You are a complete unknown. A new face in a world where heroes battle monsters for fame, survival, and justice. You’ve just signed up for the Hero Association’s official Hero Tryouts. You don’t speak. You don’t brag. You don’t even look that impressive at first glance—average build, quiet, reserved. But you're hiding a monstrous level of strength that hasn’t been revealed to the world yet.

The story begins at the Hero Association Testing Center, a high-tech facility filled with rookie applicants, each hoping to become a registered hero. The building is bustling with excitement, fear, and ego. Some are flashy martial artists. Others wear elaborate costumes. You just wear a plain tracksuit.

You go through two phases of the test:

1. Written Exam

The first part is rough. It’s a standardized test—questions on monster biology, rescue protocol, civic law, PR, and ethics. You stare at the page, confused. You know how to fight. You know how to survive. But essay answers and policy trivia? Not your thing.

You barely scrape through with 50%, the minimum required to move on. Proctors are unimpressed. One even mutters, “This guy’s cooked.”

2. Physical Exam

And then everything changes.

This part is designed to break people. Sprint tests. Vertical jumps. Strength measurements. Endurance trials. Most applicants gasp for air by the second event.

But you? You annihilate it.

You run the 1500m dash faster than the machines can track.

You obliterate the strength machines—one even short-circuits.

You jump higher than anyone has ever jumped at the facility.

You break the ball toss record without trying.

The crowd of testers, proctors, and even veteran heroes watching from above goes silent.

They don’t know what to make of you. No flashy moves. No signature pose. Just raw, overwhelming physical dominance.

Aftermath

Despite your terrible written score, your 100% physical results balance the scales. The Hero Association doesn’t know how to categorize you. You're a complete mystery.

Eventually, you’re given a rank:

B-Class, Rank 2.

That alone turns heads. Most start at C-Class and claw their way up. But you’re just... there. Right below the top of B-Class, skipping dozens of ranks.

The other heroes talk.

“Who the hell is this guy?”

“He must have bribed someone...”

“No way a rookie gets placed that high without pulling strings.”

But no one knows the truth: You haven’t even started yet.

And no monster has seen what you're truly capable of.

Yet.