The massive concrete doors of Battle Center B groaned open, exhaling a cloud of dust that shimmered under the artificial sunlight of the mock city. While the herd of examinees charged forward with primitive screams and flashing quirks, Loki Hargreaves stepped into the arena with the measured pace of a man walking onto a stage he already owned.
He was not running. He was not shouting. He was simply... arriving.
As the chaos erupted around him—explosions to his left, ice pillars rising to his right—Loki activated the Veneer of the Mundane. He walked down the center of the main thoroughfare, his hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets. To the side, a 2-pointer robot pivoted its head, its red optical sensor sweeping the street. It registered a human form, but the "Lie" Loki projected was too perfect. His lack of hostility, his absolute nonchalant boredom, tricked the robot's combat logic. It categorized him as Background Object: Pillar, and pivoted away to target a screaming boy with a tail quirk.
Loki walked past the metal monster, his emerald tie fluttering in the wind. "Efficiency over effort," he whispered.
He stopped at a four-way intersection. To any observer, he was a sitting duck. Suddenly, three 1-pointer robots rounded the corner, their wheels screeching on the asphalt. They halted, sensors clicking as they tried to reconcile the peaceful boy with their 'destroy' protocols.
Loki didn't give them the chance to solve the puzzle.
Snap.
[The Jester's Snap]
A localized wave of cognitive dissonance rippled from his fingers. The three robots experienced a total processor "hiccup." For exactly one second, their short-term memory buffers were wiped clean. They didn't see Loki move. They didn't see him reach into his waistcoat.
When the second passed, Loki was no longer in the center of the street. He was ten feet away, leaning against a lamp post.
He flicked three gold-rimmed cards into the air. They spun lazily, harmless paper catching the light. Then, the "Weight of the Lie" descended.
[Card-Sharp's Razor]
"I am the blade," Loki murmured, directing his focus.
As the cards neared the robots, he snapped again. The paper didn't just move; it transformed. The air around the cards solidified, gaining the density and vibration of high-frequency steel. The cards became blurs of lethal gold light.
Shing. Shing. Shing.
The cards sliced through the robots' reinforced neck joints like a hot knife through butter. The metal heads slid off their chassis, sparks showering the street. As the cards passed through the targets, Loki retracted his "attention." The lie collapsed, and the blades turned back into harmless, gold-rimmed paper, disintegrating into green sparks before they even hit the ground.
"Three points," Loki noted, checking a non-existent watch. "A modest start."
Loki moved deeper into the urban zone. He used Phantom Echo to great effect, snapping his fingers to create the sound of massive explosions in distant alleys. This lured the robots out of hiding, herding them into narrow corridors where he could pick them off with surgical precision.
Then, he saw her—or rather, heard the struggle.
A student, a girl with purple hair, was pinned under a pile of debris from a collapsed faux-building. A 3-pointer robot, a massive tank-like construct, was looming over her, its laser cannon charging with a high-pitched whine.
The girl was terrified. The audience was primed. Loki didn't run to here he didn't scream. He simply drew the Ace of Spades.
He tossed the card. It hummed through the air.
Snap.
The card became a golden saw of pure destruction. It severed the robot's laser cannon mid-charge, causing the weapon to backfire and detonate the robot's internal core.
As the explosion bloomed into a fireball, Loki used a Jester's Snap. To the trapped girl, there was a flash of fire, a blink of the eyes, and suddenly, the danger was gone. Loki was standing right in front of her, his monocle glinting in the firelight. He reached down, not a single speck of dust on his suit, and offered a hand.
"A bit messy for a hero, wouldn't you say?" he remarked, his voice smooth and untroubled.
With a effortless heave, he helped her up, using his physical training to stabilize her. "The exit is two blocks that way. I've cleared the path. Do try to walk with more grace next time."
He didn't wait for a thank you. He had a stage to manage.
Throughout the remainder of the exam, Loki repeated this performance. He saved a boy from a falling girder with a well-placed Phantom Echo that made the boy jump to safety. He disabled a
swarm of 1-pointers that were about to overwhelm a group of examinees. Every move was calculated, every rescue performed with the air of a gentleman who was merely "tidying up" a disorganized room.
To the robots, the sound of a massive explosion erupted from the alleyway to their left. Their sensors pivoted instantly. In that moment of distraction, Loki jumped from the roof.
