The Starting Line
The train ride to U.A. was a study in controlled chaos.
Kenjiro stood near the doors, one hand gripping the overhead rail, his body swaying with the rhythm of the car. Around him, the air crackled with a palpable, nervous energy. It wasn't just the usual morning commute; it was a current of ambition, anxiety, and raw, untamed power. He could feel it, a low hum that vibrated through the floor and into the soles of his shoes.
He saw a boy with engines in his calves idly revving them, producing a soft, mechanical whir. A girl with pink skin and horns chattered excitedly into her phone, her hands gesturing wildly. Another, with vines for hair, stood perfectly still, her expression serene amidst the storm.
'This is it,'Kenjiro thought, his own heart thumping a steady, anticipatory rhythm against his ribs. 'Everyone here is someone. A big fish from their little pond.'' The question that had been gnawing at him for weeks resurfaced: 'Am I enough of a someone?'
He'd spent years preparing for this. The endless laps on the beach, the scorched sneakers, the grueling martial arts sessions that left every muscle screaming. He'd filled notebooks with theories and calculations, pushing his body and mind to their absolute limits. But standing here, surrounded by the tangible proof of countless other dreams, it all felt suddenly… small. Theoretical.
The train slowed, the automated voice announcing their arrival at the U.A. stop. The doors hissed open, and the current of potential heroes surged out, a river of determination flowing toward the imposing gates of the academy.
Kenjiro let himself be carried along, his eyes fixed on the towering H-shaped main building. It was even more impressive in person, a modern citadel of heroism that seemed to gleam under the morning sun. The path to the entrance was wide, flanked by meticulously maintained greenery, but it felt like a narrow gauntlet.
He was so busy taking it all in that he almost missed the familiar voices.
"—totally going to get lost, I just know it. This place is like a maze designed by a genius mouse-bear-thing."
'The maps are quite clear, Toru. We just need to find Testing Hall B.
Kenjiro's head snapped around. Pushing through the crowd were two figures he'd know anywhere. Mashirao Ojiro, looking calm and collected in a simple Gi, his tail swaying gently behind him with a practiced ease that belied the nervous glance he was giving a directional sign. And beside him, a floating set of clothes—a bright, fashionable top and jeans—with a U.A. exam ticket clutched in a gloved hand.
A wide grin spread across Kenjiro's face. The knot of anxiety in his chest loosened just a fraction. "Hey! You two made it!"
The clothes and the boy turned simultaneously. Toru's gloves waved excitedly. "Kenjiro! Oh my god, can you believe this place? It's huge! I already passed three bathrooms!"
Mashirao offered a small, relieved smile. "It's good to see a familiar face. The crowd is… substantial."
"Tell me about it," Kenjiro said, falling into step beside them. "I feel like I just got dropped into the ocean. Everyone looks like they could bench-press a bus."
"We've trained for this," Mashirao said, his voice firm, as if reminding himself as much as them. "We belong here as much as anyone."
"Damn right we do," Kenjiro agreed, the bravado feeling a little more real with his friends beside him. He nudged Toru's floating sleeve. "You ready to show them how it's done?"
"I'm ready to not throw up from nerves," she replied, her voice a mix of laughter and genuine terror. "That's step one. Step two is epic heroics."
They followed the flood of applicants into the main auditorium. It was cavernous, with rows upon rows of seats descending toward a stage. A massive screen dominated the wall behind it. The air buzzed with hundreds of whispered conversations, the sound swelling into a dull roar that echoed off the high ceiling.
They found three seats together near the middle. Kenjiro's leg bounced with restless energy. He scanned the room, his eyes unconsciously categorizing people. A tall, muscular guy with six arms. A bird-headed boy shrouded in dark fabric. A blonde kid with a permanent scowl who seemed to be actively repelling anyone from sitting near him.
'So many quirks,'he thought. 'So many ways to fight. How do I stack up?'
His musings were cut short as the lights dimmed. A hush fell over the auditorium.
"WELCOME, LISTENERS!" a voice boomed, amplified to near-deafening levels. "TO TODAY'S LIVE PERFORMANCE! EVERYBODY SAY 'HEY'!"
A man with a towering blonde mohawk and oversized speaker collar stood on stage, striking a dynamic pose. It was Present Mic, the Voice Hero. Kenjiro had listened to his radio show for years.
The response from the crowd was a stunned, awkward silence.
Present Mic's shoulders slumped slightly. "Tough crowd… Well! Let's get down to the nitty-gritty, my future heroes! After I finish explaining the rules of your practical exam, you'll all head to your designated battle centers! Your exam tickets have your assignment! Check 'em!"
