What if Deku was Son Goku reincarnation

"Power comes in response to a need, not a desire. You have to create that need."

— A voice from a distant memory.

The universe is vast, filled with energies that the human mind can scarcely comprehend. In a world where eighty percent of the population possessed superpowers known as "Quirks," the concept of the extraordinary had become mundane. Miracles were just biology. Magic was just genetics.

But some things transcended genetics. Some things were etched into the soul.

Izuku Midoriya was four years old when his world shattered, only to be held together by a thread of something ancient.

He sat on the examination table, his legs dangling, too short to reach the floor. The sterile smell of the doctor's office—antiseptic and cold latex—made his nose twitch. Beside him, his mother, Inko, twisted the strap of her purse with white-knuckled anxiety.

"I’m afraid there’s no mistake, Mrs. Midoriya," the doctor said, leaning back in his chair. He tapped an X-ray film illuminated on the wall. "As you can see, Izuku has two joints in his pinky toe. It’s a definitive throwback trait. By this age, if a Quirk were going to manifest—be it your telekinesis or his father's fire-breathing—it would have happened already."

The doctor adjusted his glasses, his expression one of bored pity. "He’s Quirkless. It’s rare these days, but it happens. You should probably help him look into other career paths. Police work, perhaps. Or general salaryman duties."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

Izuku dropped his All Might action figure. It clattered loudly against the linoleum floor.

Quirkless.

The word echoed in his head, bouncing around like a trapped bird. No power. No fire. No telekinesis. Just Izuku. Just a normal, fragile human in a world of supermen.

That night, the storm came.

Not outside—the weather in Musutafu was clear and calm—but inside Izuku’s mind. He lay in bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling, tears streaming silently into his pillow. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save people with a smile, just like All Might.

“I’m sorry, Izuku! I’m so sorry!” His mother’s wailing apology from earlier that evening replayed in his ears. She had hugged him, crying, confirming his hopelessness.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed him. He drifted into sleep, seeking escape.

But he didn’t dream of All Might.

For the first time in his life, the recurring dream began. It was a dream so vivid, so visceral, that it felt less like imagination and more like a memory downloading into his brain stem.

The sky was green. The ground was shaking. Lightning, red and black, crackled across a horizon of shattered rocks.

He was not small. He was not weak. He looked down at his hands—they were large, calloused, and scarred. He wore a torn orange Gi, a blue sash tied tightly around his waist. Blood trickled down his forehead, stinging his eye, but he didn't feel fear. He felt... excitement.

Across from him stood a monster. Pink skin, white pants, a face of pure malice. The monster screamed, a sound that tore the atmosphere apart.

Izuku—no, not Izuku—grinned. It was a confident, wild grin. He clenched his fists, and the air around him exploded into gold. A golden aura roared to life, surging upward like a geyser of pure power. His hair, black and messy, flashed yellow and stood on end.

“You made me angry!” the voice that wasn’t Izuku’s shouted, vibrating with a power that could crack planets. “FRIEZAAAA!”

He lunged.

Izuku woke up screaming.

He shot up in bed, his sheets drenched in sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The golden light faded from his vision, replaced by the dim blue of his All Might-themed room.

He gasped for air, clutching his chest. His body felt hot—unnaturally hot. A strange thrumming sensation buzzed just below his navel, a reservoir of heat he had never noticed before.

"Izuku?" Inko opened the door, her face lined with worry. "Honey, are you okay? A nightmare?"

Izuku looked at his hands. They were small again. Unscarred. Weak.

But as he clenched them into fists, he felt a phantom sensation. A memory of strength so absolute it made his bones ache.

"I..." Izuku whispered, his voice trembling. "I think... I was fighting a monster, Mom."

Inko sighed, her eyes sad. She walked over and tucked him back in, brushing the damp green curls from his forehead. "It’s okay, baby. Monsters can't get you here. You're safe."

She left the room, leaving the door cracked open.

Izuku lay back down, but he didn't sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to find that feeling again. That golden heat. That absolute lack of fear. It was gone, buried deep under the reality of his diagnosis.

But as he shifted his legs under the blanket, he felt a phantom itch at the base of his spine. He scratched it, confused. There was nothing there. Just skin.

What was that? he thought, drifting off. It felt like... a tail.

Ten years passed.

Ten years of that dream. Sometimes the enemy changed. Sometimes it was a green bio-android. Sometimes a pink blob of gum. Sometimes a purple cat-man who ate pudding. But the feeling was always the same: the thrill of the fight, the breaking of limits, and the golden light.

Izuku Midoriya, now fourteen, had learned to live two lives.

The first life was the reality. He was "Deku." The Quirkless loser. The punching bag for Katsuki Bakugo and his lackeys. He was the kid who muttered to himself, scribbling analysis in burnt notebooks, hoping against hope that U.A. High School would accept a student with no powers.

The second life was internal.

It was the hunger.

"Midoriya, are you listening?"

Izuku snapped his head up. The teacher was glaring at him. The classroom snickered.

"I asked for the answer to equation three."

Izuku blinked. He looked at the board. His brain, usually running a mile a minute on hero statistics, shifted gears. "X equals negative four," he said automatically.

"Correct. Now, pay attention."

Izuku slumped back in his chair. His stomach growled—a loud, ferocious sound that echoed through the quiet room. The class erupted in laughter.

"Hungry again, Deku?" one of Bakugo’s friends mocked. "You ate three bento boxes for lunch!"

Izuku blushed, hiding his face in his arms. I can’t help it, he thought miserably. I’m always starving.

It was true. Izuku’s metabolism was a medical mystery. Inko spent a fortune on groceries. He ate enough for three grown men, yet he remained lean, almost scrawny. But under his school uniform, the muscle wasn't normal. It was dense. Corded. Like steel wire wrapped around bone.

He didn't lift weights. He didn't go to a gym. But every day, walking to school, he wore a backpack he had secretly lined with lead plates he’d scavenged from a junkyard. It weighed forty kilograms. To him, it felt like a feather.

"Since you're all third years," the teacher announced, slapping a stack of papers on his desk, "it's time to think about your futures. I would pass out these career aptitude forms, but..." He smirked, throwing the papers into the air. "Why bother? You all want to be heroes, don't you?!"

The class cheered, activating their Quirks. Hands stretched, eyes glowed, minor telekinesis floated pencils.

"Yes, yes, you have wonderful Quirks," the teacher said. "But no power usage in school! Get a hold of yourselves."

"Hey, teach!" A rough, arrogant voice cut through the noise. Katsuki Bakugo sat with his feet on his desk, a sneer plastered on his face. "Don't lump me in with these extras. They’ll be lucky to end up as sidekicks to some D-lister. I’m the real deal. I’m going to U.A."

The class gasped. "U.A.? The national school? It has a 0.2% acceptance rate!"

"And I’ll ace it!" Bakugo shouted, small explosions popping in his palms. "I’ll surpass All Might and become the top hero! My name will be in the history books!"

"Oh, right," the teacher said absentmindedly, checking his clipboard. "Midoriya wanted to go to U.A. too, didn't he?"

The silence was instantaneous. It was the silence of a predator spotting prey.

Then, the explosion of laughter.

"HAAAA! Midoriya? No way!"

"You can't get into the hero course just by studying!"

"He's Quirkless! Totally useless!"

Izuku stood up, his hands shaking. "T-They got rid of that rule! There’s no precedent, but—"

BOOM.

Bakugo was there in an instant, slamming his explosive palm onto Izuku’s desk. The force blew Izuku backward, knocking him to the floor.

"Hey, Deku!" Bakugo loomed over him, smoke rising from his hand. His red eyes were manic. "You think you can stand in the same ring as me? You think you’re better than me just because you’re a nerd?"

"No, Kacchan, I didn't mean—" Izuku scrambled back against the wall.

"Forget the shitty Quirkless policing," Bakugo growled. "You’re nothing. You’re a pebble on the side of the road."

Izuku looked up at Bakugo. And for a split second, the fear vanished.

It happened sometimes. When the pressure was high, when the threat was physical, a switch flipped in Izuku’s brain. He looked at Bakugo’s stance.

Right foot forward. Weight shifted too far. Open guard on the left ribs. If I pivot and strike the solar plexus, he drops.

The thought was clinical. Violent. It wasn't Izuku’s thought—it was the Warrior's thought.

Izuku shook his head violently, banishing the instinct. No. I can’t hurt him. He’s my friend. Kind of.

"I'm just... trying to follow my dreams, Kacchan," Izuku said softly.

Bakugo scoffed, disappointed by the lack of fight. "Dreams? You're dreaming if you think you’ll survive the exam."

School ended. The sun was setting, casting long, orange shadows over the city.

Izuku walked home, taking the long route to avoid Bakugo, but fate had other plans. He was retrieving his "Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13" notebook from the koi pond where Bakugo had tossed it.

"Even the fish are pitying me," Izuku mumbled, shaking the water off the soggy pages. "Stupid Kacchan. telling me to take a swan dive off the roof..."

He clenched his fist. The paper crinkled.

"I’m not useless," he whispered.

He stopped in front of a tunnel underpass. It was a shortcut to his apartment. As he walked into the shadow, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Focus. Like in the dream.

He stopped walking. He dropped his bag. He spread his feet shoulder-width apart and bent his knees slightly. He brought his hands to his waist, cupped together.

"Ka..." he whispered.

He felt it. That strange reservoir in his gut. The Dan-Tien. It swirled, sluggish and heavy.

"Me..."

He visualized the energy flowing through his arms, down to his wrists, pooling in his palms. The air between his hands began to grow warm. A tiny, flickering spark of blue light appeared. It was the size of a marble.

"Ha..."

He gritted his teeth. More. Draw out more.

The spark grew to the size of a golf ball. It hummed with a sound that wasn't of this earth—a high-pitched whine. The pebbles on the ground around his feet began to levitate.

"Me..."

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

The voice was wet and gurgling.

Izuku’s concentration shattered. The ball of energy dissipated instantly into harmless steam. He spun around.

Rising from a manhole cover was a nightmare. A villain made entirely of sludge, eyes bulging maniacally.

"A medium-sized invisibility cloak," the villain hissed, lunging forward. "You'll do nicely, kid!"

Izuku reacted. He didn't think; he moved.

In the dream, the Warrior could move faster than the eye could track. Izuku wasn't that fast, not yet. But he was faster than a middle schooler had any right to be.

He backflipped.

It was a clumsy, desperate movement, but he cleared three meters in a single bound, landing in a crouch.

"What?" The Sludge Villain paused, a tendril of slime slapping the concrete where Izuku had just been standing. "You got a jumping Quirk, kid?"

"Stay back!" Izuku shouted, falling into a defensive stance. It was the stance of the Turtle School—left arm out, right arm tucked. He didn't know why he knew it. He just knew it was right.

"Futile!" The villain surged forward, expanding his body to fill the tunnel. There was nowhere to dodge.

Izuku threw a punch. He channeled that heat, that Ki, into his fist.

POW.

His fist connected with the sludge. A shockwave, small but sharp, rippled through the villain's liquid body.

"Ow!" the villain yelped, more in surprise than pain. "That actually stung! You little brat!"

The sludge enveloped him.

It rushed into his nose, his mouth. The world went dark and suffocating.

Can't... breathe...

Izuku clawed at the fluid. It was no use. He couldn't get a grip. His lungs burned. The panic set in. The biology of a human—even a human with a Saiyan soul—needed oxygen.

My body... is getting weak...

