What If Deku Had Every Devil Fruit Power from One Piece

 

 

The world is not born equal. Izuku Midoriya learned this fundamental truth not because he lacked power, but because he was given entirely too much of it.

 

In the modern era, where eighty percent of the global population possessed an uncanny ability known as a "Quirk," society had long since categorized the supernatural into neat, understandable boxes. There were Emitter types, who could produce elements or forces. There were Transformation types, who could alter their physical forms. And there were Mutant types, whose very anatomy was permanently altered by their genetics. It was a clean, scientific system. It made the extraordinary mundane.

 

But Izuku Midoriya’s existence was about to shatter every scientific model in the medical books.

 

The manifestation began on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Four-year-old Izuku was sitting on the living room floor of his family’s apartment, his eyes glued to the glow of the television screen. On the monitor, a towering, muscular figure with a golden mane of hair laughed boisterously amidst the burning wreckage of a disaster zone. It was the legendary video of the hero All Might, carrying a dozen civilians to safety.

 

“He’s so cool!” Izuku squealed, bouncing in place. In his small right hand, he gripped a limited-edition All Might action figure. He swung his arm in an imitation of a heroic punch, but the plastic toy slipped from his sweaty grasp. It tumbled across the tatami mats, rolling to a stop under the heavy mahogany coffee table, just out of reach.

 

Izuku sighed, pouting slightly. He scrambled onto his knees and leaned forward, stretching his chubby arm toward the dark space beneath the table. Just a little further, he thought, his brow furrowing in deep concentration. I just need to reach…

 

He felt a strange, tingling sensation at the base of his shoulder blade. It wasn’t painful, but it felt as though the tension in his muscles suddenly ceased to exist.

 

And then, his arm stretched.

 

It did not merely extend a few inches. The flesh, bone, and sinew of his right arm elongated with the snapping elasticity of a rubber band. His hand shot forward across the room, clearing the three-foot distance instantly. His fingers smacked against the far wall with a loud thwack, successfully bypassing the toy entirely.

 

Izuku blinked. He looked down at his shoulder, then followed the impossible length of his arm all the way across the living room. It was pale, thin, and currently stretched taut like a fleshy bungee cord.

 

In the kitchen, Inko Midoriya was washing a plate. Hearing the smack, she turned around. “Izuku, did you drop something—?”

 

The plate slipped from her hands, shattering on the linoleum floor.

 

“Mom!” Izuku shrieked, suddenly terrified of his own anatomy. The moment his concentration broke and panic set in, the elastic tension in his arm snapped back. The limb recoiled with terrifying velocity, whipping back into its normal shape and sending Izuku tumbling backward into the couch. He checked his arm frantically. It was completely normal. No torn muscles, no dislocated joints. Just normal skin.

 

“Izuku!” Inko screamed, rushing over and dropping to her knees. She grabbed his arm, inspecting it with wide, frantic tears in her eyes. “Your arm! It… it stretched! It stretched across the room!”

 

Izuku looked up at her, tears welling in his own massive green eyes, before a wobbly smile broke across his face. “Mom… I got my Quirk. I’m a rubber man!”

 

For exactly twelve hours, Izuku Midoriya believed his Quirk was elasticity. He went to sleep dreaming of stretching across chasms to save falling citizens, just like All Might.

 

But the universe, it seemed, had a far more chaotic sense of humor.

 

The next morning, Izuku leaped out of bed, eager to show his mother his rubber punch again. He dashed down the hallway, wearing only his pajamas, but his foot caught on the edge of the carpet. He pitched forward, bracing his hands to catch his fall.

 

He expected to bounce. He expected his arms to stretch.

 

Instead, the moment his hands struck the hardwood floor, they disintegrated.

 

Izuku let out a choked gasp as his hands, wrists, and forearms simply crumbled into a pile of dry, golden sand. He didn't hit the floor with a thud; his upper body collapsed into a granular heap. The hardwood floor was suddenly covered in coarse, gritty sand. He couldn't feel his fingers. He couldn't feel his elbows. He was simply… dust.

 

Inko, walking out of her bedroom, witnessed her son’s upper half dissolving into a miniature desert. She let out a piercing shriek and fainted dead away.

 

The sound of his mother hitting the floor sent a shockwave of terror through Izuku's mind. No! I want to be whole! I want to be me!

 

As quickly as it had fallen apart, the sand swirled, caught in an invisible, localized vortex. The grains pulled themselves back together, rapidly shifting and recoloring until flesh, blood, and bone reformed. Izuku gasped, pulling his solid, completely intact hands to his chest, hyperventilating.

 

He wasn't a rubber man. He was a sand man. Or maybe he was both. Or maybe he was a monster.

 

 

 

Dr. Kyudai Garaki stroked his bushy, walrus-like mustache, his goggles reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the clinic’s examination room. On the lightboard behind him, an x-ray of Izuku’s foot was displayed, clearly showing the absence of the extra joint in the pinky toe—the universal hallmark of a Quirk possessor.

 

But that was where the normalcy ended.

 

Inko sat rigidly in the guest chair, her hands wringing a tissue into a shredded clump. Izuku sat on the examination table, swinging his short legs, looking nervously between the doctor and his mother.

 

“Fascinating,” Dr. Garaki murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He tapped a thick file on his desk. “Mrs. Midoriya, I have been studying Quirk genetics for a very long time. I have seen hybrid Quirks, I have seen spontaneous mutations, and I have seen recessive traits skip three generations to manifest. But your son… your son is a living anomaly.”

 

“Is he sick, Doctor?” Inko asked, her voice trembling. “First he stretched like rubber. Then he turned into sand. Then, in the waiting room just an hour ago, he sneezed and a literal bolt of lightning shot out of his nose and fried your water cooler!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Izuku squeaked, looking down at his lap.

 

“Don’t apologize, my boy, I assure you, the data is worth far more than a cheap appliance,” Garaki said, leaning forward. His eyes gleamed with an almost predatory curiosity beneath his tinted lenses. “Your Quirk is telekinesis, correct, Mrs. Midoriya? And your husband breathes a minor amount of fire.”

 

“Yes. We assumed Izuku would get one or the other, or a combination.”

 

“Instead, he has hit a genetic lottery so vast it defies standard categorization,” Garaki explained, pulling out a chart filled with spiking, erratic graphs. “I drew his blood. While observing it under a microscope, the cellular structure was entirely unstable. It shifted rapidly. For ten minutes, the cells exhibited the traits of a Mutant type. Then, they completely restructured into an Emitter type. Then, a Transformation type. It is as if his Quirk Factor is a blank slate, constantly overwriting itself with completely random, incredibly powerful abilities.”

 

“Random?” Inko gasped. “You mean he doesn't just have three powers?”

 

“I believe he has infinite powers,” Garaki said bluntly. “Or, at the very least, an incredibly vast compendium of them. The abilities he has demonstrated—stretching, transforming into an element, producing electricity—these are isolated, highly complex Quirk profiles. But his body accesses them like a child flipping channels on a television set. He possesses a constantly shifting orchard of abilities. I’ve tentatively dubbed his Quirk ‘Devil’s Orchard.’”

 

Izuku’s eyes widened. Devil’s Orchard. It sounded scary. Heroes didn't have powers named after devils.

 

“But there is a catch,” Garaki continued, his tone growing serious. “Power like this requires an astronomical amount of biological energy. And I noticed something peculiar in his blood tests regarding his cellular hydration and saline reactions. I need to run one final test to ensure his safety. Follow me.”

 

Garaki led the bewildered mother and child down a sterile hallway to the physical therapy wing. He opened the door to a room containing a large, heated hydrotherapy pool used for aquatic rehabilitation. The water was only about three feet deep, warm and crystal clear.

 

“Izuku,” Garaki said, pointing to the pool. “I want you to wade into the water. Go up to your waist.”

 

Izuku nodded. He stripped off his shirt, leaving him in his shorts, and walked down the shallow steps into the pool. The water felt nice against his skin. He waded out toward the center.

 

“Everything seems normal, Doctor,” Inko said, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

“Wait for it,” Garaki muttered, watching intently. “Izuku, try to activate one of your powers. Try to stretch your arm.”

 

Izuku nodded. He focused his mind, remembering the feeling of the rubber. He raised his arm to throw a punch.

 

The moment the Quirk Factor sparked in his brain, the water reacted.

 

It was instantaneous and utterly horrifying. Izuku felt as though a massive, invisible weight had slammed into his shoulders. The energy in his muscles evaporated into nothingness. It wasn't just fatigue; it was total, absolute paralysis. His legs buckled instantly.

 

“Ah—” Izuku managed a weak gasp before his body collapsed beneath the surface of the water.

 

He didn't thrash. He didn't swim. He dropped to the bottom of the three-foot pool like an anvil forged of solid lead. He lay on the tiled floor of the pool, staring up through the rippling surface, his lungs burning. He couldn't move a single finger. The water felt incredibly heavy, a suffocating blanket pressing down on his very soul.

 

“Izuku!” Inko screamed, diving into the water without hesitation. She grabbed her son by the arms and hauled his limp body to the surface, dragging him up the steps.

 

Izuku coughed up a lungful of water, shivering violently as he lay on the tiles, gasping for air. The moment his body left the standing water, the paralysis began to fade, though he felt terribly weak, as if he had just run a marathon.

 

Garaki wrote furiously on his clipboard, his expression grave.

 

“Doctor! What did you do to him?!” Inko demanded, holding her sobbing son.

 

“I didn't do anything, Mrs. Midoriya. The Quirk did,” Garaki explained softly. “Every power has a drawback. Fire users overheat. Gravity users get nauseous. Your son’s body is a vessel for unparalleled, god-like abilities. But the toll it takes on his biology is extreme. His Quirk Factor is in a constant state of hyper-mutation. Standing water—specifically, being submerged in liquid above the knee—acts as a total short-circuit to his nervous system. The hydrostatic pressure violently suppresses his Quirk, taking all of his physical stamina with it.”

 

Garaki looked down at the shivering boy.

 

“He has the power to do almost anything,” the doctor murmured. “But the sea will always reject him. If he falls into deep water, he will sink like a stone, and he will drown. It is an absolute, unavoidable curse.”

 

 

 

Growing up with a curse disguised as a miracle was an isolating experience.

 

For the first few years, Izuku couldn't control his powers at all. He became a hazard in kindergarten. If he got too excited, he might accidentally secrete a waxy substance that glued his toys to the desk (Doru Doru). If he got scared by a loud noise, his body might spontaneously sprout extra arms and eyes (Hana Hana), sending his classmates screaming in terror.

 

But no one was more enraged by Izuku’s existence than Katsuki Bakugo.

