The gargantuan gates of Battle Center C shrieked open, unleashing a torrent of pent-up adolescent energy. A wave of examinees, faces set with grim determination or alight with manic excitement, flooded into the mock urban landscape. Buildings, eerily realistic down to the faux storefronts and simulated wear-and-tear, loomed on all sides.
Among the surge, a flash of bright blonde hair. Kaminari Denki, a wide, almost feral grin plastered on his face, was already charging ahead. He wasn't one for intricate plans; his strategy was usually "point and shoot." And right now, the targets were plentiful.
A cluster of sleek, one-point robots, their red optical sensors glinting, scuttled out from a narrow alleyway, their mock machine guns whirring to life.
"Showtime!" Kaminari yelled to no one in particular, thrusting his hands forward. "Lightning Pulse… 100,000 Volts!"
A blinding, crackling web of raw yellow electricity erupted from his body, a chaotic storm of power. It engulfed the one-pointers, their metallic frames convulsing violently before their lights sputtered and died. The discharge, true to its name, also arced towards a larger, two-point robot that was lumbering nearby, causing it to seize and smoke, its systems fried. Victory points flashed in Kaminari's mind.
A few other examinees in the vicinity flinched or yelped as stray sparks snapped near them. A girl with vine-like hair quickly retracted her tendrils, which had been snaking towards a different target. A boy whose hands were glowing with a soft, concussive energy paused his attack, shielding his eyes.
Not far off, amidst the cacophony of explosions and shouts, Jirou Kyouka moved with a more measured, focused intensity. The sheer volume of the unfolding chaos – Quirks clashing, robots exploding, Present Mic's distant, booming announcements over the PA system – was a symphony of data to her.
She plugged one of her earphone jacks into the asphalt, her eyes closed for a moment in concentration. The vibrations told her everything: the rumble of heavy treads, the skittering of lighter units, the thud of a distant impact.
Her eyes snapped open. "Target acquired."
A three-point robot, a veritable walking tank, was rumbling down a main thoroughfare, its mock cannons swiveling. Several examinees were scattering before it, their attacks seemingly bouncing off its thick armor. One student, who seemed to be able to enlarge parts of his body, had just tried a giant punch, only to recoil with a yelp.
Jirou, however, wasn't aiming for the armor. She sprinted towards a nearby building, her movements agile and precise. Leaping, she plugged both jacks into a large, metal ventilation shaft high on the wall. Taking a deep breath, she unleashed.
"Heartbeat Fuzz: Max Output!"
The entire metal structure of the ventilation system began to resonate violently, amplifying her heartbeat into a deafening, focused sonic barrage directed straight at the three-pointer. The air itself seemed to shudder. The robot's optical sensors flickered wildly, its movements becoming erratic as its internal mechanisms were assaulted by the intense vibrations. Small panels on its chassis rattled loose. It stumbled, disoriented.
This created an opening. A different examinee, a girl with incredibly long, prehensile fingernails, saw her chance. She dashed in, her sharp nails extending like rapier blades, and managed to pry open a damaged access panel on the robot's leg, slicing through some exposed wiring before leaping back. The robot's leg seized, and it listed heavily.
Jirou unplugged, dropping lightly to the ground. She didn't pause to celebrate, already scanning for her next target, her jacks twitching, filtering the useful signals from the overwhelming noise.
Around them, the battle raged. A boy with jet-black hair shot what looked like adhesive tape from his elbows, ensnaring a one-pointer. Another examinee, small and purple-haired, was throwing sticky, bouncing spheres from his scalp, causing robots to get stuck or trip. The air was thick with the smell of ozone, burning metal, and the faint, sweet scent of someone's candy-based Quirk.
Points were being scored, dreams were being tested, and the clock was mercilessly ticking down. Each examinee fought their own battle, a small cog in the massive, chaotic machine of the U.A. entrance exam.
High above it all, perched atop the tallest building in the arena, Kratos stood like a grim sentinel—arms crossed, eyes narrowed beneath his furrowed brow. The wind whipped through his pale ash-streaked beard, but he didn't flinch. The vantage point gave him a perfect view of the controlled chaos sprawling below.
Mimir's voice buzzed at his side, always watching, always thinking.
"Lotta noise down there," he muttered, eyes glintin'. "But not just Quirks flyin' about—look closer, brother. Some o' these wee ones are helpin' each other. Others… not so much."
Kratos watched silently as one student pushed past another without hesitation, stealing a clear shot at a robot the second-year had already weakened. Another examinee ignored a girl trapped under rubble, laser-focused on racking up points.
Mimir clicked his tongue.
"Bah… this is a hero school, aye? That's the whole point, isn't it? Train 'em to protect the innocent? Save lives? What kind o' mindset is that, runnin' past someone who needs help just to earn more marks?"
Kratos grunted low. His gaze lingered on a student helping another to their feet—only to be overtaken by someone else capitalizing on their delay.
"This system…" he said at last, voice a low rumble, "...is broken."
Mimir turned toward him, brow furrowed. "That so?"
"They reward strength. Glory. Not selflessness. The more famous you are, the more you earn. So others… must fall for you to rise."
"Aye," Mimir murmured, a rare seriousness in his voice. "Sounds a bit too familiar. Like a battlefield dressed up as a popularity contest."
Before Kratos could answer, a crackling explosion of yellow lightning split the sky below. Both their attention snapped to the ground where Kaminari Denki stood amid a pile of smoldering robots, sparks still arcing wildly from his fingertips.
"Well now," Mimir said, tilting his head with interest. "That one's got potential, eh? Give the lad a hammer and a bit o' attitude, and he could pass for Thor's idiot cousin."
