What if deku was the species of fourarm from ben 10

 

The soft, blue glow of the computer monitor illuminated the otherwise dark bedroom, casting dancing shadows against the walls covered in hero posters. At the center of the room, sitting a mere foot away from the screen, was four-year-old Izuku Midoriya. He was rocking back and forth, clutching an All Might action figure so tightly his small knuckles were turning white.

 

On the screen, a catastrophic scene played out. A disaster in the city, fires raging, people screaming. And then, the booming, boisterous laugh that Izuku knew by heart. “Fear not, citizens! Hope has arrived! Because I am here!”

 

Usually, Izuku would mimic the laugh. He would thrust his action figure into the air and declare his own presence to the empty room. But tonight, something was wrong.

 

A heavy, oppressive heat had settled in his chest. He was sweating profusely, his messy green curls plastered to his forehead. His skin felt inexplicably tight, as though he were wearing a suit of clothes two sizes too small. He squirmed in his computer chair, scratching at his ribs. The itch was deep, beneath the skin, beneath the muscle. It felt like his bones were vibrating.

 

"Izuku? Sweetie, it's past your bedtime," came the gentle voice of his mother, Inko Midoriya, as she pushed the bedroom door open. She smiled warmly, but her expression faltered the moment the hallway light hit her son’s face.

 

Izuku turned to look at her, his emerald eyes glossy and unfocused. He was panting, his small chest heaving. "Mommy," he whimpered, his voice trembling. "My back hurts. And my tummy. It feels like... like fire."

 

Inko rushed forward, instantly pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. She gasped. He wasn't just warm; he was radiating heat like a furnace. "Oh my goodness, Izuku, you’re burning up!" She scooped him into her arms, grunting slightly. He felt remarkably heavy—heavier than he had just that morning. "We’re going to the hospital. Right now."

 

"M-Mommy..." Izuku cried out, a sudden, sharp spike of agony tearing through his torso. He arched his back, a terrifying crunching sound echoing in the quiet room.

 

Inko screamed and dropped to her knees, lowering Izuku carefully onto the carpet. "Izuku! What's happening?!"

 

The transformation had begun.

 

It wasn't like the Quirks of his classmates. Little Katsuki Bakugo had sparked tiny, harmless explosions in his palms. Other kids had grown small wings, or their hair had changed color. This was different. This was violent. This was a profound, fundamental rewriting of Izuku Midoriya’s biology.

 

Izuku screamed, a harrowing, guttural sound that tore at Inko’s heart. Before her terrified eyes, his pale, freckled skin began to change. A deep, flush of crimson bloomed from his chest, spreading rapidly outward like ink dropped in water. His skin thickened, turning a vibrant, intimidating cherry-red.

 

"Mommy! It hurts! Make it stop!" Izuku wailed, thrashing on the floor.

 

"I'm here, baby, I'm right here!" Inko sobbed, hovering over him, completely powerless. She reached for her phone with trembling hands, dialing emergency services. "Hello?! Please, my son—he's manifesting his Quirk, but something is terribly wrong! He's burning up, he's—"

 

She dropped the phone.

 

Izuku’s pajamas—his favorite All Might onesie—ripped loudly down the center. His chest was expanding, his ribcage shifting and widening with sickening pops and cracks. His arms and legs were lengthening, the childish baby fat burning away instantly, replaced by thick, dense cords of crimson muscle. He was growing, right before her eyes. Four years old, yet he was rapidly approaching the size of an eight-year-old.

 

But that wasn't the most terrifying part.

 

Just beneath his normal arms, on the newly expanded sides of his ribcage, the flesh began to bulge. Two massive protrusions pushed outward against his skin.

 

Izuku let out a breathless shriek as his skin finally gave way, not with a bloody tear, but with a rapid, biological unfurling. Two entirely new limbs thrust outward from his sides. They were arms—massive, muscular, crimson arms with four-fingered hands, clenching into tight, powerful fists.

 

Inko scrambled backward, her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. "Izuku..."

 

The boy gasped for air, his body finally stopping its rapid expansion. He lay there on the ruined shreds of his All Might pajamas, his chest rising and falling heavily. He now possessed four arms. His skin was the color of fresh blood. He looked like an ancient mythical demon, a creature of folklore meant to guard the gates of the underworld.

 

Slowly, agonizingly, Izuku opened his eyes.

 

Or rather, he opened his eyes.

 

Above his normal, emerald-green eyes, the skin of his forehead parted. A second set of eyes, identical in color and shape, blinked open into the dim light of the bedroom. Four emerald irises focused on the terrified, sobbing form of his mother.

 

"Mommy...?" Izuku whispered. Even his voice had changed. It was no longer the high-pitched squeak of a toddler. It was slightly deeper, carrying a strange, almost booming resonance, like a drum struck in a cavern. He reached out to her. Without meaning to, he reached out with his upper right arm and his lower right arm simultaneously.

 

Inko Midoriya did what any loving mother would do. Pushing past the primal, instinctive fear of the creature lying on her floor, she lunged forward and threw her arms around his massive, red neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

 

"I've got you, Izuku. I've got you," she wept, holding him as tight as she could.

 

Izuku, overwhelmed by the pain, the exhaustion, and the terrifying new sensory input of seeing out of four eyes and feeling with four hands, finally let the darkness take him. He slumped against his mother, unconscious.

 

 

 

The pristine white walls of Mustafa General Hospital felt too bright. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a sound that Izuku found incredibly annoying. In fact, everything was annoying right now. The hospital gown they had draped over him felt like tissue paper, and it only had two armholes. His lower set of arms was trapped awkwardly beneath the fabric, resting against his stomach.

 

He sat on the examination table, his legs dangling over the edge. He was immense. Just hours ago, he had been a completely average four-year-old boy. Now, he sat at nearly four-and-a-half feet tall, weighing a staggering one hundred and twenty pounds of pure, dense muscle.

 

Inko sat in the visitor's chair, her eyes red and puffy, clutching her purse like a lifeline. She hadn't stopped looking at him, and Izuku could see the worry etched into every line of her face. He didn't like making his mother worry.

 

The door opened, and Dr. Tsubasa walked in. The bald, bespectacled doctor, notable for his bushy mustache and the large, leathery wings folded behind his back, looked down at his clipboard, then up at Izuku. He adjusted his glasses, a look of profound medical fascination on his face.

 

"Well, Mrs. Midoriya," Dr. Tsubasa began, stepping further into the room. "I have been studying Quirks for nearly thirty years. I have seen children who can turn their skin to diamond, children who can breathe fire, and children who resemble animals. But your son..."

 

Inko leaned forward, her voice shaking. "Is he okay, Doctor? The pain he went through... the fever..."

 

"The fever was a byproduct of an extremely rapid metabolic acceleration," Dr. Tsubasa explained, gesturing to the X-rays hanging on the light board. "His body was essentially burning a massive amount of calories to fuel an instantaneous, radical biological restructuring. It’s a textbook, albeit extreme, case of a Mutation-class Quirk."

 

Izuku blinked. All four of his eyes blinked perfectly in sync. "A... Quirk?" he murmured, his deep, resonant voice startling the doctor slightly.

 

"Yes, young man. A Quirk," the doctor smiled, though his eyes betrayed a hint of intimidation. "And a phenomenally powerful one at that. Mrs. Midoriya, Izuku has undergone what we call a complete systemic mutation. He hasn't just grown extra appendages; his entire biology has been rewritten to support them."

