The sprawling miniature city shimmered under the artificial sky of the UA battle practice grounds, a contained labyrinth crafted for destruction and strategy.
Buildings rose like fragile glass towers, only a few feet tall but detailed enough to fool most at first glance.
Streets twisted and wound, alleys beckoned, and atop street lamps, drones hovered, silently recording the impending chaos.
I stepped onto the dense matting of faux asphalt, my boots tapping firmly, yet carrying the weight of the eyes drilling into me from every corner. The other examinees craned their necks, whispering and pointing, the cruel buzz of judgment thick in the stale air of competitiveness.
One lanky boy with shaky confidence jabbed a thumb my way, loud enough for the surrounding group to hear:
"Hey, look at him… what is he? Some wannabe edgy with those piercings?"
A girl snorted nearby, voice dripping with sneer:
"Heh, thinks he's cool or something."
A third voice, dripping with mockery, cracked:
"LMAO, bet he rubbed onions in his eyes thinking it was a quirk or something. Onion eyes for real."
Snickers ricocheted, but I kept my stride steady and controlled, my gaze fixed on the horizon of the miniature city. It was time to stop worrying about their words.
I was here for what mattered. The city awaited — alive with robotic sentinels wandering the streets, their servos humming low and mechanical eyes scanning for threats.
As I advanced, the whispers grew quiet momentarily. Then from high above, the familiar, electrifying voice of Present Mic boomed through speakers:
"Guys!!! Move it! There'll be no announcements during the actual battle, so get ready! No standing around, no waiting for me to yell — it's all on you now!"
A ripple of surprise and nervous laughter passed through the crowd. The anxiety was visible, fingers twitching near weapon holsters, eyes narrowing in tension — every one of these kids knew this was no drill.
But something odd happened just as they tried to step forward.
Their bodies literally refused to obey the command of motion. Like invisible shackles bound to the ankles, progress halted abruptly.
A sharp, panicked voice cut through the group:
"H-Hey, what's going on?! Why won't we move forward?!"
Another person bellowed something half-mad:
"I-I think… It's him! "
They looked towards the direction and saw Nagato with his hands raised towards them.
But Nagato then walked forward.
Then , slowly rose from the ground floating towards the sky with arms outspread.
The murmurs ballooned—some shouted warnings or curses, others glared in disbelief. The teachers and examiners exchanged nervous glances even over the camera feed.
The exam observation room buzzed with low murmur and restless shuffling as the live feed from Nagato's test zone flickered onto the large screens. When the camera captured the moment he raised his hand, halted everyone's movement, and began to float—something extraordinary was about to happen.
The room went silent in stunned disbelief as the artificial miniature city below started to convulse, collapsing like a sandcastle under a wave.
"Wait… what is this kid doing?" one examiner whispered, eyebrows knitted in confusion rather than awe.
"He's blocking everyone's movement? Is this some kind of strange quirk?" another added skeptically, leaning forward with an appraising look.
Another Hero scoffed. "Seriously, what's with all this drama? He's probably trying to intimidate everyone—show off. But isn't that counterproductive during an exam?"
"All I see is reckless waste of energy."
Even All Might, standing apart but watching intently, folded his arms as a grim smile touched his lips.
"I met this boy a couple of years back," All Might said softly and explained what had happened in brief-
Meanwhile, Nezu, the unusually astute principal, leaned back in his chair, contemplative but pleased.
"It seems we have among us a new generation ready to seize the mantle of power, born not just of quirks but something much deeper," Nezu mused. His glowing eyes scanned the multiple battle zones displayed before him, shifting focus to other examinees.
On the Other side-
Midoriya's domain, labeled Location A, was a tangled urban battlefield, featuring narrow streets and towering walls. The green blur of his lightning-fast movement lit the terrain. Midoriya maneuvered fluidly, his every strike permeated with a powerful mastery of chakra, combined with precise quirk control. He smashed through walls and evaded robotic sentries with ease, saving small groups of passive citizens simulated in the area.
Nearby, the ever-critical Aizawa stood reviewing the footage on a tablet. His voice, deadpan but edged with respect, broke the murmur of teachers around him.
"Quirkless until the age of twelve, with a late awakening at thirteen," Aizawa noted. "Claims energy manipulation of a sort that defies classification. Medical tests can't confirm it as a traditional quirk or not. It's an anomaly—a strange new category."
"A mutant Type?"
Several of the pro examiners gasped quietly at the level of control Midoriya exhibited already.
"He's learned more in these few years than many do over a lifetime," Aizawa concluded.
Back at Location B, Bakugo's arena was a stark contrast — a rugged, open field punctuated by jagged rocks and large boulders, a perfect arena for explosions and brute force. He stepped forward confidently, grabbing three large stones scattered.
With perfect aim, his hands ignited and he hurled the stones at the approaching enemy robots.
The stones slammed into the robots' armored shells, lodging deeply — yet leaving no visible damage.
