The artificial city sprawled out before Hikaro like a battlefield, a meticulously constructed mockery of a real warzone. He stood at the edge of the scene, watching as the other hopefuls fidgeted nervously, adjusting their gear, and muttering under their breath. The streets of the simulation were eerily quiet, but the tension in the air was palpable. Students all around him were psyching themselves up for what was to come.
Hikaro didn't need to psyche himself up. He knew what he was capable of. He had spent months training for this moment, refining his quirk, mastering his Devil Fruit abilities, and enhancing his body strength. He wasn't just another student hoping to pass the entrance exam—he was here to prove that he was something more.
The loudspeaker crackled, the countdown signaling the beginning of the exam.
"Let the entrance exam begin!"
Hikaro didn't flinch. He took a deep breath and started walking forward into the city. The noise from the other students grew fainter as he advanced, his mind focused on the task at hand. He was already in the zone, ready for whatever the exam would throw at him.
Earlier that day, Hikaro had sat in a quiet classroom, waiting for the written portion of the exam to begin. The written test was never a concern for him—it was a formality, one that required a solid grasp of knowledge but not the kind of intense preparation the practical exam demanded.
As he sat down at his desk, the exam paper was handed to him. He glanced at the first few questions and immediately felt a sense of familiarity. Physics, strategy, problem-solving, and hero theory—the kind of subjects he had spent hours studying in his past life, and even more so in his new one. His mind worked efficiently, assessing each problem as it came. He answered each question with ease, his hand flying across the paper without hesitation. There was no second-guessing, no need to look back at what he had written. Everything was natural. He was calm, composed, confident.
As the minutes passed, Hikaro finished the test long before the time was up. He checked his answers once, but there was no doubt in his mind. He was ready for the practical exam. The buzzer went off, signaling the end of the written portion, and Hikaro handed in his paper, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
It wasn't arrogance—it was confidence. He knew he had done well. But now, the real test was ahead of him.
Now, in the artificial city, the battle had already begun. Explosions echoed in the distance, the sound of Bakugo's familiar explosive quirk resonating throughout the area. Hikaro surveyed his surroundings, his senses sharp. There was no rush. The students around him were already diving into the fray, facing off with robots—two-pointers, three-pointers, and even the occasional larger machine. But Hikaro didn't feel the need to engage immediately.
He had learned long ago that timing and strategy were just as important as raw power.
The first robot—a two-pointer—stomped toward a group of students, its eyes glowing red as it locked on. They hadn't even noticed it.
Hikaro had.
He raised his hand, the air crackling faintly. But instead of launching debris, he focused, narrowing his control. The magnetic field he projected wasn't just a blunt force weapon—it was a scalpel. His quirk, bolstered by the Devil Fruit coursing through his body, allowed for far more than lifting junk.
His fingers twitched.
The robot froze mid-step.
Its arms jittered unnaturally, gears grinding in confusion. Then—slowly—it turned, not toward the students, but toward Hikaro.
Gasps erupted behind him.
Hikaro moved his fingers as if manipulating a marionette. The robot mimicked the motion, shuffling forward under his control. With a silent command, he made it raise an arm and drive its fist into the concrete wall, caving it in with mechanical strength. Then he made it shut down completely, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
The group of students he'd saved gaped at him in awe and confusion. One even muttered, "Did… did he hack that thing?"
No. He didn't need to hack anything.
He owned it.
One down.
Hikaro didn't even break a sweat. He wasn't here to impress anyone; he was here to prove something to himself.
The next robot—a three-pointer—emerged from a nearby alley. It had more sophisticated weaponry—sharp, metallic blades for arms and a missile launcher embedded in its chest. The robot locked its sights on him immediately and began to charge. Without hesitation, Hikaro raised his hand. A nearby vehicle flew toward him, and he hurled it at the robot, knocking its missile off course.
The robot continued charging, but Hikaro was already in motion. His magnetic field flared, pulling the metal from the car's wreckage toward him. A jagged piece of scrap tore through the air, driving into the robot's exposed joints and disabling its movement. Another piece of debris struck its torso, and the robot fell to the ground in sparks.
With another opponent dispatched, Hikaro felt the rush of exhilaration, but there was no time to waste. The exam was about efficiency, not spectacle. He moved through the city with purpose, always calculating, always focused on the task at hand.
It wasn't long before he encountered Bakugo. The fiery blonde boy was launching himself through the battlefield with explosive force, his hands crackling with power. His presence was unmistakable, his usual volatile energy reverberating through the air. Bakugo didn't waste time—he was charging forward, detonating anything in his path, every blast of his quirk shaking the ground.
Bakugo spotted Hikaro and, with that signature glint in his eyes, charged straight at him.
"Oi, don't think I'm gonna let you show me up!" Bakugo yelled, his voice full of determination and pride.
Hikaro turned toward him, not bothering to respond with words. He merely raised his hand, manipulating the metal around him. Bakugo's explosion hit the air around him, but Hikaro deflected it, sending the blast off-course with his magnetic field.
Bakugo's eyes flared with irritation. "Tch, quit playing around!" he snapped, launching himself into the battle again.
Hikaro smiled to himself. Bakugo's raw power was impressive, but he was still reckless. There was no finesse in his approach, no calculated strategy. It was all fire and fury. Hikaro, on the other hand, was a more deliberate force. He didn't need to waste energy or make a scene to get the job done. It was a different kind of strength, one that relied on control and precision.
The Zero-Pointer arrived soon after, its massive frame lumbering into the city, casting a giant shadow over the wreckage. The students around him scrambled to avoid its massive fists, and the ground trembled with every step it took. But Hikaro didn't flinch. This was the ultimate test—the final hurdle.
I wonder… he thought.
He stretched his magnetic field as far as it would go, reaching out—not just to the scraps and wreckage—but to the core systems of the giant machine itself. He could feel it: magnetic plates, rotary gears, electromagnetic servos. It wasn't just metal. It was his domain.
With effort, he latched on to its systems and pulled.
The Zero-Pointer staggered.
Its arm jerked to the side. Then its leg refused to move. Sparks flew from its joints as Hikaro tightened his grip, overriding its onboard commands.
The great machine—meant to terrify and overwhelm—froze mid-step. Then, to the astonishment of everyone watching, it began to turn.
Not of its own volition.
Hikaro was puppeteering it.
He made it raise a hand, then brought it crashing down on a nearby three-pointer, flattening it with a thunderous boom. The ground shook. Dust flew.
And then, with a final motion, he forced the Zero-Pointer to kneel before him like a defeated beast.
The sound of the buzzer rang through the city, signaling the end of the exam. Hikaro stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving with exertion. His clothes were torn, his body covered in sweat, but he didn't feel tired. He felt alive, exhilarated. He had done it.
As the other students gathered, some panting and others still staring at the kneeling Zero-Pointer, Hikaro took a moment to survey the scene. His approach had been different—more controlled, more strategic. And he had no doubt that it had made an impact.
Bakugo was already glaring at him, his frustration evident. But Hikaro wasn't interested in playing the hero's game for anyone else. He had nothing to prove to anyone but himself.
And in that moment, as he watched the other students, it became clear to him: this wasn't just a test to see if he could become a hero. This was his new life, and he had already claimed his place in it.