All Might planted his feet firmly at the head of the courtyard, Kratos standing motionless at his side. He raised a hand and shouted, "Shall we begin?"
A thunderous cheer erupted from Class 1-A. "Yes!" they called, voices bright with excitement.
All Might let the cheer fade, then leaned forward on one elbow, grin widening. "Excellent. Now, I know you're all raring to go, but I imagine some of you have a question." He swept his gaze over the students. "This is Hero Basic Training, right? So why do we have three instructors?"
Silence fell. The afternoon breeze tugged at costume capes and hair. All Might's eyes twinkled as he waited.
Kirishima's hand shot up first. All Might pointed at him.
"Yes, Kirishima?"
"Um… three?" Kirishima asked, sounding unsure.
From Kratos's belt came Mimir's amused Scottish lilt. "Well… if ye're countin' heads, ye'd need three sets of them, wouldn't ye?"
A ripple of laughter rolled through the class. Flowers of embarrassment colored Kirishima's cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head in a sheepish grin.
Even Kratos let out a low "Huh," lost beneath the students' giggles and snorts.
All Might raised a hand to quiet them. "Good try, Kirishima. Now, who else? Yaoyorozu?"
Yaoyorozu straightened, raised her hand, and All Might nodded. She spoke clearly: "Because Kratos-sensei is our Combat Strategy instructor in addition to overseeing discipline."
All Might clapped once. "Right answer, but half true and half off the mark. Discipline and strategy are two sides of the same coin. A disciplined mind masters strategy, and a well-crafted strategy depends on discipline in its execution."
He stepped back, hands folded. "Now, why was Kratos-sensei chosen to teach both? No need for guessing. Kratos has served in a long-standing army, one not of today's modern age, but from the very cradle of warrior culture. Actually, He hails from the birthplace of Spartan warriors."
At the word Spartan, Yaoyorozu's eyes went wide. She let out a sharp gasp that echoed against the courtyard walls. Around her, classmates exchanged curious looks. Spartan warriors: the elite of ancient legend, bred for endurance and unbreakable unity.
"Spartan warriors…?" Asui murmured, brows furrowed.
"What's that?" Kaminari asked, leaning in.
"Does anyone know what that is?" Mineta wondered aloud.
All eyes fell on Yaoyorozu, waiting for her to fill the silence. But her gaze remained fixed on Kratos's broad form, arms crossed, stance unwavering, presence like iron. She felt her heart pound. He is from that place?!
All Might, noticing the ripple of confusion, beamed and stepped aside with a flourish. "Very good, Class 1-A. Kratos-sensei, the floor is yours."
Kratos moved forward without haste. His weapons clicked softly on his back. Once he reached in front of them, he folded his immense arms and looked each student in the eye.
Then, in a voice that carried like rolling thunder, he said, "Quiet."
Instantly, the courtyard fell silent. Even the breeze seemed to pause. Twenty-odd aspiring heroes stood frozen, every ear attuned to the next words of the ghost of Sparta.
Kratos glared at Bakugo, stepping forward until only a measured distance separated them.
The gravel in his voice scraped across the still morning air. "You," he said, slow and deliberate, like a boulder shifting loose from the mountainside. "What do you call your greatest strength?"
Bakugo didn't blink. His chin tilted upward, that wild, feral grin already curling on his lips. "Simple," he spat, arms spreading slightly. "Me. I'm stronger, better, than every one of these extras."
The words hung heavy in the air. His voice dripped with unshaken confidence, with fire that didn't wait for permission to burn. He didn't look around. Didn't acknowledge the others. Just locked eyes with Kratos, as if daring him to challenge that truth.
For a brief moment, the air tensed, like the pause before a storm. Kratos stared at him, unmoved. The faintest twitch worked its way through his jaw.
He inhaled. Long and deep.
Then… he turned.
His boots shifted over the dirt, slow and sure. The silence deepened as his eyes swept over the rest of the class. He looked past Bakugo as if he were a blade already dulled and returned to the forge.
Kratos' gaze landed on Midoriya.
