The auditorium's stadium seating stretched upward in concentric rings, already half-filled with examinees. I settled into my assigned spot, row M seat 42. The black leather creaked under my weight.
Whispers drifted from the row behind me, just loud enough to catch.
"Did you see the guy in the black turtleneck?"
"With the emerald earrings? God, those cheekbones."
"Think he's single?"
"Probably not with those looks. But a girl can dream..."
I turned, offering them a small wave and polite smile. Two girls - one with scaled skin that shimmered like opals, the other sporting delicate antennae - froze mid-conversation. The scaled one recovered first, giving a little finger-wave back. Her friend buried her face in her hands.
The seat beside me shifted. A familiar scent of caramel and gunpowder announced Bakugo's arrival before I saw him. He dropped into the chair, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead.
"Thought I told you not to apply for the hero course, nerd."
I made an exaggerated slurping sound, followed by a wet pop. The message was clear: Stop dick sucking.
His fingers twitched. "The fuck you say to me?"
"Sorry, had something in my throat. Maybe you're familiar with the condition?"
"Listen here you quirkless-"
"Quirkless and still living rent-free in your head."
Small explosions crackled in his palms. "You're dead after this exam."
"Promises, promises. Getting tired of your tsundere act, Kacchan."
"I'll show you tsun-"
"YEAH!" Present Mic's voice boomed through the speakers. "ARE YOU READY?!"
Silence met his enthusiasm. He deflated slightly.
"Tough crowd. ANYWAY! Let's talk about your practical exam! As you can see on your handouts-"
"Bet you studied this too," Bakugo muttered. "Fucking nerd."
"Unlike some, I don't coast on raw talent."
"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"
"ARE YOU READY TO HEAR ABOUT THE TARGETS?!" Present Mic continued over our whispered exchange.
"Means you're predictable," I whispered back. "One-trick explosion pony."
A vein pulsed in Bakugo's temple. "Better than no tricks at all, Deku."
"THREE TYPES OF VILLAINS!" Present Mic's hair somehow stood even higher with excitement.
"Quality over quantity. But you wouldn't know about that."
"Says the quirkless wannabe."
"POINTS ARE AWARDED BASED ON DIFFICULTY!"
"Better quirkless than brainless."
"Die."
"LARGER VILLAINS ARE WORTH MORE POINTS!"
"Original. Did you spend all morning workshopping that one?"
"Excuse me, sir!" A hand shot up a few rows in front of us. A tall, bespectacled guy with neatly combed hair stood ramrod straight. "You mentioned three types of villains, but the handout clearly shows four! Such an error is unbecoming of U.A., Japan's top hero academy!"
The tall guy turned around pointing around my area. "Additionally, you two in row M! Your constant muttering is disruptive and disrespectful! If you can't bother to take this seriously then leave. You're distracting the rest of us."
I turned to face him fully. "And your interruption of the presentation isn't?"
"I- That's-"
"Sit down, Extra." Bakugo's voice dripped disdain.
"How dare-"
"You're still standing bro," I noted. "Making an even bigger scene."
The glasses-wearing student sputtered, face reddening. Several nearby examinees snickered. He dropped back into his seat with mechanical stiffness.
"THANK YOU EXAMINEE 7111! Yes, there are four types of villains. The fourth is worth zero points! It's more of an obstacle to be avoided. Think of it as a thwomp in Super Mario Brothers!"
"ANY QUESTIONS?" Present Mic asked the crowd. "NO? PERFECT! Head to your assigned testing grounds! AND REMEMBER - GO BEYOND!"
"PLUS ULTRA!" The crowd finally responded.
Students began filing out. I stood, stretching deliberately.
"This was fun, Kacchan. We should do it again sometime."
"Fuck off and die."
As eloquent as ever I thought, watching the crowd thin as students made their way to their assigned battle centers. The morning sun cast long shadows across the concrete, turning the world into stark contrasts of light and dark. My fingers brushed against my emerald earrings - a gift from mom, a reminder of promises made.
I changed quickly in the locker room, the familiar ritual of wrapping my obi centering my thoughts. The white martial arts pants and black compression shirt felt like armor - not for protection, but for the statement they made. Here stands a warrior. My red Jordans completed the ensemble, their metallic sheen catching the fluorescent lights.
The wait by the gate for Battle Center B stretched into an exercise in people-watching. Most students huddled in nervous clusters, comparing quirks and strategies. A few practiced their powers in small bursts, drawing impressed murmurs from their peers.
Movement caught my eye - the glasses-wearing student from earlier stood apart from the crowd, his rigid posture radiating disapproval as he glared in my direction. The intensity of his stare might have been intimidating if it wasn't so reminiscent of an offended hall monitor.
"IZU!"
Izu? turned, and-
Oh.
Camie approached with the confidence of a runway model. Her cropped white compression shirt revealed a fighter's physique - lean muscle earned through dedicated training. Black leggings and white Nike blazers completed her outfit, mirroring my own color scheme with uncanny precision.
"No way." Her eyes lit up as she took in my appearance. "We're literally twinning right now? This is so based."
"Great minds think alike, I suppose." I gestured between our matching outfits. "Though I have to ask - did you plan this?"
"As if! This is straight destiny, fam." She struck a pose, peace sign raised. "The universe said we gotta coordinate our fits."
"The universe has good taste." My lips quirked. "Though I notice you've upgraded from 'pretty boy' to 'Izu' already."
