Class 1-A was the pinnacle of the U.A. High School academic hierarchy, a place where the best future hero candidates were gathered in one room. To this world, that classroom was an incubator of hope. However, to Nabiel, this room was a soundproof hell that leaked.
"DO NOT PUT YOUR FEET ON THE DESK! DO YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR THE SENIORS WHO USED IT BEFORE US?!"
"HUH?! ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A FIGHT, FOUR-EYES?! WHAT JUNIOR HIGH ARE YOU FROM?!"
The shouting of a pale-blonde boy, Bakugo Katsuki, clashed with the rigid scolding of a bespectacled youth, Iida Tenya. In another corner, some students were chatting with overly enthusiastic voices, showing off their physical quirks, while at the doorway, the awkward aura of the green-haired protagonist, Midoriya Izuku, added to the thick narrative tension in the air.
Nabiel sat in his chair, burying half of his face in the folds of his oversized white shirt collar. His long sleeves dangled down to his thighs. His soul, which craved peace and quiet, was screaming in frustration.
"It is so loud. Why do characters at the start of a story always have voice volumes higher than the average human?" his tired mind wondered. His dark black eyes stared blankly at the blackboard.
"Nabiel, your posture," a soft but firm voice scolded him from the desk to his right.
Nabiel turned with a slow movement. Yaoyorozu Momo looked at him with a motherly expression he knew all too well. The girl sat with her back perfectly straight, radiating an aura of elegance that stood in stark contrast to Nabiel's boneless, jelly-like posture.
"This is the most efficient posture for saving energy, Momo," Nabiel murmured softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the class noise.
Momo only let out a small sigh, being far too used to her childhood friend's excuses. "At least try to look a bit excited. This is our first day at U.A."
Nabiel responded only with a slow blink. He then turned to his left. There sat a young man with hair that was half-white and half-red, Todoroki Shoto. Since entering the class, the boy had remained silent, staring straight ahead with a cold, untouchable expression.
"You are lucky you do not have to talk much," Nabiel said quietly, his voice audible only to Todoroki.
Todoroki glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He did not answer, only giving a small, almost invisible nod, as if agreeing with Nabiel's sentiment about how annoying the surrounding noise was. For Nabiel, interacting with Momo and Todoroki was more than enough for his social quota today. Anything else was just too exhausting.
Suddenly, the sound of a zipper being pulled came from the front door.
"If you are here just to make friends, you had better leave."
The entire class fell silent. From behind the door, an adult male appeared in a yellow sleeping bag cocoon. He stepped out of the bag like a caterpillar that was too lazy to metamorphose. His black hair was long and messy, his eye bags were thick, and his expression radiated an aura of absolute exhaustion.
Nabiel's eyes widened slightly. "Oh?"
For the first time since he arrived in this world, Nabiel felt he had found a kindred spirit, a soul that thought like his. That man radiated a powerful "I do not want to be here" energy that almost rivaled his own.
"I am your homeroom teacher, Aizawa Shota. Nice to meet you," the man said in a flat tone. He then pulled out a gym uniform from inside his sleeping bag. "Put these on and gather at the field immediately."
The sunlight stung their skin as Class 1-A gathered on the open U.A. field.
"A Quirk Assessment Test?!" most of the students exclaimed in unison.
Nabiel let out a wide yawn, hiding his mouth behind his long sleeves, which were now messily folded over his blue gym uniform. Aizawa had just explained that they would perform eight standard physical tests, but this time they were allowed to use their Quirks. To add a bit of drama, Aizawa set a rule: whoever finished in last place would be expelled.
"A logical false threat," Nabiel analyzed mentally. "A standard hard-teacher tactic to squeeze the maximum potential out of his students. Cliche, but effective."
Test after test took place. There was the 50-meter dash, grip strength, long jump, and side-to-side jumps. The field was filled with explosions, lasers, item creation, and various incredible physical manipulations.
And in the middle of all these displays of superpower, Nabiel did exactly as he planned: the bare minimum.
He ran the 50-meter dash in 6.8 seconds. His grip strength was 45 kg. He jumped the average distance of a high schooler who exercised regularly. He did not use his Outer powers, he did not manipulate reality, and of course, he did not pull out his tactical knife like he did during the entrance exam. He only used the results of his physical training with Momo at the dojo. His numbers were not bad, but in a class full of monsters, his stats were the definition of "ordinary."
Aizawa, who had been standing at the edge of the field holding a tablet device, narrowed his eyes. He looked at the screen, then at Nabiel, who was standing casually in the back row, looking as if he were nearly asleep on his feet.