Kenjiro pulled his out. 'Battle Center B.' He glanced at Mashirao's. 'Center C' Toru's gloved hand held up a ticket for *Center A.*
"Aww, we're all split up," Toru whispered, her voice dripping with disappointment.
"We knew that might happen," Mashirao said calmly. "We'll see each other after. Good luck to you both."
"Yeah, you too," Kenjiro said, feeling a fresh wave of nerves. Going it alone was always the plan, but the comfort of his friends' presence had been a welcome shield.
Present Mic launched into his explanation, using the big screen to illustrate. Villain Bots. One, two, and three points. The goal: disable them and rack up a high score.
"Sir a Question!!!"
Kenjiro's head turned along with everyone else's. A boy with blue and a stiff postured , with glasses had stood up, hand chopping the air nervously.
"You mentioned there are four types of villains! But on the printout, there are only three! Such a blatant error would be disgraceful for a top-tier national academy! And you there, the one with the messy hair" The boy spun, pointing a trembling finger at a boy with green moppy hair "You've been muttering under your breath this whole time! It's distracting! If you have something to say, stand up and say it!"
A wave of murmurs swept through the auditorium. The Track suit-wearing boy shot to his feet, his movements shakey and nervous. "A-a-h-m-m, S-Sorry!!"
Present Mic chuckled. "Examinee 7111! Thanks for calling in with your request! The fourth villain type is worth zero points! It's more of an obstacle, really! A gimmick to add some excitement to the battle centers! Best to just avoid it! There's no point in fighting it!"
The green-haired boy sat down, looking utterly mortified. Kenjiro almost felt bad for him. Almost.
"That's all from me! I'll leave you with our school motto! The great hero Napoleon Bonaparte once said: 'A true hero is one who overcomes life's misfortunes!' PLUS ULTRA! Break a leg, everyone!"
The lights came up. An army of U.A. staff members began herding the anxious students toward buses that would take them to the various battle centers.
Kenjiro shared a final look with Toru and Mashirao. No words were needed. A nod, a determined clench of a fist from Toru's glove, and they were swept away in different directions.
The written exam had been… a test. Logic puzzles, ethics questions, hero law and history. Kenjiro had poured over his notes for weeks, and it had felt challenging but manageable. His mind, sharpened by years of analyzing his own quirk, had latched onto the problems, dissecting them with a calm focus. He'd left the written hall feeling confident, the theoretical hurdle cleared.
The practical was a different beast entirely.
Battle Center B was a replica of a city district. Towering, fake building facades lined wide streets. It was eerily silent as Kenjiro stood with the other forty or fifty examinees at the main gate. He did some quick warm-up stretches, his eyes scanning the faux-urban jungle. His heart was a drum solo in his chest.
'No countdown,' he reminded himself. 'It's already started.'
He saw the tension in the others. A girl with earphone jacks plugged into her ears, listening intently. A large boy cracking his knuckles. Everyone was coiled tight, waiting for a signal that wasn't coming.
"OKAY START!"
Present Mic's voice exploded from speakers mounted around the city.
The entire group flinched. For a heartbeat, no one moved, stunned by the suddenness.
"WHAT'S THE MATTER?" Mic's voice boomed. "THERE ARE NO COUNTDOWNS IN REAL BATTLES! GO! GO! GO!"
That broke the spell. The crowd of applicants surged forward like a burst dam.
Kenjiro didn't surge. He flowed.
The world sharpened, colors saturating, sounds stretching into a low drone. He didn't go full-tilt, not yet. Just a gentle nudge on the throttle, enough to make everyone else seem like they were moving through syrup.
He was a ghost, slipping through the charging mob before they'd even taken their third step. He zipped down a side alley, his senses expanding, listening for the distinct whirring and clanking of machinery.
'There!!'
Around the corner, a one-pointer, a bulky robot with a single massive optic sensor, rolled into view on tank treads.
It never stood a chance.
Kenjiro was a blur of motion. He didn't punch or kick it. He simply ran past, his hand slashing out as he did so, fingers finding the seam between its head and body. He applied precise pressure, a technique borrowed from judo and refined for speed. There was a crunch of metal and a shower of sparks. The robot's red eye flickered and died.
'One point.'
He didn't stop. He was already gone, a gust of wind down the street, leaving the deactivated bot behind.
This was his strategy. Efficiency. Speed. Overwhelm the system before the competition even knew what was happening.
