Chapter 14: The Quirkless Anomaly
The hydraulic pistons of the 3-Pointer hissed like an angry snake. A massive, olive-green metal fist descended from the sky, aiming directly to crush the green-haired boy standing in the middle of the street.
The other applicants screamed. Some covered their eyes.
Zoro didn't look up at the fist. He closed his eyes.
Amidst the screaming teenagers, the grinding tank treads, and the roaring engines, Zoro found the silence. He felt the heavy, ugly, mass-produced vibration of the robot's armor. It was thick. It was stubborn.
But it had a breath.
Zoro's right thumb pushed the white hilt of the Wado Ichimonji completely open. He stepped forward. He didn't tense his muscles. He didn't rely on the brutal, raw strength that had broken his wooden swords.
He just let the blade follow the rhythm of the steel.
A single flash of pure, cold silver illuminated the dusty street.
Click.
Zoro sheathed the sword. He didn't look back. He kept walking forward, his hands resting casually on his sash.
For two agonizing seconds, nothing happened. The massive metal fist was still hanging in the air, frozen just inches above where Zoro had been standing.
Then, the terrible sound of screeching metal echoed through the fake city.
A perfectly straight, diagonal line appeared across the entire torso of the 3-Pointer. Sparks violently erupted from the seam. With a deafening crash, the top half of the giant machine slid off its own chassis. It slammed into the concrete, crushing a nearby lamppost. The red glowing eyes flickered and died.
The cut on the thick armor plate was as smooth as a mirror.
The entire street went dead silent. The screaming teenagers froze, their jaws practically hitting the floor.
Zoro let out a disappointed breath. "Too soft. It doesn't even feel like cutting."
He broke into a sprint, disappearing into the maze of concrete buildings before anyone could even utter a word.
High above the fake city, in a dark observation room illuminated only by the glow of dozens of monitors, the U.A. teaching staff sat in stunned silence.
Pro Hero Snipe nearly dropped his unlit cigar. "Did... did you all just see that?"
Midnight leaned closer to her screen, her eyes wide. "That was a Class-3 battle drone. The armor on those things is designed to withstand a direct blast from a tank. Who is that kid? What's his Quirk? Molecular dismantling? Metal manipulation?"
Principal Nezu, sitting in his high chair, tapped a few buttons on his tablet. The screen brought up applicant number 7134.
Nezu's paws stopped moving. He stared at the screen.
"Fascinating," the principal murmured. "Applicant Roronoa Zoro. Quirk..." Nezu paused, looking around the room. "...None."
"Impossible," the Blood Hero, Vlad King, grunted, crossing his massive arms. "A Quirkless kid can't slice through military-grade steel with a katana. That's a physical impossibility. He must have a registered Quirk he's lying about."
"He isn't lying."
From the darkest corner of the room, a tired, raspy voice spoke up. Aizawa stepped into the dim light of the monitors, holding his yellow sleeping bag. He looked directly at the screen tracking Zoro's movements.
"I met him," Aizawa stated flatly. "I tried to erase his Quirk. Nothing happened. Because there is nothing to erase."
All Might, sitting in his weakened, skeletal form in the back row, widened his sunken blue eyes. He remembered the green-haired boy from Takoba Beach. The boy who dragged thousands of pounds of iron just to train.
"Then how?" Snipe demanded, pointing at the screen. "Look at him!"
On the monitor, Zoro was a blur. He wasn't using the white sword anymore. He had drawn his two generic steel katanas. He was actively hunting the robots, diving into groups of 2-Pointers and 1-Pointers. He wasn't blowing them up. He was dismantling them. Every swing was precise. Every cut was impossibly smooth.
Legs, arms, and camera lenses flew into the air as Zoro danced through the mechanical horde.
"He's not using a Quirk," Aizawa said, a faint, almost invisible smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "He's just cutting them."
"That doesn't make any sense, Eraser!" Mic yelled.
"Keep watching," Aizawa replied, slipping into his sleeping bag. "We might have an anomaly on our hands."
Thirty-six points.
Zoro ducked under a swinging mechanical tail, slicing the joints of a 2-Pointer cleanly in half.
Forty-two points.
He didn't care about the other students. He saw a boy with engines on his legs kicking a robot. He saw a girl with brown hair making machines float. He ignored them all. He was entirely focused on his own blade.
Fifty-one points.
Zoro stopped in the middle of a wide intersection. He was breathing heavily, sweat rolling down his face, but his dark eyes burned with pure adrenaline. It felt good. He hadn't moved like this in ten months. He finally felt alive again.
He rested his swords on his shoulders, looking around for his next target. The street was littered with perfectly sliced, smoking robot parts.
Suddenly, a loud siren blared across the entire facility.
The ground beneath Zoro's feet violently trembled. It wasn't the rumble of a tank tread. It felt like an earthquake. The asphalt cracked open, shooting a massive cloud of dust and debris high into the sky.
The other applicants in the area stopped fighting. They turned toward the dust cloud, their faces draining of all color.
"Run!" someone screamed. "It's the Zero-Pointer!"
A shadow fell over the entire intersection, blocking out the sun.
Zoro slowly tilted his head back.
A colossal machine, as tall as a skyscraper, emerged from the dust. Its massive red optic glared down at the tiny humans below. One of its giant hands slammed into a building, shattering concrete and glass like fragile toys.
Everyone was running away in absolute terror.
Zoro stood completely still. The shadow of the massive machine swallowed him.
He looked at the towering mountain of green, hero-grade steel. He remembered Master Kenji's words. A normal blade will shatter.
Zoro slowly sheathed his two generic swords. He reached for his left bicep, untying the dark green bandana tied tightly around his arm.
He wrapped it slowly around his head, tying it securely.
A dark, terrifying grin split his face.
"Now that..." Zoro whispered to himself, reaching for the white hilt of Wado Ichimonji, "...looks like a real test."
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