"Don't struggle," the villain whispered in his ear. "It'll only hurt for forty-five seconds. Then you'll be mine."

No... I can't die here... I haven't even... started...

Izuku’s vision began to blur. The edges of his consciousness frayed.

And then, a clang.

The manhole cover flew into the air, dented by a massive impact.

"HAVE NO FEAR!"

A voice boomed through the tunnel, deep and resonant, carrying the weight of absolute justice.

"WHY?"

A figure stepped out of the shadows. Tall. Muscular. Blonde hair swept back in two distinctive antennae. He wore a white t-shirt and cargo pants, holding a bag of groceries.

"BECAUSE I AM HERE!"

The Sludge Villain shrieked. "All Might!"

Izuku, on the verge of passing out, opened one eye. All... Might...?

The Hero of Heroes didn't waste time. He pulled back a fist.

"TEXAS... SMASH!"

The punch didn't even touch the villain. The wind pressure alone was catastrophic. A tornado of air pressure blasted through the tunnel, ripping the sludge apart, splattering the villain against the walls like dropped paint.

Izuku was thrown free, tumbling across the concrete. He gasped, sucking in sweet, precious air. He coughed, his throat raw, wiping slime from his eyes.

When he looked up, the wind was settling. The villain was contained in two soda bottles. And All Might was standing there, a colossal silhouette against the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Are you alright, young man?" All Might asked, his signature smile blindingly bright. "My apologies! I got a bit carried away in my pursuit!"

Izuku scrambled backward, his heart stopping. "A-A-A-All Might! It’s really you!"

"Indeed!" All Might laughed. "And you, young man! You put up quite a fight! I saw that backflip! Excellent reflexes!"

Izuku froze. All Might... praised him?

"I... I just..." Izuku stammered. He looked for his notebook. "Autograph! Please!"

"Already done!" All Might held out the notebook. He had signed it across two pages in massive block letters.

"Thank you! I’ll cherish it forever! It’s a family heirloom!" Izuku bowed rapidly, his head nearly hitting the floor.

"Now, I must be off to deliver this villain to the authorities!" All Might did a stretch, preparing to jump.

"Wait!" Izuku shouted. "I have to ask you something!"

All Might paused, his knees bent. "Time is of the essence!"

"Can I be a hero..." Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. The question that had haunted him for ten years. "Can I be a hero even if I don't have a Quirk?"

The wind rushed past them.

Izuku opened his eyes. All Might was looking at him, his smile faltering slightly.

"Without a Quirk?" All Might repeated.

"People say I can't," Izuku said, staring at the ground. "They say I’m useless. But... inside me, I feel like I can do it. I feel like I have this energy, this... drive. I want to save people. I want to be like you!"

He looked up, desperate for validation.

But something was wrong.

Izuku’s senses—the ones that detected the Ki or life force of others—screamed. All Might’s energy, which had been a raging bonfire a moment ago, was suddenly flickering. It was dropping rapidly. Like a candle in a hurricane.

Poof.

Steam exploded from All Might’s body.

"Oh no..."

As the steam cleared, the giant man was gone. In his place stood a skeletal figure. Sharp angles, sunken eyes, baggy clothes hanging off a jagged frame. Blood trickled from his mouth.

Izuku screamed. "IMPOSTER! You deflated! Where’s All Might?!"

The skeleton man sighed, wiping the blood from his chin. "I am All Might, kid."

"No way! All Might is a giant! You look like... like a twig!"

"You know how guys at the pool suck in their gut to look buff?" The man sat down heavily against the tunnel wall. "I do that."

"No..." Izuku’s world crumbled. "But... you're the Symbol of Peace."

All Might lifted his shirt.

Izuku gasped. The scar covered half of his torso. It looked like a crater, purple and twisted.

"Five years ago," All Might rasped. "An enemy did this. Respiratory system destroyed. Stomach removed. I’ve wasted away from the surgeries. I can only do hero work for about three hours a day."

"Five years ago?" Izuku muttered. "Was that the fight with Toxic Chainsaw?"

"You know your stuff," All Might chuckled darkly. "But no. That punk couldn't scratch me. This fight... the public doesn't know about it. And they can't know. The Symbol of Peace cannot be seen as weak."

He looked Izuku in the eye. The blue eyes were intense, piercing.

"Pro heroes are always risking their lives, kid. Some villains simply cannot be beaten without power. So, to answer your question..."

All Might looked away.

"I cannot simply say 'yes.' You can be a police officer. They get little credit, but it’s a fine profession. But a Hero? Without a Quirk?"

He stood up, grabbing the soda bottles containing the villain.

"It’s not wrong to dream. But you have to see reality, young man."

All Might walked away. He left Izuku standing in the tunnel, the words echoing in the damp air.

See reality.

Izuku stood there for a long time. The energy in his gut—the golden heat—felt cold.

"Reality," Izuku whispered. "Right."

Izuku walked through the city in a daze. He didn't know where he was going. He just walked.

Maybe Kacchan was right, he thought. Maybe I should just give up. I have these dreams, these fake memories of being a warrior, but they're just delusions. A coping mechanism for a Quirkless kid.

He stopped at a crosswalk.

But that energy... the ball of light I made... was that a delusion?

He looked at his hand. He tried to summon it again. Nothing happened. He was too depressed, too out of sync.

BOOM.

An explosion rocked the district a few blocks away. Smoke billowed into the sky.

Izuku’s head snapped up. A villain attack?

Old habits died hard. Before he realized it, his legs were moving. He ran toward the smoke.

When he arrived at the shopping district, it was chaos. Flames roared from the windows of a building. The street was blocked off. A crowd had gathered.

"It's a monster!"

"Where are the heroes?"

Izuku pushed through the crowd to the front line. He saw the heroes. Death Arms. Kamui Woods. Mt. Lady. They were all standing there, helpless.

"I can't get close!" Death Arms shouted, shielding his face from the heat. "The fire is too intense!"

"My wood will burn instantly!" Kamui Woods yelled.

"Why aren't they doing anything?" Izuku muttered. He looked at the center of the inferno.

There, in the middle of the flames, was the Sludge Villain.

"How?" Izuku’s blood ran cold. "All Might had him in the bottle... did I make him drop it? When I grabbed his leg?"

Guilt crashed over him. This is my fault.

"Look!" someone in the crowd screamed. "He’s got a hostage!"

Izuku squinted. The sludge was wrapping around a middle school student. Thrashing. Exploding.

Ash-blonde hair.

Kacchan.

Bakugo was fighting like a demon. Explosions ripped through the sludge, but the villain just reformed. The slime was forcing its way into Bakugo’s mouth. Bakugo’s eyes, usually so full of arrogance, were wide with terror. He was suffocating.

Izuku looked at the Pros. They were waiting. Waiting for someone with the right Quirk.

They’re watching him die.

The thought wasn't a hero's thought. It was a judgment.

Izuku looked at Bakugo. Their eyes met. Bakugo’s eyes were screaming for help.

Snap.

Something broke inside Izuku.

Not a bone. Not a mind. But a chain.

The golden heat in his gut flared. It didn't trickle this time. It exploded.

"STOP!"

Izuku screamed and sprinted past the police barricade.

"Hey! Get back here, kid!" Death Arms shouted.

Izuku didn't hear him. The world narrowed down to a single point: The villain.

Think! What do I do? Izuku’s mind raced as he ran. I have no weapon. I have no Quirk.

Use your instincts, the voice in his head—the voice of the man in the orange Gi—whispered.

Izuku threw his heavy backpack. It sailed through the air with perfect trajectory, slamming into the Sludge Villain’s eye.

"ARGH!" The villain recoiled, the fluid loosening around Bakugo’s mouth.

"Deku?" Bakugo gasped, coughing smoke. "Why are you..."

Izuku didn't stop. He slid under a burst of flame, the heat searing his eyebrows. He was right in front of the villain now.

"YOU AGAIN!" The Sludge Villain roared, raising a massive liquid hammer. "I'LL CRUSH YOU!"

Izuku looked up. Time seemed to slow down.

He remembered the dream. He remembered a game. A simple child's game that the Warrior had turned into a devastating technique.

Rock. Paper. Scissors.

Izuku planted his feet. He felt the earth beneath his red sneakers. He drew power from the ground, up his legs, twisting his hips.

He didn't know the proper form. He didn't have the years of conditioning. But his soul remembered the movement.

"First comes Rock..." Izuku muttered through gritted teeth.

He pulled his right fist back. The air around his hand distorted. It wasn't just physical strength; he was pushing Ki into the muscle fibers, reinforcing the bone, accelerating the strike.

"JAN!"

He stepped in.

"KEN!"

He thrust his fist forward.

"GU!!!"

His fist connected with the villain's semi-solid chest.

CRACK.

The sound was like a gunshot.

The impact didn't just splash the sludge; it created a vacuum. A shockwave of pure kinetic force blasted outward from Izuku’s knuckles. The sludge behind the impact point blew backward as if hit by a cannonball.

The villain’s hold on Bakugo shattered.

"WHAT IS THIS KID?!" the villain screamed, his body losing cohesion.

Izuku grabbed Bakugo by the collar of his uniform. "Move, Kacchan!"

He hauled Bakugo out of the sludge just as the villain tried to collapse back onto them.

"I'll kill you both!" The villain shrieked, reforming a massive wave of muck to swallow them whole. Izuku stood in front of Bakugo, raising his arms. He had no energy left for another punch. His arm felt like it was broken.

I’m sorry, Mom, Izuku thought, closing his eyes.

"DETROIT..."

The wind howled.

Izuku opened his eyes.

All Might was there. Not the skeleton. The Titan. He had forced his muscle form back out, blood spraying from his mouth as he did it. He stood between the boys and the monster.

"SMASH!!!"

All Might punched the air.

This wasn't like the tunnel. This was serious.

A column of air pressure drilled into the sky. The Sludge Villain was vaporized instantly, scattered into droplets of rain. The clouds above the city swirled and parted. The fire was blown out by the sheer displacement of air.

Within seconds, it began to rain.

The crowd stood in silence. Then, a roar of applause.

"He changed the weather!"

"That's All Might for you!"

Izuku slumped to the ground, panting. His right arm was throbbing, purple bruises already forming. He looked at his hand. It was trembling.

I did that, he thought, staring at his knuckles. I hurt him. I actually hurt him.

Beside him, Bakugo sat on the pavement, staring at Izuku with an expression of utter confusion and horror.

"Deku..." Bakugo whispered. "What the hell was that?"

The scolding was brutal.

The Pro Heroes chewed Izuku out for ten minutes straight. " reckless," "suicidal," "interfering with pros."

Bakugo, on the other hand, was praised for his "bravery" and "powerful Quirk."

Izuku took the scolding in silence. He bowed, apologized, and walked away as soon as they let him go.

The sun had set completely. The streetlights flickered on.

Izuku walked home, nursing his bruised arm. He felt drained. The Ki—or whatever it was—was gone, leaving him feeling hollow and exhausted.

"I guess... I really am crazy," Izuku muttered. "I moved without thinking. I could have gotten us both killed."

"I AM HERE!"

Izuku jumped, nearly shrieking as All Might slid out from an alleyway, striking a pose.

"A-All Might?!"

"Yes! I escaped the reporters!"

Poof.

He reverted to his skeletal form, coughing up a terrifying amount of blood.

"Are you okay?!" Izuku panicked.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," All Might waved him off. "Kid. I have a question. And an apology."

