My earliest memories are a swirling torrent of jumbled perplexity—a veritable storm of garbled words and obscure imagery. Nestled within that muddled mixture stands the hazy outline of a shadowed figure, the encompassing background of sights and sounds preserving its shapeless form within contoured acuity.
Its movement forward draws my eyes like a fluttering flame against the barren void of an inky blackness. Softly, steadily, I watch it approach, an enraptured calm drawing my essence into mollified contentment. It looms over me like a towering tyrant yet I do not fear its blackened regard of my still figure. Its blurred edges draw inward, as if to enclose my form within suffocating subjection. And still...I find my soul resting gently within the arms of sweet solace—nearly as gentle as the warmth now spreading from where the phantom's intangible presence caresses my own.
Yes...my earliest memories swirl in a confusing jumble of incomprehensible sensations, within which that unknown figure remains its most unrelenting spectre.
"Bye, mom!" I call as I shoulder my frilly, pink pack. With a hop, skip, and jump, I exit my abode and enter into the world. Armed with brains, guts, and a winning, pearly-white smile, I toss my hair and saunter my way forward. Look out, world! Haruna's comin' straight at ya, so get ready!"
...
...
...Just kidding. Yeeeeeeah, no. That's just not me. Sorry, but if you were expecting me to be some peppy, high on life, head in the clouds type of character then sorry to disappoint. It's just not my avenue. Nor do I think I even have the energy it must take to maintain such a farce. For one Yukie Haruna—that's yours truly, by the way—what you see is what you get.
"Haruna, sweetie, you're going to be late."
Pulling my cotton stockings up to rest along my thighs, my eyes lift from their red surface to the woman framed tenderly within the doorpost, silk-clad body gently tilted to one side with a dainty hand resting on the neighboring frame.
"You know it'll take you around 30 minutes to get there. And that's if you leave now. You don't have much time before the 9 A.M. start time."
Directing my gaze over to the bedroom clock, as if to mock my sense of timing, its lit, LED screen spits out the current time in giant, glaring red print from my bedside table—8:15. Whoops. Looks like I spent a little too much time on my morning ritual. I have a mere 45 minutes to make it.
"Yeah, Mom. I'm finished getting ready. Thanks." I watch her features meld into a serene smile before vacating her prior position, ambling down the hall and out of view back down the stairs, steps light as a feather.
My body rises up from its resting place atop my bed, mattress heaving upward below its coral pink comforter at the sudden shift in weight. The gleam of a shining surface draws my eyes over to the room's front left corner. Trudging over to stand before the full-length mirror, my twin image peers back at me with detached regard, her expression a reflection of doll-like placidity. Thick, cerulean locks fall to her waist in meandering ripples. Her short, thin frame peaks beneath the crimson sheen of her winter junior high school uniform, its pressed skirt extending downward to caress stocking-covered thighs. Framed underneath wispy, blunt bangs are eyes which mark her nature as unusual in a world of abnormality. Absent pupils give way to a bicolor vision of blushing pinks and balmy porcelains scattered throughout backdrops of fuchsia-tinted monotony. I can feel her steely gaze rooting me to the spot.
"Haruna! Hurry down!"
...Or not. Doubling back over to collect the bag nestled at the foot of the bed, I shoot out the room like a bullet, the bedroom door snapping shut in my wake.
Bright, white text leers up at me in blocky serif font beneath the screen's blinding surface. 8:49. Seems I'd made it with little time to spare. I find myself willing that not to be a sign of things to come.
Fitting my phone back snugly in my backpack's side pocket, I take a moment to survey the sight before me. The tall building cuts quite the imposing figure, its transparent, paned windows showering the courtyard entranceway with reflected, bright beams of light under the winter, muted morning glow. Its structure sits hewn into two separate, adjacent parts, both ends stretching downward to greet the school's portico-styled entrance. Said entranceway boasts three looming doors beyond its walkway, each one painted a number from one to three in big, bold, gold print, likely signaling a separate entrance per academic level. Looking up at it from afar, the deliberate nature of the design is clear as day; the shape of a U emerges where the glass towers meet the portico. Big, bad U.A. Academy—the sight of my current high school entrance exams and hero aspirations.
