Chương 11: Zero Pointers

For half a second after the gate opened, most of Battle Center C waited for permission. Ren Akiyama did not. The metal gate had not finished groaning upward when he slipped beneath its rising edge and entered the artificial city at a controlled run, not sprinting, not yet, because the first ten seconds of a system were where careless candidates spent energy trying to look decisive. The street beyond the gate was wider than it had looked through the opening.

Concrete buildings rose on both sides, their windows dark and empty, facades reinforced to survive adolescent ambition. Painted signs hung above fake storefronts. Traffic lights blinked without pattern. Alleyways cut between structures at uneven angles. Somewhere deeper in the zone, metal moved against pavement with the ugly rhythm of machines pretending to be monsters. Behind him, the others surged. A candidate with blade-like elbows shot past on the right, laughing as if the test had personally insulted him.

A girl with reinforced boots kicked off the ground hard enough to crack the pavement surface and launched toward the central avenue. Someone shouted "Three-pointers are mine!" Someone else shouted "Move!" Then the waiting broke fully, and the entrance became noise. Ren kept left. The center path was obvious. Obvious meant crowded. Crowded meant collision, ego, wasted movement, and high-output Quirks firing near candidates whose control Ren did not trust.

Left gave narrower streets, more cover, fewer immediate targets, and less chance of being flattened by someone trying to impress cameras that might or might not be watching. His first robot appeared twelve seconds in. One-pointer. Small quadruped design. Approximately waist height. Armored front. Two camera-like sensors mounted above a sloped plate. Four jointed legs with exposed lateral actuators. Movement quick but not smooth, programmed aggression prioritizing direct approach. Ren did not attack it.

He let it see him. The robot's sensors lit red. It pivoted with a whining sound and charged. Ren ran backward three steps, then cut into the alley on his left. The robot followed. Good. The alley narrowed between a fake noodle shop and a blank concrete wall painted to resemble brick. A metal trash bin sat halfway down, bolted to the ground. A loose sandwich board sign leaned near the shop entrance. Decorative, probably. Still heavy enough. Ren passed the sign, caught the edge with his right hand, and pulled.

It scraped across pavement. Too slow. The robot closed faster than expected. Adjustment. Ren released the sign, stepped onto the low edge of the trash bin, and jumped sideways as the robot lunged. Its front leg struck the bin. Not enough. The machine recovered, twisting toward him. Ren landed badly enough that his left ankle complained. Ignored for now. He grabbed the sign again with both hands, pivoted with his hips instead of arms, and shoved the board into the robot's front-right leg as it stepped. Not a strike.

A wedge. The actuator caught. Metal shrieked. The robot's momentum did the rest. Its leg locked halfway through the stride, body tipped, rear legs scrambled, and the whole machine slammed shoulder-first into the wall. The impact cracked its sensor housing against fake brick. Lights flickered. One point? The robot tried to rise. No score announcement. Ren cursed under his breath. Disable threshold not met.

He stepped behind it, lifted the sign with both hands, and brought the metal edge down on the exposed sensor cluster. Once. Pain shot through his palms from the vibration. Twice. The red lights died. The robot collapsed. A small chime sounded from somewhere overhead. One. Ren let the sign drop. Hands: stinging. Ankle: minor. Breath: stable. Time spent: too long. One point in approximately twenty-seven seconds after first contact was not enough. Not nearly enough. He moved.

The alley opened into a smaller street already turning chaotic. A candidate with extendable arms had wrapped two one-pointers together and was trying to smash them against a wall, but his fingers slipped whenever the robots jerked. The reinforced-boot girl from the gate drove one heel into a two-pointer's knee joint, snapped its leg sideways, and vaulted away before the machine fell. A boy with a smoke Quirk had filled half the street with gray cover that blinded everyone equally. Ren stopped at the alley mouth.

Look first. Robot count visible: four one-pointers, one damaged two-pointer, one possible three-pointer deeper behind smoke. Candidate count: seven. Hazards: smoke, low visibility, aggressive output, falling two-pointer, unknown ranged capability. Opportunity: smoke reduces robot sensor reliability if optical. Candidates also impaired. Low value unless using edge. Ren moved along the smoke boundary rather than into it. A one-pointer stumbled out of the gray cloud with its sensors flickering.

