The day had finally come.
I woke up before the alarm, a few minutes before its insistent ringing. Not out of nerves, though they were certainly there. It was a strange sense of readiness. Like I'd been running through a dark tunnel for ages and finally saw light ahead. It didn't matter what lay beyond — just reaching it was already a small victory.
I got up and approached the mirror. The reflection staring back was both familiar and foreign. The soft, childish roundness of my cheeks was gone, replaced by sharper cheekbones and a firmer jawline. My neck and shoulders, once scrawny, were now lined with taut, hard-earned muscles from months of training. They didn't stand out under my plain dark t-shirt, but I knew they were there. A testament to perseverance.
But the real change wasn't in my body — it was in my eyes. The gray eyes held no panic, none of the usual detachment. There was a calm, cold focus. Readiness. I had learned not to hide that gaze. I had learned to wear it.
From under the bed, I pulled out a box. Inside was the new exam uniform I'd bought with saved-up money—dark blue pants and a matching jacket with a small white logo on the chest. I put it on, the fabric fitting snugly over my shoulders. It was time to begin.
Breakfast in the kitchen was a solemn yet tender ritual. Mom had cooked enough for a round-the-world voyage, not just an exam. The table was laden with plates of rice, fish, omelet, and miso soup — all my favorites.
"Eat up, sweetheart, you'll need your strength," she said, bustling between the stove and the table, her hands trembling.
Dad silently poured me tea. His silence spoke louder than words. He looked at me with a mix of pride and dread that warmed my heart and made me uneasy at the same time.
We ate mostly in silence. The air was thick with unspoken wishes and fears.
"Just… do your best," Dad finally said, setting down his chopsticks. "And… be careful."
I nodded. "I will."
Dad's car, usually smelling of paint and wood (he was a carpenter), today carried the scent of a new air freshener. They'd clearly wanted everything to be "proper." We drove toward U.A., and with every kilometer, my calm began to crack. The radio was broadcasting news about heroes, the announcer declaring with grandeur, "…and today, thousands of young people across the country are trying to prove they're worthy of that title!"
Thousands. That's exactly what we saw when we reached U.A.'s majestic gates.
It was a sea. A sea of people. Hundreds, no, thousands of applicants in all kinds of uniforms, with faces ranging from cocky and loud to quiet and deathly pale. They milled about, stretched, chatted, laughed. A powerful, dense energy radiated from them—a mix of hope, ambition, and fear—that momentarily took my breath away. This wasn't the mundane, everyday fear I was used to. This was the scent of battle. They stirred behind the wall, sensing a feast.
"What a feast… All so… vibrant. And so vulnerable," whispered that familiar, honeyed voice.
I mentally slammed an imaginary door, silencing the whisper. Not now. Today, I'm in charge.
My parents said goodbye at the curb, not daring to drive closer to the glass-and-concrete behemoth.
"Good luck, son," Dad said hoarsely, gripping my shoulder.
Mom just hugged me, unable to speak.
I stepped out of the car and melted into the crowd. Elbows brushed against me, fleeting judgmental glances sized me up. I walked with my head high, clutching the old, trusty nail in my pocket. My fortress was with me.
Inside the main building, organized chaos reigned. Giant signs directed streams of applicants to different auditoriums. Voices echoed under the high ceilings. I found my sector and entered a massive lecture hall, where other applicants like me were already seated at desks.
The air here was different — tense, almost sterile. It smelled of fear and sweat. I took my assigned seat, marked with a number, and placed a pen in front of me. My fingers were cold.
Soon, a woman in a sharp suit appeared on stage and announced the rules. Then the tests were handed out. A thick stack of papers landed on my desk. I flipped it over and scanned the first questions.
And… I exhaled. My brain, drilled by months of studying, kicked into gear. Formulas, laws, tactical schemes— they surfaced from memory with crisp clarity, as if someone were flipping through a ready-made notebook in my head. Fear receded, giving way to a familiar, almost meditative state of focus. I dove into the test, and the outside world ceased to exist. Only the questions and a blank sheet for answers remained.
I wrote, solved, analyzed. Some tasks were fiendishly difficult, but I didn't panic. I applied logic, made educated guesses, derived answers. I knew this material. I'd lived it these past months.
When the signal sounded to end, I looked up from the pages in surprise. Time had flown by unnoticed. I handed in my work with a faint sense of confidence.
After a short break, all of us — thousands — were gathered in a massive amphitheater. The buzz of voices fell silent as a figure known across the country took the stage: Present Mic. He wore his hero costume, his smile shining like spotlights.
"Well, future heroes!" his voice boomed through the speakers. "You've cleared the first hurdle! But now it's time for the real test! Time to show what your Quirks can do!"
A diagram of a city appeared on the giant screen behind him.
"The practical exam will take place on specially designed training grounds simulating an urban environment! Your task is to earn points by destroying villain robots! They come in three types: one-pointers, two-pointers, and three-pointers! The bigger and more dangerous the robot, the more points you get!"