 

Dr. Tsubasa tapped the X-ray with his pen. "Notice the skeletal structure. His spine is heavily reinforced, almost twice as thick as a normal human's. His collarbones and sternum have adapted to anchor a secondary set of pectoral and deltoid muscles. He has a secondary cardiovascular network to pump blood to his massive frame, which explains the crimson pigmentation of his skin—his blood vessels are thicker, and his skin is incredibly dense. I tried to take a blood sample earlier with a standard needle, and it snapped against his skin."

 

Inko gasped. "Snapped? But he's just a boy!"

 

"He is a boy with superhuman durability," the doctor corrected gently. "His muscle fibers are braided like steel cables. Even at four years old, he possesses the physical strength of a professional adult bodybuilder, perhaps more. And he is going to keep growing. Given his current trajectory and bone density... Mrs. Midoriya, your son is likely going to be over seven feet tall by the time he reaches high school."

 

Izuku looked down at his hands. He brought all four of them up, staring at the bright red skin, the thick, powerful fingers. He didn't look like All Might. All Might was tall, yes, but he looked like a man. Izuku looked like an alien. He looked like a monster from one of Katsuki's video games.

 

"What... what do we call it?" Inko asked, trying to sound brave for her son. "The Quirk registry needs a name."

 

Dr. Tsubasa rubbed his chin. "Given the four arms, the immense strength, the ocular mutation... it is an entirely unique phenotype. Let's register it simply as 'Tetramand'—meaning four arms. It has a scientific ring to it."

 

"Tetramand," Izuku tested the word on his tongue. It felt heavy.

 

Dr. Tsubasa turned to Izuku, offering a reassuring smile. "You gave your mother quite a scare, Izuku. But there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You are perfectly healthy. You just won the genetic lottery for physical power. Though," he chuckled dryly, glancing at Inko, "you are going to have a remarkably difficult time finding clothes that fit him, Mrs. Midoriya. I recommend looking into custom tailors who specialize in heteromorphic Quirk mutations."

 

Later that evening, they returned to their apartment. The space felt instantly smaller. Izuku bumped his shoulder against the doorframe as he walked in, leaving a small dent in the wood. He flinched, quickly pulling his arms—all four of them—close to his chest.

 

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he mumbled.

 

Inko sighed, a soft, weary sound, and knelt before him. She reached out, gently placing her hands on his cheeks. She looked into his four eyes, her own filling with fresh tears. But she smiled. "Don't apologize, Izuku. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just going to take some getting used to, that's all. We'll get through this. Together."

 

Izuku nodded, though the heavy feeling in his chest remained.

 

That night, Izuku couldn't sleep. The bed felt too fragile beneath his new weight. Every time he shifted, the springs groaned in protest. He sat up in the dark, looking at his room. The All Might posters stared back at him. The smiling, blonde hero saving the day.

 

Izuku climbed out of bed and walked over to the mirror hanging on his closet door. He stared at his reflection.

 

Red skin. Bulging muscles. Four thick, imposing arms. Four eyes that glowed slightly in the dark. He bared his teeth, noticing that even his canines seemed sharper, more pronounced.

 

He didn't look like a hero. Heroes were supposed to make people feel safe. If someone saw him walking down the street at night, they wouldn't feel safe. They would run. They would scream. He looked exactly like the villains All Might punched into the sky.

 

A terrifying thought gripped his four-year-old mind. What if I can't be a hero? What if no one lets me save them because they're too scared of me?

 

Tears welled up in his eyes—all four of them—spilling hot and fast down his crimson cheeks. He raised his lower left arm to wipe away the tears, but his upper right arm moved instinctively at the same time, resulting in a clumsy collision of knuckles against his own face. The sheer absurdity of his own uncoordinated body brought a frustrated sob to his throat.

 

He looked back at the All Might poster. “Fear not, citizens! Hope has arrived! Because I am here!”

 

All Might saved people with a smile. The smile was the most important part. It told people that everything was going to be okay.

 

Izuku stared at his terrifying reflection. Slowly, he forced the corners of his mouth upward. He stretched his lips into a wide, beaming smile. It looked a little frightening, paired with his glowing eyes and red skin, but he held it. He forced his eyes to soften.

 

I will just have to smile brighter, Izuku thought, a newfound resolve settling in his young heart. I'll have to be kinder, gentler, and more helpful than anyone else in the whole world. I have to make sure they know I'm the good guy.

 

He raised his upper right arm and clenched his fist, striking a pose.

 

"I am here," Izuku whispered into the quiet room.

 

 

 

A week later, Inko finally allowed Izuku to return to kindergarten.

 

The week had been a crash course in his new anatomy. Izuku had accidentally broken three plates, snapped a toothbrush in half, and ripped a door entirely off its hinges just by trying to open it. His strength was absurd, terrifyingly uncalibrated. Inko had spent days teaching him the "marshmallow rule"—he had to pretend everything he touched was made of delicate marshmallows, requiring the lightest, gentlest touch imaginable.

 

His wardrobe had also been a challenge. Inko, ever resourceful, had spent three sleepless nights at her sewing machine. She had taken his largest shirts—which were now skin-tight on his muscular frame—and cut slits down the sides, sewing in extra sleeves she had cannibalized from other clothes. He looked a bit patchwork, but it covered him.

 

Standing outside the doors of Aldera Kindergarten, Izuku felt a knot of pure dread in his stomach. He was towering over his mother. The other children were being dropped off by their parents, and Izuku could already feel the stares.

 

Parents paused. Mothers pulled their children closer to their legs. Whispers broke out like wildfire.

 

“Look at that boy... what kind of Quirk is that?”

“He’s huge! Is he really four?”

“He looks dangerous...”

“Keep away from him, sweetie, he looks like a villain.”

 

The word hit Izuku like a physical blow. Villain. He looked down at his bright red sneakers, his lower arms wrapping around his torso in a self-soothing hug, while his upper arms wrung their hands nervously.

 

Inko squeezed his upper left hand. "Head up, Izuku," she whispered softly. "Remember your smile. You are a good boy."

 

Izuku nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He forced a wide, bright smile onto his face and walked through the gates.

 

When he entered his classroom, the room fell dead silent.

 

Twenty children, who had been laughing, playing with blocks, and showing off their minor Quirks, froze. They stared at the giant, crimson, four-armed creature that had just squeezed through their classroom door.

 

"H-Hi everyone," Izuku said, his deep voice rumbling through the room. He waved his upper right hand, maintaining his smile. "It's me. Midoriya."

 

A little girl with pigtails in the front row burst into tears.

 

Panic ensued. Several children scrambled backward, knocking over chairs and block towers. Two boys hid under a table. The teacher, a young woman who looked equally terrified, stepped forward cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal.

 

"I-Izuku? Is that really you?" she stammered.

 

"Yes, sensei!" Izuku said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. He took a step forward.

 

"S-Stay right there, Midoriya!" the teacher squeaked, holding her hands up. "Just... go sit in your chair. Carefully."

 

Izuku's smile faltered, but he kept it plastered on his face. He walked over to his desk. It was comically small. When he tried to sit in the chair, his thick thighs barely fit beneath the desk, and the plastic chair groaned ominously beneath his weight. He had to sit perfectly rigid, his four arms resting awkwardly on his lap, to keep the desk from lifting off the floor.