"Hurry! Hurry! We'll be late if we don't hustle!"
A gust of wind blows long locks of my unbound hair forward as two students sprint by me toward the school entrance. The poor souls must be here for the same reason—just as late as me. I suppose that's my cue to hustle along with them. With one final glance upward, my sneakered feet lift off in pursuit of their quickly fading figures.
—oOo—
I watch in displeasure as a plethora of heads turn to eye my still form now stood before the entryway. Geez, I'm not too terribly late, am I? Then again, a single glance around the room proves otherwise; with nary a free seat in direct sight, I suppose I can't blame them for no doubt wondering what fool would show up so late for what is probably the single most important day of our short, teenage lives...I may or may not have issues with punctuality. Oh well. Better stop standing around and find a seat already.
The room's layout attests to its nature as an auditorium hall. Student seating divides evenly into three sections of raised benches extending upward in a leveled arrangement, each division carrying twelve lengthy rows. Spotting a few empty spots in the mid section seventh row, I quickly make a beeline for a seat positioned next to a guy with dark blue-tinted hair and glasses, lightly sighing in relief upon plopping down onto the bench's cool surface. My seatmate pivots slightly in his seat to direct what appears to be a stern glare my way, but remains silent as he turns back forward. Okay then.
The abrupt, slight dimming of the overhead lights gives me no time to ponder the occurrence as the glow of the onstage projection screen reveals the black-clad frame of our apparent orientation presenter. With a blisteringly booming voice and tall head of hair a mile long, his identity is unmistakable.
"Welcome, U.A. candidates! I'll be your enthusiastic host for this year's swingin' entrance examination, and it's gonna be a good one! Lemme hear ya say HEY!"
Dead silence.
"...Keepin' those sweet tones low, huh? That's fine, too! I'll skip straight to the good stuff then."
Sorry, Present Mic. I think everyone here's just a bit too tense and anxious for what's to come to entertain your prodding. Then again, as a well-known radio host, it's pretty much his job to maintain an upbeat atmosphere at all times. I suppose his radio persona has begun to bleed over into his work as a pro-hero—or, in this case, a U.A. instructor—as evidenced by his rather loud hero apparel. No pun intended, of course. From time to time, I've seen off-duty pictures of him online taken by random bystanders that demonstrate a different side of the Voice Hero. You might not think it just looking at his flailing form behind the podium with his, frankly, ridiculous cuckoo-shaped hair, black leather, studded getup, and pronounced directional speaker worn around his neck, but he's known to be incredibly efficient and effective as a Hero, due in no small part to his powerful quirk, Voice. Still, I find myself to be more of a fan of his more stylish, off-duty persona. I find his man bun/shades combo to be a particularly nice touch. But that's just me.
Anyway, throughout all his gesturing, the projection screen has been keeping steady pace with our proctor's explanations. It's current display is that of a colored pictograph demonstrating the fact that we'll all apparently be split up into separate venues designated by letters from A to G. With seven different locations by which to split us up, they sure are majorly cutting down our chances of ending up with any friends from the same school who might also be taking the exam. Not that I have any to begin with.
Pulling my own exam ticket from my pack and onto the table, I can see that I will be taking the exam from 'Battle Center E'. Sure enough, a quick glance around the table at my two seatmates' tickets reveals the fact that none of us have ended up anywhere remotely near each other's exam centers. It seems we're sectioned off according to our assigned examinee numbers.