An excited murmur rippled through the crowd. I sat still, my gaze fixed on the screen. Robots. Soulless metal. My greatest fear was becoming reality.
"However!" Mic's voice rose, commanding attention. "There's an important rule! Attacking other participants is strictly forbidden! Remember, you're heroes, not villains! Your goal is to save, not harm!"
A brief commotion broke out among some participants, but Mic brushed it off. Finishing his responses to the crowd, he flashed his dazzling smile.
"Ready? Then listen up! You'll be split into groups and sent to different zones! Keep an eye on the boards for your names and zone numbers! Good luck! Plus Ultra!"
I stood silently and headed to the exit indicated on my pass. My heart beat steadily but heavily, like a drum before battle. Inside, everything was cold and clear. I knew what I was walking into. Robots. I had nothing to face them with except what I'd managed to forge in myself over these months. My ice blades might barely handle one-pointers, and even that would be a struggle.
We reached the buses that would take us to the training grounds. The crowd of applicants buzzed around me, each absorbed in their own fears and hopes. I found my bus and sank into a window seat, avoiding eye contact. The bus started, carrying me toward my trial.
The fake city was eerily realistic. Tall new buildings, empty streets, even mock cars parked at the curbs. But it was all dead, artificial. And silent. An oppressive silence, broken only by the wind whistling between buildings and the distant, still-rare sounds of combat—booms, explosions, shouts from other applicants.
I was assigned to Sector Gamma-4. As the last applicant stepped off the bus, the massive hangar doors began to open. Everyone surged forward, eager to rack up points. Time had started. I had to move. Sprinting out of the hangar and past a few intersections, I stopped in the shadow of a three-story building, trying to breathe evenly. My heart pounded, hammering out an adrenaline-fueled rhythm. Somewhere nearby, an explosion roared, followed by a triumphant shout: "Got it! Three-pointer!"
I slipped out of cover and ran down the main street, hugging the walls. My eyes scanned for any movement, my ears caught every sound. I needed points, but even more, I needed to keep my Quirk under control.
The first target appeared quickly. A one-pointer robot crawled out from around a corner — a metallic spider the size of a large dog, with a spinning saw for a head. It let out a mechanical click, locked onto me, and charged.
Fear spiked in my temples, but I crushed it. I didn't run. I raised my hand. Focus. Image. Blade. Cold.
The air before my palm shimmered. With painful effort that drained every ounce of me, I formed an ice blade—short, jagged, but sharp. I mentally thrust it forward.
The blade struck the robot's frame with a dry crack. The ice shattered, but its sharp edge severed several wires. The robot jerked, smoke poured from it, and it froze, its saw spinning uselessly.
I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. One tiny victory. At the cost of immense focus. I wouldn't last ten minutes like this.
I had to change tactics. Open confrontation was out of the question. I became a hunter. I stalked robots, ambushing them, aiming for weak spots — optical sensors, limb joints — with my ice "daggers." It was grueling, slow work. Each shot drained my strength. Each miss tightened my chest.
I saw other applicants unleash their Quirks. A guy nearby fired globs of sticky goo, immobilizing robots. A girl with horns smashed them with such force that metal crumpled like paper. They were strong. Vibrant. Flashy. They racked up points at a staggering pace.
And I hid in the shadows, squeezing out my dangerous, unrefined power drop by drop. Despair began to claw at my throat. I wasn't keeping up. I wouldn't have enough points. I'd fail.
"Enough of this disgrace," hissed the venomous voice in my head. "Let us loose. We'll sweep these metal bugs away. We'll show them true power!"
"No," I growled through gritted teeth, retreating into another doorway. "I'll do this myself."
But time ticked on. I'd only managed nine points. A pathetic score.
Then the loudspeakers across the city crackled to life.
"ATTENTION ALL PARTICIPANTS!" Mic's voice thundered. "FINAL PHASE OF THE EXAM! TO TEST YOUR RESPONSE TO A REAL THREAT, A ZERO-POINTER ROBOT WILL BE RELEASED ONTO THE FIELD! IT CARRIES NO POINTS, I REPEAT: THIS IS PART OF THE EXAM! SHOW WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF!"
His voice was drowned out by a growing, deafening rumble. The ground trembled beneath my feet. Building walls shook, plaster crumbling.
I peeked out from my cover. And froze.
It was enormous. Not just big. Colossal. A monstrous tower of steel and forged malice, towering stories above the surrounding buildings. The Zero-Pointer. It wasn't like the other villain robots. It looked like a mechanical god of war, an ancient golem built to sow destruction. Sparks shot from its tower-like limbs, and each step made the earth shudder.
It didn't target anyone specifically. It just moved, leveling everything in its path. One of its "legs" crashed onto an intersection, crushing a mock bus and kicking up clouds of dust.
