The halls of U.A. echoed with the hurried footsteps of the candidates. Kenji, Yuki, and Toru had parted ways at the intersection of the zones, exchanging a quick glance and a knowing smile, before heading in different directions. No grand speeches. No solemn promises. Just the certainty that they would meet again in the end.
Years earlier, Kenji had insisted that all three of them learn martial arts. Not to become fighters, he had said. To understand their bodies, to know how to defend themselves, how they react. So that their Quirks would be just a tool, not a crutch.
Yuki had chosen the staff, Taekwondo, and boxing. A choice that had surprised everyone—she, so gentle, so down-to-earth, wielding a weapon. But she was also now very good at hand-to-hand combat.
Toru, on the other hand, had preferred krav maga and capoeira. Fast, efficient, direct, fluid… and excelled in it.
Kenji, on the other hand, had mixed several styles, taking what suited him, what matched his Quirk. Aikido to redirect energy, judo for control.
And all three of them practiced the course for mobility, balance, discipline, and environmental analysis.
They trained together often at the center. They progressed quickly, especially with the fights in the danger room.
---Toru effect Zone B---
Toru was walking alone now. Her fingers played absentmindedly with her pendant, the small shield she'd worn for years—a gift from Kenji, brought back from London. Her steps were steady, but her heart was beating faster than usual. She felt excitement rising within her like a tide, mingled with a touch of apprehension.
"I'm ready," she thought. "I am."
The corridors rolled by. She passed other candidates—some trotting nervously, others exuding almost insolent confidence. A pink-haired boy was getting annoyed with his friend, repeating strategies they had practiced the day before. A cat-like girl looked everywhere, her vertical pupils scanning the walls for potential dangers. Toru watched them, taking in their Quirks, their postures, their glances. Kenji had taught them to observe and analyze their surroundings carefully. She mentally noted who might be an ally and who might be a hindrance.
Examination area B was a replica of a city, with fake buildings and deserted streets. A metal gate stood before it, and beyond it, silence. A silence heavy with expectation, almost oppressive. The cold steel gleamed under the spotlights, and the air smelled of the freshly lubricated robots waiting.
Other candidates crowded in front of the entrance. Some talked amongst themselves, others remained silent, staring at the door as if it would reveal their future. A boy with arms of steel clapped his fists together, producing metallic clanging sounds. A girl with wings nervously unfurled and refolded them.
Toru took a deep breath. She thought about all those training sessions, those nights spent pondering how to improve, her progress, and the evolution of her Quirk. She thought about training until she couldn't move anymore and about Kenji and Yuki encouraging her. She thought about Bishop, who had told her, "Precision is your strength."
I'm ready.
A booming voice boomed from the loudspeakers, shaking the walls. "LET THE GAMES BEGIN!"
Toru didn't wait. As soon as the voice rang out, she dashed into the artificial city, her senses on high alert. Her sneakers squeaked on the asphalt, her arms pumped steadily. She had covered miles at the training center, climbed walls, and traversed obstacle courses. Today, she was giving it her all.
A robot emerged from an alley to her right, swift, its metal pincers clicking. A dot. Toru raised her hand, and a disc-shaped shield materialized before her, like a glass bubble. The robot crashed into it, exploding in a shower of debris.
"One," she murmured, already moving.
Behind her, other candidates were making their way into the streets. Explosions rang out, shouts, impacts. Toru didn't look. She moved forward, focused, her breathing calm and controlled, her eyes scanning the shadows.
She turned the corner of a building and found herself facing three robots. One, a two-pointer, was stockier with reinforced joints. Two three-pointers, taller, had their cannons aimed. They charged straight at her, their tires screeching on the asphalt, forming a wall of steel.
Toru became invisible in a fraction of a second, taking advantage of the element of surprise. She slipped between them, her movements as fluid as a dancer's—her capoeira training helped her evade effortlessly. She pressed the deactivation buttons hidden on their necks, heads, and shoulders. The first, the second, the third. Her fingers found their targets with surgical precision.
