Episode 8. "Leap of Faith." Part I. [VOLUME TWO]

One of the main things recommended during the preparation period for important exams is maintaining a routine.

This is especially true on the day of the exam itself.

So, I got up at my usual time, which is four-thirty in the morning, did some stretching, and went for a run through the still dark, nearly deserted city.

I actually enjoyed running alone.

However, both the Japanese in general and runners, in particular, tend to wake up early, so I was probably never truly alone. To run solo, you'd practically have to wake up before three, which would be too much even for me.

It was chilly, my breath escaping in small white clouds...

Afterward, I rinsed off, got ready, wished a good morning to my yawning father, grabbed his wish of good luck, a cup of coffee, and a couple of multi-grain toasts—probably the only one in my prefecture who eats those—then hopped on a commuter bus that runs from Hamamatsu to the neighboring city of Musutafu, heading to U.A. Academy to take the exam.

The time was five minutes to six in the morning.

February twenty-sixth.

I caught the sunrise as I boarded the bus...

Another thing often advised before a significant test is to visit the test center in advance, enter the auditorium or examination hall, and generally think through the logistics of the trip. Ideally, you should attend an open house at your prospective school.

Naturally, I did all that, so I wasn't worried about possibly being late, even though I had left with a solid time buffer.

Seeing U.A. in person… was impressive, but more on that later.

The journey was long, so I could have slept on the bus—but I didn't want to sleep, because the third (and most important) recommendation before a major exam is to rest beforehand. So, I dedicated yesterday entirely to hedonism and sybaritism, putting myself to bed "just in time," and spent the ride today alone with music, lazily observing the people around me and guessing who among them was headed to the same place.

Finally, at eight-thirty-five, surrounded by other students in jackets, coats, and blazers, I stood before the enormous facade of the citadel of heroic knowledge.

I stood, notably, alone—Yui and Tsuna were supposed to be dropped off by the latter's mom. Miss Tokage, as Yoko Tokage-san liked to present herself in a Western style, had persistently invited me to join them, but I declined, citing my pedantic quirks. Ha.

On the vast grounds of the Academy, transport was prohibited, so all newly arrived applicants disembarked from buses, taxis, limousines, sports cars, and so on, then continued on foot regardless of their status. Accompanying persons were also not welcome—it didn't matter whether it was a concerned parent or a personal bodyguard.

All applicants were equal; there was a psychological undertone to this, you see.

So there I stood, under the walls of U.A., alone.

I stood, and… I couldn't believe it. It almost brought me to tears, honestly. This damned day had finally come…

So much preparation, so much effort, so much self-improvement, so many sacrifices put into this… opportunity… I almost got emotional, like a freshman girl during her first exams.

Although I let my emotions run too soon—I hadn't been admitted anywhere yet. Too soon, Niren.

Closing my eyes, I counted to ten and spent a few extra seconds on a deep, deep breath. And exhale. And smiled widely.

Here I come, future!

… In the huge auditorium, resembling a Greek amphitheater, we met up with Yui—students from the same school were seated together, so we naturally sat shoulder to shoulder. Everyone had their own number; I was number five thousand four hundred thirty-six, for example. More than ten thousand applicants from all over the country (and a few hundred from abroad)!

Naturally, we wouldn't all fit in one hall, so there were three.

Not far from us was a very excited Setsuna, and when Mashirao, who was sitting two rows away, waved at me with the tip of his tail, it became clear that we were grouped by cities and prefectures.

In general, there were a lot of people, all extremely diverse, bright, and not always fully anthropomorphic. Among all these quirks, spotting my future classmates, whom I knew about, was impossible.

However, I, luckily seated in the very back row, kept trying, and…

Finally, spotting a familiar blonde spiky head to my left and a dissatisfied face, even from behind, I realized—this is it!

Now I would see the protagonist of the story from World A, who would become the greatest hero!.. and all that…

Next to a sullen Bakugo was a typical enthusiastic nerd with a mop of curly hair. The same green as Setsuna's, only brighter.