Izuku straightened up.

"I told you today that you couldn't be a hero without a Quirk," All Might said, his voice serious. "I judged you based on the norm. But back there... in that fire..."

All Might clenched his fist over his heart.

" The pros stood by. I stood by, held back by my limit. But you... a timid, Quirkless fanboy..."

Izuku flinched at the description.

"You were the only one who acted."

Izuku’s eyes widened. Tears began to well up in the corners.

"Top heroes have stories about their school days," All Might continued. "Most of them agree on one thing: 'My body moved on its own.'"

Izuku gasped. The tears spilled over. He clutched his chest, grabbing the fabric of his uniform.

"That’s what happened to you, isn't it?"

"Yes," Izuku sobbed. "Yes!"

All Might smiled. It wasn't the practiced grin of the Symbol of Peace. It was a genuine, gentle smile.

"You can become a hero."

Izuku fell to his knees, crying into the pavement. It was the validation he had waited his entire life to hear.

"But," All Might said, stepping closer. "I also saw something else."

Izuku looked up, wiping his eyes. "Huh?"

All Might crouched down, meeting Izuku at eye level. "That punch. It wasn't just adrenaline. I felt the wind pressure from here. It was small, but it was real. And when I grabbed you..."

All Might poked Izuku’s chest.

"You felt hot. Like a furnace."

Izuku froze. "I... I don't know what that is. I’ve been having these dreams... about martial arts. About a guy with a tail."

All Might raised an eyebrow. "A tail?"

"Metaphorically! Or... maybe not? I don't know!" Izuku waved his hands frantically. "But when I fight... or when I train... I feel this energy. It’s not a Quirk. The doctor said I have the toe joint. It’s just... life energy?"

All Might rubbed his chin. "Life energy... interesting."

The hero stood up. "Young Midoriya. I have a secret to tell you. My Quirk, One For All, is a torch passed down from one generation to the next. I have been looking for a successor."

Izuku’s jaw dropped. "Passed down? But Quirks are genetic!"

"Not this one," All Might said. "It is the crystallization of power. And I believe you are worthy to inherit it."

"Me?" Izuku pointed at himself.

"You have the heart of a hero," All Might said. "And if what you say is true... if you have some latent, biological power awakening within you... then combining it with One For All might create something the world has never seen."

All Might extended his hand.

"So, what do you say? Will you accept my power?"

Izuku looked at All Might’s hand. He thought about the dream. He thought about the Warrior in the orange Gi. That warrior constantly sought to break his limits. To fight stronger opponents. To protect the weak.

If I take this power, Izuku thought, I won't just be All Might’s successor.

He stood up. He wiped the last tear from his face. His green eyes hardened, flashing with a momentary glint of gold.

I’ll be the strongest warrior in the universe.

"I'll do it," Izuku said firmly.

All Might grinned. "Immediate answer. That’s what I like to hear! Meet me at Dagobah Municipal Beach Park tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM. We have ten months until the U.A. entrance exam. We’re going to build your body until it screams."

"Yes, sir!"

As All Might walked away, Izuku looked down at his hands. He clenched them into fists.

For the first time in ten years, the itch at the base of his spine was gone. It was replaced by a hum. A vibration that ran from his toes to the top of his head.

The Dragon’s legacy had awakened. And the world wasn't ready.

"Work hard, study well, and eat and sleep plenty! That is the Turtle Hermit way to learn!"

— A lesson etched into a soul from another life.

The smell of Dagobah Municipal Beach Park was a unique cocktail of rotting seaweed, rusted metal, and the salty despair of a thousand abandoned dreams. It was a graveyard of appliances and tires, a monument to illegal dumping that stretched as far as the eye could see.

To the average person, it was an eyesore. To Toshinori Yagi—better known as All Might—it was a canvas.

"This is where your path to heroism begins, Young Midoriya!"

All Might stood atop a precarious pile of crushed sedans and broken refrigerators. In his skeletal form, the wind blowing off the ocean made his baggy cargo pants flap violently, making him look even more fragile.

Izuku Midoriya stood at the base of the pile, staring up at his idol. The morning sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon, painting the garbage in hues of orange and gold.

"Clean... the beach?" Izuku asked, blinking. He adjusted the strap of his yellow backpack.

"Precisely!" All Might coughed, a small splatter of blood hitting a discarded toaster. "You said you want to be a hero. But a hero isn't just spirit. It is a vessel! My Quirk, One For All, is the sum of raw power stockpiled over generations. If I gave it to you now, in your current state..."

All Might leaned forward, his eyes hollow and serious.

"Your limbs would explode. Literally. Pop. Like overfilled water balloons."

Izuku swallowed hard. "Explode. Right."

"So!" All Might whipped out a sheet of paper. "This is the 'Aim to Pass: American Dream Plan'! I have calculated your BMI, your muscle mass, and your metabolism. You will clear this section of the beach over the next ten months. It will build the vessel necessary to hold my power!"

Izuku took the paper. It was detailed. Horrifyingly detailed. It accounted for every meal, every hour of sleep, and every kilogram of trash to be hauled. It was the perfect regimen for a modern hero.

But as Izuku read it, a strange feeling bubbled up in his chest. A resistance.

It wasn't fear. It was... pride.

Take this power...

The voice in his head—the voice of the Warrior—whispered. It wasn't a distinct voice anymore, just a feeling. A deep-seated Saiyan instinct that recoiled at the idea of being given strength.

I want to get strong on my own, the instinct growled. I want to train until my bones break and my limits shatter. Taking a handout? That’s cheating.

Izuku frowned, his hand trembling on the paper. "All Might..."

"Hmm? Is the schedule too rigorous? We can adjust the sleep cycle if—"

"No," Izuku interrupted, his voice surprisingly firm. "It's not that. It's just..." He looked at his hands. "If I take One For All... if I just accept it... will I ever really be strong? Or will I just be borrowing your strength?"

All Might blinked, taken aback. "Young Midoriya?"

Izuku looked up, his green eyes burning with an intensity that made All Might take a step back. "I want to save people. I want to be the Symbol of Peace. I know I need your power to do that. But... my body... my spirit... it hates the idea of a shortcut."

He clenched the paper, crinkling it.

"So, I'm going to do this," Izuku declared. "But I'm not just going to follow the plan. I’m going to crush it. I’m going to train harder than you wrote down. I don't want to just be a vessel. I want to be a warrior who is worthy of the power, not just a container for it."

All Might stared at the boy. For a moment, he didn't see a scrawny middle schooler. He saw a flash of something else—a silhouette of a man with wild, spiky hair standing against a cosmic backdrop.

Then, All Might grinned. A wide, genuine grin.

"A Warrior, huh? I like that! Very well!" All Might gave a thumbs up. "Show me what you’ve got, kid! But don't come crying to me when you can't move your arms tomorrow!"

Izuku smiled back. It was a sharp, toothy smile. "I won't cry. I'll just eat more."

The training began.

For the first week, All Might watched from the sidelines, expecting Izuku to struggle with the sheer volume of trash. The boy was small, after all.

But Izuku Midoriya was not training like a normal human. He was training like a memory.

On the third day, All Might arrived at the beach to find Izuku doing something baffling.

"Young Midoriya..." All Might hesitated, holding his morning coffee. "Why are you wearing a refrigerator?"

Izuku was doing lunges in the soft sand. Strapped to his back with thick industrial rope was a rusted, heavy mini-fridge. He was sweating profusely, his legs shaking with every step, but his breathing was rhythmic. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss.

"The plan..." Izuku grunted, stepping forward, his foot sinking deep into the sand. "...said to haul trash. It didn't say... I couldn't... wear it."

"But that’s inefficient!" All Might argued. "You’ll exhaust yourself before you clear a cubic meter!"

"It’s not about... clearing the trash..." Izuku wheezed, turning to face his mentor. "It’s about... the weight. If I get used to this... when I take it off... I’ll fly."

All Might stared. He’s treating this like gravity training? Who is this kid?

Izuku’s approach was unorthodox. He called it the "Turtle Style," though he couldn't explain why.

He didn't just lift. He practiced movement. He would sprint across the unstable piles of garbage, balancing on teetering washing machines, trying to refine his center of gravity. He would dig holes in the sand with his bare hands, not to bury anything, but to harden his fingers.

And he ate.

By the gods, he ate.

In the Midoriya household, the grocery budget had tripled.

"Izuku, slow down!" Inko Midoriya fretted, watching her son inhale a mountain of rice. "You'll choke!"

"Can't... help it..." Izuku mumbled through a mouthful of fish, rice, and vegetables. "Body... needs fuel."

It was a biological imperative. His cells were screaming for calories. The dormant Saiyan DNA, stimulated by the intense physical trauma of the training, was waking up. It demanded protein to rebuild the micro-tears in his muscles. It demanded carbohydrates to fuel the furnace in his gut.

Izuku finished his fourth bowl of rice and slammed it onto the table. "More, please!"

Inko sighed, opening the rice cooker. "My poor wallet..."

Back at the beach, the weeks turned into months. The "Turtle Shell"—which evolved from a mini-fridge to a bundle of lead pipes, and finally to a literal cast-iron decorative turtle shell he found in a pile of scrap—became a permanent fixture on Izuku’s back.

He wore it to school under a baggy hoodie (which drew ridicule from his classmates, who thought he was hiding a hunchback or just being weird). He wore it while jogging. He wore it while sleeping.

Bakugo noticed.

"Oi, Deku!" Bakugo cornered him behind the school gym one afternoon. "You've been disappearing lately. And what the hell is with that bulky coat? You trying to smuggle a villain into school?"

Izuku adjusted the straps digging into his shoulders. The shell weighed sixty kilograms now. "Just... conditioning, Kacchan."

"Conditioning?" Bakugo scoffed. He raised a hand, small explosions popping. "For what? You think lifting a few weights makes you a hero? You're still Quirkless."

Bakugo lunged, aiming a right hook at Izuku’s face. It was a telegraphed move, driven by arrogance.

Izuku didn't think.

Shift weight to the left. Drop center of gravity. Pivot.

Izuku vanished from Bakugo’s line of sight.

It was a burst of speed—pure, raw athleticism amplified by the fact that Izuku had been carrying sixty kilos all day. He ducked under the swing, moving so fast that the wind from his movement ruffled Bakugo’s hair.

He appeared behind Bakugo.

"I'm not trying to beat you, Kacchan," Izuku said softly.

Bakugo spun around, eyes wide. He hadn't seen him move. For a second, his brain couldn't process it. He’s faster than me. Without explosions. How?

"I'm trying to beat myself," Izuku finished. He walked away, the heavy thud of his weighted steps echoing on the pavement.

Bakugo stood there, his hand smoking, his teeth grinding together. The gap between them—the gap Bakugo had always assumed was infinite—was shrinking. And it terrified him.

Month four.

The physical training was going well. Izuku’s body was transforming. The scrawny limbs were filling out with dense, compact muscle. His shoulders broadened. His jawline sharpened.

But the spiritual training was a disaster.

"Concentrate, Young Midoriya!"

Izuku sat in the lotus position atop a pile of tires. The sun beat down on his bare shoulders. He was trying to summon the energy again—the "Ki" he had used against the Sludge Villain.

"I’m trying!" Izuku strained, his face turning red. "Hnnnnngh!"

"You look like you're trying to pass a kidney stone," All Might observed dryly from his lawn chair.