Bakugo smirked, eyes glowing with his trademark fiery arrogance, then ignited the stones with powerful blasts. The explosions tore through metallic plates, shattering the robots in showers of sparks and twisted steel.
With a roar, Bakugo blasted himself vertically, soaring through the sky with explosive power, scanning for more robotic enemies to shred apart.
His offensive was brutal and precise, a brutal ballet of destruction, leaving no doubt about his raw combat mastery.
Just then ,
"Hey! What's this kid trying to do now?"
All eyes quickly turned back to Nagato's location as he hovered midair, feeling the weight of the moment.
A Deep voice resounded-
"SHINRA… TENSEI."
The grounds below and around him convulsed violently, as the repulsive wave roared outward like the wrath of a god unleashed. The miniature city that sprawled beneath was ripped apart in an instant — buildings crumbled and shattered, roads cracked like dry earth, and every robot tossed aside like insignificant toys. Dust clouds rose high, blinding all for a moment.
The shockwave slammed into the stunned examinees, knocking many to the ground. Their faces went pale; many barely mumbled in disbelief.
"W-WHAT?!"
"This much destruction in a matter of seconds?! The area - I-It was comparable to a small city!"
"H-He's a monster!" one whispered in terror, voice trembling.
--On The Nagato's Side--
"M-moster-"
"W-what was that? W-What if we were there-"
Another nodded vigorously, hands trembling at his sides.
Silent knees met the ground; thumbs clenched in futile attempts to steady their breathing.
Standing slowly, I floated down to solid earth, releasing my control and allowing movement once again. The field was now a barren wasteland — nothing resembling a cityscape remained.
I turned my back to the shocked crowd, my steps confident as I walked back from the arena.
------Observation Room-------
The exam observation room was thick with tension, dozens of teachers and pro heroes gathered around the monitors as Nagato's battlefield display unfolded in real time. The massive destruction he had wrought with that mysterious power was still fresh. Whispers bounced between the astonished faces, eyes shifting to the data displayed beside the video feed.
Aizawa, ever the pragmatic proctor, pulled out his Quirk Files—an extensive database cataloging quirks, their effects, and known peculiarities. His sharp gaze flicked down the dossier on Nagato, brows furrowing deeply as he scanned the unfamiliar entries.
"Eyes of Samsara," he read aloud, voice low but incredulous. "Quite peculiar…" His eyes widened as he studied the details. "Strength enhancement… gravitational manipulation… absurd regeneration rates…" He blinked rapidly, disbelief mixing with a dawning respect. "Is this even natural?"
He looked up sharply, locking eyes with All Might, who stood silently nearby, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a somber seriousness rare even for the former Symbol of Peace.
All Might's eyes lingered on the screens showing Nagato's poise, power, and cold efficiency. "I've never seen anything quite like this," he said quietly, tone weighted with the gravity of experience. "His power is raw—almost overwhelming—but it's tempered by a calm I admire... though it's still unrefined. If he can learn control, he could be something extraordinary."
Nezu, sitting slightly apart but fully engaged, caught everyone's attention with a firm, bright tone that broke the heavy silence. "Well then, it seems we have before us a candidate unlike any other—a holder of the so-called Eyes of Samsara." He gave a knowing smile, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "This peculiar quirk could very well redefine our understanding of power itself."
He gestured toward the screens. "These abilities—strength, gravity manipulation, regeneration—while unbelievable, suggest we are witnessing the emergence of a new paradigm among heroes."
Nezu's enthusiasm rippled through the room, easing tensions and sparking hopeful murmurs.
Aizawa nodded slowly, chin pressed in thought. "We're dealing with more than raw power here. This quirk's nature is layered—both offensive and defensive capabilities intertwined with sensory perception beyond the ordinary."
He glanced again at All Might, seeking affirmation. The former Symbol's serious expression was matched by a subtle nod.
"We'll have to watch him closely. His potential is enormous, but the gap between potential and responsibility is always a dangerous divide."
"Wait a minute-" Aizawa's eyes widened at he saw Nagato's fullname.
"Uzumaki?!"
"So he's his son. No wonder."
For a moment, the room fell silent, those in earshot watching as the usually unflappable Eraserhead stared just a second too long, the gravity of lineage settling on everyone nearby.
Across the room, All Might gave a small, silent nod, eyes somber. There was no need for words—he recognized the implication, the potential, and the burden that came with the Uzumaki name. This heroic heritage was more than just coincidence or mystery power.
From Bloodlad, who sat among the proctors with arms folded and an intent expression, came a low, considering comment: "Uzumaki-san, huh…"
His mind flashed with the image of a man—robust and tall, built like a mountain, blood-red hair spilling around striking features, his skin a silky, pale white. The visual flickered with life: a figure both imposing and oddly gentle.
Yet, beneath the respect, a shadow of sadness passed through the room—a sense of loss or untold story that quickly vanished, replaced again by the cold focus of the exam.
But for that instant, as Aizawa and All Might processed the significance of Nagato's surname, it was clear to the staff: this boy didn't just possess extraordinary power; he carried the legacy—of The Former No.2-