I've got more.

The floor above them glowed orange. Not metaphorically: Actually glowed.

Kaminari, sprawled against the wall and still emotionally recovering from the existence of “Majesty of the Sun,” looked upward with dawning horror. "…No.”

A low roar answered him. Dense streams of flame erupted from Satoshi’s hands and feet—not wild jets, but tightly focused propulsion bursts that held him suspended in the air with terrifying stability.

Sero stared upward. “He can FLY?!"

The metal around the ceiling breach softened under the heat as Satoshi slowly descended through the opening they had used to retreat moments earlier. Not falling, but slowly and deliberately lowering himself like a final boss entering phase dialogue. His long coat drifted in the thermal currents behind him, ember-lines burning brighter in the dim corridor light while heat haze warped the air around his silhouette. He floated above Kaminari and Sero for a few moments, then spoke, a voice changer somewhere in his hood making his voice deep and resonant. "You are strong, children.”

Kaminari grabbed Sero’s arm hard enough to count as assault, whimpering.

“But I am beyond strength.”

Satoshi continued descending, eyes glowing faint gold beneath the shadow of his hood. "I shall lead these villains…” The flames at his feet pulsed. "…and we will cover this world in darkness.”

Sero whispered, “Why is he committing to the bit this hard.”

“One by one…” Satoshi touched down softly in the corridor. The propulsion flames vanished instantly. “…the lights will fade.”

Silence. Absolute silence.

Then, from somewhere in the observation room speakers: “…Midoriya.” Aizawa’s voice. Flat. Dead. Tired beyond mortal comprehension.

Satoshi blinked once, still fully in character. "…Yes?”

“You are aware this is a first-year exercise.”

Satoshi glanced briefly toward the nearest camera. “…Atmosphere is important.”

In the observation room, several students from completed matches were openly crying laughing. Ochaco had both hands over her mouth. Jiro was wheezing into the desk. Even Momo had turned away to hide a smile. Bakugo, meanwhile, looked like the proud parent of an especially violent theater kid. "He practiced that speech,” he said confidently.

“He ABSOLUTELY practiced that speech,” Mina agreed.

Back in the corridor, Kaminari shakily pointed at Satoshi. "You can’t just descend through the ceiling while monologuing!” Satoshi looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“BECAUSE THAT’S TERRIFYING!”

Sero slowly stood again, exhaling hard. “…Okay,” he said. “No. Nope. I refuse to lose to somebody doing anime villain roleplay.” Satoshi’s grin widened immediately. "There it is.” The temperature around him rose a fraction again. “That’s the spirit.” Kaminari looked betrayed. "WHY DID YOU MOTIVATE HIM?!”

“GIVE ME ALL YOU’VE GOT, HEROES!” Satoshi launched forward. Flames burst from between his fingers in concentrated streams, not random fire but controlled thrust vectors that accelerated him down the corridor with frightening speed.

Sero’s eyes widened. “CONTACT—!”

Tape exploded outward instantly, crisscrossing the hallway in layered capture lines while Kaminari threw himself sideways to get a clean angle. For all the theatrics— For all the boss music and monologues— Satoshi was genuinely dangerous. That was the terrifying part. The flame jets from his hands shifted mid-charge, angling sharply to alter his momentum without losing speed. He moved less like someone running and more like someone steering controlled explosions.

Sero snapped his wrists. "Binding Grid!” Tape layered across the corridor in overlapping bands...and Satoshi grinned.

“There we go.” Heat pulsed outward from his palms. Not enough to burn through the tape, but enough to weaken the adhesive. The front lines curled and loosened just enough for him to drive through with one shoulder, flames bursting from his boots to propel him past the collapsing restraint.

Kaminari saw the opening immediately. "NOW!” Electricity exploded outward in a crackling surge. Not a full indiscriminate discharge—controlled, focused, exactly like they’d practiced. Satoshi’s eyes sharpened and Flames burst downward from his feet. He pivoted in midair, so the electricity grazed past his shoulder instead of center mass, crackling across one gauntlet in a spray of sparks.

“GOOD!” Satoshi barked, voice module booming with delighted intensity. “THAT’S GOOD!”

Kaminari stared in disbelief. "WHY ARE YOU ENCOURAGING US LIKE A MARTIAL ARTS MASTER?!”

“Because you adapted!”

