February 19th – One Week Before the U.A. Entrance Exam
The dojo was silent, save for the rhythmic humming of the ventilation. The other students had long since bowed out and gone home, leaving the expansive wooden floor empty.
Choso stood at the center of the mat, his breathing steady, his gaze locked on the man opposite him.
Ten months had passed since the Sludge Incident. Ten months of grueling physical conditioning, Cursed Energy reinforcement, and relentless sparring. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, losing the last of his childish softness.
"You're quiet tonight, Choso," Yamamoto-sensei said, loosening his obi slightly to retie it tighter. "Class ended twenty minutes ago."
"I know," Choso replied, his voice calm but heavy with intent. "But I'm not done."
Yamamoto paused, looking at his student. He had watched the boy grow from a five-year-old with too much maturity to a fifteen-year-old with a warrior's spirit. He saw the look in Choso's eyes. It wasn't the competitive fire of a child wanting to win a game. It was the resolve of a man preparing for war.
"The Entrance Exam is next week," Yamamoto noted.
"That's why," Choso said, raising his hands into a traditional Wing Chun guard—dominating the centerline. "I need to know I'm ready. No holding back, Sensei. No 'teaching moments.' Fight me like you mean it."
Yamamoto smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression that reminded Choso why this man was a master. "Arrogant brat. If I don't hold back, you won't make it to the exam."
"Try me."
The air shifted.
Yamamoto moved first. He lunged, a swift, linear punch aimed directly at Choso's throat.
Choso didn't retreat. He stepped in.
Pak Sao.
He slapped the strike aside with his left palm, simultaneously driving his right fist toward Yamamoto's ribs. Yamamoto anticipated it, dropping his elbow to deflect the blow with a Bong Sao, turning his defense into a spinning backfist.
Choso ducked under the spinning arm, staying tight, staying close. Wing Chun was about infighting—occupying the same space as your opponent.
Chain punches.
Choso unleashed a flurry of vertical punches, aiming for the solar plexus. Thud-thud-thud. Yamamoto parried them with fluid, circular motions, his hands a blur of interception.
He's fast, Choso thought, adrenaline flooding his system. But I've memorized his rhythm.
Yamamoto broke the stalemate with a low sweep, aiming to destabilize Choso's stance.
Not this time.
Instead of resisting, Choso lifted his leg, checking the kick with his shin—check—and used the momentum to stomp forward, invading Yamamoto's guard. He trapped Yamamoto's leading arm with a Lap Sao, pulling the older man off balance while driving a palm strike toward his chin.
Yamamoto's eyes widened. He barely leaned back, the wind of Choso's palm brushing his stubble. He recovered instantly, grabbing Choso's wrist and twisting for a joint lock.
"Too linear!" Yamamoto barked.
"And you're too predictable!" Choso countered.
He didn't pull away. He flowed with the force. As Yamamoto twisted, Choso spun his body in the same direction, turning the lock into an opportunity. He slammed his shoulder into Yamamoto's chest—a brutal body check reinforced with a pulse of Cursed Energy.
Bam!
Yamamoto stumbled back, his breath hitching.
Choso didn't let up. He closed the distance instantly.
Tan Sao. Jut Sao. Punch.
He deflected a desperate jab, dragged Yamamoto's guard down, and stopped his fist just an inch from his sensei's nose. The force of the punch created a small gust of wind that ruffled Yamamoto's graying bangs.
Silence returned to the dojo.
Yamamoto stared at the fist hovering before his face. Then, he looked at Choso. He didn't look angry. He didn't look defeated.
He started to laugh.
"Hah... Hahaha!" Yamamoto straightened up, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. "Well. I suppose I can't call you a kid anymore."
Choso lowered his hand, his chest heaving slightly. "Did I pass?"