The boy tensed, but didn't shy away. His hands curled slightly at his sides, knuckles pale.
"Midoriya," Kratos said, voice like distant thunder. "What is your strength?"
Izuku hesitated. Not out of fear, but because he had to dig. Deep.
He glanced down for a moment, then looked back up, eyes wide, uncertain, but unwavering.
"I don't think it's a power," he said quietly. "I think... it's that I don't stop. If someone's in danger, I move. Even when I know I'm not strong enough. Even if I'm afraid. I... I still go."
There was no pride in his voice. No boasting. Only truth.
But Kratos said nothing. He turned and moved on.
"Todoroki."
The half-and-half boy met his gaze with ice in his posture. His tone was flat, unwavering. "...My Ice Quirk. My Quirk gives me range, crowd-control, and adaptability. I can fight in any condition."
Still, Kratos gave no response. No nod. No judgment. He turned next to Kirishima.
"You."
Kirishima smacked a fist into his open palm. "My Hardening. I can be a shield for my team. Hold the line when the others can't." He grinned slightly, trying to muster some pride in the declaration.
Kratos' expression remained carved from stone.
"Uraraka."
Ochaco blinked, surprised to be called. But she stepped forward, raising her hand briefly in hesitation before lowering it. "My Quirk makes things float. I can get civilians out of danger, lift rubble, maybe even make a villain lose their footing. I... I help."
Kratos watched her a moment longer than the others. Then he stepped back, surveying the group again.
"What is weakness?" he asked next. No names. Just the question dropped into the silence.
Iida was the first to raise his hand, chest puffed up. "Weakness is failing to uphold discipline. Breaking formation. Ignoring orders or acting recklessly, it jeopardizes the mission and your comrades."
Kratos turned his head slightly.
Uraraka looked down for a second, then said softly, "Weakness... is when you want to help, but you just can't. Even if you're trying your best, but your best still isn't enough."
Bakugo scoffed. "Weakness is for losers who don't win. That's all." He folded his arms. "If you're strong, you win. If you're weak, you lose. Simple."
Kratos turned towards the green haired kid. "Midoriya?"
Izuku hesitated. His fingers twitched by his side. "I think… weakness is the fear that stops you. That voice in your head that tells you you'll fail. And if you listen to it, it becomes true."
Kirishima spoke next. "It's hesitation. Not stepping in fast enough. Letting your fear freeze you instead of charging in."
Kratos narrowed his eyes. His breathing slowed again. Each answer was telling. Each one painting the lines of how these students saw the battlefield, not just physically, but within themselves.
Kratos took another step forward. The ground seemed to still under his boots.
He looked over them, not as children, but as soldiers yet untested.
His voice came low, sharp, and heavy, each word a hammer on steel. "Cornered. Bleeding. Alone. What do you tell yourself?"
The silence that followed wasn't just quiet. It was felt. A weight. A picture drawn clear in every mind. The echo of pain. The taste of fear. The shadow of a villain looming, just out of reach.
Spines straightened. Throats dried. Even Bakugo's cocky grin faltered.
The way Kratos spoke, it was felt as if they were there, in that moment. Trapped. Weak.
And they had to answer.
Midoriya was first this time. "I tell myself to move. To protect. I think of everyone behind me who needs help, and I go beyond. Even if it breaks me."
Kratos' gaze sharpened slightly.
Bakugo tilted his head, fire flaring in his voice. "I fight. I don't care how hurt I am, I'll blast that bastard to dust before I let them win."
Todoroki's arms stayed folded. "I analyze. If there's no weakness in them, I look for the environment. If nothing, I hold the line. My end means their delay."
Yaoyorozu stepped in uncalled. Her voice was quiet. "I'd create a distress beacon… or a defense mechanism. My mind would be more useful than my body at that point."
Kratos didn't stop her. But his gaze lingered.
Then he asked one final question.
"And what of the fear you feel in that moment?" His voice was softer now, more dangerous for it. "The doubt in your chest? The voice that says you are not enough? How do you face it?"
Midoriya's eyes widened. "I… I think of All Might. I think of the people I have to protect. I use that fear… and I push it down."
