Mewtwo didn't have to go looking for opponents—he found a group almost instantly. Or rather, they found him.
As he flew above the terrain, scanning the landscape, a cluster of five caught his eye. He descended quickly, assessing them midair. Three appeared to have mutation or transformation-type Quirks, while the remaining two showed signs of emitter abilities.
None of them seemed particularly threatening—at least not compared to the kind of powers his U.A. classmates wielded. Still, he didn't let his guard down. Appearances meant little in combat, and underestimating people was a fast track to elimination.
One thing that stood out: the students from U.A. had all gone their separate ways. Every single one. There were no groups, no allies. Everyone was clearly playing solo.
The arena sprawled across several simulated zones, modeled after U.A.'s own training environments—rock formations, a forest, a city block, even a wide area with lakes and streams. Mewtwo flew toward the closest one: a jagged cliffscape filled with sharp boulders and scattered stone outcrops.
He landed lightly in the center of the group.
But something immediately caught his attention.
Surrounding them—half-hidden behind boulders and elevated platforms—were even more participants. Students from other schools. And they weren't scattered randomly; they were focused on one thing: targeting him, they weren't fighting among themselves.
It was coordinated.
'This is... concerning,' Mewtwo thought, his gaze narrowing as his tail swayed behind him. 'Didn't think they'd actually try something like this.'
The second his feet hovered just inches above the rocky ground, more figures emerged from behind cover. Dozens of them—easily around 20.
Far more than he needed to pass.
He raised an eyebrow, barely fazed by the numbers. His tail curled idly, flicking side to side as he studied their expressions and postures.
'Well... someone's feeling dramatic today.'
One of the applicants stepped forward. His Quirk was already active—three fireballs spun lazily in orbit above his head, crackling softly. Pyrokinesis, most likely.
"You U.A. types are really full of yourselves," the guy sneered. "Showing up alone? Did you even bother to look into how this test works?"
Mewtwo focused on him briefly, analyzing posture, confidence, and tone. His assessment filed away instantly. A moment later, he responded—aloud this time.
His voice carried a calm note and a firm undertone.
"I didn't get a chance to research anything. Our teacher said it was forbidden," he said simply, then added with a slight shrug, "Didn't leave much time. So... let's just fight."
He didn't bother masking his intent.
There were more than enough people here to get him past the first round. If he moved quickly, stayed sharp, and used his long-range advantage, he might even get ahead of Alice. He could almost see that new Swift system already.
But if he wasted time?
Well... goodbye Switch. Hello debt.
"That's why I can't stand U.A. students—so damn arrogant," another voice barked from the side. "Every single one of you thinks you're the next big thing."
Mewtwo turned his head slightly toward the speaker, his tone even and calm.
"I don't pretend to be arrogant," he replied. "But... we are strong."
At that moment, something stirred behind him.
The giant kitchen spoon—two meters long and made of some strange silvery alloy—hovered up from his back, controlled purely by his telekinetic force.
Without even raising his hand, Mewtwo sent it flying.
It streaked through the air, aimed straight at the pyrokinetic with the floating fireballs. The guy reacted quickly, flinging the flames forward to intercept—but it didn't matter. The spoon sliced through the fire like it wasn't even there.
A split-second later, it slammed into the boy's gut.
He was launched back like a ragdoll, crashing to the rocky ground with a thud. The health counter on his wristband dropped instantly from 100% to 0%.
Disqualified.
The rest of the crowd froze.
No one moved. No one spoke.
They'd seen Mewtwo at the Sports Festival. They knew he was strong.
But watching him take someone out instantly with a giant kitchen spoon? Without using any of his signature moves?
That was something else.
A chill settled in as they stared at him… then at the spoon… then back at him.
In that brief silence, the ranged attackers made their move.
Dozens of projectiles launched at once—fire, water, cannonballs, acid scales, even glowing floating words—all aimed straight at Mewtwo.
He glanced around, uncertain if any of them could seriously hurt him. And given the rules of the exam, Life Dew probably wouldn't work.
The sensors would track damage, but not healing. He couldn't rely on recovery.
With a simple wave of his hand, he pushed upward.
The ground rumbled.
Ancient Power.
Five enormous stones burst from the earth, forming a protective circle around him. The attacks collided with the rocks, detonating in a massive explosion of flame, steam, debris, and kinetic energy. A thick cloud of dust engulfed the area.
From within the chaos, Mewtwo extended his arm.
The five stones shot outward like missiles, tearing through the air toward the group of attackers.
But he slowed them down.
He held back.
He wasn't here to crush anyone. Not unless they proved themselves worth the effort. He'd grown used to sparring with monsters—his classmates, his teachers. The people here weren't at that level. Not yet.
The rocks were still fast enough to be dangerous, though—more than enough to force everyone to dodge. They crashed into the terrain with devastating force, tearing up the ground, smashing platforms, and leaving gaping craters in their wake.
Every student watching gulped. Hard.
If those had hit directly, it might've ended more than just their score.
But before they could even recover from the shock—
—the spoon came flying again.
As Raiden sent the last wave of Ancient Power away, he spun the spoon again with his telekinesis. It twirled like a blur, slamming through the crowd and knocking out another seven people in an instant.
That was when someone finally stopped it.
