U.A. was way more intimidating in person.
I'd seen it a thousand times on TV, in promotional videos, even in detailed breakdowns about modern school architecture. But standing in front of it… it was something else entirely. Tall, clean, white walls. A main gate with a sleek minimalist design, like it was saying, "Yeah, this is a school… but it's not for just anyone."
I stopped right in front of the main entrance.
It was closed.
No doorbell. No intercom in sight. Just a card reader on the right side, like the ones you see in corporate buildings. For a second, I wondered if I was at the wrong entrance.
Was I supposed to knock?
I glanced to the side. Yeah, a card reader—the kind you scan a badge on and it beeps you through. Obviously, I didn't have a badge.
I stepped forward, a little unsure.
The moment I got close to the door, a metallic voice came from a speaker right above it.
—Name and purpose of your visit?
I jumped a little, but answered quickly and clearly.
—Riku Tachibana. I was called in for a technical evaluation. I applied for the entrance exam.
There was a brief pause.
Then a mechanical click sounded, and the door opened inward with a soft hydraulic hum.
I swallowed.
"Well… this is already further than I expected."
The hallway was wide, spotless, and had that neutral smell you only get in places that are either brand new or meticulously clean. My reflection followed me on the glass panels on either side, backpack strapped to my back. Inside, well-padded, were the three devices I planned to show off. Along with my notebook… and a backup USB drive.
I didn't have to go far.
As soon as I crossed the first main corridor, someone was waiting in the lobby.
A short man, dressed in a dark yellow jumpsuit with a metal visor helmet that covered most of his face. Hands clasped behind his back, foot lightly tapping the floor like he was getting impatient. He looked like a construction worker… until I realized who it was.
Power Loader.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"…Power Loader?"
He was shorter than I imagined.
Not something I'd ever say out loud, but it was the first thing that popped into my head.
—Tachibana, right?
I nodded. He held out a gloved hand and I shook it.
—Power Loader. Head of the Support Department, —he said in a gruff voice, but there was no hostility in it—. When I saw your application… honestly, I thought you must've checked the wrong box.
I blinked.
—Wrong box?
He nodded.
—Yeah. I figured it was a mistake. That you meant to apply to the Support Course but accidentally marked "Hero Course." Then I opened the file and… well, realized it wasn't a mistake.
He scratched the back of his neck with his oversized glove.
—You're the first one trying to get into the hero class like this. No quirk… and homemade gear.
He said it without mockery, without sarcasm. Just as a fact.
—There have been attempts before. A few quirkless kids. But none of them used their own tech to make up for it.
I adjusted my backpack strap quietly.
—I figured I had to at least try.
Power Loader stared at me for a second longer than normal. Then he turned on his heel.
—Follow me. We're heading to the testing workshop. I want to see just how far you've gotten.
The walk to the testing room wasn't long, but every step made my heartbeat louder.
Power Loader walked ahead of me with a steady stride, never looking back. The hallway lights switched on automatically as we passed, illuminating a corridor with polished floors and reinforced metal panels on the walls.
"What kind of power source do your gloves use?" he asked suddenly, without stopping.
—High-discharge capacitors with a backup battery —I replied instantly—. The main energy is split into three layers to stabilize the voltage during each shot.
Power Loader gave a little nod, offering no further comment.
"Cooling system?"
"Hybrid setup. Forced air cooling with rapid heat-dissipation channels in the palms and forearms. There's also an internal overheating alert that shuts everything off before it hits 80 degrees Celsius."
He tilted his helmet slightly—approval, maybe—but didn't say anything. We kept walking.
"What'd you use for the flexible joints?"
—"ight alloy with internal reinforcement. Some parts are 3D-printed with modified polymers to handle mechanical stress. Everything's tested to endure at least twenty consecutive blasts without a drop in performance."
"Mounting system?"
"Magnetic, combined with strap locks. Double security."
Power Loader let out what sounded like… satisfaction?
"You sound like a third-year Support student."
I'll take that as a compliment.
We reached a set of double doors labeled "Testing Zone A-7" in bold black letters. The doors slid open automatically as we approached, and we stepped into a large room with padded walls, metal targets, and reinforced concrete columns. Off to one side was a workbench with tools, recording equipment, and monitoring screens.
"You can use the space however you want. Show me what you've got."
I nodded.
I carefully pulled my gloves out of the backpack, sliding them on one by one, tightening the straps and activating the connectors. The side lights blinked before settling into a steady blue.
I stood in front of one of the testing columns.
Took a deep breath.
Fired.
BOOM!
The glove let off a blast of compressed kinetic force so strong it made me stumble back half a step. The impact hit the column with enough force to leave a visible dent in the concrete—not a full crack, but a very clear mark.
