The battlefield stretched for blocks. Rubble-strewn streets. Fake buildings. Simulated warzones. But for Yujiro Hanama, it felt real.
The moment Present Mic shouted, "BEGIN!"—dozens of examinees surged forward.
Quirks lit the sky.
Ice. Fire. Electricity. Sound. The air roared with power.
But Yujiro walked.
No flash. No fireworks. Just a boy wrapped in silence, fists wrapped in tape, eyes fixed forward.
His breath slowed. Heartbeat steady. Muscles coiled like springs.
Then the first robot appeared—a three-pointer, rolling fast and hard down a simulated street.
Most ran or used quirks to destroy from a distance.
Yujiro charged.
His foot struck concrete.
Crack.
He shot forward like a bullet, shoulder lowered. The robot's camera eye scanned him, analyzing—
Too late.
Yujiro's fist slammed into its chassis.
Metal folded.
The impact rippled through the bot's frame, throwing it five feet backward.
It twitched once. Then sparked. Then collapsed.
He kept moving.
Elsewhere, Midoriya blasted through two bots with a calculated One for All punch.
"Yujiro's already ahead," he muttered, panting.
Bakugo tore through a swarm with twin explosions. "Don't care. I'm not losing to that freak."
Yaoyorozu used a steel staff to control a crowd of bots. "He's not using a quirk," she murmured. "That power… it's just him."
Yujiro turned a corner—three bots lined the alley.
He sprinted low, slid between them.
Struck the first with a rising knee.
Spun, shattered the second with a palm strike to the head.
The third launched a missile.
He caught it.
Tossed it back.
Boom.
A girl screamed nearby. A six-pointer—massive—was bearing down.
She tripped.
Yujiro didn't think.
He appeared.
Grabbed her.
Rolled.
The robot's foot slammed down inches from where they'd been.
He stood over her as she stared, breathless.
"You okay?" he asked, voice calm.
She nodded, speechless.
He turned.
Faced the six-pointer.
His eyes narrowed.
And he charged.
Observers in the U.A. control room watched in silence.
Aizawa crossed his arms. "He's dismantling combat bots with hand-to-hand technique alone. No quirks. No gear."
Nezu nodded. "He's adapting to threats faster than our combat AI can respond."
All Might watched with clenched fists. "That's not training. That's fury. He's not fighting to pass. He's fighting to prove something."
Yujiro leapt onto the six-pointer's arm as it raised to strike.
He sprinted up it like a stairwell.
Jumped.
Twisted midair.
And drove his elbow through its head.
The bot collapsed in a shower of sparks.
He landed, panting, covered in oil and blood.
Then turned toward the next threat.
The ground shook.
The zero-pointer appeared.
Fifty feet tall.
Steel arms like towers.
Examinees screamed. Scattered.
Yujiro didn't.
He cracked his neck.
Then sprinted toward it.
From the sidelines, Midoriya gasped. "He's insane."
All Might whispered, "He's making the battlefield bow."
Yujiro launched off a fallen building fragment.
Soared.
And screamed one word:
"TOMA!"
Then punched.
Everything went white.
Silence.
Then rubble.
Then cheers.
The zero-pointer's head had been dented. Not destroyed—but altered. By a child's fist.
Yujiro fell, hit the ground hard, rolled, and stood.
Breathing heavy.
Alive.
The points didn't matter.
The scores didn't matter.
Everyone knew what they had just seen.
A student with no quirk.
Who stared down titans.
And made them fall.