(Due to both the results ending in Tiebreakers, I've decided to make an executive decision and removed them both. I'll spin a Wheel of Names to see who wins between Anakin and Raven, and maybe throw in Orgus Din, simply because it would be funny if those two meet).
Shizuka's POV: 1 year and 8 months later: February 26th 21xx
The morning crept in slowly, a pale wash of winter light filtering through the curtains of my apartment. I surfaced from sleep feeling groggy, the sort of heavy-limbed fog that begged me to roll over and forget the world existed.
Unfortunately, my pulse had other plans. It thumped with a steady, insistent urgency—today mattered.
A year and a few months had passed since the government finally handed me the identity I'd chosen twelve years ago. Shizuka Moriya, officially recognised and legally unambiguous. Although considering the thing was a reward for helping the police, it had taken far too much bureaucracy then I'd care to admit to getting it.
Damned politicians.
Still with this ID I can join U.A having applied for it last month with today being the Entrance Exam yet the real triumph hadn't been mine.
Eri had hers now too: Eri Moriya.
Legally my younger sister but in practice?
"MAMA!"
The shrill, delighted screech echoed down the hallway a split second before a small blur with bluish, off-white hair launched itself into my room. She skidded to a stop by the bedframe, beaming up at me with all the unrestrained joy of a child who had clearly been awake for hours.
I groaned, but it was impossible not to smile back. "Hold on, Eri. I'm getting up, I'm getting up."
I pushed the blankets aside and sat up properly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as she bounced on the spot, still grinning like she'd just been handed the entire world on a platter.
Technically she was supposed to call me her sister on legal ground but "Mama" had slipped out one day—soft, hesitant, hopeful. And after everything she'd endured I hadn't corrected her.
Not once.
"C'mere, princess," I hooked an arm under Eri and lifted her with the ease of long practice. She immediately curled into me, small hands fisting gently in the fabric of my crimson shirt, cheek pressed against my shoulder. Warm. Trusting. Safe.
Stars that still did something to me.
I carried her down the short hallway, her legs swinging idly with each step, and paused at the threshold to the kitchen. Morning light pooled softly across the countertop, catching on the steel kettle and the pale wooden cutting board.
"Breakfast?" I asked.
Eri nodded with the solemn enthusiasm unique to six-year-olds. "Mhm! The fishy one."
"That's very descriptive," I deadpanned, earning a tiny giggle against my neck.
Right then. Fishy one it is.
I set her down gently on her little cushioned stool—the one she'd decorated with star stickers—all while brushing my fingers over her hair before turning to the fridge.
A traditional Japanese breakfast isn't fast, but it's predictable, rhythmic. Almost meditative. Perfect for coaxing my brain into gear.
Step one was the rice: I rinsed the short-grain rice until the water ran mostly clear, tipping it into the rice cooker with practised ease. The soft click of the lid felt like the start of a ritual. A tap of the button, and the quiet hum filled the kitchen.
Step two was creating the miso soup.
Dashi stock went into the pot, the rising scent being warm and familiar. I sliced spring onions with quick, even strokes, added wakame, then whisked in the miso paste until it melted into a cloudy amber. Gentle. Savoury. Comfort in a bowl.
Eri rested her chin on her hands, watching me with wide, red crimson eyes.
I salted the salmon lightly and laid it skin-side down on the small grill pan. The sizzle was immediate, carrying that rich, slightly smoky aroma that always made Eri perk up. Her little feet kicked the air in approval.
Add in some sides such as pickled daikon. A bit of spinach with sesame dressing
And something that Eri protested too.
"Mama, no Natto."
"You don't have to eat it," I reminded her, amused.
The small dish of natto was for myself but it still earned a grimace from the small girl.
"Good," she said primly. "It smells like someone left beans in the sun."
Wise beyond her years.
The rice cooker chimed softly. I plated everything neatly: salmon, tamagoyaki, a scoop of steaming rice topped with furikake, and her favourite—tiny umeboshi because she liked the colour more than the taste.
I placed Eri's plate in front of her and she lit up like someone had handed her a festival lantern.
"Mama, it looks so pretty!"
I set my own plate down across from her and sat. "It's just breakfast."
"No," she insisted, shaking her head, "it's Mama breakfast. That's different."
And damn it, there it was again—that quiet little ache in my chest she always managed to summon without trying.
"Make sure you eat plenty," I reminded her as I took a bite of salmon. "You've got school in an hour."