To complete the image of a full-blown nerd, all that was missing were glasses with a couple hundred diopters. A sort of Peter Parker on a budget, Japanese version, no GMOs, but with a natural dye.

I vaguely remembered that this guy reminded me of Spider-Man in the last season of the anime… but how exactly, I have no idea. Oh well.

In general, Izuku Midoriya, who would become one of the most powerful beings in the coming year, wasn't impressive in appearance.

Blatantly scrawny, despite the intense training he was supposedly undergoing with All Might in recent months; completely socially unadapted, uncontrolled in his enthusiasm, constantly muttering to himself, covering his face with his hands and rocking like an orthodox Jew during prayer; timid, frequently casting fearful glances at his neighbor; his face was far from manly, his chin not at all determined (unlike the blonde next to him, for example)—the guy looked more like an awkward woman with big eyes.

But there was at least one trait we shared fully—joy… even genuine happiness about what was happening around us. About the heroes, about the Academy. About ourselves, who, thanks to hard work and a bit of luck, at this very moment could touch the divine… or rather, the heroic.

Which means I probably know how to get along with Izuku. That will be useful for both me and him.

Considering that this world, up to this point, hadn't given me any reason to suspect its story significantly differed from the chronology of World A (aside from the fact of my reincarnation, of course)... one could be reasonably confident that this unremarkable guy would face all the challenges that came his way with honor, probably even better than a certain Niren Shoda.

I smiled a little and turned toward the podium—to listen.

And there was someone to listen to—on stage, a professional hero, Hizashi Yamada, also a teacher of foreign languages at U.A., also known as the Voice Hero: Present Mic, was stirring up the crowd and discrediting his own professionalism.

… well, this is Japan, the country of extremes. And oddities.

Unlike the rainbow-bursting Izuku, this clown didn't evoke any positive emotions in me, which is why I didn't listen to his pro-hero radio station either, preferring podcasts with charming blogger heroines. Like Midnight, yeah.

… okay, honestly, I rarely found time to watch such things, preferring either a concise news summary or a chamber interview with someone like Nagan.

However, I didn't have any negative feelings toward my future English teacher either—the guy was simply stuck, trapped in his own "stage" persona, the heroic image that Mic had crafted for popularity back in college.

Speaking of "teaching English." For most civilians, the teachers at the Academy were really known as regular university professors, and it didn't even bother the average person that every single one of them was primarily a professional hero. Successful heroes! Famous ones! People were more interested in Midnight's new flashy costumes or rumors about another fling by Vlad King.

Moreover, this subtle psychological trick reassured concerned parents, well, the simpler ones. Like my mom, forgive me, Kami-sama.

However, in reality, these "regular" subjects took up barely a tenth of all academic hours. For instance, in addition to his English classes—an international language is undoubtedly necessary for heroes—Mic also taught public speaking, oratory, how to evacuate nervous civilians from hotspots, how to give interviews without messing up like Skycrawler, how to conduct press conferences…

Meanwhile, Mic was explaining our schedule for today.

Both exams, theoretical and practical, take a total of two hours and ten minutes.

First, we take the theoretical exam, a single but comprehensive test covering general education subjects, plus English. This standardized computer testing lasts one and a half hours and is conducted on computers in a dozen smaller auditoriums. It starts in fifteen minutes, by the way.

I didn't remember anything like this from the anime, but expecting anything different from one of the most prestigious educational institutions in the world would be, to say the least, foolish.

And I didn't expect it, having familiarized myself with the admission procedure in advance—as any reasonable person would.

Once we sorted out the sequence and schedule of testing, the introductory speech, more like a performance by a rather unattractive idol, moved on to the sweet part—giant! Humanoid! Robots!

Okay, okay, not very human-like and not that big, but still. Indeed, the practical exam at U.A. Academy this year was supposed to last only ten minutes, match my memories and notes, and be a massive battle, wall to wall, between applicants and robots.

It was implied that such an experience was supposed to show us, the future heroes, the full appeal of the career we had chosen—beating up the bad guys and being beaten up by them in return.