The three robots came to a standstill, their engines whining, then exploded in a salvo.
"Five," she calculated. "One plus four."
She didn't stop. Her feet pounded the ground, her hands in perpetual motion. Shields sprang up around her, lived, struck, vanished. Precise and relentless blows rained down on the deactivation buttons. Every gesture was economical, every movement purposeful.
A robot, its tiny form, emerged from a manhole to her left, almost directly beneath her feet. She hadn't seen it coming—her sensors were well hidden. But her reflexes saved the day: a shield instinctively formed beneath her sole, propelling her into the air. She landed behind the robot, pivoted, and pressed her fingers against its activation button.
« Six. »
A group of seven robots emerged from an intersection. They were lined up like a small army, their red eyes scanning the street, their engines whirring in unison. A military formation, no doubt programmed to coordinate their attacks.
Toru took a step back, assessing the distance and the layout. Seven robots was a lot. She could take them on one by one, but time was running out. She had seen Kenji handle similar situations at the training center, always calmly and methodically.
She raised both hands and focused her energy. Barriers of various shapes appeared—round, triangular, hexagonal. Each targeted a specific robot. They struck the robots one after another, in a steady, almost musical rhythm. As soon as one shield dissipated, another was born, continuing the process.
The explosions followed one another in a cascade of flames and smoke, a fireworks display of metallic debris. Toru passed through the smoke, barely out of breath, her eyes squinting to pierce the screen of dust.
"Thirteen," she said, counting quickly. "Five plus seven. Twelve? No, thirteen."
She encountered other candidates. A boy with arms of steel was punching robots to pieces, his impressive strength shattering metal like paper. A girl with wings soared above the area, spotting enemies from above. But everyone was too preoccupied with themselves to notice anyone else. Chaos reigned.
Today, she wanted to give it her all so as not to fall behind the other two in terms of results. She thought of Yuki, somewhere in a forest, tending her trees. And of Kenji, who must already be lining up the robots.
Three two-point robots rushed at her from three different directions—a classic encirclement maneuver. Toru smiled. She'd seen it in simulations, dozens of times. The trap was obvious.
She didn't move. At the last second, when the three robots were only a meter apart, she raised her hand, and a dome-shaped shield enveloped her completely. A protective bubble, invisible but solid. The three robots crashed against the wall, bouncing, disoriented, their sensors disrupted.
Then, with a swift movement—almost too swift for the naked eye—she deactivated each one. The first on her right, the second on her left, the third behind her. Her fingers danced across the buttons as if on a keyboard.
"Nineteen," she calculated. Three robots with two points: six points. Thirteen plus six: nineteen.
Toru lowered her hand. The smoke dissipated. She set off again, her legs still strong, her arms less heavy than she had feared.
She found her rhythm. Running, creating, striking, moving forward. And sometimes, she helped when a comrade was in danger. Her shields moved around her, striking, protecting, deflecting. She felt like a well-oiled machine, every cog in its place.
Suddenly, she spotted a training dummy lying in a side street. A "victim." It had an orange armband to identify it. Toru stopped dead in her tracks, her feet crunching on the gravel.
Rescue points, she thought. They mustn't be forgotten. Kenji has said it a hundred times: destroying robots isn't everything. Saving lives, that's what being a hero is all about. U.A. rewards those who protect.
She approached the mannequin and quickly examined it. No apparent injuries, but it was exposed, right there in the street. A robot could arrive at any moment. The shadows of the buildings moved, a sign that time was passing.
Toru raised her hand and concentrated. A flat shield formed beneath the mannequin, like an invisible stretcher. She gently lifted it, making it float a few centimeters above the ground. It was easier than carrying it at arm's length, but the concentration was intense, especially after already expending so much energy.
"We'll get you to safety," she whispered, although the model couldn't hear her. But it helped her stay focused.
She guided the shield to a nearby building, found a small room inside, away from the streets and the explosions. An old café, perhaps, with overturned tables. She placed the mannequin against a wall, making sure it was stable, safe from the debris.
"First point of rescue," she said, a little pride in her voice.
