While the Special Quirk Development Class quietly began its transformation behind reinforced walls, the front courtyard of Bjørnevika Hero Academy thrived with activity.
Unlike Laurick and his five classmates, the general entry students were not hand-selected through case-by-case deliberation. They had to earn their way in—through rigorous academic assessments and a physical quirk aptitude test that was both selective and brutal.
Today was that test.
And among the dozens of hopefuls, five stood out—not just for their quirks, but for the weight they carried in their expressions.
The Buff Geek – "Digital Purchase"
A broad-shouldered boy with round glasses and a backpack stuffed full of energy drinks stood grinning, cracking his knuckles as he walked toward the starting line.
His name was Arvid Nilsen, and his quirk was called Digital Purchase.
He had access to a strange, market-like interface only he could see—something like a digital app only in his mind. From there, he could "buy" items with a strange internal currency he earned by solving puzzles, completing training drills, or reading dense academic material.
And once purchased? He could manifest the item for up to 24 hours.
As he cracked his neck, a metal gauntlet appeared around his wrist in a shimmer of light.
"Let's see if this new 'Enhanced Traction Boots – Gen2' were worth the last ten hours of physics review."
The Tireless Mimic – "Perfect Recall"
Next came Jens Solvang—a boy with a warm face, a scarf that trailed behind him like a cape, and a habit of waving to everyone like an old friend.
He wasn't the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest. But he had an unshakable will and an easy smile.
His quirk? Perfect Recall.
Once he saw a quirk in action—and understood it—he could mimic its core principle and movement style exactly. Not perfectly in strength, but flawlessly in technique.
His limitation was clear: if he ever forgot how something looked or felt, he lost access to it until he saw it again.
As he watched another student perform a leaping air-kick enhanced by their wind-boost quirk, he nodded thoughtfully.
"Okay, I think I got that. Time to copy and paste."
The Haunted Girl – "Umbral Limbs"
A girl with shoulder-length black hair and eyes like wet charcoal stood apart from the others, head lowered beneath the shadow of her hood.
Her name was Liv Einarsen, and she didn't speak unless forced.
Her quirk—Umbral Limbs—allowed her to manifest tentacle-like appendages from her back, ribs, and shoulders. Smooth, semi-organic, and entirely prehensile.
She could use them to climb, block, bind—or fight.
But when she lost control of her focus, the limbs twitched and struck at random. A symptom of something deeper… something tied to memories she never shared.
As her number was called, one tentacle flicked out briefly from beneath her sleeve, tightening like a noose before retracting.
The Nihilistic Creator – "Treasure Forge"
Magnus Kristoffersen was thin, pale, and looked as though he hadn't slept properly in years.
He wore a beat-up coat, a lopsided grin, and an aura of absolute existential detachment. He openly muttered about how becoming a hero was "pointless," but somehow still signed up.
His quirk? Treasure Forge.
From nothing but his will, he could manifest valuable objects—gold, jewels, precious metals—but each creation drained him emotionally and mentally. The rarer the treasure, the more it hollowed him out.
"Still easier than dealing with pets," he murmured as he produced a perfectly cut sapphire and flicked it toward a startled observer. "Here. For when we all fail."
The Nature Seer – "Event Sense"
Finally, a tall, angular boy stood near the trees at the far end of the field, arms folded, brows slightly furrowed.
Halvor Knutsen.
Quiet, thoughtful, and deeply moral in a way that made others feel instantly judged, even if he never said a word.
His quirk was called Event Sense.
By placing his hand to the ground and focusing, he could predict the next natural event to occur in a specific area—be it a storm, a landslide, a lightning strike, or a tremor.
The drawback? He couldn't change what would happen.
Only see it.
"Rain, southeast wind. Slight tremor beneath this field. No injuries… yet."
He looked toward the others.
"This exam will be more than a test of strength."
As the instructors raised their hands and called for silence, the field settled into place.
The exam would begin.
And not all would pass.
The first phase of the entrance exam had begun.
The challenge: a combination mobility and control course, featuring shifting terrain, wind barriers, and simulated hazards designed to stress-test each student's ability to think on the move. Not just about power—judgment mattered too.
The students launched forward from the starting line.
Arvid Nilsen grinned as he flicked his hand upward. A hoverboard made of digital steel materialized beneath his feet, purchased from his quirk's interface minutes earlier.
"Market inventory: good call," he muttered, surfing through the first obstacle, dodging projectiles with a surprising grace for someone built like a gym rat with a science degree.
A few meters behind him, Jens Solvang mimicked the stance of another student who had leapt over a climbing wall with wind propulsion. With his Perfect Recall quirk, he nailed the form in one go, landing like he'd done it a thousand times.
He turned and gave a quick thumbs-up to no one in particular.
"I love this already."
Liv Einarsen, quiet and intense, moved like a shadow.
Four sleek tentacle limbs emerged from her back, wrapping around climbing structures and flinging her forward in arcs. Her eyes flickered, haunted, but she stayed focused.
Don't think. Just finish.
But as she landed, one tentacle jerked backward—slicing through a wooden obstacle she didn't intend to strike. Her breath hitched.
Control. I need more control.