 

Katsuki was a prodigy. He had manifested his Explosion Quirk early. It was powerful, flashy, and perfectly suited for hero work. Katsuki had total control over it. He was the undisputed king of the playground, the alpha of their small social circle.

 

Then came Izuku.

 

One afternoon, when they were six years old, Katsuki was showing off his explosions, blowing a soccer ball into the air. The other kids cheered.

 

“Watch this!” Katsuki yelled, aiming his palms at the falling ball to blast it again.

 

But Izuku, wanting to play, ran forward. “I’ll catch it, Kacchan!”

 

Izuku jumped, reaching for the ball. In his excitement, his Devil’s Orchard spun its roulette wheel. As Izuku’s hand touched the ball, a weird, translucent bubble of energy encased his palm. It was the Nikyu Nikyu power—the Paw fruit.

 

Instead of catching the ball, Izuku’s hand repelled it with the force of a cannon. The soccer ball vanished in a blur of motion, creating a sonic boom that shattered the playground's sandbox, before rocketing into the sky and disappearing into the clouds.

 

Silence descended over the playground.

 

Katsuki stared at the empty sky, then looked down at his own smoking palms, and finally at Izuku, who was looking at his hand in terrified awe.

 

“What the hell was that, Deku?!” Katsuki barked, storming forward. Sparks popped in his hands. “You trying to show me up?!”

 

“N-No! Kacchan, I didn't mean to!” Izuku cried, backing away.

 

Katsuki swung an explosive right hook at Izuku’s face. Instinct took over. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, raising his arms. He didn't want to get hurt. He needed a shield.

 

The Orchard answered. Izuku crossed his fingers.

 

Clang!

 

Katsuki’s explosion detonated, but not against Izuku’s skin. A shimmering, unbreakable pane of glass-like energy had materialized in the air between them (Bari Bari). Katsuki’s blast reflected backward, sending the blond boy sprawling into the dirt, his pride wounded and his uniform singed.

 

Katsuki looked up, his crimson eyes burning with a rage that would fester for the next decade. Deku—the useless, stuttering, crying Deku—had a Quirk that made no sense. It was a Quirk that didn't just rival his own; it mocked it. It had no rules.

 

From that day on, Bakugo made it his mission to put Izuku in his place. He bullied him mercilessly, labeling him a freak. "You can't even control your own body, Deku!" Katsuki would sneer. "A hero has to be reliable! You're a walking disaster! If you try to save someone, you'll probably end up turning them into a soap bubble!"

 

And the tragic truth was, Izuku believed him.

 

Because Katsuki was right.

 

By the time Izuku reached his third year of middle school at Aldera Junior High, he had suffered immensely under the weight of his own genetics. He learned that he could suppress the powers if he kept his emotions entirely flat, avoiding stress and excitement. He became meek, quiet, and excessively analytical.

 

He channeled his obsession with heroes and his own terrifying biology into his notebooks. He titled his current volume: Hero Analysis for the Future, No. 13 - The Devil’s Orchard Breakdown.

 

Sitting in the back of the classroom, Izuku stared at his own intricate handwriting. Over the years, he had managed to categorize the chaotic roulette of his powers into three distinct classifications, based on the sensations they produced before activation. He named them after Dr. Garaki’s original diagnosis. He called the powers "Fruits."

 

He tapped his pencil against the paper.

 

Class 1: Paramecia (Emitter/Mutant). The most common, but the most erratic. These altered his body's structure or allowed him to generate strange substances. Rubber, springs, threads, vibrations, repulsions, barriers, poison. They were weird, often physically exhausting, and required immense creativity to use without collateral damage.

 

Class 2: Logia (Elemental). The most dangerous. When these activated, his physical body ceased to be flesh and blood. He became an element of nature. Fire, ice, light, magma, sand, smoke, lightning. Izuku actively suppressed these. The one time he had accidentally let the Magma power loose, he had melted his bedframe and nearly burned the apartment complex down. The heat was intoxicating, but it drained his stamina so fast it left him bedridden with migraines for days.

 

Class 3: Zoan (Transformation). The rarest, and the ones that terrified him the deepest. These weren't just powers; they felt like entities. When he accessed a Zoan form, he could feel a primal instinct invading his thoughts. He had turned into a falcon once to save a cat from a tree, and for a terrifying ten minutes, he couldn't remember his own mother's face—he only knew the instinct to hunt. He had sworn never to use the Zoan powers unless his life was in imminent danger.

 

"So," the teacher's voice broke through Izuku's muttering. "As third-year students, it's time to start thinking seriously about your futures and what you want to do with your lives."

 

Izuku snapped his notebook shut, shrinking into his seat.

 

"I could pass out some career aptitude tests, but why bother?" The teacher chuckled, tossing a stack of papers into the air. "I know you all want to go to the hero track!"

 

The classroom erupted in cheers. Students activated minor Quirks—glowing hands, stretching necks, floating pencils.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful Quirks! But remember, no Quirk usage during school hours," the teacher warned.

 

"Sensei! Don't lump me in with this bunch of losers!"

 

Izuku flinched. The arrogant, booming voice belonged to Katsuki Bakugo, who was leaning back in his chair, his feet kicked up on his desk. "I'm not gonna be stuck at the bottom with the rest of these rejects."

 

The class erupted in angry protests, but Katsuki just laughed, sparking explosions in his palms. "Bring it on, extras! I aced all the mock tests. I'm the only one at this school who stands a chance at getting into U.A. High School. I'll surpass All Might and become the top hero!"

 

"Oh, right, Midoriya," the teacher said, glancing at a clipboard. "Didn't you want to go to U.A. too?"

 

The classroom fell dead silent. Then, it exploded into laughter.

 

"Deku?! You're kidding!"

"He'd probably accidentally turn himself into a jacket during the entrance exam!"

"Or blow up the whole testing center!"

 

Izuku shrank down, his face burning red. He stared intently at the grain of his wooden desk. Don't get upset. Keep your heart rate down. Don't let the Orchard spin.

 

Suddenly, a massive explosion shattered his desk.

 

Izuku cried out, tumbling backward out of his chair as the smoking wood splintered. He looked up in terror to see Katsuki looming over him, smoke rising from his right hand.

 

"Listen up, Deku," Katsuki snarled, his red eyes narrowed in pure hatred. "You're worse than Quirkless. You're a liability. You don't have a Quirk, you have a curse. If you try to take the U.A. exam, you'll end up killing someone because you can't control your own freakish body. Stay out of my way."

 

Izuku scrambled backward on the floor. His hands were shaking. Deep in his chest, he felt the Orchard turning. A dark, vibrating hum began to build in his right fist. It was a Paramecia power. He recognized the feeling. It was the Gura Gura power—the Tremor fruit. If he punched Katsuki right now, he wouldn't just break the boy's jaw; he would shatter the air itself and bring the entire school building crashing down on top of them.

 

The immense fear of his own destructive potential forced Izuku to clamp down on his emotions. He forced his hand to unclench. The white, glowing sphere of energy forming over his knuckles dissipated into nothingness.

 

"I-I'm not trying to compete with you, Kacchan," Izuku stammered, looking away. "I just... I want to save people. That's all I've ever wanted."

 

Katsuki scoffed, grabbing Izuku's notebook from the floor. He glanced at the title. "Hero Analysis? What a joke." He slammed his palms together, detonating an explosion that charred the notebook to a crisp, before casually tossing it out the open classroom window.

 

"If you want to be a hero so badly, maybe you should take a swan dive off the roof and pray you manifest a Quirk that actually works in your next life."

 

The words hit Izuku like a physical blow. He sat frozen on the floor as Katsuki and his lackeys walked out of the classroom.

 

 

 

The afternoon sun cast long, melancholic shadows across the pavement as Izuku walked home. He had retrieved his notebook from a koi pond below the school window. The pages were soggy and the ink was bleeding, but it was salvageable.

 

He felt hollow. The exhaustion of constantly policing his own thoughts and emotions was wearing him down to nothing.

 

"Maybe Kacchan is right," Izuku muttered to himself, kicking a pebble. "Every time I try to use my power to help, I mess it up. When I tried to stop that purse snatcher last year, I wanted to use the string power to tie him up, but I ended up turning the street into a bouncy castle and the guy just bounced away."

 

He sighed, entering a dark, concrete underpass beneath a major highway bridge.

 

"I can't control it. There's too many of them. How can I be a hero if I don't even know what I'm going to do when I throw a punch?"

 

Schlluck. Gurgle.

 

Izuku stopped. The sound echoed off the concrete walls—a wet, sloshing noise, like thick mud moving through pipes. He turned around.

 

Rising from a manhole cover a few yards behind him was a massive, shifting mountain of dark green, viscous sludge. Two massive, bulbous eyes and a jagged mouth full of yellow teeth formed in the center of the liquid mass.

 

"A medium-sized invisibility cloak," the Sludge Villain rasped, its voice echoing with a wet resonance. "You'll do perfectly, kid."

 

Izuku's breath hitched. A villain. Right here.

 

Before Izuku could even process the threat, the Sludge Villain lunged. The fluid mass shot forward with incredible speed, enveloping Izuku entirely. The sludge was heavy, foul-smelling, and suffocating. It forced its way up Izuku's nose and down his throat.

 

"Don't fight it, kid," the villain chuckled, the sound reverberating through the sludge surrounding Izuku's ears. "It'll only hurt for about 45 seconds. Then it'll all be over. I'm just hijacking your body. Thanks for the help. You're my hero."

 

Izuku thrashed blindly. He couldn't breathe. The sludge was filling his lungs. The pain was blinding.

 

I'm dying. I'm actually going to die here.

 

Panic, pure and unadulterated, shattered the mental dams Izuku had built over the last ten years. The meticulous control, the suppression, the fear of collateral damage—it all vanished, replaced by the primal, desperate need to survive.

 

POWER! Izuku's mind screamed. I NEED A POWER!

 

He reached inward, grasping blindly at the spinning roulette wheel of his Orchard. He needed something to blow the sludge away. He needed ice to freeze it, or wind to scatter it, or repulsion to blast it.

 

Give me something! Anything!

 

He felt the shift. It was a Logia. Class 2.

 

The change happened at a molecular level. Izuku's physical body—the flesh that was currently being invaded by the sludge—ceased to be organic matter. It converted entirely into thermal energy and plasma.

 

The Sludge Villain suddenly screamed. "What the—?! It's burning! IT'S BURNING!"

 

Izuku's eyes snapped open, glowing with a terrifying, incandescent orange light. The sludge inside his mouth vaporized instantly.

 

He didn't just generate fire. He became the fire.

 

The Mera Mera no Mi. The Flame-Flame Fruit.