Our ever exuberant presenter explains what the task to determine our acceptance into the school will be, and I scoot forward in my seat in attentive focus—an all out battle to rack up enough points by facing off against different types of robotic enemies, each one corresponding to a specific level of difficulty and, thus, a different amount of points. The onscreen image establishes the point range as one to three per kill. Hm. Depending on the amount of points it takes to reach acceptance into the school, it could be quite the task indeed to destroy enough of these robots to rank high enough. That truth sinks in further when I think about the fact that destroying them will mean competing with every other examinee in our center for their no doubt limited numbers. Hm. Interesting.
I'm drawn from my thoughts at the sudden commotion arising from my left side.
"Furthermore, you! Up there with the untidy hair!"
The blue-haired guy from before has begun pointing and yelling at a green-haired kid several rows above us for whatever reason.
"Kindly cease your incessant muttering! This is a place for only those with the utmost intention to excel. You've no doubt been a distraction since your muttering first began." He tops off his statement with a firm glare fit to rival the one he'd directed at me earlier. This guy might actually have a bit of a stuck up his rear, huh?
The guy who'd evidently been muttering ducks down in his seat as soft laughter begins to echo throughout the hall. Feels bad, man. All jokes aside, it does make me feel for him a little.
Present Mic steals back the momentum as he begins to play mediator to the situation, bringing the general focus back forward. He launches off on an explanation of how a certain enemy type printed out on our reference sheets is merely for distraction purposes and is by no means intended to be an actual target, apparently in response to a question the dark blue-haired boy had posed before he'd gone off on his tirade. So it's pretty much just an arena trap then.
With a few final words of encouragement from our proctor, we are finally released to our separate exam venues. The lights resume their prior intensity as the sound of shuffling footsteps cuts through the silence like a knife through butter. As I bend down to collect my bag from the floor, I almost have to prevent my face from greeting the table as someone shoves past me and into the nearby walkway. Expecting it to be my former, uptight seatmate, I'm surprised to instead turn and discover some guy with wild purple hair marking a path straight for the auditorium exit. Well then. Guess I'll just chalk that up to anxiety on his part. Probably more civil that way, you know?
Without any further ado, I trek straight out the room and into the lion's den.
I'll say one thing about U.A.—they certainly spare no expense for their school facilities, that's for sure. Gathered outside the training grounds for Battle Center E, the general chatter of the others seems to mimic my sentiments.
Erected beyond the massive gates of our exam center is an entire cityscape of realistically structured, sky-high buildings of all types and styles, which loom over our heads like the ever present start time. Speaking of which.
"Your fight starts NOW!"
All at once, our eyes crane upward to the cuckoo-haired figure perched atop the cement wall separating our group from the mock city.
"Run, run, run! What's wrong? Countdowns don't exist in real life! Get moving, little listeners!" The startled silence makes the echoing of his amplified voice that much more magnified. Anticlimactic though it might be, who am I not to act on the invitation? I've been late enough for one day, after all.
I duck through the crowd and straight through the oversized gates into the all-important battle ahead, the bounding of my peers just a hare's breath behind me. Despite my best efforts, I find my pace quickly overcome by the roiling rush of the competition as I begin to fall behind.
Watching their charging bodies splinter off throughout the city brings to mind my earlier musings of the real challenge of the examination. So many people in one place means, for the next ten minutes, we're all under a nonstop rush to secure as many points as we possibly can from a finite number of dwindling targets. Add to that the fact that the massive size of the city means we'll be hard-pressed to locate enough of them to stand a fighting chance, and the stakes become even more dodgy. It's quite clear to me that just blindly stumbling around in search of points is not the smartest way to go about things here. Time to take a different approach then.
Actions decided, my momentum comes to a screeching halt amid the din of the rush. Almost immediately, I can feel the resulting curiosity of the other students, but I have no time to focus on such things as I force my mind to draw inward, eyes snapping shut.
'No hesitation. Steel your resolve. Gather up your senses...and feel.'
"What the heck's she doing?"
"She crazy or somethin'?"
"Heh. She must wanna fail." Hmph. We'll see about that.
