Two days later, the reply finally landed in my inbox.
I'd checked my email at least twenty times since leaving U.A., and every notification sound from my phone had me jumping. But that evening—right after dinner, if you could call "heating up a pre-made meal because your parents aren't home" dinner—there it was.
The subject line was simple, cold, almost clinical: "Authorization for External Equipment – U.A. Entrance Exam."
My heart skipped a beat. The air around me felt thicker. My hands started sweating, my pulse shot up.
I opened the message.
Dear Riku Tachibana,After reviewing your devices, your practical demonstration, and the submitted technical report, the Special Evaluation Committee has decided to grant you provisional approval to participate in the U.A. Hero Course Entrance Exam, using your customized support equipment.This approval comes with certain conditions:— Signing a liability waiver.— Technical supervision during the exam.— No outside assistance during the trial.
You will be considered a regular applicant, with no bonus points or penalties for lacking a quirk. You will be evaluated under standard conditions.
See you on exam day.
Regards,U.A. Admissions Committee.
I didn't scream. I didn't jump. I didn't laugh.
But I placed my phone on the bed and covered my face with both hands.
I had done it.
I hadn't won anything yet. I wasn't a U.A. student. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even someone with a solid chance.
But I'd cleared the first hurdle.
They were letting me try.
And for someone like me… that was already huge.
The next few days were a blur.
I checked every single one of my devices. Re-soldered weak points, reinforced the thermal shielding on the gloves, and redesigned the suspension system on the skates. I barely slept, ate poorly, and pretty much didn't leave my room. I only exchanged a few words with my parents, who—like always—didn't even ask why I was so focused.
It wasn't because they didn't care.
It's just… they weren't really present.
But that was fine. I'd gotten used to it.
The day before the exam, I ran my final check.
My room smelled like metal, burnt plastic, and resin. My desk was covered in wires, tools, coolant cans, and leftover bits from 3D prints. But everything was in order.
The gloves were ready. The skates, too. The wristband was calibrated and loaded with fresh cartridges.
I snapped a picture of everything—just in case. I liked keeping records.
I checked the clock.
11:48 PM.
Tomorrow at 8:00 AM, I had to be at U.A.'s gates.
The day had finally come. I woke up that morning with a strange mix of nerves and excitement.
I dressed in my school uniform, packed a tracksuit in my bag, and carefully packed my inventions.
I caught the first train before sunrise.
The sky was still a deep blue when I arrived in Musutafu.
Outside U.A., other applicants were already gathering.
Most of them had their parents with them.
I didn't.
Didn't matter.
I passed the first check-in without any trouble. Handed in my authorization paperwork, signed the waiver, and got my gear inspected. A tech from the Support Department looked over my stuff with a curious glance but said nothing. He scanned my devices, tagged them as "approved," and handed me a tracking wristband.
—You're good to go, —he said flatly—. Good luck.
I nodded.
The atmosphere was thick with tension.
Kids of all shapes and sizes: tall, short, ripped, anxious, relaxed. Some had arms made of steel, others floated a few inches above the ground, some had tails, weird eyes, or brightly colored skin.
I was… normal.
Too normal.
But I didn't care. Not now.
A loud alarm sounded, signaling the start of the entrance process.
We were herded into a massive auditorium where Present Mic went over the rules for the practical exam. His energy was exactly like it was on TV—loud, over-the-top, borderline annoying… but entertaining. Most of the applicants listened closely, though you could still feel the tension in the air.
Then it happened.
Tenya Iida, with his hall monitor energy practically oozing from every pore, interrupted to point out a "discrepancy" in the scoring system. He was talking about the zero-point robot. Everyone who's seen the anime remembers this part. It was surreal seeing it live. Honestly, I kinda wanted to tell him to sit down and shut up already.
And of course, he had to scold Midoriya for whispering too much. Called him out like some frustrated teacher. Midoriya just shrank back, mumbling apologies, looking every bit as nervous and shaky as I remembered from the show. The kid didn't even seem capable of speaking properly, let alone fighting villains in a few months.
The explanation continued without further interruptions. Same as canon: robots worth 1, 2, and 3 points, and the zero-point giant that you were supposed to avoid. I honestly felt like I was rewatching the episode—except this time, I was one of the extras.
Once Present Mic wrapped up—screaming and hyping us up like always—we were sent to our assigned test zones. I'd already passed the written exam without issue, so all that was left was the hard part: the action.
Nothing else to say. The pieces were on the board.
Time to see if my inventions could keep me alive.
I was assigned to a different zone from the main character.
Which was fine by me.
I didn't need Midoriya hogging all the examiners' attention with his dramatic last-minute clutch moment. He could keep his tears, broken bones, and heroic first impression.
Around me, students were stretching, jogging in place, doing little warm-ups with their quirks. One guy shot tiny sparks between his fingers, another formed ice spikes in his palm. A girl floated a few inches off the ground, twirling gracefully like she was warming up for a dance performance. Nervous laughter, focused stares, and quiet murmurs filled the area.