 

He sat there for an hour, entirely isolated. No one approached him. The children played on the other side of the room, casting fearful glances in his direction. Izuku felt a profound, crushing loneliness. Before, he was just plain old quirkless Izuku. Ignored, maybe, but not feared. This was worse.

 

Then, the classroom door swung open, and Katsuki Bakugo swaggered in.

 

Katsuki had awakened his Explosion Quirk a month ago, and it had instantly elevated him to the status of a living god among the four-year-olds. He was confident, aggressive, and commanded the room. He marched in, a smug grin on his face, trailing his usual posse of lackeys.

 

"Alright, extras! Make way!" Katsuki announced, popping a few sparks from his palms.

 

He stopped dead in his tracks.

 

His crimson eyes locked onto the massive, four-armed, red-skinned giant sitting at Izuku’s desk. Katsuki’s jaw dropped. For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo looked genuinely stunned.

 

"What... what the heck is that?!" Katsuki yelled, pointing a finger at Izuku.

 

"Kacchan," Izuku said softly, offering a timid smile. "It's me. My Quirk came in."

 

Katsuki blinked, his brain short-circuiting. "Deku? ...Deku?! You?!"

 

Katsuki marched over, completely unafraid, fueled by a sudden, violent mixture of confusion and indignation. How could plain, weak, pathetic Deku suddenly look like the final boss of an RPG? Katsuki stopped right in front of Izuku's desk. Even sitting down, Izuku’s eye level was almost even with Katsuki’s standing height.

 

"You're lying!" Katsuki snarled. "You don't get a Quirk like this! You're just Deku!"

 

"I'm not lying, Kacchan," Izuku said calmly. "The doctor said it's a Mutation Quirk. I'm a Tetramand."

 

"A Tetra-what? Sounds stupid!" Katsuki yelled, slamming his hands onto Izuku's desk. "You think you're better than me now because you got big and ugly?! Huh?!"

 

"N-No, Kacchan! I don't think that at all!" Izuku raised his upper arms defensively, palms out. "I just... I finally got my Quirk. We can be heroes together now, just like we promised!"

 

The word 'together' seemed to ignite a powder keg inside Katsuki. Katsuki was supposed to be the best. He was the number one. Deku was the pebble on the side of the road. You don't team up with a pebble. Especially a pebble that has suddenly turned into a boulder.

 

"Shut up!" Katsuki screamed. He reared his hand back, his palm crackling with small, popping explosions. "I'll show you who's the best! Take this, you red freak!"

 

Katsuki thrust his glowing palm forward, striking Izuku squarely in the chest.

 

BOOM.

 

A small explosion, mostly smoke and heat, washed over Izuku’s chest. The other children shrieked. The teacher gasped, rushing forward. "Katsuki! No fighting!"

 

But as the smoke cleared, the classroom went dead silent once again.

 

Izuku hadn't moved. He hadn't even flinched.

 

He looked down at his chest. The patchwork shirt was slightly scorched, but his crimson skin beneath was completely unblemished. It didn't even sting. It felt like someone had gently tapped him with a warm spoon.

 

Katsuki stared at his own palm, then at Izuku's chest. His eyes went wide. His explosions... his incredible, powerful Quirk... did absolutely nothing.

 

"Kacchan?" Izuku asked, genuine concern in his voice. "Are you okay? Did you hurt your hand?"

 

It was the wrong thing to say. The pity in Izuku’s voice, combined with the absolute failure of his attack, shattered Katsuki’s fragile, child-sized ego. He saw red.

 

"Stop looking down on me!" Katsuki roared. He lunged forward, throwing his entire body weight into a physical shove, placing both hands on Izuku's shoulders and pushing with all his might.

 

He might as well have tried to push a brick wall.

 

Izuku, caught off guard, instinctively reacted. He didn't want Katsuki to push him over and break the chair. So, he pushed back.

 

He only used his lower left hand. He didn't punch; he just placed his palm flat against Katsuki’s chest and gave a gentle, defensive shove, employing the "marshmallow rule" as best he could.

 

But Izuku had vastly underestimated his own strength.

 

The moment his thick red palm pushed against Katsuki, the blonde boy’s feet left the ground. Katsuki was launched backward through the air, completely airborne. He flew over a desk, a look of utter shock frozen on his face, before crashing into a pile of oversized foam building blocks at the back of the room.

 

The blocks scattered everywhere. Katsuki lay in the center of the mess, stunned, gasping for breath.

 

"Kacchan!" Izuku screamed in horror, all four of his arms shooting up to his mouth in panic. He stood up abruptly, his thighs catching the desk and snapping the cheap plastic and metal frame in half like dry twigs. He ignored the destruction, rushing across the room, his heavy footsteps vibrating the floorboards.

 

"Kacchan, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to push you that hard!" Izuku knelt beside the blonde boy, his four massive hands hovering over him, afraid to touch him and break him further.

 

Katsuki slowly sat up, rubbing his chest. The wind had been knocked out of him, but he wasn't injured. However, his pride was mortally wounded. He looked up at the towering, four-armed shadow casting over him. Izuku had four eyes, all welling with tears of genuine concern.

 

Katsuki swatted Izuku's hovering hands away. "Don't touch me!" he yelled, his voice cracking. He scrambled to his feet, his face red with humiliation and fury.

 

He looked at Izuku. Really looked at him. The sheer density of his muscles. The unyielding wall of his chest. Katsuki realized, with terrifying clarity, that he could not beat Deku in a fight. Not right now. Maybe not ever, if Deku kept growing like this. The weak, crying boy he used to bully was gone, replaced by an immovable object.

 

Katsuki’s fists clenched, his palms sparking violently. He didn't cry. He ground his teeth together, glaring at Izuku with a hatred born of pure, unadulterated rivalry.

 

"You think you're strong, Deku?" Katsuki hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You think you're a hero because you look like a mutated freak? My explosions will get bigger. I'll get stronger. And one day, I'll blast that ugly red skin right off your bones! I am going to be the Number One Hero, and I'll step right over your freakish body to do it!"

 

With that, Katsuki turned and stormed to his desk, kicking a stray block out of his way.

 

Izuku knelt there amidst the foam blocks, watching his former friend. He didn't feel angry at Katsuki's words. He just felt sad.

 

The teacher finally intervened, ushering Izuku back to a different, sturdier chair and scolding Katsuki for using his Quirk. But the dynamic of the classroom had irrevocably shifted.

 

Before, Katsuki was the king, and Izuku was the peasant. Now, Katsuki was a furious prince, screaming at a dragon that refused to breathe fire back at him.

 

For the rest of the day, no one bothered Izuku. No one picked on him. No one even spoke to him, except the teacher. He was given a wide berth. When they went outside for recess, Izuku sat alone on a large wooden bench, watching the other kids play.

 

He saw Katsuki on the jungle gym, aggressively popping explosions, clearly pushing his Quirk harder than he ever had before. Katsuki kept glaring over at Izuku, treating Izuku's very existence as a challenge to be overcome.

 

Izuku looked down at his four hands. He flexed his thick, crimson fingers. He could feel the power thrumming beneath his skin. He knew, intuitively, that if he wanted to, he could tear the metal jungle gym apart with his bare hands. He could crush the rocks on the playground to dust.

