The gates of UA High School loomed like the entrance to a cathedral dedicated to the gods of the modern age. To the thousands of teenagers swarming the entrance, these golden arches represented the pinnacle of their dreams.
in Loki Hargreaves' mind, the stage door of the world's most prestigious theater.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms and the electric hum of thousands of nervous teenagers. Loki stood at the threshold, adjusting the lapels of his charcoal-grey blazer. He wasn't wearing the standard middle school uniform of Aldera; he had opted for a tailored suit that whispered of upper-middle-class refinement. His emerald-green tie was knotted with mathematical precision, and the gold-plated monocle Lyra had given him rested securely in his breast pocket.
He looked around, his emerald green eyes scanning the crowd with the clinical detachment of a director reviewing a list of extras.
"So many leads, yet so few actors," he murmured to himself.
As Loki moved toward the main building, a sudden commotion broke the flow of the crowd. A boy with messy green hair and a look of pure terror had tripped over his own feet. It was a pathetic sight—the "Tragic Protagonist" archetype in its rawest, most unrefined form.
he watched as a girl with rosy cheeks used a gravity-based quirk to float the boy before he hit the pavement.
Before the brown-haired girl with the gravity quirk could intervene, Loki acted. He didn't run; he simply tilted his head and snapped.
[The Jester's Snap]
For a single heartbeat, the sensory input of everyone within a five-meter radius glitched. Midoriya felt a momentary lapse in his equilibrium. In that "blink" of reality, Loki had stepped forward, his hand catching Midoriya's shoulder and steadying him with a firm, cold grip.
Midoriya blinked, looking up in confusion. "I... I was falling?"
"You were," Loki said, his voice a smooth, nonchalant baritone that carried over the murmurs of the crowd. "But falling is such a cliché opening for a protagonist, don't you think? It lacks grace."
Loki released him and began to walk away before Midoriya could offer a stuttered thanks.
"Wait! Who are you?" Midoriya called out.
Loki didn't turn back. He merely raised a hand, a single gold-rimmed playing card appearing between his fingers before vanishing into thin air. "I'm the one who's going to make sure this exam is worth watching. Try not to trip over your own feet, it ruins the scenery."
"Out of my way, extras!
The voice was like a low-frequency explosion. Loki turned his head slightly to see a boy with ash-blonde hair stomping past. The air around him smelled of nitroglycerin. Bakugo Katsuki. Loki recognized the "Primary Antagonist" energy immediately. Bakugo wasn't just walking; he was invading the space around him.
Loki purposely stepped into Bakugo's path, moving with a speed that belied his relaxed posture.
Bakugo stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Get out of my way, you extra. Or do you want to be the first thing I blast today?"
Loki didn't flinch. He didn't even look Bakugo in the eye. Instead, he reached out and flicked a microscopic speck of dust off Bakugo's shoulder.
Snap.
A tiny, green-tinted spark danced between Loki's fingers. To Bakugo, it looked like a dud firecracker.
"Your volume is high, but your pacing is terrible," Loki said, his voice a cool, nonchalant drawl. "An entrance should be impactful, not merely loud. Try to walk without sounding like a failing combustion engine. It's distracting."
The crowd around them went silent. No one talked to Bakugo like that.
Bakugo's palms began to smoke. "What did you say to me, you dressed-up piece of trash?"
"I said you're boring," Loki replied, finally meeting Bakugo's gaze with a look of profound boredom. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a script to follow. Do try to keep up."
Loki walked past him. Bakugo lunged to grab his shoulder, but Loki activated Veneer of the Mundane. He didn't turn invisible; he simply projected the aura of someone who was already gone. Bakugo's hand swiped at the air where Loki had been a millisecond before.
Bakugo stood there, blinking, a rare look of confusion crossing his face. "Where did...?"
Loki was already ten meters away, not looking back.
The auditorium was a cathedral of silence, broken only by the scratching of pens and the ticking of the clock. To many, the written portion of the UA entrance exam was a hurdle of anxiety. To Loki, it was a test of his pragmatism.
He sat with his back perfectly straight, his monocle now resting over his right eye. He wasn't using it for vision; he was using it to anchor his focus.
The questions were difficult—physics, hero laws, ethics, and advanced mathematics. But Loki's mind worked like a director's script. He calculated the trajectory of hypothetical projectiles with the same ease he used to calculate the "Weight of a Lie." He understood the law not as a set of rules, but as the "Script of Society."
