What if Deku was trained by Hajime Nagumo

 

The wind howling across the rooftop of the obscure commercial building felt unusually cold. It whipped against Izuku Midoriya’s face, carrying with it the ambient, chaotic sounds of Musutafu City—the blaring of car horns, the distant wail of sirens, the mundane chatter of a society entirely disconnected from the utter devastation occurring within a fourteen-year-old boy’s heart.

 

Izuku stood frozen, his oversized middle school uniform billowing around his frail frame. His emerald eyes, usually practically vibrating with obsessive admiration and boundless hope, were locked onto the imposing, skeletal figure standing near the roof’s access door.

 

The smoke had cleared. The illusion had shattered.

 

Toshinori Yagi, the man the world knew as the invincible Symbol of Peace, All Might, had just revealed his true, broken form. But the physical decay of the Number One Hero was nothing compared to the psychological decay Izuku was currently experiencing.

 

"Quirks are a physical ability," the gaunt, blonde man had said, his voice stripped of its usual booming resonance, replaced by a weary, heavy somberness. "It might be harsh, but you have to be realistic, kid. Can you become a hero without a Quirk? No, I don't think you can."

 

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating like lead.

 

"If you want to help people, become a police officer. They get a lot of flak for having villains delivered to their doorstep, but it's a fine profession. It's not bad to dream... but you have to consider what's realistic, young man."

 

With a heavy, rattling sigh, the emaciated man turned his back on the boy, pulling open the heavy metal door. The hinges shrieked—a sharp, grating sound that seemed to punctuate the end of Izuku Midoriya’s life-long dream. The door slammed shut with a definitive, hollow clang, leaving Izuku utterly alone on the concrete expanse.

 

Izuku didn't move. He couldn't. His worn red sneakers felt bolted to the floor. His lungs refused to expand. The silence of the rooftop, juxtaposed against the bustling city below, was deafening.

 

For ten years, he had clung to a single, fragile thread. You can be a hero too. He had written it in his notebooks, whispered it to himself in the dark after the explosive beatings from Katsuki, and prayed for it every time he saw a hero soar through the sky. He had endured the mocking laughter, the spider-lily flowers placed on his desk, the cruel nickname Deku—the one who can't do anything. He had endured it all because he believed that as long as he had the heart of a hero, a smile that could save people, it would be enough.

 

It wasn't enough.

 

Even All Might—his idol, his god, the very foundation of his worldview—had looked at him and seen nothing but a liability. A realistic impossibility.

 

Slowly, his knees gave out. The rough concrete scraped against his skin through his uniform pants, but he didn't feel it. He dropped his scorched, water-logged hero analysis notebook to the side. His hands, trembling violently, moved to his face. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, desperate to stem the tide, but it was useless.

 

A ragged, agonizing sob tore itself from his throat.

 

"I..." Izuku gasped, the sound broken and pathetic to his own ears. "I just... I just wanted..."

 

He couldn't even finish the sentence. The tears cascaded down his freckled cheeks, hot and bitter. He curled in on himself, pressing his forehead against the cold roof, weeping with the absolute, unrestrained sorrow of a child who had just watched his entire universe collapse into dust. He was powerless. He was weak. He was Quirkless. He was nothing.

 

He was so consumed by his own despair that he didn't notice the sudden, drastic drop in temperature.

 

He didn't notice the wind abruptly dying down, replaced by a heavy, suffocating stillness that made the air feel as thick as molasses.

 

And he certainly didn't notice the space ten feet to his left begin to warp, twist, and fracture like a shattered mirror.

 

CRACK-ZZZT!

 

A sound like tearing metal and violent electrical discharge ripped through the silence, making Izuku flinch violently. He scrambled backward, his tear-filled eyes snapping open.

 

The air itself was bleeding. A jagged, vertical fissure had torn through the empty space of the rooftop. Crimson and black lightning arced wildly from the edges of the tear, scorching the concrete and leaving the scent of ozone and burning ozone in its wake. The center of the rift was a vortex of absolute, swirling darkness—an abyss that seemed to suck the very light out of the afternoon sun.

 

Izuku stared, terrified, his mind scrambling to rationalize what he was seeing. Was it a villain? A warp gate? The League? He pushed himself backward, his back hitting the chain-link fence bordering the roof.

 

From the center of the dark vortex, a boot stepped out.

 

It was a heavy, military-style combat boot, reinforced with dark metal that didn't match any alloy Izuku had ever cataloged in his notebooks.

 

Then, a figure stepped entirely through the rift.

 

As soon as the person was through, the tear in reality collapsed in on itself with a sharp pop, vanishing as if it had never existed, leaving only a lingering trail of red sparks and scorched concrete.

 

Izuku held his breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and awe.

 

The man—or rather, a teenager who looked to be perhaps eighteen or nineteen—stood tall and broad-shouldered. He wore a long, dark, intricately designed duster coat that seemed to absorb the sunlight, tailored with aggressive, pragmatic lines. Underneath, he wore functional, heavily reinforced combat gear. But it was his physical appearance that sent a shiver down Izuku’s spine.

 

His hair was stark white, falling in messy, unkempt bangs over his forehead. A black eyepatch covered his right eye. His left eye, however, was visible, and it was a piercing, unnatural shade of crimson red. It was the eye of an apex predator—sharp, calculating, and devoid of the innate warmth Izuku associated with Pro Heroes.

 

What drew Izuku’s attention the most, however, was the teenager’s left arm. From the elbow down, it wasn't flesh and bone, but a complex, jagged prosthetic made of black metal, glowing with faint, pulsing crimson lines of energy.

 

The white-haired teenager let out a long, irritated sigh, scratching the back of his head with his flesh-and-blood hand. He held up a small, crystal-like key that was currently sparking and smoking.

 

"Damn it," the stranger muttered. His voice was deep, gravelly, and laced with profound annoyance. "I told Yue that the coordinate matrix on the Crystal Key needed a recalibration after the last world-jump. Where the hell did I end up this time? The mana density in the air here is absolute garbage."

 

The stranger casually crushed the smoking crystal in his hand. He didn't seem to care that he had just stepped out of a hole in reality. He turned his head, scanning the sprawling metropolis of Musutafu. He took in the skyscrapers, the billboards featuring brightly colored Pro Heroes, and the modern infrastructure.

 

"Earth?" he mused aloud, his crimson eye narrowing. "No... the architectural style is similar to Japan, but the technology deviates. And that guy on the billboard looks like he's wearing spandex and a cape. Don't tell me I landed in some derivative parallel dimension again."

 

Izuku, still pressed against the fence, tried to hold in a whimper. He didn't know who this was. The aura radiating off this teenager was suffocating. It was heavier than All Might’s presence, but entirely different. Where All Might felt like a blinding, protective sun, this boy felt like the bottom of the ocean—crushing, dark, and lethal.

 

The stranger’s head snapped toward Izuku. His crimson eye locked onto the trembling middle schooler.

 

Izuku flinched, instinctively raising his arms to shield his head, expecting a blow. "I-I'm sorry!" he squeaked, his voice cracking. "I-I didn't see anything! P-Please don't hurt me!"

 

Hajime Nagumo stared at the pathetic, sniveling kid huddled against the fence.

 

He took in the oversized black uniform, the messy green hair, the tear-stained face, and the red, swollen eyes. The kid was shaking like a leaf, radiating absolute, unfiltered terror and an aura of profound, crippling despair.

 

Normally, Hajime would have ignored him. He wasn't a hero. He didn't go out of his way to comfort crying brats. He had a wife—several, actually—and a daughter waiting for him back home, and his primary objective was to fix his spatial artifact and get the hell out of whatever this dimension was.

 

But as he looked at the green-haired boy... he paused.

 

Hajime narrowed his eye. He didn't just see a crying kid. He saw a mirror.

 

He saw a weak, powerless, black-haired boy standing at the edge of a bridge in the Great Orcus Labyrinth, looking down into an abyss of endless darkness, realizing that the world was fundamentally unfair, that betrayal was real, and that the weak were destined to be trampled by the strong. The sheer flavor of the boy’s despair was sickeningly nostalgic. It was the despair of someone who had just had their entire world ripped away from them.

 

Hajime took a step forward. His heavy boot clicked against the concrete.

 

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the end.

 

"Hey," a gruff voice commanded. "Open your eyes."

 

Izuku slowly peeked through his arms. The white-haired teenager was standing a few feet away, hands buried in the pockets of his dark coat. He wasn't radiating killing intent, but the sheer weight of his presence made it hard to breathe.

 

"What are you crying for?" Hajime asked, his tone flat, devoid of sympathy but laced with genuine curiosity.

 

"I... I..." Izuku stuttered, his throat tight. He tried to wipe his eyes, smearing soot and tears across his cheeks. "I'm sorry... I..."

 

"I didn't ask for an apology," Hajime interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "I asked why you're crying like the world just ended. Did someone die? Were you attacked?"

 

"N-No..." Izuku sniffled, looking down at his worn red shoes. Why was he talking to this terrifying stranger? He didn't know, but something about the stranger’s absolute command compelled him to answer. "I... I just... my dream..."

 

"Your dream?" Hajime raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

 

"I... I want to be a hero," Izuku whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "More than anything. I want to save people with a smile. But... I don't have a Quirk. I'm Quirkless. And everyone... my mom, my classmates, even... even the Number One Hero... they all told me it's impossible. They told me to give up. To be realistic."

 

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over. Izuku gripped his knees tightly. "He told me I couldn't do it. The greatest hero in the world told me I was useless. And he's right. I'm just a Deku. I can't do anything."

 

Silence stretched across the rooftop.

 

Izuku expected the stranger to laugh. To mock him. To agree with All Might and Katsuki.

 

Instead, Hajime let out a scoff. It wasn't a scoff of amusement, but of profound disgust.

 

"A Quirk?" Hajime muttered. He tapped his metallic chin. "I'm guessing that's some sort of innate genetic superpower in this world. And society here is based on having one?"

 

Izuku nodded weakly. "Eighty percent of the population has one. If you don't... you're a freak. You're broken."

 

"And because you don't have this 'Quirk,' some guy in a cape told you that you were worthless, and so you came up here to cry about it?" Hajime's voice dropped an octave, growing colder.