She left, feeling lighter, her spirits lifted.
A few streets away, a contestant—a boy with snow-white hair—was cornered by two robots. He was launching ice projectiles, but the robots were too fast, too close. His ice shattered on their armor without stopping them. He was about to be hit, and behind him, two mannequins lay vulnerable, their orange armbands flashing.
Toru didn't hesitate. She became invisible, her footsteps silent, and rushed between the robots. Her hands created two wedge-shaped shields which she planted beneath their bases. The robots toppled, unbalanced, their joints creaking. The boy took advantage of this to finish them off with a double ice projectile, this time targeting their weak points.
"Thank you!" he shouted, looking around but seeing no one.
Toru did not appear. She did not need recognition. She took care of the dummies. With her flat shield, she lifted them one after the other, carefully, and carried them to a shelter — an underground passage, away from the crowd.
"Two rescue points," she murmured.
She didn't need recognition. She needed points. And the satisfaction of having done well.
She continued her advance, taking down robots and evacuating mannequins one after another. Her technique was becoming more refined. She could now disable a robot with a well-placed shield, without even having to touch it. A precisely aimed disc at the activation button, and the robot would stop dead before exploding. It was faster, cleaner, less exhausting.
"Twenty-three," she said after a three-point robot. "Plus two rescue points."
Then an idea sprouted in her mind. A technique she had secretly practiced for months at the training center, at night, when no one could see her. She had only recently mastered it, but she wanted to try it. Today was the day.
She stopped in the middle of a deserted street, closed her eyes, and visualized. She remembered Kenji's instructions: "Visualize before you act. See the shape in your mind before it appears."
She slowed down and raised both hands. Before her, a shield formed, wide, flat, and solid. Not a simple disc—a platform. An invisible board, like a piece of tempered glass. She jumped onto it, stabilized herself, and immediately the shield began to move slightly forward in the air, floating a meter above the ground.
It was a form of telekinesis she had developed with her barriers. She had spent entire nights perfecting it, falling, failing, starting again. Her knees were covered in bruises. But today, she held on.
She continued her flight, stabilizing and accelerating more and more, propelling her over buildings, over streets. The wind whipped her face, her hair flying back. The candidates below looked up, mouths agape, some pointing.
Toru laughed, a liberating, almost childlike laugh. She was flying. She was really flying. Just like in her dreams, just like she had imagined so many times.
From high above, she could see everything—a living map of the testing area. The robots, identifiable by their red lights, scattered throughout the streets. The candidates, some struggling, others basking in glory. The mannequins, abandoned in corners, their orange armbands flashing.
She dived, struck, rose again, continued her course. It was an aerial ballet, a dance with the wind.
A two-point robot, isolated in a dead end, was spinning in circles. She jumped from her shield, landing right behind him with a thud. Another shield hurled him against the wall, the metal crumpling. Explosion.
"Twenty-five," she said.
Four robots surrounded a panicked candidate—a girl with elastic arms trying to push them away, her limbs stretching and retracting desperately. Toru formed a ring of shields around them, compressing them until they exploded together in a single salvo.
"Thirty-one," she calculated.
The candidate stared at her in disbelief, eyes wide. Toru nodded and took flight again. His platform-shield was still there, floating patiently, waiting for him.
She found several mannequins grouped together in an alley. Five. Too heavy to carry one by one. Toru thought for a second, then an idea came to her, a flash of genius.
She remembered the ramps they built at the training center for obstacle courses — wooden structures, slopes, slides. She could do the same, but with her shields.
She raised her hands and concentrated intensely. Her temples began to thump. A long, narrow shield formed, which she angled in a ramp from the ground up to a first-floor balcony. Then another, below, forming a slide toward a safe rooftop. A third, flat shield to cushion the fall. A fourth to guide her trajectory.
It was exhausting. Building structures required far more energy than simply constructing shields. Her arms trembled, her temples throbbed, and cold sweat beaded on her forehead. But she persevered.
She pushed the mannequins one by one up the ramp. They slid, spun, and landed safely on the roof. Five mannequins saved at once, their inert bodies gently piling up.