 

A localized sun ignited inside the dark underpass. A blinding pillar of swirling, roaring crimson and orange flames erupted from Izuku's core, violently expanding outward. The intense heat instantly flash-boiled the Sludge Villain, turning his liquid body into a massive cloud of foul-smelling steam and dried, crusty soot. The villain shrieked as he was blasted apart, his constituent pieces splattering against the concrete walls and ceiling.

 

Izuku stood in the center of the inferno, his body completely composed of roaring fire. He raised his hands, watching in morbid fascination as the flames danced along where his fingers should be. It felt incredible. He felt weightless, untouchable, and devastatingly powerful.

 

But then, the stamina drain hit.

 

Using a Logia drained Izuku’s energy exponentially faster than a Paramecia. It felt as though his life force was being siphoned out of him to fuel the fire.

 

Izuku gasped, dropping to his knees. He forced the power off, slamming the mental door shut.

 

The flames instantly extinguished. Izuku's body reformed into flesh and blood. He collapsed onto the scorched concrete, coughing violently. The air was thick with smoke, ozone, and the smell of burnt sewage.

 

He lay there, shivering, his chest heaving as he tried to pull oxygen back into his abused lungs.

 

"Well," a booming, deep voice echoed through the tunnel, instantly dispelling the lingering smoke with the sheer pressure of its volume. "It seems I am late to the party!"

 

Izuku froze. He knew that voice. He had listened to it on a grainy internet video a thousand times. He slowly, painfully pushed himself up on his elbows and turned his head.

 

Standing at the entrance of the tunnel, silhouetted against the afternoon sun, was a mountain of muscle. He wore a white t-shirt and green cargo pants, but his presence was unmistakable. His golden hair stood up in two distinct tufts, and his wide, pearly-white smile cut through the gloom of the underpass.

 

"A-All Might?" Izuku whispered, his voice cracking.

 

All Might stepped into the tunnel, his blue eyes scanning the devastation. The concrete walls were melted and glowing cherry-red in places. The Sludge Villain was reduced to twitching, dried clumps scattered across a fifty-foot radius.

 

And in the center of it all was a scrawny, green-haired middle schooler.

 

All Might strode forward, pulling a pair of empty two-liter soda bottles from a plastic grocery bag he was carrying. With blinding speed, he swept up the dried remains of the Sludge Villain, stuffing them into the bottles and capping them tightly.

 

"I was pursuing this villain through the city sewers, but I lost track of him!" All Might boomed, turning to face Izuku. "I apologize for not being here to save you, young man! But it seems you didn't need my help at all! That is quite the spectacular Quirk you have there! A fire generation ability of extreme magnitude!"

 

Izuku looked down at his hands, then realized with a spike of horror that his middle school uniform had been completely incinerated by his own transformation. He was sitting on the concrete in only his flame-retardant All Might branded underwear, which had miraculously survived.

 

"I... I didn't mean to," Izuku stammered, scrambling backward and grabbing his charred, soggy notebook to cover his chest. "I couldn't control it. It just... happened."

 

All Might paused. The massive hero knelt down, his smile softening into a look of genuine concern. He noted the violent shivering of the boy, the pale complexion, and the clear signs of extreme Quirk exhaustion.

 

"You couldn't control it?" All Might asked, his voice dropping slightly in volume. "Young man, what exactly is your Quirk?"

 

Izuku looked up at the Symbol of Peace. The man he had idolized his entire life was standing right in front of him. Izuku had always dreamed of this moment. He had dreamed of asking All Might if a Quirkless boy could be a hero.

 

But Izuku wasn't Quirkless. He was the opposite.

 

"It's called... Devil's Orchard," Izuku said softly, a tear escaping his eye and cutting a clean path through the soot on his cheek. "I don't just have fire. I have... everything. Rubber, sand, ice, earthquakes, gravity, light. The doctor said I have an infinite number of powers rotating inside me."

 

All Might's eyebrows shot up behind his golden fringe. "Infinite? That is... incredible. With a power like that, you could be a magnificent hero!"

 

"No, I can't!" Izuku cried out, his voice cracking with years of repressed frustration and fear. "I can't control it! I never know what power is going to come out when I try to use it. Sometimes I try to lift something and I turn into a giant leopard! Sometimes I sneeze and blow up a wall! And every time I use the strong ones, it feels like my body is tearing itself apart. And..." Izuku swallowed hard. "And if I touch deep water... I paralyze. I sink like a stone. I can't even take a bath without fear of drowning."

 

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in his hands, dropping the charred notebook.

 

"Kacchan is right. I'm not a hero. I'm a walking disaster. I'm just a monster who's going to end up hurting someone because I have too much power and no way to hold it!"

 

Silence filled the underpass, save for the distant hum of traffic above.

 

Toshinori Yagi, the man known as All Might, looked at the trembling boy. Beneath the surface of his muscular, heroic facade, Toshinori hid his own terrible secret—a crippling wound that was slowly stealing his power. He had been looking for a successor, someone to inherit his Quirk, One For All. He had been looking for a strong, capable vessel.

 

But looking at Izuku Midoriya, Toshinori saw something entirely different. He didn't see a boy who needed power. He saw a boy who was drowning in it, crushed by the immense weight of a god-like potential he had never asked for.

 

Toshinori looked down and noticed the charred notebook on the ground. He picked it up carefully. Hero Analysis for the Future, No. 13 - The Devil’s Orchard Breakdown. He opened the soggy pages. Despite the water and fire damage, he could see incredibly detailed sketches, hypotheses, and categorized lists of powers, complete with stamina drain calculations and tactical limitations.

 

This boy wasn't a monster. He was a brilliant, terrified kid with the heart of a hero, desperately trying to understand a body that refused to obey him.

 

"Young man," All Might said gently.

 

Izuku sniffled, looking up through his fingers.

 

"What is your name?"

 

"I-Izuku Midoriya."

 

All Might stood to his full, towering height. The shadows of the tunnel seemed to retreat from his sheer presence. He reached out a massive, calloused hand toward Izuku.

 

"Izuku Midoriya. You are right to be afraid. Power without control is a danger to yourself and everyone around you."

 

Izuku flinched, the words confirming his deepest fears.

 

"But," All Might continued, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "A heart that seeks to protect others, a mind that analyzes its own flaws to prevent harm... that is the true essence of a Hero."

 

Izuku stared at the hand extended toward him.

 

"You do not need a new Quirk. You do not need to be someone else. You simply need a teacher," All Might declared, his signature smile returning, not as a symbol to the masses, but as a beacon for one lost boy. "I cannot teach you how to be fire, or rubber, or ice. But I can teach you how to build a vessel strong enough to hold them. I can teach you how to command your own spirit."

 

Izuku's breath caught in his throat.

 

"Izuku Midoriya. Will you let me train you?"

 

Tears cascaded down Izuku's soot-stained face. For ten years, he had been told his power was a freakish curse. He had been told to give up. He had been pushed to the fringes.

 

He reached out, his small, trembling hand grasping All Might's massive fingers.

 

"Yes," Izuku sobbed, holding on for dear life. "Yes, please!"

 

The journey to become the world's greatest hero had begun. But it would not be a journey of acquiring power. Izuku Midoriya already had the power of the gods, the elements, and the beasts.

 

His journey would be learning how to conquer the Devil inside himself.

 

 

The sea breeze carried the pungent, metallic scent of rust, rotting kelp, and discarded dreams. Dagobah Municipal Beach Park had once been a picturesque coastline, a place where families gathered to watch the sunset. Now, it was a sprawling, illegal dumping ground. Mountains of broken refrigerators, gutted cars, blown-out tires, and shattered electronics formed jagged, rusted cliffs against the horizon.

 

Standing at the edge of this mechanical wasteland was Izuku Midoriya, staring wide-eyed at the impossibly gaunt, skeletal man coughing up blood into a handkerchief beside him.

 

"You're... you're All Might?" Izuku squeaked, his voice cracking by a full octave. "The real All Might? But you were just... you were huge! And now you're... you're deflated!"

 

Toshinori Yagi wiped his mouth, offering the boy a tired, yet genuine smile. His oversized white t-shirt hung off his sharp collarbones like a tent. "I assure you, young Midoriya, I am the genuine article. A fake couldn't possibly pull off this charming, skeletal physique." He lifted his shirt slightly, revealing a horrifying, spiderwebbed mass of scarred purple tissue stretching across his entire left side.

 

Izuku gasped, taking a step back.

 

"An injury from a fight five years ago," Toshinori explained quietly, the booming bravado of his hero persona entirely absent. "Half my respiratory organs were destroyed. I lost my entire stomach. I can only do hero work for about three hours a day now. The rest of the time, I look like this."

 

Izuku’s brilliant mind raced, flipping through his encyclopedic knowledge of hero battles. "Five years ago? Was it the fight with Toxic Chainsaw?"

 

"You know your stuff, but no. That punk couldn't scratch me," Toshinori said, looking out at the ocean. "This fight was kept under wraps to protect the public. The Symbol of Peace cannot be seen as vulnerable. But I am showing you this, Izuku, because you showed me your vulnerability yesterday in the underpass. You entrusted me with the terrifying reality of your Quirk. It is only fair I show you the reality of mine."

 

Toshinori turned to face the boy, his sunken blue eyes piercing through the morning mist. "Your Quirk, this 'Devil’s Orchard,' is a compendium of god-like abilities. The doctor was right. The power output you demonstrated with that fire was enough to rival Endeavor’s ultimate moves. But your body is completely unequipped to handle the recoil, the stamina drain, and the biological stress of shifting your own genetics on the fly."

 

He gestured broadly to the towering mountains of trash covering the beach.

 

"This is your crucible, young Midoriya. For the next ten months, before the U.A. High School entrance exams, you are going to clean this entire beach. By yourself."

 

Izuku stared at the thousands of tons of metal and debris. "All of it? But... I want to learn how to control my powers! Shouldn't we be doing combat training? Or target practice?"

 

"Control comes from the vessel!" Toshinori barked gently. "A cannon made of glass will shatter the moment it fires a cannonball. Right now, your body is a glass cannon. When you become fire, your body burns massive amounts of calories and oxygen to sustain the plasma. When you turn into sand, your mind has to work in overdrive to keep your granular consciousness together. You don't need to learn how to punch harder, Izuku. You need to build a physical and mental fortress capable of housing the demons inside you without crumbling."

 

Izuku looked down at his own scrawny arms, then back up at the trash. He swallowed hard, the determination setting into his jaw. "Okay. Where do I start?"

 

"First," Toshinori said, pulling out a small notepad. "We establish the rules of your Orchard. Show me exactly what happens when you try to use two powers at once."

 

Izuku hesitated. "It... it hurts."

 

"I will stop you if it goes too far. But you must know your own absolute limits," Toshinori insisted.