 

Izuku flinched. "I-It's not just some guy! It was All Might! He's the Symbol of Peace! If he says I can't..."

 

"Who gives a damn what he says?"

 

The words cracked like a whip. Izuku's head snapped up, his eyes widening in shock.

 

Hajime glared down at him, his crimson eye blazing with an intense, fiery pragmatism. "Symbol of Peace? Number One Hero? What a load of garbage. You let another man dictate your worth? You let someone else tell you what you can and cannot do just because you were born without some biological party trick?"

 

"B-But I don't have any power!" Izuku cried out, a sudden flare of defensive anger momentarily overriding his fear. "I'm normal! I can't shoot explosions, or breathe fire, or punch through walls! How am I supposed to fight villains? How am I supposed to survive?!"

 

"By surviving," Hajime stated simply, his voice echoing with the weight of a thousand life-or-death battles. He took his left hand—the black, mechanical one—out of his pocket and held it up. "You think I was born with power? You think I was born a monster who could kill gods?"

 

Izuku stared at the glowing, intricate prosthetic.

 

"I was weak," Hajime continued, his gaze drifting away for a fraction of a second, looking into a past Izuku couldn't fathom. "In my world, everyone else got summoned with incredible magic. Legendary classes. I got the class of a 'Synergist'—a glorified blacksmith. A weak, useless crafting class. I was mocked. I was belittled. And when push came to shove, I was betrayed and thrown into the deepest, darkest depths of an abyss filled with monsters that made your 'villains' look like teething puppies."

 

Izuku's breath hitched. The conviction in the stranger's voice was absolute. He wasn't lying.

 

"I lost my arm. I was starving, bleeding out, hiding in the dark, crying just like you," Hajime said, his eye snapping back to Izuku, pinning him in place. "I had a choice. I could die crying about how unfair the world was, or I could adapt. I chose to survive. I ate the monsters. I tore them apart. I dragged myself out of hell with my remaining hand and built my own power from the ground up."

 

Hajime leaned down, until his face was leveled with Izuku's. The sheer intensity of his aura was palpable, but it wasn't suffocating anymore; it was challenging.

 

"You want to be a hero?" Hajime demanded softly. "You want to save people? Then stop whining about what you don't have. Power isn't given to you by right of birth, and it certainly isn't validated by some 'Symbol of Peace.' Power is forged. It is taken. It is built through blood, sweat, and the absolute refusal to die."

 

Izuku stared into the crimson eye of the white-haired stranger. For the first time in his life, someone wasn't looking at him with pity, or disgust, or mocking superiority. This stranger—this boy who looked like he had walked through hell and conquered it—was looking at him as an equal. As someone who had a choice.

 

Before Izuku could process the sheer weight of Hajime's words, a thunderous BOOM echoed through the city.

 

The ground beneath their feet trembled slightly. Izuku gasped, spinning his head around. Several blocks away, in the shopping district of Tatooine Station, a massive plume of thick, black smoke was rising into the sky. Secondary explosions crackled in the distance, sending flashes of orange light reflecting off the glass of nearby buildings.

 

Izuku’s heart hammered against his ribs. A villain attack.

 

His mind flashed back to the Sludge Villain from earlier today. The one that had nearly suffocated him. The one All Might had captured in a bottle.

 

Wait... All Might dropped the bottle when I grabbed his leg...

 

A sudden, chilling realization dumped a bucket of ice water over Izuku's head. It's my fault.

 

Without thinking, without hesitating, Izuku scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his scorched yellow backpack, ignoring the lingering pain in his legs, and sprinted for the roof access door. He yanked it open and began sprinting down the stairwell, his breathing ragged.

 

On the roof, Hajime watched the boy run. The white-haired Synergist straightened up, looking toward the rising column of smoke. He crossed his arms, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

 

"He's weak, Quirkless, and completely shattered... but he runs straight toward the explosion anyway," Hajime muttered to himself. "What an idiot."

 

With a casual step, Hajime's body blurred. Using the high-speed movement art Riftwalk, he vanished from the rooftop, leaving only a faint ripple in the air.

 

 

 

The alleyway in Tatooine Station was a warzone.

 

Fire raged out of control, licking up the sides of the buildings, shattering windows and melting signboards. The heat was oppressive, a suffocating wall of sulfur and burning garbage. A large crowd of civilians had gathered at a safe distance, held back by police tape and several Pro Heroes.

 

However, the Pro Heroes were doing absolutely nothing.

 

Death Arms, a hero with superhuman strength, stood gritting his teeth, unable to get close because of the erratic explosions. Kamui Woods was useless, his wooden body a massive liability against the raging fire. Mt. Lady, the giantess, complained that she couldn't fit down the two-lane street without destroying the surrounding buildings.

 

And in the center of the inferno, laughing maniacally, was the Sludge Villain. The massive, gelatinous monstrosity of dark green muck had grown in size, its liquid body swirling violently.

 

Trapped within the center of the sludge was a boy with ash-blonde hair, struggling wildly. Explosions blasted from his palms, but they only fueled the fires around them, doing nothing to deter the liquid villain.

 

Katsuki Bakugo was suffocating. His red eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a rare, primal terror. The sludge was forcing its way down his throat, drowning him from the inside out.

 

"There's nothing we can do!" Death Arms shouted over the roar of the flames, shielding his face. "None of our Quirks are suited for this! We have to wait for someone with a suitable Quirk to arrive!"

 

"Just hold on a little longer, kid!" Kamui Woods yelled uselessly.

 

Izuku pushed his way through the front of the crowd, panting heavily. His eyes locked onto the scene. He saw the villain. He saw the heroes standing by, waiting.

 

And then, he saw Katsuki's eyes.

 

In that fleeting, agonizing second, Katsuki wasn't the bully who had tormented him for ten years. He wasn't the boy who had told him to take a swan dive off the roof. He was just a person. A person who was drowning, looking at Izuku with an expression that screamed: Help me.

 

Izuku's mind went blank.

 

The rational part of his brain—the part that analyzed Quirks, the part that knew he was powerless, the part that had just had his dreams crushed by All Might—shut down entirely.

 

Before the Pro Heroes could stop him, before anyone could even blink, Izuku Midoriya ducked under the police tape and sprinted directly into the roaring inferno.

 

"Hey! You idiot! Stop!" Death Arms roared, reaching out, but his fingers only grazed the back of Izuku's uniform.

 

Izuku didn't hear him. The heat scorched his skin, but his legs pumped with desperate, frantic energy. What am I doing?! Why am I running?! his mind screamed, utterly detached from his body's actions.

 

The Sludge Villain noticed him. Its massive, liquid eyes narrowed in malicious glee. "You again! The brat from the tunnel! Came to die?!"

 

Izuku acted on pure instinct. He ripped his yellow backpack off his shoulders and hurled it with all his meager strength. The bag flew through the air, unzipping. Pencil cases, notebooks, and a thick, heavy math textbook flew out, striking the villain squarely in its massive, gelatinous eye.

 

"GAAAH!" The villain shrieked, flinching back. The sludge around Katsuki's face loosened just enough for the blonde boy to gasp for a desperately needed lungful of air.

 

"Deku?!" Katsuki hacked, his eyes wide in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

 

"I don't know!" Izuku cried out, his hands desperately clawing at the thick, foul-smelling sludge, trying to rip it away from Katsuki. His fingers just passed right through the liquid, burning slightly from the friction. Tears streamed down Izuku's face, mixing with the soot. "My legs just moved on their own! You looked... you looked like you were asking for help!"

 

Katsuki's pupils shrank.

 

The Sludge Villain recovered from the strike to the eye, its rage boiling over. "You little pest! I'll crush you!"

 

A massive, hardened tendril of dark sludge reared up like a striking cobra, casting a shadow over Izuku. The Pro Heroes screamed. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. He had no power. He had no Quirk. He had tried, but he was going to die here.

 

At least... at least I tried to save someone...

 

"Idiot."

 

The single word cut through the roar of the fire and the screaming of the crowd like a razor blade. It wasn't loud, but it carried a preternatural weight that commanded absolute attention.

 

Izuku opened his eyes just as a blur of black and white materialized in front of him.

 

Hajime Nagumo stood between Izuku and the descending tendril of sludge. He didn't look panicked. He didn't look strained. He looked utterly, incredibly bored.

 

In Hajime's right hand was a massive, intricately designed revolver. It was a terrifying piece of magi-tech weaponry, forged from black metal, radiating a faint crimson glow. Donner.

 

Hajime didn't aim. He merely flicked his wrist upward, pointing the barrel of the revolver at the massive, descending tendril of sludge.

 

He pulled the trigger.

 

The sound that erupted from the gun was not a gunshot. It was a localized thunderclap, a concussive boom of such catastrophic magnitude that it instantly shattered every remaining window on the street. The air pressure in the alleyway violently inverted.

 

Hajime hadn't used a lethal slug. He had loaded a specialized shockwave round—a burst of compressed aerodynamic magic designed to inflict massive concussive force without piercing.

 

A visible ring of distorted air exploded from the barrel of Donner.

 

When the shockwave hit the Sludge Villain, physics violently reasserted itself. The villain didn't even have time to scream. The sheer, unadulterated kinetic force hit the liquid body like a freight train made of solid air. The sludge was instantly, violently ripped apart, atomized into thousands of microscopic droplets that were blasted backward, splattering against the brick walls of the alley in a wide, dark green arc.

 

The concussive force was so intense that it extinguished the surrounding fires instantly, blowing the flames out like candles on a birthday cake.

 

Katsuki Bakugo, freed from his liquid prison, was blown backward by the shockwave, tumbling across the asphalt before coughing up mouthfuls of residual sludge.

 

Izuku, shielded by Hajime's coat, dropped to his knees, staring in absolute, paralyzed shock.

 

The alleyway, which seconds ago had been a raging inferno of death, was now completely silent, save for the tinkling of falling glass and Katsuki's ragged coughing. The villain was gone, reduced to unconscious splatters of goo dripping down the walls.

 

The Pro Heroes were frozen, their mouths hanging open in a collective display of utter bewilderment. The crowd was dead silent.