She nodded with her mouth full, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. Adorable. Potential choking hazard. A paradox I'd learned to accept.
Six months ago, the idea of sending her to school had seemed... fragile. Too big. Too bright. Too much like a world she'd been punished for existing in. But she'd healed—slowly, steadily, stubbornly—and once the nightmares eased and the trembling stopped, I decided it was time.
Not to push her. Just to open the door and let her choose whether to walk through it.
And she had.
Of course, I'd taught her myself for the year and a half leading up to it. Reading, writing, the basics, some advanced topics when her curiosity spiralled. It was sweet for me. To teach my... daughter, yeah daughter felt right by this point... I just loved spending time with the girl.
After breakfast, the rest of our morning fell into its usual rhythm.
I ran the bath while Eri finished the last of her rice, her tiny humming drifting down the hall. Steam curled around us as we stepped inside, warm and soothing, and she immediately claimed her usual spot tucked against my side like some kind of small aquatic barnacle. She played with the bubbles; I washed her hair; she splashed me "accidentally on purpose." The ritual was predictable, grounding — and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Once we were dry, I helped her into her uniform, smoothing the collar and brushing out her hair while she wriggled with quiet excitement. She insisted on choosing my outfit too, which meant I ended up in a deep-crimson hoodie and tracksuit trousers because apparently "Mama looks coolest in red."
I wasn't going to argue with a six-year-old art critic.
Taking my lightsaber from the desk, I reached for my belt. The familiar weight of my lightsaber slid into place with a soft click, the metal cool against my hip. A simple motion that settled something in my chest.
Eri hopped to the genkan, plopping herself down to put on her shoes. Sea-green as always. She wiggled her toes proudly.
"I'm ready!" she declared.
"Almost," I said around the last bite of my taiyaki.
Sweet. Warm. A small reward for surviving the morning chaos.
I swallowed, wiped a stray flake of pastry from my fingers, and looked down at her waiting for me with bright eyes and trust so deep it made my protective feelings surge.
"Alright, princess," I said, reaching for her hand. "Let's get you to school."
Her hand fit into mine with the same ease and certainty it always did. Small. Warm. Trusting. A reminder that the universe, in all its chaos, had decided that this tiny, stubborn creature belonged with me.
We stepped out into the hallway, the click of the door locking behind us echoing lightly. The air outside the apartment complex smelled crisp with a hint of thaw beneath the cold. Our breath puffed out in little clouds as we descended the stairs, Eri hopping down each step like she was on an invisible rhythm track only she could hear.
The walk to Eri's school wasn't long, but she treated it like a small adventure every morning. Today was no different — her breath puffed into the cold air in little white clouds, and she tried to "catch" them with cupped hands as though they were tiny spirits escaping from her mouth.
She was convinced that it worked. I let her have the victory.
We crossed the quiet residential street, our footsteps crunching faintly on the thin layer of frost that still clung to the pavements. February always had a stubborn streak. Winter refusing to let go, spring refusing to arrive on time—the seasonal equivalent of a bureaucratic standoff.
Fitting, given today.
Eri squeezed my hand. "Mama? Are you nervous?"
"For what?" I glanced down.
"The test."
Ah. That.
"I'm not nervous, just preparing." I answered her question honestly.
She considered that, red eyes narrowing in the sort of thoughtful expression that usually came just before she asked something devastatingly perceptive.
"You're going to win," she said matter-of-factly.
"It's an exam, not a fight."
"You're still going to win."
Damn her. She always managed to puncture the calm I thought I had.
The school came into view—a cheerful two-storey building with pastel walls and a yard full of equipment designed by someone who clearly despised both safety standards and grass. The playground was already a flurry of small children in colourful winter coats, darting around like excitable electrons.
Eri slowed, her fingers tightening around mine. Not in fear just in that small, subconscious way she sought reassurance.
Her trauma had ebbed over the past months, softening into shadows rather than storms, but some habits lingered. I welcomed them. I'd take her hand a thousand times if it meant she never had to feel alone again.
We reached the gate, and she looked up at me with her usual morning conflict: wanting to stay with me, wanting to go inside, wanting both simultaneously and solving neither.
I crouched slightly to her level. "You'll have a good day," I said gently. "Listen to your teacher, be kind, and focus on your work."
Her eyes brightened. "I made a drawing yesterday. I wanna show Miss Aiko!"
"What did you draw?"
She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Us."
A warmth spread through my chest that no amount of winter air could chill.
"Show her," I said softly. "I'm sure she'll love it."
