The next morning, the soft light of dawn washed over UA's gates, painting them in hues of gold and orange. I stood still for a moment, letting it all sink in. This was it—my first real step toward my dream. My fingers tightened around the straps of my bag as a nervous thrill coursed through me. I was alone this time. No Kaito to crack jokes or distract me with ridiculous dares. It was just me and the weight of everything I'd worked for.

The air was crisp, carrying a faint chill that did little to calm the swirling emotions in my chest. Anticipation, fear, excitement—they all churned together, leaving me teetering between confidence and self-doubt. The campus was quieter than it had been during the written exam, the absence of the massive crowd making the space feel somehow larger, almost intimidating.

I glanced down at my watch, realizing I'd arrived earlier than needed. Typical. I'd hoped that being here early would give me time to settle my nerves, but the silence only amplified them. Kaito's absence was glaring; his relentless energy always had a way of grounding me. I swallowed hard and reminded myself that this was part of the process. If I couldn't handle this, how could I expect to handle being a hero?

As I made my way toward the designated meeting area, I couldn't help but glance around at the other students. They were scattered in small groups, some talking quietly, others stretching or jogging in place to loosen up. Each face I saw carried the same look—determination, resolve, and a flicker of uncertainty. It was comforting, in a way, knowing I wasn't the only one feeling this way. But at the same time, it was a stark reminder of the competition. Each one of these people was here to prove they deserved a spot at UA, just like me.

I wondered what their stories were. Did they have families cheering them on like my mom? Did they have friends like Kaito to make them laugh when the pressure became too much? Or were they carrying everything alone, their dreams resting entirely on their own shoulders?

I exhaled slowly, trying to steady my racing thoughts. My feet carried me forward, my eyes scanning the crowd. Everyone here was so different—some tall and broad, clearly built for this kind of challenge, while others were smaller, their strengths likely hidden within their quirks. Some wore sleek athletic gear that looked tailored for movement, while others stuck with their uniforms, seemingly unaffected by the occasion. It was overwhelming, yet inspiring.

This was the hero world. It wasn't about who looked the strongest or the smartest; it was about what you could bring to the table, how far you were willing to go. That thought made me stand a little taller. I may not have a quirk, but I had something just as powerful—my drive, my preparation, and my will to succeed.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something—or rather, someone. It was subtle, almost easy to miss. Two figures stood off to the side of the crowd, their presence understated yet impossible to ignore once I spotted them.

I froze for a moment, my heart skipping a beat. It was him. Eraserhead. His unkempt hair and slouched posture were unmistakable. He looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black jacket. Standing next to him, vibrant and impossible to miss, was Present Mic. His blond hair spiked in all directions, his bright yellow sunglasses glinting in the sunlight.

They were right there, casually observing the crowd, but no one else seemed to notice them. It was surreal, seeing two pro heroes blending into the background as if they were just another part of the scenery. My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to say something, to do something, but what could I possibly say to heroes like them?

Instead, I stayed where I was, my gaze locked on them. They were so different from each other—Eraserhead's calm, almost apathetic demeanor starkly contrasted with Present Mic's larger-than-life energy—but they were both pillars of the hero world. Watching them was like a reminder of why I was here. This wasn't just about proving myself; it was about joining their ranks, about standing alongside people who made the world better in ways big and small.

I wondered if they were sizing us up, silently judging who might have what it takes. Did I stand out to them at all, or was I just another face in the crowd?

The thought stirred something deep inside me—an ache, a hunger to prove that I wasn't just ordinary. That I was someone worth noticing.