I fired again. This time at a metal plate hanging from the ceiling.
BOOM! BOOM!
The plate rattled violently. I turned to another target and switched the setting to rapid-fire mode.
Five shots in under two seconds.
I aimed at the floor.
And fired.
My whole body shot upward like a spring had launched me from my feet. I lifted about three meters before landing awkwardly, one knee hitting the ground.
Power Loader didn't even flinch. He just kept writing on his tablet.
—Not bad, —he finally said—. The recoil's well managed. How stable is the system after the first fifteen shots?
—Up to twenty-five if the room stays below twenty-five degrees Celsius. After that it starts to heat up. But it cools back down in under two minutes if I stop firing.
He nodded again.
I carefully took off the gloves and set them on the table. Then I grabbed the wristband and skates.
I tested the wristband first, shooting the compound at a rusty metal plate in the far corner. The substance shot out precisely and immediately started reacting. A faint smoke rose up, the metal bubbling as it corroded.
No need to explain anything.
Then I put on the skates, activated the boosters, and took a quick lap around the room at medium speed. It wasn't a smooth track, but I managed to maneuver without tripping. I stopped right in front of him, shutting the system off before it overheated.
Power Loader stopped writing.
He stared at me for a few seconds.
—Have you ever considered joining the Support Course?
His tone was neutral, maybe even friendly. There wasn't any mockery or condescension. Just a practical suggestion based on what he'd seen.
But still…
I felt a little sting.
Not because of what he said—because of what it meant.
Of course he thought it. Of course he figured this wasn't enough. That even if they let me in, I wouldn't last through the first semester of the Hero Course. That my place was in a workshop. Away from danger. Away from the front lines.
I lowered my eyes for a second, letting my thoughts settle. I took a deep breath. Long. Calm.
—I respect it, —I said, keeping my voice steady—. Really. What you do here is amazing. Half the heroes wouldn't make it through a week without your department.
I paused, then looked straight at the opaque visor of his helmet, like I could see my reflection there.
—But I don't want to be stuck in a workshop.
There was no defiance in my voice. No arrogance. Just a decision I had already made.
—I want to be out there. I want to face things head-on, with my own tools, with my own hands. If something goes wrong, I want it to be my fault—not because of gear someone else built.
Power Loader said nothing. He just kept watching me. Maybe trying to figure out if this was just stubborn teenage pride… or something else.
—Besides, —I added, with a slight grin— I'm not really the sharing type when it comes to my tech.
I didn't explain why. I didn't say it was the only thing that made me feel useful. That it was the only thing I'd ever built with my own effort—without a quirk, without some genetic "gift." I didn't talk about all the nights I spent tweaking every bolt, redesigning circuits, burning my fingers on bad soldering jobs, or the time a battery exploded in my face because of a miscalculation.
There was no need to.
Silence stretched between us.
Until Power Loader gave a slow nod.
—I see, —he said at last—. You're stubborn.
I shrugged.
—Probably. But I made it this far, didn't I?
He crossed his arms.
—I'm not gonna lie to you. Even if they approve you using this equipment in the entrance exam, the odds aren't in your favor. No one without a quirk has ever been accepted into the Hero Course.
—Then I'll be the first, —I said without hesitation.
Power Loader didn't reply. For a brief second, I felt like he might've been smiling behind that visor.
He put his tablet away.
—Your devices are functional. Not toys, not science fair gimmicks. But they've got weaknesses. They won't last in a drawn-out fight or extreme environments without upgrades. And if they break during the exam, you won't have time to fix them.
—I know, —I nodded—. That's why I have backups. And a plan.
He gave a slight nod.
—Good. Next step is for me to write up a report for the admissions board. They'll decide if you're cleared to participate with your gear. If they greenlight it, you'll hear back in a couple of days. You'll also need to sign a liability waiver.
—I understand.
I pulled a sheet of schematics and specifications from my backpack and handed it over. I didn't want their decision to rely only on what they saw today. Power Loader scanned it quickly.
When he turned to leave, I built up the nerve to ask:
—Hypothetically… if I pass the exam, would I be able to request access to Support Department materials? For maintenance, upgrades, reinforcement…
Power Loader stopped right before the door. He turned his helmet slightly.
—Pass the exam first, Tachibana. Then we'll talk.
And he left.
I stood there alone for a few moments, the gloves still sitting on the table, the dented plates, the marks on the concrete pillar. Everything felt a little heavier now. More real.
I packed up my stuff in silence. Walked toward the exit without rushing, without looking back—though every step echoed through the empty room like my nerves were trailing behind me.
That night… I couldn't sleep.