It had lost target lock and was rotating too slowly, trying to reacquire. Ren stepped in from its blind side, hooked his foot behind one rear leg, and shoved down on its sensor housing with both hands. Nothing. Too heavy. It turned. He released immediately. The robot's front plate clipped his hip as he moved away. Pain flared. Manageable. He retreated two steps, grabbed a loose length of plastic piping from a fake construction barrier, and waited for the robot to commit. It charged. Ren angled the pipe low.

The first leg stepped over it. The second struck. The pipe bowed. For one terrifying instant, the robot did not fall. Then the candidate with extendable arms, still wrestling two other robots nearby, lost his grip and flung one of them sideways by accident. It crashed into Ren's one-pointer from behind. Both machines went down in a heap of metal. Ren stared for a fraction of a second. Accident. Usable.

He sprinted forward, planted one foot on the nearest robot's side, and slammed the pipe into the cracked sensor housing of the one he had tripped. The chime sounded. One more. Total: two. The second robot under it sparked weakly. The extendable-arm candidate shouted "Hey! That one was mine!" Ren looked at him.

"It was on top of my target""That doesn't mean" A two-pointer emerged from the smoke behind him. Ren pointed. The candidate turned. The two-pointer punched him in the chest with a padded but brutal mechanical arm and launched him backward into a storefront. Ren winced. Not because of the point dispute. Because the candidate had not looked. The two-pointer pivoted toward Ren.

It was larger than the one-pointer, approximately two meters tall, with a bulky torso, two arms, short reinforced legs, and a head unit recessed between shoulder plates. Front armor too heavy. Arms powerful. Slow rotation. Knee joints partially exposed but protected by angled covers. Ren could not break that. Not directly. He ran. The two-pointer followed with ground-shaking steps. Good. Maybe. He cut across the street toward the falling body of the damaged two-pointer the reinforced-boot girl had left behind.

Its leg was destroyed, but the torso still twitched. A three-pointer deeper in the avenue fired a compressed air burst at another candidate, sending debris across the road. Ren ducked behind a concrete planter as fragments scattered. One struck his left shoulder. Not sharp. Impact only. He kept moving. The pursuing two-pointer closed. Ren reached the damaged robot, grabbed its broken leg strut with both hands, and pulled. Too heavy. Of course. Stupid. He changed grip and pulled only the loose joint cover.

It tore free with a protesting metallic snap. The active two-pointer swung at him. Ren dropped flat. The arm passed over his back and smashed into the damaged robot's torso. The damaged machine exploded into sparks. A chime sounded. Ren did not know whether it was his. Probably not. The active two-pointer's arm stuck for half a second in the wreckage. Half a second was expensive. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Ren jammed the torn joint cover into the gap between the active robot's elbow actuator and forearm housing, then rolled away as the machine ripped itself free. The cover wedged deeper. The robot's right arm locked at an awkward angle. Not disabled. Reduced threat. Ren pushed to his feet. His palms hurt. His hip hurt. His shoulder hurt. No damage severe. Breath too fast. Correct. The robot rotated toward him, left arm still functional. Ren needed another candidate. He hated that. But hatred did not change mass.

He looked. Reinforced boots girl was thirty meters away, targeting another two-pointer. Smoke candidate had been forced to retreat. Extendable arms was getting up slowly. Blade-elbow boy was carving at a one-pointer and ignoring everything else. A candidate with a tail moved across an upper walkway, using it for balance while looking for targets below. Tail candidate. Angle possible. Ren shouted "Tail!" The candidate looked down. Good response. Ren pointed at the two-pointer's locked arm.

"Left side blind! Drop it into the wall!" The tail candidate blinked once, then moved. Good. Better than expected. He leapt from the walkway, tail whipping out to hook a hanging sign. His body swung downward in a tight arc, and both feet slammed into the two-pointer's left shoulder just as Ren baited its remaining arm. The machine twisted. Ren stepped into danger for one beat. Too close. The left arm swung.

He dropped under it and drove his shoulder into the wedged right arm, not to damage the robot, but to push the locked limb across its own centerline. The tail candidate kicked off again. The two-pointer over-rotated and smashed sideways into the building wall. Ren grabbed the torn pipe from the ground and jammed it into the knee joint as the robot tried to correct. Tail candidate landed behind it and used his tail like a lever around the other leg. The machine fell. Its head unit struck the curb.