"It’s... it’s slippery!" Izuku gasped, relaxing his muscles. "It’s there. I can feel it. It’s like a pool of water in my stomach. But every time I try to grab it, it slips through my fingers."

"Perhaps you are overthinking it," All Might suggested. "Quirks are like muscles. You flex them. You don't 'grab' them."

"But this isn't a Quirk," Izuku insisted. He opened his eyes. "All Might, let me try something else. Can you... power up? Just a little?"

All Might shrugged. "Sure."

Steam hissed as All Might bulked up into his Hero Form. "I AM HERE!"

"Okay," Izuku said, closing his eyes again. "Stay like that."

Izuku reached out with his mind. He ignored the sounds of the seagulls. He ignored the smell of the trash. He searched for the feeling of All Might.

At first, there was nothing. Just the darkness of his eyelids.

Then, a light.

It was blinding. A massive, roaring sun of energy standing right in front of him. It was warm, overwhelming, and undeniably powerful. It felt like justice.

"I see it," Izuku whispered. "You're... you're like a star."

"A star? That’s flattering!" All Might laughed.

"But..." Izuku frowned. He focused harder.

In the center of the star, there was a black spot. A void. It was jagged and cold. It was leaking energy like a punctured balloon. The light was pouring out of it, dissipating into the air.

Izuku opened his eyes, horror on his face. "You're dying."

All Might froze. The smile dropped. He deflated instantly into his skeletal form, coughing blood. "What... what did you say?"

"Your energy," Izuku said, standing up and walking over to him. He placed a hand near All Might’s side, where the injury was. "There’s a hole. A massive hole in your life force. It’s leaking out. That’s why you have a time limit. You’re running out of... of you."

All Might stared at the boy. Aizawa could erase Quirks. Recovery Girl could heal bodies. But nobody—nobody—had ever diagnosed his condition just by closing their eyes.

"You can sense life force?" All Might asked quietly.

"I guess," Izuku looked at his hands. "It’s called Ki sensing, I think. And All Might... yours is fading."

All Might looked out at the ocean. The secret he kept from the world, laid bare by a fourteen-year-old.

"Yeah," All Might sighed. "I know. That’s why I need a successor, Izuku. One For All is a heavy torch. My fire is burning out so yours can be lit."

Izuku clenched his fists. The unfairness of it stung. "Is there no way to fix it? If I learned to control this energy... could I patch the hole? Could I share my energy with you?"

All Might patted Izuku’s head. "You have a kind heart. But no. This is my fate. Your job isn't to save me, kid. It’s to save everyone else when I’m gone."

Izuku didn't accept that. Goku wouldn't accept that, he thought. There were beans. Magic beans. Or Dragon Balls. There has to be a way.

"I won't let your light go out," Izuku vowed quietly. "I’ll get strong enough for both of us."

Month seven.

The "American Dream Plan" was in shambles. Not because Izuku had failed, but because he had destroyed it.

"You’re... done?" All Might looked at the beach.

The section All Might had marked off for the entire ten months was clear. pristine sand sparkled in the sunlight. But Izuku hadn't stopped there. He had cleared the next section. And the next.

Dagobah Beach was currently 80% clear.

"I got into a rhythm," Izuku said apologetically. He was doing handstand pushups on a balanced washing machine. "Forty-nine thousand... forty-nine thousand and one..."

"You’re three months ahead of schedule!" All Might shouted, clutching his head. "This is irrational! Your muscle fibers should be torn to shreds! You should be in a coma!"

"I eat a lot," Izuku said, flipping off the washing machine and landing lightly.

He wasn't just "fit" anymore. Izuku Midoriya was ripped. His shirt was off, revealing a physique that looked like it had been carved from marble. But it was strange—his muscles were dense, not bulky. He looked like a martial artist, not a bodybuilder.

And there was something else. A subtle change.

His hair. The unruly green curls were spikier now. They defied gravity more than usual. And his eyes possessed a clarity that unsettled the local stray cats.

"Well," All Might composed himself. "Since you have finished the heavy lifting, we must pivot. We have three months left. We will focus on combat forms and speed."

"Combat forms?" Izuku perked up. He dropped into a stance. Knees bent, hands open. "I’ve been practicing the Turtle School basics."

"Turtle School?" All Might waved a hand. "No, no. I’m talking about basics. A punch. A kick. Watch closely!"

All Might (in muscle form) demonstrated a standard cross. Perfect form. Good rotation.

Izuku watched. Then he shook his head. "Too stiff."

"Excuse me?" All Might sputtered. "I am the Number One Hero!"

"Your power makes up for the lack of technique," Izuku said, slipping into "analysis mode," but mixed with Goku’s combat genius. "You rely on the smash. But if you face someone as strong as you, you’ll trade blows. That’s inefficient."

Izuku stepped forward. "Attack me."

"Young Midoriya, I don't think—"

"Attack me!" Izuku shouted. "Please!"

All Might sighed. "Very well. I will use 1% of my power. Don't break, kid."

All Might threw a jab. It was fast—faster than the eye could follow.

But Izuku didn't use his eyes. He felt the air pressure. He felt the intent.

ZWOOP.

A sound like tearing canvas.

All Might’s fist hit nothing but air. Izuku had vanished.

"What?!" All Might spun around.

Izuku was five meters away, panting heavily. Steam was rising from his skin.

"Afterimage?" All Might whispered. "No... that was sheer high-speed movement. He exceeded the visual processing speed of the human eye for a fraction of a second."

"That..." Izuku gasped, clutching his knees. "That took a lot of stamina. I call it... Vanish."

"You..." All Might walked over and placed a heavy hand on Izuku’s shoulder. "You are a monster, kid. A verified monster."

"Is that a compliment?"

"In our line of work? The highest."

For the remaining three months, the training shifted. They sparred. All Might taught him how to predict villain movements, how to save civilians while fighting, and how to project his voice.

Izuku taught All Might that he couldn't hit what he couldn't catch.

They were the Turtle and the Hare, but the roles kept switching. Izuku was the Turtle, carrying the weight of the world on his back, grinding out the work. But in bursts, he was the Hare, moving with a speed that defied logic.

And through it all, the reservoir of One For All waited within All Might, buzzing with anticipation. It recognized the vessel. It knew that something special was being prepared.

The day of the Entrance Exam arrived.

February 26th. The air was crisp and cold.

Dagobah Municipal Beach Park was unrecognizable. The mountains of trash were gone. The golden sand stretched for miles, meeting the sparkling blue ocean. The sunrise painted the horizon in stripes of violet and orange.

All Might stood by the railing, looking out at the masterpiece Izuku had created.

"You did it," All Might said softly. "You actually did it."

Izuku stood beside him. He was wearing his middle school uniform, but it fit differently now. His shoulders filled the jacket. His posture was straight as an arrow. He didn't slouch. He didn't look at his feet.

"I feel..." Izuku clenched his hand. "Ready."

"You are more than ready," All Might agreed. "You have built the vessel. You have forged the spirit. Now, it is time for the ceremony."

All Might reached up and plucked a single strand of golden hair from his head.

He turned to Izuku, his face solemn.

"This is it, Young Midoriya. The transfer of power. Swallow this."

The dramatic music in Izuku’s head scratched to a halt.

Izuku stared at the hair. "Eat... the hair?"

" DNA must be ingested for the transfer to work!" All Might explained, thrusting the hair forward. "Eat! Eat! Time is ticking!"

Izuku sighed. Goku ate snakes. He ate dinosaurs. He ate clouds, technically. A hair shouldn't be that bad.

"Down the hatch," Izuku mumbled. He took the hair, wrapped it in a small piece of tissue paper he had ready (he came prepared), and swallowed it dry.

He waited.

"Do I... feel it now?"

"No," All Might said. "It takes a few hours to digest and merge with your system. You should feel it kick in during the exam. But be careful! When you use it, clench your buttocks and yell 'SMASH' inside your heart!"

"Right. Buttocks. Smash." Izuku nodded.

But as the hair hit his stomach, something happened.

It wasn't a few hours.

It was immediate.

Izuku’s eyes widened. He gasped, clutching his stomach.

"Young Midoriya?"

"Hot..." Izuku wheezed. "It's... hot!"

Inside Izuku’s body, a biological war had just been declared.

One For All—a stockpiling power that had existed for a century—entered the system. It sought to merge with the user's DNA. Usually, this was a smooth process for a Quirkless vessel.

But Izuku wasn't normal. His DNA contained the dormant genetic code of a Saiyan—a race of conquerors, warriors, and destroyers.

The Saiyan cells sensed the intruder. They sensed the massive influx of power.

Threat? No. Fuel.

The Saiyan cells didn't just accept One For All. They devoured it. They latched onto the stockpile and ignited it like gasoline on a bonfire.

"Izuku!" All Might stepped forward, alarmed.

"GRRRAAAAAAH!"

Izuku threw his head back and screamed.

It wasn't a scream of pain. It was a roar. A primal, guttural sound that shook the birds from the trees.

BOOM.

A shockwave blasted out from Izuku’s body. The sand around him was blown away in a perfect circle. All Might had to cross his arms to keep from being blown backward.

"What the...?!"

Golden light erupted from Izuku. It wasn't the gentle glow of One For All. It was jagged. Violent. It flickered like lightning.

The ground beneath Izuku’s feet cracked. The ocean waves were pushed back, defying the tide.

Izuku’s hair stood up. It flashed from green to gold, then back to green. His eyes rolled back, then snapped forward—the irises were teal, glowing with luminescence.

"POWER!" Izuku shouted, his voice layered with the echo of the Great Ape.

The aura flared higher, reaching twenty feet into the air. The pressure was immense. It felt heavy, crushing the air out of the beach.

All Might watched in terror. This isn't One For All! What is this? It feels like... like an explosion! Did I kill him?!

"Control it, Midoriya!" All Might screamed over the roaring wind. "Don't let it consume you! You are the master of the power!"

Inside the storm, Izuku was fighting.

His mind was a white landscape. He saw the vestiges of One For All—shadowy figures standing in a line. But behind them, looming like a mountain, was a giant ape with red eyes. And beside the ape, the man in the orange Gi.

Calm down, the man in the Gi said. Don't let the power ride you. You ride it.

Breathe.

Izuku gritted his teeth. He forced his hands together.

"Ka..."

He didn't know why he did it. It was instinct. A focus point.

"Me..."

He channeled the raging river of fire into a sphere. He condensed it. Compressed it.

"Ha..."

The golden aura began to shrink. It was sucked back into his skin, absorbed into his muscles. The floating rocks dropped to the ground. The wind died down.

"Me..."

Izuku exhaled. He didn't fire the blast. He just dissipated it.

"Haaa..."

Silence returned to the beach.

Izuku stood there, smoking. His uniform was tattered at the edges. His muscles were twitching uncontrollably.

He looked at his hands. They felt different. Heavy. Charged.

"I..." Izuku’s voice was hoarse. "I think I digested it."

All Might stared at him, his mouth agape. The Hero of Heroes was shaking. He had never felt a power signature like that. It felt ancient. Predatory.

"Young Midoriya..." All Might whispered. "What are you?"

Izuku looked up. His eyes were green again, but the pupil seemed sharper. He smiled, and for a second, he looked exactly like the man in his dreams.

"I'm the guy who's gonna be King of the Heroes," Izuku said, mixing up his anime tropes in his exhaustion.

He checked his watch.

"OH CRAP! THE EXAM!"

The mood shattered instantly.

"GO!" All Might shouted, checking his own watch. "YOU'LL BE LATE! RUN!"