"Pass?" Yamamoto walked over, placing a heavy hand on Choso's shoulder. "In all my years running this dojo, I have trained athletes, brawlers, and even a few police officers. But you..." He looked Choso in the eye. "You are the greatest student I have ever had. You didn't just learn the forms; you embodied the spirit."
Choso felt a lump form in his throat. He had spent a decade with this man.
"Go to U.A., Choso," Yamamoto said, his voice firm. "Show them what real strength looks like. Don't you dare fail."
Choso looked at his teacher. Tradition dictated he bow. But today, the dynamic had changed. He wasn't a disciple asking for guidance anymore.
"I won't," Choso said, standing tall. "I'm going to be the best. You won't expect anything less."
"Damn straight."
Choso grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "I'll visit. Try not to get old before then, Sensei."
"Get out of here, brat," Yamamoto waved him off, though his smile was proud.
Choso walked out into the cool night air, leaving the dojo behind. He didn't look back.
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One Week Later – February 26th
The morning sun was bright, piercing through the curtains of Choso's room.
He woke up before his alarm. Today was the day.
He moved through his morning routine with mechanical precision. Shower. Brush teeth. Check interface.
He pulled on the black gakuran uniform of his middle school, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked ready.
Downstairs, the smell of miso soup and grilled fish filled the kitchen.
"Good morning!" Kaori chirped, though her hands were shaking slightly as she set the table. "I made your favorite breakfast. You need energy for the written exam and the practical!"
"Thanks, Mom," Choso smiled, sitting down.
"Do you have your admission ticket?" Jin asked, hovering nervously with a cup of coffee. "Pencils? Eraser? Water bottle?"
"Dad, I'm taking an exam, not crossing the Sahara," Choso laughed, taking a bite of fish. "I have everything."
They ate together, the atmosphere thick with parental anxiety and pride. When it was time to leave, they walked him to the door.
"Choso," Kaori grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. "Just do your best. We're already proud of you."
"Knock 'em dead, son," Jin gave him a thumbs up.
Choso looked at them—the parents who had raised him in this second life with nothing but love.
"I will," Choso said, his voice unwavering. "I'll pass without fail. I'll see you tonight."
He turned and walked away, the morning breeze catching his hair.
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The train station was packed with students in various uniforms, all heading toward the same destination. The air buzzed with nervous energy.
Choso navigated the crowd with ease, his mind already reviewing strategies for the practical exam. Robots. It's usually robots. I need to conserve blood for the big ones.
As he turned a corner near the ticket gates, he felt a sudden impact.
"Oof!"
He stumbled slightly, looking down. He had bumped into... nothing?
Floating in the air were a girls' clothing—a blazer and a skirt—but no body inside them.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" A bubbly, high-pitched voice emanated from the floating collar. "I was looking at the map and I didn't see you!"
Choso blinked. Invisible Girl. Hagakure Toru.
He had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. You didn't see me?
Heh... how ironic.
"No problem," Choso said smoothly, stepping aside. "It's crowded today. Good luck with the exam."
"Thanks! You too!" The floating gloves waved enthusiastically before the clothes bobbed away into the crowd.
Choso watched her go, a small smirk playing on his lips. She really is invisible. I wonder how she passes the practical... actually, never mind. Don't question anime logic.
He continued walking, finally arriving at the massive glass gates of U.A. High.
The building was imposing, a fortress of heroism shaped like an 'H'. Students streamed in like ants.
Choso stopped at the gate. He took a deep breath, centering himself. He felt the Cursed Energy in his gut, a deep, restless ocean waiting to be unleashed.
He pulled up his interface one last time.
[Choso Template Synchronization: 72%]
Seventy-two percent, he thought. Enough to make a statement.
His eyes shifted, catching a glimpse of green hair tripping over nothing a few yards away. A brown-haired girl tapped him, floating him before he hit the ground.
Midoriya and Uraraka, Choso noted. The main cast is assembling.
He adjusted his bag strap, his gaze sharpening into a glare of determination.
"Let's go."
He stepped through the gates.
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