Dante woke to the sound of his alarm—harsh and insistent—and silenced it with a slap of his hand.

  9:00 AM.

  He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned his head to look at the calendar on his wall. Red marker circled a date two months away.

  UA Entrance Exam.

  His stomach twisted.

  He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and grabbed the hoodie draped over his chair. The apartment was quiet. Chiara would be in the kitchen soon, making breakfast and asking if he'd slept enough.

  Today was different, though.

  Today was a holiday. No school. No distractions, just training at home.

  Dante pulled on sweatpants and padded into the living room. The furniture had been pushed to the edges, creating an open space in the center. A laptop sat on the coffee table, cables and monitoring equipment spread around it like a medical setup.

  Marco sat on the couch, already typing something, earbuds in. He looked up when Dante entered and pulled one out.

  "Morning. You ready?"

  Dante nodded, though his hands were already trembling slightly. "Yeah. Let's do this."

  Chiara emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her expression was calm, but Dante could see the tension in her shoulders. She always got like this when he trained with Limbo.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked.

  "Fine." Dante flexed his fingers, trying to work out the nervous energy. "Just... ready to get it over with."

  Marco stood and gestured to the open space. "Same rules as always. You're in control. If the voices get too loud, if you feel yourself slipping, you drop it immediately. Understood?"

  "Understood."

  "And I'll be monitoring the whole time." Marco held up his hand—his quirk already active, fingers shifting and reshaping into sleek black ports and connectors. He plugged into the laptop with a soft click, and the screen lit up with data streams. "Heart rate, neural activity, quirk energy output. If anything looks wrong, I'm pulling you out."

  Dante swallowed. "Got it."

  Chiara moved to stand a few feet away, arms crossed, ready to intervene if needed. She didn't say anything, but her presence was grounding.

  Dante took a breath and stepped into the center of the room.

  Attempt 23.

  He raised his right hand, palm open, and focused.

  A portal flickered to life—small, unstable, edges crackling with static like a broken television signal. Orange light spilled out, wrong and sickly, casting jagged shadows across the walls.

  Dante's hand shook.

  You're in control. Not the voices. Not the demons. You.

  He reached through.

  The cold hit him first—biting, unnatural, like plunging his hand into a frozen lake. His fingers brushed against something solid. Stone. Shadow. Emptiness.

  He grabbed it.

  The transformation began as it rippled through him like ice water flooding his veins.

  His skin shifted—mottled blue-gray, rough like stone, shot through with dark veins that pulsed faintly. His eyes sank into hollow pits, reflecting nothing. Shadows coiled off his shoulders and arms, writhing slowly, restless and alive.

  The room changed.

  Sound died. The hum of the refrigerator vanished. The faint buzz of Marco's laptop cut out. Even the sound of breathing—Chiara's steady rhythm, Marco's quiet exhales—faded to nothing.

  The light dimmed to void darkness from grey to dark. Colors bled out, leaving everything washed in shades of gray and sickly blue

  The air turned heavy. Oppressive. Wrong.

  And the voices started.

  Whispers at first—soft, insidious, curling around his thoughts like smoke.

  Let go.

  Give in.

  You don't need them. You don't need anyone.

  Dante's jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides.

  No.

  I'm in control.

  The whispers grew louder, overlapping, incomprehensible fragments of words and half-formed sentences that clawed at the edges of his mind. They didn't make sense. He refused to let them make sense.

  Marco's voice cut through—muffled, distant, but there. "Dante. Can you hear me?"

  "Yes." His voice came out flat. Hollow. Emotionless.

  "Good. Try to pull back the darkness. Keep the form, but control the sensory effect."

  Dante focused. The oppressive void pressing against the room shifted, lightening slightly. The shadows writhing around him slowed, became less chaotic. Sound didn't return fully, but it wasn't complete silence anymore—just muted, like the world was wrapped in cotton.

  His body trembled. Small jolts ran through his arm, his shoulder, like static electricity arcing under his skin. The shadow tendrils flickered, unstable.

  But he held it.

  "Good," Marco said, his tone carefully neutral. Professional. "Now hold it. Sit down. Try to play the game."

  Dante moved slowly, carefully, like he was walking on ice. He sat cross-legged on the floor, and Marco slid the hologram device toward him.

  The projection flickered to life—glowing blue building blocks, structural simulations, construction challenges.

  Dante focused on it, using the shadow tendrils like extra limbs to manipulate the holograms. It was hard—everything was hard when he was like this—but he managed.

