The silence in the Exam Observation Center was deceptive. It hummed with the quiet buzz of dozens of monitors, the flicker of data, and the focused energy of Japan's finest minds in hero education. The air was cool, smelling of ozone from the machinery and the freshly brewed tea in the porcelain cup on my desk.
My paws silently tapped the console, switching between observation channels. Dozens of screens displayed dozens of small dramas — triumphs and failures unfolding in real time. I took a sip of tea. Earl Grey. The perfect balance of bitterness and aroma. Like everything in this world, it demanded precision.
"Whoa! Check out this kid, Principal!" Midnight's excited voice cut through the room. "Pure power!"
My gaze shifted to the monitor she pointed at. A blond boy with an explosive temper and an equally explosive Quirk — Katsuki Bakugo. Yes. A blunt instrument of raw force. Highly effective but unbalanced. Hot-headed, lacking self-control. His strategy boiled down to obliterating everything in his path. Promising, but dangerous. He needed a firm hand to channel that rage properly.
Beside Midnight, arms crossed, stood All Might. His legendary smile was slightly strained today. He worried for them — for all these kids. For the future.
"This one's not bad either," All Might nodded toward another screen, where Izuku Midoriya, in a desperate attempt to save another participant from the Zero-Pointer, sacrificed his own arm, unleashing his destructive power with terrifying selflessness. "The heart of a true hero. But with that Quirk… he needs special guidance. If he doesn't learn to control it, he'll break himself before he becomes… my…" The Symbol of Peace trailed off.
"We'll find a way," I muttered, making a note in Midoriya's digital dossier: High moral resolve, willingness to self-sacrifice, catastrophic lack of control. Priority for observation.
My eyes scanned the other screens.
Ochaco Uraraka. A sweet, cheerful girl who turned hulking robots into weightless toys with a touch. Not brute force, but remarkably creative application. Her deactivation-over-destruction tactics hinted at unconventional thinking. Potential tactical leader.
Tenya Iida. Speed, discipline, precision. A true knight in shining armor. Predictable but supremely reliable. A cornerstone for any future team.
Eijiro Kirishima. He deflected robot attacks with his hardened body, shielding weaker participants. Not offense, but absolute defense. His spirit was as unyielding as his skin. A valuable team player.
Fumikage Tokoyami. His Dark Shadow tore robots apart with ferocity while he struggled to restrain it. Another dialogue with one's darker side. A familiar narrative. Controlled duality.
And so on. Each child was a unique dataset, a blend of strengths, weaknesses, fears, and ambitions. I built mental maps of their potential, calculating how their abilities would interact, conflict, or complement each other within U.A.'s walls.
Zero-Pointers began appearing across various sectors—an artificial chaos designed to test reactions to extreme situations. This was where true character emerged.
Most fled. Some tried to fight alone and were "evacuated" by the safety system. Few thought to save others.
And then there was him. Sector Gamma-4. Arashi Tanaka.
I zoomed in on the footage. He moved like a shadow — efficient but unremarkable. His ice daggers were precise but drained him excessively. He earned points, but his score was mediocre. He was drowning in the crowd.
Until the Zero-Pointer was unleashed.
I watched as he froze, his gaze locking onto two trapped applicants. I saw the struggle on his face — fear, uncertainty, and then… resolve. Not impulsive like Midoriya's. Cold, deliberate, hard-won.
He stepped out of cover. And then my sensors, tuned to detect energy anomalies, went haywire.
"What the hell?" an operator whispered.
On the screen, the air around the boy warped. It shimmered, and from nowhere, two figures materialized. One was familiar from reports — dark and chilling. The other… new. It wielded a hammer glowing with neon green light.
"Zoom in! Energy analysis, now!" I commanded, my paws flying across the keyboard.
Data flooded in. Anomalous readings. The temperature at the epicenter plummeted to zero. The energy signature was… alien, undocumented.
I watched as the first entity absorbed a blow, while the second toppled the robot with its hammer. After a swift battle, the robot was nearly destroyed, though one of the entities appeared to take damage. Moments later, the first emerged from a half-ruined building, unscathed. Yet both seemed… less substantial, somehow.
At the center of this storm stood Arashi Tanaka. Pale, bleeding from the nose, but upright. His eyes were closed, his face twisted not in pain but in immense concentration. He wasn't just unleashing them — he was directing them.
Then he collapsed.
Silence gripped the room, broken only by the crackle of speakers and the wail of alarms.
"Holy…" All Might exhaled, clenching his fists. His eyes held not fear, but… wariness.
"What was that, Principal?" Present Mic asked, his usual playfulness gone. "That… that's not even a Quirk in the usual sense. It's like…"
"A summons," Shota Aizawa finished, staring at the screen with newfound respect.
"It's power," I said quietly, leaning back in my chair. All eyes turned to me. "Dangerous and utterly uncontrolled. But he… he's trying. He didn't succumb to it. He used it as a tool."
