The area was completely deserted.
At some point, according to the rusted signs, they had planned to build a shopping mall here. But for whatever reason—budget issues, permits, corruption, who knows—the project had been abandoned halfway through. All that remained were some concrete foundations, unfinished steel frameworks, and an open clearing that had become my personal testing ground.
The perfect place to make noise without bothering anyone.
I was kneeling on a cracked concrete slab, making the final adjustments to my gloves. The internal connections were in place, the wires soldered, the capacitors charged. I slid them on carefully and tightened the straps.
"Let's see if they don't blow up this time."
I aimed at a rusted metal plate about five meters away and squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The sheet flew backward with a sharp metallic thud.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Four more shots in quick succession. Each discharge hit like an invisible punch. I grinned.
I kept firing. Eleven… twelve… thirteen…
At the fifteenth shot, the right glove sparked and the left one let out a high-pitched beep before powering down instantly.
I shook my hands as I took them off.
"They overheat too fast," I muttered. "But that's better than I expected."
I glanced at my backpack, propped up against a rusted column. Walking over, I unzipped it and pulled out the next piece.
A metallic wristband, strapped with elastic bands, with a small cylinder built into the underside and a button on the side. The shape was clearly inspired by Spider-Man's web-shooters.
Of course, it didn't shoot webs.
At first, I tried to make it exactly like his: a substance that expanded and hardened in the air, strong enough to hold tons. I spent months studying chemistry, drowning in books, tutorials, even taking online courses anonymously.
It didn't work.
Trying to replicate Spider-Man's web formula was, frankly, impossible—at least with my resources.
So I swapped it for something simpler. A chemical compound that solidified upon contact with air—but not as a thread. More like the opposite.
Corrosive.
Perfect for weakening cables, cutting through structural supports, or burning through robot armor.
I pressed the button, and a thin translucent stream shot out, sticking to a rusted beam. The substance sizzled for a moment, melting through the rust and leaving a blackened mark. I grinned.
"Not pretty… but it gets the job done."
I packed it away and pulled out the last piece.
A pair of dark gray skates, modified with makeshift boosters mounted on the back. They weren't pretty, not even comfortable, but they were fast. Inspired by Iida Tenya's calf engines, I put together a basic propulsion system using repurposed high-power fans, old drone batteries, and reinforced frames patched together with metal plates.
The idea was simple: reach the big robots before anyone else. Rack up points quickly. I couldn't afford to fall behind.
I strapped them on, tightened everything, and switched them on.
A soft whir came from the wheels. I could feel the vibrations through my soles.
"Perfect."
I adjusted my protective goggles and got ready for a trial run around the perimeter.
I kicked off, and the skates roared to life. The first few meters were shaky—I still hadn't mastered the acceleration—but within seconds I found my balance. Wind whipped against my face as I zipped across cracked concrete, weaving between unfinished steel beams.
On a straight line, I could hit decent speed. I hadn't measured it precisely, but I was sure it was faster than running, at least for the first twenty seconds.
I took a sharp turn, braking with a quick twist of my right ankle. The boosters cut off, the system shutting down automatically—not by design, but by necessity.
"Too much heat again…"
I crouched down and touched the back casing of one skate. It was hot to the touch.
The internal fans weren't enough to keep the motors cool for more than half a minute of continuous use. I knew that. But for now, I didn't have better materials. They needed at least two minutes to cool off before I could activate them again.
"I'll have to use them in short bursts," I muttered, pulling one off to inspect the improvised cooling system. "Or figure out a way to add active cooling…"
Maybe liquid nitrogen, though that was risky. Or a better ventilation setup… maybe some kind of heat-dissipation channels in the wheels. I'd jot it down later.
I sat on the edge of a fallen column, pulling out my ideas notebook. It was packed with rough notes, scribbled diagrams, half-baked formulas, and unfinished concepts.
Tech built from scraps, pure trial and error. A lot of error. But every failure taught me something.
I flipped to a blank page and started a new section:
"Modular Cooling System: Gloves + Skates"
The gloves had the same problem. They worked fine for the first few shots, but fifteen blasts was the limit before the emergency shutdown kicked in. And if they didn't shut off by themselves, I could end up burning my hands. That had already happened once.
I jotted down a few possible solutions:
Redesign the internal ventilation system
Install small heat sinks
Alternate the firing sequence to spread out the heat load
I closed the notebook and looked again at my three inventions, lined up on the dusty concrete.
I let out a long breath, letting the wind mess up my hair a little.
Who would've thought I'd be able to do this?
In my past life… I wasn't exactly brilliant. Never a genius. I could barely build a gaming PC without watching a tutorial, and the phrase "thermal conductivity" would've sounded like a Harry Potter spell to me.
