The first tendrils of dawn slipped through the thin curtains, dancing in soft gold and gentle warmth across the wooden floorboards of our modest apartment. I stirred beneath my sheets, eyes fluttering open to the quiet hum of the waking city outside. The air was still cool against my skin, a fleeting reprieve from the heat that would press down later, but the weight of the day settling in was already tangible.
With a measured breath, I rolled out of bed, muscles stretching as if coaxed awake by invisible hands. The room was neat, familiar—the scattered books, the folded clothes, the little personal touches only a child could muster—but today it was charged with something new: anticipation.
I padded softly to the washbasin, water cold and brisk as I splashed it over my face. A sigh escaped me, a release of the overnight heaviness, and my gaze caught my own reflection blinking back: eyes sharp, yet calm; face still carrying youth but edged now by resolve. I stared long enough to steel myself, then set about dressing in my usual outfit—a plain black shirt with long sleeves, followed by loose greyish-white trousers, baggier than I used to wear but perfect for movement and comfort.
Slipping on worn sneakers, I gathered my things and moved toward the kitchen, guided by the inviting scent of breakfast. The warm golden light of early morning pooled seamlessly into the small room where my mother stood, humming softly as she prepared rice and miso soup with impeccable care.
She looked up the moment I entered, a smile breaking across her face that stole my breath. She came forward, wiping her hands carefully on her apron before reaching out to clasp my cheek gently.
"My baby's already grown up so fast," she said, voice brimming with pride. "And he wants to be a hero now. I'm so proud." Her hand brushed lightly over my cheek, and she wiped away a tear that wasn't really there—just the imaginary kind that tumbles freely in such moments of overwhelming love.
I chuckled softly, warmth spreading through my chest. "Thanks, Mom. I'll do my best."
Her eyes gleamed, earnest and alive. "Gambatene, Nagato."
I nodded, feeling the weight of the words settle like armor around my heart. "I'll keep trying. For you, and for everyone."
We ate breakfast together, a quiet ritual I cherished more than I could say. The soft clink of chopsticks, the muted bubbling from the stove, and the occasional spoonful of rice created a cadence that set my mind to a calm rhythm. Our conversation was light at first—weather, neighborhood news, little jokes about me sleeping in past hours, and her teasing that I wasn't so much my father's son as a copy with worse hair.
But soon I had to speak what was pressing within.
"Mom," I said carefully, setting down my bowl, "I'll be leaving soon. Midoriya and Bakugo might already be waiting for me outside."
She nodded, understanding pressing into her smile. "Hai, Nagato. Good luck out there. Remember to be careful and come back safe."
My heart squeezed in response. "I will. I promise."
We shared a brief hug before I turned to leave.
The elevator's soft ding in the cramped lobby signaled my descent to the ground floor. I stepped into the metal box, feeling the slight drowsiness of early morning slowly drift away as the doors slid closed behind me. When they hissed open on the first floor, the familiar figures of Midoriya and Bakugo came into clear sight.
Midoriya waited patiently against the wall—a serene presence clothed in a black full-sleeve shirt and loose, greyish white trousers matching my own style choices. The subtle way his green hair escaped its tie made him seem both strong and composed, with youth tempered by years of struggle.
Beside him, Bakugo's expression was everything you'd expect: fierce, impatient, yet oddly protective. He was dressed in a brown hoodie and black pants, enhanced shoes complete with reinforced soles and subtle grip upgrades. His stance was confident, and his dark eyes flicked toward me with a challenge unmistakable even before he spoke.
"Ohyao , Nagato!"- Midroiya.
I replied- "Ohyao-"
"Oi, you're late," Bakugo Said, voice rough but holding back just enough edge to hint at familiarity rather than disdain.
"You didn't forget, did ya?"
I laughed easily, closing the gap between us. "Hell nah, Bakugo. Are you guys ready?"
Their smiles met mine, and we bumped fists in a solid, familiar bond.
"Let's go!"
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The day was alive with an electric buzz as we made our way toward the UA High School exam center. The streets of Musutafu had never felt more vibrant.
Despite the normal city noise—the chatter of early commuters, the rumble of vehicles—our trio attracted a unique kind of attention. People paused mid-step, heads turning as if witnessing a spectacle straight out of legend.
Midoriya, Bakugo, and I walked together, an imposing sight even in the middle of a bustling crowd.
"Look at those kids... So manly."
Soob,
The campus gates loomed ahead, a massive fortress of reinforced steel and proud banners fluttering in the breeze. Beyond them, the fabled UA—a crucible where hundreds like us would be tested, pushed, and shaped into heroes.
After passing through security and registration, we were ushered into a large hall that hummed with chatter and nervous energy. The space was something out of an arena: high ceilings, polished floors, and a stage set with vibrant banners bearing UA's emblem.
Just as the room settled, a voice boomed over the speakers, instantly catching every ear:
"HEeeeeeeeyaaaaa, welcome future heroes! I'm Present Mic, your loud and slightly overexcited MC for today's event! Buckle up 'cause this isn't your average school exam!" His voice, a familiar blast of energy and encouragement from the anime, carried a warmth that unexpectedly eased the tension.
He paced the stage with almost theatrical flair, reminding us of that beloved exuberance.
"Now listen up! This year's exam will push you harder, test your quirks, and your heart. But more importantly—they'll see who has what it takes to become the symbol of peace."
He then explained what had to be done there- In Combat Exam.
Before the crowd could get too swept up, Iida—ever the earnest, rule-abiding class president type—raised his hand, stepping forward with a crisp question:
"Excuse me… regarding the zero pointer status which you just mentioned, what criteria determine if a candidate receives such a rating?"
Present Mic hopped to the question with enthusiasm, "Ah, sharp as always, Iida! Zero pointers are those who flunk the written—don't keep up, can't manage the basics, dead last. But don't despair; the practical showdowns are a whole different ball game where anything can happen."
Laughter and murmurs rippled through the hall.
Earlier that morning, we had taken the written exam, a grueling series of questions testing everything from hero ethics to strategy and quirk knowledge. The results were freshly in — and the anticipation of the next step was tangible.
When it came time to assign battle practice locations, the tension spiked. We waited as each name was called with its assigned arena.
Midoriya's name lit up alongside Location A—a sprawling urban simulation with towering buildings and chaotic streets.
Bakugo was sent to Location B—a rugged, open field perfect for high-impact, explosive quirk showcase.
I was assigned Location C—a forested zone rich with natural cover and varied terrain.
"Wait, what? Not together?" Midoriya asked incredulously, glancing at Bakugo and me.
Bakugo smirked, "Guess they don't wanna see us gang up. Ha!"
We all laughed, the camaraderie between us unshaken by distance or circumstance.
"Good luck, you two." I nodded firmly.
Midoriya and Bakugo echoed the sentiment in unison.
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