Kapitel 3: Entrance Exam

In a world where superpowers were no longer the stuff of comic books and movie franchises, society had to adapt.

the world's governments had taken it upon themselves to guide humans who had been gifted with extraordinary abilities. It was the least they could do, after all, they had evaporated into the shadows when chaos reigned supreme, only to return once the Heroes League had shouldered the burden of restoring order.

The governments assumed the responsibility of educating these metahumans, nurturing their powers in controlled environments. Yet, the Heroes League went a step further; training and guiding those metahumans who wished to become society's guardians, its superheroes.

One such institution, borne from the cradle of the Heroes League, was the Holy Savior Academy. It had quickly risen in stature, becoming one of the most prominent and sought-after academies.

Its reputation was not just due to its illustrious alumni, but also its unique entrance examinations, which were deemed to be far more approachable than those of other academies.

Raphael stepped onto the academy grounds with a sense of awe. The towering edifices that constituted the academy were a sight to behold, but it was the array of high-tech devices, bustling around the complex like diligent worker bees, that truly captured his attention.

These gadgets, he surmised, were part of the academy's robust security system, the necessary precautions for a school that welcomed an assortment of metahumans for entrance examinations.

Holy Savior Academy's allure extended beyond its grandeur and advanced technology. The academy was famed for producing the finest superheroes, the most notable of whom was the unparalleled Ultra Man, a metahuman of unmatched strength.

Moreover, the academy's entrance exam was reputedly more approachable than its counterparts, further stoking the flames of its popularity.

"Are we there yet?!" Raphael exclaimed, unable to mask his impatience. He'd been wandering the sprawling grounds for forty-five minutes, and the venue for the entrance exam still seemed a world away.

He could have used a gadget to expedite his journey, but he chose anonymity over convenience. The last thing he wanted was to become the cynosure of a thousand aspiring heroes.

After an additional forty-five minutes of trekking across the academy grounds, Raphael was on the verge of collapse. He was about to seek respite on a nearby bench when he spotted a stage bustling with activity.

A booming voice echoed across the grounds, originating from a towering figure on the stage. The man, with his dark, glossy hair and imposing stature, was clad entirely in black.

"The last group has finally arrived. You have two minutes to reach this stage. Fail to do so, and you might as well leave the academy now," he declared.

Raphael felt a surge of adrenaline. He looked around to see his fellow candidates, their previously fatigued expressions replaced by determination. They were all rushing towards the stage, and Raphael was no exception.

Despite his initial hesitations about joining the academy, now that he was here, failure was not an option.

And so, within a minute, the last group of candidates congregated around the stage, each one brimming with resolve. The entrance exam was about to begin.

"Well done on passing the initial tests of the academy," he began, his words resonating with the gravitas of a seasoned hero. "To endure, to persevere, these are the pillars of a true hero. Your journey here, without diverting or faltering, is testament to your possession of these virtues."

He paused, allowing his words to linger in the air before continuing, "I would extend my congratulations on your acceptance as students here. But remember, two tests remain. One will measure your power, the other, your aptitude. Based on these, your place in this esteemed institution will be defined."

A ripple of anticipation swept across the crowd as they absorbed his words. The concept of power ranking was foreign to them, yet the mention of classes elicited a collective sense of excitement and trepidation.

The classes of Holy Savior Academy - T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z - were notorious and revered, for they were the molds that would shape them into society's guardians.

"Now, let me explain the nature of the remaining tests," the man continued. "The first was a trial of perseverance. The subsequent two will measure your power and display your abilities."

The crowd's attention was rapt, hanging onto his every word. "The ability display requires no explanation, I presume. As for the power gauge..." His voice trailed off as he advanced towards a strikingly unique heavy bag.

Unlike traditional heavy bags, this one had an inherent solidity, its top adorned with a meter that lent it an air of distinction. The man's hand clenched into a fist, an unspoken challenge hanging in the balance. With a swift, seamless motion, he delivered a punch that reverberated through the crowd.

BANG!

The collision echoed in the silence, the bag oscillating under the force of the impact. But it was the meter that held everyone's gaze - its numbers escalating with an almost breathless intensity.

10000... 15000... 42000... The count surged, only halting at a staggering seventy thousand. The crowd was held captive in a collective gasp, their eyes wide with awe.

"Ahem!" The man cleared his throat, reclaiming their attention. "I'm sure some of you are informed about the world power ranking. For those who are uninitiated, allow me to elucidate."

The man standing on the stage looked over the silent, attentive crowd, his face a mask of neutrality.

"F-Rank: 0 to 3000. E-Rank: 3001 to 6000. D-Rank: 6001 to 9000. C-Rank: 9001 to 30000. B-Rank: 30001 to 60000. A-Rank: 60001 to 200000. S-Rank: 200001 to 500000. SS-Rank: 500001 to 10000000."

His words hung in the air, remnants of a decree, a challenge. He gave them time, a few precious seconds to digest the enormity of what had been said. And just as the air began to thrum with the tension of unasked questions, the man resumed.

"Your power ranking won't be determined solely by your strength," he continued serenely. "Other tests will factor into your ranking. However, for this exam, only two are required."

A pause punctuated his words, giving them weight. "Once you are students of the academy, you will each receive a watch. This device will allow you to know your power ranking without undergoing these tests."

The man concluded, sweeping his gaze across the room, and his next words were a dare. "So, any questions?"

The silence was deafening. A sea of faces, etched with anticipation, held their collective breath. It was a full minute before a hand tentatively shot up.