"And then I tell her Mama's going to be a hero."
I blinked. "You don't have to—"
"But it's true!"
I was not prepared for this level of unwavering faith at 7:45 in the morning.
Her teacher, Miss Aiko, spotted us and waved. I straightened, guiding Eri forward. The woman had the patient expression of someone who could wrangle thirty children without breaking a sweat. An impressive quirk in itself, honestly.
"Good morning, Shizuka-san! Eri-chan, we've been waiting for you."
Eri released my hand, bounding the last few steps like a spring-loaded rabbit. Miss Aiko caught her with professional grace.
I bowed. "Good morning."
"Will you be picking her up as usual?"
"Yes. Sometime after four."
"Wonderful." She smiled warmly. "Good luck today."
My eyebrow twitched. "Is it that obvious?"
"It's written all over you. Determination." She winked. "And a little tension."
Fair.
Eri turned, cheeks flushed from the cold and excitement. "Mama!"
I knelt once more so she could flop into my arms. Her small fingers curled into my hoodie, her forehead resting against mine for a brief, fierce second. A hug that anchored me more effectively than any meditation technique ever had.
"Love you," she whispered, barely audible.
A soft exhale left me. "Love you too, Eri."
She pulled back with a smile that could've powered an entire city for a week, then scampered off towards her classmates. Miss Aiko guided her gently, throwing me a knowing look over her shoulder before following.
I watched until Eri disappeared through the doors.
The moment she was out of sight, silence settled around me like a cloak—familiar, heavy, soothing. The kind that made my heartbeat seem louder.
Right. U.A.
I started walking, hands sliding into the pockets of my hoodie as the cold nipped at my cheeks. The route from the school to the station was simple enough, but today it felt sharper, clearer — my senses humming with purpose.
The city was slowly waking. Cars rumbled lazily down the street; shop shutters rattled open; the smell of early-morning bakeries drifted faintly on the air. Normally I'd let myself slip into a meditative drift while walking, but today my mind was too active.
U.A.'s Entrance Exam.
Years ago — decades, really, if counting my first life — it had felt like a distant event in a fictional world. Now it was here. Tangible. Something I would physically walk into.
The irony still struck me sometimes: all the impossible futures I'd imagined as Hotaru had been replaced by something even less probable.
A reincarnated Force adept. A self-trained Guardian and Consular. The whole sister thing, and just randomly ending up as Eri's mother because of it.
Now, I am an examinee for the top Hero School in Japan, not like I'd fail.
I walked, letting the mundane sights and sounds of the city sharpen the edge of my focus. Every footstep became a meditation.
I didn't need to hear the Force to know the U.A was close. I could feel the change in the air pressure, the faint scent of ozone that always accompanied massive power being used or, in this case, gathered. And yet, I still listened to it.
Soon, I found myself staring at the structure: U.A High School.
It wasn't a building; it was a fortress, a symbol carved out of concrete and steel. The main campus rose before me, a colossal, H-shaped monolith of modern architecture. The exterior walls were a sleek, almost intimidating grey, punctuated by massive, reflective windows that absorbed the pale winter sky.
The height of the building was dizzying. Each floor seemed to stack defiance upon defiance, reaching into the clouds like a technological mountain range. A massive, stylized "U.A" logo was subtly embedded into the central tower, less a sign and more a proclamation. It commanded attention without needing to shout.
The gate itself was equally imposing: a towering archway of polished steel, currently wide open, drawing in the hundreds of applicants who were already streaming toward the entrance.
My eyes swept over the surrounding grounds. High, fortified walls flanked the perimeter, subtly reinforced with what I instinctively recognized as anti-intrusion technology—sensors, pressure plates, and probably energy shielding I couldn't even see. It was designed to keep the world out, or rather, to keep the immensely powerful things inside.
I joined the stream of students. They were a torrent of nervous energy, all awkward movements and whispered anxieties, their Quirks manifesting in subtle, uncontrolled ways—flickering lights, small sparks, or the sheer, restless hum of anticipation in the Force.
I kept my pace steady, hands still tucked into the pockets of my crimson hoodie. I was an island of quiet in their sea of jittery excitement.
The moment I stepped beneath the main arch, the scale shifted again. The entrance hall was cavernous, a three-storey lobby with a polished floor that mirrored the fluorescent lights overhead. Banners hung everywhere, bold and red, displaying U.A.'s motto in elegant calligraphy: "Plus Ultra."
Further beyond.