 

I am strong, Izuku thought, the realization finally settling in. I am really, really strong.

 

But strength alone didn't make a hero. If strength was all that mattered, Katsuki would be the greatest hero alive. But Katsuki used his strength to intimidate, to conquer.

 

Izuku looked up at the sky. A bird flew overhead, oblivious to the struggles of humans and their Quirks.

 

If I use this power to hurt people, I really will be a villain, Izuku decided. His four-year-old mind, hardened by the day's ostracization, forged a philosophy that would define the rest of his life.

 

My body looks scary. My Quirk is violent. So, I have to be the opposite. I have to be gentle. I have to protect everyone, even people who hate me, like Kacchan. I will never use my power to hurt someone unless I absolutely have to. I will be a shield.

 

Izuku stood up from the bench. He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. He took a deep breath, expanding his massive chest, and forced the brightest, widest smile he could muster onto his face.

 

He walked over to a group of kids who were struggling to reach a stray ball that had gotten stuck in the lower branches of a tree. As he approached, the kids tensed, ready to run.

 

"Don't worry!" Izuku said, his voice cheerful and booming. "I can get it!"

 

He didn't climb the tree. He simply stood on his tiptoes, reached up with his upper left arm, and easily plucked the ball from the branch, nearly ten feet in the air. He knelt down, using his lower hands to gently roll the ball back to the stunned children.

 

"Here you go!" Izuku beamed.

 

The kids stared at him, then at the ball. One brave boy, a kid with a long nose, slowly picked up the ball. He looked at Izuku, the fear in his eyes slightly replaced by awe. "T-Thanks, Midoriya."

 

Izuku's smile became genuine. The heavy weight in his chest lightened, just a fraction.

 

"You're welcome!" Izuku said.

 

From across the playground, Katsuki watched the interaction, his hands popping furiously. The rivalry was cemented. The explosive prodigy and the gentle titan.

 

Izuku Midoriya's path to becoming the greatest hero hadn't been destroyed by his terrifying Quirk. It had simply been rewritten. He wouldn't be the underdog who proved everyone wrong through sheer willpower alone. He would be the monster who proved everyone wrong through relentless, unwavering kindness.

 

He was a Tetramand. He was strong enough to break the world. And therefore, he would carry it.

 

 

 

Ten years passed.

 

The world changed, heroes rose and fell, and the societal reliance on Quirks grew even deeper. In the heart of Musutafu, the legend of the "Red Ogre of Aldera" grew in hushed whispers among the middle schoolers.

 

They said he was eight feet tall. They said he had six arms. They said he ate raw meat and could flip a car with a single finger.

 

The rumors were mostly exaggerations, but not by much.

 

Izuku Midoriya, at fourteen years old, was a spectacle of modern Quirk biology. He stood an imposing seven feet, two inches tall. He weighed nearly four hundred pounds, not an ounce of it fat. His crimson skin had only grown thicker, more durable, taking on the texture of finely tanned leather over hardened steel. His four arms were massive, each bicep the size of a normal man's thigh. He had to have his clothes specially ordered from hero-support companies, favoring simple, stretchable tank tops and loose, martial-arts style pants.

 

Yet, the scariest thing about him to the local delinquents wasn't his size, or his four glowing green eyes, or his booming voice.

 

It was his notebooks.

 

"Hero Analysis for the Future, Volume 13," Izuku muttered rapidly, his deep voice vibrating in his chest like a idling diesel engine. He was walking home from school, hunched over a standard-sized notebook that looked like a tiny matchbook in his massive, upper hands.

 

His upper right hand held a pen, scribbling at breakneck speed. His upper left hand held the notebook. His lower left hand was holding a half-eaten crepe—which looked hilariously small against his red fingers—and his lower right hand was adjusting the straps of his custom-made, oversized yellow backpack.

 

"Kamui Woods' Lacquered Chain Prison is highly effective for crowd control, but his wooden physiology makes him fundamentally incompatible with fire-based villains. If he were to partner with a water-emitter hero, say, Backdraft, they could create a steam-screen to obscure vision while maintaining the structural integrity of his wood..."

 

Mutter, mutter, mutter.

 

People on the sidewalk gave him a wide berth, parting like the Red Sea. Mothers pulled their children away. Shopkeepers eyed him nervously. Izuku was used to it. Ten years of being treated like a walking natural disaster had calloused his feelings. He didn't let it bother him anymore. He just kept smiling, kept his head down, and made sure he didn't accidentally step on anyone.

 

"Hey! Watch where you're going, freak!"

 

Izuku stopped. He looked down. He had accidentally bumped into a businessman, knocking the man's briefcase to the ground.

 

"Oh! I am so incredibly sorry, sir!" Izuku gasped, his four eyes widening in panic. He immediately bowed, a deep, ninety-degree angle, making sure to tuck all four arms against his torso so he didn't hit anyone else.

 

He reached down with a lower hand, delicately pinching the handle of the briefcase between his thumb and forefinger—using the marshmallow rule—and lifted it back up to the man.

 

The businessman, who had been ready to yell, took one look at the towering, four-eyed red giant bowing before him and turned pale. He snatched the briefcase, squeaked, and ran down the street as fast as his legs could carry him.

 

Izuku sighed, a long, rumbling sound. He straightened up, scratching the back of his head with his upper right hand while rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his lower left.

 

"Still need to work on my spatial awareness," he muttered to himself, pulling out a different notebook labeled Quirk Control & Spatial Dynamics. "If I use a 360-degree visual sweep utilizing my secondary optic nerves, I should be able to map pedestrian trajectories better..."

 

As he walked beneath a bridge, the shadows lengthened. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed in the concrete tunnel.

 

Suddenly, a strange, squelching sound broke his concentration.

 

Izuku stopped. All four of his eyes darted around, his secondary set scanning the upper arches of the bridge.

 

"A medium-sized meat shield," a raspy, gargling voice echoed from the manhole cover a few feet away. "Perfect. You'll do nicely to hide me from him."

 

Izuku turned just in time to see a massive, foul-smelling wave of dark green sludge erupt from the sewers. The slime coalesced into a towering wave, reaching out with tendrils of muck, a pair of manic, bloodshot eyes floating within the viscous mass.

 

It was a villain. And a large one at that.

 

Izuku didn't panic. He didn't scream. Ten years of constantly holding back, of treating the world like it was made of glass, had given him a profound sense of calm under pressure.

 

"A fluid-body villain," Izuku noted aloud, his analytical mind instantly taking over. "Physical strikes will be ineffective. Blunt force trauma will simply pass through the viscosity. However, retaining a cohesive form requires surface tension..."

 

"Stop mumbling and give me your body, kid!" the Sludge Villain roared, lunging forward. The massive wave of sludge crashed over Izuku, attempting to engulf him, to force itself down his throat and take control of his nervous system.

 

Normally, this is where the victim would thrash, suffocate, and die.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was not a normal victim.

 

As the sludge enveloped him, covering his face and trying to force its way into his mouth, Izuku simply closed his lips tight. He planted his massive, heavily booted feet into the concrete. He took a deep breath through his nose before it was covered, expanding his immense lung capacity.

