The briefing room for the practical test was enormous.
Not in the sense of UA buildings, which already seemed impressive from the outside, but in the sense that it was designed to hold hundreds of candidates at once, with enough margin so that no one felt cramped. The bleachers descended toward a central stage where a podium waited with the inanimate patience of objects that know they will soon be the center of attention.
Mineta found a seat in the middle zone, neither too far forward to be conspicuous nor too far back to miss detail, and waited.
Around him, candidates arrived in the steady flow of people who had survived the written exam, carrying the mixed energy of having completed one task and knowing another awaited. Some came in groups clearly formed that morning, the instant camaraderie of shared anxiety producing short-lived but intense bonds. Others were alone, like him, inwardly focused on their own process.
Mineta observed them with the peripheral awareness that three years of training had instilled as habit: not active analysis, but passive recording. Visible quirks in some, unusual skin texture, a hand with fingers that weren't exactly fingers, hair moving without wind. The world of quirks expressing itself in the everyday variety of people gathered in the same space.
Then the stage lit up, and a voice Mineta recognized before he even saw who it belonged to filled the room with the energy of someone for whom volume was a philosophy of life.
— GOOD AFTERNOON FUTURE UA STUDENTS!
Present Mic.
In person, he was exactly like in the canon, and at the same time had a physical presence the animation couldn't fully capture: his height, the energy emanating from his body before he said a word, the blonde hair in its characteristic vertical spikes defying gravity with the conviction of something long-practiced and unchallenged.
— I'm Present Mic, and I'll be your DJ this afternoon! Though instead of music, what you'll hear are instructions, so I hope you're ready to pay attention!
Some candidates reacted with the energy Present Mic clearly expected. Others with the confused expression of those who hadn't anticipated that UA's practical exam presentation would take this tone.
Mineta didn't react in any particular direction. He listened.
— Today's format is as follows! — Present Mic raised a screen behind him showing the layout of the different robot types. — Four types of evaluation robots! Type one, two, and three, worth one, two, and three points respectively! And type zero!
A dramatic pause, which Present Mic used with the skill of someone who knows exactly how much a silence is worth.
— Type zero gives no points! It's an obstacle! If you encounter one, the official recommendation is to avoid it! Though if someone wants to try something else, UA is not responsible for the consequences!
Scattered laughter in the room.
Mineta processed the information calmly.
No announced rescue objective, he thought. Just like in canon.
But there was something Present Mic hadn't mentioned, and Mineta knew with the certainty of someone familiar with the system: hero points existed. UA awarded them secretly to candidates who demonstrated heroic behavior during the test, rescuing other candidates in danger or making decisions prioritizing collective safety over individual point accumulation.
It was the trap UA deliberately set. The apparent exam measured neutralized robots. The real exam measured who you were when no one told you they were watching for that.
Mineta knew. And he had a plan.
Mineta's group was C.
Zone C, north entrance, with sixteen other candidates who gathered in the waiting hallway while the previous groups entered, and the distant sound of robots in action reached muffled through the walls of the complex.
Mineta assessed them quickly.
A tall boy with rock-like skin. A girl with four arms. Several others whose quirks weren't visible at rest. And a boy with curly green hair holding a notebook, writing with the intense focus of someone who processes the world best when it's recorded.
Izuku Midoriya.
Mineta recognized him without visible reaction and looked away.
The arm, he thought. He's going to break the arm. And when that happens, he'll be on the ground with type zero on top, unable to move. That's the moment.
It wasn't a heroic plan in the romantic sense. It was arithmetic: the hero points UA awarded for rescuing a candidate in real danger during the test were worth more than several type-two robots. And Mineta knew exactly when and where the clearest moment of danger in the entire test would occur.
Using that knowledge wasn't cheating. It was exactly what UA wanted to evaluate without saying so: who was paying attention to what was happening around them rather than just their own points.
The entry signal sounded.
Zone C was a simulated urban environment with the organic irregularity that made maps useful but insufficient.
Mineta wore training clothes, dark mesh, and reinforced-soled footwear. No suit, no shoulder pads, no helmet. Just his body, quirk, and three years of preparation.
The start signal sounded.
Read the terrain first. Thirty seconds. Don't waste your first move.
The first thirty seconds he spent moving without attacking anything, surveying the area with his usual methodology: robot distribution, density by sector, movement vectors of other candidates, and especially the position of the type-zero robot in the center of the zone.
