The Dagobah Arena stood like a monument of discipline and prestige.
White-tiled walls and black-framed doors gleamed under the morning light, giving the entire facility a sharp, professional air. The conical roof flowed seamlessly into a rectangular main hall—elegant yet imposing, a space clearly designed to humble anyone who entered it.
It was ten minutes to nine.
Lock walked in through the main gate, showing his exam ID to the guards. The men blinked in surprise—no doubt recognizing the name they'd seen in headlines all week—but let him through without comment.
Following the directional arrows along the walls, Lock made his way to the assigned waiting hall.
The moment he stepped in, he was met by a wall of sound—voices, murmurs, shifting feet.
There had to be at least a thousand examinees packed into the room.
He quietly slipped into a corner to avoid drawing attention. But it was no use.
The moment someone noticed him, whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
"Hey—is that him? That middle-school kid?"
"Yeah, Lock. The Dragon Hero's son."
"Man, his parents were legends, but that doesn't mean he can just walk in here and become one himself."
"Seriously… the kid's delusional. Doesn't know the difference between guts and stupidity."
In seconds, every pair of eyes seemed to lock onto him.
This was the Pro Hero License Exam, after all—where every participant had fought tooth and nail for years to reach this point. To see a junior high student standing among them… it wasn't inspiring. It was insulting.
If Lock somehow passed, their years of struggle would look meaningless in comparison.
That jealousy simmered under every whispered insult.
But Lock stood his ground, unbothered. He met the crowd's glares with cool indifference—his sharp gaze sweeping the hall like a blade.
So these are my competition, huh…
Scanning the crowd, he picked out a few familiar faces from the news.
"The guy with branches all over his body—that's Kamui Woods. The tall blonde in the mask and bodysuit must be Mt. Lady, and the musclehead next to her… Death Arms, right?"
His lips curved slightly. "Guess the timeline's lining up."
By his estimate, he and Izuku Midoriya were both still in middle school. In Midoriya's story, the day he met those three pros marked their public debut.
"So this must be that September exam… when they all first became Pro Heroes."
A spark of ambition flickered in Lock's eyes.
"If the chance comes, I'll recruit them into my agency."
The slight smirk that followed made the people watching him bristle. To them, that confident expression looked like pure arrogance—as though the kid were mocking them.
Several examinees clenched their fists, muttering curses under their breath.
They couldn't wait to wipe that smug look off his face once the test began.
Then, a dry cough cut through the noise.
On the front podium stood a man who looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, his unkempt hair drooping into his half-open eyes.
"Ahem," he said lazily, rubbing his neck. The chatter died down instantly as hundreds of heads turned toward him.
"Right, let's get started with the Pro Hero License Exam."
He stifled a yawn and gave a sleepy wave. "Name's Good Eyes. I'm here on behalf of the Hero Public Safety Commission. I, uh… like to sleep."
The examinees stared at him in disbelief.
Is this guy for real?
Good Eyes didn't bother pretending otherwise. "Sorry. I've been working overtime lately—didn't get much sleep. Had to come in last-minute for some… unexpected circumstances."
Lock felt that gaze land squarely on him and looked away guiltily, whistling under his breath.
The "unexpected circumstance" he mentioned could only mean him.
The Commission must have had to rush through emergency paperwork to accommodate his special inheritance mechanism for taking the exam.
Good Eyes yawned again and continued, "Anyway… I'll explain the rules of this exam as best I can in this state."
He squinted at the crowd. "How many of you are there? Two thousand? Whatever. The first stage will be an elimination exercise. The total number of people who pass… will be eight hundred."
"...What?"
The entire hall froze. Then came the uproar.
"Wait—did he just say elimination first round?!"
"Over half of us get cut immediately? That's insane!"
"The first round's never that strict!"
The outrage echoed through the room. To them, this so-called examiner clearly wasn't taking things seriously.
In past years, even after all rounds were completed, the pass rate was around fifty percent. But now—more than half gone in round one?
It was unheard of.
Good Eyes sighed deeply, his tired expression never changing. "Look, I don't make the rules. Society today is saturated with Heroes. Too many licenses, not enough real quality. The Commission decided it was time for stricter screening."
He rubbed his temple, speaking matter-of-factly.
"Anyone can become a Hero these days. All you need is to reach legal age, graduate from a Hero Department, and log two years of field internship. Easy enough to fudge with paperwork."
He wasn't wrong.
Across Japan, nearly every university had a Hero course, and most students gained their field experience by the end of their first year. The qualifications had become little more than a formality.
"So," he went on, "the Commission's decided to raise the bar. Fewer licenses each year, higher standards across the board."
Good Eyes paused—then added casually, "Oh, right. One more thing."
He scratched his chin. "This year's exam… will be broadcast live nationwide."
The entire room went silent again.
Every head turned toward the sleepy man on the stage, wide-eyed.
He nodded once, confirming it. "That's right. Cameras are already in place. The entire country's going to be watching how you handle yourselves."
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