  Piece by piece. Block by block.

  The tendrils were less chaotic than before. More controlled. Still wrong, still unsettling, but... better.

  Time crawled.

  Marco's voice, quiet: "Heart rate steady. Neural activity is elevated but stable. Energy output holding."

  Minutes passed. Then an hour. The whispers never fully stopped, but Dante learned to push them to the background—white noise he could ignore.

  When the clock on the wall (which he could barely see through the dim haze) finally showed 12:00 PM, something shifted. The chaotic energy pulling at him settled. The trembling in his limbs stopped. The shadow tendrils moved smoothly, almost naturally.

  He felt... focused. Clear.

  Marco's voice again, tinged with relief: "Okay. That's good. Really good. You can drop it now."

  Dante let go.

  The transformation dissipated like steam—shadows evaporating, colors flooding back, sound rushing in all at once. His skin returned to normal, warm and human. His eyes regained their sharp gray color.

  He slumped forward, catching himself with his hands, breathing hard.

  The numbness was already settling in—the familiar emotional void that followed Limbo. But underneath it, buried deep, was something else.

  Pride.

  "I did it," he said, voice still flat but carrying a note of disbelief. "I finally did it."

  Marco yanked his hand free from the laptop and crossed the room in two steps, pulling Dante into a hug. Chiara joined immediately, wrapping her arms around both of them.

  "You did," Marco said, voice thick. "You actually did it."

  Chiara was laughing—half relief, half joy. "That was incredible, Dante. You held it for three hours."

  Dante let himself be held, the warmth of them grounding him even through the numbness.

  "I controlled Limbo during the chaotic time," he said quietly, the weight of it finally hitting him. "I actually controlled it."

  Marco pulled back, hands on Dante's shoulders, eyes bright. "You outdid yourself, kid. I never thought you'd manage it this soon."

  Then his expression shifted—something darker creeping in.

  "Your quirk is..." Marco hesitated, searching for words. "It's so damn complicated, Dante. Not just the transformations. The side effects. During certain hours, your forms become stronger, more primal, harder to control. It's like your quirk has its own circadian rhythm, and it fights you every step of the way."

  He exhaled shakily. "It's insane."

  Chiara's grip on Dante's shoulder tightened.

  Dante looked down at his hands—normal now, scarred but human. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't apologize," Marco said firmly. "You're doing amazing. But..."

  He trailed off, exchanging a glance with Chiara.

  "Will you ever try the other forms?" Marco asked quietly. "Or is it just Limbo from here on out?"

  Dante's hands started trembling again.

  Images flashed through his mind—unbidden, unwelcome, visceral.

  Blood. So much blood. Bodies. Small. Broken.

  A face, pale and terrified, staring up at him like he was a monster—

  "No." The word came out sharp. Final. "Never again."

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  "Dante—"

  "They're too dangerous. I can't control them. I won't risk—" His voice cracked. "I can't. I won't."

  His breathing quickened. His vision blurred at the edges.

  Marco and Chiara were on him immediately—Marco's hand on his back, Chiara's fingers threading through his hair, both of them grounding him, pulling him back from the edge.

  "Okay," Marco said softly. "Okay. It's okay. It's enough. More than enough."

  "You don't have to use the others," Chiara added, her voice steady and sure. "Not until you're ready. And if you're never ready, that's okay too."

  Dante nodded, throat too tight to speak.

  They sat like that for a long time—the three of them on the living room floor, holding each other, the afternoon sun streaming through the window and painting everything gold.

  Eventually, the numbness faded.

  And Dante let himself feel the relief.

  That Evening - Kaito's Home

  The food stall was winding down for the night.

  Kaito wiped down the counter, stacked the bowls, and helped his grandmother pack away the leftover ingredients. The evening crowd had been good—steady customers, familiar faces, enough sales to make the day worthwhile.

  His grandmother moved slowly, her back bent with age, but her smile was warm as she handed him the cash box.

  "Good work today, my little bubble."

  Kaito grinned. "You too, Grandma."

  They walked home together, the city settling into its nighttime rhythm around them. Streetlights flickered on one by one. A cat darted across the road. Somewhere in the distance, a train rumbled past.

  Their home was small—two rooms, a cramped kitchen, a living space that doubled as a bedroom. The walls were thin, the furniture old, but it was clean and warm and theirs.

  Kaito set the cash box on the table and started to say something, then stopped.

