**Musutafu, Hero Public Safety Commission Training Facility – January 19, 2026, 14:00**
The evaluation arena was a massive underground dome, reinforced concrete walls lined with high-speed cameras and quirk-dampening fields. Tiered observation seats rose around the perimeter, half-filled with Commission officials, analysts, and a few pro heroes acting as witnesses. Nemuri sat in the front row, legs crossed, coat draped over the seat beside her. She looked calm, almost bored—but her fingers drummed a restless rhythm on her knee.
Yamcha—now officially registered under the hero name **Wolf Fang**—stood in the center of the arena floor. He wore the provisional costume Nemuri had helped him design: sleek black tactical gear with subtle red accents at the cuffs and collar, a lightweight scarf that could double as a mask. Simple, functional, and unmistakably him.
The lead evaluator, a stern woman named Ms. Arai, spoke through the overhead speakers.
"Provisional Hero Candidate Wolf Fang. This is a full-spectrum practical evaluation: combat, rescue, and restraint. The scenario simulates a multi-target villain incursion with civilian hostages. You have fifteen minutes. Your score is cumulative across all objectives. Begin on the signal."
Yamcha rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar hum of his quirk just beneath his skin.
"Ready when you are."
A red light flashed. The floor panels shifted. Ten combat robots rose from hidden compartments—each armed with stun batons, projectile launchers, and simulated quirk emitters. At the same time, holographic civilians appeared in elevated platforms, "trapped" behind energy barriers.
The robots charged.
Yamcha moved.
He didn't shout his attacks like some flashy heroes. He simply… flowed.
A sidestep, then a spinning kick that sent the first robot crashing into two others. Red aura flickered around his fists as he darted between them—Wolf Fang Fist in full motion. Punches landed with surgical precision, crumpling armor plates. When one robot fired a barrage of energy darts, Yamcha formed a Spirit Ball in his palm, curved it through the air, and detonated it against the shooter's back. The machine sparked and dropped.
The audience murmured.
Nemuri leaned forward, lips parted slightly.
He was fast. Too fast. The robots couldn't track him.
But the real test came next.
The holograms flickered—now showing actual trapped "civilians" in precarious positions: one dangling from a collapsing scaffold, another surrounded by rising "toxic gas" (simulated smoke). Yamcha's eyes narrowed. He leaped, aura flaring brighter.
This was where most candidates slowed down—dividing attention between combat and rescue.
Not him.
He blurred upward, caught the falling civilian mid-air with one arm, then used the momentum to swing around a support beam and land on the next platform. One hand cradled the hologram while the other unleashed a rapid combo that shattered the energy barrier around the second hostage.
The robots adapted, swarming him from all sides.
That was when it happened.
Yamcha felt the familiar pressure build—the same feeling he'd had in the alley, the same echo from a lifetime ago. His aura exploded outward, shifting from red to a burning gold-orange. The air howled like a wolf pack.
"Ultimate Wolf Fang… Barrage!"
He became a storm.
Invisible claw strikes ripped through the remaining robots in a perfect circle, metal shredding like paper. The final three went down in a single, fluid motion—palm strike, elbow, spinning heel kick. The arena floor trembled.
Silence.
Then the scoreboard lit up.
**Total Score: 202**
**Combat: 98**
**Rescue: 92**
**Restraint & Efficiency: 12 bonus**
**Previous Record (All Might – Provisional Phase): 156**
The room erupted.
Ms. Arai stood slowly, staring at the numbers.
"Impossible…"
Nemuri was already on her feet, coat forgotten, a wide, proud smile spreading across her face.
Yamcha landed lightly in the center, aura fading back to normal. He looked up at the observation window, caught Nemuri's eye, and gave her a small, cocky wink.
She bit her lip, heat rising in her cheeks.
An hour later, after the stunned officials handed him the official upgrade form ("Probation reduced to one month, pending review"), they slipped away from the facility.
Nemuri drove them to a quiet rooftop restaurant she knew—private terrace, city lights sprawling below like a sea of stars.
They sat at a corner table, wine glasses clinking softly.
"You broke All Might's record," she said, voice low and awed. "In your first evaluation. Do you have any idea how insane that is?"
Yamcha shrugged, but his eyes sparkled.
"I just did what I always do. Protected the ones who needed it. Fast as possible."
She reached across the table, fingers intertwining with his.
"You were magnificent. That golden aura… I've never seen anything like it."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a husky murmur.
"You were watching me the whole time. I could feel it."
Nemuri's smile turned wicked.
"Of course I was. How could I look away from my wolf tearing through everything in his path?"
Their faces were inches apart now. The city hummed below them, but up here, it felt like only the two of them existed.
Yamcha's thumb brushed slowly over her knuckles.
"You know… I think I like being under your supervision."
She laughed softly, then closed the distance.
Their lips met—slow at first, tentative, then deeper, hungrier. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer across the table.
When they finally parted, both breathing hard, Nemuri rested her forehead against his.
"Congratulations, Wolf Fang," she whispered. "You just passed the easiest test of the night."
Yamcha grinned, eyes dark with promise.
"Then let's see what happens when I really try."
The city lights glittered beneath them, but neither looked down.
They only had eyes for each other.