The morning light was a persistent, unwelcome intruder. Loki Hargreaves sat in his usual seat at the back of the classroom, his head resting against the cool concrete wall. His eyes were half-closed, the dark circles beneath them a testament to a night spent wrestling with the laws of physics.
In the high-energy vacuum of Class 1-A, Loki looked like a ghost that had forgotten to haunt its house. His tie was perfectly knotted—habit was a powerful thing—but his usual razor-sharp alertness was dulled by a thick fog of sleep deprivation.
To the rest of the class, he just looked like his usual, bored, aristocratic self. Only Momo, who sat nearby, noticed the slight paleness of his skin and the way he reached for a thermos of high-calorie coffee with a hand that wasn't quite as steady as yesterday.
"You look like you've been fighting a war in your sleep, Loki-san," Momo whispered from the next desk, her voice full of soft concern.
Loki didn't open his eyes. "Not a war, Momo. Just a very long, very tedious rehearsal. The universe is a stubborn audience; it refuses to accept my edits without a fight."
"You should have eaten more breakfast," she chided gently.
"I had enough protein to fuel a small tank," Loki muttered, finally opening one eye as the door slid open. "What I lack is the luxury of silence."
Shota Aizawa stepped into the room, looking, as always, like he had crawled out of a disaster zone. The class immediately went quiet.
For today's heroics foundational studies," Aizawa droned, his voice cutting through the morning chatter, "it's turned into a class with three instructors: me, All Might, and one other person."
"Three teachers?" Sero whispered. "Is this a special case?"
"Excuse me, Sensei!" Iida shouted, his hand raised at a perfect 90-degree angle. "What exactly will we be doing?"
Aizawa pulled a card from his pocket with the word RESCUE printed in bold, red letters. "Disasters, shipwrecks, and everything in between. It's rescue training."
The room hummed with excitement. "Rescue, huh? That's what a hero is all about!" Kirishima cheered.
Loki didn't cheer. He took a slow sip of his coffee. Rescue training. The one arena where raw power is often secondary to precision and sensory awareness. He felt the weight of his mother's diary in his bag. She had written extensively about rescue—about how the most important part of saving a life wasn't pulling someone out of the rubble, but making them believe they were already safe so they wouldn't panic and make the situation worse.
"You can decide if you want to wear your costumes or not," Aizawa continued. "Some of them might limit your movement in a rescue scenario. The training is off-campus, so we'll be taking a bus. Get ready and head out."
The room buzzed with excitement. Rescue training was the "Real" work of a hero.
Loki stood up, his movements fluid despite the fatigue. He didn't hesitate; he grabbed his suitcase. His emerald-green trench coat was more than just a costume; it was a psychological anchor. On this stage, he couldn't afford to be just "Loki." He had to be the Director.
Loki chose his costume. The emerald trench coat was more than just a fashion statement; its internal pockets were lined with a specialized material that kept his decks of cards from clattering, and the reinforced weave provided protection against the very debris he was expected to navigate.
As he walked toward the bus, he adjusted his monocle. He felt a presence beside him.
"You look like you're about to fall over, Loki-san," Momo whispered, her own crimson costume gleaming in the sun.
"I am merely... conserving my energy for the performance, Momo," Loki replied, his voice a smooth, albeit tired, drawl. "A director doesn't waste his lines on the rehearsal."
"Eat this," she said, handing him a high-density protein bar she had created earlier. I'm the one who has to carry you."
Loki took the bar with a faint smirk. "A leading lady carrying the director? That would be a scandalous subversion of the script."
The bus ride was supposed to be a quiet transition. Iida, in his infinite dedication to order, had tried to organize the seating based on student numbers, but the bus layout made his plan impossible. The result was a casual, open-seating arrangement that forced the different social circles of Class 1-A to collide.
Loki sat near the back, by the window, hoping to catch a few minutes of sleep. However, the universe—and his classmates—had other plans.
"I usually say whatever is on my mind," Asui Tsuyu said, her large, honest eyes fixed on Midoriya. "Midoriya-chan, your quirk is like All Might's."
The bus went silent as Midoriya began to stammer in a panic. But the conversation quickly shifted as Kirishima chimed in.
"Yeah, but All Might doesn't get hurt! It's a great, flashy quirk. My Hardening is strong against villains, but it doesn't look like much."
"I think it's plenty manly!" Midoriya encouraged.
"What about you, Hargreaves?" Kirishima asked, leaning over the back of his seat. "Your quirk is super flashy, but it's also kind of a mystery.
Loki, who had been leaning his head against the glass trying to reclaim five minutes of sleep, felt the collective focus of the bus shift toward him. He adjusted his monocle, his expression shifting into that familiar, nonchalant mask of high-class boredom.
"Me?" Loki drawled. "I find 'flashy' to be a rather common pursuit. A firework is flashy, yet it lasts for a second and leaves nothing but smoke."