"I'm going!"

Izuku grabbed his yellow backpack. He didn't just run. He kicked off the ground.

CRACK.

The concrete sidewalk shattered where he stepped. Izuku launched himself forward, moving like a bullet.

"Sorry about the pavement!" he yelled back, his voice already fading into the distance.

All Might stood alone on the beach. He looked at the cracked concrete. He looked at the ocean, which was still rippling from the energy release.

He pulled out his phone. He needed to call Gran Torino. Or maybe a priest.

"I may have made a mistake," All Might muttered to himself. "Or... I may have just saved the world."

The entrance to U.A. High School was crowded with hundreds of aspiring heroes. The massive H-shaped building loomed over them, a fortress of dreams.

Izuku Midoriya skid to a halt at the gates, smoke still trailing slightly from his heels.

He panted, straightening his tie. He looked at the building.

Usually, this would be the part where he panicked. Where he tripped over his own feet. Where the anxiety of being "Deku" crushed him.

But as he looked at the glistening glass windows, he didn't feel fear.

He felt the hum of One For All in his veins, mixing with the Saiyan fire. It was a volatile cocktail, but it felt... good.

He felt hungry. Not for food, but for the challenge.

"Outta my way, Deku."

Bakugo walked past him, hands in his pockets. He didn't look at Izuku. He seemed focused, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"Good luck, Kacchan," Izuku said.

Bakugo paused. He glanced back. "Don't die, nerd."

He walked away.

Izuku took a step forward. He tripped.

Old habits, he thought, bracing for impact.

But he didn't hit the ground. He hovered.

"Eh?"

He looked down. He was floating two inches off the pavement.

"Are you okay?"

A girl with a round face and brown bob-cut hair was touching his shoulder. Her fingers glowed with pink pads.

"I stopped you with my Quirk," she smiled brightly. "It’s bad luck to fall before the exam, right?"

Izuku blinked. He gently floated back down to his feet as she released him.

"Oh. Thanks," Izuku said. He didn't stutter. He smiled back. "That's a useful technique. gravity manipulation?"

"Yep! I'm Uraraka Ochako," she beamed. "You look intense! Like you're ready to fight a dragon!"

Izuku chuckled. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Something like that. I'm Midoriya Izuku."

"Well, good luck, Midoriya-kun! Let's do our best!"

She waved and walked inside.

Izuku watched her go. He took a deep breath of the cold air.

He clenched his fists. The excitement was bubbling up again. His heart was racing, pounding a rhythm against his ribs.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It was the war drums.

"I'm getting excited," Izuku whispered to himself.

He stepped through the gates. The Turtle had discarded his shell. The Hare was ready to run. And the Dragon was ready to roar.

"It’s not about being the strongest. It’s about being better than you were yesterday. Also, if a giant robot shows up, hit it really, really hard."

— Wisdom from the Turtle School (Authorized by All Might).

The pencil snapped.

Izuku Midoriya stared down at the graphite corpse in his hand. He hadn't meant to break it. He was just... excited.

The written portion of the U.A. Entrance Exam was underway. The classroom was silent, save for the scratching of lead on paper and the nervous shifting of bodies. To most, this was a torture chamber of academic pressure. To Izuku, it was a warm-up.

He grabbed a spare pencil.

Question 14: Analyze the trajectory of a villain with a friction-reducing Quirk on a 15-degree incline during rain.

Izuku’s eyes scanned the problem. His brain, conditioned by years of obsessive hero analysis and months of All Might’s tactical lectures, deconstructed the scenario instantly. But there was something else at play—a combat intuition that didn't belong to a fourteen-year-old boy.

He’ll slip, Izuku thought. But if he knows martial arts, he’ll use the slide to accelerate a low kick. The counter isn't to block; it’s to jump.

He wrote down the mathematical solution, but in the margins, he scribbled: Target the center of gravity. Use the rain.

He breezed through the English section (Present Mic’s voice was loud even on paper), the History section (All Might’s Golden Age was easy), and the Math section.

Two rows over, Katsuki Bakugo was vibrating with intensity. He was attacking his test paper as if it had insulted his mother. Every bubble he filled in was a declaration of war. He glanced sideways, his red eyes locking onto Izuku’s green mop of hair.

The nerd isn't shaking, Bakugo noted, his brow furrowing. Usually, he’s a puddle of sweat by now. Why is he... smiling?

Izuku was smiling. The hum of energy in his gut—the Ki—was stable. The "One For All" power he had swallowed that morning was still digesting, a dormant volcano waiting for a spark. He felt heavy, but strong. Like he was wearing weighted clothing under his skin.

I can do this, Izuku thought, flipping the page. I’m not the same Deku anymore. I’m the successor. I’m the student of the strongest hero and the strongest warrior.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the written exam, Izuku set his pencil down. He hadn't just finished; he had double-checked everything.

"Time's up! Pencils down, listeners!" Present Mic’s voice boomed over the intercom.

Izuku exhaled, a puff of steam escaping his lips despite the room being temperature-controlled. The boy next to him, a nervous student with horns, stared at the steam.

"Did you... just breathe fire?" the boy whispered.

"No," Izuku beamed, gathering his things. "Just venting the engine."

The auditorium was massive. Thousands of students from across the country filled the seats, a sea of black uniforms and colorful mutations.

On the stage, Present Mic was in his element.

"WELCOME TO MY LIVE SHOW! EVERYBODY SAY 'HEY'!"

Silence.

"Tough crowd!" Mic shrugged, adjusting his glasses. "Alright, examinees! I’m here to give you the lowdown on the practical exam! Are you ready?!"

Izuku sat on the edge of his seat, muttering. "Present Mic. Voice Hero. His Quirk, Voice, allows him to project sound at devastating volumes. He’s the radio host of 'Put Your Hands Up Radio.' A legend."

"Shut up, Deku," Bakugo hissed from beside him. "You're annoying."

"Sorry, Kacchan."

Present Mic pointed to the screen behind him. "As it says in the application requirements, you listeners will be conducting ten-minute mock urban battles! You can bring whatever gear you want! After this, you’ll head to your specified Battle Center!"

The screen displayed a map of seven enormous training grounds.

"I’m in Battle Center A," Bakugo grunted, reading his card.

"I’m in B," Izuku said, checking his own.

"Tch. They split us up so we couldn't work together," Bakugo scoffed. "Not that I’d need your help. I’m going to crush those robots so hard they’ll be recycling them for toaster ovens."

"Okay!" Mic continued. "Three types of faux villains are stationed in each center. You earn points for each of them based on their difficulty level. Use your Quirks to disable them! attacking other examinees is a big no-no!"

"Excuse me! May I ask a question?"

A hand shot up in the middle of the auditorium. A tall boy with glasses and a severe haircut stood up. The spotlight hit him instantly.

"Hit me, listener!"

"On the printout, there are four types of villains listed!" The boy pointed accusingly at the pamphlet. "If this is a misprint, then U.A., the most prestigious school in Japan, should be ashamed of such a foolish error! We are here to be molded into exemplary heroes!"

He spun around and pointed a stiff finger directly at Izuku.

"And you! With the curly hair!"

Izuku blinked, pointing at himself. "M-Me?"

"You've been muttering this whole time! It’s distracting! If you're here on a sightseeing trip, then you should leave immediately!"

The auditorium rippled with laughter. Izuku felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He sank into his seat. Classic.

"Okay, okay! Cool it, Exam Number 7111!" Present Mic waved his hands. "The fourth villain is worth zero points! That’s right! It’s just an obstacle! A gimmick! It’s big, it’s mean, and there’s one in every center. Think of it like a Thwomp from Mario Brothers! It’s better to just run away!"

"Run away?" The serious boy adjusted his glasses. "I see. A hazard to test decision-making. Thank you, sir!" He bowed and sat down.

"That’s all from me!" Mic shouted. "I’ll leave you with a present—our school motto! The great Napoleon Bonaparte once said, 'A true hero is someone who overcomes life’s misfortunes.' Go beyond! PLUS ULTRA!"

"PLUS ULTRA!" The crowd cheered, though mostly out of obligation.

As the students filed out to change into their gear, Izuku paused. He looked at his hands.

Run away from the zero-pointer...

A memory flickered. A vestige of a thought.

A Saiyan never runs from a challenge. If a mountain stands in your way, you don't walk around it. You blow it up.

Izuku shook his head. No, I have to be smart. This is an exam. Points matter.

He headed to the locker rooms. He didn't have a flashy costume yet. He wore a simple green tracksuit he bought at a discount store, sturdy red sneakers, and wristbands.

Underneath the tracksuit, his body was wrapped in weighted bands. 20kg on each leg. 20kg on each arm.

All Might said to take them off for the exam, Izuku thought, tightening the straps. But... if I take them off, I might be too fast. I need to control this power before I unleash it.

He slammed his locker shut.

"Let's do this."

Battle Center B was a city.

It wasn't a model. It wasn't a set. It was a fully realized urban district with paved roads, streetlights, and multi-story buildings.

Izuku stood at the massive gate, dwarfed by the scale of U.A.'s budget. Around him, dozens of other examinees were stretching, checking their gear, or looking nervous.

He saw the nice girl, Uraraka, standing near the back. She was taking deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves.

I should wish her luck, Izuku thought. It’s the polite thing to do.

He took a step toward her.

"Stop right there."

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. It was the glasses guy from the auditorium.

"Why are you approaching that girl?" the boy asked sternly. "She is trying to focus. Are you planning to distract her again? Are you taking this seriously?"

"I... no!" Izuku stammered. "I just..."

"If you're not here to be a hero, go home."

Izuku looked at the boy—Tenya Iida, according to his badge. He looked at Iida’s legs. The calves were shaped like engines. Exhaust pipes stuck out of his skin.

Engine Quirk, Izuku analyzed instantly. High speed. Linear movement. High torque.

Izuku took a deep breath. He stopped stammering. He looked Iida in the eye.

"I’m taking this seriously," Izuku said, his voice dropping an octave. "More than you know."

Iida blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in the boy’s aura.

Suddenly, the lights on the gate tower flashed green.

"AND START!"

Present Mic’s voice echoed from the watchtower.

The students froze. Start? Where’s the countdown?

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" Mic yelled. "THERE ARE NO COUNTDOWNS IN REAL BATTLES! GO! GO! GO!"

While the rest of the pack was processing the information, Izuku was already gone.

He didn't use a Quirk. He used explosive torque.

Step. Drive. Push.

He launched himself off his back foot. The concrete didn't crack, but dust kicked up in a violent puff. By the time the other students took their first step, Izuku was already fifty meters inside the city.

"He's fast!" someone yelled.

Izuku didn't look back. His senses expanded. He wasn't using his eyes; he was using his Ki.

Life signals ahead. Mechanical hums to the left. Metal grinding on stone to the right.

He turned a corner, drifting on the asphalt like a race car.

Three robots stood in the middle of the street. They were painted green, with a large "1" sprayed on their chests. They rolled on single wheels, arms raising machine guns loaded with rubber bullets.

"TARGET ACQUIRED."

"One pointers," Izuku noted. "Speed is low. Armor is thin."

The robots fired.

Rat-tat-tat-tat!

Izuku didn't dodge. He wove. He moved his head millimeters to the left, then the right. The bullets whizzed past his ears.

He closed the distance.

Turtle School Style: First Principle. Strength without wasted movement.

He didn't pull his arm back for a haymaker. He stopped right in front of the center robot. He placed his palm flat against its metal chassis.

