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[6] Telekinesis and Entrance Exam
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 16:25:41 +0000 UTC(Kata POV – Orphanage)
As I stepped out of the car, I took in my new home—the orphanage. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it wasn’t rundown either. A large, three-story brick building stood before me, its design reminiscent of student dormitories. The front yard stretched wide, enclosed by a simple fence, and the location itself was relatively secluded, away from the heart of the city.
Inside, the orphanage was neat and orderly. I was promptly escorted to the director’s office, where a woman of average build, unremarkable height, and a plain face waited. Her sharp gaze peered at me through thin-framed glasses.
"You must be Kata Okada. My condolences about your parents," she said in a professional yet distant tone. "You may call me Mrs. Potters. I’ll be looking after you for the foreseeable future."
She offered a small, polite smile. I returned it with a nod, keeping my expression neutral as I introduced myself. The tour was brief. I met the other children, exchanging names I knew I’d soon forget. My room, thankfully, was mine alone—a small mercy. Along with it came a strict schedule: meal times, chores, mandatory activities. No room for negotiation. No leniency. It didn’t take long to adjust.
Despite my circumstances, I secured a scholarship to a prestigious junior school, thanks to my near-perfect grades. Had it not been for frequent hospital visits, my academic record would have been flawless.
Unlike many public schools, bullying and discrimination were not tolerated here, a welcome change. More importantly, the police had documented my quirk during their investigation, meaning I was never mistaken for quirkless—an advantage that spared me much grief.
Some students approached me, eager to befriend me. Some sought the secret to my high grades, hoping to replicate my success. Others were drawn in by my appearance, their smiles bright but their intentions shallow. I played along with those who seemed genuine and ignored the ones who weren’t. But I never let myself trust them.
Their laughter rang hollow. Their compliments felt rehearsed. I often wondered, 'Would they treat me the same if I was still quirkless?' The thought alone was enough to keep my walls firmly in place.
Of course, not everyone welcomed me with open arms. A few idiots attempted to bully me, but I quickly made it clear—I was no easy target.
I wasn't powerless anymore.
At first, I handled them subtly. A minor inconvenience here, a frustrating mishap there—tripping over air, books mysteriously sliding off desks, chairs shifting just as they sat down. Harmless, petty misfortunes. But when some persisted, their punishments escalated. Falling down the stairs, sudden missteps during gym class... unfortunate accidents that no one could quite explain.
No one ever suspected me. How could they? It’s hard to prove someone pushed you with telekinesis. And even then, I had severely underestated just how powerful my quirk could be when getting tested.
Over the next three years, I studied my quirk relentlessly, determined to get into U.A. and earn my hero license—my key to using my abilities freely.
The first week was all about testing my limits. My control was rudimentary at best. I could push, pull, and levitate objects, but handling multiple at once was nearly impossible—I struggled to control even two at the same time.
My raw strength allowed me to lift up to 100kg and move objects at a maximum speed of 100km/h, but prolonged use left me drained. Ten minutes of continuous exertion was enough to give me splitting headaches. More frustratingly, my reaction time was my greatest weakness.
I had to see something, register it, focus, and then—only after a slight delay—my quirk would act. That small window of time could mean the difference between life and death in a real fight.
With these limitations in mind, I devised a strict training regimen, adjusting it weekly as I built my endurance.
I began with bodyweight exercises—push-ups, sit-ups, squats—gradually increasing reps to avoid injury. As my endurance grew, I incorporated my quirk into my workouts, lifting objects telekinetically while training physically and using it on myself to simulate weights and added gravity, forcing my mind and body to develop together.
For my quirk, I focused on extending my stamina. I pushed myself to the limit daily, noting that each time I reached exhaustion, I could last slightly longer the next day. Perhaps it was my sheer willpower—or something innate in my quirk—but every session made me stronger.
Two months in, I started lifting heavier and heavier objects, testing both power and precision. My speed training hit a snag when I realized accelerating objects past the speed of sound caused too much noise. I had to scale back before I attracted unwanted attention.
To combat my reaction delay, I trained with falling objects. First, I dropped small stones above me, forcing myself to stop them mid-air. Then, I had multiple stones fall at once, honing my ability to react instinctively. Over time, the delay between thought and action disappeared—I could manipulate any object within my line of sight almost instantly.
Meditation also became part of my daily routine. By keeping my quirk active even when resting—lifting small stones at all times—I strengthened my subconscious control. Eventually, what had once taken active focus became second nature.
(Three Years Later)
The results spoke for themselves.
I could now lift and exert force on objects weighing up to 10 tons with ease. My max-speed didn't increase much, and capped at m/s as flinging supersonic rocks wasn't exactly subtle.
My reaction time had been honed to near-instantaneous action, my quirk responding the moment my mind recognized an object. I could maintain my abilities for extended periods—enough that exhaustion was no longer a major concern in most fights.
And one of my greatest achievements was developing a forcefield, though it wasn’t quite perfect yet. It remained a crude barrier rather than a form-fitting shield and required full focus to be of any use, but with time, I’d refine it. Although, I was disappointed that I failed to achieve flight or enhance my physical ability with my quirk without launching myself through the air or into the ground.