"Your quirk is weird, kero," Tsuyu said bluntly. "In the battle trial, you didn't just make illusions. You cut through a pipe. You tripped Kirishima without touching him. Is it really just 'Illusion'?"
The class leaned in. Even Bakugo stopped scowling to listen.
Loki pulled a gold-rimmed card from the air, letting it dance across his knuckles with a hypnotic, rhythmic speed. Snap. The card vanished into a wisp of green smoke, only to reappear behind Tsuyu's ear.
"The world is a very suggestible place, Asui-san," Loki said, his voice smooth and authoritative. "People see what they expect to see. They feel what they are told to feel. My 'Illusion' isn't about lights and sounds—it's about the Script.
"So it's like... hypnotic suggestion?" Kaminari asked, scratching his head.
"It is the art of being the only person in the room who knows the ending of the play," Loki replied, closing his eyes again to end the interrogation. "As for its nature... a magician who explains his trick is no longer a magician. He's just a liar with a boring explanation."
"Tch," Bakugo spat. "It's just a bunch of parlor tricks. Try lying to my explosions, fancy-pants."
Loki didn't open his eyes, but a thin smirk touched his lips. "Explosions are very loud, Bakugo. But even a roar is meaningless if the audience has already been told they are deaf."
The bus pulled up to a massive, dome-shaped building that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi epic.This was the Unforeseen Simulation Joint—the USJ.
As the class stepped off, they were met by the Space Hero, No. 13
"Welcome to the USJ!" Thirteen announced, their voice echoing inside the suit. "A facility designed for every conceivable disaster! Here, you will learn that your powers are not just for fighting—they are for saving lives. But remember, quirks can be lethal. One wrong move, and a 'heroic' act becomes a tragedy."
Loki stood at the back of the group, looking up at the sprawling landscape. There were ruins, a forest, a mountain zone, and a massive circular plaza in the center.
It was a masterpiece of construction. A perfect, controlled stage.
So much effort to simulate reality, Loki thought. They've built a cage for chaos.
Aizawa stepped up beside Thirteen. "Where's All Might? He was supposed to meet us here."
"He reached his limit during his morning commute," Thirteen whispered, holding up three fingers. "He's resting in the lounge."
Aizawa sighed, his scarf ruffling. "Typical. Fine, let's get started."
The class began to walk toward the center of the plaza. The atmosphere was light, filled with the chatter of students ready to prove themselves.
Loki, however, felt a sudden, cold prickle at the base of his neck. It wasn't a quirk; it was the instinct of a performer who realized the lighting had changed without his permission.
"Alright, everyone," Aizawa said, stepping forward. "First, we'll be—"
He stopped.
The air in the center of the USJ began to ripple. A tiny, pinprick of black light appeared, then expanded rapidly into a swirling, jagged void of purple and black fog.
Loki's eyes snapped open. The sleepiness vanished, replaced by a cold, electric jolt of adrenaline. He didn't need his monocle to know that this wasn't part of the simulation. The "Weight" of the atmosphere had changed. The air felt heavy, metallic, and filled with a killing intent that made the school tests look like puppet shows.
"Gather round and don't move!" Aizawa shouted, his hand flying to his goggles. "No. 13! Protect the students!"
"Is this part of the training?" Kirishima asked, stepping forward. "Like the entrance exam?"
"Don't move!" Aizawa barked, his hair beginning to float. "Those are villains."
From the depths of the black fog, figures began to emerge. Dozens of them. They weren't robots. They were men and women with jagged eyes and scarred skin. At the center was a man covered in severed hands, and beside him, a massive, bird-headed monster with its brain exposed—the Nomu.
Loki stood frozen for a heartbeat. He looked at the man with the hands. The "Director" in him recognized a fellow creator, but where Loki created beauty and order, this man created decay.
the man with the hands rasped, his voice echoing through the dome. "We came all this way... and the Symbol of Peace isn't even here? I wonder... if we kill these kids, will he show up then?"
"Thirteen! Protect the students!" Aizawa roared, his scarf unfurling like the wings of a predatory bird.
The class gasped. Panic, sharp and primal, began to spread.
Loki felt his heart hammering against his ribs. You are a liar in a room full of murderers.
He looked at Momo, who was already creating a staff, her face pale. He looked at Midoriya, whose eyes were wide with terror.
Loki reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a fresh deck of cards. He didn't use a Snap yet. He needed to conserve every drop of mana.
"The script just changed," Loki whispered, his voice trembling only slightly. "This isn't a rescue simulation. This is a survival... and the audience wants blood."
The black fog began to spread, tendrils of darkness reaching out to surround them.
"Curtain up," Loki said, his fingers tightening on the gold-rimmed cards. "Let's see if the 'Truth' of these villains can survive a well-placed 'Lie'."
The fog surged forward, and the world went black.
[End of Chapter 10]