He became a storm of controlled motion. A two-pointer lunged from a rooftop; he met it in mid-air with a spinning taekwondo kick that caved in its chest plate. A trio of one-pointers rounded a corner; he weaved between them, his elbows and palms striking critical wiring with surgical precision. Each encounter lasted a fraction of a second. Crunch!! Spark. Three points. Whir. Slam. Five points.*
He lost count somewhere after twenty. The points were secondary to the rhythm, the beautiful, terrifying dance of his own power. He was a scalpel, cutting through the metallic ranks with silent, effortless grace.
He began to notice others. A boy with long, tape-like arms shooting from his elbows, binding robots from a distance. A girl creating small, localized whirlwinds. But they were slow. Methodical. They had to hunt their prey.
Kenjiro was the hunter and the hurricane.
As his point tally climbed, he estimated he was somewhere in the eighties, he started to slow his frantic pace. The initial rush was over. He had a comfortable lead, he was sure of it. His focus shifted.
He saw a girl with vines for hair struggling to hold back a two-pointer's pincer arms. He didn't even break stride. A flicker of movement, a sharp 'thwack!!' as his foot connected with the bot's sensor array, and it powered down. The vine girl stared, bewildered, at the suddenly inert machine, then at the empty space where Kenjiro had been.
He saw the boy with tape elbows about to be blindsided by a one-pointer. A stone, kicked up at precisely the right angle and velocity by Kenjiro's passing foot, smacked into the bot's tread, jamming it. The tape-boy turned, confused, then finished it off.
Kenjiro didn't do it for points. He did it because it was right. Because this wasn't just about destruction; it was about being a hero. His parents' faces, Toru's encouraging chatter, Mashirao's quiet dedication—it all coalesced into a simple, driving principle: 'Help people.'
***
In a darkened observation room high above the various battle centers, a bank of monitors displayed the chaos below. The judges watched, silent and analytical.
"Remarkable control," a small, white-furred creature—Principal Nezu—remarked, sipping from a cup of tea. He was watching a screen labeled "Center B". "Examinee 2237. He's barely breaking a sweat."
On the screen, a blur of motion resolved for a split second as Kenjiro dismantled a three-pointer with a precise strike before vanishing again.
"Wasteful," a tired-looking man wrapped in a yellow sleeping bag grumbled. It was Shota Aizawa, the Erasure Hero. "He's using too much energy on flashy takedowns. He'll burn out."
"I disagree, Aizawa!" boomed a skeletal man with sunken eyes and blonde hair, the number one hero, All Might, in his true form. He pointed a bony finger. "Look at his efficiency! Each movement is calculated! And his recent behavior… he's stopped pursuing points to assist others! That is the mark of a true hero!"
"He's fast, I'll give him that," Midnight purred, leaning forward with interest. "And he's got a certain… flair. But let's see how he handles real pressure."
Nezu's beady eyes flicked to another screen, "Center A". "Speaking of pressure, look at this one. Examinee 3141. Explosive quirk, literally. High scores, but his methodology is… aggressive." The screen showed a blonde boy roaring, unleashing devastating explosions that tore robots to shreds and incidentally showered nearby examinees in shrapnel and smoke.
"A liability," Aizawa stated flatly. "Power without control. He'll get someone hurt."
"But the raw power is undeniable!" All Might countered, though he looked troubled.
Another screen, "Center B" again, showed the green-haired boy from the auditorium. He was frantically running, dodging robots, but failing to land any decisive blows. He looked panicked, out of his depth.
"This one is failing spectacularly," Aizawa said, no malice in his tone, just cold observation. "He has no combat capability to speak of. A wasted slot."
"Perhaps," Nezu said, his voice thoughtful. "But observe his eyes. He's not running away. He's analyzing. Looking for an opening that his body can't capitalize on. There's intelligence there. And look, he just shoved another examinee out of the way of an attack. Zero points, but plus points for spirit."
***
**"THREE MINUTES LEFT!"**
Present Mic's voice echoed through the fake city, and a new kind of tension gripped the examinees. A final, desperate scramble began.
Kenjiro, who had been helping a boy with a hardening quirk peel a robot off his leg, froze. A low, deep rumble vibrated through the pavement, growing steadily louder. It wasn't the clanking of the smaller bots. This was heavier. "Much" heavier.
He looked down the main thoroughfare. The buildings at the end of the street began to tremble. Then, a shadow fell over the entire block as a building-sized robot rounded the corner, its single, massive red eye scanning the area. Its limbs were as thick as subway tunnels, each step cratering the asphalt.
The Zero Pointer.
Examinees who had been fighting moments before now turned and ran, screaming in panic. This wasn't something you fought. This was something you survived.