Question 39: Calculate the trajectory of a projectile quirk under 30-degree wind resistance.
Loki's pen moved across the paper with rhythmic grace. He didn't just solve the equations; he understood them. His quirk required a deep understanding of physics and biology—if he didn't know how a bone snapped or how light refracted, his illusions wouldn't have the "Weight" required to become truth.
Question 42: A hero is faced with a villain holding a hostage in a crowded plaza. The villain's quirk is unknown. What is the most practical first step?
Loki didn't hesitate. He didn't write about "saving them with a smile."
Answer: Establish a perimeter of perception. If the villain cannot be reached physically, one must control what the villain perceives. Misdirection is the most efficient method to ensure hostage safety without escalating the kinetic threat.
He finished the exam thirty minutes early. While other students were sweating, erasing, and whispering prayers, Loki placed his pen down with a soft click. He sat in the silence, closed his eyes, and began to weave small, invisible threads of green mana between his fingers. He was warming up the "Grand Stage."
The lights dimmed in the auditorium as Present Mic took the stage. He screamed his welcome, his voice booming through the speakers.
"EVERYBODY SAY HEYYYY!"
Silence.
"WHAT'S UP, EXAMINEES!?"
The Voice Hero, Present Mic, exploded onto the stage with enough decibels to rattle the windows. The auditorium erupted in murmurs, but Loki remained unmoved. He watched the hero with a critical eye. Excellent stage presence, Loki noted. Loud, vibrant, and impossible to ignore. He understands that a hero is a performer.
As Present Mic explained the points system—the 1, 2, and 3-pointers—Loki felt the competitive hum of the room rise.
"Excuse me! I have a question!"
A tall, blue-haired boy with glasses stood up, his movements as rigid as a robot's. Tenya Iida. Hebegan to lecture Present Mic about the fourth type of robot—the 0-pointer—and then turned his ire toward Midoriya for his constant mumbling.
Loki sighed. It was a theatrical sigh, loud enough for those around him to hear.
"You," Loki said, looking at Iida.
Iida stiffened. "Me? I am speaking of the sanctity of this exam!"
"You are speaking over the Director," Loki replied, his hazel eyes locking onto Iida's. "If the Voice Hero wanted us to know about the 0-pointer yet, he would have said so. You're interrupting the flow of the presentation for the sake of your own ego. It's... inefficient. Sit down."
Present Mic chuckled, a sound like a distorted guitar amp. "Alright, alright! Easy there, listeners! As our stylish friend in the suit implies, I was just getting to that!" The 0-pointer—the obstacle to be avoided.
Loki stood before the massive gates of Battle Center B. He was surrounded by a sea of tracksuits and specialized gear. He stood out like a diamond in a coal mine—still in his dress shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms.
He felt the eyes on him.
"Look at that guy. Is he seriously going to fight robots in a suit?"
"He doesn't even have a support item. Just a deck of cards?"
"Probably some rich kid who thinks this is a game."
Loki ignored them. He was focused on the gates. He felt the green mana humming under his skin, eager to be cast into the world. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh deck of gold-rimmed cards, fanning them out with a practiced flick.
"Hey, you."
Loki turned to see the girl from the gate—Uraraka Ochaco. She looked nervous.
"You're the guy who stood up to that scary blonde boy, right? Good luck out there!"
Loki looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Luck is for those who haven't rehearsed, girl. I suggest you stay out of the center of the street. The lighting is better on the flanks."
Before she could respond, the voice of Present Mic echoed over the speakers.
Present Mic's voice echoed from the towers.
The crowd hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Loki was already moving. He didn't sprint like a madman; he moved with a graceful, predatory speed he had honed over months of agility training.
"START! THERE ARE NO STARTING GUNS IN REAL LIFE! RUN! RUN!"
he crowd surged forward.
Loki didn't run. He walked.
He snapped his fingers, and Veneer of the Mundane washed over him like a cool breeze. The other examinees scrambled past him, their brains completely ignoring the boy in the waistcoat as he strolled toward the urban combat zone.
He wasn't going to hunt robots. He was going to let the robots find his "Stage."
As he crossed the threshold of the gate, he felt the Weight of the Lie begin to settle. The cameras were watching. The teachers were watching. The "Audience" was finally here.
"Curtain up," Loki whispered.
Snap.
A gold-rimmed card appeared in his hand, humming with a lethal green edge.
End of chapter 3