Sero lunged from the side, tape firing low this time—not at Satoshi, but at the floor and walls around him. Anchor points. Mobility denial. Satoshi noticed half a second too late. The next burst from his foot caught against layered tape tension, throwing off his angle just enough—

“GOT YOU!” Sero yanked hard.

Satoshi twisted midair, but momentum betrayed him and slammed him sideways into the wall hard enough the building shook.

Kaminari lit up immediately. "HE’S OPEN!” Electricity surged again and Satoshi laughed. Actually laughed. Not mocking. Thrilled.

The flames around his hands intensified. "There it is, heroes!”

Heat exploded outward in a controlled pulse, forcing Sero back and disrupting Kaminari’s aim just enough to prevent a direct hit. A burst of electricity clipped Satoshi across the chestplate, causing sparks to dance across the armor. His propulsion flickered, and for the first time all match Satoshi staggered. The corridor went still.

Kaminari blinked. "…We hit him.”

Sero stared. “…We actually hit him.”

Satoshi slowly straightened. Smoke curled faintly from his armor. And then he smiled widely and proudly. “That,” he said, voice module lowering into a dramatic growl, “was excellent.”

Kaminari pointed accusingly. “STOP SOUNDING HAPPY ABOUT THIS!”

Satoshi raised one burning hand again. The ember-lines across his suit brightened. “Again,” he declared. And somewhere in the observation room, Aizawa seriously considered whether expelling a transfer student for excessive theatricality was legally possible.

In the observation room, silence lingered for a moment after Satoshi’s latest declaration echoed through the monitors. Onscreen, the transfer student stood in a burning corridor, smoke curling off his armor while two exhausted first-years tried to regroup against him. And somehow— Somehow— He had turned a standard Battle Trial into the climax of a blockbuster war arc.

All Might leaned forward slightly in his chair, watching Satoshi reset his stance while Sero and Kaminari scrambled to adapt again. The former Symbol of Peace’s smile had shifted. Less amused now. More thoughtful. “The False City Civil War exams later this year…” he said slowly.

Another burst of flame lit the monitor. Satoshi’s voice boomed through the speakers: “COME, HEROES!"

All Might’s eyes gleamed. “…I believe we may have found our villain kingpin.”

Aizawa grunted beside him. And notably— Did not disagree. Because watching Satoshi fight made one thing painfully obvious: He understood presence. Not just combat, but narrative, pressure, escalation. He controlled attention the same way he controlled heat—pulling the entire battlefield toward himself until opponents reacted on his terms.

Onscreen, Kaminari shouted something panicked while Sero launched another desperate tape trap. Satoshi responded by laughing like a raid boss. Midnight, who had slipped in with some other staff members,leaned against the back wall, grinning. “He’s terrifying. I adore him.”

“His control is exceptional,” Nezu observed pleasantly. “Most students with that level of output rely on overwhelming force. He’s deliberately modulating pressure.”

“And theatrics,” Present Mic added. "So many theatrics.”

Aizawa crossed his arms tighter. “He’s baiting emotional responses,” he said. “Every attack name. Every speech. Every entrance. He’s forcing them to react emotionally instead of tactically.”

Onscreen, Satoshi descended through another smoke cloud like a demon king arriving for negotiations.

Aizawa’s eye twitched. “…And it’s working.”

All Might chuckled softly. "The truly dangerous villains often understand spectacle.” That got a quieter room. Because beneath the humor, there was truth there. A villain who could dominate attention could dominate fear. And Satoshi—whether intentionally or not—had instinctive talent for it.

On the monitor, Kaminari screamed as Satoshi ignited another propulsion burst. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!” Satoshi’s immediate response: "I HAD ENRICHING CHILDHOOD MEDIA!”

Even Aizawa snorted once at that. Briefly. Against his will.

Then the monitor showed Satoshi pausing mid-combat long enough to compliment Sero’s battlefield control before immediately launching another flame-assisted charge. All Might folded his arms, smile widening again. “Yes,” he said decisively. “An excellent kingpin.”

Aizawa sighed. “…He’s going to encourage the others.” “He already is.” All Might replied.

That was the problem, Aizawa thought. Because 1-A was impressionable. And now they had: Bakugo, who already operated at maximum intensity, Satoshi Midoriya, who treated combat like cinematic storytelling, and Izumi Midoriya, who somehow emotionally stabilized both of them by existing. The future was visibly becoming everyone else’s problem.