Kratos scoffed, but his gaze stayed on the boy. "Lightning… destructive. Wild. But powerful."
"Hard tae control, too. Like him, I wager."
Another sound reached their ears—bass-heavy vibrations that shook the very building beneath their feet. Jirou's attack echoed through the faux city, and Mimir perked up.
"Oho, and what have we here? That one's clever. Directin' sound through the metal… she's usin' the terrain. Tactical. Smart."
A flash of tape shot across a nearby rooftop.
"And that lad's usin' his elbows like grapplin' hooks. Sticky lass over there's got more bounce than a draugr in a trap pit." Mimir chuckled. "Quirky lot, aren't they?"
Kratos said nothing, but his eyes moved with purpose. He wasn't watching how they fought—he was watching why.
The earpieces crackled in Kratos' ear—still a marvel, these little devices. No spells, no runes, yet they carried voices across the world like whispers in a god's temple. The voice of Principal Nezu filtered through with crisp urgency.
"Zero-pointer deployment imminent. Prepare accordingly."
Kratos grunted low, a sound somewhere between a growl and resignation. "Mmrhg."
Nezu took it as confirmation and cut the feed.
Mimir, perched at Kratos' side atop the observation tower, turned with a flicker of curiosity in his spectral eyes. "Oi, do ye know what that is, this 'Zero-pointer'? They mentioned it was a distraction, somethin' meant to be avoided… but lookin' at how some o' these wee warriors fight, maybe they—"
Then he saw it.
The tower groaned beneath them as the air shifted, heavy with the approach of something massive.
Mimir fell silent.
Out of the farthest edge of the arena came a titanic behemoth—nearly eighty meters tall, towering over even the highest buildings like a mechanical colossus. Its red eye glowed like a baleful omen as it moved, each step collapsing roads, flattening storefronts like wet parchment.
"...Aye," Mimir muttered. "Maybe they should indeed avoid it."
Panic bloomed like wildfire below. Students screamed, scattered like frightened animals. The 0-pointer's mechanical arms swung with brutal, unthinking force, leveling buildings and sending clouds of rubble into the sky. Chaos reigned. Some students tried to mount an offense—but fear turned bravery into futility. Their attacks bounced off its armor like pebbles on Jörmungandr's hide.
The robot didn't just cause destruction. It crushed hope.
At that moment, as the dust choked the air and screams echoed through the fractured cityscape, one student came to a halt.
Kaminari Denki.
His body trembled, legs locked like rusted gears refusing to move. Every instinct screamed at him to keep running—to live, to survive, to escape the colossus that had torn through the arena like a wrathful god.
But his eyes—gods, his eyes—they wouldn't look away.
Students lay scattered across the ground like broken dolls. Some groaned weakly, others didn't move at all. Dust and smoke curled around them like a death shroud. Their faces were painted with pain, fear, and helplessness.
Denki's breath caught in his throat.
"I… I should run…"
But his feet stayed rooted. No matter how hard he willed himself to turn, they refused. A storm had begun to churn in his chest—panic, yes, but also… something else. A fire. A heat.
A voice tore through his skull like a thunderclap:
"RUN!"
"SAVE THEM!"
"MOVE!! MOVE, DAMN YOU!!"
And suddenly, he did.
One foot pounded the ground, then another, each step burning through his fear like a fuse.
He charged forward.
Not away from danger—but into its jaws.
The dust parted around him like curtains to a stage, revealing the fallen bodies more clearly. "Get up!" Denki cried out, his voice cracking with desperation. "You have to move! Please! Get out of here!"
But his pleas vanished into the chaos. The students couldn't respond. Some were too injured. Others, too consumed by terror. One girl looked at him with wide, glassy eyes—but her body remained limp beneath a slab of concrete.
Denki skidded to a halt between them and the approaching monster. His fists clenched, heart thundering like a war drum.
"I… I can't carry them all," he realized.
To take one meant abandoning the others.
He couldn't do that.
There was only one option left.
He would fight.
Slowly, he turned his gaze upward.
The 0-pointer had arrived.
It stood like a mountain of death, its towering frame rising above the ruins with merciless precision. Gears clicked and turned with cold efficiency, each motion echoing with mechanical menace.
Kachunk. Kachunk. Vzzzzzzzt.
Hydraulics hissed as the machine adjusted its arm. Joints creaked like groaning iron gates. Sparks leapt from its shoulder plating where some poor soul had tried to damage it earlier.
Its red lens locked onto him—unblinking. Unfeeling.
It regarded him not as a threat, not even as an opponent—but as a nuisance. A pest. Something in the way.
Like a god judging an insect.
Kaminari's breath caught again. His fingers twitched at his sides.
What if it didn't work?
What if his attack wasn't enough?
What if he failed—and everyone here died anyway?
For a moment, the storm of fear threatened to take him. To crush him.
But Denki bared his teeth. He let out a guttural, human sound—raw and unrefined. Not a battle cry. Not a war chant.
But a scream. A scream to silence the trembling of his own soul.
"STOP, YOU BIG STUPID CHUNK OF METAL!"
"I SWEAR, IF YOU TAKE ONE MORE STEP—"
He raised his arms, electricity flickering faintly around his fingers like fireflies gathering before a storm.
"—I'LL TAKE YOU DOWN! RIGHT HERE! RIGHT NOW!!"
He wasn't bluffing.
He wasn't posturing.
He was choosing.
In that breathless second, he wasn't a class clown. He wasn't the insecure kid who second-guessed himself. He wasn't even just a student.
He was a hero.
And whether the 0-pointer knew it or not… it was about to learn.