It wasn't a bad maxim. The Jedi philosophy was always about growth, transcendence, and self-mastery—a path further beyond the limits of the flesh.
I barely registered the security cameras or the school staff directing the flow of traffic. My focus narrowed to the sensation of the place. The energy here was intense, a concentrated nexus of ambition, power, and fear. It was loud, but it was also structured. Everything was deliberate, from the angle of the walls to the placement of the information kiosks.
I followed the signs directing me to the auditorium.
The doors to the venue were enormous, almost ceremonial. Passing through them felt like crossing a threshold into a different kind of world.
The interior was tiered, designed to hold thousands. I found an empty seat near the middle—not too conspicuous, but with a good view. The air was thick with the collective anticipation of the hundreds of kids already seated, all of them future heroes, future rivals, and future distractions.
I settled into the chair, taking a deep, quiet breath.
The salmon and rice had been grounding. Eri's hug had been anchoring.
My hand moved instinctively to my hip, brushing the handle of my lightsaber beneath the fabric of my hoodie. The weight was a comfort, a quiet promise. It wasn't about the Quirk exam anymore. It was about proving my worth to the system, getting the license, and building the impenetrable wall of protection around Eri.
Soon I found myself in the written test hall however...
During the written test, I answered every question... confidently
These were just far too easy for me as I answered for more advanced stuff back in my past life, and some stuff I had read about too thanks to my free time from training. Of course, I had studied the Force still and trained with my blade but reading about the specifics of Quirks allowed for this.
Anyways, after getting what was likely 100 out of 100, I walked down to the front and moved to hand in my paper.
"Here, I'm done."
"Huh, already?" The examinee asked, surprised.
"Is there a problem?"
"Uhm, you do know that it's been 5 minutes, right?"
"So? I answered all of the questions and am very confident in my abilities. I'd also like for the additional points I got for answering the bonus questions to be given to someone who would've failed otherwise."
With that, I go to leave.
Almost 2 hours later in the auditorium I sat with the others and then the lights turned on, shining down on a man familiar to most people; Present Mic stood. Behind him was a giant screen as he stood on the stage.
"For all of you examinee listeners tuning in, welcome to my show today!" He said, rambunctiously before spreading his arms out and then adding, "Everybody say 'Hey!'"
He turned around, putting a hand to his ear as if expecting at least one person to shout 'Hey' back at him. To no avail.
I felt a bit bad, but I was considering my plans and strategies here.
And so after an awkward 10 seconds of silence the man spoke up again, "What a tough crowd."
He placed his hand on his waist, one pointed upwards as he leaned forwards stating, "Then I'll quickly present to you the rundown on the practical exam."
Then with a flambunctious pose he shouted, "Are you ready?! YEAH!"
Absolute silence.
Except for the muttering of one Izuku Midoriya.
And then a shut up from Katsuki Bakugo.
Meanwhile, I was questioning if the fanfiction I read in my past life of him being gay was real. I mean looking at how he acts, I wouldn't be surprised if he was bi or homosexual. Hmm, curious.
"As it says in the application's requirements, you listeners will be conducting ten-minute mock urban battles after this!"
He says doing more exaggerated gestures as the screen changes to say "you are here" before he continues, yet his words fell deaf to me. My earlier thoughts leading deeper in.
The obvious answer might have been no for Canon MHA but this was an alternate universe where the Force existed, who's to say he was the same here?
"You can bring whatever you want with you." The screen shows signs with letters though A to G, the false city options, "After the presentation, you'll head to the specified battle area, okay?! Okay?!"
Absolute silence, for the third time.
I sighed, this was actually giving me second-hand embarrassment now. Even though outwardly, I showed little emotion as I checked my paper.
G, huh?
"Three different types of faux villains are stationed in each battle centre with you earning points for defeating them, based on their difficulty." The screen changed to display the battle area then the robots or Faux villains showing the points above the 3 robots then changed to show him defeating a 1 pointer. "Your goal, dear listeners, is to use your quirks to earn points by immobilising the faux villains. Of course attacking other examinees and other unheroic actions are prohibited! Okay?!"
That last bit hinted at the true nature of this exam, with Hero Points, but I kept my past life knowledge to myself.
"May I ask a question?!"
The Iida fiasco happened. Honestly it was such an unimportant aspect that I forgot he asked about the 0 pointer.
Anyone could tell that Present Mic was getting to that.
In short the zero pointer wasn't impossible to beat, but granted no points, it was also basically unstoppable. Meant to represent a villain we couldn't beat. With one in every area.
