When Tamaki and Raiden neared the Teachers' Hall, both of their watches gave a soft double beep.
A new voice—calm, neutral, synthetic—came through their earpieces:
"Infiltration Game.
Objective: a confidential document is located inside the Teachers' Hall. Retrieve the yellow envelope without being detected.
Warning: one guard is patrolling the area. If the guard sees you, the game is over."
Both of them stopped midair, exchanging a quick look.
The Teachers' Hall wasn't just any building—it was the top floor of the main U.A. headquarters, the place where most instructors handled reports, schedules, and confidential hero data. If the mission said one guard, that could only mean one thing.
"Must be one of the staff," Tamaki muttered quietly.
Mewtwo nodded, his telepathic voice echoing calmly in Suneater's mind.
"I'll find out who it is. Stay still for a moment."
He closed his eyes, his tail swaying gently as a faint blue aura spread from his body like ripples on water. The telekinetic field stretched upward—through walls, floors, and ceilings—scanning the structure not by sight but by shape.
Within seconds, he found him.
"Cementoss," Mewtwo communicated directly. "He's walking along the main corridor. Big, slow steps. He's not suspicious—just on routine patrol. But there are hundreds of folders inside that office… and I can't see colors. We'll have to check them one by one."
Tamaki nodded, his expression tightening with quiet focus. "Got it."
They approached from the opposite side of the building, where Cementoss was least likely to patrol, and silently slipped through an open window on the far corner.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of paper and ink. Mewtwo floated an inch above the floor, avoiding sound, his senses locked on the teacher's distant footsteps.
"Left corner. Third desk cluster," he whispered telepathically.
Suneater didn't speak. His arms morphed and extended, his fingers turning into slender tentacles that slid silently through the desks and drawers Mewtwo pointed out.
Paper rustled softly. Drawers opened and closed.
And then—Tamaki's eyes widened.
He held up a yellow envelope.
Mewtwo's voice came again, calm and sharp.
"Good. Move."
Both heroes-in-training slipped back out the window in perfect synchronization. Two seconds later, Cementoss turned the corner, humming to himself—completely unaware that anything had happened.
By the time Raiden and Tamaki landed outside, the game had already registered their success.
A soft tone chimed from both watches.
"Mewtwo and Suneater: Game complete. +3 points. Total: 3."
They exchanged a look, faintly smiling. "Too easy," Tamaki muttered.
"Don't get used to it," Raiden replied.
At the same time Raiden and Tamaki completed their mission, dozens of other students across the campus were already engaged in their own games—each one completely different from the next.
From the air, U.A. looked alive. Some students were sprinting across courtyards in chase-style games; others were hunched over tables playing puzzles or board games that somehow counted as missions. Lights flickered from dorm windows, and digital notifications echoed from every direction.
It didn't take long for both Raiden and Tamaki to reach the same conclusion:
the games were randomized.
Every student received their missions in a unique order. Some started with B-rank, others with C-rank. The mix made it impossible to know who was truly ahead during the first week. Only after several rounds—when the points began to even out—would the real rankings start to take shape.
As they drifted higher, Mewtwo glanced across the campus and spoke telepathically:
"Look around, Tamaki. Most of them are doing C-rank missions I think. Observation, scavenger hunts, low-risk simulations… basic stuff. Not a single A-rank so far."
He paused, recalling something.
"Nejire went to the B-Stadium earlier. That's probably a clue. The higher-ranked games must need more space—and maybe more participants. Combat drills, rescue trials, infiltration challenges. The complex ones. If I were the director, that's how I'd structure it."
Tamaki glanced at him, slightly surprised. "You're analyzing this like it's a war strategy."
Mewtwo's eyes flickered faintly. "It kind of is. If there's an A-rank involving Principal Nezu or one of the senior teachers, it's going to be hidden, and probably brutal. I wouldn't be surprised if some of those were in restricted areas."
Tamaki hesitated. "You're really just… saying all that out loud? We are competing, you know."
Raiden's expression didn't change, though his tone softened in Tamaki's mind.
"Technically, more than one of us can win. So there's no harm in sharing. What's better than winning together?"
Tamaki blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity behind the thought.
"Th-that would be nice," he admitted quietly. "But I don't think I'll make it that far."
Raiden's gaze turned toward him, sharp and knowing.
"You know that's not true. You're stronger than you think."
Tamaki looked away, realizing too late that Mewtwo could read the stray doubts slipping through his mind.
A faint smile tugged at the psychic's lips. Without another word, he shot forward, rising higher into the sky.
He extended his telekinetic field as he flew, scanning for distortions, unusual energy signatures, or anything out of place. There were too many overlapping signals—too many games running at once—to identify clear locations.
"For now, it looks like everyone's playing…" he thought to himself, sweeping his gaze over the campus.
Then he stopped midair.
"No—wait. Not everyone."
Down below, among the clusters of students, a few figures stood apart—upper-course students, easily recognizable by their uniforms. They weren't participating.
They were observing, walking calmly, scanning the campus the same way he was.
And near one of the outer courtyards, Raiden noticed a familiar shape—Chopper, wandering slowly, eyes darting around as if searching for something hidden from everyone else.
"Most likely the people walking around are the ones who've already finished their first games," Raiden thought, glancing down at the clusters of students scattered across the U.A. grounds. Then his expression sharpened.