The jeering of the competition fades into oblivion as the feeling of warmth wells up within me in a swell of rising fervor. I coax that all too familiar feeling outward, and, at my beckoning, my senses flare to life.
The battlefield erupts into a grid of luminosity as my eyes swivel to survey the new world around me. Running bodies dissolve into bright beacons of brilliant luminescence before my sight, but my only concern is the unusual signatures I can feel gathering together closer to the outer perimeter of my sense range. A feeling like fortified, metallic solidity hits me like a bag of bricks when I mentally zero in on the odd presences. That's a positive identification if I've ever felt one. Almost brings a smile to my face. Almost.
Path firmly set, my feet resume their furious motion as I beeline directly for the nearest signature of choice. As unfortunate as my inability to block out additional energies within range can be, in this case it just might turn out to be a significant boon. Because the thing about sensing them all at once is that it becomes awfully easy to tell where all the others are choosing to go in search of points. That, of course, means I head right off where they aren't choosing to go.
Sure enough, rounding a corner reveals what appears to be a tall one-pointer plopped right in my path all by its lonesome already gearing up for battle. Okay, Haruna. The first part's gone off without a hitch. Now comes something not quite so easy: fighting.
Even I can't deny that my specialties as a prospective hero-in-training aren't exactly combat-focused—that is to say, they pretty much aren't at all. Still, that doesn't mean I've come without a trick or two up my gym suit sleeve. The hard part's just putting it in action.
My opponent gives me no time for hesitation, though, as it literally whirls to life, raising a thick, robotic arm up to crush my body into the pavement.
'Withdraw all senses...dissipate…!' I will my stance to remain firm as the warmth returns inward with surging intensity, stilling within my core.
The luminous sheen of the bot's glowing outline dwindles down to solid clarity as its metal body re-emerges before my vision, its giant arm now a mere meter away from impacting my skull.
'Okay, quickly—swell outward. Solidify."
Both arms rise upward to meet the metal beast's as the warmth pools outward between our engaged frames, materializing into focused rigidity.
Shhhing!
Solid, violet luster overtakes my vision as massive metal meets shield with a resounding clang. Energy shield, that is.
A singular, glowing red orb pierces straight through my core as its hulking frame begins to bore down upon me, as if in retaliation for the hindrance. Already I can feel my arms seeking to give way underneath the strain. Can't let this continue.
A harsh exhale forces its way from my throat as I will my power into motion and it tears forward, barreling into my foe.
I allow my arms to drop down to my sides as the bot flies backward into the edge of a nearby building, glass and metal flying outward from the point of impact. Its body slumps to the ground in a boneless slump, eye dimming to a dull red. The impact was strong enough to put it out of commission, it seems. Looks like forcing them into surrounding structures is a viable strategy here. That's one point for me. No time for rest, though; the clock's ticking.
I will the tension to leave my body as I pivot on my feet to face the open field in front of me, searching around for more targets. With no enemies in sight—eyes closed, form slack—I take a moment to coax the warmth of my power back outward, the world again erupting into shimmering glimmers of energy.
Distant, scattered blips of light meet my vision at the same time that feeling of fortified, metallic solidity assaults my senses, and I immediately know my next path. Smaller, spread out signatures near greater ones indicate the locations of the competition, no doubt currently locked in battle. Time to get back into it then.
With no further delay, I zero in on the nearest crop of open signatures and beat a hasty path back into the fray.
"Six minutes and two seconds left!" Present Mic's announcement booms through the battle center from overhead.
The towering high-rise welcomes the burly body of the two point robot with reckless abandon as it catapults backward into its shining surface, glass and bits of metal flying like a shower of shrapnel. Plumes of dust billow upward in the wake of its collapse as a sharply keening, mechanical noise pierces through the air like bullets through flesh. Its wails pitch downward to a whirring hum before ceasing all together, deadened eyes signaling the failure of its systems.