Anyways with the Iida situation dying down, I heard Mic finalise with the Motto: "Go beyond, PLUS ULTRA!"
Soon students were guided to their battle grounds with mine being G.
Things progressed pretty quickly, sure, but I knew what to do from here.
I settled into a crouch at the very front of the starting line, the concrete cool beneath my fingers. The other examinees shifted nervously behind me— boot scuffs, shallow breathing, the faint electric crackle of quirks priming. Their anticipation pressed against my senses like static.
I shut it all out.
The Force flowed under my skin in steady currents, responding to my quiet will. Not full Force Speed—too much, too conspicuous, and unnecessary for an exam designed for teenagers who'd never been in a real fight. Instead I Enhanced my Attributes like threads enhancing specific areas.
Speed, yes. Reflexes, sharpened. Durability, reinforced.
My hand drifted to my lightsaber. The weight was familiar, comforting, like settling into a well-worn rhythm. I kept it clipped for now; no need to alarm anyone before the test even began.
The second the gate opened, I ran forwards.
Everyone else stayed a bit beyond. screaming how I was cheating, how I wasn't actually playing fair... until Present Mic shouted through the Microphone.
"What are you waiting for, there's no countdowns for real battles! BEGIN!"
I ignited my saber.
Psshhhw—
The seagreen blade flared into existence, humming with contained heat. Someone behind me yelped in surprise.
Focus.
The first 1-pointer rounded the corner—a squat, spider-like robot with spindly appendages and a buzzing lens. It turned toward me instantly.
Too slow.
I lifted a hand and pulled through the Force.
The droid jerked toward me, its metal shell screeching as it scraped the asphalt. Before it reached me, my blade cut a clean, diagonal line through its chassis. Sparks erupted. The remains sailed past, momentum carrying them uselessly across the ground.
Two more 1-pointers scuttled out from a side alley.
A thought and two quick slashes reduced them to smoking halves without breaking my stride.
The air smelled of scorched metal and ozone. Familiar. Almost nostalgic.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
More. Left, 30 meters—two 2-pointers, rotary cannons warming.
I pivoted and sprinted toward them. Their barrels rotated just as I reached striking distance.
Too slow.
However, I did not use my lightsaber. Physical gunshots would actually go through the energy blade. Therefore, I used the Force to catch the bullets and throw them back.
Seeing none of them injured, I slid beneath the closest bot in a low crouch—one upward slash bisected its core. A rapid spin and downward cut destroyed the second.
The crowd of examinees behind me was just now entering the sector.
I was already three streets in.
Every bolt, every servo whine, every shifting footstep around me vibrated in the Force, painting an invisible map through my senses. I followed that map instinctively, turning corners seconds before robots arrived, striking precisely where I needed, nothing wasted.
A cluster of 3-pointers lurked near a collapsed parking structure, their heavy limbs pounding dents into the concrete.
I adjusted my grip.
Deep breath. Move.
I dashed forward, leaping up onto a cracked car hood. Then I leaped.
The world dropped away beneath me as I soared upward, flipping mid-air to land atop the first droid. Its head rotated upward in confusion. I buried my saber straight through its central processor and kicked off before its body collapsed.
Second bot—I angled my fall. With a burst of telekinesis I accelerated downward.
BOOM.
Metal buckled under my landing as the robot crunched beneath my heel. A follow-up slash severed its movement joint.
The third bot tried to fire.
I didn't bother turning. I simply reached one hand back and deflected the shot with the Force, redirecting it into the bot's own power cell.
It exploded.
A rain of metal shards tinkled around me like deadly confetti.
Easy.
Too easy.
Of course, being a Jedi meant more than combat.
A scream cut through the distant noise. Sharp. Young. Female.
I pivoted instantly.
A teen girl—pink hair, trembling—was trapped under the fallen arm of a destroyed 2-pointer. Her legs pinned, shock freezing her in place while a 1-pointer crawled toward her from behind.
I sprinted.
With a single sweeping gesture, I tore the metal chunk off her with The Force and at the same time, a flick of my wrist sent my saber spinning in a wide arc cutting the advancing robot cleanly before snapping back into my palm.
The girl stared up at me, wide-eyed and pale.
"You're safe now," I said quietly.
She nodded, still struggling to speak.
I was already gone.
Another examinee—a boy with spiked hair—stumbled backward after blasting a 3-pointer. A chunk of razor-sharp shrapnel shot toward his throat.