 

Izuku nodded, taking a deep breath. He centered himself, reaching into the chaotic, swirling vortex of abilities in his mind. He found the familiar, blunt sensation of Class 1: Paramecia.

 

"Rubber," Izuku announced. He pulled on his right cheek, stretching the skin out two full feet like a wad of pink chewing gum, before letting it snap back against his teeth with a loud smack.

 

"Fascinating," Toshinori muttered. "Your cellular structure achieves hyper-elasticity without tearing. Now, while maintaining that elasticity, try to access another power. Something entirely different."

 

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. He kept the rubber active in his right arm, feeling the looseness of the joints. Then, he reached for Class 2: Logia. He looked for the freezing, absolute zero chill of the Hie Hie (Ice) fruit.

 

"Ice," Izuku grunted, pushing the power into his left arm.

 

The moment the frost began to crystallize on his left knuckles, a horrific pressure spiked behind Izuku’s eyes. It felt as though someone had driven a railroad spike into his skull. His right arm, which was rubbery, suddenly turned rigid and brittle, while the ice on his left arm began to melt into boiling steam. His Quirk Factor was panicking, unable to process two completely conflicting genetic blueprints at the same time.

 

Izuku screamed, falling to his knees. A thick stream of crimson blood poured from his nose, splattering onto the sand.

 

"Stop! Release it!" Toshinori shouted, dropping his notepad and rushing forward.

 

Izuku gasped, letting the mental connections snap. The ice vanished. The rubber solidified back into normal flesh. He pitched forward, coughing, his head throbbing with the worst migraine of his life.

 

"Rule number one," Toshinori said softly, handing Izuku a tissue for his bleeding nose. "You can only hold one major fruit active at a time. The human brain simply cannot compute elasticity and absolute zero temperatures simultaneously without risking a fatal aneurysm. You must learn to switch between them sequentially, never concurrently. One power turns off, the next turns on."

 

Izuku nodded weakly, pressing the tissue to his face. "Sequential. One at a time."

 

"Exactly. Now, get up, young man. That refrigerator isn't going to drag itself."

 

 

 

The next ten months were a masterclass in agony and perseverance.

 

Izuku's life became a grueling cycle of school, studying, and hauling multi-ton appliances across the deep sand of Dagobah Beach. He wasn't allowed to use his Quirk to move the trash. Toshinori strictly forbade using the Gravity fruit to float things, or the Tremor fruit to shatter them, or the Chop-Chop fruit to slice them.

 

"Pure, unadulterated muscle, Midoriya!" Toshinori would yell from the sidelines, often sitting on a lawn chair with an umbrella. "You are building the foundation! When your body is strong enough to pull a pickup truck through the sand, it will be strong enough to withstand the caloric drain of your elements!"

 

And slowly, surely, the glass cannon began to forge into steel.

 

Izuku's scrawny frame filled out. His shoulders broadened, his chest grew firm, and his arms became wrapped in lean, dense muscle. He ate six massive meals a day, his metabolism supercharged by the sheer physical exertion.

 

But the physical training was only half the battle. Toshinori also forced Izuku into what he called "Orchard Management."

 

While lifting engine blocks, Toshinori would randomly shout a scenario. "Midoriya! A villain is shooting bullets made of hardened water! What do you do?!"

 

"I can't use water or sink into it, it'll paralyze me!" Izuku would shout back, straining against the heavy metal. "I'd use the Hie Hie Ice fruit to freeze the water bullets mid-air, then switch to the Bari Bari Barrier fruit to block the ice shrapnel!"

 

"Too slow!" Toshinori corrected. "The switch takes half a second! You'd be hit by the shrapnel! Better answer: Use the Suna Suna Sand fruit to absorb the moisture of the water instantly upon impact!"

 

Izuku's mind sharpened alongside his body. He began to map out combinations, understanding the exact microscopic delay it took to deactivate one power and activate another. He learned that Paramecia fruits (Emitters/Mutants) drained the least amount of stamina. Logias (Elements) drained his stamina incredibly fast, risking rapid dehydration or hypothermia depending on the element.

 

And the Zoans—the animal transformations—he still refused to touch. The memory of the primal, beastly wills invading his mind was too terrifying. Toshinori agreed to leave them dormant for now; there was already more than enough versatility in the other two classes.

 

One evening, deep into autumn, the wind howling off the dark ocean, Izuku was attempting to pull a rusted-out bus out of the sand using a thick rope. He was exhausted. His hands were blistered and bleeding.

 

"I can't... it's stuck," Izuku panted, dropping to his knees. The dark water of the ocean lapped at the shore just thirty yards away. The rhythmic crashing of the waves always set Izuku on edge. It was the one thing on earth that could effortlessly kill him.

 

Toshinori walked up beside him. "The sea is vast, Midoriya. It is an unrelenting force. It rejects you because your biology defies the natural order of the world."

 

Izuku looked at the dark waves. "Sometimes I feel like I'm always going to be afraid of it. No matter how strong I get, a puddle of water could end my career."

 

"A hero is not someone without weaknesses, Izuku," Toshinori said gently, placing a massive, skeletal hand on the boy's shoulder. "A hero is someone who acknowledges their weaknesses, and fights anyway. You will learn to navigate the terrain. You will learn to conquer the battlefield so that your weakness never comes into play. Now, get up. The bus won't move itself."

 

On the morning of the U.A. Entrance Exam, Izuku Midoriya stood atop the sea wall, looking down at Dagobah Beach.

 

It was pristine.

 

Not a single scrap of metal, not a single tire, not a piece of trash remained. The golden sand stretched out flawlessly toward the sparkling ocean. The rising sun cast a warm, victorious glow over the restored landscape.

 

Izuku let out a breathless, roaring scream of triumph at the sky. He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists. He felt grounded. He felt whole. The violent, chaotic energy of the Devil's Orchard was still simmering beneath his skin, but for the first time in his life, he felt like he was holding the reins.

 

 

 

The towering, H-shaped gates of U.A. High School loomed over the courtyard like the entrance to Mount Olympus. Hundreds of prospective students flooded the paved walkways, chattering nervously.

 

Izuku adjusted the straps of his backpack, taking a deep breath of the crisp spring air. He was wearing his black middle school uniform, but it fit differently now, pulling taut across his chest and shoulders.

 

"Stupid Deku," a familiar, venomous voice growled from behind him.

 

Izuku turned around. Katsuki Bakugo stood there, glaring daggers at him. Katsuki hadn't seen Izuku shirtless; he didn't know about the ten months of hellish physical conditioning. To Katsuki, Izuku was still the fragile, stuttering mess from Aldera Junior High.

 

"Get out of my way before I set you on fire," Katsuki snarled, walking past him and aggressively bumping his shoulder.

 

Izuku didn't stumble. He barely swayed. The sheer density of his new musculature absorbed the impact effortlessly. Katsuki paused, looking back with a confused, irritated scowl, before clicking his tongue and marching toward the auditorium.

 

Izuku let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. I'm not the same kid anymore, Kacchan.

 

He took a step forward, his confidence swelling—until he completely missed the curb, tripped over his own feet, and pitched forward toward the concrete.

 

Oh no! I'm gonna eat pavement before the exam even starts! Izuku panicked, instinctively reaching for the Bane Bane (Spring) fruit to bounce off his face, when suddenly, gravity ceased to exist.

 

He floated mid-air, his arms flailing like a panicked turtle.

 

"Are you okay?" a bright, cheerful voice asked.

 

Izuku was gently rotated to see a girl with a short, brown bob and permanent blush on her cheeks. She pressed her fingertips together, and Izuku dropped the remaining two inches to the ground, catching his footing.

 

"It's my Quirk. Zero Gravity," the girl smiled brightly. "Sorry I used it without asking, but it would be bad luck to fall right before the test! I'm Ochaco Uraraka. Good luck today!"

 

Before Izuku could even form a coherent sentence, she waved and jogged off toward the building. Izuku stared after her, his face flushing crimson. I just talked to a girl! Well, she talked to me, but still!

 

The written portion of the exam was incredibly difficult, but Izuku’s obsessive analytical habits served him well. However, the real challenge awaited in the auditorium, where the Voice Hero: Present Mic explained the practical exam.

 

"Listeners! You'll be conducting ten-minute mock urban battles!" Present Mic shouted, striking a dramatic pose. "You've been assigned to specific testing areas! Inside, you'll find three types of faux villains! One-pointers, two-pointers, and three-pointers! Use your Quirks to rack up points!"

 

Izuku looked at his testing card. He was assigned to Battle Center B. He noticed Bakugo was in Center A. U.A. was smart enough to split up students from the same middle schools to prevent cooperation.

 

"Excuse me!" a tall, severe-looking boy with glasses stood up, his arm shooting rigidly into the air. "On the printout, there are four types of villains, not three! If this is a misprint, U.A., the top hero academy, should be ashamed! Furthermore!" The boy turned and pointed directly at Izuku. "You, with the messy hair! You've been muttering this entire time! It's distracting! If you're here to treat this like a game, leave!"

 

Izuku slapped his hands over his mouth, shrinking into his seat. I was muttering my stamina calculations out loud again...

 

"Alright, alright, Examinee 7111," Present Mic placated. "The fourth villain type is worth zero points! It's an arena trap! My advice? If you see it, run away! Now, get to your battle centers, listeners! Plus Ultra!"

 

 

 

Battle Center B was an expansive, hyper-realistic replica of a modern cityscape. Towering skyscrapers, paved streets, and intersections formed a massive labyrinth.

 

Izuku stood at the back of a large crowd of examinees in front of the towering metal gates. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs. This is it. No All Might to stop me. No ocean to paralyze me. Just me, the robots, and the Orchard.

 

He began his mental checklist. No Logias. Fire or lightning would melt the robots for sure, but the stamina drain might leave me exhausted before the ten minutes are up. I need physical mobility and pinpoint destruction. Paramecia class only. Keep the switches clean.

 

"START!" Present Mic's voice echoed over the PA system.

 

The crowd of examinees froze, waiting for a starting gun or a countdown. But Izuku didn't wait. He remembered Toshinori's words. There are no countdowns in real life.

 

Izuku sprinted forward, rocketing past the confused examinees.

 

"Hey! Wait! He's cheating!" someone yelled.

 

"There are no countdowns in real battles! Run, you listeners!" Present Mic roared.

 

Izuku hit the empty street of the mock city alone. Immediately, three green, single-wheeled robots rounded the corner. One-Pointers. Their optical sensors flashed red. "TARGET ACQUIRED."

 

Izuku didn't slow down. He focused on his legs, calling upon the Bane Bane no Mi—the Spring-Spring fruit.

 

He felt the anatomical shift. The bones, muscles, and skin of his calves violently coiled, transforming from human flesh into tightly wound, high-tension steel springs. The sound of metal compressing—ch-chunk, ch-chunk—echoed in the street.