[The Jester's Snap]
The robots' processors glitched for a second. When they recovered, Loki was already in the center of their formation.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
Six cards embedded themselves into their joints.
The "Weight of the Lie" took hold. For that moment, Loki believed those cards were industrial-grade drills. The mana responded to his conviction. The cards shredded the internal gears of the 3-pointers, rendering them into junk heaps in seconds.
"Eleven points," Loki whispered, checking his watch. "I'm behind schedule."
He began to move through the streets like a ghost. He used Veneer of the Mundane to walk through crossfires, and Phantom Echo to lead robots into walls or off ledges. He was a
conductor, and the machines were his unwitting orchestra.
He wasn't just scoring points; he was "Directing." He would lead a 1-pointer into the path of a 2-pointer, causing them to collide. He would create the "Echo" of a hero's shout, causing robots to turn their backs to him so he could strike their weak points.
In the observation room, the faculty of UA watched the screens in silence.
"Who is that?" asked a small, white creature in a suit—Nezu, the Principal. "The one in the green tie."
"Loki Hargreaves," Eraserhead replied, his eyes narrowed. "Quirk: Grand Illusionist. The file says he produces minor sensory hallucinations. But look at him... he's not just making lights. He's manipulating the very flow of the battle."
"He's not using much power," Midnight noted, leaning forward. "He's being... practical. He's using the minimum effort for the maximum result. And he's doing it with style."
"He's acting," All Might added, his voice deep. "He's not fighting for his life. He's performing for an audience. It's arrogant... but it's effective."
The ground began to shake. A low, rhythmic thud echoed through the artificial city, growing louder with every passing second.
Then, the buildings at the end of the street crumbled like sandcastles.
The 0-pointer emerged. It was a mechanical mountain, its head reaching above the rooftops, its massive treads crushing the asphalt into dust. It was a force of nature, designed to be avoided, not fought.
"Run!" someone screamed.
The examinees turned en masse, a panicked herd fleeing the titan.
Loki stood his ground. He adjusted his monocle, his hazel eyes reflecting the red glow of the giant robot's eyes.
"The bigger the threat," Loki whispered, a sharp, dangerous grin spreading across his face, "the more weight the lie carries."
He saw Midoriya. The boy hadn't run. He was staring at the 0-pointer, then at the girl—the one who had helped him earlier—who was trapped under a pile of rubble right in the path of the machine.
Loki felt the mana in his chest roar. This was it. The climax.
"Midoriya!" Loki shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a bell. "Stop shaking! If you're going to be the hero, then act like one! I'll give you the stage—you just have to take the shot!"
Loki didn't wait for an answer. He stepped forward, his right hand raised high. The green mana didn't just flicker now; it erupted, swirling around him like a verdant cyclone. The smell of ozone was overpowering.
Snap.
Loki didn't have the Monocle of Truthful Lies yet, but in this moment of absolute pressure, his quirk evolved. He didn't just create a voice; he created a Truth.
"LOOK AT ME!" Loki roared.
To the 0-pointer, and to every student in the area, a massive, towering figure of emerald green mana appeared behind Loki. It was a spectral version of Loki himself, a hundred feet tall, wearing a crown of thorns and holding a deck of cards the size of buses.
The 0-pointer's sensors overloaded. It saw a threat that defied logic. It stopped its advance, its massive arms raising to defend itself against the giant illusion.
"Now, Midoriya!" Loki yelled, his face pale from the sudden drain on his stamina. "While it's distracted by the lie!"
Midoriya didn't hesitate. He leapt. As the green-haired boy soared through the air, his fist glowing with a terrifying power, Loki maintained the image. He poured every ounce of his "Weight of the Lie" into the giant. He made the air feel heavy. He made the ground vibrate. He made the 0-pointer believe it was about to be crushed by a god.
BOOM!
Midoriya's punch connected. The 0-pointer's head imploded in a spectacular display of scrap metal and fire.
As the giant machine fell, Loki let the illusion shatter. He dropped to one knee, gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face. His green tie was crooked. His hair was a mess.
But as he looked at the wreckage of the 0-pointer, and then at the shocked faces of the other examinees, he straightened his back. He reached up and adjusted his monocle.
"A bit loud for my taste," Loki muttered, a tired but triumphant smirk on his lips. "But I suppose every good show needs a big finale."