"Five points of salvation," she breathed, her hands on her knees, short of breath.
She got up, caught her breath, and launched herself back into the air. The flight was more laborious now, her muscles tired.
Another contestant, a girl with extendable arms (clearly the same one as before), was trying to carry two mannequins at once, but she was slow and exposed. Her arms stretched out to reach the victims, but she couldn't run fast. A three-point robot was coming straight at her, its wheels kicking up gravel, its sensors locked onto her.
Toru plummeted from the sky. She let herself fall in freefall, arms outstretched like a bird. She created a rotating disc and spun it at high speed—a technique she barely mastered, requiring extreme concentration. The disc hissed, tearing through the air, a high-pitched drone. It struck the robot squarely in the middle, slicing it cleanly in two, gleaming molten metal.
Explosion.
The girl with the stretchy arms stared at her, mouth agape, her arms falling limply. Toru staggered for a moment, exhausted by the effort, her legs trembling. Her heart pounded wildly, black spots danced before her eyes.
"Take them away," she said, pointing at the mannequins, her voice hoarse.
The girl nodded, grabbed the two victims and ran.
Toru took flight again, but her flight was less stable, more bumpy. She was reaching her limits. Her arms were heavy, her concentration wavered, her eyelids felt heavy.
Robot Zero appeared at the end of the street, massive and terrifying. Its red eyes scanned the alleyways, its arms slammed against buildings, sending debris flying. The ground trembled with every step, a dull vibration that traveled up your legs.
Toru stopped on a rooftop, watching. She saw the candidates scatter, some shouting, others desperately seeking shelter. A boy tripped, fell, and got up screaming. A girl was crying, crouching behind a car.
She couldn't destroy it. She knew that. Robot Zero was designed to be too resilient—an obstacle, not a target. But she could help the wounded.
She spotted a candidate trapped under rubble, not far from the robot. His leg was caught, his Quirk seemed useless—flames that could do nothing against the concrete. Toru dove down, created a protective shield around himself, lifted the debris with a second shield, and made it float.
"Go!" she shouted.
The candidate crawled, got up, and limped away.
Exhausted, Toru climbed back onto her roof. The Zero robot continued its rampage, crushing everything in its path. She helped two more candidates escape the zone before the siren sounded, each rescue costing her a little more energy.
"TIME!" shouted the voice of Present Mic through the loudspeakers.
Toru stopped, exhausted but smiling. She had given everything she had. Dozens of robots. Mannequins saved—how many? Eight, maybe nine. Comrades protected.
She jumped from the roof, her platform-shield catching her for a final descent. She landed near the exit, her legs trembling, and let herself fall against a wall, her fingers mechanically caressing her dented pendant.
"It's going to be wide," she murmured.
---Yuki – Zone F---
Yuki stopped in front of the gate to Zone F. On the sign, a single letter. Behind it, no sound of engines or explosions. Just silence, a strange, almost organic silence, as if the zone were holding its breath.
The other candidates around her were chatting, some nervous, others confident. A boy with rubbery skin stretched his arms, snapping them. A girl with metallic hair made it shine in the sun.
Yuki wasn't listening to them. She placed a hand on the cold metal and closed her eyes. She concentrated, listening with her Quirk.
She could smell it.
Behind the door, earth. Lots of earth. Grass, roots, trees. Dense, organic plant life, the likes of which she hadn't felt in a long time—not since training in her grandfather's greenhouse. Her fingers trembled slightly. Not from fear. From excitement.
"This isn't a city," she thought. "It's a garden that awaits me."
The door opened with a metallic creak, revealing a green twilight. Yuki entered first, driven by an impulse stronger than herself. And she immediately understood why.
It was not a replica of a city.
It was a forest park. Ancient trees stood before her, their branches forming a natural canopy. A dirt path wound its way between the trunks, bordered by ferns and mosses. Light filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. The air smelled of damp earth, sap, fallen leaves, life. A scent she knew better than that of her own home.