I didn't think as my hand rose, stopping the shard centimetres from his skin before I flicked it aside into the dirt and moved on.
Nine minutes in, my breathing hadn't even quickened.
And yet... this was supposed to be the difficult part of the exam?
I destroyed another cluster of bots—clean, efficient, predictable patterns, all code-driven.
If anything, the exam felt like sparring dummies.
My mind drifted.
Eri's face this morning. Her tiny hands grabbing my hoodie with the words "Mama's going to win" dancing in it.
I finished dismantling the last bot in my vicinity with a swift upward cut, metal clattering behind me.
My pulse didn't lift. My heartbeat barely changed. The Force flowed through me. Strong. Steady.
Challenge. Pressure. Risk.
This wasn't it.
Not even close.
The Yakuza were better than this.
My personal score must have been astronomical, a number far past what anyone else would achieve, but that wasn't the point. This was just a formality. I needed to do this to be a Hero.
Then, the ground began to tremble.
Not the localised vibration of a nearby Quirk, but a deep, rolling seismic shock that rattled the windows of the distant skyscrapers. A shadow fell over the battle zone, instantly turning the pale winter light into a brooding gloom.
I looked up.
Around the corner of a six-storey structure, the head of the Zero Pointer rose into view. It was a colossal titan of a machine, engineered for pure, overwhelming psychological impact. Its metallic bulk was covered in heavy armor plating, scarred with deliberate cosmetic wear to make it look even more terrifying. Massive, hydraulic arms rose on either side, each thicker than a school bus, ending in brutalised, blunt fists.
It wasn't merely big; it was a statement. A walking, metallic expression of futility.
Around me, the nervous energy of the other examinees, which had been starting to shift into excitement, instantly devolved into panic.
"It's the Zero Pointer! Run!"
"Forget the points! Get out of the way!"
They scattered like flushed quail, abandoning their minor skirmishes to sprint back towards the main gate. The Force registered their fear as a sharp, bitter tang—the Living Force reacting to imminent, unavoidable danger.
I stood perfectly still in the centre of the street.
My hand tightened around the hilt of my sea-green lightsaber. The rhythmic hum of the blade became a comforting counterpoint to the roaring hydraulics of the oncoming giant.
A slow smile stretched across my face.
"Finally a worthy opponent, our battle will be legendary." I couldn't help but quote that line and say it out loud as I stepped forwards, ready.
What? It's not like any of my other foes were noteworthy.
165 feet tall and with terrifying strength.
The size was intimidating but my brain, trained to instantly calculate threat level, laughed at the over-the-top design. This robot was not an unstoppable villain. It was a highly specialized, highly expensive training tool.
The Zero Pointer raised one massive fist, its joints screaming under the load, and brought it down in a thunderous arc. The target wasn't me, but the ground twenty feet away, creating a cloud of pulverised concrete and debris. The message was clear: stay and you will be crushed.
In truth, my test would be to lift this thing with The Force. The weight alone would be much better than anything in the temple. And trying to disturb the cave like that... that had always been tricky. The Zero Pointer provided a perfect, isolated, and perfectly disposable mass.
I stepped back out of the impact zone, using the debris cloud as cover. I didn't need to destroy it; that would be a waste of effort. I needed to control it.
I dropped my blade back to my hip, sheathing it with a decisive click. Form VII was for eliminating genuine threats, for channelling the restlessness that came with my ADHD. This required the stillness and discipline of a Jedi Consular.
I took a low stance, feet spread wide, and grounded myself. I closed my eyes, not to see with my ears, but to feel with the Force. The robot's presence was a colossal, dull beacon of metallic mass and humming power cells. It was heavy. It was solid.
And it was connected to everything.
I pushed my consciousness outward, flowing past the concrete beneath my feet, around the fleeing students, and into the dense, artificial weight of the machine. The Force responded, immediately flowing around the target.
I began to press.
My brow furrowed with the effort. This wasn't a gentle push; this was the raw application of Telekinesis on a scale I'd only practiced in hypothetical terms. Every muscle in my body tensed, reflecting the invisible strain.
The Zero Pointer paused, its massive fist frozen mid-swing as if confused by a faulty sensor.
Then, a low, agonizing groan of stressed metal emanated from its base.
Slowly. Imperceptibly at first. The colossal weight began to shiver.
I opened my eyes, a single bead of sweat trickling down my temple. Lift.
A final, silent surge of will and the Zero Pointer's chassis lifted a foot off the asphalt with a deafening scrape, held aloft by sheer, unadulterated power of The Force. The moment... I focused on it.
