⸺CHAPTER 3⸺
"The Apprehension Test"
Date: Wednesday, April 2nd, 2025
Time: 8:17 a.m.
Place: UA High School, Class 1-A —> Practice Grounds G4
The alarm on Kai's phone screeched at 7:45 a.m., a synthy jingle that sounded like it was ripped from a discount arcade game. I slapped it off, groaning, my mind still tangled in a dream of fabric bolts crushing me in a flickering elevator. Luke Horstead's PTSD, now in surround sound. My muscles ached—Kai's teenage body wasn't built for hero training, and yesterday's combat drills had left every joint whining like a rusty hinge. I rolled out of bed, the mattress creaking like it resented me, and stared at the UA gym uniform on the chair: a blue tracksuit with white stripes, the pants bunched at the ankles like they couldn't decide if I was short or just lazy. Spoiler: I'm both.
I pulled it on, the fabric stiff and smelling faintly of industrial detergent. Luke's designer brain twitched—cheap polyester blend, no breathability—but I shoved the thought down. You're Kai Bagley now, not a fashion critic. As I opened the dorm door, Mineta shuffled out of his room, his gym clothes so tight they looked like they were staging a protest. His purple-ball hair bobbed as he grinned at me. I did a hard 180, retreating to my bed. Nope. Not starting my day with that walking HR violation. I sat there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if reincarnation came with a refund policy.
Time: 8:59 a.m.
Place: Training Grounds G4
The practice grounds were a sprawl of dirt and ambition, ringed by chain-link fences and dotted with training equipment that looked like it could double as torture devices. The morning sun burned through a haze of dust, casting long shadows behind Class 1-A as we lined up like contestants on a game show where the prize was survival.
Bakugou stretched, his palms crackling like he was daring the ground to fight back. Iida stood ramrod-straight, like he'd been sculpted by a drill sergeant. Kaminari bounced on his heels, all nervous energy and bad ideas. Uraraka hummed a pop tune, her ponytail swaying. Todoroki stared into the void, possibly asleep with his eyes open. That guy's either a genius or a statue.
Me? Kai Bagley, Quirkless fraud with a fake "mind-reading" Quirk? I was staring at a dirt clod like it held the secret to not getting expelled. My hands were stuffed in my pockets, my slouch practiced to look effortless. Act like you belong, Luke. Or Kai. Whoever the hell I am at this point .
Aizawa stood ahead, his scarf twitching like it could smell failure. The sun glinted off his goggles, making him look like a sleep-deprived grim reaper. "No ceremonies today," he said, voice dry as the dirt underfoot. "Yesterday was orientation. Today, you prove you deserve to stay."
Midoriya raised his hand, because of course he did. "Sir, didn't we already start—"
"No," Aizawa cut in, sharp enough to slice through steel. "That was a warm-up. This is the Quirk Apprehension Test." He held up a tablet, its screen glowing with data. "Strength, speed, agility, endurance. We're testing how you apply your Quirks under pressure. Same tests you did in middle school, but now you use your powers."
He tossed a softball to Bakugou, who caught it without blinking. "Bakugou, what was your middle school throw?"
"Seventy meters," he said, smirking like he'd already won.
"Do it with your Quirk."
Bakugou's grin turned feral. He stepped into a chalked circle, wound up, and blasted the ball with an explosion that shook the air. Smoke trailed from his palm, the air stinging with burnt ozone and raw bravado.
The ball vanished into the sky, a speck against the clouds.
The tablet beeped. "705.2 meters," Aizawa said.
Kirishima let out a low whistle. Uraraka's jaw dropped. I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper.
"This," Aizawa said, eyes scanning us, "is UA's standard."
Then the bomb dropped. "Whoever ranks last is expelled."
My stomach plummeted faster than that elevator with Malden. Expelled? Day two? Midoriya froze, his face pale. Even Bakugou's smirk faltered for a split second. I forced my expression to stay blank, but inside, Luke's voice screamed: You're Quirkless, idiot. We're toast.
Time: 9:13 a.m.
Place: Testing Field #1 — 50m Dash
I was paired with Iida for the 50-meter dash, because the universe loves a good joke. His calves sprouted literal engine pipes, revving like a muscle car ready to burn rubber. Great. I'm racing a Formula One reject. He bowed crisply, glasses glinting. "May the best athlete prevail, Bagley!"
"Bold of you to call this a race," I muttered, crouching into a starting position that felt more like surrender.
Kai's body was fit enough, but it wasn't built for speed—or anything heroic, really.
The light blinked green. Iida vanished in a blue blur, the ground trembling under his engines. I ran, legs pumping, lungs burning like I'd inhaled hot sauce. The finish line loomed, mocking me. I crossed it gasping, my vision spotty, like a malfunctioning TV.
"7.61 seconds," the timer announced. Iida's? "3.04."
Kaminari slapped my back, grinning. "Not bad, Bagley! You smoked Mineta!"
"That's like saying I outran a wet sock," I wheezed, hands on my knees. Mineta, panting nearby, shot me a glare. Sorry, buddy, truth hurts. Hurts me more than it hurts you 'bud'.
Test #2: Grip Strength
The grip strength machine was a cold, metal torture device that looked like it judged you before you even touched it. Sato went first, casually crushing it with 540 kilograms, like he was squeezing a stress ball. Is that even human? The class average hovered around "call a doctor."