 

Hajime casually twirled Donner around his finger before sliding it seamlessly into a holster hidden beneath his duster coat. He dusted off his shoulder, looking at the splattered villain with mild disdain.

 

"Weak," Hajime muttered, his voice carrying easily in the silence. "Is that really what passes for a monster in this dimension? A slime variant with zero magic resistance?"

 

Izuku looked up at Hajime. The white-haired teenager hadn't used a Quirk. At least, it didn't feel like a Quirk. He had used a weapon. A gun that defied all known laws of physics.

 

Suddenly, the spell over the crowd broke. The Pro Heroes, recovering from their shock, rushed forward.

 

Kamui Woods and Mt. Lady immediately began to scrape up the unconscious pieces of the Sludge Villain into containment jars. Death Arms, however, stomped over to where Izuku and Hajime were standing. The burly hero looked furious.

 

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Death Arms roared, pointing a massive, muscular finger at Izuku. "You're just a Quirkless kid! You ran straight into a suicide situation! You didn't help at all, you just made things worse! You could have gotten yourself killed, you absolute fool!"

 

Izuku flinched, shrinking back, the familiar weight of reprimand and worthlessness crashing back down onto his shoulders. "I-I'm sorry..."

 

Another hero walked over to Katsuki, who was still coughing on his hands and knees. "Man, that was incredible toughness, kid!" the hero praised. "Holding out that long? And that explosive Quirk! Once you go pro, you'll be a star!"

 

Izuku watched, a hollow, bitter feeling gnawing at his chest. Katsuki, who had been a hostage, was being praised. Izuku, who had risked his life, was being scolded. It was the same story. The same societal rule. Those with power were inherently right. Those without it were nuisances.

 

"Hey."

 

The single syllable from Hajime was not a shout, but it caused the ambient temperature in the alleyway to plummet by ten degrees.

 

Death Arms stopped yelling. He turned to look at the white-haired teenager. "And you! Using a support item or a Quirk like that without a license! Discharging a firearm in public! You're coming with us to the stati—"

 

Death Arms didn't finish his sentence.

 

Hajime turned his head, his single crimson eye locking onto the Pro Hero. And then, Hajime Nagumo released a fraction of his killing intent.

 

It wasn't magic. It wasn't a Quirk. It was the raw, unadulterated Intimidation of an apex predator who had slaughtered his way through a labyrinth of mythological horrors, who had looked gods in the eye and pulled the trigger. It was a physical, crushing pressure.

 

The air grew so dense it felt like being submerged in deep water. A suffocating, blood-red aura seemed to bleed from Hajime's silhouette, casting long, demonic shadows against the alley walls.

 

Death Arms choked, his eyes rolling back in his head momentarily. He stumbled backward, his massive, muscular legs trembling so violently he nearly collapsed. He gasped for air, clutching his chest, feeling as though an invisible, ice-cold hand had just wrapped around his heart and was threatening to squeeze.

 

Kamui Woods froze mid-step, his wooden bark shivering. Mt. Lady let out a strangled gasp, falling to her knees. Even the crowd of civilians, standing fifty feet away, suddenly felt nauseous, an instinctual, primal terror screaming at them to run, to flee, to hide from the monster in their midst.

 

Katsuki Bakugo, still on the ground, stared at the white-haired teenager, his crimson eyes wide with a fear he had never experienced in his life. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. What... what the hell is that guy?!

 

Izuku, surprisingly, felt the pressure, but it wasn't directed at him. He looked at Hajime, his awe completely overpowering his fear.

 

Hajime stared at the trembling Pro Heroes, his expression carved from stone.

 

"You stand around," Hajime's voice was a low, lethal rumble that vibrated in everyone's chest, "doing absolutely nothing while a kid is suffocating to death right in front of you. You make excuses about your abilities not matching the situation. And then, when someone actually has the spine to step up and do your job for you, you scold him?"

 

Hajime took a slow, deliberate step toward Death Arms. The large hero actually whimpered, taking a step back.

 

"You call yourselves heroes?" Hajime spat the word like it was a curse. "You're cowards in costumes. You rely on your little genetic parlor tricks so much that you forgot what it actually means to fight. If you were in my world, you'd be monster food in five minutes."

 

Hajime withdrew his bloodlust.

 

The red aura vanished. The suffocating pressure instantly lifted. The Pro Heroes collapsed onto their hands and knees, gasping for air, sweating profusely, their minds unable to process the sheer existential dread they had just experienced.

 

Hajime turned his back on them, dismissing them entirely as non-threats. He looked down at Izuku, who was still kneeling on the asphalt.

 

The white-haired teenager crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees, bringing his face level with Izuku's. The coldness in his crimson eye softened, just a fraction, replaced by an intense, assessing gleam.

 

"You're an idiot," Hajime said bluntly. "You charged in there with no power, no plan, and zero chance of winning. It was the stupidest thing I've seen all day."

 

Izuku lowered his head, tears of shame prickling his eyes again. "I know..."

 

"But," Hajime continued, cutting him off, "you moved when no one else would."

 

Izuku's head snapped up.

 

Hajime was looking at him, not with pity, but with a fierce, challenging respect. "Your body moved before your brain could talk you out of it. You didn't have power, but you had the instinct. That's something you can't teach. That's the difference between a bystander and a survivor."

 

Hajime stood up, towering over the boy. He offered his flesh-and-blood right hand to Izuku.

 

"This world is a joke," Hajime stated, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "They tell you you're worthless because you weren't born lucky. They tell you to give up. I call bullshit. If you want power, true power—the kind of power that doesn't rely on genetics, the kind of power that can crush destiny and save whoever you want—I can give it to you."

 

Izuku stared at the offered hand. His heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The world around him faded away. The heroes, the police sirens, Katsuki staring in shock—none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was this white-haired teenager, offering him the one thing he had been denied his entire life.

 

A chance.

 

"But I'm warning you," Hajime's voice dropped, growing deadly serious. The memory of the Abyss—the agonizing pain, the mutating flesh, the tearing of his own sanity—flashed through his crimson eye. "It's not going to be like training at a gym. It's going to be hell. I will break you down, I will tear you apart, and I will force you to rebuild yourself into a monster. It will be the most agonizing pain you have ever felt in your life. You might even die."

 

Hajime's smirk returned, predatory and confident. "So, what's it going to be, kid? Do you want to go back to being the Quirkless Deku who cries on rooftops? Or do you want to become my apprentice, and show this pathetic society what a real monster can do?"

 

Izuku Midoriya looked at the hand.

 

He thought of the ten years of mockery. He thought of his mother's tears, apologizing to him. He thought of All Might, turning his back on him. He thought of the sheer, unadulterated power Hajime had displayed—not just physical power, but the power of absolute, unshakeable conviction.

 

Izuku didn't hesitate. He reached out and grabbed Hajime's hand. His grip was weak, but his emerald eyes burned with a fire that had finally found its fuel.

 

"I want to be a hero," Izuku said, his voice shaking, not with fear, but with overwhelming determination. "I don't care how much it hurts. I don't care if it's hell. Please... teach me."

 

Hajime's grip tightened around Izuku's hand, surprisingly warm and solid. He pulled the boy to his feet effortlessly.

 

"Alright then," Hajime Nagumo said, a genuine, feral grin spreading across his face. "Pack your bags, kid. Welcome to the Abyss."

 

The sky above Musutafu City had bled into a bruised, violent tapestry of violet and deep crimson by the time Izuku Midoriya and Hajime Nagumo stopped walking.

 

Their departure from Tatooine Station had been a blur. As soon as the police sirens had grown deafeningly close and the Pro Heroes began to recover from the suffocating weight of Hajime’s killing intent, the white-haired teenager had simply grabbed the back of Izuku’s collar and vanished. To Izuku, it had felt like the world had violently smeared into a horizontal line of motion sickness. One second they were in the smoldering alleyway, and the next, they were standing on a quiet rooftop several blocks away, the chaotic sounds of the Sludge Villain’s defeat reduced to background noise.

 

From there, Hajime had instructed Izuku to lead him somewhere isolated. Somewhere no one went. Somewhere they wouldn't be disturbed.

 

That requirement led them to the edge of the city, where the salty tang of the ocean breeze usually offered a reprieve from the smog of the urban sprawl. But here, the ocean breeze was choked by the stench of rotting metal, decaying rubber, and stagnant water.

 

Dagobah Municipal Beach Park.

 

Izuku stood at the top of the concrete stairs overlooking the beach, clutching his scorched yellow backpack straps so tightly his knuckles were stark white. Below them stretched miles of sand that were completely invisible, buried underneath literal mountains of illegal dumping. Rusted refrigerators, broken-down cars, shattered televisions, and jagged piles of scrap metal formed an artificial, treacherous labyrinth that effectively walled off the ocean.

 

"This is it," Izuku said, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt exhausted. The adrenaline crash from the villain attack, combined with the sheer emotional whiplash of the day, was making his knees tremble. "Dagobah Beach. Ocean currents bring trash in, but mostly people just use it as an illegal dumping ground. No one comes here. Ever."

 

Hajime stood beside him, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark duster coat. His single crimson eye swept over the colossal mounds of garbage. To Izuku, it was a sad testament to societal neglect.

 

To Hajime Nagumo, the Synergist, it was a goldmine of raw materials.

 

"Iron, copper, steel, traces of titanium, aluminum, synthetic polymers, and silicon," Hajime muttered, a faint, approving smirk touching his lips. "It's a dump, sure. But it's isolated. And it saves me the trouble of having to mine for base materials in a world where I don't know the geological layout. Good choice, kid."

 

Hajime began to descend the concrete stairs, his heavy, metal-reinforced boots clicking rhythmically against the steps. Izuku swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest, and followed.

 

They walked through a narrow canyon formed by two massive piles of rusted washing machines and crushed sedans. The shadows here were long and oppressive. When they finally reached a small, cleared patch of sand near the water's edge, Hajime stopped. He turned around to face Izuku.

 

The air grew heavy. The reality of the situation was finally settling over Izuku like a lead blanket. He had just agreed to let a terrifying, interdimensional stranger turn him into a "monster."

 

"Sit," Hajime commanded, gesturing to a relatively clean, overturned industrial spool of cable.