"Yes, what is your question?" the man queried, his gaze turning to the blonde figure who had raised her hand.

"You haven't introduced yourself."

The room held its breath, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. The teachers of the Holy Savior Academy were renowned as society's guardians. The girl's question wasn't merely asking for his name, but his power.

A grin slowly spread across the man's face, his knuckles cracking, and then the magic happened. His transformation began from his legs, the metamorphosis rippling up until his entire body was encased in a sheath of metallic armor.

The crowd gasped collectively. "You're Metal Man!" an awestruck voice rang out.

The man nodded and with a swift motion, dismissed the metallic armor encasing his body. "Hehehehe! I didn't realize I was that popular," he chuckled.

"If there are no other questions, let us begin. Michelle Mikaelson, come forward."

As the first name was called, a young woman ascended the stage. She was a vision in a strapless blue top, emblazoned with a phoenix emblem, a red skirt and black knee-high boots. Her face radiated an elegance that was accentuated by her perfectly proportioned figure.

Michelle drew a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of her nerves. Her fingers flexed, tightening into fists that immediately crackled with heat.

Flames sprang to life, dancing around her knuckles as she squared up to the heavy bag. Her punch landed with a force that left the onlookers gasping. A digital scoreboard overhead flickered — 3000 points, 10000 points, 13000 points — until it finally froze on 20000 points.

A victorious smile curled her lips upwards. The stunned silence of the crowd was music to her ears. Turning her attention to the man on stage, she approached him with an air of confidence.

This time, she held out both of her hands. Fire blazed around her left while ice crystallized on her right, a stark contrast against the flames.

"Fire and ice manipulation," she declared, her voice echoing in the silent hall.

The man on stage broke into a smile, his eyes gleaming with approval. Michelle, with her powerful abilities and the prestige of her lineage, didn't actually need to prove herself in these entrance exams. Yet, she was here, putting on a show for the academy's benefit. And judging by the awed expressions around her, she was exceeding expectations.

"Class 1-Z," the man announced, his voice resonating in the hall. Michelle merely nodded in acknowledgment before exiting the stage, leaving a trail of astonishment behind her.

The academy was divided into seven classes, each led by a different ranking hero. But the most coveted was Class Z, taught by the best of the best. Michelle's nonchalance about her assignment to this elite class ruffled the audience's feathers, stoking their competitive spirits.

The examinations continued at a brisk pace after Michelle's departure. The candidates showcased their abilities with renewed determination, each hoping to secure a coveted spot in Class Z. Out of the next thirty metahumans who took the stage, only two were chosen for Class Z. The rest were scattered among the other classes.

"I hope you can all put more effort into it for those who are interested in Class-Z," the man said, trying to lift the spirits of the remaining candidates. "There are only two slots left. But remember, not getting into Class Z is not the end of the world. I wasn't a student of the class, and look how that turned out."

His words, meant to be encouraging, hung in the air as the remaining candidates steeled themselves for their tests. The examinations progressed, and by the end of the hour, only a quarter of the candidates remained.

Among them, only one more was granted admission to Class Z, while the others were distributed among the other classes.

As the final vacancy hung in the balance, anticipation painted the room in thick, silent strokes. All eyes were fixed on the man standing alone on the stage, his power to assign the last seat pulsated through the air, electrifying it.

Everyone waited with bated breath for him to utter the name that would tip the scales.

"Raphael Queen, 15," he announced in a firm, clear voice. A ripple of disappointment coursed through the crowd, as dreams of claiming the last spot were dashed.

However, the absence of any response from Raphael ignited a glimmer of hope in the disappointed hearts.

"Raphael Queen!" the man called again, his voice echoing off the walls.

From the throng of aspirants, a weary voice finally responded, "Uhmm… I'm coming!" Raphael's voice was tardy, but it was there. He navigated his way to the stage amidst the sea of stares, a picture of indifference.

Exhaustion was etched across Raphael's face, a testament to the countless hours spent perfecting his ice gun. Under normal circumstances, his body would have surrendered to a deep sleep, but today, he had to muster the strength to walk for more than an hour.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying the luxury of sleep was Gus, who was comfortably perched on Raphael's shoulder.

Raphael ascended the stage, his gaze devoid of acknowledgement for the man standing there. His focus was the heavy bag at the center. Without bothering to assume any fighting stance, Raphael landed a punch on the bag.

BANG!

The bag quaked under the impact, initiating the countdown on the meter. As the numbers spiraled upwards, a collective gasp filled the room. After a full minute, the meter ceased its ascent, the final number blinking in the hushed silence. The disbelief was palpable as hands trembled and eyes widened at the score.

Raphael, on the other hand, was the epitome of nonchalance. He casually rubbed his eyes and yawned, seemingly oblivious to the collective shock his display of strength had stirred.

"29999 points!" The metallic man's voice trembled as he announced the score, his disbelief mirroring that of the crowd. He rifled through the folder in his hand repeatedly, but it yielded no clues about Raphael's extraordinary power. Just mundane details about his background and a letter of recommendation from a teacher at the academy.

"Absolute decay," Raphael murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

The crowd gazed at Raphael as though he were an alien life form. His age contrasted starkly with his raw power, spurring them to imagine his potential in the years to come.

Amidst the crowd, the instructor on stage excitement was palpable. With a student of Raphael's caliber, the academy was on the brink of creating another legend, another 'ultra man'.