 

Izuku slammed his feet into the asphalt. The sheer kinetic energy stored in the springs released with explosive force.

 

BOOM.

 

The pavement cratered beneath him. Izuku launched himself forward at a speed that blurred the world around him. He didn't just run; he ricocheted. He hit the side of a brick building, coiled his spring-legs against the wall, and bounced off at a sharp angle. He flew directly over the heads of the One-Pointers.

 

While mid-air, Izuku severed the connection to the Spring fruit. His legs returned to flesh. Instantly, he reached for his offensive tool.

 

The Ito Ito no Mi—the String-String fruit.

 

A tingling sensation flooded his fingertips. As he dropped down behind the three robots, Izuku flicked both his hands outward like a puppeteer.

 

From his fingertips, incredibly thin, practically invisible threads of razor-sharp wire shot out. They were stronger than steel and thinner than hair. Izuku crossed his arms in an X-motion and pulled.

 

The strings sliced through the air with a faint whistling sound. They passed clean through the thick armor plating of the three One-Pointers without encountering any resistance.

 

For a second, the robots stood perfectly still. Then, the upper halves of their mechanical bodies slowly slid off their chassis, cleanly decapitated by the strings. The machinery exploded into showers of sparks and smoke.

 

Izuku landed softly in a crouch, letting the strings dissipate back into his skin.

 

Three points.

 

He breathed in smoothly. No migraine. No nosebleed. The switch between Spring and String was seamless. The stamina drain was negligible. He felt fantastic.

 

"There he is! The kid who took off early!" an examinee shouted from down the street, leading a pack of others. They stopped, staring in awe at the three cleanly sliced robots.

 

"What kind of Quirk is that? He cut them without touching them!"

"I saw him bouncing off the walls earlier! Does he have a multi-Quirk?"

 

Izuku ignored them, taking off down an alleyway. He was in his element. He was a tactician with an unlimited arsenal.

 

Over the next eight minutes, Izuku tore through the faux city like a phantom.

 

He encountered a massive, scorpion-like Three-Pointer blocking a narrow alley. Izuku activated the Mochi Mochi fruit. His right arm expanded, transforming into a thick, ultra-sticky, hyper-dense mass of mochi dough. He slammed his mochi-fist into the robot, burying its sensors in the suffocating, adhesive substance, rendering it completely immobile and blind, before crushing its chassis with the sheer weight of the dough.

 

He ran into a pack of Two-Pointers in a wide plaza. He switched to the Bara Bara no Mi—the Chop-Chop fruit. When the robots fired rubber bullets at him, Izuku didn't dodge. Instead, he willed his body to split apart. His torso separated from his waist, floating vertically into the air. The bullets sailed harmlessly through the gap. He detached his right hand, sending it flying across the plaza while holding a heavy metal pipe, bludgeoning the robots' sensory arrays from a distance.

 

In the observation room hidden high above the arenas, the U.A. teachers watched the monitors in silence.

 

"We have quite the crop this year," Midnight purred, licking her lips.

 

"Indeed," Snipe agreed, adjusting his mask. "But who's the kid in Center B? Examinee 7111. He's racking up villain points, but his Quirk makes no sense. The registry says 'Devil's Orchard' - unclassified mutant/emitter. He's used... what, five completely different applications so far?"

 

"Six," a tired voice drawled from the corner. Shota Aizawa, the Erasure Hero, unzipped his yellow sleeping bag just enough to peer at the screen. His dark eyes tracked Izuku as the boy reassembled his body and sprang away. "He showed hyper-mobility, razor projectiles, adhesive generation, bodily separation, kinetic reflection, and concussive force. It's not a multi-Quirk. It's a spontaneous mutation matrix. He alters his own rules of reality on command."

 

"Is that even safe?" Present Mic asked, adjusting his headphones. "Look at him. He's sweating profusely. The stamina drain must be monstrous."

 

Sitting in the center of the dark room, a small, white animal in a suit—Principal Nezu—sipped his tea. "Power is meaningless without the wisdom to apply it. Let us see how they respond... to a little despair."

 

Nezu pressed a large, red button on his control console.

 

Back in Battle Center B, Izuku wiped the sweat from his forehead. He had forty-five points. A solid score. His muscles were aching, and the familiar, dull throb of a Quirk-induced headache was building at his temples. He needed to pace himself. Just two minutes left.

 

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet violently shuddered.

 

It wasn't a minor tremor. The pavement cracked beneath his boots. The glass windows of the surrounding faux skyscrapers shattered, raining down on the streets below.

 

A massive shadow fell over the plaza.

 

Izuku looked up. Bursting from the center of the cityscape, tearing through buildings as if they were made of cardboard, was a colossal machine. It was easily the size of a ten-story building. Its singular, massive red eye glowed with mechanical malice. Its treads crushed entire streets under their weight.

 

The Zero-Pointer.

 

"It's huge!" an examinee screamed.

"Run away! Mic was right, it's a trap!"

 

The other students turned and fled in a panic, their footsteps echoing over the roar of the massive machine.

 

Izuku took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to run. The Zero-Pointer raised a massive, steel-plated fist and slammed it into a nearby building, instantly reducing the structure to a mountain of rubble and dust. The shockwave knocked Izuku off his feet.

 

He scrambled back up, coughing in the dust cloud. I have enough points. There's no reason to fight that thing. I just need to get clear!

 

"Ow..."

 

The weak, pained voice cut through the chaos.

 

Izuku froze. He turned his head toward the rubble of the destroyed building. Trapped beneath a massive slab of concrete was the girl from earlier. Uraraka. Her leg was pinned, and her face was pale with pain and terror as the colossal tread of the Zero-Pointer slowly rotated, advancing toward her.

 

She couldn't move. The robot couldn't see her. In thirty seconds, she would be crushed to death.

 

Izuku didn't think. The meticulous planning, the stamina calculations, the fear of his own power—it all vanished in an instant, replaced by the sheer, undeniable instinct of a true hero.

 

His legs moved before he realized what he was doing.

 

Izuku sprinted back toward the danger. He analyzed the situation in micro-seconds. I can't lift the rubble in time, it's too heavy. I can't use String, the robot's armor is too thick for my current level. I can't use Logias, the collateral heat or cold might kill Uraraka.

 

He needed absolute, pinpoint, catastrophic destruction. He needed to shatter the giant into a million pieces instantly.

 

He needed the one power he had sworn to keep locked away unless the world was ending.

 

Izuku leapt into the air, using the last of his Bane Bane springs to launch himself up to the eye-level of the massive machine. As he ascended, he severed the Spring connection.

 

He reached into the deepest, darkest corner of the Orchard.

 

Class 1: Paramecia. The Gura Gura no Mi. The Tremor Fruit.

 

The moment the Quirk activated in his right arm, Izuku felt as though he had plunged his hand into a dying star. A terrifying, high-frequency hum resonated through his bones. The vibration was so intense it felt like his blood was boiling and his marrow was turning to dust.

 

He drew his right arm back. As he did, a brilliant, glowing white sphere of pure, compressed vibrational energy formed around his fist. The air around the sphere warped and distorted, screaming under the unnatural pressure.

 

In the observation room, Aizawa leaned forward, his eyes wide. "What the hell is that energy reading? The air pressure in Center B is collapsing!"

 

Izuku hung suspended in the air before the giant red eye of the Zero-Pointer. His right arm was screaming in agony before he even threw the punch. The power was too much. The vessel was too weak.

 

Clench your buttcheeks, Izuku thought, remembering All Might's crude but effective advice about channeling power. And yell this from the depths of your heart!

 

"SMASH!!!"

 

Izuku drove his fist forward, striking nothing but the empty air in front of the robot.

 

But his fist didn't pass through the air. It connected with reality itself.

 

CRACK.

 

A deafening, terrifying sound echoed across the entire U.A. campus—the sound of glass shattering, amplified a million times over. From Izuku's white-glowing fist, literal fissures appeared in the thin air, spider-webbing outward in a massive, jagged dome. He had literally punched a crack in the atmosphere.

 

For a fraction of a second, time seemed to stop.

 

Then, the accumulated kinetic vibration transferred into the space ahead.

 

A shockwave of biblical proportions erupted. It hit the Zero-Pointer like the wrath of an angry god. The sheer vibrational force didn't just push the robot; it bypassed the armor completely and violently shook every bolt, wire, and plate apart at the molecular level.

 

The ten-story metal titan imploded inward with a horrific screech of rending steel, before exploding backward. The upper half of the robot was entirely obliterated, turned into shrapnel and dust that was blown back down the street, clearing the skyline entirely.

 

The examinees on the ground, miles away, were knocked off their feet by the gale-force wind. Uraraka shielded her face as the debris was blown away from her, staring up in awe at the silhouette of the boy falling from the sky.

 

In the air, the white sphere around Izuku's fist vanished.

 

The backlash hit him instantly.

 

Izuku let out a bloodcurdling scream. The recoil of vibrating the atmosphere had nowhere to go but backward, straight into his own arm. He heard the sickening, wet crunch as the radius and ulna in his right arm violently shattered into dozens of pieces. His right arm instantly turned deep, bruised purple, flopping uselessly at his side.

 

The pain was blinding. Izuku began to plummet toward the concrete, completely unable to concentrate enough to activate his Spring or Rubber powers to save himself.

 

I'm falling. My arm is gone. If I hit the ground, I'm dead.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the end.

 

Suddenly, a sharp sting hit his cheek.

 

SMACK!

 

Izuku opened his eyes. He was hovering two feet above the concrete. Uraraka had pushed herself out from under the now-moved rubble, balancing on one leg, and had slapped him across the face with her Quirk-activated hand just before he hit the ground.

 

"And... release," Uraraka panted, touching her fingertips together.

 

Izuku dropped the last two feet, landing on his back with a groan. Uraraka collapsed next to him, gripping her injured leg.

 

"TIME'S UP!" Present Mic's voice echoed. A loud siren wailed across the mock city.

 

The exam was over.

 

Examinees began to slowly walk out of the alleys and side streets, gathering around the cratered street. They stared at the obliterated remains of the Zero-Pointer, and then down at the groaning, broken boy lying on the asphalt.

 

"Did... did he do that?"

"He just punched the air. The air literally broke!"

"Is he even human? What kind of Quirk is that?!"

 

Izuku couldn't hear them. He was staring up at the blue sky, his vision swimming, the agonizing pain in his arm finally plunging him into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

When Izuku woke up, the smell of sterile alcohol and the soft hum of machinery greeted him. He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights of the U.A. infirmary.

 

His right arm was encased in a heavy plaster cast, slung across his chest. It throbbed with a deep, aching heat.