Behind her, other candidates entered, some surprised, others disconcerted by this change of scenery.
"Is this a forest?" wondered a blond-haired boy.
"How are we going to find the robots in there?" added a girl with glasses, turning her head.
Yuki wasn't listening. Her feet sank into the soft earth, and she felt. She felt everything.
Roots beneath the path. Seeds in the soil. Sap coursing through the trunks. Mushrooms hidden under the dead leaves. And, in the distance, the metallic vibrations of the robots, like false notes in a plant symphony. There were ten of them, perhaps twelve, scattered throughout the park.
She smiled. It wasn't an ordeal for her. It was a playground.
She advanced with a calm, almost meditative step, while the other candidates scattered, some running, others groping for the robots. Her hands brushed against the ferns as she passed, her fingers caressing the leaves as one would pet a familiar animal. The plants bent before her, almost as if they recognized her, as if they were waiting for her.
A robot appeared in front of her. Small and fast, it darted between the trees, its motors whirring, its sensors scanning the area. It nimbly avoided the trunks, programmed for this terrain.
Yuki didn't stop. She didn't even raise her hand. She looked down at the ground, and a root shot out, wrapping itself around the robot before it had gone two meters. The root was thick, gnarled, like a wooden snake. The robot froze, its wheels spinning in the air, its motors whining.
"One," she murmured.
She took a step forward, and behind her, the root closed. Explosion.
She walked slowly. The trees seemed to part in her path, their roots flattening to offer her a way. The forest responded to her, helped her. She wasn't running. She didn't need to. The park was her ally.
A medium-sized robot appeared between two tree trunks. Three dots. It was bigger, slower, but its mechanical arms could crush branches. It charged, breaking shrubs in its path.
Yuki raised her hand, and a vine sprang from the ground, wrapping itself around her arm. A plant whip. She had worked with it for months, learning to control it, to make it crack, to use it as an extension of herself. She had told Kenji about it, and he had encouraged her.
She snapped it shut, striking the robot on the head and throwing it off balance. The robot recoiled, pivoted, and tried to counterattack, its arms flapping in the air. A second vine grabbed it by the waist and hurled it against a tree. The trunk trembled, and leaves cascaded down.
Explosion.
"Three," she said, bringing the whip back to herself.
She had been practicing this technique for months. The vine obeyed her every command, capable of striking, grabbing, and pulling. She could use it to disable robots remotely, or to grab rescue dummies.
She passed other candidates. A boy with arms of steel was felling trees with his fists, trying to clear an area for a better view. Trunks shattered. A girl with predatory eyes tried to follow the metallic tracks, her nose twitching.
They watched her pass by, amazed by her composure.
"You're going to get run over!" shouted the boy.
Yuki shook her head, a smile on her lips. "The trees won't hurt me."
She passed by without stopping, leaving behind a trail of ferns that were closing in.
A group of three robots. They advanced in formation, scanning the area, their sensors emitting regular beeps. They were coordinated, covering each other's blind spots.
Yuki stopped in the middle of the road, her hands folded in front of her.
The robots spotted her and accelerated.
Yuki closed her eyes. She felt the ground beneath her feet, the waiting roots, the trees watching her. She opened her hands.
The ground exploded. Roots erupted everywhere, wrapping themselves around the robots, lifting them, holding them captive. Other roots sprouted from the trunks, forming a tightly woven, plant-like cage around them.
Yuki clenched his fists. The cage tightened, there were squeaks of metal, sounds of crumpled sheet metal.
Three explosions in one.
"Nine," she calculated. "Three points each, three robots, three explosions, nine points."
She resumed her walk, whip in hand, its roots creeping beside her like docile snakes. Behind her, the forest closed in, erasing all trace of her passage. Her legs were light, her breath calm. She was home.
She discovered a training dummy, lying against a tree trunk, its orange armband clearly visible. A "victim." Yuki crouched down, wrapped her whip around the dummy, and gently lifted it. The whip tightened, maintaining the charge.
"We'll take you to safety," she whispered.