Even here, it had all been an uphill battle. I struggled with circuits, got frustrated with manuals, didn't understand half the terms I found in electronics books. Sometimes I'd read the same page three times and retain nothing. My first attempts at soldering were disasters—one ended with a small explosion that fried the microwave beyond repair.
But I learned.
Yeah, it was rough. Yeah, I messed up a lot. But I still learned.
Maybe it was fear—fear of dying. I didn't want to be just another nameless civilian crushed when a villain decided to level a city block.
That fear pushed me to keep learning.
I shrugged.
"Whatever."
I packed everything up carefully, putting the gloves, the wristband, and the skates back into my backpack. The notebook went into a special side pocket, along with a USB drive where I had backup copies of every version of my blueprints.
No way I was risking losing everything to another accidental explosion. Again.
I got home around sunset.
Silence.
No one was home. Again.
Not exactly a surprise. My parents were rarely around. Sometimes because of work, sometimes because they just didn't want to be. They always left food prepped in the fridge, kept the house clean, and scribbled quick notes on the kitchen's magnetic whiteboard. Today's note said: "There's curry rice in the fridge."
I dropped my backpack on the floor, kicked off my shoes, and headed straight for the kitchen. I grabbed the container of curry, microwaved it, and threw together a quick plate of food. While eating, I opened up the laptop in the dining room. It wasn't a powerhouse by any means, but I'd upgraded it as much as the cheap components would allow.
I had a second monitor rigged up—recycled, held together with tape and stubbornness. One of the cables was held in place by a toothpick and electrical tape. Classic.
I pulled up a video of a science fair in Kansai—amateur inventors showing off crazy gadgets. Most of it was useless junk, sure, but some of it… some had potential. I liked watching them while I ate. Sometimes it gave me new ideas. Sometimes it just made me feel like I wasn't that far behind.
I was halfway through a bite when a notification popped up in the bottom-right corner.
An email.
I frowned, raising an eyebrow.
Sender: U.A. High School
My heart skipped a beat.
I swallowed hard.
I clicked.
The email opened, and for a second, I thought I was going to pass out. I nearly choked on my rice when I read through the first paragraph.
I read it again, slower this time.
Dear Riku Tachibana,
We have received and reviewed your application to participate in the U.A. High School entrance exam, Hero Course Division.
It is important to note that your case has been classified as "exceptional" due to the absence of a registered quirk and the use of self-made technological equipment as a substitute.
After reviewing the attached material—including your blueprints and the testing video—the committee has decided to invite you for an in-person preliminary evaluation.
This evaluation will determine whether your equipment is safe, legal under examination regulations, and suitable to be classified under the category of "approved technological support."
Attendance is mandatory, and the evaluation will take place at U.A. facilities next Tuesday at 2:30 PM. Failure to attend will result in your application being automatically canceled.
We wish you success.
Sincerely,Admissions Department — U.A. High School
I stared at the screen in silence.
"No… way…"
When I sent my application, I was completely honest. I didn't hide the fact that I didn't have a quirk. I actually made sure to highlight it. I even attached detailed blueprints of the gloves, skates, and wristband… everything. Along with a short demonstration video. Of course, I had to edit it to make it seem like everything worked perfectly. They couldn't see how the gloves caught fire after the third blast.
Yeah, I'd improved them since then. A lot. But, as today proved, they were still far from perfect.
If I hadn't warned them ahead of time, they probably would've kicked me out the moment I tried to use any of this stuff.
They couldn't risk someone without a quirk running around with homemade gear, firing off shockwaves in the middle of a field packed with teenagers using explosions, fire, electricity, and who knows what else.
I kept staring at the message.
They were giving me a chance. A small one, sure. Conditional. But real.
I leaned back in my chair, letting my head hang back, eyes on the ceiling.
"U.A. is serious about this."
My heart was beating faster than usual. But it wasn't fear. It felt more like adrenaline. Like a door had just been opened.
I jumped to my feet, set my bowl aside, and headed straight to my desk.
I switched on my lamp, opened my notebook, grabbed a pencil, and marked a new section right at the top of the page:
"Technical Evaluation — U.A."
Underneath, I underlined three times:
Don't fail.
Because this visit would decide everything.
If they said I couldn't use my gear, it was over. I wouldn't have any way to compete against people who could shoot fire, freeze enemies, or crush robots with a single punch.
It was either this… or going back to being just a civilian.
A civilian who knew way too much about the future… and couldn't do anything to stop it.
I rested my elbows on the desk, staring at my blueprints, my tools, and the organized mess that was my little workshop corner.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt something close to pride.