Chapter 18: The Gates of Greatness
The day had finally dawned February 26, 2180, crisp and clear, the air buzzing with anticipation. Izuku Midoriya stood before the grand entrance of U.A. High, the legendary proving ground for future Pro Heroes. The towering building loomed overhead, its glass facade glinting in the morning sun, a monolith of ambition and power. Four years of sweat, fire, and telekinesis had led him here, and instead of the nervous knot he might've once felt, a confident smirk curled his lips. This is it, he thought, adjusting his black cap. U.A. where the real game starts. Time to shine.
He scanned the crowd of examinees milling around the gates hundreds of teens, some jittery, others steely, all clutching dreams of heroics. Familiar faces popped out like stars in daylight. Ochaco Uraraka stood a few meters off, her round cheeks flushed with excitement, bouncing lightly on her toes as she chatted with a friend. Tenya Iida towered nearby, glasses gleaming, posture rigid as he adjusted his bag with mechanical precision. There they are, Izuku thought, a flicker of his old-life anime knowledge sparking.
Then his eyes snagged on a spiky blond head cutting through the throng Katsuki Bakugo, scowl etched deep, hands shoved in his pockets as he stalked toward the entrance. Izuku's grin widened, a mischievous glint flashing. Oh, this'll be fun. Without a second thought, he cupped his hands and shouted, loud and clear, "Kacchan!" The nickname rang out, heads turning, a ripple of stares following.
Bakugo froze mid-step, his eye twitching like a live wire. He whipped around, teeth grinding audibly, fury boiling in his red glare. "The hell did you just say, Izuku?!" he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut steel, palms sparking faintly with barely restrained explosions.
Izuku strolled up, casual as a breeze, hands in his pockets. "What? Just saying hi, Kacchan," he said, grin stretching wider, deliberately poking the bear. Four years, and he still hates it, perfect. He fell into step beside Bakugo, ignoring the death glare boring into him, and they walked through the gates together Bakugo radiating heat, Izuku radiating smug. Whispers trailed them "That's Bakugo, right? Who's the other guy?" but Izuku just kept pace, basking in the irritation rolling off his rival.
Inside, they were herded toward the massive exam hall a cavernous room packed with rows of desks, examinees filing in under fluorescent lights. Izuku spotted an empty seat next to Bakugo, who'd already slumped down, arms crossed, scowling at the wall. Why not? Izuku thought, sliding into it with a flourish, dropping his bag and stretching out like he owned the place. Bakugo's head snapped his way, a vein pulsing in his temple. "You're pushing it," he growled, voice low and dangerous.
"Relax, Kacchan," Izuku said, leaning back, smirking. "Big day save the explosions for later, yeah?" He's gonna blow a fuse before we even start, he thought, enjoying the twitch in Bakugo's jaw. Four years of catching up, and I'm still under his skin. Love it.
Before Bakugo could retort, proctors shuffled in, handing out thick test packets the written exam, the first hurdle. "Eyes down, no talking," one barked, and the room settled into a tense hush, pencils scratching as questions hit desks. Izuku flipped his open math, science, history, ethics familiar territory he'd mastered over years of grinding. Piece of cake, he thought, diving in. Algebra equations melted under his pen solve for x, easy. Physics problems on force and motion? Child's play after juggling fire and telekinesis. History dates All Might's debut, nailed it. Ethics scenarios hero protocol, textbook answers flowed. He breezed through, finishing early, leaning back with a quiet smirk while others sweated. Studied this stuff cold, he thought. Practical's next robots won't know what hit 'em.
Bakugo, two seats down, scribbled furiously, muttering curses at a geometry proof. Izuku caught his eye, flashing a quick grin pure mischief. "Need a hand, Kacchan?" he whispered, loud enough. Bakugo's pencil snapped, a growl rumbling, but a proctor's glare shut him up. Still too easy, Izuku thought, chuckling inside. He's gonna hate me more after the practicals.
The written test wrapped, papers collected, and a brief break followed examinees stretching, murmuring strategies. Then, the hall doors burst open, and Present Mic strutted in, all wild blond hair and leather jacket, his voice booming through a mic like a rockstar unleashed. "WELCOME, LISTENERS, TO THE U.A. ENTRANCE EXAM!" he bellowed, arms flung wide, grin splitting his face. "I'm your host, Present Mic pro hero, DJ extraordinaire, and today, your guide to GLORY! Let's get this party STARTED YEAAAH!" His energy crashed over the crowd, but the response was tepid scattered claps, a few murmurs, most kids too drained from the test to match his vibe.
Izuku chuckled under his breath. Same old Mic loud as hell, just like the anime. Present Mic didn't falter, launching into the practical briefing with gusto. "Alright, future heroes, here's the deal! Practical exam's next ten minutes in mock cities, seven spots around campus! You'll face ROBOTIC VILLAINS three types, worth one, two, or three points! Smash 'em, rack 'em up, show us what you've GOT! Use your Quirks, your wits whatever it takes, but NO fighting other examinees, got it? That's a disqualification BOOM, you're out!"
The screen behind him flared to life silhouettes of clunky robots, stats flashing: one-pointers lumbering, two-pointers agile, three-pointers hulking. The crowd leaned in, some scribbling notes, others whispering plans. Bakugo snorted beside Izuku, muttering, "Point-grabbing trash easy." Izuku smirked. He's all bravado wonder if he'll trip over his ego again.
Present Mic kept rolling, voice a tidal wave. "After that, it's all about points rack 'em high, show your stuff! Now, any QUESTIONS?" He pointed to the crowd, shades glinting, expecting silence.
Tenya Iida shot up like a rocket, hand slicing the air, glasses catching the light. "Excuse me, sir!" he called, voice crisp and commanding. "Your handout lists four robot types, yet you've described only three one, two, and three-pointers! If this is an error, it's a disgrace to U.A.'s reputation! Please clarify!" He pivoted, jabbing a finger at Izuku's row. "And you stop smirking! This is a serious matter focus!"
Izuku blinked, grin faltering for a second, then shrugged. Iida's on script zero chill, just like I remember. Bakugo snarled beside him, "Shut it, four-eyes nobody asked you!" but Present Mic laughed, loud and bright, cutting through the tension.
"Nice catch, examinee 7111!" Mic said, pointing at Iida. "Love the enthusiasm YEAAAH! Fourth type's the zero-pointer big, bad, and worth ZIP! It's a curveball, a chaos-maker no points, just trouble! Dodge it, outsmart it, don't waste your time! Got it?" He winked, spinning his mic. "And smirky back there keep the vibes high, but stay sharp, alright?"
Iida sat, nodding stiffly. "Understood thank you for the clarification." The room settled, Present Mic wrapping up with a final, "Get ready, heroes practical's next! Let's ROCK THIS!" He strutted offstage, leaving a low hum of nerves in his wake.
Izuku stretched, confidence unshaken. I nailed the written exam, he thought. Now the fun part. these robots are mine. U.A.'s gates were open.