But now, after three years of pushing my limits, I was ready. The U.A. entrance exams were just one week away.
(Kata POV – One week later)
Early morning. I stand in front of the mirror, psyching myself up. For a brief moment, I take in my reflection—6ft tall, short, messy white hair curling slightly over ruby-red eyes, their lazy, calm gaze belying the intensity beneath. My face is sharp, handsome even, but it’s the body beneath that tells the real story. Three years of relentless training have sculpted a lean, muscular frame, marred with scars and burns—remnants of a past I’ve long since buried.
I get dressed, throwing on a sleeveless black t-shirt, matching tapered joggers, and a pair of running shoes with white soles.
Stepping out of the orphanage, I hail a cab to the exam site—U.A. High School.
As I arrive, I find myself standing before the school’s massive gates, the towering structure beyond it designed to inspire awe. And judging by the looks on the faces around me, it’s working.
My eyes flick across the crowd. Some are brimming with excitement, others tense with nervous energy. The hopeful, the determined, the ones already doubting themselves—most of them won’t make it. Only 1% of applicants will enter the Hero Course. I smirk. My spot is already reserved.
'Is it arrogance or confidence to think like that?'
Shaking off the thought, I head towards the Lecture Hall for the written exam. Along the way, familiar faces catch my attention. Ochaco and Izuku chatting nervously, Tenya reviewing notes with his usual intensity. Others, too—characters I once saw only on a page now living, breathing people.
I let out a quiet chuckle. It’s surreal. But I don’t linger. We’ll be in the same class soon enough.
Upon arriving at the hall, I notice only a few students have taken their seats. I move towards the back, sit down, and close my eyes, embracing the temporary silence. More students trickle in, their chatter steadily rising. My peaceful moment fades, replaced by the buzz of anticipation. I frown slightly but keep my composure.
Eventually, the hall fills, and the test begins.
It’s a straightforward assessment—hero ethics, mathematics, English, a comprehensive evaluation of junior school knowledge and a gauge of our understanding of heroism. Some students are visibly stressed, but I breeze through it.
And then, a voice booms through the hall.
"Welcome to today's live performance!! Everybody say 'Hey'!!"
Silence.
I stifle a chuckle. Even funnier in real life.
Present Mic moves on, explaining the practical exam rules and the point system for each 'villain.' Tenya predictably calls out Izuku for mumbling and questions the omission of the fourth villain.
Soon after, we’re assigned different zones for the practical tests. I glance at my number—Zone 4. Separate from both Bakugo and Izuku.
I grin, slightly amused. Maybe that’s for the best. If we were in the same zone, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
We’re herded onto the bus, where I promptly take a window seat and wait as it fills. Soon enough, we’re off to one of the mock cities where the test will take place. The moment we arrive, we’re dropped off without a single word of instruction—just left standing there, abandoned.
I scan the cityscape, rolling my shoulders in anticipation. My muscles tense as I prepare to sprint the second Present Mic gives the word. Technically, I could use telekinesis to propel myself forward, but I’d rather not roll through the dirt and embarrass myself as soon as the test begins.
"And... Begin!"
The moment Present Mic’s voice echoes, I take off. Behind me, the others hesitate, stunned by the abruptness of it all.
"What’s wrong? The test’s already started! Run! Run!"
His words snap them out of their daze, and suddenly, it’s a mad rush to catch up.
I maintain the lead as we reach the city, only for a 3-pointer—a massive green, tank-like robot with what look like missile launchers— to roll out of an alley, locking onto me.
I don’t slow down. My eyes flick toward a stop sign on a side road. With a flick of my wrist, I rip it from the ground, angling it like a spear before launching it at the robot with a deafening crack. A sonic boom shatters nearby windows as the sign pierces straight through the machine, its metal shell crumpling on impact.
+3 Villain Points.
I grin, pushing forward, using whatever loose debris I can find—ripped-up street signs, broken robot limbs—turning them into high-speed projectiles that leave trails of destruction in my wake.
I hear the whispers, the nervous glances. Some of the other participants stare in awe, their faces painted with a mix of shock and intimidation. But they don’t have time to dwell on it—while they scramble for leftover points, I keep moving.
I round a corner and come face-to-face with a small swarm of enemies—four 1-pointers and three 2-pointers. Seven in total.
Individually, they’re nothing. But this is the perfect chance to show off.
I plant my feet, stopping about fifteen meters away. I raise both hands, palms facing inward, and with a quick motion, I slam them together.
The air vibrates as an unseen force crashes into the robots, pulling them toward the center of the street. Metal grinds against metal as they collapse into each other, sparks flying as limbs tangle and circuits fry.
I smirk, clenching my fists tighter. The wreckage compresses, screeching in protest as the individual machines deform into a single, crumpled sphere. Small explosions burst from crushed joints, sending flashes of orange through the tangled mass.
Before the destruction fully settles, another 3-pointer emerges from an alleyway, its targeting sensors locking onto me.
Perfect.
I swing my arm. The green metal sphere rockets forward, slamming into the fresh enemy with a resounding clang. The impact sends shockwaves rippling outward as the machine buckles, then erupts in a small explosion.
I exhale, a satisfied grin tugging at my lips.
Too easy.
Time to find more prey.
