U.A. High School was impossible to miss.
The sheer scale of it felt deliberate—walls too tall, gates too wide, architecture that screamed authority and expectation in equal measure. Ren stopped just short of the entrance, letting his eyes trace the clean lines of concrete and steel.
It felt… real.
Not like the city. Not like Kyoto's layered chaos. U.A. was structured, intentional, built to shape people.
Around him, examinees gathered in loose groups. Some spoke loudly, bragging about Quirks or strategies. Others kept to themselves, faces tight with nerves. Fear, excitement, pressure—emotions overlapped in the air like static.
Ren didn't flinch at it.
He stood comfortably, hands in his pockets, absorbing the atmosphere passively. This wasn't something to avoid. This was the point.
A sudden movement caught his attention.
A green-haired boy stumbled forward, clearly distracted, his balance completely gone. Ren watched him fall—only for gravity to be politely ignored.
The boy floated.
A brown-haired girl stood nearby, cheeks flushed, hands clasped as she hurriedly released her Quirk. The boy landed awkwardly, flustered but upright, thanking her repeatedly while she waved him off with an embarrassed smile.
Ren watched the exchange quietly.
Midoriya Izuku… and Uraraka Ochaco, he thought. Yep. Still lining up.
He didn't linger on it.
If this world really followed the path he remembered—whether manga, anime, or something in between—then scenes like this weren't special. They were anchors.
Confirmation, not distraction.
The gates opened, and the crowd surged forward.
Ren moved with them naturally, not forcing his pace, not holding back either. The written exam passed smoothly—nothing unexpected, nothing worth remembering.
It was the practical test that mattered.
Ten minutes.
That was all they were given.
The mock city sprawled before them as they were assigned zones. Buildings, streets, intersections—designed chaos waiting to be unleashed.
Ren rolled his shoulders once.
No need to hold back, he thought calmly. This is legal.
The buzzer sounded.
Robots activated.
Ren stepped forward immediately.
No hesitation. No delay.
A two-point robot rolled into view, its mechanical limbs clanking loudly as it turned its sensor head toward him. Ren raised his arm, energy flowing cleanly along his forearm.
A blade formed—thin, compressed, humming faintly.
He stepped in and slashed.
Not at the torso.
At the knee.
Metal screeched as the joint separated cleanly. The robot toppled sideways, systems still active but mobility gone. A second blade followed instantly, severing the elbow joint of its raised arm.
The robot collapsed completely.
Ren didn't pause.
Another robot—three points—rounded the corner. Larger frame. Slower response time.
Ren sprinted forward, jumped, and landed atop a nearby ledge. From above, two blades shot downward in rapid succession.
One arm disabled.
One leg severed.
The robot spun helplessly before collapsing into itself.
Ren landed lightly and moved on.
Explosions echoed in the distance. Ice spread across entire streets. Shockwaves rattled buildings as other examinees unleashed flashy attacks.
Ren didn't mind the attention.
If someone saw him, so be it.
This wasn't about hiding. It was about execution.
He moved through the mock city with steady momentum, blades flashing in controlled arcs. He targeted joints, pivots, mobility points—arms and legs first, always.
Robots fell not in dramatic explosions, but in pieces.
A scream cut through the noise.
Ren turned sharply.
A student was trapped beneath fallen debris as a robot advanced toward them, its steps grinding loudly against cracked pavement. Panic froze the student in place.
Ren dashed forward.
A blade sliced through the robot's shoulder joint mid-swing. Another severed its knee. The machine collapsed forward, crashing into the ground.
Ren shoved debris aside, energy briefly reinforcing his muscles as he pulled the student free.
"Move," he said calmly.
They scrambled away without a word.
Ren was already gone.
Time blurred.
He fought constantly—sometimes alone, sometimes alongside others. He disabled robots with clean, efficient strikes, moving from one target to the next without pause. He didn't destroy machines unnecessarily, conserving motion and energy through precision.
Once, debris collapsed unexpectedly, trapping several examinees. Ren leapt in without hesitation, clearing rubble, dragging people free, holding up falling beams just long enough for them to escape.
He didn't think about points.
He didn't need to.
Ren slowed to a stop, chest rising and falling steadily. His body felt warm, alive, responsive. Energy settled comfortably within him—used, but not drained.
Then the ground shook.
A massive shadow loomed.
Ren turned just in time to see it.
The zero-pointer.
Towering over buildings, its presence alone radiated panic. Students froze or fled as it advanced, crushing concrete beneath its weight.
Ren watched, curious but calm.
Then he saw Midoriya.
The green-haired boy sprinted forward—toward the monster.
He's actually doing it, Ren thought.
The buzzer had already sounded.
Then Midoriya jumped.
Energy surged violently around him as he smashed his fist into the robot's core.
The impact was explosive.
The zero-pointer collapsed in a cascade of metal and debris, falling away from trapped students as the city echoed with the sound.
Ren stared for a moment longer than he meant to.
Yeah… he thought quietly. That seals it.
The exam ended moments later.
Ren turned and walked toward the exit, mind calm, body steady.
He didn't know his score.
He didn't need to.
He had done enough.
And now, U.A. would decide what came next.