Lights flickered but stayed on.

"Sensor!" Ren shouted Tail candidate moved first. His tail snapped forward like a whip and cracked the recessed head unit. The chime sounded. Two points. Probably his. Maybe shared. Ren did not know whether U. A. split points. He stepped back. Tail candidate looked at him.

"Was that yours or mine?"

"Unknown" The boy grinned.

"Useful answer""Accurate answer" The grin widened. Then he ran. Ren moved too. Total confirmed personal: two. Possible shared: unknown. Time: bad. Destruction score: poor. Utility: moderate. Exam viability: uncertain. No rescue points yet. No visible civilians. He turned down another street. The artificial city became louder with every minute. Robots crashed through walls built to crumble safely. Candidates shouted. Metal struck concrete.

Quirks flashed at the edges of vision: acid hissing against armor, vines wrapping legs, sonic pulses denting panels, hardened fists punching through sensor plates, a spray of water knocking one-pointers off balance, wings beating air full of dust. Ren saw points everywhere he could not reach. A candidate with stone skin ran headfirst into a three-pointer and caved in its front plate with one shoulder. Three points in under five seconds.

A girl with a cable-like hair Quirk lashed three one-pointers together and slammed them into a wall hard enough to score all at once. A boy whose hands glowed blue touched a robot's leg and froze the actuator in place before shattering it with a kick. Visible power converted effort into score efficiently. Ren converted planning into seconds lost. That was the reality. He could not hate reality. He could only adjust. He took a narrower route parallel to the main avenue. Less robot density. Lower point opportunity.

Higher chance of isolated targets and environmental use. A one-pointer rolled from behind a fake delivery truck. Different model. Wheeled base. Low profile. Single forward arm. Sensor mast. Fast. It saw him and accelerated. Ren stepped behind the truck. The robot followed around the front instead of the back. Pathing favors direct line. Good. He climbed onto the truck's side step, pulled himself half up, and waited. The robot came around the front corner. Ren dropped onto its sensor mast with both feet.

The mast bent, but did not break. The robot bucked. He hit the ground hard on one knee. Pain. The robot spun. Ren grabbed the mast and held on while it dragged him half a meter across pavement. Bad. He released before his shoulder overextended. The robot pivoted toward him. Ren kicked the bent mast sideways with his heel. Once. Twice. It snapped. Chime. Three. His knee throbbed. He stood slowly. Stupid method. Cost too high for one point.

He wrote the note in his head and moved before frustration could root him in place. At the intersection ahead, two candidates had cornered a three-pointer. One was the blade-elbow boy from the gate. His Quirk had extended the bone or metal-like blades at his elbows into curved cutting edges, and he was striking at the three-pointer's leg joints with reckless enthusiasm. The other candidate had a glue-like secretion from her palms and was trying to stick the robot's feet to the ground. Good combination.

Poor communication. The three-pointer's torso swiveled. One heavy arm swung low. Blade-elbow ducked under it and slashed again. Glue candidate shouted "Move left!" He moved right. The robot's other arm came down. Ren was too far to reach. He grabbed a loose traffic cone from the sidewalk and threw it. Not at the robot. At blade-elbow's face. The cone hit his shoulder instead. Still enough. Blade-elbow jerked back, cursing, and the robot's arm smashed the pavement where his head had been.

Glue candidate screamed "I said left!" Blade-elbow shouted "Who threw that?" Ren ran toward them.

"Argue after disabling it""Was that you?"

"Yes""I'll kill" The three-pointer shifted its weight. Ren saw the glue at its feet stretching, not holding. The candidate's Quirk was strong enough to delay movement but not anchor mass under torque.

"Both feet!" Ren shouted Glue candidate understood first. She slapped both hands to the pavement and spread adhesive in a wider patch. Blade-elbow, to his credit, turned his anger into motion and drove both elbow blades into the weakened knee joint he had been attacking. The robot tried to step. The glued foot held. The damaged knee took load. Metal screamed. Ren grabbed the fallen traffic cone, jammed its base beneath the robot's other foot, and kicked it deeper as the machine shifted. Improvised wedge.

