The sound of metal clashing and distant roars echoed beyond the training arena. The fog-based rounds had ended, and the air was now filled with new energy—anticipation, tension, and pride.
The one-on-one battles were about to begin.
This was the second stage of the Hero Exam. Out of 100, only 50 had survived the fog test. And now, 25 one-on-one duels would determine who truly deserved the title of a hero.
Inside the resting bay, a digital screen lit up with two names.
"Next Match: Rakib vs. Mihir (The Wind-Walker)"
---
Rakib stood up slowly.
His arms were wrapped in special reinforced gloves—thick, durable, and laced with heat-resistant layers to suppress the wild nature of his power.
But even so, faint streaks of light pulsed from the gaps in his fingers.
Laser veins.
His hands trembled—not from fear, but from pressure. Rakib's Quirk, or "Gift," allowed him to release concentrated beams of light from his palms, like high-powered lasers. But the more he used it, the more unstable it became. One mistake, and he could accidentally destroy everything around him.
Still… his dream never changed.
He wanted to be a hero.
No matter how dangerous he was.
And standing in his way now was someone known for elegance, precision, and speed—Mihir, the Wind-Walker. A gifted fighter with control over wind currents, capable of gliding like a feather and striking like a blade of storm.
As Rakib walked into the arena, the crowd buzzed with excitement.
"That's Rakib! The Laser Boy."
"Isn't his power unstable?"
"He's gonna lose. Mihir's too smart for him."
He heard every word.
But inside… he was silent.
---
The announcer's voice boomed:
"Match Begin!"
Rakib raised his hands cautiously. He wasn't reckless. He knew the moment he misfired, he could injure himself—or worse.
Across from him, Mihir stood with his body low, one leg bent back, arms wide. His long, flowing scarf danced in the air, carried by a wind that wasn't natural.
He controlled the arena.
"Come on then, Laser Boy," Mihir smirked. "Let's see if you can hit me before I take you off your feet."
Rakib didn't reply.
He stepped forward.
"Focus... Control the release... Direct it."
He raised his hand and fired a small laser burst.
"Fzzt!"
A thin white beam shot toward Mihir.
But Mihir twisted his foot, spun in a half-circle, and the wind carried him aside. The beam hit the wall behind him, leaving a deep black scorch.
Mihir moved like a leaf in the breeze—fast, evasive, unpredictable.
Rakib couldn't lock on.
Another burst. Another miss.
Each time, Mihir got closer. Closer. Until—
"WHAM!"
Mihir spun forward and kicked Rakib in the ribs. Rakib stumbled back, gasping.
"You can't hit what you can't follow," Mihir said, his tone arrogant. "Speed wins."
Rakib wiped the blood from his lips.
"No… focus. Focus. You're not that kid anymore who kept hurting people by accident."
He thought of Snipy.
His inspiration. The Number Two Hero. Someone who had mastered the same unstable power.
Snipy had once said:
"It's not about stopping the power. It's about dancing with it. Let it move through you, not against you."
Rakib's hand glowed again.
This time—he didn't fire.
He channeled.
A soft hum filled the air. Light danced across his arms, forming glowing trails like ribbons.
Mihir narrowed his eyes. "What's this?"
Rakib didn't answer.
He dashed forward.
Suddenly, Rakib wasn't just a blaster. He was a close-range fighter now. His lasers flickered not as weapons, but as momentum boosters.
He bounced off the ground with a sudden burst—his hand grazing the air—and lunged forward at a speed even Mihir didn't expect.
"Boom!"
A mid-air collision.
Rakib's palm exploded in a shockwave of light—not hitting Mihir directly, but enough to disrupt the wind current Mihir was riding.
Mihir flailed mid-air and tumbled.
Opportunity.
Rakib slid under, pivoted, and fired one clean burst—from a low angle, precise and focused.
"ZzzzzT—!"
Mihir cried out as the beam hit his scarf and part of his leg.
Not lethal. But enough.
Mihir fell hard.
Silence.
Then—
"Winner: Rakib!"
---
Rakib stood still, panting. His arms smoking slightly, the gloves charred. But his control was steady.
Mihir sat up, grimacing.
"You held back," Mihir said.
Rakib nodded. "I didn't want to hurt you. Just prove myself."
For a moment, Mihir studied him. Then… he smiled.
"You'll make a good hero."
---
Meanwhile… Behind the Screens
"Interesting," said a voice behind the monitoring screen.
Instructor Miran stood with arms folded, watching Rakib's performance.
"That boy is dangerous… but his control is improving."
"Should we keep him under supervision?" another examiner asked.
"No," Miran said. "Watch him. Learn from him. He's the kind of risk this world needs."
---
Back in the Hall
Sohan ran up to Rakib and threw his arm around him.
"Bro! That was amazing!" he laughed.
Rakib grinned, then winced from the soreness. "Almost melted my gloves."
Tisha walked past them quietly but stopped.
"You controlled your heart," she said, her tone surprisingly warm.
Rakib blinked. "Thanks…?"
And for the first time, he saw Tisha give a faint nod.
The bonds were growing.