That is if you're portraying a loaf of bread and looking only at the surface.

In reality, it's a competition. In today's world of quirks and heroes, unfortunately, catching criminals has turned into a kind of sport, a rivalry between the fastest and brightest, a battle between efficiency and flamboyance, professionalism, and big bo… ambitions.

U.A. didn't hide this.

But to their credit, they didn't forget that saving lives was the initial and most important goal from a moral standpoint. Therefore, in addition to assessing combat effectiveness, each applicant also received "rescue points" for covering and assisting other students. And not just students; many of the applicants were much older, by the way. Trying multiple times was allowed.

Aside from assessing the potential of future heroes as rescuers, rescue points were also meant to gauge our ability to work in a team. Professional heroes often have to work together, whether it's facing large criminal groups or strong individuals alongside the police or pulling victims out of the epicenter of a disaster of some kind.

In short, we were being tested separately as individuals and separately as cogs in the machine of teamwork.

It's also worth noting that the "Training Ground", or "Arena," as Mic called it, where we would be taking the practical exam, is just a name. In reality, the test would take place in specially constructed areas for U.A., filled with models of empty high-rises. At least, that's what I understood from the information on the website and Mic's presentation. I'm afraid to imagine what budget this Academy has…

All right. But why is the main test so unoptimized? Why is the entrance exam so one-sided and doesn't allow telepaths, tacticians, healers, and so on to enter?

This is undoubtedly done on purpose.

The thing is, combat heroes are much… more reliable if we use an analogy with tools. To drive a nail, you can use a sledgehammer or a microscope, but no one doubts which will break first. And after all, everyone dreams of heroic exploits…

So, firstly, such heroes of the mental front undergo additional stress-resistance and motivation checks. Even if they don't pass the entrance practical exam, but still don't give up on their dream, there are still ways to become a student at U.A. For example, they can enroll in the general education department and then transfer to the hero course privately.

Secondly, these guys need less hands-on skills and much more strategic disciplines… which are exactly what they teach in the first courses of general education and support. And then they transfer to the hero department according to the tried-and-true scheme. This is how the not-so-well-known Sir Nighteye, formerly All Might's sidekick, and probably Recovery Girl, about whom there were only a few lines on the internet but whom I remembered from the anime even after so many years, did it.

But Midnight, for example, got lucky since in her year of admission, U.A. still had actors and mercenaries (on whom her quirk of sleep-inducing gas worked).

And in general, regarding all applicants: this field test with RoboCops is a massive integrity check. I, of course, hadn't been to the Training Grounds of U.A., no one is allowed there, and the exam records are also impossible to find. However, I would bet that cameras are everywhere.

In the end, the weak will leave, the overly aggressive will leave, the overly panicky will leave, the deceitful will leave… let's hope my positive moral qualities are sufficient.

In line with my thoughts, Mic announced that we were spread out across different test locations, that is, Training Grounds, or combat training arenas (yeah, yeah, familiar students shouldn't help each other, yeah, we got it), and then talked about the three types of our metal opponents.

I think he would have added a few more details and wrapped up the lecture, but then some tall guy with glasses intervened. I usually try to be unbiased, but this guy, who tried to grab his moment in the spotlight, didn't appeal to me from his first words.

I just can't take seriously a speech filled with bureaucratese and officialdom in industrial quantities. Especially when it's full of grievances. From what mindset did this… wannabe student council president crawl out to start his speech with a complaint to U.A. about "an error in the information booklet, for which the Academy should be ashamed?"

And then this jerk publicly humiliated our green-haired protagonist! Yes, he was muttering throughout the lecture. Barely audible. So what? Is that a reason to disgrace him in front of thousands of people? What kind of hero are you after that?

The fact that Midoriya is used to it… only makes the situation more pathetic, honestly.

After seating the weirdo (number seven thousand one hundred eleven, because even the numbers in the exam were impressive!) back down, Mic confirmed that yes, there were four types of robots, but the fourth was just an obstacle.

