The Zero-Pointer didn't just move; it redefined the landscape. It was a mountain of emerald-colored steel, its treads grinding the asphalt of the simulated city into a fine powder. Every time its massive, piston-driven arms swung, the shockwave rattled my teeth. This wasn't a robot meant to be fought; it was a force of nature designed to test a student's survival instincts.
I stood in the middle of the street, the "Heat" from my previous Gatling barrage still radiating off my skin in faint, shimmering waves. Around me, the other examinees were a blur of panic. I saw a boy with sparkles shooting from his navel dash into an alleyway. I saw others tripping over themselves to reach the exit.
But then, through the dust and the mechanical roar, I heard it. A small, strained whimper.
I turned my head, my rubberized neck swiveling with a faint creak. About fifty yards away, right in the direct path of the Zero-Pointer's massive treads, the girl with the bob-cut—Uraraka—was pinned. A massive slab of concrete from a fallen building had her leg trapped. She was pulling at it, her face pale, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
The robot's shadow loomed over her like a shroud.
And there was Midoriya. He had stopped running. I watched his face—the conflict, the terror, and then the sudden, terrifyingly clear resolve. It was the same look he had in the shopping district.
He's going to do it, I thought. He's going to jump. But if he hits that thing with a hundred percent of One For All, the falling debris alone will crush that girl.
I had 45 points. I was safe for admission. I could have turned around and walked away, and the canon would have taken care of itself. But as the God of Reincarnation had said, I had a stubborn will to live. And as a man who had seen people crushed by falling buildings once before, I couldn't just watch the replay.
"Midoriya!" I roared over the mechanical grinding. "Go for the head! I'll handle the ground!"
Midoriya didn't even look at me. He probably didn't even hear me. He just sprinted. His legs glowed with a faint, red-veined light, and with a sound like a localized explosion, he launched himself into the air.
He was a green streak against the gray sky.
I turned my attention to Uraraka. I didn't have time to lift the rubble—not with the robot's foot inches away from her. I had to become a shield.
I sprinted toward her, my legs stretching into long, loping strides. I reached her in seconds, sliding on the asphalt.
"Don't move!" I shouted.
I took a deep breath, pulling an enormous amount of air into my lungs. In the anime, Luffy called this the Gommu Gommu no Balloon. I hadn't practiced this as much because it felt ridiculous, but right now, I needed surface area and shock absorption.
I expanded. My torso swelled, my skin stretching thin and taut, my molecular density shifting to become a pressurized cushion. I threw myself over Uraraka, my massive, inflated back facing the Zero-Pointer.
"GOMMU GOMMU NO... BALLOON!"
High above, a sound like a thunderclap ripped the sky open. Midoriya had connected. The Zero-Pointer's head didn't just dent; it imploded. The massive machine's forward momentum was halted by the sheer force of the "Smash," and then, the inevitable happened.
The Titan began to tilt.
Thousands of tons of reinforced steel and concrete started to rain down. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Uraraka trembling beneath me.
THUD. CRASH. BOOM.
Massive chunks of the robot's armor slammed into my back. Each hit was like being struck by a sledgehammer, but my rubberized structure did exactly what it was designed to do. I deformed. I stretched. I absorbed the kinetic energy and dispersed it through my entire frame. I felt like a drum being beaten by a giant, but none of the force reached the girl beneath me.
"Are you... okay?" Uraraka's voice was small, muffled by my inflated chest.
"I've... been better," I wheezed, the air slowly escaping my lungs as I deflated.
The dust settled, coating everything in a fine, gray shroud. The Zero-Pointer was a smoldering wreck, its massive head missing and its body slumped over the ruins of the block.
But the danger wasn't over. I looked up and saw Midoriya. He was falling—rapidly. His arm and both legs were purple, mangled, and swinging limply in the wind. He was unconscious, a literal stone falling from the sky.
"Uraraka!" I yelled, finally deflating back to my normal size. My back was stinging with a dozen "friction burns" where the metal had scraped me, but I ignored it. "The boy! You have to catch him!"
She reacted instantly. Despite her trapped leg, she reached out as Midoriya plummeted past her. She slapped him on the cheek, her Quirk activating just feet from the ground. He slowed, his momentum cancelled, and he drifted to the pavement like a feather.
Uraraka immediately succumbed to the nausea of her Quirk, vomiting over the rubble.
I crawled toward Midoriya. He was a mess. The recoil of One For All had shattered his limbs. It was a gruesome sight—the price of a power he hadn't yet earned the right to carry.
"One minute remaining!" Present Mic's voice echoed, though it sounded subdued, as if even he was shocked by what he had just seen.
The other students began to trickle back into the plaza. They stared at the wreckage, then at the broken boy on the ground, and then at me. I was standing there, my tracksuit shredded, my skin a mottled pink from the "Heat" and the impacts.