I lifted it further, holding both hands out suddenly. Further... further... FURTHER!
With all my might, I raised it far above the ground and at the crescendo of what I could achieve I pushed my hands downwards, sending it hurtling to the ground.
A sound ripped through the fabricated city that was neither a boom nor a crash, but a combination of both—a catastrophic, grinding THWOOM of metal on concrete that seemed to absorb all other noise.
The Zero Pointer, which moments ago had been an expression of unstoppable mechanical terror, hit the ground with the force of a small meteorite. Its weight, now compounded by the downward acceleration provided by the Force, turned the landing into a full-scale geological event.
A shockwave of air pressure, dust, and pulverized asphalt radiated outward. Windows in the nearby structures—the windows that were supposed to be reinforced for these very exams—shattered inward with a sound like tearing silk. Shrapnel, twisted beyond recognition, flew in every direction, embedding itself deep into the surrounding walls.
The great machine itself was a wreck. Its colossal legs buckled and splayed out, the knee joints sheared and vaporized. The torso crumpled in upon itself like a stepped-on soda can, and the massive, armored head was driven several feet into the asphalt, cracking the foundation beneath the street. Electrical fires sparked immediately in the ruined chassis, followed by thick, acrid columns of black smoke that billowed into the winter sky.
The destruction was absolute.
I stood in the centre of the devastation, my arms dropping slowly to my sides. My chest was heaving, not from physical exertion, but from the sheer, sudden expenditure of raw will and metaphysical energy. The drain on my personal resources was immediate and punishing—a sudden, deep fatigue that settled in my bones.
That was a challenge. That was an effort. That felt right.
The Force, which had flowed so easily before, now felt thin, withdrawn, like a tide that had suddenly pulled far out to sea. It would return, but not quickly. I had pushed the limits of my practical application, exceeding any feat I'd performed in the quiet stillness of the hidden Jedi Temple.
'How on Earth did Starkiller achieve his Starship feat? That took everything I had and then some.' I thought to myself, standing there, catching my breath, the smell of ozone and burnt metal stinging my nostrils. The adrenaline, which had been a quiet hum, now spiked and began to recede, leaving a clean, almost meditative clarity in its wake.
Behind me, where the other examinees were clustered near the main gate, there was not a sound. The shrieks and whispers had vanished, replaced by a profound, echoing silence.
The silence was broken only by the crackle of the robot's dying systems. Then, a massive, amplified voice cut through the air.
"TIME'S UP!" Present Mic screamed, his voice somehow sounding strained even over the loudspeaker. "ALL EXAMINEES, CEASE ALL ACTIVITY! THE PRACTICAL EXAM IS OVER!"
I took a slow, deliberate step back from the wreckage. My legs felt slightly weak, but my mind was already shifting back into Consular focus. I had accomplished the objective: a massive application of the Force, a pure test of power that was necessary for my own assessment of my current abilities.
The system was satisfied. I had won.
I turned and walked back toward the gate. The other examinees were beginning to stream back into the battle zone, hesitant and pale, staring at the unrecognizable scrap heap of the Zero Pointer.
As I passed, the students parted, creating a wide, silent path. No one shouted or accused. They just stared—not at me, but at the sheer, impossible scale of the destruction. My crimson hoodie, slightly dusted with ash, was the only movement in their petrified field of vision.
I ignored them all, keeping my gaze forward.
Until a voice, high-pitched and breathless, snagged my attention.
"W-wait! Moriya-san! Are you okay?"
I paused, turning my head. It was the pink-haired girl who had been trapped earlier. She was leaning on the spiked-hair boy whose life I'd saved from shrapnel. She hobbled a few steps toward me, her face a mixture of shock and gratitude.
"My legs are fine now," she stammered. "Thank you. You... you saved me. And then... you did that."
I simply nodded, my expression unreadable. Emotions were for others; my focus was on the objective.
"Don't worry about it," I said, my voice quiet, slightly rough from the dust in the air. "I'm fine. Focus on your exit."
I didn't wait for a reply, turning back to the gate. I had paperwork to fill out and a sister to pick up. The exam was complete.
I emerged from the battle centre and was quickly ushered toward a large triage and debriefing area. My examination area, G, was clearly the epicentre of some serious concern. Staff members were moving with an urgent, almost panicked energy, and I saw a short, elderly woman shaking her head with a weary sigh as she looked out over the smouldering cityscape.