Panic was immediate and all-consuming. Applicants, moments ago confident heroes, now fled in terror, screaming, stumbling, falling. Their Quirks were useless against this behemoth. The sticky-substance guy's shots didn't even dent its armor. The horned girl struck it and was swatted aside like an annoying fly, crashing into a wall and lying still.
I saw it all in seconds. And then I heard not a scream, but a quiet, terror-filled moan. I turned.
A hand stuck out from a pile of debris that had been a wall moments ago. A girl with light hair, covered in dust and blood, struggled to free herself. Her leg was pinned under a massive concrete slab. Beside her, another applicant — a guy with long black hair — tried to lift the slab with trembling hands.
Above them loomed a shadow. The Zero-Pointer's massive "foot" rose for its next step. In a second, it would crush them flat.
Time slowed. I saw their terrified faces. I saw the approaching shadow of death. I saw myself — small, scared, hiding under a counter.
All my plans, my fears, my training—they seemed laughable, insignificant in the face of real, imminent death.
They would die. Right now. Before my eyes.
And I could stop it.
At a cost.
I took a deep breath. The air burned in my lungs. I stopped fighting. Stopped holding back. I didn't just fall into the abyss—I stepped into it, fully aware of what I was doing.
I stood tall and walked toward the giant. My body stopped trembling. Inside, everything froze, clear and cold as ice.
"Get away from it!" I shouted to the guy and girl. My voice rang out, loud and commanding, echoing off the walls of the surviving buildings.
The guy flinched and backed away, staring at me with frightened confusion.
Ignoring him, I tore open the wall in my mind—not just a crack, but wide open.
The pain was cosmic. My consciousness felt like it would shatter. The world turned red, then black. A low, guttural moan escaped my chest, more like the grinding of stone than a cry.
And from the shadows, from the very earth before me, They rose.
Not one. Two.
The first was familiar—the Witch-King. His dark, billowing form floated in the air, frost radiating from him, coating the asphalt in ice. His faceless gaze locked onto the Zero-Pointer.
But the second… The second was different. Slightly shorter but denser, more tangible. His form was less ghostly, more solid. In his long fingers, he gripped not an ethereal blade but a massive black hammer glowing with an ominous green light. The air around it shimmered, warped by its presence in this world. Another of the Nine.
They didn't look at me. Their focus was on the mechanical giant. They saw it as an insult. A threat. A lifeless thing daring to mimic the life they despised with their entire being.
The Zero-Pointer completed its step. Its massive foot crashed down to crush the kids.
The Witch-King moved with blinding speed, appearing directly under the falling foot. He raised his ghostly blade and took the full brunt of the impact. The asphalt beneath him buckled, cracks spiderwebbing meters around from the robot's force.
The blow forced the Nazgûl to one knee to brace against the weight.
In that moment, as the Witch-King's blade absorbed the impact, frost began to creep up the robot's leg, then its body, the King's sorcery seeping into its circuits and mechanisms.
The second Nazgûl seized the Zero-Pointer's unsteady stance. He darted to the Witch-King's side and struck with his hammer, a devastating blow that made the robot stumble and collapse into a building behind it.
The pair wasted no time or mercy, setting to work dismantling the robot. A chilling, triumphant scream from the Nazgûl echoed across the sector, so terrifying that many covered their ears to block it out.
Deep gashes and massive dents appeared across the Zero-Pointer's body, evidence of the pair's relentless assault. The robot made a few feeble attempts to rise and fend off the immortal spirits, but it was futile. Its joints were swiftly targeted and damaged, and the Nazgûl's speed made it impossible for the robot to land a hit.
In a final act, the Witch-King deliberately took a blow. His blade met the robot's fist, aimed to swat him away. The impact sent the Nazgûl crashing through a wall into the opposite building, disappearing among the debris.
The second Nazgûl seized the moment, leaping onto the robot's massive frame and delivering a crushing blow to its head. A deafening crack and a dark, venomous green flash lit up the surroundings. A quarter of the robot's head was obliterated. Cracks spread across its body, internal components spilling out, made brittle by the Witch-King's sorcery.
The silence that followed was deafening. Dust settled slowly, revealing a scene of total devastation.
I knelt, hands braced against the ground. Blood dripped from my nose and ears. My body screamed with inhuman pain and exhaustion. I felt Them still here, sated, reveling in the destruction. Their presence was so dense, so real, that the air around me shimmered.
Looking up, I saw the guy and girl I'd tried to save. They weren't looking at the robot. They were looking at me. Their faces were white as chalk, their eyes wide with a terror that eclipsed even their fear of the mechanical monster.
They didn't see a hero. They saw someone who had summoned something far older and more terrifying.
The sirens signaling the exam's end blared. Heroes arrived. I saw figures rushing toward us.
My strength gave out completely. I collapsed onto my side on the cold asphalt. The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed my consciousness was the terrified faces of the people I'd saved.