Sweat glides down my brow as I allow myself a slight moment's reprieve before barrelling forward further into the city streets. By my careful estimation, that last enemy adds two to my current score of twenty-three, landing me twenty-five points in total.
As expected, gathering up points in this examination is proving to be quite the grueling task, not least because of my power's admittedly mediocre combat prowess. I've been steadily making my way through the ranks of one and two point robots. Perhaps the task would not be quite so arduous were I to also start targeting the three-pointer bots, but one bad run-in with those massive jokers proved to me just how much the school spares no expense for this type of thing. More mass, sturdiness, and overall aggression equals Haruna's clever little plan to knock the three point bots into the surrounding environment like the other ones falling apart at the freaking seams. Seriously, those things are no joke. One time having to beat a hasty retreat before my body could be flattened into the pavement like particularly blue pancakes was enough for me. I'd like to believe I'm capable of learning lessons, thank you very much.
I have to force my stumbling feet not to knock me straight down to the ground and out of my sprint as white, hot pain pierces through my head with the fierceness of a jackhammer. Already, my body is beginning to bend under the strain of it all. It's a nifty little trick of mine being capable of molding my energy to shift between sensing and protecting, but it comes at a cost. For one, I'm not able to do both at once. Correction: I could, but let's just say I wouldn't last long under the strain. Trust me. More importantly, though, is the wonderful little fact that prolonged usage of either one tends to result in what feels like someone taking the world's largest bag of bricks to my forehead about a thousand times over. Just totally rude, man.
There's no way I can bow out now, though—not with just twenty-five measly points to my name. I don't imagine that's anywhere near enough to make the rankings. So with no other choice but to press on, I continue my path toward my next target. Until.
"Help! Somebody, help me! Hey, you!"
My feet lock into place as the shout reaches my hearing. Searching around reveals no one until a feeling like light and airy sparkles hits me right as a blip of light flashes off to my right. Near the collapsed husk of a one-pointer shines the sheen of a transparent signature under its thick body. Someone appears to be trapped underneath it. I can tell from the tone of voice that it's a girl.
"Oh, good! You're looking this way! Follow my voice, please!"
Bit of an odd request, but might as well oblige. Running over next to them gives me a better vantage point, as I can see that her leg has been caught underneath the bot's big, fat head. A simple heave upward has the girl scrambling free before I drop its weight back down to the ground.
"Omg, thanks so much for that! It fell forward before I had the chance to move out of the way properly. I'm lucky you came through this way when you did! Thanks a lot!" I can tell she's bending at the waist by the way her glowing outline shifts forward a bit in place—a grateful bow.
There's one thing I'm wondering, though, so I simply wave her off and ask: "Why exactly is it that you wanted me to follow the direction of your voice?"
"Huh?" Her tone is rife with confusion for some reason. "Well, why else? I'm invisible, silly!"
…Oh. Well...I suppose that would explain why her signature manifests as transparent. That's a neat little aspect of my sensing ability in particular. People and other beings don't just appear to me as forms of light or even by the specific aura they emanate, i.e. that feeling that always hits me. Each signature is distinct in some way, shape, or form from the next in terms of its appearance. I've found that the way they look usually correlates somehow with the nature of their quirk. So in this girl's case, I suppose it has something to do with invisibility. I suppose I should explain to her that she's not invisible to me at the moment. Not really, anyway.
"Wait, can...can you actually see me or something?" She leans forward into my space as if in scrutiny. I nod.
"Seriously?! Oh no! That's so embarrassing!" She begins to flounder around, flapping her arms and everything.
"I'm not even wearing any clothes right now! No, no! Don't look! Don't look!" Her arms seem to move to cover herself up.
Time to put her worries to rest. "Don't worry, I can't actually see...anything. Just your energy signature. It's how my power works."
Her body seems to slacken as if in relief, a sigh breaking forth from her lips. "Oh, good...that was close." She seems to perk back up. "But that's a pretty cool quirk you have there! I bet it's useful."