And Midoriya's position, entering with the energy of someone scared but unwilling to let fear make decisions, moving toward the central sector where robot concentration was highest.
Straight to the center. As always.
He turned toward the eastern sector alleyways. Work to do before the relevant moment arrived.
The first six minutes were methodical and efficient.
The eastern sector had the density of enclosed spaces where his style worked best. Alleys, buildings with multiple entrances, walkways under elevated structures. Favorable territory.
The first neutralization was a type-two robot in a semi-enclosed space.
Side sensors first. Blind before attacking.
Three spheres for forced positioning, two for sensor coverage from an advantageous angle. The robot processed the interference, turned the wrong way, and was exposed. Twelve seconds. Two points.
The second was a type-one in a side alley exit, managed simultaneously with monitoring a type-two approaching from the parallel street.
Don't lose the second. Zone A: type one. Zone B: type two approaching from left.
Attention fragmentation kept both zones active without either catching him off guard. Type one fell in eight seconds with two spheres to the knee joints. Type two approached expecting a distracted candidate and found someone who already had four spheres positioned in the alley forming an adhesive zone that stopped it in its tracks. Twelve more seconds. Three additional points.
It works. Fragmentation works here.
A small satisfaction, allowed to last no more than a second.
The eastern sector building was the cleanest sequence: four robots on the ground floor and interior courtyard. Mineta ascended to the second floor via side stairs before acting, gaining a superior angle over the type-two in the courtyard.
From above first. Change conditions before descending.
Type two fell in fifteen seconds from a dive launch. The three type-ones on the ground floor, already with movement patterns altered by their teammate's fall, were managed in order of priority: closest to the exit first to block escape, the other two in rapid sequence with converging-angle spheres.
Forty-five seconds total for the four. Eight points.
Body holds. Knees hold. Good.
Six minutes of test. Seven neutralizations. Fifteen villain points accumulated.
Then, from the central sector, came the sound Mineta had been waiting for.
It wasn't the usual sound of moving robots or offensive quirks impacting metal. It was something bigger, deeper—the sound of a force not expected from a first-year candidate.
One For All.
Mineta was already moving.
His legs responded before analysis completed. Three years of training doing exactly this, body ahead of brain in situations where time was the only thing that mattered.
Central sector. East access alley. Twenty seconds if I keep the pace.
Eighteen.
What he found upon reaching the central sector was exactly as he expected and simultaneously more chaotic than the animated canon conveyed.
The type-zero robot was partially destroyed, with the upper right arm torn off by an impact leaving a visible pressure wave in the dust and radial cracks in the simulated pavement. The scale of damage, seen in person rather than on a screen, produced a specific discomfort Mineta filed away without time to process.
On the ground, about ten meters from the robot, Midoriya lay with his right arm at an angle that was not correct for a human arm.
Exactly as I knew it would be. That doesn't make it easier to see.
The type-zero robot was still active. Damaged, mobility reduced in the lower left leg with visible structural damage, but active. Its sensors had located Midoriya on the ground and were processing the situation with the mechanical deliberation of something in no hurry because its target couldn't move.
Other candidates were in the zone. Some watched from a safe distance. None moved.
Mineta evaluated in two seconds.
Type-zero side sensors actively sweeping. Rear-right angle: blind spot of about three seconds before reacquisition. Damaged leg limits pivot to the right. That's the window.
Not to neutralize it. To create enough interference.
There was no way to take down type-zero without the suit, without One For All, without anything beyond what was in his hands. Attempting it would be stupid. What was possible was to blind its sensors long enough to remove Midoriya from its range.
Three seconds to reach the angle. Eight spheres in sensor coverage pattern. Then four seconds to Midoriya. Then exit.
It might work.
He inhaled. Exhaled.
Moved.
The three seconds approaching the rear-right angle were the longest he'd experienced in the test. Each step calibrated to avoid triggering side sensors too early, body instinctively lowered from dojo habit, center of gravity forward instead of back.
Don't think about the size of that thing. Think about the sensors.
He reached the point. Threw.
Eight spheres in four seconds, trajectories calculated for maximum coverage of the robot's primary sensors on the front-left arc. Not perfect coverage. Enough interference to create target-priority conflict.
The robot processed the new information. Covered sensors sent degraded signals. Tracking systems began recalibration.
Eight-second window.
Four to reach. Four to extract. Just enough.