 

"You're awake, you reckless child," a sharp, elderly voice scolded.

 

Izuku turned his head to see Recovery Girl, the Youthful Heroine, sitting on a stool beside his bed. She sighed, adjusting her visor.

 

"I used my Quirk to speed up your healing, but your bones were practically pulverized. I've never seen internal recoil damage like this. It's as if you strapped a stick of dynamite to a toothpick and expected the toothpick to survive the blast."

 

"I... I had to," Izuku rasped, his throat dry. "She was trapped."

 

"I know," Recovery Girl said, her tone softening slightly. She offered him a small gummy bear from her pocket. "Eat this. Your blood sugar is terrifyingly low. Toshinori warned me about you and your... unique condition."

 

Izuku's eyes widened. "You know All Might?"

 

"I know he's an idiot who thinks muscles solve everything," she grumbled. "He told me about your Orchard. Midoriya, listen to me carefully. Your body is incredibly tough, far tougher than a normal human's thanks to whatever training Toshinori put you through. But that power you used today—that vibrational shockwave—it exceeds the physical density limits of human bone structure. If you use it again without finding a way to disperse the recoil, you will permanently lose the arm. Am I understood?"

 

Izuku looked down at his cast. He nodded slowly. The Tremor fruit was too strong. It was a god's power trapped in a mortal frame.

 

"Good. Now rest. You'll be discharged in an hour."

 

 

 

The week following the exam was excruciating. Izuku went back to middle school, his arm in a cast, enduring the confused and slightly terrified stares of his classmates. Bakugo didn't say a word to him, but the explosive boy glared at Izuku's cast with a mix of fury and suspicion.

 

Izuku was terrified he had failed. He had racked up forty-five villain points, but was it enough? Did they deduct points for destroying the arena trap? Did they disqualify him for injuring himself so severely?

 

On the seventh day, Inko Midoriya burst into Izuku's room, practically sliding across the floor, clutching a plain white envelope sealed with the red U.A. wax stamp.

 

"Izuku! It's here! It came!" she cried, tears already streaming down her face.

 

Izuku snatched the envelope with his good hand. He locked his door, sitting at his desk. His heart was hammering. He carefully tore the paper open.

 

A small, metal disc slipped out, clattering onto his desk.

 

Suddenly, a holographic projection sprang from the disc, illuminating the dark room.

 

"BOO-YAH! I AM HERE AS A PROJECTION!"

 

Izuku gasped. It was All Might, wearing a loud, yellow pinstripe suit, his signature smile beaming.

 

"Young Midoriya! I know it has been a tense week! I apologize for not contacting you, but as a new faculty member at U.A., I had to remain impartial during the grading process!"

 

All Might coughed into his hand, adjusting his tie.

 

"You did remarkably on the written test. And in the practical, you scored forty-five villain points! A very respectable score. However, that alone would have put you right on the border of passing."

 

Izuku's stomach dropped. Borderline?

 

"But," All Might continued, pointing directly at the camera. "A hero course that rejects those who save others in the face of absolute peril is no hero course at all! Watch this!"

 

The hologram split in half. On the right side, a video played. It was Uraraka, standing in Present Mic's office. She looked nervous.

 

“Excuse me,” the hologram Uraraka said. “The boy with the messy hair and the... the crazy powers. The one who saved me. Is there any way I can give him some of my points? He risked his life to save me from that giant robot. He deserves to pass!”

 

Tears welled in Izuku's eyes. She had gone to bat for him.

 

"You see, young Midoriya," All Might said, his voice dropping into a solemn, proud register. "U.A. does not only grade on destruction. We grade on heroism. Your actions inspired another to act selflessly. That is the true mark of a hero!"

 

A scoreboard appeared on the screen.

 

"Izuku Midoriya. Forty-five Villain Points. And... Sixty Rescue Points! Total: One hundred and five points! The highest score of the exam!"

 

All Might extended a hand toward the camera.

 

"Welcome, Izuku. This is your Hero Academia."

 

Izuku broke down. He buried his face in his good arm, sobbing uncontrollably. The tears were not of sorrow, but of the absolute, overwhelming release of ten years of fear. He had conquered the beach. He had conquered the giant. And for the first time in his life, his Devil's Orchard was not a curse.

 

It was his ticket to becoming a hero.

 

 

The monumental door to Class 1-A was intimidatingly large, a towering slab of metal that seemed designed to accommodate giants, mutants, and everything in between. Izuku Midoriya stood before it, his hand hovering over the sliding handle.

 

He was no longer the frail, trembling boy who had nearly passed out from anxiety in the underpass a year ago. Ten months of hauling scrap metal across Dagobah Beach had built a solid foundation of dense, coiled muscle beneath his crisp U.A. uniform. His right arm, heavily bandaged beneath his sleeve but thankfully out of its cast, was a lingering reminder of the Entrance Exam. Recovery Girl had managed to knit the pulverized bones back together, but the phantom ache of the Tremor fruit’s recoil still pulsed in his marrow whenever the weather turned damp.

 

I am in control, Izuku reminded himself, taking a slow, steadying breath. The Orchard is a tool, not a master. One at a time. Sequential, never concurrent.

 

He slid the massive door open.

 

The classroom was already a theater of chaos. To his left, the severe, bespectacled boy who had berated him in the auditorium—Tenya Iida, as he soon learned—was chopping his arms through the air with robotic precision, lecturing Katsuki Bakugo.

 

"Take your feet off that desk at once!" Iida demanded, his voice booming across the room. "It is a severe disrespect to our upperclassmen and the craftsmen who made it!"

 

Bakugo leaned back, balancing his chair on its two hind legs, a predatory smirk plastered across his face. "Like I care. What middle school did you go to, you stick-in-the-mud?"

 

"I attended Somei Private Academy! My name is Tenya Iida!"

 

"Somei, huh? An elitist!" Bakugo scoffed, small sparks popping in his palms. "I’ll have fun crushing you."

 

Izuku shrank slightly, instinctively pulling his notebook closer to his chest. Bakugo was exactly the same. The explosive prodigy had coasted through life on a wave of unbridled talent and sheer aggression. Izuku knew that Bakugo’s presence here was going to be a massive complication.

 

"Oh! It’s the floating boy!"

 

Izuku turned to see Ochaco Uraraka beaming at him, her round face bright with excitement. "I’m so glad we’re in the same class! You were amazing at the exam! That punch... it was like you broke the sky!"

 

"I-I, well, you saved me from falling, so really, it was teamwork!" Izuku stammered, his face instantly flushing a violent shade of scarlet. He wasn't used to praise, and he certainly wasn't used to girls looking at him with admiration.

 

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

 

The voice was deadpan, dry, and seemed to suck the warmth completely out of the room.

 

Izuku, Uraraka, and Iida jumped, turning to look at the hallway floor. Lying prostrate on the linoleum like an oversized, vibrant yellow caterpillar was a man in a sleeping bag. He unzipped the top, revealing a face framed by messy, unkempt black hair and eyes entirely obscured by heavy, dark bags. He held a juice pouch in one hand, slurping it loudly.

 

"It took you all exactly eight seconds to quiet down," the man said, standing up and shedding the sleeping bag in one fluid motion. He wore a dark, utilitarian jumpsuit and a scarf made of some strange, ribbon-like material. "Time is a limited resource. You kids aren't rational enough."

 

Izuku’s encyclopedic brain whirred into motion. Dark clothes, capture weapon, sleepy demeanor... No, it couldn't be. He’s an underground hero! The Erasure Hero: Eraserhead! He can nullify Quirks just by looking at them!

 

"I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa," the man grunted, confirming Izuku's suspicion. Aizawa reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a stack of blue and white gym uniforms. "Put these on and head out to the P.E. grounds. We aren't doing orientation."

 

 

 

The spring air was crisp as Class 1-A gathered on the expansive dirt field behind the main U.A. building. The twenty students stood in their gym uniforms, exchanging nervous glances.

 

"A Quirk Apprehension Test?!" the class shouted in unison.

 

"What about the entrance ceremony? Or guidance counseling?" Uraraka asked, clutching her hands to her chest.

 

"No time to waste on pointless traditions," Aizawa replied, his back turned to them as he chalked a throwing circle into the dirt. "U.A. is known for its unrestricted teaching style. That means I run my class how I see fit. You've been taking standardized tests your whole lives, but you were never allowed to use your Quirks. It’s irrational. Today, we measure your true, unbridled potential."

 

Aizawa turned, his dark eyes locking onto Bakugo. "Bakugo. You finished first in the practical exam. In junior high, what was your best result for the softball throw?"

 

"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugo replied evenly.

 

"Try it with your Quirk." Aizawa tossed a softball to the blonde boy. "Do whatever you want, just don't leave the circle."

 

Bakugo caught the ball, a feral grin spreading across his face. He stepped into the ring, rolling his shoulders. He didn't just wind up; he channeled his explosive sweat directly into his palms.

 

"DIE!" Bakugo roared, violently swinging his arm forward and detonating a massive, concussive blast directly behind the ball.

 

The shockwave whipped dust across the field, forcing Izuku to shield his eyes. The softball rocketed into the sky, leaving a trail of black smoke behind it before vanishing from sight.

 

Aizawa held up a small electronic device. It beeped. He turned the screen toward the class.

 

705.2 meters.

 

The class erupted.

"Over seven hundred meters? That's insane!"

"This looks like so much fun!"

"We can finally use our Quirks to their absolute limits!"

 

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, a dark, dangerous aura suddenly radiating from his slumped frame. "Fun, you say? You have three years to become heroes. Are you going to treat it all like a game?"

 

He smiled, but it was a terrifying, hollow expression. "Alright then. The student who ranks last in total points across all eight physical tests will be judged to have no potential... and will be expelled immediately."

 

The silence that fell over the field was suffocating.

 

Izuku felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Expelled? On the first day?

 

"You can't do that!" Uraraka protested, stepping forward. "It's the first day! Even if it wasn't, expelling someone is totally unfair!"

 

"Natural disasters are unfair. Villains are unfair. The world is saturated with unfairness," Aizawa countered, his voice cold and uncompromising. "If you expected to sit at a desk and have a nice, fair time, you're in the wrong place. For the next three years, U.A. will throw hardship after hardship at you. Go Beyond. Plus Ultra. Now, overcome it with everything you have."

 

Izuku took a deep breath, the cold knot in his stomach dissolving into a familiar, hyper-focused calm.

 

I am not going to be last, Izuku thought, his eyes scanning the field. I have the greatest arsenal on the planet. I just have to use it smartly. No Logias, the stamina drain is too high. No massive Paramecias like Tremor, I'll break my bones again. Stick to the minor Emitters and Mutants.

 

The tests began.

 

Test 1: 50-Meter Dash.