I nod. "It is. Though...you realize I wouldn't have been able to see you give me that bow without it, right?"
She lets loose a bubbly giggle. "Yeah, force of habit, I guess."
Hm. Pretty sweet that she keeps up her manners even while invisible, I guess. Wait...why exactly is she trying to fight these things naked again? Wouldn't they have infrared vision or something?
"Four and a half minutes left, little listeners!" Shoot, we've just been standing around.
"Oh no! I gotta score more points!" Her signature flits off down a nearby alleyway, the outline of what I assume to be one of her arms waving back and forth in the air as she runs. "Bye! Thanks again!"
Well then. That's over with. I should also be kicking it back in gear.
The thing is, I can already tell before I start running that I've managed to thin out the number of enemies so much out this way that the only (moving) mechanical energies left for me to track are the ones that are congregating much closer to where I can feel everybody else fighting. It pretty much leaves me with no choice but to head that way myself.
As I do, I can feel more of the strain attempting to set in as my brain is wracked by intermittent, sharp stabbing pains. It's become more of a challenge to maintain the outward projection of my senses while I search. Hate to say it, but if I want to make it through the last four minutes with enough energy to spare for more attacks, I'll have to withdraw my senses permanently. I guess the good thing about doing so is that I'm already heading where I know most of the other signatures are located, so it kinda works out anyway.
The world trades brilliant luminescence for crisp clarity as my vision returns to its normal perception. As I near the last known location of the large gathering of energies, my eyes catch a glimpse of an interesting sight. Beyond a crop of buildings is an open field of a couple active bots and a boy running from their pursuit.
I can feel my pace slow to a stuttering crawl as I watch the bots run him directly into a dead end. I can tell that it is because I've just made it to the field myself and can see it as they corner him up against the wall of the alleyway.
As much as I need more points, I can't exactly run off if he's about to be mowed down. My decision is made for me as I witness his arms rise up above and around his head as if to protect himself from the incoming assault. Can't be helped.
As I run, I can tell that I'm just far enough away that I won't make it in time unless I distract the bots from piling on him. Well, they seem to respond to voices well enough. My tried and true method of a good old insult might do wonders here.
"Hey, lunkheads! Try looking over here, you morons!" I made sure to instill a healthy dose of sass behind my voice for good measure.
Sure enough, all heads, including the kid's, turn to stare in my direction. See? Nothing a good insult can't accomplish.
All at once, the bots abandon their current prey in favor of the one that has just insulted their robot pride, pivoting fully on their hinges to begin their approach.
Now that I'm closer I can tell that both the bots are one-pointers. That's actually a stroke of luck considering I'm not sure what the heck I would have done had either of the two been a three-pointer (probably would have run under a rock somewhere or something). As it stands, this is just more of the same.
The enclosed space does make it more difficult to maneuver myself to a point where I can engage one without being attacked by the other, though. Unless.
"Target: acquired! Now engaging!"
My eyes snap to the leftmost bot as it quickly overtakes its right counterpart, barreling forward toward me. For whatever reason, this one's decided to come at me first, but I think I can use it to my advantage.
I jump a few paces backwards to give myself room as I will my power to take shape before my extended arms, violet energy expanding outward into lucid solidity. Now I wait.
The bot leaves dust flying in its wake as it finally bounds forward beyond and in front of its right partner, arms beginning their ascent upward to attack. That's it.
My arms' abrupt movement forward propels the shield into a brisk lunge, striking my enemy with vehement force. The sound of the impact leaves my ears ringing as both bots collide in a thundering mass of flailing limbs and flying parts, collapsing to the ground in a dead heap as dust settles back in around them. Mission accomplished.
Taking my eyes off the dead bots and towards the guy in the alley, I can see even from this distance that there's a mild look of frustration all over his face. Makes me wonder if he's feeling anger over the fact that I technically just stole both his kills.