She secured it to her back with an extra vine, maintaining her balance. Then she walked towards a clearing behind a grove of trees, where a small ravine offered natural shelter. There, she created a hammock of leaves, suspended between two sturdy branches, and placed the mannequin inside, securing it with leaves.
"First point of rescue," she said.
A little further on, she found three mannequins huddled together in a small clearing. They had been left there, probably by other candidates who hadn't had time to evacuate them. Their arms hung limply, their training clothes stained with dirt.
Too heavy to carry one by one on his back. Yuki thinks, remembering his grandfather's advice on building structures.
She placed her hands on the ground, closed her eyes, and visualized. Roots emerged, intertwining to form a kind of stretcher, a solid, plant-like platform with edges to prevent the mannequins from falling. She placed the three mannequins on it, securing them with vines.
Then the roots lifted, carrying the load to a safe place — a natural cave formed by intertwined tree roots, hidden from view. Yuki guided the stretcher and placed it inside.
"Three points of salvation," she breathed, a little out of breath.
Building structures required more energy than simply handling them. But they held up.
A two-point robot, isolated on a narrow path, its wheels sinking into the mud. It spun around, searching for a target, its sensors obstructed by leaves. Yuki cracked her whip, wrapping it around the robot. With a swift movement, she yanked it, knocking it off balance and hurling it against a mossy rock. Then a root finished it off, crushing it.
"Eleven," she calculated. "Nine plus two."
A green-haired contestant was cornered against a tree, two medium-sized robots blocking her escape. She launched fire projectiles, but the robots were too fast, too resilient, their armor reflecting the heat. Beside her, two mannequins lay exposed, their orange armbands flashing desperately.
Yuki approached silently, her footsteps muffled by the moss and pine needles. Her whip cracked, seizing the first mannequin by the waist. She pulled it out of harm's way and set it behind a thick tree trunk. A second crack, and the second mannequin followed.
Then she raised her hands, and walls of roots rose up around the robots, enclosing them in a plant prison. The roots were thick, intertwined, and impassable.
"Go ahead!" she shouted to the candidate.
The girl with green hair didn't wait. She slipped under the roots, out of danger, her breath ragged. Behind her, the robots exploded, shaking the earth.
"Thank you!" the girl called out as she walked away.
Yuki nodded, already somewhere else.
She sensed the Zero robot before she saw it. An enormous, crushing mass that uprooted trees in its path. The vibrations of the ground, the creaking of trunks, the cries of the fleeing candidates. It was like an earthquake foretold by the forest itself, each vibration speaking to her.
Yuki stopped. She placed her hands on a tree, felt its sap, its strength, its resilience. The tree trembled, as if it shared her fear.
Around her, the candidates ran towards the exit in a panic, some pushing and shoving each other. The girl with the predatory eyes tripped over a root, her face contorting. Yuki grabbed her arm, forcing her to her feet, her fingers gripping tightly.
"This way!" she showed him a passage between the trees, a path she had just created, the branches parting as she passed.
The girl didn't need to be told twice. She disappeared between the tree trunks, her legs carrying her swiftly.
Yuki spotted a forgotten mannequin, not far from the robot's path. It was about to be crushed in seconds, its arms raised in a frozen pose. She cracked her whip, grabbed it, and pulled it toward her in a fraction of a second—the time it took for her heart to beat. The mannequin landed in her arms, heavy and inert.
She ran to an open area, behind a rocky outcrop, placed the mannequin in a safe spot, then turned back to the robot.
The Zero robot was there, immense, its red eyes fixed on her. Its arms struck the trees, breaking them like twigs, splinters of wood flying in all directions. It advanced, relentless.
She couldn't destroy it. She knew that. But she could stop it.
She crouched down, placed both hands on the ground. She closed her eyes. She felt everything — the roots under the earth, the trees around her, the seeds buried for decades, the life pulsating in the darkness of the soil, the memory of the forest.
She called them.
The ground trembled. Trees sprang from the earth before the robot, forming a living wall, their trunks intertwined, their branches sharp as spears. Others grew behind it, on either side, enclosing it in a vegetal prison. Roots twined around its metallic feet, slowing it down, making it sway.
