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─ 𝓗𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁 𝓗𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐂 ⸝⸝ ! ⌢ ࣪
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𝔂𝐨𝐮 𝓶𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝓶𝐲 𝓱𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝓵𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝓫𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫
˚₊‧ ୨୧⋅ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓕𝐎𝐔𝐑 ‧₊˚
THE U.S.J. LOOMS AHEAD, a monolith of steel and glass that towers over you, casting long shadows that stretch across the ground like dark fingers reaching out. The building is immense, breathtaking in its scale, and it dwarfs everything around it, making you feel impossibly small in comparison. The air is thick with a kind of solemn reverence, as though this place is more than just a training ground—it's a crucible, a place where heroes are forged. You've heard whispers about U.A.'s legendary facilities, but nothing could have prepared you for the cold reality of standing here, gazing up at the massive structure with your heart hammering in your chest.
The Unforeseen Simulation Joint—U.S.J. as it's commonly known—is built for training, for testing limits. But standing here now, as your classmates murmur amongst themselves, you feel as though you're on the edge of something far greater than any simulation. There's an air of tension, of anticipation, that sets your nerves on edge. You can feel the weight of expectation pressing down on you, and you adjust your costume, the familiar fabric grounding you, even as a strange excitement mingles with the anxiety twisting in your stomach.
Today is different. This isn't like the combat trials or the quirk evaluations you've done before. No, this is rescue training—the real heart of what it means to be a hero. It's not about power or displays of strength; it's about saving lives, about being there when it counts most. Growing up in your family's bakery taught you the importance of community, of reliability, of lending a hand whenever it's needed, no matter how small the gesture. Those lessons have shaped you, instilling in you a sense of responsibility that you now carry into this moment. But this...this is different. This is saving lives in the face of danger.
You inhale deeply, trying to steady your racing thoughts. The scent of polished floors and cool metal fills your senses, and your gaze sweeps over your classmates, each of them standing quietly, their own tension visible. Kirishima clenches his fists, his expression serious; Kaminari shifts from foot to foot, his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by nervous energy. Even Bakugo, though trying to mask it, has a set jaw and eyes fixed on the U.S.J. There's a silent understanding between all of you. This is a test of a different kind.