Sauntering forward, I nearly have to force my feet not to pause as I get a better look at the sight before me. A purple mass of hair stands erect above a largely listless expression, large bags shadowing tired eyes. Purple mass of hair…
I'm hit by the memory of that same mass of hair striding away out the door of the lecture hall, and I suddenly remember who the heck this person is. It's the guy who nearly shoved me face first into my desk after orientation. Well...ain't this a bit of a coincidence?
Doesn't look like the robots managed to injure him any before I could distract them, so that's good at least. But just to make sure, I ask the question out loud.
My inquiry is met with naught but a flat look and silence as his body edges away from my own, fists clenching tightly at his sides. Looks like he might have some hard feelings, after all. It'd be a bit difficult to tell were it not for his body language. This guy doesn't give much in the way of emotion, does he?
Wait a minute. This guy...Could it be?
...I need to check something. Even though I'm pretty drained at this point, I allow my power to flair outward for just a moment's breath, but it's enough time to confirm my suspicions. A feeling like sluggishly churning, concealed vitality lurking underneath the surface strikes me right as my energy snaps back inward. Now my curiosity's officially piqued. I just have to ask.
"You're a psychic type, aren't you?"
The look he gives me in return for my question can only be described as coldly piercing with just a hint of suspicion. Oh, whoops. In this world which has become largely overrun by the powers we call quirks, each one falls into one of three categories, emitter, transformation, or mutant. Emitters have been found through research and statistics to be the most commonly found type of quirk. Ironically enough, though, is the fact that even though this quirk class makes up the vast majority of all quirk users, there's a known subset of emitter quirks that appears so rarely among the populace, you'd be a bit hard pressed to come across very many of them throughout your lifetime. Those people and their quirks have become known as psychic types. Kinda like that super old cartoon with the monster creatures (which the term might have been inspired by, come to think of it). And with psychics being such a rare occurrence, people tend to sit up and take notice of them whenever they do appear. This tends to put people with these types of quirks under greater scrutiny, oftentimes to their own detriment. For example, there's a stereotype that psychics are largely withdrawn, subdued individuals with a propensity toward manipulation of others and just being all around unpleasant. Don't have a clue where the belief could have started, but people should know by now not to cling too deeply to that stuff, what with heroes like Hosu City's own pro-hero Mind Reader and Sir Nighteye proving how off base that type of thing can be. Still, I can't deny that it's part of the reason why I reacted to this guy's features the way I did.
Speaking of which, said guy has decided to just walk away from the situation entirely, not even paying any heed to my question as he trudges toward the alley's opening. I guess it's his choice to do so, but now I'm feeling...conflicted. I kinda don't wanna leave it at that.
"Hold on. Can you at least tell me your name?" I have to raise my voice a little with how far away he's gotten.
He stops just short of the alleyway exit but doesn't turn back to face me, hands resting in the pockets of his dark jumpsuit.
"What's it to you what my name is?" His tone's just as closed off as his demeanor. I'm not gonna back down, though.
"It's just that it's not everyday I find someone who's like me. I thought it'd be worth it to at least remember your name."
A pregnant pause follows my words. Then, he tilts his head so that his profile is exposed to me and our eyes meet. "It's Shinsou."
Shinsou. I will definitely remember it. We psychics are few and far between, after all.
As he rounds the corner, a shrill siren slices through the silence setting in on the heels of his exit.
"Aaaaaand time's up! That's it, everybody!"
Present Mic's decree sits heavy in my gut like a burdensome weight. Just like that, the U.A. entrance examination has come to a close...and I only managed to rack up around twenty seven points by the end of it all.
As depressing and worrying as that is, there's no sense in worrying about what's now past. I did my best with the skill set I have, after all. So with nothing else to do but begin the long trek home, I let the day's tension drain steadily from my shoulders. All that's left is to await the result. I just hope I won't end up hating it.