I took out my gloves, tightened the straps carefully. Then the skates—double-checking the safety locks. I strapped on my wristband with fresh cartridges and ran a quick diagnostics check. All systems green.
The murmurs started the moment I powered up the auxiliary boosters on my skates, a soft hum filling the air. The blue glow from the exhaust ports was hard to miss.
—Is that guy using tech? —someone muttered behind me.
—I thought this was supposed to be a physical exam. Why are they letting people use gadgets?
—Isn't that cheating or something?
I ignored it all. Focused on calibrating everything, making sure the shock absorbers in my gloves responded to the slightest wrist movement. Double-checked the compressed gas levels.
Everything… was perfect.
Until a voice pulled me out of my zone.
—Hey, what's that stuff you're wearing?
I turned around.
Standing in front of me was a girl with bright pink skin, solid black eyes with golden-yellow pupils, and two small horns poking out of her head. Her hair was short, fluffy, and slightly messy.
I recognized her instantly.
Ashido Mina.
A future student of Class 1-A. Her Quirk: Acid. Personality: outgoing and curious.
I didn't expect to run into her this early—much less have her come up and talk to me.
"Is that part of your quirk?" she asked, flashing a curious smile while pointing at the gloves I was wearing.
I didn't answer right away. I hesitated for a second but then shrugged. No reason to hide it.
"I don't have one."
Mina blinked, confused.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"I don't have a quirk. I was born without one."
I said it directly, no hesitation—like it didn't hurt. Like I hadn't spent years wishing otherwise.
She stayed quiet for a moment, her smile freezing on her face.
"Really?" she murmured.
Around us, the mood shifted immediately. Whispering, quiet voices not even trying to be subtle.
"Did you hear that?"
"No quirk? Then why's he allowed to use tech?"
"What's he even doing here?"
Nobody laughed out loud, but that kind of low commentary… it cuts deeper than direct mockery.
I clenched my jaw but didn't lower my head.
Mina glanced at the people whispering, her face showing clear disapproval, before looking back at me.
"Wow… I didn't expect that. I thought all that gear was to boost your quirk or something."
"Nope. All of this is my own work. Stuff I built myself," I replied, adjusting a strap.
"You made it?" she asked, surprised, pointing at my gloves.
"Yeah. I got special permission to use it during the test," I added, keeping it brief.
She let out a whistle, sounding genuinely impressed.
"That's awesome! You made it all yourself? No help at all?"
"Well… yeah. But it took me a long time," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. Suddenly, the conversation didn't feel tense anymore.
She crossed her arms, eyeing me with a mix of amazement and excitement.
"That's really cool, Oh, I'm Ashido Mina, by the way," she said, offering her hand with a big smile.
"Tachibana Riku," I replied, shaking her hand.
"Hope we both crush it in the exam!" she said with the kind of bright energy that completely ignored the weird atmosphere around us.
She smiled like none of the whispering mattered. Like the fact I didn't have a quirk changed absolutely nothing in the way she spoke to me. That normal reaction… threw me off more than any of the negative ones.
"Yeah… same to you," I replied, a little slower than I wanted.
"Well, see you in there!" Mina said before skipping off with a grin.
I watched Mina walk away, greeting other applicants with that same bright, bubbly energy.
And that's when it hit me—something I hadn't realized until now.
Since arriving in this world… how many times had I had a conversation like that?
Not with a girl. With anyone. Period.
A casual chat. No need to measure every word. No checking for incoming insults. No putting on a mask to seem tougher than I was.
Not with guys. Not with adults. Nobody.
I'd been so locked into my routine that I hadn't even noticed. My whole life was training, studying, building, repairing, testing over and over. Failing. Starting again.
Simulations. Adjustments. Technical checklists. Always something going wrong.
And in all of that… I never stopped to think about how lonely I'd been.
Damn.
And here I was laughing at Izuku for getting nervous talking to a girl.
Not that I'd blushed or anything, but…
I'd been pretty awkward.
Blurting out answers, not knowing where to look, speaking in short sentences.
I sighed.
And right at that moment, a loud metallic blast echoed through the air, ripping me out of my thoughts.
BOOM!
A robotic voice rang out from loudspeakers mounted high up on the walls.
"Countdown: 10 seconds until start of the exam."
I frowned.
Countdown?
In the anime, when Midoriya did his exam, there was no countdown. Present Mic just yelled that the real world doesn't wait for you before attacking.
Guess my zone didn't get Present Mic as an announcer. Or someone on the committee decided it was better not to give the applicants a heart attack from the start.
The countdown began.
10.
My gloves clicked. I activated the grip enhancement mode.
9.
My skates vibrated softly. Fully charged.
8.
My breathing slowed down. Controlled.
7.
I looked forward. The metal gates were about to open.
6.
I ran through every second of training in my head.
5.
I remembered the hours locked in my room, the endless trial-and-error sessions.
4.
The classmates' jokes. The teachers saying, "Poor kid."
3.
The U.A. acceptance email. This opportunity.
2.
The chance I might fail.
1.
And the fact that… even so… I was here.
START!