Insufficient alone. Enough combined. The three-pointer tilted. Blade-elbow roared and carved through the joint housing. Glue candidate yanked both hands back with a cry as the robot began to fall. Ren saw the fall line. Toward her. He moved before thinking, then thought while moving. Too far to pull her fully clear. Redirect. He slammed into her side with both hands on her shoulder and hip, pushing across rather than backward. She stumbled out of the fall path. The robot crashed down beside them.

Blade-elbow leapt onto its torso and drove both elbows into the head unit. Chime. Three points. Not Ren's. Glue candidate stared at the fallen robot. Then at Ren.

"You shoved me""It was falling on you""Oh" Her hands shook. Adrenaline. She looked at the pavement where she had been standing. Then back at him.

"Thank you""Move away from disabled robots" She blinked. Then scrambled back. Blade-elbow jumped down. His face was flushed with triumph and irritation.

"Do not throw cones at me""Look when your teammate gives direction""She's not my teammate""She kept you from being crushed" Glue candidate, still pale, said "You're welcome" Blade-elbow opened his mouth. The street behind them exploded as a three-pointer slammed through a fake wall, chasing two candidates. Ren turned. No time. He ran. Behind him, blade-elbow shouted "Hey! What's your Quirk?" Ren did not answer. The next five minutes became math performed inside impact. Ren scored two more one-pointers, both ugly.

One by baiting it into the path of a candidate's missed sonic blast and finishing the cracked sensor with a broken signpost. Another by using a chain barrier to tangle its wheels after three failed attempts that left his forearm scraped raw where the chain snapped back. Total confirmed: five. Possible assist: maybe one or two. Rescue-like interventions: at least two. Official rescue points: unknown. Physical cost: rising.

Ren ducked into a narrow passage between two buildings and crouched behind a fake utility box for three breaths. Only three. The exam did not care that his body wanted five. Inventory. Breath: high but controllable. Hands: stinging, chain abrasion right forearm, no active bleeding severe. Left shoulder: impact soreness. Hip: bruise likely. Left knee: pain from drop, mild. Ankle: stable. Scar: quiet. Head: clear. Fear: present but functional. Frustration: high. He flexed his fingers. No tremor. Good.

A camera drone passed overhead, almost silent except for a faint rotor whisper. Ren looked up. Observation confirmed. U. A. was watching. Of course they were watching. Not just scores. Behavior. Choice. Method. Cost. He almost laughed. Not from humor. From the sudden absurdity of spending years trying to become impossible to measure correctly and then entering a test designed by people whose entire job was to measure what candidates did not know they were revealing. Fine. Let them watch. He stood.

A scream came from the main avenue. Not battle noise. Different. Fear. Ren moved toward it. The scream came again, followed by the heavy crash of a robot striking a building. Dust rolled across the end of the passage. He reached the corner and looked. A candidate was pinned in the street. Not crushed fully. Pinned. One leg trapped under a slab of fallen facade dislodged by a three-pointer's attack. The robot itself was gone, chasing louder targets. Two one-pointers rolled nearby, sensors sweeping for movement.

The trapped candidate wore thick gloves and a support belt. No visible external bleeding. Conscious. Panicking. Several candidates saw him. One hesitated. Then ran toward another robot. Points first. Ren felt something cold settle under his ribs. No visible staff intervention yet. Possible hidden evaluation. Possible acceptable simulation injury. Possible real injury. The candidate tried to pull his leg free and screamed. Real enough. Look first. Robots: two one-pointers. Distance: fifteen meters and closing.

Trapped candidate: unable to move. Slab: too heavy to lift alone. Nearby tools: broken signpost, metal railing, loose brick-like debris, overturned vending machine facade, pipe from wall. Objective: free leg or protect until assistance. Do not become second casualty. Ren ran toward the trapped candidate. The nearest one-pointer detected him and accelerated. Ren did not engage. He changed angle at the last second, vaulted over the fallen slab, and landed beside the candidate. The boy grabbed his sleeve.

"Help me!" Ren pulled his arm free.

"Stop pulling""I can't move!"