 

The Sludge Villain laughed, a gurgling, wet sound. "Don't fight it! It'll only take forty-five seconds! You're a big one, I'll give you that, but once I'm inside..."

 

The villain stopped. Something was wrong. The body he was trying to crush wasn't yielding. In fact, the kid was moving.

 

Beneath the suffocating layer of slime, Izuku's four arms flexed. The muscles, dense as titanium, bulged with crimson power.

 

If I hit him, it won't do anything, Izuku thought calmly inside the dark, foul-smelling sludge. But if I tear him...

 

Izuku brought all four of his hands up to his own chest, burying his thick fingers deep into the viscous mass of the villain's body. He grabbed the sludge as if it were a thick blanket draped over him.

 

Then, utilizing the raw, terrifying strength of a Tetramand, Izuku pulled his arms outward.

 

RIIIIIIP.

 

The sound was utterly bizarre—like a massive tarp being torn in half. The Sludge Villain shrieked in sudden, agonizing shock as his fluid body was literally ripped apart by sheer, unstoppable brute force. The surface tension of the slime broke.

 

Izuku stepped forward, tearing the sludge away from his face and chest, throwing the massive clumps of slime against the concrete walls of the tunnel, where they splattered heavily.

 

Izuku took a deep breath of fresh air, wiping a bit of stray muck from his lower left eye. He looked at the remains of the villain, who was desperately trying to pool his liquid form back together on the ground, whimpering in confusion and pain.

 

"I-Impossible!" the Sludge Villain gurgled, his eyes darting frantically. "You just... you just ripped my fluid matrix apart! Who the hell are you?!"

 

Izuku frowned. He didn't like villains, but he didn't want to hurt him more than necessary. He reached into his oversized pocket and pulled out a large, empty two-liter soda bottle he had been saving for recycling.

 

"You should surrender," Izuku said, his voice echoing in the tunnel with quiet authority. "Your structural integrity is compromised. If you try to attack again, I will have to use a Sonic Clap to disperse your remaining mass, which could cause permanent cellular damage."

 

Before the villain could process the threat of a "Sonic Clap," the manhole cover blew completely off its hinges, flying into the air with a metallic clang.

 

A massive figure shot out of the sewers, landing perfectly at the entrance of the tunnel. The sheer force of his landing cracked the pavement.

 

"HAVE NO FEAR!" a booming, legendary voice echoed, filling the space with an overwhelming aura of safety and power. "FOR I AM HERE!"

 

Izuku froze. His four eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. The notebook in his hand dropped to the floor.

 

Standing there, in all his golden, muscular glory, was All Might. The Number One Hero. The Symbol of Peace.

 

All Might struck a pose, his trademark smile blinding in the shadows of the bridge. He wound back his fist, ready to deliver a devastating Texas Smash to the villain he had been chasing all afternoon.

 

But as All Might looked up, his smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

 

He didn't see a helpless civilian being attacked by the Sludge Villain.

 

He saw a seven-foot-tall, four-armed, red-skinned titan casually holding an empty soda bottle, surrounded by the violently torn, helpless remnants of the villain. The giant alien-looking teenager looked at All Might, his four green eyes sparkling with absolute, star-struck awe.

 

"A-All Might?!" Izuku squeaked, his deep voice cracking into a high-pitched, fanboy octave that completely contradicted his terrifying appearance.

 

All Might blinked, his fist still raised. He looked at the terrified puddle of sludge. He looked at the massive crimson teenager.

 

"Well," All Might boomed, clearing his throat and recovering his smile. "It appears you had the situation perfectly under control, young man! Excellent work!"

 

Izuku dropped the bottle. All four of his hands shot up to his face, his red skin flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, it's really you! I'm your biggest fan! I have all your merchandise! Could you sign my notebook?! Please, sir, it would mean the world to me!"

 

Izuku dropped to his knees, frantically searching the ground for the notebook he had dropped, his four arms scrambling comically over each other.

 

All Might watched the scene unfold. His sharp, experienced eyes took in the details. The boy looked like a terrifying, A-Rank heteromorphic villain. The kind of brute force threat that heroes usually had to team up to take down. Yet, the boy was acting like a pure, unadulterated fanboy, desperately searching for a pen.

 

Furthermore, All Might noticed the state of the villain. The sludge hadn't been blown away by wind pressure or evaporated by heat. It had been... torn apart. Manually. The sheer grip strength and physical power required to break the surface tension of a fluid Quirk like that was astronomical.

 

This boy, All Might thought, his ever-present smile softening into a look of genuine intrigue. He possesses the body of a monstrous titan, but the heart of a gentle child. The strength he wields without even trying...

 

All Might felt a twinge in his side, right where his hidden, catastrophic injury lay beneath his shirt. His time was running out. He had come to this city looking for a successor. He had been looking for a vessel strong enough to inherit a power that broke bones and shattered limbs.

 

He looked at Izuku, who had finally found his notebook and was holding it up with his upper hands, presenting a pen with his lower right hand, his four eyes shining with innocent hope.

 

A body that strong, All Might pondered. A body built for absolute, unrivaled power. If a vessel like that were to inherit One For All... he wouldn't just hold the power. He would master it instantly.

 

All Might stepped forward, taking the notebook and pen. He signed his name in large, bold letters across a two-page spread.

 

"There you go, young man!" All Might laughed, handing it back. "A fine addition to your collection!"

 

Izuku took the notebook, staring at the signature as if it were the Holy Grail. "Thank you... thank you so much! I'll treasure it forever! I'll pass it down as a family heirloom!"

 

All Might scooped up the remaining sludge, stuffing the villain into the empty soda bottles Izuku had provided. "You have a powerful Quirk, my boy. What is your name?"

 

Izuku stood up, towering slightly over even All Might in his current slouched posture. "Midoriya, sir! Izuku Midoriya!"

 

"Well, Young Midoriya, you handled yourself splendidly today. I foresee a bright future for you. Keep up the good work!"

 

With that, All Might crouched, power gathering in his legs, preparing to leap away.

 

"Wait!" Izuku called out, all four hands reaching forward instinctively. He didn't know why he said it. But this was his idol. The man who inspired him to smile despite looking like a monster. He had to ask the question that had haunted him since he was four years old.

 

All Might paused, glancing back.

 

"Even... even if I look like a villain..." Izuku asked, his deep voice trembling slightly, his four eyes filled with a vulnerability that broke All Might's heart. "Even if people are scared of me before I even do anything... can someone who looks like a monster still become a hero who saves everyone with a smile?"

 

The wind blew through the tunnel.

 

All Might turned around fully. He didn't give his trademark, boisterous laugh. He looked at Izuku with utter seriousness. He saw past the red skin, past the four arms, past the intimidating height. He saw the pure, heroic spirit shining within.

 

"Young Midoriya," All Might said softly, yet with absolute conviction. "A hero is not defined by the shape of his body, but by the strength of his heart. And from what I have seen today, your heart is as strong as they come."

 

All Might pointed a massive finger at Izuku.

 

"You can become a hero."

 

Tears immediately flooded all four of Izuku's eyes. He fell to his knees once again, burying his face in his upper hands, sobbing openly. Ten years of holding back, ten years of trying to prove he wasn't a monster, validated in a single sentence by the greatest hero in the world.

 

All Might smiled gently, preparing to leap. Yes, Young Midoriya. You can become a hero. And perhaps... you can become something even greater.