  His grandmother noticed immediately. She always did.

  "You've been quiet lately," she said, settling onto the couch with a soft grunt. "Something on your mind?"

  Kaito hesitated. "It's nothing. Just... thinking."

  "About?"

  He looked at her—really looked. At the lines on her face, the silver in her hair, the way her hands trembled slightly when she thought he wasn't watching.

  She'd given him everything. Raised him when his parents died. Worked herself to exhaustion to keep the stall running, to keep a roof over their heads, to make sure he never went hungry.

  And he was about to ask her for more.

  "Grandma," he said quietly. "I've been thinking about applying to UA."

  She went still.

  Kaito pressed on, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I know it sounds crazy. I know the tuition is expensive, and the entrance exam is brutal, and I'd have to work part-time to help with costs, but—"

  "Kaito."

  He stopped.

  His grandmother was staring at the wall, at the framed photos hanging there. Her son. Her daughter-in-law. The three of them together, smiling, before everything fell apart.

  "I found out something amazing," Kaito continued, softer now. "Six months ago. I have a quirk, Grandma. I'm not quirkless. I never was."

  Her eyes widened.

  "It's a growth-type quirk. My body gets stronger over time. I've been training—running, lifting, sparring with Dante. And I'm getting better. Faster. Stronger." His voice cracked. "I can actually do this. I can be a hero."

  He swallowed hard.

  "I want this society to change. I want heroes who care more about saving lives than fame and money. I want to help people who don't have a voice. Those who get drowned out by the system"

  He looked at her, eyes shining.

  "But I'll only do it if you think it's worth it. If you say no, I'll pursue something different. I promise."

  The silence stretched long and heavy.

  Then his grandmother stood, walked over to the photos, and touched her son's face with shaking fingers.

  "Kaito," she said quietly. "I'm old. And I've seen what this world does to people who try to be heroes."

  Kaito's heart sank.

  "But I've also seen what it does to people who don't try." She turned to face him, eyes wet but fierce. "You're a good boy. You've always been a good boy. Always trying your best, always thinking of others."

  She crossed the room and cupped his face in her weathered hands.

  "If you want to be a pro hero, then be one. But promise me—promise me—you won't push yourself so hard you break."

  Kaito's vision blurred. "I promise."

  "Good." She kissed his forehead. "Now stop looking so worried. You think your papa didn't leave you anything?"

  She shuffled to the closet and pulled out a small metal box—old, dented, locked with a combination only she knew.

  Inside was money. More money than Kaito had ever seen in one place. Neat stacks of bills, a savings book, and a few documents.

  "He wanted you to have options," she said. "To be more than we were. So don't you dare feel guilty about using it."

  Kaito broke.

  He threw his arms around her and sobbed into her shoulder—relief and gratitude and overwhelming love pouring out all at once.

  "Thank you," he choked out. "Thank you, Grandma."

  She held him tight, stroking his hair as she used to when he was small.

  "Do your best, my little bubble. Be the kind of hero who helps the ones no one else sees."

  "I will," Kaito promised. "I will."

  Two Weeks Later - School Computer Lab

  Dante stared at the screen, cursor blinking in the application submission box.

  UA High School - Hero Course Application.

  Total Applicants: 600,247.

  He blinked. Read the number again.

  "That's insane," he muttered.

  Kaito leaned over from the next computer, eyes wide. "Six hundred thousand?!"

  "Apparently." Dante scrolled through the application form—personal information, quirk details, previous education, and emergency contacts.

  "That's the second-highest in five years," Kaito said, pulling up the same page. UA's reputation is no joke. Guaranteed success as a pro hero if you graduate."

  "If you survive," Dante added dryly.

  "Well, yeah." Kaito grinned. "But that's what makes it worth it."

  Dante filled in his information slowly, carefully. When he reached the quirk description section, he paused.

  Quirk Name: Pandemonium Pact

  Quirk Type: Transformation

  Description: Access to multiple demon-like forms. Currently stable with one form (Limbo Shade). Others are under development.

  He left it vague. Didn't mention the instability. Didn't mention the voices.

  Just enough to get through the door. He hit submit. The confirmation screen loaded.

  Application Received. Entrance Exam: March 15th. Location: UA High School, Musutafu.

  Dante exhaled slowly.

  No going back now.

  Kaito finished his application a minute later, pumping his fist. "We did it! We're officially applying to UA!"

  "We're officially applying," Dante corrected. "Getting in is a whole other thing."