"Who are those guys?"
"Did that plain-looking kid really take that thing down?"
"And the other one... he just sat there and let the debris hit him?"
I ignored the whispers. I knelt by Midoriya and placed a hand on his shoulder. His pulse was thready but stable.
"You did it, you idiot," I whispered.
Then, the tapping of a cane on the concrete reached my ears. Recovery Girl, the school nurse, was walking through the ruins, handing out gummies. She reached us and sighed, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Midoriya.
"Oh dear, every year it's something. This is quite the injury." She kissed Midoriya's forehead, her healing Quirk sparking. Then she turned to me. "And you? You're the one who shielded the girl?"
"Kota Sora," I said, my voice raspy. "I'm mostly fine. Just a little overstretched."
She handed me a handful of high-calorie gummies. "Eat these. Your cellular density is dropping. You've used a lot of glucose to keep that rubber of yours from snapping. You're a brave one, but don't think a rubber heart can't stop if you push it too hard."
I nodded, popping the gummies into my mouth. The sugar hit my system like a lightning bolt, and I felt the "Heat" in my muscles finally begin to recede.
The week following the exam was an agonizing wait. I returned to the orphanage, but I couldn't focus on anything. I spent my days sitting on the roof, staring at my hands.
My 45 points from the robots were a solid score—likely enough to pass. But I knew about the "Rescue Points." I had shielded Uraraka. I had assisted in the aftermath. I wondered how the judges would see a kid whose primary contribution was being a glorified punching bag for falling debris.
"Kota! There's a letter for you!" Miwa's voice drifted up from the courtyard.
I scrambled down the fire escape, my limbs feeling fluid and rested. Ms. Minami was standing in the hallway, holding a thick envelope with the U.A. seal. Her hair was a nervous, vibrating shade of violet.
"This is it, Kota," she said, her voice trembling. "Whatever happens... we're proud of you."
I took the envelope to my room and sat on my bunk. I tore it open.
A small, circular device fell out onto the bedsheet. It buzzed to life, and a holographic projection flickered into the air. It wasn't All Might—not for me. It was Best Jeanist.
The Number Four Hero stood with his usual impeccable posture, his denim collar high.
"Kota Sora," he began, his voice smooth and measured. "It has been five years since we last met in the ruins of the city. I see that you have grown into a young man with a profound sense of duty."
I felt a lump in my throat. He remembered.
"In the practical exam, you secured 45 combat points. An impressive display of mobility and tactical awareness. However, the true measure of a hero is not how many enemies he defeats, but how many lives he preserves. When the Zero-Pointer appeared, you did not flee. You used your own body as a shield to protect a fellow examinee, absorbing a degree of impact that would have killed a normal human three times over."
The hologram shifted to show a replay from the exam—the moment I had inflated into a "Balloon" to cover Uraraka.
"For your selfless actions and your mastery over your unique physiology, the judges have awarded you 35 Rescue Points. With a total of 80 points, you have placed second in the overall rankings."
Second? I blinked. 80 points was staggering. I had likely beaten out Iida and Bakugo.
"Kota Sora," Best Jeanist continued, a ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. "Welcome to the Hero Academy. This is your Hero Academia. I expect great things from you."
The projection faded.
I sat in the silence of my room for a long time. I had made it. I was no longer just a fan of a story; I was a character in it. I was a student of Class 1-A.
The first day of school arrived with a crisp morning breeze. I stood at the entrance of U.A. in my new uniform. The grey blazer was a bit tight across my shoulders, and the red tie was a nightmare to do with fingers that kept wanting to stretch, but I felt like I belonged.
I made my way to Class 1-A. The door was enormous—designed for students with gigantism quirks, no doubt. I pushed it open and was immediately greeted by the sounds of an argument.
"Don't put your feet on the desk!" Iida Tenya was shouting, his arms chopping the air. "It's disrespectful to the upperclassmen and the craftsmen who made it!"
"Hah? I don't give a damn!" Bakugo snarled, his feet firmly planted on the wood.
I walked in, catching the eye of Midoriya, who was standing by the door looking overwhelmed. He looked at me, his eyes widening in recognition.
"You! From the exam!" he stammered. "And the... the tunnel? No, wait..."
"Kota Sora," I said, offering a hand. My palm felt slightly rubbery as we shook. "Glad to see you're not in a cast anymore, Midoriya."
"You saved me," he whispered, his voice full of awe. "And Uraraka-san. That quirk... it's amazing. The way you absorbed all that debris..."
"It's just rubber," I said with a shrug. "It's harder than it looks."
"If you're here to make friends, you can pack up your things and leave."
A cold, deadpan voice drifted from the doorway. We all turned to see a yellow sleeping bag lying on the floor. A man with tired eyes and messy black hair crawled out of it like a moth leaving a cocoon.