He then wished us all luck in our suffering and ended his speech with a quote from Bonaparte "about a true hero," whom he sarcastically called a great hero (only Yui and I picked up on the sarcasm, judging by the lack of chuckles in the audience).

Then we all headed off to take the test, lining up in queues of kids in variously colored and styled uniform blazers and skirts. It wasn't wise to dawdle because, besides the test itself and the journey to the combat test locations, we would still have to change into sportswear. And I had to do a warm-up routine as well.

I even felt a slight jitter, the kind you get as a student—a feeling I'd already grown unaccustomed to. I hadn't felt it since my last life, it seems…

But who, judging by their appearance, wasn't nervous at all and was carrying themselves with royal composure—was Yui.

She elbowed me and smirked (or, rather, I knew she was smirking—the Snow Queen only slightly raised the corners of her lips):

"You should have come to the classes with me, Niren. Parkour would have been handy for you on this urban exam... Don't you regret missing out?"

"And who said I didn't go anywhere?" I raised an eyebrow.

"And where did you go, wise Shoda-dono?"

I smiled gently, but with a hint of friendly teasing:

"That's a secret."

"Hey!" she tried to poke me with a pen, but I heroically blocked the fearsome weapon in Yui's hand with my notebook.

"All I can say is that I was also preparing for something like this."

"As expected from our Mr. 'I'll-do-everything-ten-times-better-but-you-did-great-too,'" came Setsuna's cheeky voice over my shoulder, "everything's under control! Everyone's punished! No one leaves empty-handed! No one leaves at all! They won't want to, anyway!"

Her floating hand on the opposite side approvingly patted me on the shoulder.

Yui rolled her eyes, waving off the fanged mouth that had been, so to speak, "taken out of context" from the rest of her body, floating around us in the air, which startled a couple of schoolgirls:

"And here you are... I have to say, I didn't expect U.A.'s walls couldn't rid themselves of parasites…"

"Exactly!" the "parasite" wasn't offended in the slightest, somehow understanding our conversation, even though I could clearly see her standing in line at the opposite end of the room. "I've already driven you out of your mind; now it's the entire U.A.'s turn!"

I happily gave her a high five (achievement unlocked: "High five across the hall"), advised her not to waste her quirk's energy, and Setsuna's school floated away to make the "wonderful faraway" even more wonderful.

I lost sight of Midoriya and the spiky blonde when we exited the hall.

I wonder if I'll end up on the same battle test with the protagonist? He's supposed to take down some big robot there…

Hmm.

Mic mentioned three types of dummies to beat—depending on their size and danger level, they were called "Small Villain," "Medium," and "Large," earning one, two, or three villain points respectively, based on the estimated difficulty of the win. But there was a fourth type of robot that gave zero villain points and acted as an obstacle, a decoy that wasn't meant to be fought. It was innocuously named the "Arena Trap."

Maybe those "traps" are the giant robots? Doesn't seem logical.

Well, I hope I don't encounter one of those; who knows what to do with such a big one…

When it was our turn, I stepped aside, smiled, and gently touched Yui's back, guiding her ahead of me into the room. To her questioning look, I replied with a playful aplomb:

"What? Yes, I'm confident enough to be chivalrous!"

And… I don't know what exactly prompted me to do what I did.

Maybe I'm just a paranoid case. Perhaps, having reincarnated among anime superheroes and kept my sanity, I got off easy.

Or maybe, as Exupery said, I feel responsible for those I've "tamed." I consciously made the girls stronger than they would have been in the previous version of the world, and now their successes and failures will always partly be on my conscience.

Either way, at that moment, I placed a marker on Yui's back as I let her go to the tests.

Just as I had earlier marked Setsuna's hand—when I gave her a high five.

And to be completely honest… I do this regularly—update the "tracking" on all the important people in my life —because the markers harmlessly disappear either after being outside my perception radius or simply after about a day.

Yui and I entered the room.

***

The theoretical test didn't impress me. I mean, no, it wasn't just for show; it was a legitimate school program, even tougher than our graduation exams.

But, um… I could have worried less about studying, and now I felt annoyed.