I glanced at the other monitors — the terrified faces of the rescued applicants, the staff arriving at the scene, staring in horror at the aftermath.
"He could break every safety protocol imaginable," an observer noted dryly.
"He saved two lives," I countered. "He took initiative and responsibility in a situation where others succumbed to panic. What's the greater violation? Saving at great risk, or letting people die to follow protocol?"
The critic fell silent.
I looked back at the screen, where medics were tending to Arashi. His face was calm, even unconscious.
Rumi was right. She hadn't brought me a problem. She'd brought me the most valuable and dangerous diamond this world had ever seen. He could cut everyone around him — or become the sharpest blade in our arsenal.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I addressed the room. "We've witnessed something unprecedented. Not just power. Will. A will capable of riding a storm. Our task isn't to break that will with fear or restrictions. Our task is to guide it. To train it. And to see what it can truly achieve for the sake of good."
I took a final sip of tea. It had gone cold, but the flavor was all the more intriguing for it.
"Enroll Arashi Tanaka in the main Hero Course roster," I ordered. "Alongside Bakugo, Midoriya, and the others. And prepare a separate brief for Ms. Usagiyama. I think she'll be interested in our… pedagogical decisions."
I looked at the gallery of future students. An explosive genius, a kind heart with destructive power, an icy prince with inner fire… and a boy with nine demons in his soul, striving to be a hero.
The upcoming school year promised to be utterly unpredictable. And, damn it, I couldn't wait for it to begin.
Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming through thick, cold, murky water. First came the pain — not sharp or cutting, but deep, permeating every cell, as if my body had been turned inside out and pushed to its limit. My temples throbbed with a heavy, relentless rhythm, echoed by an aching void in my chest. Then came the smells — sharp, chemical antiseptic tinged with the sweet scent of some medicinal ointment.
I forced my eyes open. A featureless white ceiling stretched above. Slowly, painfully, I turned my head, my neck muscles protesting with a creak. I lay on a standard hospital bed, covered with a stiff, clean sheet. White screens surrounded me, partitioning my space from the rest of the ward but not blocking the sounds — muffled conversations, shuffling footsteps, quiet sobbing in the distance, and the steady hum of medical equipment.
U.A.'s medical bay. I was here.
Memory came in fragments, like wreckage after a storm. The fake city. One-pointer robots. My pitiful ice daggers, draining every ounce of me. Then… the roar. A shadow blotting out the sun. The terrified eyes of a girl pinned under a slab. And the all-consuming, mind-shattering pain when I stopped holding the door and flung it wide open.
They were silent now. But it wasn't the silence of sleep or submission. It was the silence of satisfaction. The deep, contented quiet of predators finally sated. Their presence within me felt not like a cold, hungry void, but a heavy, warm, almost viscous mass. They had feasted on the fear I'd given them. It was both calming and a thousand times more terrifying.
I tried to prop myself up on my elbows, and the world swam. A woman in a white coat — a nurse — approached my bed.
"You're awake. Take it slow," she said in a professionally calm, detached tone. She placed a hand on my forehead, and a warm, pain-soothing light pulsed through me. "Exhaustion. Central nervous system overload. Nothing critical. You got off lighter than many."
"Others?" I croaked, my voice hoarse and alien, gritty with sand. "The ones… I…"
"All alive," she cut me off, her eyes showing neither fear nor judgment, just weary fact. "The girl has a leg injury and a concussion. The boy has bruises. Both stabilized."
She said it like she was reporting the weather. It was so unexpected that I faltered for a moment.
When the dizziness subsided, I managed to sit up. The nurse pulled back the screen, revealing a large, bright ward with about twenty other applicants like me. Some slept, some spoke quietly with neighbors, some stared at the ceiling. One had a bandaged arm, another a bruise under their eye, a third a scratch on their cheek. No horrific injuries. As the nurse said, we'd all "gotten off."
Then I saw her. The girl with light hair. She sat on a bed across the aisle, her leg in a cast up to the knee, crutches propped beside her. She was looking at me. When our eyes met, she didn't look away. Instead, she carefully slid off her bed, leaned on her crutches, and hobbled over. Her face was pale, dark shadows under her eyes, but there was no trace of the primal terror I'd seen on the testing ground.
"Hi," she said softly. "I… I don't remember everything clearly. It was foggy at the end. But I remember you stepping forward. And it got… cold. Then that monster just… vanished. The doctors said you saved me."
I nodded silently, gripping the edge of the sheet. What could I say? "You're welcome"? That would sound like mockery.
"I'm Kaori Suzuki," she introduced herself.
"Arashi Tanaka," I mumbled back.
"I'll be discharged soon. My parents are downstairs. They say the exam results will come by mail within a week. I hope we…" She hesitated, as if catching herself mid-thought, her gaze flickering with uncertainty. "I hope everything turns out okay. And… thank you. Again."