 

Izuku lined up against Tenya Iida. Iida’s calves were equipped with literal engine blocks.

 

"On your marks," a robotic voice announced from the starting camera.

 

Izuku focused inward. Class 1. Bane Bane. The Spring Fruit.

 

He felt his calves lock, the flesh converting into tightly coiled, high-tension steel springs. He compressed his knees, storing kinetic energy.

 

"Get set. GO!"

 

Ch-chunk. BOOM.

 

Izuku released the springs. He didn't run; he fired himself forward like a cannonball, hovering barely three feet above the ground. He crossed the finish line in a blur of motion, deactivating the springs seamlessly as he landed and skidded to a halt in the dirt.

 

3.04 seconds.

 

Iida crossed the line a fraction of a second later at 3.04 seconds. The bespectacled boy stared at Izuku in absolute shock. "You... you altered your anatomy into machinery? Fascinating! But the sheer propulsion... incredible!"

 

Aizawa watched from the sidelines, jotting down a note. Examinee 7111. Midoriya. His file says 'Devil's Orchard' - unclassified. He used a shockwave in the entrance exam that leveled a building. Now he's using localized mechanical mutations. He is holding back.

 

Test 2: Grip Strength.

 

Izuku stood by the testing machine. He didn't want to use anything too flashy. He reached for the Kira Kira no Mi—the Diamond Fruit. He only activated it in the epidermis of his right hand, turning his skin into unyielding, flawless diamond, while keeping his muscles normal to provide the squeezing force. He gripped the machine, his diamond skin preventing his own flesh from tearing under the pressure of his All Might-trained muscles.

 

250 kg.

 

He nodded, satisfied. Not the highest—a boy with multiple arms scored over 500—but well above average.

 

Test 3: Standing Long Jump.

 

Izuku used the Nikyu Nikyu no Mi—the Paw Fruit. Small, soft, paw-like pads formed on the soles of his shoes. He stomped down, repelling himself off the ground and soaring over the sandbox completely, landing gracefully on the grass beyond.

 

By the time the fifth test—the softball throw—arrived, Izuku was comfortably in the top five of the class. He wasn't sweating. He wasn't bleeding. He was in perfect, agonizingly meticulous control.

 

But as he stepped into the throwing circle, the weight of Aizawa’s gaze bore into his back.

 

Aizawa had been analyzing Izuku all morning. The underground hero was a man of logic, and Izuku Midoriya defied all logic. He has speed, strength, and repulsion. Yet, during the Entrance Exam, he shattered his own arm using an entirely different power just to save one girl. He lacks consistency. He is a liability waiting to happen if he uses that shockwave again.

 

Izuku held the softball. I need a good score here. Bakugo got 705. Uraraka got infinity by removing the ball's gravity. If I use the Paw fruit again, I can repel the ball out of the atmosphere, but Aizawa might think I'm a one-trick pony with the repulsion.

 

Let's use the rubber, Izuku decided. Gomu Gomu no Mi. I can stretch my arm back like a slingshot, use my core muscles to snap it forward, and throw it at supersonic speeds. It’s low stamina drain and highly effective.

 

Izuku widened his stance. He gripped the ball tightly. He activated the fruit.

 

He felt the familiar slackening of his joints as his entire right arm converted into hyper-elastic rubber. He threw his arm backward, letting it stretch ten, twenty, thirty feet behind him, his bicep stretching thin like a pink cord.

 

The class gasped.

"Whoa! His arm stretches too?!"

"How many Quirks does this guy have?!"

 

Izuku grit his teeth, anchoring his feet into the dirt. Now! Snap it forward!

 

He engaged his core, preparing to violently slingshot his arm forward.

 

But standing ten yards away, Shota Aizawa’s eyes suddenly flared a brilliant, glowing red. His capture scarf defied gravity, rising into the air around his neck like a halo of snakes.

 

Erasure.

 

Aizawa’s Quirk locked onto Izuku’s Quirk Factor. Erasure was a simple but devastatingly effective power. It didn't destroy Quirks; it temporarily halted the biological emission of the Quirk Factor, shutting down the "machinery" of the power at a genetic level. If someone had an engine, Aizawa turned the key to 'off.'

 

But Izuku Midoriya didn't have a single engine.

 

He had an Orchard.

 

The moment Aizawa’s Erasure struck Izuku, it found the active "file"—the Gomu Gomu rubber mutation—and deleted it.

 

Izuku’s arm instantly violently snapped back to its normal length and solidified back into bone and muscle. The sudden loss of tension threw Izuku off balance, and he stumbled forward, gasping.

 

But that wasn't the problem.

 

The problem was the Glitch.

 

Dr. Garaki had been wrong about one thing. The Devil’s Orchard wasn't just a collection of powers Izuku could access. It was a localized, hyper-active genetic storm. The Orchard hated being empty. By forcibly shutting down the rubber power while Izuku was actively drawing upon his Quirk Factor, Aizawa created a genetic vacuum.

 

And nature abhors a vacuum.

 

ERROR. FILE DELETED. AUTO-FILLING VOID.

 

The Orchard violently spun the roulette wheel without Izuku’s consent to fill the erased slot.

 

Izuku felt the shift. It wasn't a Paramecia. It wasn't a Zoan.

 

It was a Logia. Class 2.

 

"Wait—!" Izuku screamed, his eyes going wide with absolute terror.

 

Before Izuku could even form a coherent thought, his physical body ceased to be flesh, blood, and bone.

 

Pika Pika no Mi. The Light-Light Fruit.

 

In a fraction of a millisecond, Izuku Midoriya turned into living, concentrated photons.

 

The resulting flash of light was not just bright; it was biblically incandescent. It was as if a piece of the sun had suddenly materialized in the dirt circle. A blinding, searing yellow-white dome of pure illumination erupted from where Izuku stood.

 

"AGH!"

 

The entire class cried out in unison, throwing their hands over their eyes, stumbling blindly away. The sheer intensity of the light cast razor-sharp, jet-black shadows across the U.A. campus.

 

Aizawa, who was staring directly at Izuku with his eyes wide open to maintain Erasure, took the absolute brunt of it.

 

The underground hero let out a sharp grunt of pain, instantly squeezing his severely burned corneas shut and throwing his arm over his face. His Erasure broke immediately.

 

The moment Aizawa blinked, the light vanished.

 

The field returned to normal. The class was groaning, rubbing their tear-filled, sun-spotted eyes.

 

In the throwing circle, Izuku had materialized back into his human form. He was on his hands and knees, hyperventilating, sweat pouring down his face in rivers. The stamina drain of being spontaneously forced into a Logia state had hit his nervous system like a sledgehammer. The softball rolled harmlessly out of his hand, stopping in the dirt.

 

Forty-six meters.

 

Aizawa rubbed his stinging, watering eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at the boy on the ground.

 

My Erasure... failed? No, it didn't fail. I erased his stretching Quirk. I felt the connection snap. But the moment I did... he turned into pure light? What in God's name is inside this child?

 

"I erased your Quirk," Aizawa said, his voice dangerously low, though laced with undeniable shock. "That was my doing. You were about to use that power recklessly, just like the Entrance Exam. But instead of shutting down, you detonated like a flashbang. Explain yourself, Midoriya."

 

Izuku slowly pushed himself up to his feet, wiping the sweat from his chin. His body was trembling, but his green eyes met Aizawa’s burning glare with a desperate, fierce intensity.

 

"I... I wasn't going to be reckless, Sensei," Izuku panted, his chest heaving. "I was going to use elasticity to throw the ball. It’s safe. But my Quirk... it’s not normal."

 

"I gathered that," Aizawa snapped, his eyes still red and irritated. "The registry says you have an anomaly Quirk. Multiple manifestations. I thought it was a dual or triple-type. But elasticity, mechanical springs, diamond skin, shockwaves, and now light emission? You’re walking collateral damage."

 

"I have everything," Izuku said, the words heavy and terrifying in the open air.

 

The class, still rubbing their eyes, went dead silent.

 

"What do you mean, 'everything'?" Bakugo growled from the back, his red eyes narrowed.

 

Izuku ignored him, speaking directly to Aizawa. "My Quirk is an infinite roulette of abilities. Paramecias, Logias, Zoans. I can access almost any power you can imagine. But I can only use one at a time. I have spent the last ten months meticulously mapping out the exact stamina drain, the recoil, and the biological stress of every single power I use so that I don't hurt anyone."

 

Izuku pointed a shaking finger at Aizawa. "When you used your Quirk on me, you erased the rubber power I had active. But my Quirk Factor is a chaotic matrix. When you forced a shutdown, my body panicked. It auto-filled the empty slot with the Pika Pika fruit—pure light—to prevent my genetic structure from collapsing. You didn't turn my power off, Sensei. You just forced it to change into something I wasn't controlling."

 

Aizawa stared at the boy. The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.

 

The muttering Aizawa had noticed during the entrance exam. The hesitation. The sweat.

 

He isn't a reckless idiot holding a loaded gun, Aizawa realized, a chill running down his spine. He is a bomb technician constantly defusing himself. He possesses the power to level this entire city with a thought, and the only thing stopping him is his own suffocating, agonizing self-control.

 

Aizawa lowered his capture scarf. The terrifying aura around him dissipated.

 

"I see," Aizawa said softly. "Your muttering... it’s a manual override. You are constantly calculating the safest possible application of an inherently unsafe biology."

 

"Yes, Sensei."

 

Aizawa reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of eye drops, administering them to his stinging eyes. "Your file didn't do you justice, Midoriya. The fact that you can function at all with that level of internal biological chaos is a testament to your willpower. However, my point remains. You dropped the ball. Your score is forty-six meters. If you can't control the shift when compromised, you are still a liability on the field."

 

Aizawa tossed the softball back to Izuku with a thud.

 

"You have one more throw. Show me you have a tool in that arsenal that can get a top score without relying on that elasticity."

 

Izuku caught the ball. He took a deep breath, letting the residual panic of the Light fruit wash out of his system. He wants a top score without elasticity. Fine. No more holding back. I’ll show him exactly how much control I have.

 

Izuku stepped back into the circle. He didn't wind up. He didn't stretch. He simply held the ball in his right hand.

 

Class 1: Paramecia. Nikyu Nikyu no Mi. The Paw Fruit.

 

The soft, fleshy pad materialized on his palm.

 

Izuku looked up at the sky. He tossed the ball lightly into the air, about a foot above his hand. As it came down, he didn't throw it. He simply slapped the bottom of the ball with his palm.

 

BAM.

 

A sonic boom shattered the air, a visible ring of compressed air expanding outward from Izuku’s hand.

 

The softball didn't fly; it instantly vanished. It was propelled upward at precisely the speed of light, leaving a vacuum tunnel in the atmosphere that whistled sharply as the surrounding air rushed in to fill it.