  "Details." Kaito stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Come on. Let's run. We've got two months to get stronger."

  Dante saved his confirmation email and followed him out.

  They'd been running together for six months now—every day after school, sometimes twice a day on weekends. At first, Kaito could barely keep up. Now, they moved in sync, pushing each other, competing without saying it out loud.

  It had become routine. Comforting, even.

  As they jogged through the city streets, Dante felt the tension in his chest ease slightly.

  Two months more. I can do this.

  Three Weeks Later - Takoba Municipal Beach Park

  The beach had been changing.

  Dante and Kaito noticed it gradually over the months—the piles of trash shrinking, the sand becoming visible in places where it had been buried under junk for years. They made a round trip crossing the Beach Park on their jogging track

  Someone was cleaning it. Today, they saw who.

  Dante slowed as they rounded the curve of the jogging path, the beach coming into view. "Hold on."

  Kaito stopped beside him, breathing hard but steady. "What?"

  Dante pointed.

  Down on the beach, a boy was hauling a massive chunk of rusted metal—easily twice his size—toward a growing pile of sorted junk. He was shirtless, wearing only track pants, his torso lean and developing muscle definition that hadn't been there a few months ago.

  Green hair. Freckles. Familiar.

  And standing a few meters away, hands on his hips, was a skeletal man in a bright yellow tracksuit.

  Kaito's eyes went wide.

  "Is that—"

  "All Might," Dante finished.

  Kaito took off running before Dante could stop him.

  "Wait—Kaito—"

  But he was already halfway down the beach, waving enthusiastically.

  Dante sighed and followed.

  The green-haired boy looked up as they approached, eyes widening in surprise. He dropped the metal with a heavy thud and straightened, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  All Might turned, his gaunt face breaking into a grin. "Well, well! Visitors!"

  "All Might!" Kaito practically vibrated with excitement. "I—sorry to interrupt, but could I get your autograph?!"

  All Might laughed—a booming sound that didn't quite match his skeletal frame. "Of course, young man! Always happy to meet a fan!"

  He pulled out a marker from seemingly nowhere and signed Kaito's shirt with a flourish.

  Kaito looked like he might cry from joy.

  Dante hung back, hands in his pockets, watching the interaction with mild amusement.

  Midoriya approached, still catching his breath. "You're... uhhh! We met, right?"

  Dante blinked. "Yeah… I can't remember," then a jolt made the boy remember

  "Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." He smiled, shy but genuine. "We met a while back. At the Kamui Woods fight."

  "Right. Im dante" Dante glanced at the piles of junk. "You're the one cleaning all this?"

  Midoriya's cheeks flushed. "Y-yeah. It's part of my training."

  "Training. Cool”

  Dante added, “We are also training! Though for ua exam.”

  Midoriya's eyes lit up. "You're applying too?"

  "Both of us are." Dante jerked his thumb toward Kaito, who was still gushing over All Might's signature. "We've been running this route for months. Didn't realize anyone was down here."

  "I've been at it for a while now." Midoriya looked at the beach, pride and exhaustion mixing in his expression. "It's... a lot of work. But I'm getting stronger."

  Dante studied him—the bruises on his arms, the scrapes on his knuckles, the way he moved as every muscle ached.

  "You're pushing yourself pretty hard," Dante said.

  Midoriya laughed nervously. "I have to. There are six hundred thousand applicants. I need to work harder than all of them if I want to get in."

  "Or you could work smarter." Dante pulled up his sleeve, revealing his forearm.

  Scars. Dozens of them. Some old and faded, some newer and still pink. Burns. Lacerations. Marks that looked like they'd been carved into his skin and healed wrong.

  Midoriya's eyes widened.

  All Might, who'd been chatting with Kaito, glanced over—and went still.

  His gaze fixed on Dante's scars, sharp and assessing. He didn't say anything, but something shifted in his expression. Concern, maybe.

  What happened to this kid?

  Dante didn't notice. He was focused on Midoriya.

  "Don't ruin your body," Dante said quietly. "Pushing past your limits is one thing. Breaking yourself is another. Trust me—I've done it. And the damage… It.. It sticks with you."

  He pulled his sleeve back down.

  Midoriya stared at him, something complicated crossing his face. "I... I'll be careful."

  "Good." Dante stepped back. "We should go. Didn't mean to interrupt."

  Kaito finally tore himself away from All Might, still clutching his signed shirt like a holy relic. "Thank you so much! This is the best day of my life!"

