Boa Hancock stood before the gates of UA High School, her long black hair cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. At fifteen years old, she carried herself with a regal bearing that seemed almost out of place among the nervous, chattering teenagers surrounding her.

  She didn't speak to anyone. She never did.

  The other examinees gave her a wide berth—not out of fear, but something else. Admiration, perhaps. Or intimidation. Her beauty was undeniable, almost otherworldly, but there was something in her dark eyes that kept people at a distance. A wall built brick by brick over nine years of solitude.

  Father left when I was six, she thought, her expression unchanging. Mother never even got to hold me. I don't need anyone.

  "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!"

  Hancock's gaze slid coolly toward the source of the shouting—a spiky-haired blonde boy with red eyes practically burning with aggression. He was yelling at a green-haired student who looked ready to melt into the pavement.

  She looked away. Loud. Uncouth. Beneath her notice.

  The written exam passed in silence. Hancock answered each question with careful precision, her knowledge hard-earned from years of studying alone in her small apartment. No father to help with homework. No mother to encourage her. Just herself and the burning desire to prove she needed no one.

  When Present Mic explained the practical exam, Hancock listened carefully. Destroy robots. Earn points.

  Her Quirk—Mero Mero—was powerful against people, less so against machines. She'd have to rely on her physical abilities and the techniques she'd developed.

  "EXCUSE ME!"

  A tall boy with glasses and a rigid posture raised his hand. Hancock noticed him berating the green-haired boy from earlier about muttering. She felt a flicker of something—sympathy? No. Just recognition. She knew what it was like to be alone.

  The battle center was chaos.

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  Hancock moved through it with practiced grace, but she quickly realized her limitation. Her Mero Mero Mellow—the heart-shaped beams that could petrify those who felt attraction to her—was useless against the robots. They had no emotions, no capacity for attraction.

  I'll have to do this the hard way.

  A three-pointer lunged toward her. Hancock leaped high, her leg glowing pink with concentrated Quirk energy as she spun.

  "Perfume Femur!"

  Her kick connected with devastating force, the hormonal enhancement multiplying her physical strength. The robot's head crumpled and it collapsed in a shower of sparks.

  She landed lightly, already moving toward the next target. A group of two-pointers approached. Hancock kissed her fingertips, pink energy swirling around them, and thrust her hand forward.

  "Pistol Kiss!"

  Small heart-shaped bullets shot from her fingers like a gun, piercing through the robots' joints and critical systems. They weren't petrified—they couldn't be—but the concentrated kinetic force was enough to disable them.

  Not efficient, she thought, breathing slightly harder. I'm using too much energy. I need to develop better techniques for non-living opponents.

  But that was a problem for later. For now, she continued destroying robots with enhanced kicks and her Pistol Kiss, racking up points through sheer determination and physical prowess.

  She was vaguely aware of other students staring. Let them stare. She'd been stared at her whole life. Beautiful, powerful, alone—that was Boa Hancock.

  The ground suddenly shook.

  Hancock looked up at the massive zero-pointer emerging from between buildings. Other students screamed and ran. She stood still, calculating.

  No points for defeating it. And I have no technique that could take it down anyway. Not worth it.

  She turned to leave—then heard it.

  A scream. The green-haired boy from before was trapped under rubble, a girl pinned nearby. And that zero-pointer was heading straight for them.

  Not my problem, Hancock thought. I don't need anyone. No one needs me.

  But her feet wouldn't move.

  She saw herself at six years old. Her father's back as he walked away. "You're too much trouble, Boa. Too strange. That Quirk of yours... you're better off alone."

  The green-haired boy was struggling, crying, trying to save that girl even though he was trapped himself.

  Idiot, Hancock thought.

  But her legs were already moving. She ran toward the rubble, pink energy coating her arms and legs as she enhanced her physical strength through hormonal manipulation. She lifted the debris off the girl with a grunt of effort.

  "Move," she said quietly. It was probably the first word she'd spoken all day.

  The girl nodded, tears streaming, and ran.

  Hancock turned to help the boy, but he was already moving—green lightning crackling around him as he launched himself at the zero-pointer with a desperate punch that actually destroyed it.

  Then he was falling.

  And Hancock just watched, her expression unreadable, as another girl made him float safely to the ground.

  He saved someone even when he was powerless, she thought. How foolish.

  How...

  She didn't finish the thought.