The sun shone brightly over the U.A. High training grounds, where Class 1-A had gathered for the day's combat evaluation. Excitement buzzed in the air as students speculated about what kind of test Aizawa had in store—though most of their attention was clearly focused on the new face among them.
Sabo stood calmly at the edge of the group, hands in his pockets, relaxed but alert. Though he wore the U.A. gym uniform, he still had his long black coat thrown over his shoulders and his signature goggles pushed up onto his messy blonde hair. His staff rested against the wall nearby, but his flames flickered subtly at his fingertips, ready if needed.
"Today," Aizawa began dryly, "we'll conduct a series of one-on-one sparring matches to evaluate your growth and adaptability. Our guest, Sabo, will be joining you."
Whispers rippled through the group.
"Is he really that strong?" Ashido asked.
"Dude melted that villain like grilled cheese," Kaminari whispered.
Midoriya, standing nearby, took a deep breath. "I want to see what kind of power he really has…"
Sabo stretched one arm overhead. "So I'm allowed to go all out?"
"Up to a point," Aizawa replied. "No permanent damage."
"Fair enough," Sabo grinned.
Aizawa turned to the group. "First match: Bakugo versus Sabo."
Bakugo cracked his knuckles, a wild grin spreading across his face. "Finally. I've been waiting for a chance to wipe that smug look off your face, fire-boy."
Sabo tilted his head. "I like the confidence."
They stepped into the training ring. As the rest of Class 1-A backed away to give them space, Bakugo ignited his gauntlets, palms flaring with volatile explosions.
"You're not the only one who plays with fire," Bakugo growled.
Aizawa raised his hand. "Begin."
BOOM.
Bakugo launched himself forward in a blur of explosive propulsion, palm aimed straight for Sabo's chest. Sabo didn't move until the last second, then spun to the side with fluid ease. Flames rippled around him as he parried Bakugo's blast with his bare hand—catching the edge of the explosion and twisting it away from his body.
The shockwave cracked the pavement behind them.
Bakugo landed and growled. "Cheap trick."
"Not cheap," Sabo said calmly. "Just control."
He snapped his fingers, and a thin spiral of fire spun toward Bakugo like a whip. Bakugo blasted it apart mid-air and rushed in again, trying to close the gap.
They clashed again—Bakugo firing at close range, and Sabo weaving through it all like dancing embers. He didn't attack recklessly; every movement was deliberate, almost surgical. He wasn't just using fire—he was mastering it.
"Stop dodging and fight me!" Bakugo shouted.
"As you wish," Sabo replied.
He planted one foot forward and slammed his palm into the ground.
"Fire Fist!"
A colossal blast of flame erupted from his fist, carving a path across the ring. Bakugo was thrown back, narrowly avoiding a direct hit, but his uniform was singed and the ground beneath him glowed red-hot.
"Okay… that was insane," Kirishima muttered from the sidelines.
Bakugo landed hard and skidded to a stop. He was panting, but not done. "Damn it…"
Sabo walked toward him, the fire fading from his hand.
"Are we done?" he asked.
Bakugo glared at him, but the fire in his eyes dimmed. "Tch… I'll get you next time."
Sabo smirked. "Looking forward to it."
—
After the match, the rest of the class buzzed with awe.
"That was so cool!" Ashido cheered. "He didn't even break a sweat."
"He reads movements like a pro," Todoroki said quietly.
Uraraka looked at Midoriya. "You think you could take him?"
Midoriya swallowed nervously. "I… don't know. His fighting style is different from anything we've seen."
Aizawa called out the next match, and the training resumed, but Sabo's performance had left a lasting impression. Even the strongest students now regarded him with a new level of respect—and curiosity.
—
Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, Sabo sat on the edge of the training ground, sipping from a bottle of water. Midoriya approached him hesitantly, a notebook already in hand.
"Hey, Sabo-san?"
Sabo glanced up. "Hm? Oh, Midoriya, right?"
"Yes!" Midoriya smiled nervously. "I wanted to ask… your fighting style—it's not like anyone else's. You don't rely on brute force, and your flames don't behave like Endeavor's or Todoroki's… How do you control them so precisely?"
Sabo chuckled and leaned back on his hands. "I had a good teacher. And more importantly—I had to learn to fight smart. In my world, it's not just power that wins fights. It's instinct, timing, reading your enemy."
Midoriya's eyes sparkled as he scribbled notes.
"But the flames," Sabo added, letting a flicker dance between his fingers, "they're alive, in a way. You don't force them. You listen to them."
Midoriya paused his writing. "You listen to… fire?"
"Yeah. Sound crazy?"
Midoriya shook his head. "No, I think I understand. Thank you."
Sabo smiled. "You've got a strong heart. I can tell. You'll be a good hero."
Midoriya blinked, surprised at the compliment.
Sabo stood up, stretching. "I've still got a lot to learn about this world, but I'm glad I landed here. Feels like I've got purpose again."
—
As the sky turned orange, a shadowy figure stood on a nearby rooftop, watching the training ground through a pair of high-tech binoculars.
"Interesting," the figure muttered. "He's not from this world, and yet he fights like he belongs in it."
A device crackled at his ear.
"What's your report?" asked a distorted voice.
"He's powerful. Too powerful to ignore. We'll need to keep watching him—and if he interferes with the plan…"
The figure's eyes narrowed.
"…we eliminate him."