"Four years," Hiroki sighed, leaning back against the chain-link fence on the roof of Musutafu Middle School. "In four years, I have successfully learned how to pass every single physical education test using only my human strength, and yet I still can't figure out how to pass the mock English exam. Why is 'past participle' harder than a five-kilometer run?"
Kazama laughed, leaning his elbows on the railing as he looked out over the city. At fourteen, he had grown taller, his frame leaner but packed with the dense, hidden cordage of a high-performance athlete. His emerald eyes seemed sharper now, reflecting a calm intelligence that often made people forget he was just a teenager.
"Maybe if you spent less time scouting for yakisoba buns and more time looking at your vocabulary list, you wouldn't be in this mess," Kazama teased.
"Easy for you to say, Mr. Top-of-the-Class," Hiroki shot back, folding his arms. "Besides, did you see the look on the gym teacher's face today? He knew one of us moved the volleyball net, he just couldn't prove which one."
Kazama smirked. He didn't even need to dip into his stored "flask" for that one. His Aether Pulse was so finely tuned now that he could manifest the energy generated by his own footsteps or the friction of his clothes against his skin. Just an hour earlier, he had reached out with his mind, seized the kinetic energy vibrating through the gymnasium floor from the other students' running, and redirected it to nudge the net. It was a small, harmless bit of mischief—the kind the three of them had perfected over the years.
They weren't supposed to use their quirks in school, and the teachers were always on high alert, but the trio couldn't help themselves. Whether it was Daichi using a window's reflection to cheat at hide-and-seek, or Hiroki stretching his fingers just an inch under the floorboards to trip a bully, they used their powers to navigate the boredom of middle school.
Of course, they didn't always get away with it. The "Bucket Punishment" was still a regular part of their lives. The school didn't report them to the authorities for minor pranks—treating it more as 'misconduct' than a crime—but the disciplinary consequences were real.
"My shoulders still ache from those water buckets yesterday," Daichi muttered, adjusting his glasses. "I told you that using Reflect-Sight to check the answer key on the teacher's desk was risky when the sun was at that angle. The glare on my lenses gave me away."
"Risk is part of the training, Daichi," Kazama joked. "Besides, my dad always says it's better to learn how to control the quirk now, so it doesn't end up controlling us later. If we can't handle the temptation to pull a prank, how are we supposed to handle the power of a Pro?"
"True," Hiroki agreed. "But man, my parents would kill me if they knew we were using our quirks even for that. They've been on my case since the mall incident years ago. 'No quirks in public, Hiroki! The police will take your record!' It's like living with a muzzle on."
Kazama nodded seriously. While they played around in the 'safe' confines of the school grounds, none of them dared to use their powers in the streets. Their parents had made the consequences crystal clear: a single public incident could get them blacklisted from the Hero Entrance Exams. Kazama took this to heart more than anyone. His power was a constant hum; even walking generated energy that he had to consciously keep from flaring. To the public, he was just a boy. To himself, he was a living conduit.
That evening, the Takeru household gym was bathed in a soft, atmospheric blue light.
Kazama didn't need to stand near a heater to "fill up" anymore. He was currently walking in a tight circle, and with every step, the friction of his feet against the mat was being pulled upward, coiling around his calves like glowing blue vines.
"Good, Kazama," Minotu said, watching from the control console. "Most energy-type quirks rely purely on what the body can produce. But you... you're a scavenger. You're turning the very act of existing into fuel."
"I can feel the vibration of the house's ventilation system too," Kazama noted, his voice calm. "It's faint, but I can pull from it."
"Then pull it all. Anchor yourself. Today, we're testing your restraint. Remember, Kazama, a hero's job isn't to destroy; it's to stop. If you treat every villain like a training drone, you aren't a hero—you're a hazard."
Minotu activated the heavy hydraulic swing—a massive steel weight, nearly five tons of solid metal. He pulled the release. The weight screamed through the air, a terrifying blur of kinetic energy. Kazama reached out with his senses. He felt the air pressure building and seized the kinetic energy of the weight itself as it approached, stripping away its momentum.
BOOM.
The impact was loud, but Kazama didn't budge. He absorbed the force, turning the sapphire glow on his chest into a deep, pulsing indigo.
"Now!" Minotu shouted. "Subdue the secondary target. No blades!"
Kazama turned toward a humanoid training dummy equipped with sensors. He didn't manifest a blade. Instead, he channeled the captured kinetic energy into his fingertips, weaving the Aether into a high-frequency Neural-Pulse. He lunged, delivering three rapid taps to the dummy's major nerve clusters in the shoulders and torso. A localized blue discharge rippled through the dummy's frame, sending a non-lethal surge that locked its actuators and forced it to go limp.
"Better," Minotu said, walking over. "The Aether Blade is for obstacles and machines. But for people? You need the Binding Coil or the Neural-Pulse. You have to be precise."
At dinner, the atmosphere was warmer than usual. Minotu, currently the Rank 23 Hero in the national standings, set a thick, official-looking document on the table. It bore the prestigious seal of his hero agency.
"Kazama," Minotu began, his voice taking on a formal tone. "I've spoken with my agency's board and the U.A. administration. Based on your progress and my standing as a Top 25 hero, I have the authority to submit a recommendation for you. You would bypass the general entrance exam entirely and enter through the specialized recommendation trials. It's a guaranteed spot in the Hero Course."
Aki looked at Kazama, her eyes searching his face. A recommendation was the safest, most prestigious path available.
Kazama looked at the document, then up at his father. He didn't even have to think about it. "Thank you, Dad. Truly. I know how much weight your name carries, and I'm honored you'd offer it."
"But?" Minotu prompted, a knowing glint in his eye.
"But I can't take it," Kazama said firmly. "If I enter U.A. through a recommendation, I'll always be 'the son of the Rank 23 Hero.' I want to stand at the gates with everyone else. Whatever the practical exam throws at us—be it a combat trial, a rescue simulation, or something else entirely—I want to face it like everyone else. I want to prove to myself—and to the school—that I'm no different from any other student trying to earn their dream. I want to get in on my own merit."
The room was silent for a moment. Then, Minotu burst into a loud, booming laugh, reaching over to ruffle Kazama's hair.
"That's my boy!" Minotu roared. "I told your mother you'd say that! To be honest, I would have been a little disappointed if you'd taken the easy way out. The practical is always a mystery—they change it every few years to keep applicants on their toes. But I have no doubt you'll handle whatever is behind those gates."
Aki smiled, her eyes brimming with pride. "I haven't even seen which location they'll assign you to yet, but I already know you're going to shine. Just remember, the exam isn't just about showing off your power. It's about why you're there. Don't let the noise of the other students distract you from your heart."
"To protect," Kazama whispered. "I haven't forgotten."
Later that night, Kazama stood on the balcony of his room. He didn't know what the test would be—combat, a race, an obstacle course—but he felt the energy hum beneath his skin, ready for anything.
"No more holding back," he whispered to the night air.
The quiet years of middle school were over.