 

Izuku scrambled to obey, dropping his backpack and sitting rigidly on the wooden spool. He kept his knees pressed together, looking up at Hajime with a mixture of absolute terror and burning anticipation.

 

Hajime didn't speak immediately. He reached into his coat. There was a faint ripple in the air, a distortion of space that made Izuku’s eyes cross slightly, and suddenly, Hajime withdrew a small, intricately carved wooden box and a crystalline vial filled with a liquid that glowed with an ethereal, mesmerizing golden light.

 

Hajime set the box and the vial on a flat piece of scrap metal next to Izuku.

 

"Before we do this, you need to understand what you're actually agreeing to," Hajime began, his voice taking on a clinical, detached tone. "You asked me about my 'Quirk' earlier. I told you I didn't have one. In the world I was pulled into, power isn't a genetic mutation that dictates your life from age four. It's dictated by Magic, Stats, and Skills."

 

Izuku, despite his fear, felt his innate analytical nature spark to life. "Stats? Like... like in a video game?"

 

"Exactly like a video game," Hajime nodded. "Strength, Vitality, Defense, Agility, Magic, and Magic Resistance. A normal, healthy human adult in my world has stats that hover around ten in every category. The heroes that were summoned to my world? They started with stats in the hundreds, backed by legendary elemental magic and combat skills."

 

Hajime tapped his prosthetic, metallic arm. It let out a hollow, dense clink.

 

"I was summoned as a Synergist," Hajime continued, his eye narrowing. "A non-combat crafting class. My starting stats were flat tens. I was baseline human. The weakest of the weak. In a labyrinth filled with mythological horrors, I was dead weight."

 

"But... you're not weak," Izuku protested softly, remembering the terrifying shockwave that had atomized the Sludge Villain. "You're incredible. You're stronger than any Pro Hero I've ever seen."

 

"Because I found a loophole in the system of my world," Hajime said, leaning forward. "A horrific, fatal loophole."

 

Hajime reached out and flipped the latch on the wooden box. He opened the lid.

 

Instantly, the smell hit Izuku. It was abhorrent. It smelled like raw sewage mixed with sulfur, rotting meat, and the sharp, metallic tang of oxidized blood. Izuku violently gagged, throwing his hands over his nose and mouth, his eyes watering.

 

Inside the box rested a slab of meat.

 

It didn't look like any meat from a cow or a pig. It was a sickly, bruised purple color, striated with thick, black veins that seemed to pulse faintly, even though it was severed from whatever creature it belonged to. It radiated a feeling of absolute malice. Just looking at it made Izuku's biological instincts scream at him to run.

 

"What... what is that?!" Izuku choked out through his hands.

 

"This is the flesh of a Twin-Tailed Wolf," Hajime said casually, completely unfazed by the horrific stench. "A low-tier monster from the upper depths of the Great Orcus Labyrinth. To a human from my world, consuming the flesh of a demonic monster is a guaranteed, excruciating death sentence. The monster's mana is highly toxic to humans. If you eat this, your cells will recognize it as a foreign, highly aggressive invader. The monster's mana will literally tear your cellular structure apart from the inside out."

 

Izuku stopped breathing. He stared at the purple meat, his pupils dilating in pure terror. "You... you want me to eat that? But you just said it's a death sentence!"

 

"It is," Hajime agreed. He picked up the glowing golden vial. "Unless you have this. Ambrosia. A legendary, divine healing water secreted from a specific type of ore found only in the deepest trenches of the Labyrinth. It heals any wound, cures any poison, and instantly restores the body to a state of perfect health. It can pull someone back from the absolute brink of death."

 

Hajime looked at Izuku, his crimson eye pinning the boy to his seat.

 

"When I fell into the Abyss," Hajime said, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper that carried over the crashing waves, "I was starving. I had lost my arm. I was bleeding out. I had no choice. I killed a monster, and I ate its raw, toxic flesh. The monster's mana began to melt my organs, tear my muscles off my bones, and shatter my mind. But, I had found a spring of Ambrosia."

 

Hajime tapped the vial against the wooden box. Clink.

 

"As the monster meat tore my cells apart, the Ambrosia healed them. Destroyed, healed. Destroyed, healed. Over and over again, thousands of times a minute. It was an endless, agonizing cycle of death and rebirth."

 

Hajime stood up straight, his aura flaring just enough to make the air crackle with latent pressure.

 

"The human body is an incredibly adaptable machine, Izuku," Hajime stated. "When subjected to constant destruction and healing, my cells didn't just repair themselves; they adapted. They mutated. They incorporated the monster's flesh and its mana into my own DNA to survive the process. My stats skyrocketed. My body was rebuilt denser, faster, stronger. I stopped being human, and I became a hybrid. A monster."

 

Izuku stared at Hajime. The sheer horror of the story paralyzed him. The white-haired teenager wasn't just talking about a training regimen. He was talking about willingly subjecting himself to cellular annihilation.

 

"You don't have a Quirk," Hajime said, stepping closer to Izuku. "You are baseline human, just like I was. But if you consume this meat, and I force this Ambrosia down your throat while you digest it, your body will undergo the exact same mutation. The system of my world will overwrite the biology of this world. You will gain a Status Plate. You will gain mana. Your physical parameters will shatter human limits."

 

Hajime picked up the slab of purple, foul-smelling meat and held it out toward Izuku.

 

"But I won't lie to you," Hajime said, his face inches from Izuku's, his expression deadly serious. "The pain will break your mind if you are weak. It will feel like drinking molten glass while being thrown into a woodchipper. It is hell on earth. And there is a very real chance that your body simply rejects the process and you die right here on this beach."

 

Hajime held out the meat. The rotting smell invaded Izuku's senses, making his stomach heave.

 

"This is your choice, Izuku Midoriya," Hajime said coldly. "If you back out now, I won't judge you. You can walk away, go back to school, and live a normal, quiet life as a Quirkless kid. You'll be safe."

 

Hajime's eyes narrowed. "But if you want to be a hero? If you want to stand at the top? Then take a bite. Prove to me that your desire to save people is stronger than your fear of death."

 

Silence fell over Dagobah Beach.

 

Izuku stared at the grotesque slab of meat. His entire body was trembling. The survival instincts hammered into his brain by millions of years of human evolution were screaming at him to run away. It's poison. It's death. You're going to die.

 

He thought of the safety of his bedroom. His All Might posters. His mother, Inko, cooking katsudon for dinner. He could go home right now. He could forget this ever happened.

 

“I’m sorry, Izuku! I’m so sorry!”

 

His mother's tears from ten years ago echoed in his mind.

 

“Can you become a hero without a Quirk? No, I don’t think you can.”

 

All Might’s hollow, sunken eyes stared at him from the memory of the rooftop.

 

“Take a swan dive off the roof and pray for a Quirk in your next life!”

 

Katsuki’s explosive, mocking laughter rang in his ears.

 

Izuku clenched his fists. His short, unkempt green nails dug so hard into his palms that they drew crescent moons of blood.

 

He was so tired of being useless. He was so tired of crying. He was so tired of watching the world move on without him, of being the victim who needed saving. When he had run into that fire to save Katsuki, he had felt something ignite inside him—a desperate, clawing need to act, regardless of the consequences.

 

He looked at Hajime. This boy had gone through this agony alone, in the dark, with no one to hold him. He had survived because he refused to surrender.

 

If I run away now, Izuku realized with crystal clarity, I am truly Deku. I will never be anything else.

 

Izuku took a deep, shuddering breath. He reached out with both hands, his fingers trembling wildly, and grabbed the slab of Twin-Tailed Wolf meat.

 

It felt horrible. It was cold, unnaturally heavy, and slightly slimy. The black veins on the meat twitched against his palms.

 

"I won't run," Izuku whispered, his voice cracking, but his emerald eyes burning with an intense, desperate fire. "I will be a hero. I'll do whatever it takes."

 

Hajime's eyes widened infinitesimally. A genuine spark of respect flashed in his crimson iris. He uncorked the vial of Ambrosia, keeping it ready.

 

"Then eat," Hajime ordered.

 

Izuku didn't close his eyes. He didn't want to hide from his choice. He brought the foul, putrid meat to his mouth. The smell was so strong he felt his vision blur. He opened his jaws and bit down hard.

 

The texture was like biting into raw, gristly rubber filled with battery acid. The taste was an explosion of rot, iron, and a bitter, chemical heat that instantly blistered his tongue. He gagged violently, his body instinctively trying to violently expel the poison.

 

"Chew it. Swallow it," Hajime's voice was absolute. "Do not spit it out. If you spit it out, you fail."

 

Tears streamed down Izuku's face. He forced his jaws to work. He chewed the horrifying flesh, ignoring the searing pain in his mouth. With a massive, convulsive gulp, he forced the chunk of meat down his throat.

 

For three seconds, nothing happened. Izuku sat there, panting, the horrific aftertaste coating his mouth.

 

"I... I did it," Izuku gasped, looking up at Hajime. "I swall—"

 

The first spasm hit him like a bullet train.

 

Izuku didn't just double over; his entire body rigidly violently, snapping forward as an incomprehensible surge of pure, unadulterated agony erupted from his stomach.

 

"GAHHHHHH!"

 

The scream that tore out of Izuku’s throat didn't sound human. It sounded like an animal being burned alive. He collapsed off the wooden spool, crashing into the sand, his hands flying to his stomach.

 

It felt like he had swallowed a live grenade made of white-hot plasma. The heat exploded outward from his core, rushing through his veins like liquid fire. He could feel it—he could actually, physically feel the toxic mana of the monster invading his bloodstream.

 

Everywhere the blood went, the cellular destruction followed.

 

His capillaries burst beneath his skin, painting his pale arms and face with terrifying, spider-webbing bruises of deep purple and black. He thrashed wildly on the ground, kicking up sand, his screams echoing off the towering walls of garbage.

 

"My insides! IT'S BURNING! MAKE IT STOP!" Izuku shrieked, his eyes rolling back in his head. The pain was beyond anything the human nervous system was designed to handle. He could feel his muscle fibers snapping. He could feel the lining of his stomach dissolving.

 

Suddenly, heavy hands grabbed his shoulders, violently pinning him to the ground.

