The arena was a graveyard of smashed robots and bruised egos, the selection finally over. Zion stood among the panting students, blood and dirt streaking his skin, his torn shirt barely clinging to his frame. The supervisors, perched on their platform, looked down like gods judging mortals. A grizzled voice—Present Mic, probably—blared through a megaphone: "That's a wrap, kids! Go home, lick your wounds. Results come by letter in a few days. Don't call us, we'll call you!"
The crowd shuffled out, some muttering, others dragging their feet. Zion didn't give a shit about their dreams. He'd crushed that robot, stacked his stats (5 Energy, 10 Endurance, 5 Strength, thanks to the system), and left everyone shook. His eyes flicked to Midnight, her leather bodysuit catching the light, her smirk aimed right at him. She wasn't done with him yet.
As he headed for the exit, she caught up, her boots clicking, her scent—sweet, sleepy mist—hitting him like a drug. "Zion," she purred, voice low, pulling him aside near a wrecked wall. "Got a minute?"
He grinned, leaning close, his infinite appeal already working its magic. "For you? Always."
Her lips curved, teasing, her violet hair brushing his arm as she leaned in. "You put on a hell of a show," she said, eyes glinting. "But don't think you're off the hook. We're not done, you and me. Keep your eyes open at UA." Her fingers grazed his wrist, a promise wrapped in a threat, before she sauntered off, hips swaying like a weapon.
Zion watched her go, cocky grin intact. "Oh, we'll see each other, alright," he muttered. His dick was already half-hard thinking about round two, but he had bigger plans brewing.
Up in the supervisor's booth, the pros huddled, their voices sharp as they dissected the test. Aizawa slouched, eyes half-lidded, flipping through notes. "Zion's combat was clean—too clean. Took down that sentinel like it was nothing. Seventy points for villain takedown." The manga's point system flashed on their screen: Villain Points for robot kills, Rescue Points for saving dummies.
Present Mic leaned forward, shades glinting. "Yeah, but rescue? Kid didn't lift a finger for civilians. Zero points there, maybe two if I'm generous."
Cementoss nodded, arms crossed. "His power's undeniable—speed, strength, precision. I'd give him twenty for technique alone. But he's no team player."
Midnight smirked, twirling her whip. "He's got instincts you can't teach. Spotted that tunnel glitch and handled the sentinel. Fifty for strategy, plus my vote for admission. He's hero material, rough edges or not."
All Might, towering but quiet, rubbed his chin. "There's something… off about him. But raw potential? Eighty points total, counting combat and impact."
They tallied: 70 Villain, 2 Rescue, 20 Technique, 50 Strategy. A score of 142—high enough to dominate, low enough to raise eyebrows. Aizawa grunted. "He's in. But I'm watching him."
Zion, oblivious to their math, trudged back to the house, muscles sore but mind buzzing. He pushed open the door and froze. The kitchen smelled like heaven—roast meat, spiced rice, fresh bread. Mirko stood at the counter, her rabbit ears twitching, her body a fucking masterpiece. Her crop top barely held her massive chest, abs flexing as she chopped herbs, her thick thighs and round ass bouncing with each step in those tight shorts. She was a wet dream cooking him a feast, and Zion's mouth watered for more than food.
"Zion!" she called, grinning. "Figured you'd be starving after UA's test. Sit, eat."
He dropped into a chair, piling his plate high. The food was unreal—juicy steak, buttery potatoes, flavors popping like fireworks. As he tore into it, his mind ran wild. This world's mine, he thought, chewing. Power, pussy, control—I'm gonna take it all. That robot was just the start. I'll stack Quirks, fuck every hot chick who crosses my path, and run this place like a king. His eyes flicked to Mirko, her curves screaming temptation. She was priority one.
He wanted her bad—wanted to bend her over the table, rip those shorts off, and make her scream. But the vibe was off. She treated him like a son, maybe a stepson, all protective and warm. Rushing it would fuck things up. His infinite appeal was his ace, though—99 on Midnight proved it worked. He'd play it slow, let her want him first, then claim her. "Patience," he muttered under his breath, smirking.
Mirko caught his look, raising an eyebrow. "What's that grin about? You break something at UA?"
"Nah," he said, leaning back. "Just thinking life's looking up."
They ate, laughed, her teasing him about hero school, him dodging with vague bullshit. When the plates were clean, Zion's body screamed for rest. "I'm crashing," he said, standing. "Long-ass day."
"Sleep tight, trouble," Mirko called, her voice warm but with an edge that made his dick twitch.
In his room, he collapsed on the bed, out cold in seconds. The next morning, sunlight stabbed his eyes, and Mirko's voice yanked him awake. "Zion! Get your ass up! Mail's here—UA's letter!"
He bolted upright, heart pounding, and met her in the living room. She tossed him the envelope, her ears perked, a grin on her face. "Open it, let's see if you fucked up or not."
Zion tore it open, pulling out a small disc. It hummed, projecting a hologram—Midnight, looking like sin in her bodysuit, smirking like she knew his secrets. "Zion," she purred, voice teasing but professional, no hint of their tunnel romp. "Congratulations. Your performance at the selection was… exceptional. You're accepted to UA High, effective immediately. Given your skills and age, you're placed in Class 1-A, already in session. Show us what you've got, darling." The video cut off, her wink lingering.
Zion laughed, a dark, giddy sound. Class 1-A? With Deku and that One for All bastard? Fucking perfect. His worst enemy, the hero he'd idolized hating, right there to crush. This was fate handing him a knife.
Mirko's eyes narrowed, arms crossed, her chest straining her top. "That bitch," she spat. "Keep your guard up around her at UA, Zion. She's trouble, and not the fun kind." She stepped closer, protective, her scent—sweat and spice—hitting him hard. "I'll swing by the academy, check on you. Hero privilege gets me in anytime. Don't let those pros screw you over."
He nodded, grinning. "Don't worry, I got this." Her promise to visit was gold—more chances to work his charm, get her where he wanted.
Midnight's video replayed in his head, her teasing tone a reminder of what he'd already claimed. Class 1-A was a battlefield, One for All his target, and Mirko a prize he'd savor winning.
*****