The days between the sludge villain incident and the UA entrance exam passed with a deceptive sense of normalcy. For Dave Toruko, they were a final series of calibration runs—the quiet, meticulous fine-tuning of a machine before its first major deployment.
His training had evolved from foundational building to integrated systems testing. In the secluded corner of the park where the old jungle gym stood, Dave ran through what he called his Unified Response Drill. It wasn't a single skill, but a chain of them, flowing together.
The scenario was simple: a simulated collapsed awning (represented by a tarp weighed down with sandbags) pinning a 'civilian' (a weighted dummy). The constraints: stabilize the structure, extract the civilian, and neutralize a mobile 'threat' (a soccer ball launched from a simple rig he'd built that rolled unpredictably toward the scene).
He began not with a rush, but with a breath. Hive partitioned his awareness into simultaneous streams.
Stream One: Structural. His eyes scanned the sagging tarp frame. Hive overlaid stress points from the Shirogane data models. He didn't lift the weight. He used the compact jack from his multi-tool prototype to carefully lift a single, critical corner, redistributing the load along a secondary support beam he'd previously lashed in place. The groaning structure stabilized.
Stream Two: Rescue. As he worked the jack, his left hand was already pulling a length of high-tensile filament from his belt. With a flick of his wrist and a whisper of telekinetic guidance, the line snaked around the dummy's torso in a secure harness. The movement was smooth, born of a thousand repetitions of thread-and-needle telekinetic exercises.
Stream Three: Threat Neutralization. The soccer ball launched, bouncing erratically toward the 'collapse zone'. Dave didn't look at it. A sub-process of Hive, dedicated to peripheral threat tracking, calculated its trajectory. As he finished securing the harness, his right hand gestured almost casually. A focused telekinetic pulse, not a shove but a sharp, glancing tap, struck the ball at a precise angle. It veered off course, harmlessly bouncing into a bush.
Integration. With the structure stable and the threat diverted, he applied steady, telekinetically-assisted pressure to the filament, sliding the dummy clear of the debris with minimal friction. The entire sequence, from first assessment to clear extraction, took forty-seven seconds.
He stood, breathing steadily, reviewing Hive's internal log. Structural integrity maintained. Civilian extracted. Mobile threat redirected. Energy expenditure: within optimal parameters. Total elapsed time: within projected window.
It was clean. It was efficient. It was profoundly unspectacular. It was exactly what he aimed for.
The change in Izuku Midoriya was subtle, but to Dave's analytical eye, it was as clear as a changed variable in a familiar equation. The frantic, scattered energy was still there, but it had been funneled into a single, laser-focused beam. He walked with a new kind of purpose, and the nervous muttering had been replaced by periods of intense, silent concentration.
They found themselves walking home the same way a few days after the sludge incident. The air was cool, the silence comfortable.
"Your gait's different," Dave noted casually, not looking at him. "Less anterior pelvic tilt. You've been doing core conditioning."
Izuku started, then nodded vigorously. "Oh! Yeah, I, uh, realized my foundation was all wrong. If you're going to… apply force effectively, it has to come from a stable base, right?" There was a new confidence in his voice, not boastful, but factual.
"Correct. Power is worthless without a stable transmission pathway," Dave agreed. "You're preparing for the exam."
"More than… more than ever," Izuku said, his voice dropping slightly, filled with a weight that hadn't been there before. He clenched and unclenched his hand at his side, a new, unconscious habit. "I have a chance now. A real one. I can't… I can't waste it. I have to be smart. I have to be ready."
Dave glanced at him. Izuku's eyes were fixed ahead, burning with a ferocious determination that had shed its layer of desperation. It was the look of someone who had been given an equation to solve and would move heaven and earth to find the solution.
"Your methodology is your strength," Dave said simply. "The analysis. The pattern recognition. The exam is just another system. It has rules, inputs, and desired outputs. You've been studying systems for years."
Izuku looked at him, a grateful, fierce smile breaking through. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Thanks, Dave." He didn't say for what, but Dave understood. It wasn't for encouragement, but for the validation of his chosen tool—his mind.
They walked in silence for another block before Izuku spoke again, his tone shifting to analytical. "The practical exam… based on historical data, it rewards decisive action. But also adaptability. The variables change year to year."
"Naturally," Dave said. "A static test would be useless. They're filtering for the ability to process new information and act under pressure, not just rehearse a pattern."