Bakugo's voice cut in. "Tch. Fear doesn't stop me. I will blast through it. I'm not gonna let fear make me freeze."
Todoroki didn't answer.
Kirishima scratched his head, then nodded. "You feel it. But that's what makes standing your ground matter. It's what makes it manly, to fight even when you're scared out of your mind."
Kratos walked back to where he started from. He now stood before the students once more, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The wind stirred gently around them, but no one dared to move. The weight of the questions he'd just asked still hung in the air, thick and raw. Their answers had been honest, yes, but not whole. Naïve clarity gleamed in their eyes, as if they had uncovered some hidden truth about becoming stronger.
But they were still children.
And it fell to Kratos to show them the cost of ignorance.
He stared at them in silence. The stoic line of his mouth wavered, just a fraction. His gaze dipped, not in shame, but into memory.
Then, finally, his voice cut through the quiet like a blade drawn across stone. It was lower than before, roughened with something not even Mimir had heard in a long time.
"Where I come from," he began, "at the age of seven, Spartan boys were taken from their mothers and thrown into the agōgē, the harsh crucible that forged warriors."
The laughter from moments before died instantly. Kratos continued, every word sharp and slow.
"We wore nothing but red cloaks. Slept on beds of reeds. Barefoot. Through snow and storm. Hunger was constant. Cold was a teacher. Stealing food was encouraged, but only if you weren't caught. If you failed? You were whipped until your back bled. Not because you stole. But because you were sloppy."
Some of the students flinched. Even Bakugo's scowl faltered.
"In the agōgē, weakness was not tolerated. Crying earned you beatings. Fear was punished until it no longer dared to show itself. Every day was a lesson in pain, discipline, and silence."
He paused. Let the cold air wrap around them.
"Why?"
He looked to them now, truly looked.
"Because in war, pain is nothing. Fear is nothing. Doubt is death."
He took another step forward.
"When we marched, we marched in phalanx. Shields interlocked. Each man covered himself and the one beside him. If even one stepped out of line, if one ran, the wall broke. And when the wall broke, men died."
Yaoyorozu's breath hitched. Kratos saw it, but didn't pause.
"Your shield… was not for you. It was for the man beside you."
He let that sink in. The class stood frozen. Even the most brash among them didn't speak. Only then did Kratos' tone change. Something heavier crept in, age, guilt, and a quiet sorrow masked in strength.
"I was once a captain. Youngest in Sparta. Hundred men under my command. Proud. Foolish. We faced an enemy horde in a field under a moonless sky. Outnumbered. But we held our line. Shields firm. Breath calm."
His eyes darkened.
"Until one of my men, Alekos… hesitated. Just a breath. Just one step back. But it broke our wall. A barbarian slipped through the gap and speared the man beside him."
A few students gasped, but Kratos spoke on, unflinching.
"I looked into Alekos's eyes. I saw fear. I realized... I never saw it before. I never tested his courage. Never knew his weakness. And that ignorance was mine."
His voice grew deeper, quieter.
"I thought myself strong. Sparta's chosen. But I was blind. That night, many died. Because of one weakness I didn't care to learn."
He stepped forward once more. His voice dropped to a rumble that seemed to vibrate through the stone under their feet.
"Your strength means nothing if you don't understand your fear. Your pain. Your doubt. What you hide will break you. And when you break, you do not fall alone. You drag down the ones beside you."
He turned, gaze sweeping over them, burning cold into their skulls.
"Spartans were told: return with your shield… or on it. Victory or death. No shame in either. But turn your back... and you shame every soul who stood with you."
His arms lowered. The wind shifted.
"Remember this. Know yourself, your weakness, your fear. Train not only to fight, but to endure. To protect the line. That is strength."
The class stood in dead silence. No one dared speak. No one even breathed too loudly. The gravity in Kratos' voice had shaken something deep within them, like hearing the very earth whisper a warning.
Behind him, even All Might, bright, golden, eternal, had grown still.
And so they stood still. Not because they feared Kratos, but because they feared what he had shown them about themselves.