Four strides to Midoriya, grabbed him by the torso side avoiding the right arm, and dragged him to the nearest side alley with the speed three years of physical training had installed in a body that initially couldn't do a single push-up.
Midoriya made a sound of pain as the movement affected his arm. He offered no resistance. His eyes, when Mineta looked at him directly for the first time, had the expression of someone processing too many things at once to articulate any of them: the pain, the failure to continue, the confusion of who was moving him and how he ended up there.
— Right arm broken — Mineta said, with the brevity of someone with other matters to consider. — Don't move it.
Midoriya opened his mouth.
— How do yo…?
— The angle — Mineta said, not exactly lying. — Stay here.
He turned toward the alley exit.
The type-zero robot had completed recalibration and was sweeping the area they had been in twelve seconds ago. It hadn't located them in the side alley yet.
Eight seconds was enough.
The last three minutes were in the northern sector, which type-zero didn't cover from its current position.
Three type-one robots and one type-two in a more open space than the eastern sector. No structural coverage advantage, no alleys to channel movement, no walls to use for bounce.
Less favorable territory. Compensate with repositioning speed.
Type-two first, always type-two first when resources allow choice.
Five spheres in eighteen seconds from three angles in continuous lateral movement, without pausing long enough for the robot to establish trajectory prediction. Type-two fell when spheres from converging angles simultaneously blocked its three main mobility joints.
Knees start to feel the pace. Normal. Holding.
The three type-ones were more physical than he would have liked. One located him during the neutralization of the second and turned toward him with a speed requiring a sharp direction change to avoid the arm sweep.
Adjustment too slow. Hayashi would've said that.
The third type-one fell with two spheres to the right hip joint, causing a loss of balance against the lateral wall, where it adhered with enough surface contact that its mobility system couldn't compensate.
Thirty-five seconds for the four.
When the end signal sounded, Mineta was at the northern edge with knees slightly bent, breathing elevated but controlled. Hands had the minor tremor of someone who sustained intense focus for ten consecutive minutes.
Twelve neutralizations. One type-three interfered for rescue. One candidate removed from danger zone.
In the post-test waiting area, Mineta sat with his water bottle, evaluating with his usual calm, though slightly harder than normal because his body wanted more water and fewer calculations.
Villain points: eight type-ones were eight points. Three type-twos were six more. One type-three in the northern sector was three points. Total: seventeen villain points.
Seventeen.
He looked at it for a moment with the expression of someone confirming a sum he didn't entirely like.
He didn't know how many hero points UA awarded for the rescue. Canon hadn't given exact figures, but Midoriya had entered with zero villain points and still been admitted, suggesting hero points could compensate for low villain scores with enough margin.
It has to be enough. It has to be enough.
Two benches away, Midoriya was having his arm attended by UA medical staff who had appeared with the efficiency of people expecting exactly that type of injury. He had the expression of someone in pain and simultaneously processing something he didn't fully know how to categorize.
His eyes met Mineta's for a moment.
Mineta held the gaze for a second, then looked away.
It wasn't the time for anything else.
He left UA with the afternoon well underway and the sky that autumn evening color he had always found one of the best visual arguments for existence.
He walked toward the subway stop with hands in pockets, no suit, no helmet, nothing to distinguish him from any other fifteen-year-old heading home after a long day.
Seventeen villain points. Plus hero points. Plus the written.
A pause.
Plus knowing exactly when and where the moment UA was waiting for someone to exploit would occur.
It wasn't cheating. It was using the available information as efficiently as possible. Which was, if thought through carefully, exactly what UA said they wanted in their heroes.
Not bad for a personal insult from the universe.
He descended the subway stairs. The train arrived. He boarded. Went home.
That night, the last notebook entry before the letter arrived:
Written exam: good.
Practical exam: seventeen villain points. Midoriya rescue completed. Hero points: unknown until letter.
Type-zero not neutralized. Sensor interference to create rescue window worked within available limits without the suit.
Attention fragmentation worked on multiple simultaneous targets in real conditions. Rescue required decision and execution speed the garden didn't fully replicate. Worked anyway.
Midoriya looked at me before I left. I said nothing. Not the time.
There will be time for that later.
One last line:
Three years. One hundred twenty-three centimeters.
Now to wait for the letter.
He closed the notebook, turned off the light, and slept.
End of Episode 13.
Si quieres, puedo continuar con el Episodio 14 en inglés.