Magnus Kristoffersen wasn't running.
He walked—through the mud, through the chaos, through everything. A glowing golden chain appeared in his hand, forged mid-stride, which he lazily swung to trip a swinging log trap.
"This place needs more coffee," he mumbled, deadpan.
And then there was Halvor Knutsen, standing at the edge of a jump platform. He closed his eyes, placed one hand on the steel beneath his boot—
"Vibration pattern... stable. No breaks."
He sprinted forward with quiet resolve, leaping just as a wind burst tried to push him off balance—but he'd already predicted it.
Next up: rainfall in two minutes. They're not ready.
But one new presence stood out above them all.
A fast-moving girl with olive-toned skin, short-cut hair, and eyes that flickered with disdain. She darted across the obstacles like a veteran scout.
"Out of my way," she snapped to another student, vaulting over them with ease.
Her quirk: Solid Shift.
She could solidify non-solid substances—smoke, mist, fog, even fire—by converting their structure into a temporary physical state.
She leapt through a dust cloud and turned it to stone mid-air, kicking off it to gain momentum.
"I've seen better training courses in the backwaters of Albania," she muttered. "This is barely an appetizer."
Her name was Nadia Fekete, and she didn't care about your feelings—only your technique.
Meanwhile – Bjørnevika Hero Academy, West Wing
The sound of squeaky mop wheels echoed through the tiled corridor as Pringelina pushed her cart around the corner, humming to herself with low disinterest.
She paused near the reinforced hallway leading to Room 3-B—the S.Q.D.C. training sector.
Through the wall vents, faint voices slipped through.
"…focus on regulating heart rate before triggering any transformation…"
"…if it pulses green, drop your stance. Don't force the flare…"
Pringelina's eyes narrowed. Her grip on the mop handle tightened.
Laurick's in there.
She leaned in, trying to hear more—
"Listenin' in, huh?"
She jumped.
Standing just behind her—how she hadn't heard him approach was a mystery—was Charlie Moss, the oldest janitor in the building. A man of unknown age, shaggy beard, and a custodian's uniform that looked like it had survived four decades of odd jobs and bad decisions.
He grinned.
"You know, back in '84—I once found a student hiding in the mop bucket. Real clever. Until the foam cleaner activated and he couldn't see for two days."
He paused. Blinking. Then suddenly began speaking twice as fast.
"Course then the spiders got loose in the basement and the principal had to call in a bird-handler with a flame quirk—wait what were we talkin' about?"
Pringelina stared at him, baffled.
"What are you?"
He grinned wider.
"I'm the guy who sees everything... except what he's not supposed to. Unless someone tells me not to see it. Then I see it twice."
And with that, he whistled and walked off—still pushing his mop.
Pringelina stood frozen for a beat longer… then went back to mopping.
But now she wasn't smiling.
Bjørnevika Hero Academy – Maintenance Wing
"—and that's why you should never put marmalade in a vacuum toilet!"
Charlie Moss erupted into laughter so sharp and sudden it echoed through the metal pipes.
Across from him, Roald Ingvar Ingness doubled over, covering his mouth with his gloved hand while trying—and failing—not to snort.
Øivind Martinsen clapped once, wheezing, "God help that poor freshman!"
Charlie grinned ear to ear, eyes twinkling beneath thick brows.
"Best prank I ever pulled. Principal didn't even get mad—he just banned citrus products from the dorms."
But as quickly as their laughter came, the two heroes snapped back into quiet alertness. Øivind casually leaned against the wall, eyes following Pringelina, who was refilling her mop bucket at the corner faucet.
Roald stretched and glanced at her, hands behind his head.
They didn't say anything to her.
They didn't have to.
Pringelina felt it in her bones.
They're watching me. Every second.
She could almost feel Roald's palm warming up, ready to multiply her weight to a thousand kilos at a moment's notice.
And she'd heard stories of Øivind's whistle—how it could yank someone through the air like a bullet if he was staring at them.
Escape was fantasy.
She wasn't ready to try.
Yet.
Bjørnevika Hero Academy – Testing Grounds
As the final timer buzzed and the mist settled, dozens of students stood—panting, sweaty, scraped, but still standing.
The proctors scanned the leaderboard projections. Scores tallied. Metrics processed.
Mobility. Creativity. Quirk control. Reaction speed. Judgment.
And finally—
Results.
A large screen flickered to life.
"ENTRY EXAM – PASSED CANDIDATES"
Among the names, several stood out:
Arvid Nilsen
Quirk:Digital Purchase
Noted for: Strategic loadout switching mid-course and use of purchased utility gear to counter obstacle randomness.
Jens Solvang
Quirk:Perfect Recall
Noted for: Replicating over six unique student quirks with accurate form and adaptability under shifting terrain.
Liv Einarsen
Quirk:Umbral Limbs
Noted for: High maneuverability, stealth control, and recovery reflex. Marked for close-range training emphasis.
Magnus Kristoffersen
Quirk:Treasure Forge
Noted for: Efficient use of golden tools as defensive utility and creative trap usage. Energy drain risk flagged.