 

The class stared upward. There was no ball. There was no smoke trail. There was just empty blue sky.

 

Aizawa’s device beeped frantically. He looked down at the screen, his tired eyes widening ever so slightly. He turned the screen around to face the class.

 

The digital readout was a sideways figure-eight.

 

Infinity.

 

"Repulsion at the speed of light," Izuku said quietly, letting the paw pad fade from his hand. He looked at Aizawa, his green eyes steady and resolute. "I am not a liability, Sensei. I am going to be a hero."

 

Aizawa stared at the boy for a long moment, before a slow, genuinely terrifying grin spread across his face.

 

"Good. Don't make me regret this, kid."

 

 

 

The next afternoon, the energy in Class 1-A was electric.

 

"I AM... COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"

 

All Might burst into the classroom, striking a heroic pose in his Silver Age costume. The class erupted in cheers. Izuku couldn't help but smile, though he noticed the slight sag in All Might's shoulders—the subtle signs of the time limit weighing on his mentor.

 

"Today, we are diving into Hero Basic Training!" All Might boomed, holding up a card that read BATTLE. "And to go with it, your requested Hero Costumes!"

 

Rows of metal briefcases slid out from the wall.

 

Twenty minutes later, Izuku walked out of the locker room tunnel and into the artificial sunlight of Ground Beta, a massive mock-city testing ground.

 

His costume was a testament to utility over flash. It was a sleek, dark green bodysuit made of a highly specialized, hyper-elastic polymer that wouldn't tear if he stretched, and wouldn't melt under extreme heat. He wore thick, reinforced white gloves and heavy, steel-toed red boots designed to handle massive kinetic impacts. Around his waist was a utility belt equipped with basic first-aid gear. A metallic respirator mask hung around his neck, reminiscent of All Might's smile, but designed to filter out toxic gases—or his own smoke, if he ever used the Moku Moku fruit.

 

"Deku! Your costume looks great! It's so practical!"

 

Izuku turned to see Uraraka running toward him. She was wearing a pink and black, form-fitting spacesuit-inspired costume.

 

"T-Thanks, Uraraka! Yours is really cool too!" Izuku stammered, pulling at his collar.

 

All Might stood before the class, drawing lots from two boxes to decide the teams for the 2-on-2 indoor battle trials. "The scenario is this! The villains have hidden a nuclear weapon inside a building! The heroes must infiltrate and either capture the villains or touch the weapon! Team A will be... Izuku Midoriya and Ochaco Uraraka!"

 

Izuku smiled at Uraraka. "We're a team!"

 

"And they will be playing the Heroes against... Team D! Katsuki Bakugo and Tenya Iida! The Villains!"

 

Izuku’s smile instantly vanished. He looked across the crowd.

 

Katsuki Bakugo was staring directly at him. Bakugo’s costume was aggressive—a black tank top, massive grenade-shaped gauntlets on his forearms, and an explosion-motif mask framing his furious red eyes.

 

Bakugo cracked his knuckles. He had watched Deku humiliate him yesterday during the Quirk Apprehension Test. Bakugo had scored over 700 meters. Deku had scored infinity. Deku had powers that defied reality. Deku had looked down on him.

 

I'll crush him, Bakugo thought, a dark vein throbbing in his forehead. I'll tear that smug, multi-Quirk freak apart and prove I'm the only one who matters.

 

 

 

"The villains have a head start to set up defenses," All Might announced over the comms in Izuku's ear. "Heroes, you may enter the building in five minutes!"

 

Izuku and Uraraka stood outside the imposing, multi-story concrete building. Izuku was looking over a holographic blueprint of the structure provided by All Might.

 

"Uraraka," Izuku said, his voice stripped of its usual stutter. He was entirely in the zone. "Iida is rational and takes rules very seriously. He will likely stay on the top floor to guard the weapon directly. But Kacchan... Bakugo... he isn't rational when it comes to me."

 

"He seems really mad at you, Deku," Uraraka noted, adjusting her wrist bracers. "What's his deal?"

 

"He thinks my power is a personal insult to his," Izuku explained quietly. "He won't stay with the weapon. He will hunt me down immediately. His pride demands that he beats me one-on-one."

 

"So, what's the plan?"

 

Izuku looked up, his green eyes sharp. "When he attacks, you run. You find the stairs and go after the weapon. I will handle Kacchan."

 

"Are you sure? His explosions look really dangerous."

 

"They are," Izuku nodded. "But his fighting style is linear. He leads with a right hook, always aiming for maximum concussive damage. He expects me to counter with force—either a shockwave or an element. If I do that, the building collapses and we lose. I have to fight him without fighting him."

 

"HEROES, BEGIN YOUR INFILTRATION!" All Might's voice echoed.

 

Izuku and Uraraka slipped through a first-floor window, creeping down the dimly lit concrete hallway. The silence was heavy. Izuku kept his ears sharp, listening for the telltale crackle of nitroglycerin sweat.

 

They reached an intersection.

 

Pop. Pop.

 

"Deku! Look out!" Uraraka shrieked.

 

Bursting from around the corner, propelled by a massive explosion from his gauntlet, was Katsuki Bakugo. He was moving at blinding speed, his right arm pulled back, aiming a lethal, point-blank explosion directly at Izuku’s face.

 

"I'LL SCATTER YOUR PIECES, DEKU!" Bakugo roared.

 

Izuku shoved Uraraka hard into the adjacent hallway. "Go, now!"

 

Izuku turned back to face Bakugo. The explosion was inches away from his face. The heat was blistering.

 

In the observation room, the students screamed.

"He's gonna kill him!" Kirishima yelled.

"All Might, stop the match!" Mina Ashido cried out.

 

All Might gripped the microphone, his knuckles white, but he trusted Izuku.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't raise his arms to block. He didn't use the Barrier fruit or the Paw fruit to reflect the attack.

 

He used a power that, objectively, belonged to a clown.

 

Class 1: Paramecia. Bara Bara no Mi. The Chop-Chop Fruit.

 

The moment Bakugo’s explosive right hook connected with Izuku's face, a massive detonation engulfed the hallway in smoke and fire. Bakugo grinned savagely, feeling the impact.

 

But as the smoke cleared, Bakugo’s grin faltered.

 

Izuku was standing there, his hands in his pockets. But from the bridge of his nose upward, his head was simply... gone.

 

"What the—?!" Bakugo stumbled back, horrified. He thought he had literally blown Izuku's head off.

 

But there was no blood. There was no gore. Where Izuku's face ended, there was just a smooth, swirling, unnatural cross-section of skin.

 

"I told you, Kacchan," Izuku's voice echoed from behind Bakugo.

 

Bakugo whipped around. Floating perfectly level in the air, completely detached from the rest of his body, was the top half of Izuku's head—his eyes, forehead, and green hair.

 

"You always lead with a right hook," Izuku's mouth said, firmly attached to his body, while his eyes watched Bakugo from five feet away in the air.

 

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?!" Bakugo screamed, firing another blast at Izuku's torso.

 

Izuku didn't even try to dodge. As the explosion approached, Izuku willed his body to separate. His torso split cleanly at the waist, floating a foot to the left, while his legs remained planted. The explosion passed harmlessly through the empty space between his ribs and his hips.

 

The observation room was dead silent.

"Did... did his body just fall apart?!" Kaminari gasped.

"That's horrifying, but completely immune to blunt and explosive trauma!" Yaoyorozu noted, her hand over her mouth. "He's completely neutralizing Bakugo's offensive capabilities by removing his own physical presence!"

 

Bakugo was hyperventilating with rage. "Stop messing with me! Fight back, you coward!"

 

Bakugo launched a flurry of rapid-fire explosions, spinning and blasting in every direction.

 

Izuku fragmented. His arms detached at the shoulders. His chest split into three distinct chunks. His legs separated at the knees. The dark hallway was suddenly filled with floating, independent body parts, effortlessly weaving and dodging through the blasts of fire like a grotesque, macabre dance.

 

"I'm not messing with you, Kacchan," Izuku's voice echoed from a floating mouth, while his eyes watched from near the ceiling. "I am trying to survive you. You want me to fight back? If I use the Tremor fruit, I'll bring this building down and kill us both. If I use the Magma fruit, I'll melt you to the bone. You think I look down on you? I don't. I am terrified of what I can do to you."

 

"SHUT UP!" Bakugo screamed, aiming his massive gauntlet, pulling the pin to release a massive, stored blast. "I don't need your pity!"

 

But Bakugo never fired.

 

While Bakugo was screaming at Izuku's floating head, he hadn't noticed Izuku's detached hands creeping along the floor behind him.

 

Izuku's right hand held the roll of white capture tape every hero was given. Swiftly and silently, the floating hand darted forward, wrapping the tape securely around Bakugo’s left ankle, binding it to a heavy structural pipe running along the floorboards.

 

"Capture tape secured," Izuku announced calmly.

 

All of Izuku's floating body parts snapped back together in an instant like magnets, reforming into a perfectly intact boy standing ten feet away.

 

Bakugo looked down at his ankle, his eyes widening in disbelief. He pulled, but the tape held firm. He was trapped. He hadn't landed a single hit. He had been completely and utterly outplayed without Izuku throwing a single punch.

 

"You..." Bakugo whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of absolute fury and crushing despair. "You didn't even use a real attack."

 

"I used the right tool for the job," Izuku replied softly. "You are incredibly strong, Kacchan. But a hero isn't just a hammer looking for a nail."

 

"DEKU!!" Bakugo roared, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of his eyes.

 

Suddenly, the comms crackled to life.

 

"THE HERO TEAM HAS CAPTURED THE WEAPON! HERO TEAM WINS!" All Might's voice boomed.

 

Izuku let out a long sigh of relief, deactivating the Bara Bara fruit completely and leaning against the wall. He had done it. He had faced his childhood tormentor, managed his Orchard perfectly, and secured a victory without collateral damage.

 

As they returned to the observation room, Uraraka tackled Izuku in a massive hug. "Deku! That was amazing! You distracted him perfectly!"

 

Izuku blushed furiously, patting her back awkwardly with his still-aching right arm.

 

All Might stood before the class, his blue eyes fixed proudly on Izuku. "Excellent work, young Midoriya! You correctly deduced the villain's motives, minimized structural damage, and secured the capture! You were the MVP of this match!"

 

Izuku smiled, but his eyes drifted to the back of the room. Bakugo was standing in the shadows, his head hung low, staring at his palms. The explosive prodigy's worldview had been shattered.

 

Izuku knew this wasn't the end of their rivalry. Bakugo would adapt. Bakugo would get stronger.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was no longer a victim. He was a master of his own demons, and he was just getting started.