 

Hajime was straddling Izuku’s chest, his face an emotionless mask, though his crimson eye was fixed intently on Izuku’s thrashing form. With brutal efficiency, Hajime used his prosthetic hand to grip Izuku’s jaw, prying his mouth open.

 

"Drink it!" Hajime roared, tipping the vial of golden Ambrosia over Izuku's mouth.

 

A few drops of the glowing liquid fell onto Izuku’s tongue.

 

The moment the Ambrosia entered his system, the cooling, divine magic clashed violently with the destructive monster mana.

 

Izuku felt a wave of soothing, miraculous relief wash over his melting stomach—but it only lasted for a fraction of a millisecond. Because the moment the cells were healed, the monster meat destroyed them again.

 

Crack. CRACK.

 

Izuku’s back arched off the sand at an unnatural angle. The bones in his arms and legs fractured audibly, shattering under the pressure of his own wildly mutating muscles, only for the Ambrosia to instantly knit the bone marrow back together, thicker and denser than before.

 

"AGGGHHHH! AHHH! PLEASE! I CAN'T! I CAN'T DO IT!" Izuku sobbed hysterically, bloody foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth. His mind was fracturing. The pain was too vast. It was drowning him. He couldn't think about being a hero. He couldn't think about anything except the absolute certainty that he was dying.

 

Hajime pinned him down harder. The white-haired teenager’s expression contorted into a fierce, aggressive scowl. Looking at the boy thrashing under him, Hajime saw himself in the Labyrinth. He saw the weakness, the despair, the unfairness of it all.

 

"DON'T YOU DARE GIVE UP!" Hajime roared, his voice booming over Izuku's screams, laced with his demonic Intimidation. "You said you wouldn't run! You said you would do whatever it takes! Prove it!"

 

Hajime poured another splash of Ambrosia into Izuku's mouth.

 

"FIGHT IT!" Hajime yelled, his grip on Izuku's jaw unyielding. "Don't let the monster consume you! You consume it! Devour its power! Make it yours! If you die here, you're just another weakling! SURVIVE, DAMN IT!"

 

Izuku heard the words through the haze of agony.

 

Devour it. Make it yours.

 

Deep within his breaking mind, the embers of his desperation flared into a roaring inferno. The pain didn't lessen—if anything, it grew worse as the mutation reached his brain stem—but his perception of it shifted.

 

Instead of being a victim to the pain, Izuku’s consciousness latched onto it. He felt his DNA unraveling. He felt the pathetic, Quirkless biology of Izuku Midoriya burning away into ash.

 

He didn't want it anyway. He hated that weak body. He hated the Deku who cried.

 

Burn it all, Izuku thought, his mental voice a savage snarl that surprised even him. Burn it away and give me power!

 

Izuku stopped thrashing. His body went rigid, locked in a terrifying state of absolute tension. His jaw clamped shut, nearly catching Hajime's fingers. His eyes shot wide open.

 

The irises, previously a soft, bright emerald green, were currently violently shifting in color. The monster's toxic mana clashed with his retinas, bleeding the green away. Deep, crimson red began to bleed into his eyes from the pupils outward, glowing with an intense, predatory light in the deepening shadows of the beach.

 

At the same time, the roots of his messy green hair began to drain of color. Stark, jagged streaks of pure white began to aggressively overwrite the green, spreading outward like frost over a leaf.

 

"HAAAAAA!" Izuku let out a long, ragged exhale that sounded like steam escaping a pressurized engine.

 

Red lightning—raw, unbridled magical energy—began to arc and crackle off Izuku's skin. The lightning whipped across the sand, scorching it into glass, dancing around Hajime’s metallic arm.

 

Hajime watched the transformation, his breathing steady, though a feral grin slowly stretched across his face. He recognized that red lightning. He recognized those eyes.

 

"That's it, kid," Hajime whispered fiercely, pouring the last few drops of Ambrosia onto Izuku's lips just to ensure the heart didn't rupture during the final integration. "Take it all."

 

The mutation process reached its violent crescendo. Izuku's muscles violently expanded and then compressed, packing themselves with unnatural density. The bruising faded rapidly, replaced by pale, flawless skin that now hid a musculature capable of shattering concrete.

 

With a final, explosive surge of red crimson lightning that blasted a crater into the sand around them, Izuku’s back slammed flat against the beach.

 

The crackling energy dissipated. The horrific scent of the monster meat vanished, replaced by the smell of ozone and burnt sand.

 

Silence rushed back into the isolated cove, save for the rhythmic crashing of the ocean waves.

 

Hajime slowly stood up, brushing the sand off his duster. He looked down at the boy lying in the crater.

 

Izuku lay perfectly still, his chest rising and falling with slow, incredibly deep breaths. His oversized middle school uniform was torn in several places from his thrashing, but beneath the fabric, he was visibly changed. He wasn't bulky, but the wiry fragility was gone, replaced by the sleek, coiled tension of a loaded spring.

 

His messy green hair was now heavily striated with stark, jagged white streaks.

 

Slowly, Izuku’s fingers twitched. He let out a low groan, shifting in the sand.

 

"Rise and shine," Hajime said, his tone back to its casual, gruff baseline.

 

Izuku slowly pushed himself up. As his hands pressed against the sand, he misjudged his own strength. His palms dug deep into the earth, and as he pushed, he launched himself nearly three feet into the air, landing awkwardly on his feet and stumbling back against a pile of rusted metal.

 

He hit the heavy iron scrap with a dull thud. The metal dented slightly upon impact, but Izuku didn't feel a thing.

 

"Woah..." Izuku breathed out. His voice sounded slightly deeper, the nervous quiver completely gone, replaced by a subtle, resonant gravel.

 

He looked down at his hands. He clenched them into fists, then opened them. He could feel... everything. The air currents moving around his fingers. The microscopic grains of sand grinding beneath his boots. The world was overwhelmingly, terrifyingly sharp.

 

He looked at the rusted car he had bumped into. He placed a hand on the hood. He didn't think about it; he just pushed.

 

The two-ton vehicle groaned in protest and slid three feet across the sand as easily as if Izuku had pushed a shopping cart.

 

Izuku gasped, snatching his hand back. He looked at Hajime, his newly colored eyes wide with awe. His left iris was completely crimson red, while his right eye retained a ring of emerald green around a red pupil, giving him a striking, heterochromatic gaze of pure predator.

 

"What... what happened to me?" Izuku asked. He didn't feel fear. He felt an intense, overflowing reservoir of energy bubbling just beneath his skin. He felt like he could run for a thousand miles and never tire. He felt... powerful.

 

Hajime smirked. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, rectangular plate made of polished silver metal. A Status Plate.

 

"You survived," Hajime said simply. He tossed the silver plate to Izuku. "Catch."

 

Izuku caught it effortlessly. His reflexes were so fast the plate seemed to move in slow motion.

 

"Drip a single drop of blood onto the plate," Hajime instructed. "Since you have monster mana running through your veins now, the artifact will recognize you and synchronize with your soul."

 

Izuku didn't hesitate. He brought his thumb to his mouth and bit down on the tip. To his surprise, it took considerable force to break his own skin. He squeezed a bead of dark red blood onto the center of the silver plate.

 

The plate immediately glowed with a soft blue light. Words and numbers, written in a glowing, runic text that Izuku instinctively knew how to read, materialized on the surface.

 

Name: Izuku Midoriya

Age: 14

Level: 1

Class: Synergist

 

Stats:

   Strength: 120

   Vitality: 150

   Defense: 110

   Agility: 130

   Magic: 100

   Magic Resistance: 100

 

Skills:

   Language Comprehension

   Transmute

   Mana Manipulation

   Iron Stomach

 

Izuku stared at the numbers. His math-oriented brain immediately did the calculations. "Wait. You said... you said a normal human in your world had stats at ten. I'm... I'm over ten times stronger than a normal human? At level one?!"

 

"You didn't just get a minor stat boost," Hajime chuckled, walking over to the boy. "You incorporated the physical attributes of an Abyss-level monster into your base biology. Your physical parameters right now are easily on par with a low-to-mid tier Pro Hero focused on strength enhancement. And you don't have the drawbacks of a Quirk. That is your baseline physical strength. It won't turn off. You can't be erased."

 

Izuku traced his finger over the glowing word on the plate. "Class... Synergist."

 

He looked up at Hajime. "That's... that's the same class as you."

 

Hajime looked at the plate, then looked at Izuku’s white-streaked hair and crimson eye. For a moment, the hardened, ruthless monster of the Abyss faded, and he just looked like an older teenager looking at a younger reflection of himself.

 

"Yeah," Hajime said softly. "It is."

 

The Synergist class was supposed to be a joke. A weak, pathetic crafting class that was mocked by everyone. But Hajime had taken that class and forged himself into a god-slayer. Now, he had passed that torch to a kid who had been told his entire life he was just as worthless.

 

Izuku looked down at his hands again. He focused on that bubbling energy inside his chest—his mana. He willed it to the surface, picturing the red energy he had seen crackling around Hajime.

 

BZZZT!

 

A web of dense, crimson red lightning erupted over Izuku's arms, illuminating the dark beach with a menacing, bloody glow. The power hummed, vibrating with lethal intent.

 

Izuku Midoriya, the Quirkless Deku, smiled. It wasn't his usual, timid, nervous smile. It was a sharp, confident smirk. A smile that promised violence to anything that dared stand in his way.

 

"I have power," Izuku whispered, his voice trembling with sheer elation. "I can fight. I can save people."

 

"Don't get cocky, kid," Hajime interrupted, shattering the momentous mood. He reached out and violently flicked Izuku in the forehead.

 

"Ow!" Izuku yelped, rubbing his head, the red lightning dispersing instantly. Despite his new stats, Hajime's casual flick still hurt like hell.

 

"Having high stats and a fancy class doesn't make you a hero, and it sure as hell doesn't mean you know how to fight," Hajime scolded, crossing his arms. "Right now, you're just an idiot with a loaded gun and no idea how to aim it. If you went out there right now, you'd rip your own arms off trying to throw a punch, or you'd accidentally kill the person you're trying to save because you don't know how to control your strength."