"It fits better than Izuku - shorter, cuter, more friend vibes." She tilted her head, considering. "Unless you're not cool with nicknames?"
"No, it's fine. Different from what I'm used to, but-" I shrugged. "Change can be good."
"Facts." Her expression turned sly. "Speaking of good things - want to make this more interesting?"
"I'm listening."
"Bet on who takes down the most villains." She grinned. "Loser buys boba after."
I clutched my chest in mock offense. "Taking advantage of the quirkless boy to score free drinks? The scandal."
"Please, as if being quirkless makes you any less dangerous." She poked my arm. "I mean these aren't for show."
The massive gate began to creak open, metal groaning against metal. The other examinees remained frozen, waiting for an official start signal.
I caught Camie's eye, nodded toward the opening. "Better to ask forgiveness?"
"Than permission?" Her smile turned predatory. "Always."
We broke into a run together, feet pounding against pavement. A two-pointer emerged from behind a building ahead. I accelerated, leaving Camie behind as my body shifted into combat mode.
"REAL BATTLES DON'T HAVE COUNTDOWNS!" Present Mic's voice boomed overhead. "FOLLOW THOSE TWO STUDENTS' EXAMPLE! GO! GO! GO!"
The robot charged, its treads tearing up concrete. I moved with the fluid grace gramps had drilled into me over countless hours - redirect, flow like water, strike like a torrent. My palm struck a key joint, followed by a precise elbow to its sensor array. The machine crumpled, systems failing as its weakpoints shattered under calculated force.
That's two.
The metal carcass at my feet sparked. A quick scan revealed three more robots converging on my position - two one-pointers flanking a bulkier two-pointer. Their attack patterns had become clear: one-pointers relied on straightforward charges while two-pointers attempted pincer movements.
Predictable.
I kicked off the fallen robot's chassis, using it as a springboard. The first one-pointer's charge carried it straight into the wall behind me. Metal screeched. I landed on the second one-pointer's back, fingers finding purchase in its armor joints.
"Let's see how your friend likes you."
Using the robot's momentum, I steered it into a collision course with its companion. They crashed together in a satisfying crunch of metal. A sharp strike to the central processor finished both.
Five points.
The two-pointer backed away, processing this new threat assessment. Its head swiveled, targeting systems recalibrating. The hesitation proved fatal. I closed the distance in three steps, body moving through forms drilled into muscle memory. Palm strike to the joint, elbow to the sensors, knee through the weakened chassis.
Seven.
"Yo Izu!" Camie's voice carried from two blocks over. "That's four for me!"
"Seven!" I called back, already moving toward the sound of more mechanical movement. "Better pick up the pace!"
A three-pointer burst through a storefront, glass raining down around its massive frame. These models packed more armor but sacrificed mobility. It raised one arm, pneumatics hissing.
I dove right as its extending fist cratered the concrete where I'd stood. The robot's recovery time left an opening - I darted forward, staying in its blind spot. My fingers closed around a length of rebar exposed by its entrance.
"Thanks for the weapon."
The makeshift staff whistled through the air, finding gaps in the armor. Each strike targeted connection points and exposed wiring. The three-pointer's movements grew jerky, systems failing under the assault.
Ten points. This is almost too easy.
More robots emerged from side streets and buildings, drawn by the combat. I grinned, blood singing with the thrill of battle. This was what I'd trained for - what all those months of grueling practice had built toward.
A one-pointer charged. I used its own momentum to redirect it into a two-pointer trying to flank me. The rebar found another home in a joint, pinning them together. Their struggle to separate left them vulnerable to a series of precise strikes.
Thirteen.
The next hour passed in a blur of motion and metal. Each robot presented a new puzzle to solve, a new combination of attacks to counter and redirect. I moved through the urban battlefield like water - flowing around obstacles, wearing down resistance, striking with devastating force when opportunities arose.
A girl's scream cut through the mechanical chaos. Through a gap in the buildings, I spotted a student cornered by multiple robots. Her plant-based quirk had created defensive barriers, but the machines were breaking through.
She's at her limit.
I snatched up a fallen robot's arm, testing its weight. The servos still hummed with residual power. This'll work.
"Hey!" I called out, charging toward the group. "Over here, you scrap heaps!"
The robots turned, threat assessment protocols activating. I swung the improvised weapon in a wide arc, using its own mechanical strength to tear through their ranks. Metal shrieked against metal.
The girl stared, wide-eyed. "That was amazing! How did you-"
"No time to chat." I nodded toward a clear path. "More incoming. Can you still run?"
She nodded, already moving. "Thanks!"
The next few minutes brought more opportunities to assist other examinees while racking up points. A boy whose strength quirk had exhausted him. A pair of students pinned down by coordinated robot attacks. Each save took only moments, never breaking the flow of combat.
The mechanical arm proved invaluable - both weapon and shield as needed. When it finally gave out, I simply acquired another from the growing piles of destroyed robots.
Sixty-five points.
Three robots remained in my immediate vicinity - all one-pointers. Simple. Direct. Boring.
The first fell to a thrown chunk of concrete that shattered its optical sensors. The second met its end beneath its own severed arm. The third...
The third never saw me coming.
Sixty-eight points. Not bad for a quirkless kid.
I wiped sweat from my brow, surveying the battlefield. Destroyed robots littered the streets, testament to the examinees' combined efforts. My muscles burned pleasantly, the familiar ache of a good workout.
Present Mic's voice boomed overhead: "TWO MINUTES REMAINING!"
I smiled, cracking my neck. Time for the finale.