 

With a mighty shockwave, All Might blasted into the sky, leaving Izuku alone in the tunnel, weeping tears of joy, completely unaware that his life was about to change for the second time. The Crimson Awakening was over. The path to One For All had just begun.

 

The echoing boom of All Might’s departure still vibrated in the concrete walls of the underpass, but the sound was nothing compared to the roaring in Izuku Midoriya’s ears.

 

He remained kneeling on the pavement, his four massive hands pressed against the cold ground. Tears streamed freely from his four emerald eyes, splashing in heavy, warm drops against the asphalt. “You can become a hero.” The words played on a loop in his mind, echoing with the timbre of the Number One Hero’s voice.

 

For ten years, Izuku had lived as a paradox. He possessed a body built for destruction, a physiological masterpiece of brute force and intimidation. Yet, his soul was that of a gentle, timid boy who only wanted to see people smile. He had spent a decade apologizing for his very existence, shrinking his seven-foot, two-inch frame to accommodate a world built for the fragile and the small. He had endured the fearful whispers of strangers, the terrified stares of children, and the relentless, blistering fury of Katsuki Bakugo.

 

But none of that mattered now. All Might had looked at his crimson skin, his extra limbs, and his monstrous silhouette, and had not seen a villain. He had seen a hero.

 

Slowly, Izuku stood up. The movement was a complex symphony of heavy, ultra-dense muscle and reinforced bone. He wiped his face with his upper arms, sniffing loudly, while his lower arms dusted off his specially tailored, oversized school uniform pants. A wide, genuine smile broke across his face, baring his slightly pronounced canines.

 

"I'm going to do it," he whispered, his deep, resonant voice echoing in the tunnel. He looked down at the notebook in his hand, tracing the bold, golden signature of his idol. "I'm going to be a hero who saves everyone. No matter what."

 

He turned to exit the tunnel, his heavy boots crunching against the pavement. He was so elated, so completely lost in the euphoric clouds of his own dreams coming true, that he failed to notice the small, dark puddle of liquid seeping into the gutter near where All Might had leaped.

 

Unbeknownst to Izuku, the immense G-force of All Might's takeoff, combined with the hero's hidden, deteriorating physical condition, had caused a momentary lapse in his grip. The two-liter soda bottle containing the torn, angry remnants of the Sludge Villain had slipped from the hero's pocket. It had shattered against the concrete just outside the tunnel, freeing the malignant slime to seek a new host.

 

 

 

Earlier that day, the reality of Izuku’s daily life had been a stark contrast to the triumph he felt now.

 

Aldera Junior High was an old building, constructed decades before Heteromorphic Quirks had become commonplace, and long before the government had mandated architectural accommodations for giants. For Izuku, simply navigating the halls was an exercise in extreme, agonizing caution.

 

"Excuse me. Sorry. Passing through," Izuku had rumbled that morning, taking tiny, shuffling steps down the crowded hallway.

 

He was a crimson mountain moving through a sea of fragile porcelain dolls. He had to hunch his shoulders forward and tuck his lower arms tightly against his ribs, while his upper arms hovered nervously near his chest, ready to catch anyone who might trip near him. Despite his best efforts, his sheer mass displaced the air around him, parting the sea of middle schoolers. They pressed themselves against the lockers, their eyes wide.

 

Izuku reached his homeroom. The doorframe was exactly six feet, eight inches tall. Izuku was seven foot two.

 

With a practiced, weary sigh, Izuku dipped his knees, ducked his head, and contorted his massive upper torso to slide through the frame. Even with his care, the fabric of his oversized uniform brushed against the wood.

 

His desk was located in the very back corner of the classroom, an arrangement made not out of malice, but out of absolute necessity. If he sat anywhere else, he completely blocked the view of at least three students behind him. The school had been forced to order a custom desk for him—a reinforced steel table bolted to the floor, paired with a solid oak bench that didn't have armrests.

 

Izuku carefully lowered his four-hundred-pound frame onto the bench, releasing a breath as the wood groaned but held. He pulled out his notebooks, using his lower hands to arrange his pens and pencils with delicate, meticulous precision. The "marshmallow rule" his mother had taught him was still in full effect. If he grabbed a pencil too hard, it exploded into splinters. If he rested his elbows too heavily on the steel desk, the metal warped.

 

"Since you're all third years, it's time for you to think seriously about your futures!" the homeroom teacher had announced, standing at the podium holding a stack of career aptitude forms. "I'll pass out handouts for your future plans now, but... you're all pretty much planning to go into the hero course, right?!"

 

The classroom erupted into cheers. Students showed off their minor Quirks—glowing hands, stretchy fingers, small rock formations.

 

Izuku didn't cheer. He simply raised his upper right hand, a small, hopeful smile on his face.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful Quirks!" the teacher laughed, trying to maintain order. "But using your powers at school is against the rules!"

 

"Sensei! Don't lump me in with these losers!"

 

The loud, arrogant voice cut through the chatter like a knife. Katsuki Bakugo leaned back in his chair, his feet kicked up on his desk. He smirked, sparks popping lazily from his palms. "As if I had anything in common with these weaklings. My Quirk is in a completely different league."

 

The class immediately broke into angry murmurs, but Bakugo just laughed, entirely unbothered. He was a prodigy, and he knew it. His explosion Quirk was versatile, immensely powerful, and visually spectacular.

 

"Ah, Bakugo. You're aiming for U.A. High, aren't you?" the teacher noted, looking at a clipboard.

 

The class gasped. U.A. was the national standard, a fortress of elite hero education with an acceptance rate of less than two percent.

 

"That's exactly why it's the only place for me!" Bakugo gloated, leaping onto his desk. "I aced the mock test! I'm the only one at this crappy school who stands a chance! I'll even surpass All Might and become the top hero! My name will be inscribed on the list of top earners—!"

 

"Oh, right," the teacher interrupted, adjusting his glasses and looking at the very back of the room. "Midoriya wants to go to U.A., too, doesn't he?"

 

The silence that fell over the room was absolute. It was heavy, suffocating, and terrifyingly still.

 

Every single head in the classroom turned slowly toward the back corner. They looked at the massive, red-skinned, four-armed, four-eyed titan sitting there.

 

Then, the murmurs began. But they weren't the mocking laughs that a quirkless boy might have received. They were hushed, nervous, and profoundly uncomfortable.

 

“Midoriya? U.A.?”

“I mean... he has the power for it...”

“But could you imagine him as a hero? He looks like a villain out of a nightmare.”

“He’d probably destroy the city trying to save it.”

“He’s a freak...”

 

Izuku shrank under their gaze, or at least, he tried to. He pulled his four arms tight against his chest and ducked his head, wishing he could disappear. "I-It's just a goal," his deep voice rumbled, vibrating the windows slightly. "There's no rule against... trying..."

 

BOOM!

 

A blinding flash of heat and light erupted right in front of Izuku's face. The shockwave rattled the windows and blew Izuku’s notebooks off his desk. Bakugo had launched himself across the room with his explosions, landing directly on Izuku's reinforced steel table.

 

"Listen up, you freak!" Bakugo roared, his palms smoking as he glared down into Izuku’s four eyes. "You think you can stand in the same ring as me?! You think just because you got huge and ugly, you're hero material?!"