Shota Aizawa. Eraserhead. Our homeroom teacher.
"It took you eight seconds to quiet down," Aizawa said, his voice dripping with exhaustion. "Time is limited. You kids aren't rational enough."
He stood up, pulling a gym uniform from his sleeping bag. "Put these on. We're going outside."
"What about the orientation? The entrance ceremony?" Uraraka asked, looking confused.
"If you're going to be heroes, you don't have time for fluff," Aizawa replied. "U.A. is a school known for its freedom. That freedom applies to the teachers as well. We're doing a Quirk Apprehension Test."
We stood on the training field, the twenty of us lined up. I felt the tension in the air. This was the first hurdle of the UA experience. In the anime, Aizawa threatened to expel whoever came in last. I knew it was a "logical deception," but that didn't make the pressure any less real.
"Bakugo, you finished first in the entrance exam," Aizawa said. (I realized then that despite my 80 points, Bakugo's combat-focused score might have been weighted differently, or perhaps my rescue points were categorized separately). "What was your softball throw in middle school?"
"67 meters," Bakugo barked.
"Try it with your Quirk."
Bakugo stepped into the circle. With a roar of "DIE!", he blasted the ball into the sky with a massive explosion. The device in Aizawa's hand beeped.
705.2 meters.
The class erupted in cheers. "This looks like fun!" someone shouted.
Aizawa's eyes turned cold. "Fun? You have three years to become heroes. Will you have that attitude the whole time? All right. New rule: The student who ranks last in total points will be judged as having no potential and will be expelled immediately."
The atmosphere shifted from excitement to pure dread. I looked at Midoriya. He was trembling. He couldn't use One For All without breaking himself, and without it, he was just an unathletic kid.
I can't save him here, I thought. This is where he has to find his own path. But I have to show what I can do.
The tests began.
50-Meter Dash:
I stood at the starting line next to Tsuyu Asui. The buzzer sounded. I didn't run. I reached forward, snagging the finish line pole with both hands, and retracted.
"Gommu Gommu no... ROCKET!"
I shot across the line in 3.02 seconds. Not as fast as Iida, but enough to land me near the top.
Grip Strength:
I wrapped my hand around the device. My fingers didn't just squeeze; I used the "Twist" technique I'd developed for the Rifle punch, coiling my rubberized tendons around the sensor.
540 kg.
The student with multiple arms—Shoji—looked over at me with an impressed grunt.
Standing Long Jump:
I compressed my legs like heavy-duty springs, feeling the "Heat" build in my calves. I didn't just jump; I launched. I cleared the entire sandpit and landed on the grass ten yards beyond.
Softball Throw:
Finally, it was my turn. I stepped into the circle. I looked at the ball, then at the horizon.
I need to use the tension of my entire body, I thought.
I didn't just throw. I turned my back to the field, anchored my left foot, and stretched my right arm backward, wrapping it around my own waist three times, creating a massive, corkscrewed spring of potential energy.
"Gommu Gommu no... RIFLE... THROW!"
I released the tension. My arm unspooled with a violent, whistling sound. The ball didn't just fly; it spiraled through the air, driven by the rotational force of my uncoiling rubber. It vanished into the blue.
Aizawa looked at the device. He raised it for the class to see.
890.4 meters.
I exhaled, steam rising from my shoulder. I looked at Bakugo. He was staring at me, his eyes narrowed, his teeth gritted. He wasn't used to being outperformed, especially not by a "stress toy."
But then came Midoriya's turn.
I watched as he stood in the circle, the ball in his hand. I saw Aizawa erase his Quirk, the lecture about his "recklessness," and the moment Midoriya realized he couldn't just use 100%.
Then, the second throw. The concentration of power in just his fingertip.
BOOM.
The ball soared. 705.3 meters. Just a hair past Bakugo.
"Sensei..." Midoriya said, his finger broken and purple, but a defiant grin on his face. "I'm still standing."
Aizawa gave a predatory smile. "This kid..."
As the tests concluded and the results were posted, I saw my name.
1. Yaoyorozu Momo
2. Kota Sora
3. Todoroki Shoto
...
20. Midoriya Izuku
"By the way," Aizawa said, clearing the board. "The expulsion was a logical deception. It was a lie to draw out your maximum potential."
The class sighed in relief, but I noticed the way Bakugo was looking at me. It wasn't just annoyance anymore. It was a challenge.
I looked at my hands. They were steady, but the "Heat" was lingering longer than usual. The day's activities had pushed my elasticity to its current limit. I was 2nd in the class, but I knew the real monsters—Todoroki and Bakugo—weren't even trying yet.
Arc 1 is just beginning, I thought, looking at the towering walls of UA. I've got the foundation. Now, I have to build the fortress.