"Right! So the optimal strategy isn't to have one plan, but to have a… a decision tree. A set of protocols for different scenario clusters," Izuku said, his hands beginning to sketch invisible diagrams in the air.
Dave nodded. "Exactly. Identify the scenario type, then execute the appropriate protocol from your library. Rescue cluster, combat cluster, hybrid cluster. Saves cognitive load."
They spent the rest of the walk in a comfortable, technical discussion of probabilistic scenario planning. It was the last time they would speak before the exam.
The night before the exam, the Toruko apartment was a portrait of quiet anticipation. There was no dramatic speech, no panicked last-minute review. The air was thick with a different kind of preparation.
Kenji was performing what he called a "final diagnostic" on Dave's gear—the multi-tool, now a sleek, matte-black assembly of jacks, spools of filament, and locking cutters. He tested each mechanism with a clinical precision that mirrored his son's own.
"Jack lift is smooth. Filament spool releases without catch. Edge is sharp but sheathed. It's good, Dave. It's simple, and it's good." He handed it over, his eyes serious. "Remember, tools are extensions of intent. This doesn't make you a hero. Your choices do."
"I know, Dad," Dave said, taking the tool. It felt cool and right in his hand, an expression of his philosophy given physical form. "It's just a better way to apply force."
Aiko approached, holding not a textbook, but a small, lacquered bento box. "I know you could probably calculate the exact nutrient and calorie load you need," she said, her eyes soft, "but I made you this for tomorrow. It's balanced. And it has those pickled plums you like. For… for steady energy." She was offering a mother's care, something no system could optimize.
Dave took the box, feeling its weight. "Thanks, Mom. That's perfect. Better than my calculations." He meant it. The human variable mattered.
After dinner, they sat together in the living room, not talking much. The TV was off. The silence was companionable, full of unspoken trust. Dave ran a final, full-system diagnostic with Hive. No new training. No cramming. Just a review of readiness states.
*All systems nominal, Hive reported. *Physical readiness: 98%. Neural optimization for telekinesis: stable at calibrated maximum. Combat/defense protocols: loaded and indexed. Academic knowledge base: consolidated. Psychological profile: stable, low anxiety. Primary objective: UA Entrance Exam. Success probability: 87.4% based on available data.***
The percentage was high, but Dave knew what it couldn't factor in: the chaos of other applicants, the exact nature of the tests, the judgment of human evaluators. The 12.6% uncertainty was the part that mattered. That was where the test truly lived.
He closed his eyes, not to sleep immediately, but to settle. He visualized not victory, but process. Walking into the unknown, observing, categorizing, and acting. It was a calming loop.
Aiko's voice broke the quiet. "You're ready, Dave. However tomorrow goes… you've built something real in yourself. We're so proud of you."
Kenji nodded from his chair. "Just remember to debug as you go. If something isn't working, don't force the same input. Find the new variable."
Dave opened his eyes and looked at them, the two pillars of his calm world. "I will. Thank you. For everything. The foundation… it's solid." It was the closest he'd come to an emotional speech, and it was enough.
The morning of the exam dawned clear and bright. Dave dressed in comfortable, durable training clothes—dark colors, nothing flashy. He ate the breakfast Aiko made, methodically fueling his system. He placed the bento and a bottle of water in his bag beside the multi-tool. He performed one last, brief series of stretches, feeling his body respond with perfect, tuned alignment.
At the door, he turned. His parents stood together, watching him. No tears, no dramatic hugs. Aiko gave a firm, encouraging nod. Kenji offered a slight smile and a thumbs-up.
"Systems are go," Kenji said.
"Come home safe," Aiko added.
Dave bowed slightly, a gesture of deep respect. "I will."
Then he turned and stepped out into the morning light, merging with the flow of other hopefuls heading toward the city's train stations. Around him, he could feel the crackling nerves, the boasts, the silent prayers of hundreds of other teenagers. He felt none of that. In his chest was a deep, resonant calm.
Hive was quiet, resting at a low hum of readiness. His body felt like a coiled spring, not of tension, but of potential energy. His mind was a clear pool, ready to reflect and analyze whatever was thrown into it.
He boarded the train to UA. As the cityscape blurred past, he didn't fantasize about glory or worry about failure. He mentally reviewed his core principle one last time: Observe. Analyze. Optimize. Execute.
The UA entrance exam wasn't a destiny to be met. It was a complex system to be understood and navigated. And Dave Toruko, with his calm mind and his hive of prepared capabilities, was ready to begin the navigation. The final calibration was over. It was time to run the program.