 

Izuku sobered immediately, nodding furiously. "R-Right! You're right. I don't know any martial arts. I don't know how to use this 'Transmute' skill."

 

Hajime turned his gaze toward the towering mountains of garbage that surrounded them.

 

"Ten months," Hajime said thoughtfully.

 

"Huh?" Izuku tilted his head. "Ten months until what?"

 

"You said you wanted to go to that hero school. UA, right?" Hajime asked, recalling the frantic mumbling Izuku had done while they were walking to the beach. "When is the entrance exam?"

 

"In exactly ten months," Izuku confirmed, his eyes widening. "Wait, you're going to train me for the exam?"

 

"I said I would take you on as my apprentice," Hajime said, a sadistic glint returning to his crimson eye. "But you might wish you had just died from the monster meat. Because for the next ten months, I am going to put you through a training regimen so brutally abusive it would make a Labyrinth monster cry."

 

Hajime pointed his metallic finger at the mountains of trash.

 

"You're a Synergist now. Your primary skill is Transmutation—the ability to manipulate and reshape raw materials with your mana," Hajime explained. "By the time the entrance exam arrives, you are going to use Transmutation to completely clear this entire beach of garbage."

 

Izuku looked at the miles of towering metal scrap. It was an impossible task. It would take a fleet of heavy machinery years to clear this.

 

"But you aren't just going to turn it to dust," Hajime continued, his grin widening into something truly demonic. "You are going to use this scrap to forge your weapons. I am going to teach you how to build magi-tech firearms. I am going to teach you Gun-Fu. I am going to beat you half to death every single day to level up your stats and combat instincts."

 

Hajime stepped up to Izuku, clapping a heavy hand onto the boy's shoulder.

 

"From this moment on, you aren't 'Deku'," Hajime said, his voice dropping into a serious, commanding tone. "You are Izuku Midoriya. You are a Synergist. And you are my little brother. Monsters don't cower. Monsters don't cry about what's unfair. We take what we want, and we protect what's ours."

 

Izuku stared up at the white-haired teenager. The terror was completely gone. In its place was an overwhelming, unshakeable loyalty and a deep, profound respect. This man hadn't just saved his life; he had given him a new one.

 

"Yes, Nii-san," Izuku said, the honorific slipping out naturally, feeling right on his tongue.

 

Hajime blinked, slightly taken aback by the immediate use of "big brother." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away with a faint, embarrassed scoff. "Che. Don't get sappy on me, brat. Now get your bag. We're going to your house. I need to figure out how to explain to your mother why you suddenly look like an anime villain and why a heavily armed interdimensional traveler is going to be living in your guest room."

 

Izuku grabbed his scorched yellow backpack, slinging it over his newly muscled shoulder. He looked at the crater he had made, the twisted metal he had dented, and the red lightning he had summoned.

 

He took one last look at the ocean, visible through a small gap in the trash. The sun had fully set, plunging the world into darkness.

 

But Izuku Midoriya wasn't afraid of the dark anymore. He had become a monster who thrived in it.

 

"Coming, Hajime-niisan!" Izuku called out, running up the concrete steps with a speed that left a trail of dust in his wake, ready to begin his descent into the Abyss.

 

The walk to the Midoriya apartment complex was fraught with a palpable, buzzing tension.

 

Izuku Midoriya felt like he was floating. The sheer, terrifying power coursing through his newly reconstructed veins made every step feel lighter than air, yet impossibly grounded. He could feel the dense muscle fibers beneath his ruined middle school uniform expanding and contracting with lethal efficiency. But overriding the physical euphoria of his awakened Synergist class was a deep, gnawing anxiety.

 

How am I going to explain this to Mom?

 

He absentmindedly tugged at a jagged, stark white streak of hair that now fell over his forehead. He caught his reflection in the glass of a darkened storefront. The boy staring back at him was a stranger. The round, soft, timid face of the Quirkless Deku had been forcefully carved into sharper, harder angles. And his eyes—one vivid emerald, the other a piercing, demonic crimson red—glowed faintly in the dim streetlights. He looked like a villain. Or, more accurately, he looked like a monster.

 

Beside him, Hajime Nagumo walked with his hands buried in the pockets of his dark duster, his posture relaxed but radiating that same, ever-present aura of absolute command.

 

"Stop hyperventilating, kid," Hajime said casually, not even looking at Izuku. "I can hear your heart rate spiking from three feet away. Your new Vitality stat is amplifying your bodily functions, which includes your anxiety."

 

"I-I can't help it, Hajime-niisan," Izuku stammered, his newly deepened voice catching slightly. "My mom... she worries. A lot. If she sees me like this—covered in bruises, my uniform torn, my hair white, my eye red—she's going to have a heart attack. And then there's you! You're heavily armed, you have a metal arm, and you radiate killing intent!"

 

Hajime let out a sharp, amused breath. "I'll handle your mother. I’ve dealt with hysterical princesses, psychotic apostles, and immortal vampires. A concerned mother from a peaceful dimension is barely a blip on the radar."

 

They arrived at the door of apartment 404. Izuku hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He looked up at Hajime, seeking reassurance. Hajime merely offered a sharp nod.

 

Izuku opened the door. "M-Mom? I'm home..."

 

"Izuku?!"

 

The frantic, tear-filled voice of Inko Midoriya preceded the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. The plump, green-haired woman rounded the corner from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Izuku, where have you been?! I saw the news about the villain attack at Tatooine Station and I couldn't reach your phone, and—!"

 

Inko froze.

 

The plate she had been levitating with her weak telekinetic Quirk slipped from her mental grasp and shattered against the floor.

 

She stared at her son. She took in the shredded, dirty uniform, the jagged white streaks invading his green curls, and the terrifying, mismatched eyes. She saw the subtle but undeniable shift in his physical build. And then, her gaze shifted to the towering, white-haired teenager standing behind him, whose visible red eye and metallic, glowing left arm screamed danger.

 

"I-Izuku..." Inko gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "What... what happened to you? Who did this? Who is that?!"

 

Before Izuku could fumble through an explanation, Hajime stepped smoothly across the threshold.

 

Instantly, the suffocating, terrifying aura of the Abyss-walker vanished. It didn't just recede; it was forcefully masked. Hajime's posture softened, his sharp features relaxing into an expression of polite, composed professionalism. Utilizing his Language Comprehension skill to mimic the exact dialects and formal honorifics of the region, Hajime bowed deeply, a perfect ninety degrees.

 

"Good evening, Midoriya-san. Please accept my deepest apologies for the late intrusion, and for the fright we have undoubtedly caused you," Hajime spoke, his voice smooth, respectful, and entirely devoid of its usual gravelly malice.

 

Inko blinked, utterly thrown off balance by the polite manners contrasting with the boy's dangerous appearance. "W-Who are you?"

 

"My name is Hajime Nagumo," Hajime introduced himself smoothly, straightening up. "I am an independent, unregistered Quirk Awakening Specialist. I was in the area during the villain attack today, and I happened to be present when your son experienced a traumatic, late-stage Quirk Mutation."

 

Izuku's jaw practically unhinged. Quirk Awakening Specialist? Late-stage mutation?! It was a brilliant, flawless lie that perfectly fit the biological rules of this society.

 

Inko gasped, grabbing Izuku's shoulders, her eyes frantically darting over his face. "A... A Quirk? Izuku... a Late-stage mutation? But the doctors said—"

 

"The doctors analyzed his base genetics when he was four, Mrs. Midoriya," Hajime interrupted gently, feeding into the pseudo-science he had gleaned from Izuku's panicked muttering earlier. "In extremely rare cases, acute physical or emotional trauma can force a dormant, deeply buried Quirk factor to violently awaken. When Izuku rushed in to save his classmate today, his body was pushed past its absolute psychological limit. His Quirk manifested forcefully to ensure his survival."

 

Inko touched Izuku's white-streaked hair, a sob escaping her throat. "But he looks so different... and he's covered in dirt..."

 

"A violent awakening alters the body's cellular structure," Hajime explained, his tone soothing but authoritative. "The white hair, the change in eye color, the sudden increase in muscle density—these are biological adaptations his body made to handle the sudden influx of his new power. It's a highly dangerous process. If I hadn't been there to stabilize his core energy, his body might have torn itself apart."

 

Inko let out a wail of terror and relief, throwing her arms around Izuku, burying her face in his chest. Izuku, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of maternal affection and the absolute absurdity of Hajime's lie, awkwardly wrapped his newly strengthened arms around her. "I'm okay, Mom. I promise. I'm okay."

 

Inko pulled back, wiping her tears, and looked at Hajime. The fear in her eyes was replaced by a profound, overwhelming gratitude. She bowed so low her head nearly touched her knees. "Nagumo-san... thank you. Thank you for saving my baby. I don't have much money, but I'll pay you whatever you need for your services!"

 

"That won't be necessary," Hajime held up his flesh hand. "However, Izuku's new Quirk—which we've designated as 'Synergist'—is incredibly volatile. He requires specialized, intense training to control it, or he remains a danger to himself. As a specialist, I would like to offer to take him on as my personal apprentice. But to monitor his condition properly, I would need to stay close by."

 

Inko stood up straight, wiping her eyes with a fierce, motherly determination. "We have a guest room! It's small, but it's yours. As long as you need it. Please, please help my son control his power. He's always wanted to be a hero."

 

Hajime looked at Izuku, offering a microscopic, victorious smirk. "It would be my honor, Mrs. Midoriya. I'll make sure he becomes the strongest."

 

 

 

Month 1: Breaking the Vessel

 

The lie bought them a sanctuary, but the sanctuary did not extend to Dagobah Beach.

 

At 4:00 AM the next morning, Izuku was violently awakened not by an alarm clock, but by a concentrated burst of red lightning shocking him out of his bed.

 

"Get up, brat. The Abyss doesn't sleep in."

 

Thirty minutes later, Izuku found himself standing in the center of the trash-filled beach. The ocean wind was freezing, but Hajime had forbidden him from wearing a jacket. Izuku wore only a pair of grey sweatpants and a tight black tank top, exposing the faint, jagged scars where his bones had broken and healed imperfectly the night before.

 

Hajime stood a few feet away, holding a rusted steel pipe.