"I know. Stop making it worse" The boy stared at him. One-pointer closing. Ren grabbed the broken signpost and wedged it under the edge of the slab near the trapped leg. Lever. Bad angle. He needed a fulcrum. He shoved a brick-like chunk beneath the signpost, then pressed down. The slab shifted maybe one centimeter. Not enough. The one-pointer lunged. Ren released the lever and ducked sideways. The robot struck the slab and bounced back, front legs scrambling. Useful. The impact shifted the debris slightly.

Trapped boy cried out. Ren winced. Cost. The second one-pointer approached from the other side. Ren looked over his shoulder.

"Quirk?" The boy gasped.

"My gloves harden. Impact absorption. I can't reach""Can your hands take pressure?"

"Yes""Then push the slab away from your knee when I lift""I can't""Yes. You can" The first one-pointer recovered. Ren grabbed the signpost again. The second robot charged. He timed badly. It clipped his thigh. Pain flashed bright. He nearly fell. He did not. Progress that prevents tomorrow is debt. Tomorrow could complain later. He planted the signpost, braced both feet, and drove his weight down. The slab shifted. The trapped boy screamed and pushed with both gloved hands.

The material of his gloves darkened, hardened, and compressed against the concrete. The slab lifted another centimeter.

"Pull your leg back""I can't!"

"Now!" The first one-pointer lunged again. Ren held the lever. The robot struck his left side. Not full impact. Glancing. Still enough to knock breath out of him. Pain burst across ribs and shoulder. The lever slipped. The slab dropped. The trapped boy screamed again, but this time his leg slid free halfway before the weight settled. Enough. Ren released the signpost and grabbed the boy under both arms.

"Push with your free leg" The boy sobbed and pushed. Ren dragged. His back screamed. His grip failed once. He reset lower.

"Again" The boy pushed. They moved. A one-pointer's arm snapped toward Ren's head. He twisted. The arm scraped along his hoodie and struck pavement. Too close. Ren hooked the trapped boy's belt and dragged him behind the overturned vending machine facade. Both one-pointers crashed into the debris pile, sensors struggling to track around the obstacle. Temporary cover. The boy lay on the ground, shaking. His trapped leg was free but not fine. Bruising visible. No obvious open fracture. Movement unknown.

Ren's ribs hurt with each breath. He ignored that for three seconds.

"Can you stand?"

"I don't know""Try""I can't" Ren looked at the two one-pointers circling. Then at the boy. Then at the street. No staff. No visible help. Cameras. Always cameras. Ren shouted "Medic candidate! Immobilization help!" No answer. He shouted louder.

"Candidate injured! Need mobility assist!" A girl with vine-like hair looked over from half a block away, saw the robots, hesitated. Ren pointed at her.

"You! Roots or vines?" She blinked.

"Vines!"

"Drag him behind the wall! I'll distract!"

"I'm not""Rescue points!" That worked. The words hit harder than injury. The girl ran toward them. Good. Ren stood before his body approved. The two one-pointers reacquired him. He picked up the signpost. Hands painful. Ribs worse. Functional. The first robot charged. Ren swung the signpost low and missed the leg. Bad. He had less precision now. Fatigue. The robot rammed his hip. He stumbled, recovered, and backed into the open to draw both machines away from the injured candidate.

Vine girl reached him and sent strands of green growth from her hair, wrapping the boy's torso. He shouted in panic.

"Don't move his leg wrong!" Ren snapped She froze.

"Support under knee and ankle. Drag straight""I don't know how!"

"Then move slowly!" The one-pointers came again. Ren smiled without humor. Too many jobs. This was what adults meant. This was why one person moving first did not make a situation solved. He jammed the signpost into the ground like a barrier and let the first robot hit it. The impact tore the pole from his hands and sent vibration up his arms. The second robot angled around him toward the injured boy and vine girl. No. Ren threw himself sideways and caught the robot's sensor mast with both hands. Bad idea.

He knew before contact. Momentum dragged him off his feet. He landed on his side, ribs screaming. The robot pulled forward, towing him across pavement. He held the mast, twisted with his whole body, and drove one foot against the robot's side. For one second, nothing happened. Then the mast cracked. Ren released and rolled away as the robot spun blindly. The chime sounded. Six. Not worth it. Absolutely worth it. Pain is information. It is not permission. Ribs: sharp. Possible bruise, not fracture? Unclear.