"Kiai."

He pushed.

It looked like a gentle shove. But the internal mechanics of the robot screamed. A pulse of invisible energy—a shockwave of pure physical force mixed with Ki—traveled through the armor plating.

CRUNCH.

The back of the robot exploded outward. Gears and oil sprayed onto the street. The front of the robot crumpled inward like a crushed soda can.

The robot collapsed, smoking.

The other two robots turned to aim at him.

Izuku spun on his heel, sweeping his leg low.

Iron Shin.

His leg connected with the wheel of the second robot. The metal axle sheared clean off. The robot toppled over. Izuku finished it with a hammer fist to the "head," flattening it into the pavement.

The third robot hesitated. Its programming couldn't calculate the speed.

Izuku appeared behind it. He grabbed the robot by its shoulder plating and heaved.

With a grunt, he threw the 200-kilogram machine into a nearby lamppost. The impact folded the robot in half.

"Three points," Izuku exhaled. He checked his hands. No pain. The weighted bands under his clothes felt heavy, but they kept him grounded. "Good warm-up."

He sprinted away, leaving a trail of wreckage in his wake.

In a darkened room high above the battle centers, a wall of monitors displayed the chaos.

The faculty of U.A. High sat in tiered rows, watching the next generation of heroes.

"This year's batch is spirited," Midnight purred, fanning herself. "Battle Center A has quite the destructive force."

On one screen, Bakugo was flying through the air, blasting robots with maniacal laughter. "DIE! DIE! DIIIIE!"

"Flashy," Cementoss noted. "A bit unhinged, but effective. Combat instincts are top-tier."

"But look at Center B," Sniper mumbled, pointing to a different screen.

On the screen, a blur of green was tearing through a squadron of 2-pointers.

"That kid," Ectoplasm leaned forward. "Midoriya Izuku. No Quirk registered on the public database, but his file says he’s a late bloomer. Is it a strength enhancer?"

"Watch closely," a tired voice spoke up from the corner.

Shota Aizawa, also known as Eraserhead, was wrapped in his yellow sleeping bag, sipping a jelly pouch. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on Izuku’s monitor.

"He's not using a Quirk to hit them," Aizawa muttered. "Look at the impact. There’s no recoil damage on his body. If it were a simple strength enhancer like All Might's, his bones would be under stress. But he strikes with martial arts precision. He’s hitting structural weak points."

On the screen, Izuku dodged a tail swipe from a 3-pointer (a scorpion-like robot). He jumped, grabbed the tail, and used the robot’s own momentum to flip it onto its back. Then, he delivered a single, sharp chop to the neck joint. The robot powered down instantly.

"He fights like a soldier," Aizawa noted. "Or a veteran. He’s not panicking. He’s bored."

"Bored?" Midnight raised an eyebrow. "In the entrance exam?"

"He’s looking for something stronger," Aizawa said.

At the front of the room, a small creature—a mix of dog, mouse, and bear—sipped tea. Principal Nezu smiled.

"Well then," Nezu chirped, his paw hovering over a large red button. "Let’s see how they handle a true calamity. Let’s see if they have the heart of a hero."

He pressed the button.

Izuku had 48 points.

He was panting slightly, sweat dripping down his nose. The weighted clothing was starting to take its toll. His legs burned, but it was a good burn. The kind that meant growth.

Six minutes in, Izuku calculated. I need to secure at least 60 to be safe. Maybe 70.

He turned a corner onto the main thoroughfare of the fake city.

The ground shook.

Thump.

It wasn't an explosion. It was a footstep.

Thump.

The asphalt cracked. Streetlights swayed and shattered. Dust billowed from the end of the street.

"What is that?" a student with laser-shooting elbows yelled, backing away.

From the dust cloud, a hand emerged. A hand the size of a bus.

It slammed into a building, tearing the concrete façade off like paper.

The Zero Pointer.

It was colossal. It towered over the skyscrapers of the fake city. Its single red eye glowed with ominous intent. It rolled forward on massive treads, crushing everything in its path.

"TARGETS... ELIMINATE."

The voice was so loud it vibrated in Izuku’s chest.

"Run!"

"It's the gimmick! It's huge!"

"Forget the points! Move!"

The other examinees turned and fled. Panic was contagious. It was a stampede.

Izuku stood his ground for a moment, staring up at the behemoth.

It’s big, Izuku thought, unimpressed. But it’s slow. A Ki blast to the central processor would take it down. But...

He remembered Mic’s words. Zero points.

A waste of energy, Izuku decided. I should retreat and find more 3-pointers.

He turned to run.

"Ouch!"

The sound was faint, buried under the roar of the robot’s treads and the screams of the students. But Izuku’s ears picked it up.

He stopped. He looked back.

In the middle of the street, amidst the rubble, lay Uraraka. A piece of concrete debris had fallen on her leg, pinning her to the ground. She was struggling to lift it, her face pale with pain.

The Zero Pointer was looming over her. Its massive tread was seconds away from crushing her.

"I can't... move..." she whimpered.

The crowd kept running. No one looked back.

"Someone help her!" a student yelled, but he didn't stop running.

Izuku looked at the robot. Then at the girl.

In that split second, the "smart" choice died. The "strategic" choice was incinerated.

The voice in his head—the Warrior—roared.

A hero doesn't count points! A hero saves!

Izuku’s body moved on its own.

He spun around. He dropped into a crouch.

One For All. Full Cowling. 5%.

Wait, no. He didn't know "Full Cowling" yet. He just knew Power.

He reached deep into the void. He grabbed the torch All Might had passed him. He grabbed the Saiyan fire. He smashed them together.

Green lightning crackled around his body. But within the green, gold sparks flared.

The ground beneath him exploded.

Izuku vanished.

Uraraka squeezed her eyes shut. The shadow of the robot blocked out the sun. She could feel the heat of its engines.

This is it, she thought. I’m going to die in an exam.

She waited for the crunch.

It never came.

A gust of wind nearly blew the hair off her head.

She opened her eyes.

Hovering in the air, directly in the path of the robot, was the plain-looking boy from the gates.

But he didn't look plain anymore.

His clothes were rippling from an updraft of energy. His hair was standing on end, flickering with a golden sheen. Green electricity arced off his shoulders.

Izuku was suspended in mid-air. He wasn't jumping; he was flying—a technique called Bukujutsu that his body remembered even if his mind didn't fully understand it.

He stared at the robot’s face.

"OBSTACLE DETECTED," the robot droned. It raised its massive hand to swat him like a fly.

Izuku clenched his right fist.

The pain was immediate. His arm wasn't ready for 100% of One For All. He could feel his bones creaking under the pressure of the stockpiled power.

If I punch it normally, my arm will shatter, Izuku realized. And if I use a beam, I might destroy the city.

Focus the energy. Wrap it around the fist. Make the energy the weapon, not the bone.

He pulled his arm back.

The energy around his fist condensed. It took shape. It wasn't just a glow. It swirled. It looked like scales. It looked like jaws.

A golden dragon manifested around his arm, its mouth open wide, roaring in silence.

"Get away..." Izuku grit his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead. "FROM HER!"

He threw the punch.

"DRAGON SMASH!"

He didn't make contact with the metal. He didn't have to.

The golden dragon launched from his fist. It spiraled forward, a beam of pure kinetic force and Ki. It pierced the air with a shriek that shattered every window in a three-block radius.

The dragon struck the Zero Pointer’s face.

There was no resistance.

The robot’s head didn't just dent; it evaporated. The beam traveled through the robot’s neck, down its torso, and out the back, blowing a hole twenty meters wide through the machine.

BOOOOOOOOM!

The explosion was blinding. A mushroom cloud of fire and smoke rose into the sky. The shockwave knocked every other student in the city off their feet.

The massive robot groaned. It tipped backward, its internal structure liquidated. It crashed to the ground with an earth-shattering thud, missing Uraraka by inches.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Dust drifted like snow.

High in the air, the golden light faded. Izuku’s hair dropped back down. The lightning vanished.

Gravity remembered him.

"Oh," Izuku whispered. "Right."

He began to fall.

The pain hit him. His right arm was purple. It wasn't shattered—the Ki reinforcement had saved the bone from turning to powder—but it was broken. His legs, having handled the takeoff, felt like jelly.

I can't fly anymore, Izuku realized. I’m out of gas.

He plummeted toward the concrete.

This is going to hurt.

"Slap!"

Suddenly, he stopped.

He floated gently in the air, a foot off the ground.

Uraraka, her face covered in dust, was leaning over, holding her hands together in a release sign. She had tapped him just before he hit.

"Release!" she gasped.

Izuku dropped the last foot, landing on his back.

"Owww..." he groaned, clutching his arm.

Uraraka fell to her knees, vomiting rainbows (a side effect of her Quirk). "Are... are you okay?"

Izuku looked at the burning wreckage of the giant robot. He looked at his broken arm.

Then he grinned. A tired, goofy grin.

"Did you see that?" he wheezed. "I punched it really hard."

"Time's up!"

The buzzer sounded across the city.

The other students slowly emerged from their hiding spots. They gathered around the fallen giant, their mouths agape.

"Did... did he do that?"

"One punch? He took out the Zero Pointer with one punch?"

"What kind of Quirk is that? Is it a strength augment? Or an energy emitter?"

"I thought he was Quirkless!"

Iida walked up to the group, his glasses askew. He looked at the hole in the robot. He looked at Izuku, who was currently being fretted over by a small old lady.

He jumped in to save that girl, Iida thought, shame washing over him. I analyzed the situation and ran to preserve my score. He ignored the score to preserve a life.

"Here, here, sonny," Recovery Girl sighed, kissing Izuku’s forehead.

A warm glow enveloped him. The purple bruising on his arm faded. The bone knit itself back together with a sickening click.

"GAH!" Izuku yelped.

"It drains your stamina," Recovery Girl chided. "You're lucky, though. Your metabolism is absurdly high. Usually, healing a break this bad would knock a student out for a day. You just look hungry."

"I am hungry," Izuku sat up, rubbing his arm. It was sore, but functional. "Do you have any gummies?"

"Here." She tossed him a bag of gummy bears. He tore it open and swallowed the entire bag in one go.

"Chew, you heathen!" Recovery Girl scolded.

One week later.

Izuku sat in his apartment, staring at a letter. It was from U.A.

He hadn't slept well. He knew he had destroyed the Zero Pointer, but that was worth... well, zero points. His tally from the villains before that was 48.

Is 48 enough? he wondered. The hero course is competitive. People like Kacchan probably got 70 or 80.

Inko was pacing in the hallway. "Izuku! Do you want tea? Do you want katsudon? Do you want me to faint? I think I'm going to faint!"

"I'm opening it, Mom!"

Izuku tore the envelope open. A small metal disk fell out.

A hologram projected onto the wall.

"I AM HERE!"

"All Might?!" Izuku jumped back.

"AS A PROJECTION!" All Might struck a pose. "Young Midoriya! You have waited long enough! The results are in!"

All Might coughed, composing himself.

"First, the written exam. You passed with flying colors! Top 5 percentile! But the practical..."

All Might paused. The hologram shifted.

"You scored 48 Villain Points. A respectable score. But not enough to guarantee a spot in Class 1-A."

Izuku’s heart sank. I failed.

"HOWEVER!"

All Might leaned into the camera.

"Do you think a Hero Course would reject someone who saves lives? Madness! A hero is not judged solely by the villains they defeat, but by the people they protect!"