 

"Your stats are high," Hajime began, pacing like a caged tiger. "But stats are just numbers. Right now, your brain hasn't synchronized with your body. You still think like a fragile, Quirkless kid. If you try to fight like this, your hesitation will get you killed. So, Phase One of your training is simple: I am going to beat the hesitation out of you."

 

Izuku swallowed hard, raising his fists awkwardly in front of his face. "H-Hand to hand combat?"

 

"Survival combat," Hajime corrected coldly. "I'm not going to hold back. Defend yourself, Synergist."

 

Hajime vanished.

 

Izuku's newly enhanced eyes barely registered the blur of motion. Before he could even twitch, the steel pipe slammed into his ribs with the force of a speeding truck.

 

CRACK.

 

Izuku felt two ribs shatter. The air was violently expelled from his lungs, and he was launched horizontally across the sand, crashing into a pile of washing machines. The metal dented around him as he coughed up a spatter of blood.

 

"Too slow!" Hajime roared, already closing the distance. "Your Agility stat is 130! You can see me! Move your damn feet!"

 

Izuku scrambled out of the wreckage, clutching his side. The pain was blinding, a sharp echo of the monster meat from yesterday. He saw Hajime swing the pipe toward his head. Izuku panicked, throwing his arms up to block.

 

The pipe struck his forearm. The metal pipe bent in half upon impact with Izuku's dense bones, but the sheer kinetic force dropped Izuku to his knees.

 

Hajime didn't stop. He dropped the bent pipe and delivered a brutal, spinning roundhouse kick directly into Izuku's chest, sending the boy tumbling through the sand.

 

For the next two hours, Dagobah Beach echoed with the sickening sounds of blunt force trauma and Izuku's pained cries. Hajime was relentless. He fought like a demon, utilizing brutal, efficient martial arts designed not to score points, but to incapacitate and kill.

 

By the time the sun began to peek over the horizon, Izuku was a broken, bloody mess. He was lying face-down in the sand, one eye swollen shut, his body screaming in agony. He couldn't breathe without a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest.

 

Tears leaked from his eyes, mixing with the sand and blood on his face. It hurts... it hurts so much. Why is he being so cruel?

 

Heavy boots crunched in the sand, stopping right next to Izuku's head.

 

Hajime looked down at him. There was no pity in his crimson eye. Only a cold, hard truth.

 

"Are you crying?" Hajime's voice was quiet, but it cut through the sound of the ocean waves.

 

Izuku sniffled, trying to push himself up, but his arms gave out. "I-I can't... I don't know how to fight..."

 

Hajime crouched down, grabbing Izuku by the hair and forcing the boy to look him in the eye.

 

"Did you think gaining power meant the pain stopped?" Hajime asked, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "Did you think you could just eat a piece of monster meat and magically become a hero? Out there, villains won't care that you don't know martial arts. They won't care that you're just a kid. If you cower, they will kill you. And then they'll kill the people you're trying to protect."

 

Hajime let go of Izuku's hair. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial of Ambrosia. He splashed a few drops onto Izuku's face.

 

Instantly, the divine magic washed over Izuku. The shattered ribs knitted back together. The swelling in his eye vanished. The torn muscles healed denser, thicker, stronger. The agonizing pain evaporated, replaced by a rush of vibrant, explosive energy.

 

Izuku gasped, pushing himself up to his hands and knees.

 

"I am your teacher," Hajime said, standing back up. "And I am your older brother. My job isn't to coddle you. My job is to ensure that when you face a real monster, you are the more terrifying one in the room. Monsters don't cower, Izuku. They bare their fangs."

 

Izuku stared at the sand. Hajime's words echoed in his mind, striking a chord deep within his soul. He thought of Bakugo suffocating in the sludge while the heroes stood by. He thought of the weakness he had harbored for fourteen years.

 

He didn't want to be weak anymore.

 

Izuku slowly stood up. He wiped the dried blood from his chin. He took a deep breath, forcing his rising panic down into a dark, cold box in his mind. He looked at Hajime. The emerald and crimson eyes locked onto the white-haired teenager with a sudden, startling intensity.

 

Izuku raised his fists. This time, his stance wasn't awkward. He mimicked the guard he had seen Hajime use—tight, pragmatic, shielding the vitals.

 

"Again, Nii-san," Izuku demanded, his voice devoid of a stutter.

 

Hajime's eye widened slightly. A feral, deeply satisfied grin stretched across his face.

 

"That's the spirit, little brother," Hajime chuckled darkly. "Don't die."

 

 

 

Month 3: The Domestic Monster

 

Despite the absolute hell that was morning and evening training, the dynamic between the two teenagers within the walls of the Midoriya apartment was jarringly different.

 

Hajime Nagumo, the ruthless Abyss-walker, was an unexpectedly spectacular houseguest.

 

"Nagumo-san! You didn't have to cook!" Inko gasped, walking into the kitchen after a long shift at the hospital.

 

The dining table was groaning under the weight of an absurdly massive feast. There were towering plates of karaage (fried chicken), massive bowls of stamina-rich tonkotsu ramen, thick cuts of grilled steak glazed in a dark, savory sauce, and platters of steamed vegetables.

 

Hajime stood at the stove, wearing a pink apron over his dark combat clothes, expertly flipping a massive omelet with his flesh hand while stirring a pot of soup with his mechanical one.

 

"It's no problem, Mrs. Midoriya," Hajime said, offering her a charming, polite smile that made Izuku (who was sitting at the table, wrapped in bandages) roll his mismatched eyes. "Izuku's Quirk burns an astronomical amount of calories. To facilitate muscle synthesis and mana recovery, he needs a hyper-caloric diet. Since I require the same, it's only logical that I handle the meal prep."

 

What Hajime didn't tell her was that he was utilizing his high-level Cooking skill, essentially transmuting standard Earth groceries into stamina-restoring, stat-boosting meals akin to the monster meat he cooked in the Labyrinth—just without the toxic side effects.

 

Inko sat down, tears of joy welling in her eyes again. "You are such a blessing to this family, Nagumo-san. Izuku is looking so healthy! And his confidence... he doesn't slouch anymore. He looks people in the eye. I don't know how you're training his Quirk, but thank you."

 

Hajime plated the massive omelet and set it in front of Izuku. "Eat. All of it. We're working on Mana Manipulation tonight, and if you pass out from depletion again, I'm throwing you in the ocean."

 

"Yes, Nii-san," Izuku replied, practically inhaling the food. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

 

As they ate, the atmosphere was incredibly warm. Hajime, who had been deprived of his own family for so long in Tortus, found a strange, settling comfort in the mundane domesticity of the Midoriya household. He enjoyed Inko's fussing. He found himself genuinely caring about Izuku's well-being.

 

"How are your grades, kid?" Hajime asked gruffly, tearing into a piece of steak.

 

"Top of my class," Izuku answered, swallowing a mouthful of rice. "My new Intelligence and Magic stats... they changed how my brain processes information. I don't just memorize things anymore. I comprehend them instantly. I finished the middle school curriculum a month ago."

 

"Good," Hajime nodded approvingly. "Brawn without brains is how you get killed by a trap. Keep reading. Read about chemistry, physics, and metallurgy. As a Synergist, your ability to Transmute is limited only by your understanding of atomic structures and molecular bonds. If you don't know how a metal is composed, you can't reshape it."

 

Hajime reached across the table and ruffled Izuku's white-streaked hair. "You're doing good, kid. You took those hits today better than last week. Your Vitality is creeping up to 200."

 

Izuku beamed, a genuine, happy smile breaking through his hardened exterior. The praise from Hajime meant more to him than anything in the world. Hajime was the older brother Izuku never had—someone who protected him, guided him, and, most importantly, believed in his absolute potential.

 

"Hey, Nii-san?" Izuku asked softly. "In your world... did you have people waiting for you? A family?"

 

Hajime paused, his fork hovering in the air. His crimson eye softened, gazing into a distance that spanned across dimensions.

 

"Yeah," Hajime murmured, a rare, incredibly tender smile touching his lips. "I have a wife. Yue. A vampire princess who saved me from the dark just as much as I saved her. I have a daughter, Myu. And... a few other incredibly stubborn women who refuse to leave my side."

 

Izuku's eyes widened. "You're married?! And a dad?! But you look like you're only eighteen!"

 

"Time flows differently, and circumstances force you to grow up fast," Hajime chuckled, the memory of his family easing the perpetual tension in his shoulders. "I was trying to get back to them when my spatial artifact malfunctioned and dumped me in your world. I'll get back to them eventually. But until I fix my key, I've got a responsibility here."

 

Hajime looked at Izuku. "I'm going to make sure you can stand on your own two feet before I leave."

 

A pang of sadness hit Izuku's chest at the reminder that Hajime would eventually leave, but he pushed it down. He would make the most of the time he had. He would become a hero Hajime could be proud of.

 

 

 

Month 6: Magic, Movement, and the Red Lightning

 

"Transmutation is not just melting metal," Hajime's voice barked over the crashing waves. "It's dominating the material with your mana. Envision the shape, command the atomic structure, and force it to obey!"

 

Izuku stood before a massive, rusted engine block he had hauled out of the trash. He extended his hands. He took a deep breath, visualizing the red energy flowing from his core, down his arms, and out through his palms.

 

A glowing, complex, geometric magic circle—brilliant crimson red—flared to life on the surface of the rusted metal.

 

Transmute!

 

The engine block glowed white-hot, though it didn't emit heat. The rusted iron and steel liquified, swirling in the air like water defying gravity. Izuku gritted his teeth, his mismatched eyes narrowing in intense concentration. He pictured the chemical makeup of steel. He pictured a shape. A simple, flawless sphere.

 

The liquid metal violently compressed. The rust and impurities were expelled as dust. The metal cooled instantly, dropping to the sand with a heavy thud.

 

It was a perfect, flawlessly smooth sphere of dense steel.

 

Izuku gasped, dropping to his knees, sweat pouring down his face. Using magic was exhausting. It felt like running a marathon with his brain.

 

"Better," Hajime critiqued, walking over and kicking the heavy steel ball. "Your casting speed is improving. But combat Transmutation requires you to do that in a fraction of a second while dodging attacks. We'll keep working on it."

