Chapter 5: The Monolith Unbound
Five years is a long time for most children. For Bartholomew Kuma, it was a period of consistent, impressive growth. At fifteen, he was a towering figure, his upper body broad and heavy with muscle, tapering down to legs that, while sturdy, seemed almost slender beneath his massive torso. He wasn't a caricature, but he was undeniably built like a linebacker who had outgrown the league.
The entryway of his home felt cramped, though not impossibly so. Kuma sat on the raised wooden step, tying the laces of his sneakers. They were large size-15s, but otherwise standard athletic shoes.
"Do you have your admission ticket?" His mother fluttered around him like a nervous hummingbird. "Pencils? Eraser? A handkerchief for sweat? You know how humidity affects you."
Kuma finished tying the knot and stood up. He had to duck his head slightly to clear the doorframe—a habit he had developed over the last year.
"Mother," his voice was a deep, calm rumble. "I am not a child anymore. I have checked my inventory three times."
"I know, I know," she fretted, smoothing a wrinkle on his grey blazer. "The written exam went well yesterday, you said. But today... the practical. Oh, Bartholomew, please be careful. Don't push yourself too hard."
Kuma offered her a gentle, reassuring smile that softened his stern features. "Do not worry. I will merely... participate." He turned to the door, slinging his simple grey backpack over one shoulder. "I am going now."
"May safety accompany you!" she called out as he stepped into the morning sun.
The taxi ride to U.A. High School was a tight fit.
Kuma occupied a significant portion of the back seat, his broad shoulders pressing against the upholstery. Next to him sat another examinee—a boy with wild silver hair and sharp, energetic eyes.
"Apologies," Kuma murmured, shifting slightly to give the boy more room. "I take up much space."
The silver-haired boy grinned, showing a row of sharp teeth. "Don't sweat it, big guy. We're both heading to the same battlefield, right? U.A.?"
"Yes," Kuma nodded. "That is the destination."
"I'm Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu," the boy said, offering a fist bump. "I'm nervous as heck, but man, I'm ready to smash some robots. You look like you could tear them apart with your bare hands."
"I prefer... redirection," Kuma replied simply, bumping his large gloved fist against Tetsutetsu's.
By the time they arrived at the immense glass structures of U.A., the tension in the car had eased into a mutual, silent resolve.
The orientation hall was a sensory overload of noise and bright lights, dominated by Present Mic's screaming enthusiasm. Kuma sat stoically, absorbing the rules, while the rest of the hall buzzed with the nervous energy of hundreds of teenagers.
In the locker rooms, the atmosphere shifted to focused silence. As shirts came off and gym uniforms went on, no one paid Kuma any special attention. They were too busy checking their own gear, stretching their hamstrings, and muttering prayers to various deities of luck. Kuma changed quickly into a black tracksuit, blending into the sea of competitors despite his height.
Kuma walked to the designated gate for Battle Center K.
The crowd gathered before the towering concrete archway was dense. Kuma stood near the front, his height giving him a clear view of the cityscape replica beyond the gates.
Down near his knees, he noticed a movement.
There was a very small boy with balls that looked like purple grapes on his head. Mineta Minoru stood barely up to Kuma's kneecap. He looked up, craning his neck until it hurt, staring at the mountain of a teenager standing beside him.
Who brought a giant? Mineta thought, sweat beading on his forehead. Is he even human? Or is he part of the test?
Kuma simply adjusted his gloves, staring straight ahead.
Suddenly, from high atop a tower, the voice of the proctor, Present Mic, screeched out.
"START! What are you waiting for?! There are no countdowns in real battles!"
The massive gates groaned open.
The hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second. The crowd surged forward like a breaking dam. Kuma moved with them, his long strides keeping him easily in the front pack without needing to sprint at full tilt yet.
He entered the cityscape. It was immediate chaos. Dust kicked up, engines roared, and students scattered into the alleys.
Kuma rounded a corner and saw a 2-Pointer—a tracked robot with pincer arms—rolling down the street.
Target acquired.
He stepped forward, preparing to intercept. But before he could raise a hand, a silver blur shot past him.
"Sorry, buddy! This one's mine!"
Tetsutetsu, his skin now transformed into gleaming steel, slammed his shoulder into the robot. Metal screeched against metal as he caved in the robot's side panel, disabling it instantly.
"That's two points!" Tetsutetsu shouted, grinning back at Kuma before dashing off.
Kuma lowered his hand. He watched Tetsutetsu run.
It is a race, Kuma realized. Speed is the currency here.
A high-pitched scream tore through the noise of battle from a nearby side street.
"GYAAAHH! GET AWAY!"
Mineta was scrambling backward on the pavement. A menacing 3-Pointer—a large, bipedal drone—loomed over him. Mineta was frantically throwing purple balls from his head. Plop. Plop. They stuck firmly to the robot's chest plate and arms, but the machine didn't care. It wasn't organic; it didn't feel disgust or pain. It simply continued its advance, raising a heavy metallic fist to crush the nuisance.
It was about to be over for the grape boy.
Kuma moved. He didn't teleport; he simply ran, his heavy footsteps thudding against the asphalt as he closed the distance with surprising speed.
He slid between Mineta and the machine, planting his feet firmly.
The robot, operating on simple programming, swung its fist. Because of Kuma's height, the blow wasn't aimed downward, but straight forward—a piston-like punch aimed directly at Kuma's stomach.
Kuma didn't wind up. He didn't brace. He simply raised his right hand, palm open, the soft pink paw pad facing the oncoming metal.
Pad.
The contact was absolute.
The robot didn't fly backward instantly. For a split second, the air pressure around Kuma's hand distorted violently.
Then—BOOM.
The 3-Pointer was launched backward at a blinding velocity. It became a blur of grey metal. It flew across the street and slammed into the concrete wall of the opposite building.
CRASH.
The impact was heavy. The robot crumpled completely, embedded deep into the wall. Cracks spiderwebbed up the side of the structure, and the glass windows on the first and second floors shattered from the vibration, raining shards down onto the sidewalk.
Silence fell over that section of the street.
Mineta sat on the ground, his sticky spheres vibrating on his head. He looked at the crushed robot, then up at the broad back of the boy who had just swatted a machine like a fly.
"Whoa..." a student nearby whispered, stopping in their tracks.
Kuma exhaled slowly, lowering his hand.
In the observation room, the screens flickered with data.
"Interesting," Midnight murmured, tapping her chin. "That wasn't a strength enhancer. He didn't smash it; he launched it."
In the back, the skeletal form of All Might watched the screen intently.
"A repulsion quirk," All Might whispered. "Simple in concept, but that level of output... usually requires a wind-up. He did it from a standstill."
Principal Nezu sat in his chair, sipping tea. "Bartholomew Kuma. He has power, certainly. But let us see if he has the mobility to keep up with the race."
.
.