Why did they still call her The Youthful Heroine: Recovery Girl if she is clearly not youthful anymore? Questions for later I suppose.
Either way, I just decided to go home.
The exam lasted from 9:30 am to 11:40 am. 1 hour and 30 for the written portion, ten minutes for the practical. The rest was just getting to the zones, auditorium, and nothing more. And our results would come a week later.
One Week Later
I set the small device down on the low table in front of us.
It was heavier than it looked—a thick, circular disc of brushed metal, U.A.'s crest engraved cleanly into the surface. Subtle grooves ringed the outer edge, faint indicator lights resting dormant along its rim.
Appropriate.
I took a slow, cantering breath.
In then out.
The familiar meditative cadence steadied my thoughts, grounding me in the moment. Whatever the result, it wouldn't change what I had already knew. I knew I had passed but that didn't matter much to me.
Power was incidental. Lives saved were what mattered.
Eri shifted on my lap, small fingers curled into the fabric of my hoodie. She tilted her head, red eyes fixed on the strange device with cautious curiosity.
"Ready, Eri?" I asked softly.
She nodded once. Tiny. Resolute.
I pressed the activation stud.
With a low, harmonic hum, the disc's centre iris slid open. Pale blue light spilled upward, expanding into a three-dimensional projection that hovered just above the table. Static shimmered for half a second before resolving into a familiar, impossibly broad silhouette.
"Alllll right!"
All Might appeared in full hero form, arms folded proudly across his chest, smile blazing like a sunrise.
"Shizuka Moriya!" he boomed, then paused, eyes shifting slightly as if reading updated data.
"First of all — thank you for waiting! The U.A. faculty has completed its review of the Entrance Examination." He leaned forward, hands braced on his hips. "And let me tell you... you certainly left an impression!"
The hologram shifted. Behind him, translucent panels bloomed into view—city schematics, timestamps, rescue markers. Not point totals.
Rescue markers.
"All heroes are judged by their actions," All Might continued, voice steady and sincere. "Not simply by how hard they strike... but by who they choose to protect."
The panels zoomed in.
Far more than people knew.
"During the practical exam," he said, "you demonstrated an extraordinary level of situational awareness, control, and decisiveness. More importantly—" his eyes met the projection's 'camera' directly, "—you repeatedly prioritized the safety of others, even when doing so earned you no points at all."
Eri's grip on my hoodie tightened.
"You see, Young Moriya you achieved a record breaking high of 250 Villain Points but what kind of Hero Course would we be if we didn't include Hero Points. Given by a panel of Judges, Hero Points are essentially points for rescuing others in a pinch. Shizuka Moriya, 100 out of 100 Rescue points."
350...
The number settled into my mind, before the next bit came.
"Placing you as U.A's most promising candidate since myself, earning 50 more Hero Points than I did," he stated with a laugh. A laugh that was genuine.
I could tell in the way his facial expression softened as he laughed.
"You pass!" He yelled out, and the hologram vanished.
For a moment, the room was quiet again.
Not the awkward kind. The good kind. The kind that settles after something important has finished happening.
Eri blinked up at the empty space where All Might's projection had been, then slowly looked back to me.
"...You won?" she asked, small voice careful, like the word might break.
I huffed out a breath that turned into a laugh before I could stop it. "Apparently."
Her brow furrowed. "Does that mean... you're a hero now?"
I tilted my head, considering. "It means I'm allowed to learn how to be one. Officially."
She processed that for a second, then smiled. Not big. Not loud. Just a shy, uncertain curve of her lips that felt like it weighed more than the Zero Pointer ever had.
"They said you saved people," she said quietly. "I saw that part."
"I did," I replied.
She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she was testing that idea.
"If you go to the hero school..." she hesitated, then asked the real question, "...will you go away?"
Ah. There it was.
I shifted her slightly so she was facing me fully, one arm secure around her back.
"No," I said without pause. "Never without you."
Her shoulders relaxed immediately, tension melting like it had never been there. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead into my collarbone, breathing me in like she was memorising the proof.
"Then..." she mumbled, "...I wanna cheer for you."
I smiled into her hair. "Deal."
I leaned back against the couch, laughter bubbling up again—quiet, real, unguarded. Not triumph. Not pride. Relief. Direction.
I looked down at her, at the future curled comfortably in my arms, and felt the Force hum softly, approvingly, like a promise rather than a burden.
"This doesn't mean it's the end point, Eri. It's the starting line of my hero academia."
I laughed, freely the reference worked badly.