Chapter 10: The Letter
The two weeks that followed the exam were the longest of Rock Lee's life. The bruises from the underground fight had long since faded, but a new, invisible tension had settled over his home. His parents treated him with a fragile, cautious kindness. They didn't speak of the exam. They didn't ask how he felt he had done. They simply existed around him, the unspoken question hanging in every shared meal, in every quiet evening. They were preparing themselves for his failure, trying to soften a blow they believed was inevitable.
To escape the suffocating silence, Lee threw himself into his training with a fervor that even surprised Sora. He was at the dojo from sunrise to sunset, his days filled with the familiar pain and rhythm of his routine. It was the only place where the uncertainty couldn't touch him, the only place where the outcome was determined solely by his own effort.
Then, the letter arrived.
It came on a Tuesday morning, a thick, pristine white envelope in the mailbox, marked with the unmistakable, heroic seal of U.A. High. His mother brought it in, holding it with two fingers as if it were a bomb.
The family gathered around the small kitchen table. His father sat stiffly, his hands clasped in front of him. His mother stood by the counter, her arms wrapped around herself. Lee sat in the center, the letter placed squarely before him. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of hope and fear.
With trembling fingers, he broke the seal and opened the envelope. A small, metallic disc fell out onto the table. A second later, it whirred to life, projecting a beam of light that solidified into a hologram. It was not All Might, but the small, intelligent face of Principal Nezu.
"Greetings!" the principal chirped, his voice surprisingly cheerful. "I am here to deliver the results of your U.A. entrance exam, Rock Lee!"
Lee's parents leaned in, their faces pale.
"First," Nezu continued, "let's discuss the written portion of the exam." He cleared his throat. "Frankly, your score was… insufficient. By a significant margin."
Lee's heart sank. He saw his mother's eyes close in pained resignation. His father's shoulders slumped. It was over.
"However!" Nezu's voice boomed, startling them. "The written exam is only one part of our evaluation. It is the practical exam where a candidate's true heroic potential is often revealed. And your performance, young man, was something we have not seen in a very long time."
The hologram flickered, replaced by footage from the exam. It was a bird's-eye view from the observation room.
The scene shifted. The hologram now showed the U.A. staff watching the monitors on the day of the test.
"The two in Battle Center B are phenomenal," said a teacher Lee didn't recognize.
Aizawa's tired voice cut in. "The explosive one is a prodigy of destruction. But the Quirkless one… look at his heat signature. It's perfectly regulated. His movements are ruthlessly efficient. He's not fighting the robots; he's systematically dismantling them. There's a battle intelligence there that can't be taught."
The hologram showed Lee kicking the shrapnel back at Bakugo. All Might, in his skinny form, leaned forward, a rare, impressed smile on his face. "That spirit!" he murmured. "That boy refuses to be defined by his limitations. He turns the enemy's attack into his own weapon. That is the heart of a hero!"
Nezu, watching the data stream, had clapped his small paws together in delight. "The raw power output of Bakugo is staggering, but the kinetic force generated by Lee's physical strikes is statistically just as effective! What a fascinating dichotomy!"
The hologram shifted back to Nezu at his desk. "In the practical exam, you scored a remarkable 76 Villain Points. An outstanding achievement that placed you second overall." The screen showed the ranking: 1st - Katsuki Bakugo, 77 points. 2nd - Rock Lee, 76 points. "Normally, a failure on the written portion would result in an automatic disqualification."
Lee held his breath.
"But rules," Nezu said with a sly grin, "are sometimes insufficient for measuring true potential. After a unanimous vote by the admissions board, a special exception has been made. Your extraordinary performance in the practical exam has more than compensated for your academic shortcomings."
The principal leaned forward, his small eyes seeming to look right at Lee, right through the hologram into the quiet kitchen.
"Rock Lee… on behalf of our entire staff, it is my great pleasure to say: Welcome to your Hero Academia."
The hologram fizzled out, leaving the small metal disc inert on the table.
Silence.
It was a silence so deep, so profound, that Lee could hear the frantic pounding of his own heart. He looked at his father. The man was staring at the spot where the hologram had been, his mouth slightly agape, his entire understanding of the world visibly cracking and re-forming behind his eyes.
He then looked at his mother. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. Then another. She wasn't crying from sadness or fear. She covered her mouth with her hand, a choked sob escaping her. It was a sound of shock, of overwhelming pride, and of a dawning, terrifying acceptance that her son was truly stepping into that dangerous world she feared, but that he was stepping into it with a strength she had never allowed herself to believe in.
Later that afternoon, Lee walked to the dojo. The door was open. Sora was inside, calmly sweeping the floor, her back to him. She didn't turn around, but he knew she had heard him enter. He didn't need to shout the news. He didn't need to speak at all. He just stood there, his presence saying everything.
After a long moment, the sweeping stopped. Sora leaned the broom against the wall and slowly turned to face him. She looked at his face, at the quiet resolve in his dark eyes.
A slow, brilliant smile spread across her face. It wasn't a triumphant, gloating smile. It was a smile of profound, bone-deep pride, the smile of a master craftsman seeing her life's greatest work finally take shape.
"Good," she said, her voice soft but filled with the weight of their shared journey. She walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring.
"The real training starts now."
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