If I were Nezu… where would I hide a game?
He floated quietly, arms crossed as his tail swayed in thought.
Not in plain sight. The director loves irony—so maybe… a place where a game shouldn't exist at all.
With that, Mewtwo adjusted course and descended toward the main building—the same one he'd infiltrated earlier. The entrance hall was strangely empty now, the sound of distant cheers and laughter echoing faintly from outside.
Most students were still chasing after their missions, and the first-years only peeked out from the windows, confused about the chaos unfolding around them.
Inside, the halls were quiet—almost too quiet.
Mewtwo floated a few inches above the floor, avoiding footsteps altogether. A few students he passed instinctively stepped aside, whispering to each other as his shadow slid silently past them.
Then he stopped.
His eyes flicked toward the nearest door—the bathroom.
It was mundane, ordinary, the last place anyone would hide a game.
Perfect.
With a faint hum, the door unlocked itself and swung open under his telekinetic pull. The lights inside flickered dimly; no one was there. He stepped in, and the door closed automatically behind him.
A moment later, his watch beeped.
"Mewtwo. Welcome to a Surprise Game. Rank: C."
Instantly, the bathroom lights turned crimson. The tiles shifted beneath his feet, and in seconds, the stalls and sinks sank into the floor with mechanical precision. Thin beams of red light appeared across the room—lasers, weaving patterns through the air like a web.
Text scrolled across his watch:
"Mini-Game: Dodge the Lasers.
The lasers will move and increase speed and number each minute.
Survive as long as possible.
The rank and points scale depending on time survived.
(Minimum: C-Rank / Maximum: B-Rank)**"
Raiden exhaled softly. "So this is one of those."
The lasers began to move—slow at first, tracing clean geometric paths through the air. Mewtwo stepped forward, twisting gracefully between the beams. His tail flicked aside a stray strand of light as he glided around the confined space.
It was easy—at first.
But as seconds became minutes, more lasers materialized. Their paths crossed, curved, and ricocheted from the mirror-like walls. The pace quickened. The heat from the beams left faint red lines against his barrier as he maneuvered through with perfect precision.
Still, the space was getting crowded—too crowded for his larger body. His tail almost brushed against a laser once, and his watch flashed a faint yellow warning.
He smiled faintly. "So that's how it is."
Without hesitation, his form began to glow—and in a pulse of psychic energy, the massive silhouette of Mewtwo faded, replaced by Raiden's human form.
The sudden lightness of his smaller frame allowed him to dart between the beams with increased agility. His breathing stayed calm, measured.
He didn't rely purely on his reflexes; instead, he used telekinesis on himself—small, controlled pushes that redirected his body midair, gliding past impossible gaps where a normal human could never fit.
It wasn't easy. Using psychic power directly on himself in human form demanded incredible focus and precision. One wrong push, and he could throw his balance off entirely.
But Raiden was no ordinary student anymore.
Each minute that passed, the lasers grew faster, crisscrossing in chaotic patterns. Yet he moved through them like water—sliding, spinning, using short telekinetic bursts to bend around the light itself.
By the ten-minute mark, the room had become a storm of red light.
'Focus,' he thought. 'Don't fight the pattern—flow with it.'
Even with telekinesis guiding his balance, he could feel his endurance thinning. The constant tension—reading, predicting, reacting—was draining both body and mind.
Each laser didn't simply appear at random. They spawned strategically, always forming just far enough from his position to give him a chance, yet never quite enough to rest. Every minute, one more line of light joined the deadly lattice, narrowing the paths around him.
From the outside, it would've looked almost like a performance.
His movement was a hybrid of gymnast and dancer, spinning low and leaping high with unnatural control.
There was always a sliver of space—barely enough to fit an arm or a leg—but always just enough.
Until it wasn't.
By the fifteen-minute mark, Raiden realized something: there was only one correct path left. One narrow pattern, one perfect sequence. If he misread even a single movement—if he jumped left when the beam turned right—the entire web of light would collapse on him.
"This isn't just a reflex test," he thought, heart racing. "It's a memory and pattern test. They're training my focus."
The strain pressed heavily against his mind. He couldn't stop calculating, anticipating every new path the light traced through the air. It was a storm of geometry—angles, reflections, rotations—and he was caught at the center.
Another five minutes passed. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing deepened, though his expression never faltered. Every flick of his hand, every twist of his spine came within millimeters of failure.
Twenty-five minutes. Then thirty.
At that point, it became nearly impossible to move without almost brushing against the beams. His telekinetic pushes were sharp now—too sharp—and each one left a faint ache behind his temples. The space was closing, the air humming with heat.
And then it happened.
A single fingertip grazed one of the lights.
The entire room flashed bright blue. The lasers faded away one by one, leaving Raiden alone, panting softly in the empty red-tiled chamber.
His watch chimed.
"Game finished.
Congratulations, you reached Rank B.
12 points achieved.
Mewtwo total: 15 points."
Raiden exhaled, lowering his arms as the last traces of energy dissipated around him. For a moment, he simply stood still, letting his heart rate fall.
He glanced at the dark reflection of himself in the mirror. His human form looked calm again, but the faint psychic glow still lingered in his eyes.
"Not bad," he murmured, pushing open the door as the normal white lights flickered back on.