The video changed. It showed a clip of Uraraka sitting in an interview room.

"Please!" she was pleading with Present Mic. "Can I give some of my points to the plain-looking boy? He saved me! I would have been crushed if he hadn't jumped in! At least... give him the points he lost by helping me!"

Izuku felt tears prick his eyes. She tried to help me?

"You didn't need her points, Young Midoriya," All Might said softly. "But her actions prove that you inspired others. And that is the essence of heroism."

The screen flashed.

RESCUE POINTS: 60

"The judges were watching! For your selfless act of bravery against an overwhelming threat, you were awarded 60 Rescue Points!"

TOTAL: 108 POINTS.

"108 Points!" All Might shouted. "That is the highest score in the exam! You didn't just pass, Izuku. You smashed the record!"

Izuku covered his mouth, sobbing openly now.

"Come, Young Midoriya," All Might extended a hand toward the camera. "This is your Hero Academia."

The hologram faded.

Izuku sat there in the dark, the golden light of the projection lingering in his eyes. He clenched his fist. He felt the power of One For All. He felt the Saiyan spirit.

"I made it," he whispered.

 Epilogue: The Teacher’s Note

Shota Aizawa stared at the file on his desk.

Name: Midoriya Izuku.

Quirk: Super Power (Registered recently).

Notes: Massive destructive potential. High combat intelligence.

"Rescue points..." Aizawa muttered. "Irrational system. But..."

He replayed the footage of the punch. He watched the golden dragon aura. He watched the way Izuku moved—not like a novice with a new Quirk, but like a warrior remembering an old war.

"He held back," Aizawa noted, narrowing his eyes. "He aimed the blast through the robot to minimize collateral damage. If he had hit the ground..."

Aizawa shuddered slightly.

"This kid is going to be a problem," Aizawa sighed, zipping up his sleeping bag. "I better get some sleep while I can."

"Power without control is just a firework. Pretty to look at, but it fades in seconds. True power is a flame you can hold in your hand without getting burned."

— Entry 4 in the 'Turtle Hermit's Guide to Heroism' (Scribbled in the back of a math notebook).

The door to Class 1-A was massive.

It stood nearly four meters tall, a slab of reinforced steel painted with a bold red "1-A." To most students, this architectural choice was intimidating—a physical representation of the monumental expectations placed upon them.

To Izuku Midoriya, it was just a door.

He stood in the hallway, adjusting the strap of his yellow backpack. His heart was doing a strange rhythm—not the frantic flutter of anxiety that used to plague him, but the deep, steady thrum of a war drum.

This is it, Izuku thought, staring at the handle. The starting line.

He could feel them. Even through the steel, he could sense the Ki—the life energies—of the people inside.

There was a sharp, volatile energy that felt like burning gunpowder. Kacchan.

There was a rigid, mechanical energy, steady and rhythmic. Iida.

There was something cold—ice cold, yet boiling underneath. A dual nature. Someone strong.

And there were others. Electric sparks. Hardened rock. Acidic fluidity. The room was a kaleidoscope of power.

"Do your best, Izuku," he whispered to himself. "Don't trip. Don't stutter. And definitely don't accidentally blow a hole in the ceiling."

He grabbed the handle and slid the massive door open.

"Remove your foot from that desk!"

The shouting greeted him instantly.

Tenya Iida was chopping the air with robotic precision, scolding Katsuki Bakugo, who had his feet propped up on the desk with quintessential delinquent arrogance.

"It is disrespectful to the U.A. upperclassmen who used this desk, and to the very craftsmen who built it!" Iida boomed.

"Hah?" Bakugo sneered. "Like I care about some old desk. What junior high did you go to, you side character?"

"I am from Somei Private Academy. My name is Tenya Iida."

"Somei? A stuck-up elite, huh?" Bakugo grinned, small explosions popping in his palm. "I’ll enjoy crushing you."

"Crushing?!" Iida looked horrified. "You truly aim to be a hero? Your disposition is terrible!"

Izuku stepped into the room.

"Oh," Iida spun around. "It’s you."

The room went quiet. Bakugo’s eyes snapped to the door, narrowing into slits.

"Good morning," Izuku said, bowing slightly. "I’m Midoriya Izuku."

"Midoriya!" Iida marched over, grabbing Izuku’s hand and shaking it vigorously. "I must apologize for my behavior at the entrance exam! I misjudged you entirely! You perceived the true nature of the test—the rescue points—while I was blinded by the superficial objective! I hate to admit it, but you are the superior student!"

"I... I didn't really perceive anything," Izuku laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. "I just... moved."

"Oh! It’s the plain-looking boy!"

A bubbly voice chimed in from behind. Ochako Uraraka appeared, her face lighting up. "You passed! That punch was amazing! You were like POW and the robot was like BOOM!"

She mimed a punch that looked vaguely like a Dragon Fist.

"I’m glad you got in," Izuku smiled at her. "Your gravity power saved me from becoming a pancake on the landing."

"If you're here to make friends, you can pack up and leave."

The voice was tired. Dry. Like sandpaper on concrete.

The class froze.

Lying on the floor in the hallway, wrapped in a bright yellow sleeping bag like a majestic, lethargic caterpillar, was a man. He sucked on a pouch of jelly drink, staring at them with bloodshot, dead eyes.

"It took you eight seconds to quiet down," the caterpillar said, standing up and unzipping the bag. A man in black clothes with a messy scarf emerged. "Time is a limited resource. You kids aren't rational enough."

He walked to the podium.

"I’m your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa. Nice to meet you."

"HOMEROOM TEACHER?!" the class gasped in unison. This man looked more like a homeless person than a pro hero.

Aizawa reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a stack of blue gym uniforms.

"Put these on," he said, tossing them to the front row. "And meet me on the P.E. grounds."

The spring air was crisp on the athletic fields. The sun was high, casting sharp shadows on the dirt track.

Class 1-A stood in a cluster, wearing their blue U.A. tracksuits. They looked like a sports team, albeit one made up of invisible girls, bird-headed boys, and a guy with elbows that looked like tape dispensers.

"A Quirk Apprehension Test?" Uraraka asked, tilting her head.

"But what about the entrance ceremony?" Iida asked, raising his hand. "Or the guidance counselor meeting?"

Aizawa turned his back to them, looking at the scoreboard. "If you want to be a hero, you don't have time for frilly ceremonies. U.A.'s selling point is freedom. That applies to the teachers as well."

He turned back, his dark hair falling over his eyes.

"Softball throw. Standing long jump. 50-meter dash. Endurance running. Grip strength. Upper-body training. Seated toe-touch. Sit-ups. You did these in middle school, right? But you were banned from using your Quirks."

He pulled a ball from his pocket.

"The country is still stuck in the past. It limits your potential by focusing on averages. It’s irrational."

He tossed the ball to Bakugo.

"Bakugo. You finished first in the entrance exam. What was your softball throw record in junior high?"

"67 meters," Bakugo grunted.

"Try it with your Quirk," Aizawa ordered. "Stay in the circle. Anything else goes."

Bakugo stepped into the circle. He stretched his arms, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Standard pitch..." Bakugo wound up. "Add a blast at the point of release..."

He threw.

"DIE!"

BOOM.

An explosion erupted from his palm. The ball shot into the sky like a cannonball, leaving a trail of smoke. It soared, arcing high over the campus walls.

Aizawa held up a device.

705.2 meters.

"Whoa!" Eijiro Kirishima yelled. "700 meters? That’s insane!"

"We can use our Quirks as much as we want?" Mina Ashido cheered. "This is gonna be fun!"

"Fun?" Aizawa’s voice cut through the excitement like a knife.

The class fell silent.

Aizawa smiled. It was a terrifying, distorted expression.

"You have three years to become a hero. Do you think it’s going to be all fun and games? Natural disasters. Villain attacks. Collateral damage. The world is full of unfairness. Heroes are the ones who reverse that unfairness."

He pointed a finger at them.

"If you're here to have fun, leave. In fact..."

His eyes narrowed.

"The student who ranks last in total points will be judged to have 'no potential' and will be instantly expelled."

"EXPELLED?!"

The panic was instantaneous.

"It’s the first day of school!" Uraraka protested. "That’s too unfair!"

"Natural disasters are unfair," Aizawa countered coldly. "Villains are unfair. If you want fair, go hang out at a fast-food joint. For the next three years, U.A. will do everything it can to crush you. Your job is to rise above it. Plus Ultra."

Izuku watched Aizawa carefully.

He felt the teacher’s Ki. It was suppressed, hidden deep within. But it was sharp. Dangerous. This man wasn't bluffing. Or at least, he believed in the threat.

Pressure, Izuku thought, clenching and unclenching his hands. He’s applying pressure to see who breaks.

Izuku smiled.

It wasn't a confident hero smile. It was the smirk of a challenger.

Gravity training, Izuku realized. This is just mental gravity training. If I can't lift this weight, I can't lift the world.

"Let's do this," Izuku whispered.

The tests began.

Test 1: 50-Meter Dash.

Iida and Tsuyu Asui were up first. Iida’s engines roared. VROOOM. He crossed the line in 3.04 seconds.

"Like a fish in water... or an engine on a track," Aizawa muttered, marking his clipboard.

"Next. Bakugo. Midoriya."

Bakugo stepped up to the line, glaring at Izuku. "Don't cry when you lose, Deku."

Izuku took a sprinter's stance. Turtle School Style: The Hare.

"Ready... GO!"

BOOM. Bakugo used his explosions to propel himself backward, flying across the track.

Izuku didn't use One For All. He didn't use the golden aura. He used pure, unadulterated leg strength built from hauling tons of trash on a sandy beach.

His calves flexed. The ground dented slightly under his toes.

He sprinted.

It wasn't flashy. There was no fire, no lightning. Just a blur of green tracksuit.

"POWER!" Bakugo yelled, crossing the line.

4.13 Seconds.

Izuku crossed a heartbeat later.

5.02 Seconds.

"Tch," Bakugo scoffed. "Slow."

But Aizawa was watching Izuku. 5 seconds flat? That’s Olympic level for a high schooler without a speed Quirk. His base physical stats are abnormal.

Izuku panted slightly. Without Ki reinforcement or OFA, I’m just a really athletic human. I need to conserve stamina for the ball throw.

Test 2: Grip Strength.

Izuku held the dynamometer. Beside him, a massive student with multiple arms (Shoji) squeezed his device. 540 kg.

"Whoa!" Mineta gaped. "You're a monster!"

Izuku looked at the device. He focused.

Just a little Ki. Reinforce the fingers.

The device beeped.

CRUNCH.

Plastic shards fell to the floor. The metal handle was bent into a U-shape.

"Uh..." Izuku looked at the proctor. "It broke. It says... Error?"

"ERROR?!" Mineta shrieked. "He crushed it like a soda can!"

Aizawa marked his clipboard again. Grip strength exceeds measurement limits. Likely over 600kg. Still no visible activation of a Quirk. No glow. No transformation.

Test 3: Standing Long Jump.

Bakugo flew across the sandbox. Aoyama used his navel laser to propel himself.

Izuku stood at the line. He channeled Ki into his legs.

Bukujutsu lift.

He jumped. He didn't just clear the sandbox; he cleared the fence behind it.

"Oops," Izuku muttered, landing in the grass. "Too much lift."

"He flies?" Uraraka clapped. "Like me!"

"No," Asui croaked, her finger on her chin. "You float, Ochako-chan. He launched."