The buzzer sounded. The exam was over.
Loki Hargreaves stood up, dusted off his trousers, and began to walk toward the exit. He didn't look back at the rubble or the cheering students. He had done what he came to do.
He had lied to the world, and for a few glorious minutes, the world had believed him.
The three days following the entrance exam were a quiet purgatory.
Loki Hargreaves sat in the bay window of his bedroom, watching the rain streak across the glass. In his hand, a single gold-rimmed card flipped over his knuckles, dancing in a rhythm that matched his heartbeat. To the world, he was the picture of nonchalance—the self-centered boy who didn't care for the opinions of others. But inside, the logic of the "Practical Pragmatist" was warring with the "Grand Illusionist."
I was efficient, he told himself. I saved ten lives. I neutralized forty-two points worth of steel. The math is on my side.
But the math didn't account for the bias of man. He knew what they said about people like him. "Vivid imagery." "Sensory manipulation." "Parlor tricks." In a world that worshipped the blunt force of a fist or the roar of a flame, a boy who fought with shadows and snaps was an anomaly.
"Loki? Dinner's ready," Lyra called from the hallway. Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet. The whole house was walking on eggshells, afraid that the dream might shatter.
"I'll be down in a moment, Lyra," Loki replied, his voice steady. He looked at his reflection in the window. "The performance is over. Now, we wait for the reviews."
The Inner Sanctum: Faculty Room of UA
While Loki sat in silence, the air in the UA faculty room was thick with the smell of coffee and the heat of debate. On the massive central screen, the final tallies for the entrance exam were displayed.
"Let's discuss the outliers," Principal Nezu said, sipping his tea.
"Bakugo Katsuki. 77 Villain points. Zero Rescue points. Pure aggression," Aizawa noted, his voice tired.
"And the boy who broke his arms," Present Mic added, nodding toward Midoriya's file. "Zero villain points, but sixty eight rescue points. A true hero's heart, even if his body can't keep up."
"And then," Midnight interjected, pulling up a video feed of a boy in a waistcoat, "there is Candidate 2214. Loki Hargreaves."
The screen showed Loki's performance. It was eerie. He moved through the chaos without a scratch. He didn't look like he was fighting; he looked like he was taking a stroll.
"Villain Points: 36. Rescue Points: 26," Nezu read aloud. "Rank 5 in overall score. But look at his combat data. He didn't use a single high-impact physical attack. He tricked the robots. He lied to them."
Principal Nezu sipped his tea, his dark eyes fixed on the fifth name on the list. Loki Hargreaves. Total: 62 points.
"This one is the problem," said Snipe, the gunslinger hero, leaning back with a sigh. "I've reviewed the footage from Battle Center B three times. He didn't fight those robots. Not really. He tricked 'em. He used some kind of sensory glitch to walk past 'em and then hit 'em with paper cards. Paper!"
"He's a trickster," Vlad King grunted. "UA is for heroes who can stand on the front lines. What happens when he faces a villain who doesn't rely on sight? Or a beast that doesn't have a mind to trick? His quirk is useless in a real war. It has no mass. It has no power. We're setting him up to get killed."
"Useless?" Nezu's voice was soft, but it cut through the room like a blade. "Is it useless to neutralize a three-pointer without taking a single hit? Is it useless to be the only student in the history of this exam to finish with a suit that isn't even wrinkled?"
"It's a glass house, Nezu," Snipe argued. "If his concentration breaks, he's just a boy in a waistcoat. He doesn't belong in the Hero Course. Maybe General Studies."
"Look at his written scores," Aizawa Shota spoke up for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot, staring at Loki's academic profile. "first in the entire applicant pool. His grasp of physics and cognitive psychology is genius-level. He isn't just throwing cards. He's calculating the exact moment the human—or mechanical—brain fails to process information."
Aizawa paused, his eyes narrowing as he watched a clip of Loki saving the purple-haired girl. "He acts like he doesn't care. He acts like he's the only person on the planet. But he didn't hesitate to save that girl. He just made it look like a chore so he didn't have to show his hand. I hate his attitude... but I can't ignore his results."
"He brings something we lack," Nezu concluded. "He brings the 'Stage.' Villains are theatrical. We need a hero who can out-direct them. He stays in Class 1-A."