The robot struck, breaking the trunks, but others were already growing, taller, thicker, their roots plunging deep. Yuki held them, her hands in the earth, her face streaming with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead, her arms shaking with tremors.
She didn't need to destroy it. She needed time. Time for the other contestants to escape. Time for the last models to be evacuated. Time for the siren to sound.
The robot struck. The trees held.
Yuki gritted her teeth, her jaws clenched. Her arms trembled. Her heart pounded. The earth reflected her fatigue, her limits were approaching, her fingers were digging into the ground. But she didn't give up.
The siren sounded.
"TIME!" shouted the voice of Present Mic through the loudspeakers.
Yuki released everything, fell to her knees, her hands trembling, her chest heaving. The forest collapsed behind her, the trees returning to the earth with a dull rumble, the roots withdrawing like weary snakes. The freed robot Zero continued its blind course—but there was no one in front of it anymore.
Yuki remained on her knees for a long time, exhausted, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her breath coming in short gasps. Dirt clung to her clothes, leaves were caught in her hair, sap dried on her hands. But she was smiling.
She had given everything she had. And the forest had helped her.
----
The areas were emptying. Candidates were emerging, some victorious, others dejected. Medical teams circulated, treating the lightly wounded, evacuating the more seriously injured. Cries of joy, tears of disappointment, animated conversations about the strategies employed.
Toru emerged from Zone B, her clothes torn, her face blackened by soot and smoke. Her pendant was slightly dented, but it still held. She found a quiet corner, sat down against a wall, and closed her eyes.
She thought back to the challenge. To the robots, the contestants, to that moment when she had flown for the first time. To her shields that had held, despite the fatigue, despite the fear. To the mannequins she had saved—how many? She hadn't counted. It didn't matter.
"I did it," she thought. "I really did it."
Yuki emerged from Zone F, supported by a tree she had grown at the exit. Her legs were trembling, her arms hung limply at her sides, but she was smiling. Dirt clung to her clothes, leaves were caught in her hair, and a small branch protruded from her pocket.
The girl with predatory eyes approached her, a little hesitant, her vertical pupils widening.
"You saved us," she said. "With your trees."
Yuki shook his head. "I just did what I had to do."
The girl looked at her for a long time, then nodded. "You're amazing."
Yuki smiled, too tired to reply.
She joined Toru at the exit of zone B. The two girls sat side by side, leaning against the same wall, exhausted but smiling.
"Did you succeed?" asked Toru.
" Yes and you ? "
"I think so. I made my shield fly. I moved faster. I even sliced a robot with a spinning disc." Toru showed her dented pendant. "It took a bit of a beating, but it's okay."
Yuki laughed softly. "I used a whip. A vine whip. And I made hammocks for the mannequins. Kenji would be proud."
"He's going to listen to us tell our story for hours."
" It doesn't matter. "
They looked up at the sky, which was beginning to turn pink. The sun was setting behind the buildings of Yuei, casting long shadows on the ground.
Toru reached out towards Yuki. "Are we going to find him?"
Yuki took his hand and stood up in turn, his legs still trembling. "We'll find him."
They walked towards the meeting point, exhausted, dirty, but together. Tomorrow they would have the results. But for now, they had given everything they had.
Yuki smiled. "We did it, Toru."
Toru smiled back at him. "Yes. We did it."
They spotted Kenji in the distance, emerging from Area I, his clothes burned in places, his hands blackened. He walked with a slow but steady step. He raised his hand when he saw them.
They accelerated, trotting despite their fatigue, and caught up with him.
"You are alive," he said, a discreet smile on his lips.
"Obviously," Toru replied.
"We were expecting you," added Yuki.
Kenji looked at them both, his friends, his lifelong companions. "Shall we go home?"
"Let's go home," they said at the same time.
They set off towards the exit, the three of them together, under the pinkish sky. The exam was over. They would find out what happened next later. But for now, they were together. And that was enough.