"Nabiel," Aizawa called out, his voice heavy and demanding attention.
Nabiel turned slowly. "Yes, Sensei?"
Aizawa walked toward him, his sharp gaze seemingly trying to dissect the boy in front of him. "From the entrance exam data, you destroyed those robots with pure physical attacks. And now, in all these tests, your Quirk output has not been recorded at all. You are not using it."
Several students, including Midoriya and Iida, turned toward them with curious looks. Momo watched Nabiel with a bit of anxiety, knowing full well how secretive her friend was about his "power."
"Are you underestimating this exam?" Aizawa asked coldly. His black hair rose slightly, a sign that his Erasure Quirk was ready to activate if the student in front of him intended to do anything strange.
Nabiel did not flinch. He stared back into Aizawa's eyes with a dark gaze that was equally hollow and lazy. His Outer brain quickly constructed a lie that was perfectly logical and fit within this world's magic system.
"I am not underestimating it, Sensei," Nabiel answered in a polite, monotonous tone. "The problem is, my Quirk cannot be used to throw balls or jump far."
"Explain," Aizawa interrupted.
"My Quirk type is a very specific Buff Instinct," Nabiel lied smoothly. He put both hands into his gym pant pockets. "It only activates if I am in a real one-on-one fight. The Quirk enhances my survival instincts and the efficiency of my combat movements. The activation requirement is very difficult. There must be a direct intent to fight from an opponent directed at me."
Nabiel pointed toward the grip strength measuring device on the ground. "Inanimate objects have no killing intent, Sensei. And sprinting is not a fight. So, in physical tests like these, I am essentially just a Quirkless human."
Aizawa fell silent. His eyes scanned Nabiel's face, looking for a lie. However, Nabiel's heart rate was calm, his breathing was steady, and his expression did not change in the slightest. In a world where some Quirks only work if the user eats someone's hair, or Quirks that only activate at night, Nabiel's explanation made perfect sense.
Aizawa lowered his shoulders, and his hair fell back down. "I see. A troublesome activation condition. That explains your efficiency during the entrance exam against robots programmed to attack." Aizawa noted something on his tablet. "Very well. Rational. But you must find a way to cover your weaknesses outside of combat. Next, Midoriya Izuku."
Nabiel let out a thin sigh of relief, thankful the lazy man did not ask further. He returned to his comfortable position, leaning against the field's perimeter pole.
Now, it was the protagonist's turn.
Midoriya Izuku stepped into the ball-throwing circle. His face was pale and covered in cold sweat. Nabiel knew exactly what was happening. That boy had a power that was too large for its container. Using it meant destroying his own body.
Midoriya prepared to throw. Glowing red lines appeared on his arm. However, just before the ball was released, Aizawa erased his Quirk. The ball fell a pathetic distance away.
Nabiel watched closely as Aizawa gave Midoriya a harsh lecture about how a hero who can only attack once and then becomes a burden would be useless on the battlefield. It was a sharp, realistic scolding, and one that the naive main character desperately needed.
"Well, what will you do, Protagonist?" Nabiel thought, his eyes sharpening as his Observer instincts took over. "Will you cry? Give up? Or will you find a loophole in your own script?"
Midoriya returned to the throwing position. He looked down, mumbling to himself, trying to process his fear and logic. Then, he raised his head. His eyes changed. The fear was replaced by pure determination.
He swung his arm. This time, there was no red glow across his entire body.
However, in the split second before the ball left his fingertips, Nabiel saw it. The massive power was focused, compressed, and channeled into just one point: Midoriya's right index finger.
SMASH!
A blast of wind swept across the field. A deafening sonic boom rang out as the ball shot through the clouds, leaving a thick trail of dust behind it.
The entire class gasped in disbelief. Bakugo looked as if he had just seen a ghost.
Aizawa held up his tablet. The number on the screen showed 705.3 meters.
In the center of the circle, Midoriya stood panting. His right index finger was broken, swollen, and a terrifying shade of purple. However, as the boy turned toward Aizawa, he clenched his trembling fist and smiled.
"Sensei... I can still move," Midoriya said with ragged breath.
Aizawa's eyes widened behind a thin smile that slowly formed on his tired face.
From the edge of the field, Nabiel watched the scene in silence. He did not cheer like Uraraka or Iida. He only observed.
"Sacrificing one finger to save the entire arm while still achieving the maximum result," Nabiel analyzed internally. The corner of his lip twitched upward slightly, forming a very thin smile before returning to his flat expression.
"Not bad for character development," he thought, before finally yawning again and hiding his hands inside his sleeves. "But still, this is so exhausting. I just want to go home and sleep."