  All Might chuckled. "Keep that enthusiasm, young man! The world needs more heroes with heart!"

  As Dante and Kaito started to leave, All Might called out.

  "Young Midoriya."

  Midoriya turned.

  "The boy's right. Don't push so hard that you break. Strength means nothing if you can't use it. My Perfect Training program can't be rushed like this!"

  Midoriya nodded, flushing with embarrassment. "I know. I just—I need to be worthy of—"

  He cut himself off, glancing at Dante and Kaito.

  "I'll be more careful," he said finally.

  All Might's expression softened. "Good."

  Dante and Kaito jogged away, the beach shrinking behind them.

  "That was All Might," Kaito said, still grinning. "All Might, Dante. The number one hero. And he signed my shirt!"

  "I noticed."

  "And that boy training with him! That's insane!"

  "Maybe." Dante glanced back once, but the beach was already out of sight. "He's working hard, though. Really hard."

  "We all are," Kaito said. "That's what it takes, right?"

  Dante nodded slowly.

  Everyone's chasing the same dream. And only a handful will make it.

  "Let's not get complacent," Kaito added, picking up the pace. "If he's training that hard, we need to push harder."

  “True! Let's try to optimize our effort! More drills, push-ups after the run! Need to build more stamina.”

  Kaito laughed. "Fair point."

  They ran in comfortable silence, the city moving around them, the UA entrance exam looming two months away.

  Two Months Later - March 15th, Morning

  Dante woke before his alarm.

  The apartment was quiet. Pale morning light filtered through the curtains, casting everything in soft gray. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding.

  Todays the day!

  He got up slowly. Showered. Dressed in his best clothes—dark jeans, a clean black shirt, and his worn jacket.

  When he stepped into the living room, Marco and Chiara were already awake.

  Chiara stood by the window, holding something in her hands. Marco sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone, but he looked up when Dante entered.

  "Morning," Marco said. "You ready?"

  "As I'll ever be."

  Chiara turned, and Dante saw what she was holding.

  A scarf.

  Deep red, soft fabric, edges embroidered with a subtle pattern. It looked expensive and somehow a little nostalgic.

  "This was your father's," Chiara said quietly.

  Dante froze.

  "He wore it when he first became a hero. Before..." She trailed off, then stepped forward and wrapped it carefully around Dante's neck. "He'd want you to have it. For good luck."

  Dante's throat felt tight. "Chiara—"

  "You're going to do great," she said firmly. Her eyes were bright, but she smiled. "You've worked hard. You're ready."

  Marco stood and clapped a hand on Dante's shoulder. "She's right. Go show them what you're made of."

  Dante touched the scarf, fingers trembling slightly.

  Salvatore's scarf.

  My father's.

  "Thank you," he whispered.

  Chiara pulled him into a hug—tight and fierce. "Come back and tell us everything."

  "I will."

  Marco handed him his bag. "Your ID, confirmation letter, and everything you need are in there. Don't lose it."

  "I won't."

  Dante took a breath, squared his shoulders, and headed for the door.

  As he stepped into the hallway, he heard Chiara's voice, soft and almost inaudible.

  "Good luck, little brother."

  Dante smiled and didn't look back.

  The train to UA was packed with students—all wearing the same nervous, determined expressions. Some were showing off their quirks in small, illegal ways. Others sat in silence, staring at their phones or out the windows.

  Dante found a spot near the door and leaned against the wall, one hand gripping the overhead rail, the other touching the scarf around his neck.

  Here we go.

  The train lurched forward.

  UA High School loomed in the distance—massive, gleaming, impossibly grand.

  And Dante was heading straight for it.

  Meanwhile - Akari's Estate

  Akari stood in her family's private gym, sweat dripping down her face, chest heaving.

  She'd been training since 5 AM. Flame constructs. Precision strikes. Endurance drills.

  Her mother had watched for a while, nodded approvingly, then left.

  Now, Akari stood alone, staring at the punching bag she'd scorched black.

  Two months of this. Every day. Pushing until I can't stand.

  I won't lose.

  She grabbed her towel, wiped her face, and checked the time.

  7:30 AM.

  The entrance exam started at 9:00.

  She had a recommendation, so her exam would be different. Smaller. More scrutinized.

  Good. Let them watch. Let them see what I can do.

  She headed for the shower, already planning her next move.

  Dante. Kaito. All of you.

  I'm not losing to anyone.