A barrage of attacks—a combined flurry of force, fire, and pure will—struck the spoon mid-spin, blasting it out of the air and embedding it into a distant cliff wall.
It was time for the close-range fighters.
In a blink, seven more combatants were on him, including the one who had knocked the spoon away. It had barely been a minute since he'd first launched the spoon and taken down his first target.
They surrounded him.
And they were fast.
But not fast enough.
Mewtwo narrowed his eyes.
Agility.
A surge of psychic energy sharpened his senses and accelerated his movements. The world slowed down around him. Every punch, claw, and strike now looked sluggish, almost lazy.
He didn't need to run. He didn't need to teleport. He moved in a tight circle—no more than a meter across—dodging effortlessly, letting his body float and twist just enough to avoid contact.
Each fighter brought something different.
One had dragon-like arms sprouting from his back. Another wielded bone claws like sharpened knives. One had multiple limbs sprouting from his torso, and another whipped around a massive tail like a wrecking ball.
Five months ago, they might've been a problem.
But not now.
Mewtwo's eyes glowed with a violet light.
Confusion.
He struck each of them psychically, one by one, directly to the mind. With a subtle flick of his telekinesis, he made them collapse where they stood—fainting instantly.
A chime echoed throughout the arena.
High above the battlefield, a massive screen lit up. The image of Mewtwo's face appeared, followed by a message in bold letters:
"1ST PLACE: MEWTWO – TIME: 3:53"
"Please proceed to the waiting room."
He passed the test.
First out of one hundred.
Without another word, without so much as a glance at the ones still standing, Mewtwo turned and flew toward the waiting room.
Behind him, dozens of other aspirants stood in stunned silence.
Frozen.
Speechless.
At the same time, just a couple of minutes earlier, when Mewtwo descended to the ground, Alice—The Upside Down Hero: Revery—was tearing across the terrain at full speed.
She didn't have a speed-based Quirk.
But she didn't need one.
Her legs carried her like a bullet toward the cluster of combatants she'd spotted ahead. As she reached a bridge cutting through the training zone, she saw figures in the distance clashing—chaotic, disorganized.
Fighters. A group. Easy pickings.
Without hesitation, Alice sprinted in, crossing the last few meters in a flash.
That's when it happened.
From behind—movement. Shadows. People closing in.
An ambush.
But she didn't flinch.
Instead, she smirked.
She activated her Quirk.
In an instant, the air warped around her. Reality twisted. The ground flipped—at least, that's how it felt to the others.
Everyone stumbled, reeling as gravity seemed to vanish and their balance disappeared. Vertigo hit them like a truck. Their vision spun. Left felt like right. Up was sideways. Some couldn't even stand.
That was all the opening Alice needed.
She struck.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Every hit precise. Every move fluid. Her fists and feet slammed into her targets—overwhelming force behind each blow. It wasn't even a fight. It was a dismantling.
No one could land a punch on her.
They couldn't even see her properly.
Their senses were scrambled. All their attacks whiffed into the air like they were fighting ghosts. In seconds, eight of them were on the ground, their health bars shattered.
Alice's Quirk warped spatial perception in a radius around her. Up close, she was a nightmare. If you were inside her range, escape was a fantasy.
One down.
Two more.
Then another.
Four more after that.
By the time the ones further back realized what was happening, it was too late.
They turned and ran.
But Alice wasn't about to let them go.
She chased them down, closing the distance with fierce speed. Her boots slammed against the bridge as she pushed past her limits—determined to finish this fast.
She took them down, one by one.
But that moment—the chase—that delay... it cost her.
Just as she delivered the final blow and earned her last points, the stadium screen flashed to life overhead.
Mewtwo's face appeared on the display, alongside the time.
"1ST PLACE: MEWTWO – 3:53"
She stopped in her tracks.
Clicked her tongue.
"Tsk. I owe him a console," she muttered, shaking her head with a crooked smile.
Then the screen updated again.
"2ND PLACE: REVERSE – 4:27"
She had passed.
Just not in first.
Not this time.
When Alice finished, she didn't bother fighting anyone else. Her job was done, it wasn't like she could gather more points, on the contrary, exited the possibility she could get disqualified, the truth it was that she didn't knew.
She just walked—calm, collected, her steps echoing slightly in the wide hall leading to the waiting room.
Inside, Mewtwo was already there.
Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-closed like he was half-asleep—or maybe just bored. His breathing was steady, not a scratch on him. The quiet hum of the stadium's monitors and the distant noises of combat outside were the only sounds.
As she passed by him, still catching her breath, a voice echoed in her head—smooth, neutral, a little smug.
'You owe me a console.'
Alice groaned and stomped the floor with exaggerated frustration.
"I knooow!" she yelled, dragging out the word.
Then she dropped next to him with a loud sigh, arms flopping behind her on the bench as she stared at the ceiling.
They sat there in silence.
Two titans who had crushed the test like it was nothing.
Waiting.
Watching.
Resting.
Together, they had just shattered the standing record for the first phase of the Hero Exam—the previous fastest time had been seven minutes flat. They'd both beaten it easily. Mewtwo at 3:53. Alice at 4:17.
Now both of them were waiting for the rest of their classmates because they knew, all of them could pass, and probably under fifteen minutes, at least that could be the case if the rest of the students had the same level as the ones both of them fought.