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He just looked at Bakugo, his lower arms resting calmly on his lap, his upper arms raising in a placating gesture. "K-Kacchan, please. I'm not trying to compete with you. We can both go. We can both be heroes..."

 

"Shut up!" Bakugo hissed, his crimson eyes burning with a complex, furious inferiority complex.

 

Bakugo hated Izuku. But it wasn't the hatred of a strong person bullying the weak. It was the frantic, maddening frustration of a predator realizing his prey was made of indestructible armor. Ever since that day in kindergarten, Bakugo had trained relentlessly. He had pushed his Explosion Quirk to its absolute limits. He was strong, fast, and lethal.

 

But no matter how strong his explosions got, he knew—deep down in the darkest, most insecure part of his soul—that if Izuku Midoriya ever decided to actually fight back, Bakugo would be crushed like an insect.

 

Izuku's skin could withstand point-blank blasts without a singe. His four arms could lift a commercial truck. Bakugo's entire superiority was built on a fragile illusion: the fact that the Red Ogre simply refused to fight. And Bakugo despised him for it. He despised Izuku's pity. He despised Izuku's gentle nature.

 

"You're a monster, Deku," Bakugo growled, leaning in so only Izuku could hear. "Heroes are supposed to make people feel safe. You make people piss their pants. If you show your ugly face at the U.A. exams, I'll blow you to kingdom come."

 

Izuku looked at Bakugo. He didn't feel anger. He just felt an overwhelming, profound sadness for the boy who had once been his friend. "I'm going to try, Kacchan," Izuku rumbled softly, his voice steady. "I have to."

 

Bakugo scoffed, kicking Izuku's desk before launching himself back to his own seat. "Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you, freak."

 

 

 

Present Time.

 

Izuku walked down the busy streets of Musutafu, his steps much lighter than they had been that morning. The memory of Bakugo's harsh words, the stares of his classmates—none of it stung anymore. All Might had validated him. The Symbol of Peace had seen his monstrous form and declared it worthy of heroism.

 

He was so lost in his thoughts, humming a deep, rumbling tune, that he almost didn't hear it.

 

BOOM!

 

The sound of an explosion echoed through the city blocks. It wasn't the distant rumble of construction. It was sharp, percussive, and intensely familiar.

 

Izuku stopped. His secondary pair of eyes blinked, his brow furrowing. He knew that sound. He had listened to it, analyzed it, and documented it in his notebooks for a decade. The specific acoustic signature of nitroglycerin sweat igniting.

 

Kacchan?

 

Without thinking, Izuku's legs began to move. His massive strides ate up the pavement. He turned a corner, heading toward the Tatooin Shopping District. As he approached, the smell of burning plastic and smoke hit his nostrils. A massive crowd had gathered, held back by police tape.

 

Izuku peered over the heads of the crowd easily. His breath hitched in his massive chest.

 

Fires raged through the alleyway, consuming storefronts and sending thick black plumes into the sky. Standing in the center of the inferno, laughing maniacally, was the Sludge Villain. The very same monster Izuku had torn apart under the bridge less than an hour ago.

 

No, Izuku thought, his four hands trembling as realization washed over him in a freezing wave. How? All Might had him. I... I distracted All Might. I asked him for an autograph. I kept him talking. The bottle... it must have fallen.

 

Guilt, sharp and heavy as an anvil, crashed down on Izuku’s shoulders. This was his fault. This destruction, these fires, it was all because of his selfish fanboying.

 

He scanned the scene. The Pro Heroes were there. Death Arms, Kamui Woods, Mt. Lady, and Backdraft. But they weren't fighting.

 

"It's no good!" Death Arms shouted, punching his fists together in frustration. "There's nothing to grab onto! It's a fluid Quirk! And he's got a hostage! We can't use large-scale attacks without hitting the kid!"

 

"My wood will catch fire if I get too close!" Kamui Woods grunted, shielding his face from the intense heat.

 

"I need at least a two-lane road to get back there safely!" Mt. Lady added, frustrated by the narrow alley.

 

A hostage? Izuku's four eyes locked onto the center of the sludge mass.

 

Thrashing violently within the dark green muck was a figure. The Sludge Villain had enveloped the boy, forcing its liquid mass into his nose and mouth, trying to hijack his body. But the boy was fighting back with everything he had. Blinding, desperate explosions fired from his palms, igniting the surrounding buildings but doing nothing to disperse the fluid villain.

 

Through a gap in the shifting sludge, Izuku saw a pair of terrified, furious crimson eyes.

 

Kacchan.

 

Izuku’s heart stopped. Bakugo was drowning in the open air. His explosions were growing weaker, the intervals between the blasts lengthening. He was suffocating.

 

Izuku looked back at the Pro Heroes. "Why aren't they doing anything?" he whispered, his deep voice trembling.

 

"They can't," a bystander next to Izuku muttered. "The villain's too slippery, and the fires are too hot. They're waiting for a hero with a suitable Quirk to arrive."

 

Waiting?

 

Izuku looked back at Bakugo. Bakugo's eyes met his across the sea of fire and the crowd. In that singular, terrifying moment, the arrogant, explosive prodigy didn't look angry. He didn't look superior. He just looked like a fourteen-year-old boy begging for help.

 

The logic in Izuku's brain—the ten years of notebooks, of analysis, of waiting for the right moment, of being the gentle giant who never overstepped his bounds—completely shattered.

 

He didn't think. He didn't plan. He moved.

 

Before the crowd or the police could react, a crimson blur of unimaginable mass tore through the police line.

 

"Hey! Kid! Stop! Get back here!" Death Arms bellowed, reaching out to grab him.

 

Izuku didn't even feel the Pro Hero's hand brush his arm. He hit the blazing alleyway with the force of a runaway freight train. The heat of the fire licked against his red skin, but he barely registered it. His Tetramand biology was designed to withstand extreme environments; the flames felt like nothing more than a warm summer breeze.

 

"What the—?!" the Sludge Villain gurgled, its massive, bloodshot eyes snapping toward the approaching giant. "You?! The freak from the tunnel! How are you here?!"

 

Izuku didn't answer. His face was set in a mask of terrifying, primal determination. All four of his eyes were locked onto Bakugo.

 

I can't punch him, Izuku's mind raced, his tactical analysis kicking in even in the midst of pure adrenaline. The impact force will transfer through the fluid and shatter Kacchan's bones. I have to pull them apart. But Kacchan is blasting explosions blindly. If I get close, the concussive force might knock me off balance, and the villain will envelop us both.

 

Izuku skidded to a halt ten feet away from the villain, his massive boots tearing chunks out of the asphalt.

 

"Die, you freak!" the Sludge Villain roared, whipping a massive, dense tendril of sludge directly at Izuku's head, aiming to crush his skull.

 

Izuku didn't dodge. He simply raised his upper right arm, catching the tendril in his palm. The impact echoed with a loud SMACK, but Izuku didn't budge an inch. His thick fingers dug into the slime.

 

"I've analyzed your Quirk," Izuku rumbled, his voice dropping an octave, taking on a terrifying, demonic resonance that shook the burning debris around them. "You require a solid core to anchor your fluid form. The hostage is your core right now."

 

"So what?!" the villain laughed, though it sounded slightly panicked as Izuku effortlessly held the tendril. "You can't get him out without killing him!"