She tried to smile — it came out a little crooked — then turned and hobbled toward the exit, her crutches clacking. I watched her go. She'd said "thank you." She didn't look at me like I was a monster. Maybe something inhuman, perhaps. But there was gratitude in her eyes. It was a new, overwhelming experience.
Soon, I was discharged too. My head still buzzed faintly, my legs felt like cotton, but I could move. I stepped out of U.A.'s main gates and felt an invisible weight lift from my shoulders. Turning, I gazed at the towering building and its gleaming logo. I'd been inside. I'd made it through.
The subway ride home was the hardest trial of the day. The cars were packed with people heading home from work. I wedged myself into a corner, staring at the dirty glass reflecting my pale, gaunt face, and began to tally.
Nine one-pointer robots. Nine points. Maybe I'd taken down one more around that corner, but I wasn't sure if it counted. Let's say ten. Ten points. Pathetic.
The written test… I was confident there. I'd done well. Very well. Ninety percent, maybe higher. But the written test alone wasn't enough. The practical weighed far more.
Ten points. With that score, I could hope for the general course at best, or maybe Class 1-B in the Hero Course. The class for those who showed decent but not stellar results. For the average. For those whose Quirks weren't flashy enough, strong enough, or suited for fighting robots.
But I wanted more. I wanted to prove — to Godai, to my classmates, and most of all to myself— that I wasn't just a "walking problem." That I could be more than a hero. The best. That my power, my curse, could serve something greater than fear and destruction.
Ten points. That was a death sentence. Even if they gave me bonus points for the Zero-Pointer—say, twenty (a pipe dream) — I still wouldn't match those who scored fifty or sixty. I'd seen their names on the boards.
Bitter, acrid defeat rose in my throat. I'd done everything I could. Trained to exhaustion. Fought as best I could. I'd even… I'd summoned Them, not just unleashed but directed, focused, like a scalpel. I'd saved two people.
But in the world of heroes, it seemed actions didn't matter—numbers did. And my numbers were pitiful.
"They won't accept you anyway," a lazy, sated voice purred in my head. "Their system isn't for ones like us. Their approval is a pathetic crumb for the weak. Why do you need it? We're stronger than them all."
"Shut up," I whispered soundlessly, staring at my hands in my lap. "I decide what I need."
But doubt gnawed at me. I stepped off at my station and trudged home, feeling not like a victor returning from battle, but a failure who'd botched the most important exam of his life.
The apartment door opened before I could insert the key. Mom stood in the doorway, her eyes red and teary, but shining with something more than fear.
"Arashi! Sweetheart!" She pulled me into a fierce hug, squeezing so tightly I could barely breathe. Her shoulders trembled. "We were so worried!"
Behind her stood Dad. He wasn't crying. He just looked at me with his heavy, piercing gaze, and in its depths, I saw something I hadn't seen in years—not fear, but pride. Quiet, masculine pride.
"I'm okay," I said hoarsely, returning the hug. "Just tired."
We went to the kitchen. Mom, still touching me as if checking I was whole, began reheating dinner. Dad sat across from me, his rough, work-worn hands folded on the table.
"Tell me," he said, just one word.
And I did. Everything, unembellished. My nine points. My too-slow tactics. My fear and despair. The Zero-Pointer. I spoke in a flat, monotone voice, avoiding their eyes, bracing for the horror I was sure would return.
When I reached the part where I chose to summon Them, my voice faltered.
"I… I didn't see another way. They would've been hurt. And I… I held them back. Not just unleashed. Directed. Like… a tool. I controlled them. Almost."
I fell silent, waiting. Waiting for reproach. For fear. For them to look at me like I was a monster again.
But Mom knelt beside me, wrapping her arms around me, her cheek pressed to my hand.
"You saved them," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You acted like a hero. A real hero. We're… we're so proud of you, sweetheart."
Dad let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face.
"That was damn reckless, Arashi. Foolhardy. But…" He looked at me directly, his gaze steady. "You were right. Sometimes… sometimes you have to use the terrible gift you've been given to prevent something worse. I'm proud of you."
They weren't afraid. They were proud. After ten years of flinches, frightened glances, and whispers behind my back, they looked at me and saw not a threat, but their son, who'd done the right thing.
That evening was the calmest and strangest in years. We didn't talk about enrollment. We didn't plan for the future. We just ate together. Mom chattered about silly things from work, Dad nodded silently. And I felt the icy weight that had always sat in my chest begin to melt, just a little.
Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling. They slumbered, sated. I raised my hand and looked at it in the moonlight filtering through the curtain's gap. The hand that could touch and steal will. The hand that had saved two lives today.
I might not have scored enough points. I might not make it into Hero Class A.
But today, I was a hero to the two most important people in my life. And for now, that was enough.