 

Hajime stepped back, crossing his arms. "Now. Let's move on to your physical skills. You have the Twin-Tailed Wolf's mana inside you. That gives you an innate affinity for Lightning Magic. Specifically, Lightning Field."

 

"Like what you use?" Izuku asked, wiping his brow.

 

"Mine is more advanced, but the principle is the same," Hajime explained. "Don't try to shoot the lightning outward like a laser beam. That's inefficient and wastes mana. Channel the lightning inward. Coat your muscle fibers, your nervous system, and your bones in the electrical current. Force your synapses to fire at the speed of lightning. It will exponentially multiply your Agility and Strength stats for short bursts."

 

Izuku stood up. He focused inward. He found the sparking, volatile reservoir of monster mana in his chest. Instead of pushing it out his hands, he willed it into his blood.

 

BZZZ-CRACK!

 

Izuku screamed as a violent shock coursed through his body. Deep crimson lightning erupted from his skin, dancing wildly across his white-streaked hair and sparking off his boots. The pain was intense, like pins and needles dialed up to eleven, but the surge of power was intoxicating.

 

He felt weightless. He looked at Hajime. The white-haired teenager seemed to be moving in slow motion.

 

"Now," Hajime ordered, his voice sounding slightly distorted to Izuku's hyper-accelerated senses. "Run."

 

Izuku pushed off his back foot.

 

BOOM!

 

The sand beneath him exploded, leaving a crater. Izuku didn't just run; he vanished. He cleared fifty yards in less than a second, moving so fast the wind tore at his clothes. He tried to stop, but his momentum was too great. He tumbled violently, crashing through a pile of rusted bicycles in a chaotic mess of limbs and red lightning.

 

"Ow, ow, ow..." Izuku groaned, untangling himself from a bicycle frame.

 

"Control, you idiot!" Hajime yelled from down the beach. "Power is useless without control! Now get up here!"

 

Hajime used Riftwalk to instantly appear at the top of a towering, fifty-foot-tall mountain of crushed cars and refrigerators.

 

Izuku used his newly enhanced speed to scale the garbage pile, leaping from car to car until he reached the top, standing beside his mentor.

 

"Why are we up here?" Izuku asked, looking down at the dizzying drop to the sand below.

 

"To learn Air Walk," Hajime stated flatly.

 

"Air Walk?"

 

"It's a spatial compression skill," Hajime explained, tapping his boot against a car hood. "You use your mana to compress the air molecules directly beneath the soles of your feet. You create an invisible, solid platform of air for a fraction of a second. It allows you to step off the air itself, giving you mid-air mobility and double-jumps. It's essential for a Synergist to control the high ground."

 

Izuku nodded, analyzing the concept. "Compressing air molecules using mana... that requires precise, localized spatial awareness."

 

"Exactly," Hajime said.

 

Before Izuku could blink, Hajime planted his boot squarely into Izuku's chest and kicked him off the fifty-foot precipice.

 

"WAAAHHHHH!" Izuku screamed, plummeting toward the earth, his arms flailing.

 

"Compress the mana under your feet, or break your legs!" Hajime yelled down at him, leaning over the edge of the scrap pile, looking utterly bored.

 

Izuku panicked. He tried to focus his mana to his feet, but his terror disrupted his concentration. The ground rushed up to meet him.

 

CRUNCH.

 

Izuku hit the sand feet first. The sickening sound of his tibias and fibulas snapping echoed across the beach. He collapsed, screaming in agony, clutching his ruined legs.

 

Hajime dropped down, using Air Walk to gracefully descend like a feather. He walked over to the writhing boy, pulled out the Ambrosia, and poured it over Izuku's legs.

 

The bones snapped back into place. The pain vanished.

 

"Get up," Hajime commanded coldly. "Climb back up. We do this until you fly or you run out of mana."

 

Izuku laid in the sand for a moment, his chest heaving. The old Izuku would have quit. The old Izuku would have cried and begged to go home.

 

The new Izuku gritted his teeth, his mismatched eyes flashing with feral determination. He stood up, red lightning crackling around his fists. He didn't say a word. He just turned around, scaled the mountain of trash, and stood at the edge again.

 

"Push me again," Izuku growled.

 

Hajime smirked. "Gladly."

 

They did it thirty times. Thirty times Izuku fell. Thirty times his bones broke, his organs bruised, and his mind fractured. And thirty times, Ambrosia healed him, mutating his body to become denser, more resilient, and more attuned to the magic.

 

On the thirty-first fall, twenty feet from the ground, Izuku's eyes flared crimson. He swung his right leg down violently, channeling a concentrated burst of red mana to the sole of his boot.

 

BANG.

 

A visible ring of compressed air exploded beneath his foot. Izuku's downward momentum halted instantly. He stood there, hovering in the air, his foot resting on an invisible platform.

 

He looked up at Hajime, a triumphant, savage grin on his face.

 

Hajime returned the smile, crossing his arms. "Not bad, little brother. Now do it with both feet and run back up here."

 

 

 

Month 9: The Way of the Gun

 

The beach was almost entirely clear.

 

Where mountains of trash had once blocked the ocean view, there was now only pristine white sand. Izuku had spent months breaking down the raw materials, transmuting the iron, steel, and copper into neat, dense ingots that Hajime stored in his magical inventory ring.

 

Izuku stood near the shoreline, shirtless.

 

The physical transformation was absolute. The frail, scrawny fourteen-year-old was gone. Izuku's physique was now a masterclass in functional, predatory lethality. His muscles were densely packed, striated, and defined, holding the tensile strength of steel cables. Faint, jagged scars—remnants of the Ambrosia healing massive traumas slightly imperfectly—crisscrossed his torso and arms, giving him a rugged, battle-hardened appearance. His hair was a wild mane of green and stark white, framing his heterochromatic eyes.

 

Hajime stood opposite him, tossing a heavy, solid steel mock-revolver into Izuku's hands.

 

"You have the stats. You have the magic. You have the movement," Hajime lectured, drawing his own mock-revolver. "Now, I teach you how a Synergist fights. We don't throw fireballs. We don't rely on flashy, telegraphed super-moves. We kill with absolute, ruthless efficiency."

 

Hajime leveled his gun at Izuku. "Gun-Fu. The integration of high-speed martial arts with close-quarters firearm combat. A gun is a ranged weapon, but in the hands of a Synergist, it becomes an extension of your fists. You use your body to manipulate the opponent's guard, and you use the gun to exploit the blind spots."

 

Hajime vanished, using Riftwalk.

 

He appeared directly in front of Izuku, sweeping a leg out to trip him. Izuku, his instincts now honed to a razor's edge, jumped over the sweep, activating Lightning Field to boost his speed. He brought his steel gun down to strike Hajime in the head.

 

Hajime smoothly deflected Izuku's arm with his metal prosthetic, simultaneously pressing the barrel of his mock-gun directly into the center of Izuku's chest.

 

"Bang. You're dead," Hajime said calmly.

 

Izuku grunted, stepping back.

 

"You're treating the gun like a club," Hajime scolded, tapping his own temple. "Geometry, Izuku. It's all about angles. If you lock their arm, you have a clear shot at the ribs. If they duck a strike, you point the barrel where their head is going to be, not where it is. Move fluidly. Don't think about the gun as a separate object. It is your finger. Point and shoot."

 

For weeks, they drilled the martial art.

 

It was a mesmerizing, terrifying dance to behold. Izuku learned to parry strikes with the barrel of his weapon, to use the recoil of a shot to spin his body into a devastating roundhouse kick, and to weave through incoming attacks while maintaining perfect, lethal aim.

 

Slowly but surely, Izuku stopped mimicking Hajime and began to make the style his own. Where Hajime's Gun-Fu was brutal, overwhelmingly aggressive, and entirely lethal, Izuku integrated his innate agility and his desire to incapacitate rather than kill. Izuku's movements became acrobatic, using Air Walk to flip over Hajime, aiming for non-lethal joints and pressure points.

 

During one intense spar, Hajime lunged, aiming a devastating palm strike at Izuku's chest.

 

Izuku didn't retreat. He stepped into the attack. He used his left hand to parry Hajime's strike outward, exposing Hajime's flank. With lightning speed, Izuku spun on his heel, wrapping his right arm behind Hajime's back, locking the older boy's arms, and pressed the cold steel barrel of his mock-revolver directly against the base of Hajime's skull.

 

Izuku's breathing was heavy, red lightning sparking faintly off his skin. A confident, predatory smirk—a perfect mirror of Hajime's signature expression—graced his lips.

 

"Bang," Izuku whispered, his deepened voice vibrating with suppressed power. "You're dead, Nii-san."

 

Hajime stood frozen in the hold. For a moment, the beach was dead silent.

 

Then, Hajime threw his head back and laughed. It was a genuine, booming laugh of absolute pride.

 

He effortlessly broke Izuku's hold by flexing his monstrous strength, turning around to face his apprentice. He looked the boy up and down. The white streaks. The mismatched eyes. The confident posture. The sheer, suffocating aura of a monster that Izuku now unconsciously commanded.

 

"Ten months," Hajime said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You went from a crying, Quirkless weakling to a monster capable of putting a gun to my head."

 

Izuku lowered the practice weapon, his smile softening into genuine gratitude. "I had a good teacher."

 

"Damn right you did," Hajime scoffed, though his eye was warm. He reached out and aggressively ruffled Izuku's hair. "You're ready, Izuku."

 

Izuku's heart leapt. "Ready for the exam?"

 

"Ready to build your arsenal," Hajime corrected, a dangerous glint returning to his eye. He pointed toward the neat stacks of processed, transmuted metal ingots they had harvested from the beach. "The UA Entrance Exam is in three weeks. It's time for a Synergist to do what he does best. We're going to build your weapons."

 

Izuku looked at the raw materials. He felt the knowledge of molecular structures and mechanical engineering burning in his brain, unlocked by his class and stats. He felt the power thrumming in his veins.

 

He wasn't Deku anymore. He was Izuku Midoriya. He was Hajime Nagumo's little brother. And he was going to show the hero society what true power looked like.

 

"Let's get to work," Izuku said, his crimson and emerald eyes glowing in the twilight.