Breath: compromised. The first one-pointer turned toward him again. A chunk of pavement smashed into it from the side. Blade-elbow boy stood down the street with one arm extended, breathing hard.

"I owed you for the cone" Ren coughed once. Bad.

"That was not equivalent""Shut up" Blade-elbow charged and finished the robot with a clean strike through the sensor plate. Chime. His point. Good. Ren turned. Vine girl had dragged the injured candidate behind a wall section. The boy was sitting up, shaking but clear of the street. Ren moved toward them. Slowly. Too slowly.

"Leg?" he asked The injured boy swallowed.

"Hurts""Can you move toes?" He did.

"Good. Stay out of traffic. Signal staff if pain worsens" Vine girl stared at Ren.

"Are we allowed to stop for injured people?" Ren looked at her. The question was so pure it almost hurt.

"This is a hero exam" She flushed.

"Right" A chime did not sound. No announcement. No visible point total. No confirmation that any of it mattered. Ren looked up at the nearest camera drone. For one second, anger rose hot and clean. If rescue counted, say it. If it did not, admit what you are measuring. The drone watched. Ren turned away. There was no time to argue with a machine collecting evidence. The exam continued. Ren's next ten minutes were worse. Pain changed everything. He could still run, but not smoothly.

He could still breathe, but deep inhalation punished him. He could still use his arms, but grip strength had dropped from vibration and abrasion. He stopped attempting anything requiring heavy leverage unless another candidate was already engaged. That reduced scoring. He got one more one-pointer by baiting it into a wall already weakened by someone else's Quirk. Seven. Maybe eight if a shared assist counted. Not enough. Not enough. Not enough. The words matched his footsteps.

He watched candidates surpass him casually. A girl with sonic palms scored six points in under a minute by collapsing robot sensors with focused pulses. A large boy with armor-like skin destroyed a two-pointer by tackling it through a storefront. Tail candidate moved beautifully across vertical surfaces and finished robots Ren could barely reach. Blade-elbow, despite poor judgment, had raw destructive capacity that converted effort into points far better than Ren's careful methods. Ren was useful.

Useful was not the same as winning. That had always been the fear. Not that he would fail because he was worthless. That he would prove he had value and still not enough value of the kind the gate required. A two-pointer emerged from an alley ahead. Ren stopped. No. Not alone. Not now. It saw him. He moved backward. The robot advanced. Then a wave of hardened mud surged from the left and swallowed its legs up to the knees. The machine jerked, stuck.

A candidate with clay-like arms sprinted after it, both hands raised.

"Head!" Ren shouted The candidate reacted instantly, shaping one arm into a heavy blunt mass and smashing the robot's sensor unit. Chime. Two. The candidate looked at Ren.

"Thanks!" Ren nodded. No point. Still useful. Useful still not enough. A siren blared overhead. Not the end. Different tone. Deep. Mechanical. Every candidate in the street paused for half a breath. The ground trembled. Ren turned toward the center of Battle Center C. Dust rose above the rooftops. Something massive moved beyond the buildings. A shadow crossed the far intersection, too high to belong to any three-pointer. The speakers crackled. Present Mic's voice came through, delighted and distant.

"UH-OH, LISTENERS! LOOKS LIKE THE BIG ONE'S ON THE MOVE!" The Zero Pointer stepped into view three streets away. Even at a distance, it made the artificial city feel suddenly small. Its head rose above the buildings. Its armored torso scraped a facade and tore concrete panels loose like paper. Each step sent vibration through the pavement into Ren's knees. Candidates who had spent the exam shouting went silent before their survival instincts remembered sound and turned it into screaming. Zero points. Avoid.

Do not engage. Ren's ribs throbbed. His hip hurt. His hands were raw. He should run. Everyone should run. Then the Zero Pointer's foot came down near a damaged building at the central avenue's edge. The impact collapsed half the facade. Concrete slabs slid outward. A voice screamed from beneath the dust. Ren stopped breathing. Not his battle center. Not the brown-haired girl. Not the exact fragment. Still the same shape. Someone trapped. The scoring system said zero. The body said run. The rule said look first.

Ren looked.