Kenjiro's mind, usually so clear and fast, went blank for a second. 'What the actual hell, U.A.? How is this approved? Who's your insurer?'
His paralysis broke when he saw her. The nice girl from the auditorium, the one who had stopped the green-haired boy from falling. She was trapped, her leg pinned under a chunk of rubble that had been shaken loose by the giant robot's approach. She was struggling, tears in her eyes, as the Zero Pointer's shadow engulfed her.
The green-haired boy was there too, standing frozen between the girl and the advancing behemoth, his body trembling.
'Help people.'
The thought cut through the fear like a lightning bolt.
Kenjiro moved.
He didn't think about the zero points. He didn't think about the risk. He saw a person in danger.
He was a streak of light. He reached the trapped girl in an instant. "I've got you!" he said, his voice calm despite the adrenaline. He gripped the rubble. With a grunt fueled by speed-enhanced strength, he heaved it off her leg.
"Can you run?" he asked quickly.
She shook her head, face pale with pain. "My ankle…"
"Okay. Hold on."
Before she could protest, he'd scooped her up in a bridal carry. He was gone again, a blur against the panicked tide of fleeing students, depositing her gently behind a stable-looking building several blocks away.
"Stay here. You're safe," he said, and then he was gone again, back into the chaos.
He became a rescue shuttle. He found a boy who had tripped and was about to be crushed by a falling signpost—zipped him to safety. He found two girls cornered by a rogue one-pointer that was still active—disabled the bot and pointed them toward an exit. Each trip was a heartbeat, a life moved out of danger.
The giant robot was still advancing, its arm rising to smash down on the area where the green-haired boy was still standing, now with a look of terrifying determination on his face.
Kenjiro skidded to a halt. He could probably get the boy out. But it looks like he's got something up his sleeve, 'I didn't see him do much but he looks prepared???, i should still wait and see' . He braced himself, unsure what he could even do, when something incredible happened.
The green-haired boy screamed, a raw, powerful sound, and leapt into the air. He drew back his fist, and with a world-shattering "BOOM!!!", he punched.
The force of the blow didn't just destroy the robot's arm; it created a pressure wave that stopped the colossal machine in its tracks, cracking its torso and finally shutting it down. The backlash shattered the boy's arm and legs instantly. He hung in the air for a moment, a tragic, victorious figure, before beginning to fall.
Kenjiro was already moving, shooting up the side of a building, feet finding purchase on window ledges and pipes. He caught the boy just before he hit the ground, cradling his broken body gently.
"You… you crazy idiot," Kenjiro breathed, looking down at the unconscious, smiling face. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen."
The air hissed. The exam was over.
***
The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the U.A. plaza. The energy from the morning had been replaced by a collective exhaustion. Applicants limped, sat on the ground, or just stared into space, processing what they had just been through.
Kenjiro leaned against a railing, feeling the pleasant ache of spent muscles. He was tired, but it was a good tired.
"There you are!"
He turned to see Toru's clothes bounding toward him, followed by a calm but slightly dusty Mashirao.
"Oh my god, that was insane!" Toru exclaimed, her gloves flying everywhere. "There was this huge robot! I just turned invisible and hid! Did you see it?"
"I saw it," Kenjiro said with a dry chuckle. "Up close and personal."
Mashirao nodded. "It was… formidable. I used my tail to create a distraction and lead a group away from its path. How did you fare?"
Kenjiro shrugged. "Took down a bunch early. Spent the last few minutes playing taxi. There was this one guy… he punched it."
Toru's sleeves froze. "He what?!!"
"Punched the zero-pointer. Obliterated it. Broke himself to bits doing it. I caught him." Kenjiro shook his head, still in awe. "I have no idea what his quirk is, but it was insane."
"I saw a boy with explosions for hands," Mashirao said, a hint of disapproval in his tone. "He was powerful, but… reckless. He caused a lot of collateral damage."
Toru added. "This place is wild."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the other applicants disperse, heading home to wait for the results that would decide their futures.
"So," Toru said, her voice quieter now. "Do you think we did it?"
Kenjiro looked at his friends. At Toru, whose invisibility was her strength. At Mashirao, whose plain and simple power was backed by unwavering hard work. He thought of the green-haired boy who had sacrificed everything for one incredible punch.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But we gave it everything we had. We did what heroes do. That's all we can do."
He pushed off the railing. "C'mon. Let's go home."
As they walked toward the station, the towering form of U.A. behind them, Kenjiro felt a sense of peace. The exam was over. The waiting began. But no matter what a letter said in a week's time, he knew one thing for certain.
He belonged in that world. He had finally reached the starting line.