Halvor Knutsen
Quirk:Event Sense
Noted for: Pre-emptive pathing and hazard avoidance. High long-term utility in coordinated operations.
Nadia Fekete
Quirk:Solid Shift
Noted for: Exceptional athleticism and use of unconventional surfaces. Confidence bordering on arrogance.
Thea Wergeland
Quirk:Bubblefield
Can generate translucent bubbles that float and explode with force upon popping. Bubbles react to her emotional state—overload is a concern.
She was cheerful, hyper, and accidentally launched three students into a tree during her first obstacle run. Apologized profusely—then did it again on the last lap.
Egil Huseby
Quirk:Glass Skin
His body naturally produces a semi-translucent glass layer that hardens under stress. Can shatter to absorb impact, but causes pain when reformed.
He moved stiffly, like each step required calculation, but his defense stats were through the roof. Quiet. Courteous. Seemed constantly distracted.
Solveig Dyrland
Quirk:Thread Weaver
She can produce and control different types of threads from her fingertips. Types vary by diet. Silk, nylon, even carbon thread.
Solveig tied the entire final obstacle into a knot, then walked over it like a rope bridge. When asked about it, she simply said, "It looked messy."
As cheers rang out and students began to celebrate, others quietly left in disappointment.
Those who passed were led into the main hall for orientation.
Their new lives—as hero students—had just begun.
Training Grounds – Behind the East Wing
The sun hung low and steady in the crisp August sky, casting long shadows across the enclosed quirk control field reserved for S.Q.D.C.
Sensors lined the perimeter, and emergency barrier runes shimmered faintly on the walls—just in case.
Harald Storstein stood with arms crossed and an unflinching expression, observing his six students from the elevated control deck.
Each student had been given a customized challenge, tailored to their specific dangers—and their weaknesses.
"Control before confidence," he had said. "Or someone ends up dead."
Ragna Tryggeson was mid-combat with a rotating dummy rig, flames dancing along her limbs in stylized bursts as she practiced shifting in and out of her Ignition Drive mode.
But her breaths were coming fast.
"Come on… stay cool… not now—!"
She blinked, stumbled—and her aura flared dangerously hot for half a second before a foam trap beneath her feet triggered, dousing the flames. She collapsed to her knees, coughing, chest heaving.
Leiv Olai Henningsen stood alone, surrounded by mirrors that flickered based on the mutation response in his body.
Today, his left leg had developed an armored insect-like carapace while his right arm was bending too far backward.
"Too much. Too fast," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Restrain the mutations. Or they'll choose for you," Harald reminded coldly from above.
Oda Mørk sat in silence, eyes closed, while a drone played random emotion-triggering audio clips to test her reaction to unexpected emotional stress.
She was to respond with body movement only—never words.
Each time the drone's audio hinted at something personal, her hand trembled—but she never opened her mouth.
Her eyes briefly flicked toward Laurick, who was across the field.
Laurick Andersson stood under a slowly tightening ring of pressure emitters that simulated danger—his body monitored for signs of elevated stress.
The moment his heart rate or breathing spiked, a warning chime echoed.
He was supposed to remain calm.
But every pulse of tension—the threat of pressure, the claustrophobic pull of the emitters—made his Nightmare Quirk twitch beneath his skin.
He clenched his fists.
Stay down. Stay asleep.
A flicker of green lightning sparked on his fingertips—just briefly.
CHIME. Warning spike.
He exhaled shakily, eyes narrowing.
"Again," he whispered.
Sigve Lund was given a mock urban environment made of breakaway walls and reinforced padding.
The challenge? Navigate without speaking or shouting while controlling the Destruct Field pulsing inside him.
Every time he grunted or coughed too hard, a chunk of the environment collapsed.
He walked slow. Carefully. The strain was obvious.
Alrik Vagle remained still in his isolation dome.
Two drones hovered nearby with flashing lights and soft mechanical chirps.
He couldn't see.
But he had to move through the course blind, unaided.
He spoke only once.
"Play sound pattern two."
The drone chirped—and Alrik took a step. Then another. Controlled. Sure.
He didn't need eyes.
He needed control.
Room 1-A – Upper Floor
Meanwhile, the newly admitted students of Room 1-A were filing into their desks, chatting, comparing quirks, and settling in.
Jens, Arvid, Nadia, and the others gravitated toward the window that overlooked the east field.
A clear view of the S.Q.D.C. class training.
"Hey," Arvid said, pushing up his glasses. "Are those students too?"
Nadia scoffed. "Barely."
"That's the second-chance class," another student muttered. "You know… the dangerous ones."
"I heard one of them can melt steel by talking," someone whispered.
Jens tilted his head. "They look… intense. Like they're holding something in."
Liv's tentacles briefly lashed the air below. A chunk of synthetic wall crumbled next to Sigve.
"They're not allowed near us during sparring weeks, right?"
Halvor stood silently beside them. "They're not dangerous. They're disciplined. Or being forced to be."
Nadia smirked. "Either way, I hope we don't get stuck with any of them."
Jens frowned, but said nothing.
Back on the field, Laurick stared at the warning emitter beside him.
He closed his eyes.
The monsters were stirring.
But this time…
He didn't feel like running.