And what would I have done if I had gained an extra (not) spare hour a day? Read a book? Go to the movies... Get myself a girlfriend. Bring her home. Make babies.

Yeah, right.

I started feeling pretty awful, so I didn't wait for Yui or Setsuna—I went straight to my test location, where we were taken by a small shuttle bus, like at the airports, from the computer testing site. After all, time was short, even though I finished earlier, and I had done more than enough for their admission. Now, it's every man for himself.

Besides… I could almost feel where they were, so if anything, I could come to their aid… It's a pity the markers don't show the condition of the object. Or rather, it shows it in a limited way—let's say if I put a marker on a piece of paper, and then it burns or is torn into tiny pieces, the marker disappears.

So, if the marker on one of my friends suddenly disappears, then…

Damn, what the hell am I thinking?! Why am I even assuming something bad has to happen?

I changed in the large locker room. I was one of the first, so no one bothered me or invaded my personal space. Generally, my outfit would be regular sports pants, a sleeveless shirt, and the usual bandages, but I… cheated a bit. Knowing I'd have to fight robots with my bare hands and feet, I brought sturdy motorcycle boots and similar gloves that looked more like legalized knuckle-dusters with knuckle protection.

I jumped in place, stretched.

Incidentally, I never allowed myself those pretentious movie-style knuckle-cracking exercises. Amateurs might not know this, but actually, there is an opinion that such antics cause micro-damage to the synovial joint capsule, potentially leading to arthritis fifteen years later.

Not to mention, a sharp neck twist can pinch a nerve, and the exam for such a "hero" would end before it began.

I felt… confident. Quite grim, though; the enthusiasm for all this heroic stuff had already worn off.

But—confident.

I remembered that the names of the ten strongest applicants are displayed on a special board on the academy's website. My primary goal is one: not just to get into U.A., but to get into the first "A" class of the hero course. I need to be in one of the top ten spots. No, the very first!

So, I need to give it my all. No, a hundred and fifty percent! Plus ultra, as they say.

Self-psyching, like boxers, works wonders.

My mood gradually improved, and I smiled, or rather bared my teeth, as I approached the gates of Training Ground "C," where the students were already gathering.

Though, they gathered incorrectly—in little groups here and there.

The adrenaline began to surge. I began to purposefully push my way forward. I needed to be closer to the gates… to start first when the signal sounded…

In the end, I took a place in the very front row, to the left of a short, thin guy with gray hair and an emotionless face.

I didn't see anyone familiar.

And I wasn't looking back anymore, focusing on the gate and my own breathing.

The only thing I felt were a few of my markers nearby. I had been training for a long time to navigate with their help, marking everything and everyone and building a sort of dynamic three-dimensional map in my head, fortunately, within my current radius of a kilometer, I felt my marks perfectly.

The problem was mainly that I couldn't accurately distinguish a marker on a refrigerator in an apartment, for example, from a marker on my mom's back, even though they were often close at night.

Not having the ability to distinguish marked objects out of sight, I had to resort to tricks: placing several markers nearby to mark a certain point, placing them on different parts of people's bodies-targets, setting them at different building heights, varying the force invested in the markers, and so on.

With some effort, thanks to excellent topographical memory (which, in turn, arose due to the quirk factor), I indeed managed to navigate.

Now, I almost automatically matched the distance, direction, the presence of movement of the marked object, the characteristics of the marker itself, and the height relative to the ground, and as a result, I realized that Yui was to my right—probably in the neighboring Training Ground.

But right now, that's not important.

I will become a hero. I will become a savior. It's me—not some green-colored nerd—who's the protagonist of this story! I'll show them. I'll prove it! I'll…

Signal.

Author's Note:

Yeah, I know about this 10-year-something experiment, but I don't believe it was conveyed properly because there was no way to control the variables. Moreover, as an M.D., I remember learning about this in university.

Anyway, whether it's true or not isn't the point—the main message was to highlight the extremely pedantic nature of the MC. He's kind of a killjoy sometimes (and, by the way, I crack my fingers and neck all the time myself).