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the field. The class was exhausted.

Only one test remained: The Softball Throw.

Uraraka stepped up. She touched the ball with her pads. "Release!"

She threw it. Or rather, she gently tossed it. The ball floated up... and up... and up.

Aizawa showed the screen.

Infinity.

"INFINITY?!" the class screamed. "That’s cheating! That’s god-tier!"

"Midoriya," Aizawa called out. "You're next."

Izuku walked to the circle. The atmosphere shifted. The playful energy of the class vanished, replaced by the heavy weight of expectation.

Bakugo watched closely. Show me, Deku. Show me this 'power' you've been hiding for ten years.

Izuku held the ball. It felt light.

I have to get a good score, Izuku thought. My other tests were good, but simple physical stats won't beat things like Infinity or Explosions. I need distance.

He remembered the entrance exam. The broken arm. The pain.

All Might said to clench my buttocks and yell smash. But that broke me.

Goku’s memory says: Flow. Don't be a dam holding back the river. Be the riverbed guiding it.

Izuku took a deep breath.

One For All.

He activated it.

Red veins appeared on his arm. Green lightning crackled around his skin. The air pressure dropped.

"Here goes..."

Izuku wound up. He channeled 100% into his arm, preparing to snap it at the last second to minimize damage.

"SMASH!"

He threw his arm forward.

But just as he was about to release the ball—just as the power was about to peak—it vanished.

The lightning died. The strength evaporated.

His arm felt heavy and weak.

The ball left his hand with the pathetic velocity of a normal throw. It bounced on the grass.

46 Meters.

"Huh?" Izuku stared at his hand. "What...?"

"I erased your Quirk."

The voice came from the sidelines.

Izuku turned.

Aizawa stood there. His hair was floating, defying gravity. His scarf was levitating around his neck like a striking snake. And his eyes...

His eyes glowed a piercing, bloody red.

"That entrance exam," Aizawa said, his voice dripping with disdain. "It was illogical. It allowed a kid with zero control to pass just because he had destructive power."

He walked toward Izuku, the scarf writhing.

"I saw the footage. You can't control it, can you? You break your bones every time you use it."

Aizawa stopped a few feet away.

"Do you think you can save people like that? 'Oh, I saved everyone, but now I'm a motionless doll'? No. You'll just be a liability. Another hero will have to save you."

Aizawa’s words were harsh, but they weren't cruel. They were facts.

"Midoriya Izuku. You cannot be a hero with that power."

Izuku stared at the red eyes.

He felt the connection to One For All severed. The stockpile was there, deep down, but the door was locked. He couldn't access the strength of the previous users.

He erased it, Izuku realized. Eraserhead. He cuts the connection to the Quirk factor.

The class watched in silence. Bakugo looked confused. Erased? So he DOES have a Quirk?

"I’ve returned your Quirk," Aizawa blinked. His hair fell down. The red glow faded. "You have two throws left. Hurry up and get it over with."

Aizawa turned around, walking back to the measurement area. He’ll likely give up. Or try to force it and break his arm again. Either way, he’s out.

Izuku stood in the circle. He looked at his hand.

One For All was back. He could feel the hum.

But Aizawa was right. If he used it, he would break. And if Aizawa erased it again, he would fail.

You cannot be a hero with that power.

Izuku closed his eyes.

He's right, Izuku thought. I can't rely on One For All yet. It’s too volatile. It’s a borrowed sword that’s too heavy for me to swing.

But...

A golden warmth spread from his stomach. It wasn't the stockpiled power of One For All. It was his own. His biological inheritance.

He didn't erase the Ki.

Izuku’s eyes snapped open. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He can't erase my soul.

"Teacher," Izuku said.

Aizawa paused, glancing back.

"You said I can't be a hero with that power," Izuku said, picking up the ball. "So I’ll use a different one."

"Hah?" Aizawa frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Izuku spread his feet. He adopted a wide stance.

He didn't activate One For All. No red veins. No green lightning.

Instead, he breathed.

Haaaaa...

The air around him began to shimmer. Heat waves rose from the pavement.

"What is he doing?" Iida whispered.

"He's getting... hot?" Uraraka squinted.

Izuku focused his Ki. He visualized the energy flowing from his Dan-Tien, traveling up his spine, through his shoulder, and spiraling into his right arm.

He didn't need to break his bones. He just needed to reinforce them.

Kaio-Ken? No, too much strain. Just basic reinforcement. Max output.

A faint, white aura flared around his body. It was subtle, almost invisible in the daylight, but the pressure was undeniable. The grass around his feet flattened.

Aizawa’s eyes widened. He’s not using his Quirk factor. I can see it. His Quirk is dormant. What is this energy?

Izuku wound up. The motion was fluid. Perfect kinetic linking.

"TURTLE STYLE..."

He stepped forward. The ground cracked under his sneaker.

"POWER PITCH!"

He threw.

CRACK-BOOM.

It wasn't an explosion. It was the sound of the sound barrier being insulted.

A shockwave blasted outward from the circle, blowing dust into Aizawa’s face. The ball vanished. It tore through the sky, burning red from friction. It pierced a cloud, leaving a perfect hole, and kept going.

The class shielded their eyes.

"What was that?!" Kaminari screamed. "Was that a cannon?!"

Izuku stood in the circle, his arm smoking slightly. He rotated his shoulder.

"Safe," he whispered. "No broken bones."

Aizawa stared at his device. The numbers climbed. And climbed.

Beep.

He turned the screen to the class.

705.3 Meters.

"He beat Bakugo by 0.1 meters!" Sero yelled.

Izuku clenched his fist. He looked at Aizawa, his eyes burning with a fierce, Saiyan determination.

"I’m still standing, Sensei."

Aizawa stared at the boy. He stared at the score. He looked at Izuku’s arm, which was perfectly intact.

I erased his Quirk, Aizawa thought, his logical mind struggling to process the data. I know I did. That throw... it wasn't a Quirk. It was raw physical force amplified by... something else.

Aizawa’s lips curled into a smile. A real one this time.

"This kid..." Aizawa muttered. "He’s completely irrational."

The silence was broken by a growl.

A low, guttural sound that quickly escalated into a roar.

"DEKU!"

Katsuki Bakugo exploded into motion.

He didn't care about the test. He didn't care about the teacher. His world view—the one where he was the genius and Deku was the pebble—had just been shattered.

"YOU BASTARD!" Bakugo sprinted toward the circle, sparks flying from his hands. "TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON! YOU HILD A QUIRK FOR TEN YEARS?! YOU WERE LAUGHING AT ME THIS WHOLE TIME?!"

He was fast. Lethal.

"Bakugo, stop!" Uraraka screamed.

Izuku watched Bakugo come.

In the past, he would have cowered. He would have put his arms up and apologized.

But the Warrior didn't cower.

Izuku didn't move. He waited.

Just as Bakugo’s explosive right hook was about to connect with Izuku’s face—

Swish.

Aizawa’s capture weapon shot out. The cloth wrapped around Bakugo, binding his arms and torso.

"GAAH!" Bakugo struggled, his explosions sputtering out. "What is this cloth?! It’s stiff!"

"It’s a capture weapon made of carbon fiber and a special metal alloy," Aizawa said, his eyes glowing red again. "And I’ve erased your Quirk. Stand down."

"Let me go!" Bakugo thrashed. "He tricked me!"

"I didn't trick you, Kacchan," Izuku said softly.

Bakugo froze. He looked at Izuku.

Izuku wasn't looking at Bakugo with fear. He was looking at him with sadness, but also with resolve.

"I didn't have a Quirk back then," Izuku said. "And honestly... I’m not even sure if what I just used counts as a Quirk now. But I’m not the same Deku who followed you around."

Izuku took a step forward.

"I’m going to be a hero. And if that means I have to be stronger than you... then I will be."

Bakugo’s eyes widened. The declaration wasn't a taunt. It was a fact.

"Tch." Aizawa released the scarf. "We’re wasting time. Next up."

Bakugo rubbed his arms, glaring at the ground. He didn't attack again. He couldn't. The look in Izuku’s eyes had unnerved him. It wasn't the look of a victim. It was the look of a rival.

As Izuku walked back to the line, Kirishima slapped him on the back.

"Dude! That was manly as hell!" Kirishima grinned. "You stood up to Bakugo and you launched that ball into orbit! What’s your Quirk called?"

Izuku hesitated. "Um... Super Power? But I call my style 'Turtle School'."

"Turtle School?" Kaminari laughed. "Like... slow and steady wins the race?"

Izuku smiled, patting his stomach. "Something like that. And eating a lot of rice."

The sun had set. The floodlights were on.

Class 1-A gathered around the digital display board.

"Okay," Aizawa said, looking bored. "Here are the results. Your total score is a composite of all eight tests."

He pressed a button.

1.  Momo Yaoyorozu (Created tools for every test).

2.  Shoto Todoroki (Ice propelled him to top tier).

3.  Katsuki Bakugo (Pure athletic dominance).

4.  Izuku Midoriya (Insane physical stats + the throw).

...

20. Minoru Mineta (Good at side-steps, bad at everything else).

Izuku let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Fourth place. I’m safe.

Mineta fell to his knees, sobbing. "No! My harem life! My hero dreams! Expelled on the first day?!"

Aizawa closed the hologram.

"By the way," he said, turning to walk away. "The expulsion was a logical ruse."

"HUH?!"

"It was a deception to draw out your maximum potential," Aizawa said, scratching his neck.

"WHAAAAAAAT?!" The class screamed.

"Well, obviously," Yaoyorozu said, putting a hand on her chest. "It was clearly a motivational tactic. I thought everyone realized that."

"I didn't realize that!" Mineta cried. "I saw my life flash before my eyes!"

Aizawa stopped. He glanced back at Izuku.

"However," Aizawa added. "If you had shown zero potential... I would have expelled you. Don't think you're safe yet."

He looked directly at All Might, who was hiding behind a corner of the building, peeking out.

"This class is... interesting," Aizawa muttered to himself. "We might actually have a golden age on our hands."

The locker room was buzzing with relief.

"Man, that scared me!" Sero laughed, pulling off his jersey. "Aizawa-sensei is intense."

"But Midoriya!" Iida chopped the air. "You were fourth! That is impressive for someone who broke their finger in the entrance exam!"

"Thanks, Iida-kun," Izuku said, changing into his uniform.

His stomach gave a roar that sounded like a lion waking up from a nap.

The room went silent.

"Dude," Kirishima looked at Izuku’s stomach. "Was that you?"

Izuku blushed, covering his belly. "Using Ki—I mean, using my power... it burns a lot of calories. I’m starving."

"Let's go get food!" Uraraka suggested, waiting by the door (or shouting through it). "The cafeteria serves Katsudon!"

"Katsudon?!" Izuku’s eyes lit up. He moved so fast he left a blur. "Let's go!"

As they walked to the cafeteria, Izuku looked out the window at the stars.

He touched his chest. The Ki was settling down. One For All was humming quietly.

I survived Day One, he thought. But Aizawa-sensei is right. I can't rely on brute force forever. I need technique. I need to learn how to fight like a hero.

In the reflection of the glass, for just a second, he didn't see his own face. He saw a monkey-tailed boy grinning back at him.

Work hard. Study well. Eat plenty.

"I'm going to need a bigger bowl," Izuku said to the reflection.

"What was that, Midoriya?" Iida asked.

"Nothing!" Izuku beamed. "Just... Plus Ultra!"