quietly. "And society is celebrating them like they're already professionals. This is what I'm fighting against. This systemic incompetence that calls itself excellence."
The Stand's eyes gleamed agreement.
Yoshikage was making his way toward the exit when his phone buzzed.
A message from Izuku: "Did you watch? How did I do?"
He considered his response carefully, then typed: "You showed improvement in technique and tactical thinking. You also sabotaged yourself by helping your opponent. We'll discuss at next training session. Congratulations on reaching the tournament bracket. Now let's talk about why you lost."
Because that was what Izuku needed. Not empty praise, not coddling, but honest assessment and constructive criticism.
The things U.A. apparently couldn't provide.
He was almost to the exit when he felt it—that familiar pressure of malevolent power that he'd encountered only once before.
All For One was here. Or at least, his presence was being felt somehow.
Yoshikage scanned the crowd carefully, trying to locate the source.
There—in a private box, surrounded by security that was clearly HPSC, a figure in a suit watching the arena with interest.
Is that him? Or a representative?
The figure's head turned, and even from this distance, Yoshikage felt the weight of that gaze fall on him.
He knows I'm here. He's watching me.
Yoshikage didn't run. Didn't react visibly. Just turned calmly and continued toward the exit.
But his mind was racing.
The work on Bites the Dust evolution needs to accelerate. Three months was too conservative. I need existence erasure capability NOW, before All For One decides I'm a threat worth eliminating.
He pulled out his phone and made a note: Priority One: Complete Bites the Dust ultimate evolution. Timeline: One month maximum. Target: All For One. Outcome: Complete existence erasure.
Outside the stadium, the crowds were celebrating, completely unaware that they'd just witnessed a demonstration of systemic failure.
And completely unaware that someone was preparing to remove the biggest villain in their world from existence so thoroughly that nobody would even remember he'd been there.
Yoshikage headed home, already planning his training schedule for the evening.
Hamon practice: two hours.
Killer Queen experimentation: three hours.
Bites the Dust evolution work: four hours.
Actual sleep: maybe three hours if he was lucky.
The moment you thought you'd trained enough was the moment you started losing.
And with All For One watching him now, Yoshikage couldn't afford to lose.
Time to push harder.
Time to become something this universe had never seen.
Time to prove that intelligence, preparation, and determination could defeat even a two-hundred-year-old monster.
Let's see how your centuries of experience handle being erased from time itself, Yoshikage thought.
Let's see if you're ready for someone who actually uses their brain.
Spoiler alert: You're not.
Killer Queen walked beside him through the darkening streets, and Yoshikage smiled.
One month.
One month until All For One ceased to exist.
The countdown had begun.