My turn. I gripped the handle like it owed me rent money, channeling every ounce of Luke's frustration from years of tight deadlines. The dial ticked up: 44.3 kilograms. Not great, but not Mineta-level pathetic. I stepped back, shrugging like it was no big deal. Kaminari whispered, "Bet you knew the machine's limit, huh?"
"Sure," I said, deadpan. I knew it hated me.
Test #3: Side-to-Side Jumps
The side-to-side jumps were a test of agility, hopping over lines like a caffeinated rabbit. Todoroki barely moved, his ice flicking out to stabilize him, clearing the course like gravity was his personal assistant. Bakugou did it with his hands in his pockets, explosions popping under his feet for balance. Show-off.
I stepped up, my heart thudding. Kai's body wasn't clumsy, but it wasn't a gymnast's either. I jumped, slipped on the second line, and caught myself with an awkward hop. Don't fall, don't fall. I recovered, flashing a smirk like it was planned. Kaminari shouted, "Yo, Bagley! You predict the pattern or what?"
"Nah, just vibes," I said, finishing the set. Vibes and not face-planting, thank God. The class murmured, and I caught Jirou's eye—she raised an eyebrow, like she was starting to suspect my "Quirk" was bullshit.
Test #4: Ball Throw
"Bagley," Aizawa called, his tablet glowing like a guillotine. "Your turn."
I took the softball, its weight mocking me. You've got no Quirk, Kai. Sell the lie. I stepped into the circle, squinting like I was reading the wind's deepest secrets. I touched my temple, tilted my head, and spun the ball in my hand, mimicking every sports movie I'd ever half-watched. Look like you know what you're doing. I threw, giving it a slight twist for spin.
The tablet beeped. "43.9 meters," Aizawa said, his voice flat but his eyes sharp. "Interesting Quirk application."
Is he messing with me? I nodded, cool as ice. "It's more about precision than power." Please buy it.
Uraraka went next, floating the ball into the stratosphere with her Quirk. The tablet flashed: Infinity. The class gasped. I forced a smile, my stomach churning. I'm so screwed.
Time: 10:30 a.m.
Place: Balance Test — Hover Discs
The hover discs were a nightmare—floating platforms wobbling at random heights, daring you to jump without eating dirt. Mineta fell on the third, flailing like a grape in a blender. Sero zipped across with his tape, grinning. I watched, counting the rhythm in my head. Three seconds up, two down. Don't die.
My turn. I hopped onto the first disc, its hum vibrating through my sneakers. It tilted, and my arms flailed before I caught my balance. Steady, Kai. Kaminari shouted, "Use the mind-reading, Bagley! Feel the vibe!"
"Yeah, vibe's saying this is a terrible idea," I called back, jumping to the second disc. My legs shook, but I made it to the fifth, stumbling but landing with a shoulder roll that looked almost intentional. Iida clapped, precise as a metronome. "Remarkable observation skills! You must sense the discs' patterns!"
"Sure, let's go with that," I said, panting. I just counted, man.
Final Test: Seated Toe Touch and Sit-ups
The flexibility test was a special kind of torture. My hamstrings screamed as I reached for my toes, managing a pathetic bend that felt like betrayal. Momo touched hers like she was picking flowers, graceful and unbothered. Bakugou growled through his sit-ups, each one a personal attack on the ground. My sit-ups were a mess—think "dying beetle meets discount yoga." I pushed through, ignoring the burn, and finished without crying. Small victories… What can I say? Man of great talents I truly am huh?
Time: 11:42 a.m.
Place: Grass Field Outside Testing Area
We gathered on the grass, sweat-soaked and battered, the air thick with dust and tension. Aizawa stood before us, tablet in hand, his scarf limp like it was tired of his nonsense. "You all gave… effort," he said, his tone suggesting "effort" was generous. "Some of you excelled. Some barely survived."
His eyes flicked to me, a half-second too long. No way he doesn't know I'm faking. My heart thudded, but I kept my face blank, hands in my pockets.
"Bagley," he said.
My stomach sank like that damn elevator. Here it comes.
"You ranked 20th."
A pause, heavy as concrete.
Then: "I'm not expelling anyone."
The class exhaled, a collective gasp of relief. Midoriya dropped to his knees, muttering thanks to the universe. Uraraka hugged him, laughing. Even Bakugou's scowl softened for a nanosecond. I stood still, my pulse hammering. I survived. Barely… Like I'd ever get kicked out. Ok maybe I would've but we don't go there…
Aizawa clicked off his tablet. "But hear this: the world won't coddle you. Villains don't care about your effort. Adapt, grow, or fall behind—Quirk or no Quirk." His gaze lingered on me, a silent challenge. He's talking to me. He has to be.
As the others cheered, slapping backs and swapping stories, I stepped back, my arms throbbing, my mind fried. I hadn't won. I hadn't shone. But I'd passed—by bluffing, observing, surviving. Luke Horstead had talked his way through booty smelling client meetings; Kai Bagley could talk his way through hero school. For now.
Kaminari jogged over, grinning. "Dude, 20th ain't bad for a guy who reads minds instead of throwing punches!"
I smirked, just enough to sell it. "Yeah, it's all strategy." I deadpanned…Strategy and prayingI don't get caught.
Uraraka bounced up, her ponytail swinging. "You were so cool out there, Kai! That ball throw—did you, like, sense the perfect angle?"
"Something like that," I said, dodging her eyes. Chatting bare shit so I don't get sad... She's too precious. The grass crunched under my sneakers as I turned away, Quirk or no Quirk.I wasn't a hero yet. But I was still here. One day at a time and I'll be Mr Billboard.