The stadium was massive.
Arata stood in line among hundreds of hopefuls, all buzzing with nerves or excitement. Concrete towers loomed like watchful giants, and the banners flapped high above, flashing "U.A. ENTRANCE EXAM – PRACTICAL TEST" in bold letters. His fingers twitched at his side.
This was it. No resets. No do-overs. He wasn't going to let history repeat itself.
"Yo." A voice rang out beside him.
Bakugo.
Arata didn't turn. "You're here."
"Damn right I am." Bakugo cracked his knuckles. "Don't slow me down, got it?"
"I could say the same," Arata replied evenly.
Bakugo smirked, "Tch. Keep dreaming."
The old spark between them had changed—tempered by that one messy, terrifying day with the sludge villain. Bakugo still barked, but he hadn't forgotten who pulled him out of that muck.
A few paces ahead, Izuku Midoriya fidgeted nervously, scribbling something in his notebook. Arata's eyes flicked toward him. The flame in his sea of consciousness flickered softly—still colorless! wait what it changed!! It's now light green colour if I hadn't focused i would have missed it so that means he got the quirk from All might, but it's still small, but warmer than before.
"Hey. You know him?" Bakugo asked suddenly, following his line of sight.
Arata said. " Obviously he rushed to save you before me ryt and u know it too "
"i didn't need that damn nerds help and ur too u got that ." Bakugo snorted. "Tch, whatever. Let's get this over with."
Before Arata could respond, Present Mic's voice boomed across the plaza.
> "WELCOME TO THE PRACTICAL EXAM, YEAHHH!!"
Arata blinked at the sheer volume. He wasn't used to this kind of energy but it's feels good.
> "Alright listeners, listen up! You've all been divided into battle centers randomly. Each of you will face a gauntlet of faux villains. You destroy 'em, you score points. But remember—there's also a zero-pointer you'd better avoid!"
He paused.
> "Any questions?"
A boy with glasses—a little too rigid—raised his hand. "Sir! That zero-pointer... it should be included in the instructions for fairness!"
> "Thanks for the feedback, listener! But that's how real hero work goes, baby! Unexpected chaos!"
Arata tuned out the rest. He was focused now, mind already calculating.
---
Battle Center B – Simulation Zone
Arata adjusted the thin utility belt his dad had given him. It wasn't flashy—just two support bands on his wrists and a protective brace hidden under his sleeves. The metal felt cool, humming faintly with energy. A prototype Dad had cobbled together after Arata showed him he could use the air-step… sometimes.
"You probably won't need it yet," his father had warned the night before. "But it'll dampen fall impact—just in case you push it too far."
He hadn't told Dad he was planning to push it way too far.
A red light blinked above the gate. Countdown started.
3.
He let his breathing slow.
2.
The flames in his mind steadied—Riku's ember, warm and pulsing. His mother.
1.
A memory of her smiling as she retrieved a balloon from a tree with a graceful leap.
BEGIN!
The gates slid open with a mechanical hiss, and chaos exploded into the simulated city.
---
Inside the Exam
Concrete cracked. Robots burst through walls. Students scattered like startled birds.
Arata moved.
His instincts kicked in—eyes flicking from target to target, scanning threats, allies, routes.
Three-pointer, northeast. Chasing someone in red. Two one-pointers near the plaza edge. Narrow alley on the left. Good place to move unseen.
He dashed forward, fists clenched.
A small kid stumbled near him, tripping over rubble. A one-pointer zeroed in.
Arata didn't think. He lunged, dropping low and spinning with a sweeping kick. The robot's leg cracked, and it fell in sparks.
"Th-thank you!" the kid cried out, already running again.
A faint flicker appeared in Arata's sea of consciousness—a brief, shy blue ember.
Kid sparks again, he thought. They trust quickly. Maybe too quickly.
He pressed on, leaping onto a cracked ledge. Another three-pointer emerged, turret glowing red.
"Too slow," he muttered.
With a deep breath, he focused—air-step.
For a heartbeat, he felt it—his mother's trust, warm and steady.
Step.
He bounced mid-air, body twisting over the turret fire, then slammed down with a crushing punch. Metal crumpled beneath his fist.
His knees buckled slightly. Still only one jump… but cleaner this time.
"That's three points!" a nearby examinee shouted, eyes wide.
Arata said nothing, vanishing into the smoke.
He moved like wind—quiet, efficient. He wasn't flashy like Bakugo or explosive like the others. But his hits counted. One-point robots? Gone. Two-pointers? Targeted and crushed before they could react.
Each spark of trust—from a saved kid, a grateful ally—added