 

Izuku narrowed his four eyes. "Watch me."

 

Izuku dropped to a deep, wide, martial-arts stance, lowering his center of gravity. He brought his two lower arms forward, hands open. With a feral grunt, he plunged both of his massive, lower red hands directly into the solid concrete of the street.

 

The pavement shattered like glass under his fingers. Izuku drove his lower arms deep into the earth, hooking his fingers under the bedrock of the road. He became an immovable object, anchored completely to the earth.

 

"What is he doing?!" Kamui Woods yelled from the sidelines.

 

"He's anchoring himself!" Death Arms gasped, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Good lord, look at the size of him..."

 

With his lower body and lower arms locked into the pavement, Izuku was free to use his upper torso. He leaned forward, ignoring a desperate, point-blank explosion from Bakugo that washed over his face. The fire did nothing but singe his green hair.

 

Izuku plunged his two upper arms straight into the thickest, most volatile part of the sludge mass.

 

The villain shrieked. "Get out! Get your hands out of me!"

 

The sludge violently compressed, trying to crush Izuku's arms, but it was like trying to crush solid steel beams with a wet sponge. Izuku ignored the villain entirely. His upper hands waded through the muck until his thick fingers brushed against the fabric of Bakugo's school uniform.

 

Izuku's upper hands closed gently around Bakugo's shoulders. Even now, in the midst of a life-or-death struggle, Izuku applied the "marshmallow rule." He couldn't crush Kacchan.

 

"I've got you," Izuku whispered, though his voice boomed over the fire.

 

Bakugo, half-conscious and suffocating, looked up into the four glowing green eyes of his rival. He couldn't speak. He could only watch as the monster he had bullied for a decade became his absolute savior.

 

"Now," Izuku said, addressing the villain. "Let. Him. Go."

 

Izuku engaged the monumental muscles of his upper back, his massive red deltoids and biceps bulging against his custom-made shirt until the fabric began to tear.

 

He didn't punch. He pulled.

 

The force was cataclysmic. Because Izuku's lower arms were anchored deep into the concrete, none of the kinetic energy was lost to a shifting stance. Every ounce of his superhuman, Tetramand strength was localized entirely in pulling Bakugo backward.

 

The Sludge Villain shrieked in absolute agony. The fluid matrix of his body, bound by surface tension and whatever strange physics governed his Quirk, was stretched to its absolute breaking point. He tried to hold onto Bakugo, but he was fighting the raw horsepower of a creature capable of moving mountains.

 

With a sickening, thunderous SCHLUCK, the sludge gave way.

 

Izuku ripped Bakugo entirely free from the villain's mass. The sudden release of tension caused the villain's body to snap back on itself, the sludge scattering across the walls of the alley in a disorganized, helpless splash.

 

Izuku instantly retracted his lower arms from the shattered concrete. He caught the coughing, gasping Bakugo in a cradle with his two lower arms, holding the boy securely against his broad chest.

 

"Kacchan! Are you okay? Breathe! Just breathe!" Izuku panicked, his fierce, heroic visage instantly melting away, replaced by the terrified, stuttering nerd Bakugo knew so well. Izuku's upper arms hovered nervously, unsure of where to place themselves.

 

Bakugo hacked up a mouthful of foul-tasting slime. He looked up at Izuku. The massive, red face was twisted in genuine, unadulterated concern. Bakugo's pride, already fragile, shattered into a million pieces. He had been saved. He had been completely, utterly helpless, and Deku—the freak, the pebble, the monster—had ripped him from the jaws of death with zero effort.

 

"Put me down, you giant idiot," Bakugo rasped, weakly shoving against Izuku's chest.

 

Izuku immediately complied, gently setting Bakugo on his feet, though he kept his lower hands hovering nearby just in case the blonde boy stumbled.

 

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the alley.

 

The wind pressure shifted violently. The flames surrounding them were instantly blown out, snuffed like candles in a hurricane. The remaining scattered puddles of the Sludge Villain were splattered flat against the pavement.

 

Izuku looked up, his four eyes widening.

 

Standing at the entrance of the alley, his massive chest heaving, his fists clenched, was All Might. The hero wasn't smiling. He looked furious, but not at Izuku. He looked furious at himself.

 

"I really am pathetic," All Might said, his voice lower than usual, bleeding with a rare, raw sincerity. "I told you what makes a champion, but I didn't live up to my own ideals!"

 

All Might stepped forward, the sheer aura of his presence commanding the space. He looked at Izuku, then at the shattered concrete where Izuku had anchored himself, and finally at the coughing Bakugo.

 

"Pros are always risking their lives!" All Might roared, raising his right fist. "DETROIT... SMASH!"

 

He didn't aim at Izuku or Bakugo. He aimed at the air itself, directly above the remaining pools of the Sludge Villain. The downward force of the punch altered the very air pressure in the alley. A localized tornado erupted from All Might's fist, tearing through the street, gathering the villain's scattered remnants into a swirling vortex before slamming them against the back wall, permanently incapacitating the slime.

 

The sheer force of the wind pressure created a massive updraft. Within seconds, the thick, gray clouds above Musutafu parted, and a gentle rain began to fall, extinguishing the last of the fires.

 

Izuku stood there, shielding Bakugo from the wind with his massive body, using all four arms to create a physical barrier. He watched in awe. He changed the weather with a single punch.

 

When the dust settled, the alley was quiet, save for the patter of the rain.

 

The aftermath was a blur of flashing lights, sirens, and shouting voices. The paramedics rushed in to check on Bakugo, wrapping him in a shock blanket. The Pro Heroes, however, rounded on Izuku.

 

"What were you thinking, kid?!" Kamui Woods scolded, pointing a wooden finger at Izuku's chest. "You could have been killed! Or worse, you could have gotten the hostage killed!"

 

"Your Quirk is impressive, I'll give you that," Death Arms grunted, looking up—way up—at Izuku's face. "The raw strength to shatter the pavement and pull him out... it's heroic, sure. But it was reckless! You leave the hero work to the professionals! You don't just charge in!"

 

Izuku ducked his head, his face burning with embarrassment. He folded his lower arms behind his back and wrung his upper hands together. "I'm sorry, sir. I just... his eyes. He looked like he needed help. My legs just moved on their own."

 

A few yards away, Bakugo was being praised by the paramedics and other heroes.

 

"Kid, you're amazing! Holding off a villain like that for so long!" a paramedic smiled.

 

"With a Quirk like yours, you'll be a top hero in no time!" Mt. Lady added.

 

Bakugo ignored them. He stared at the ground, the shock blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. He glanced over at Izuku, who was being scolded for doing the very thing the heroes had been too afraid to do.

 

The injustice of it, the humiliation of it, boiled in Bakugo's veins. He stood up abruptly, shrugging off the blanket. He marched over to where Izuku was standing, pushing past Death Arms.

 

"Hey! Deku!" Bakugo yelled, his voice rough.

 

Izuku looked down, offering a small, apologetic smile. "Kacchan. I'm glad you're okay."

 

"Shut up!" Bakugo snapped, his fists clenched at his sides. He looked up at the four-eyed giant. "I didn't ask for your help! I didn't need you to save me! I would have gotten out of there myself! Don't you dare think you're better than me just because you got lucky, you red freak! I owe you nothing!"

 

With that, Bakugo turned and stormed off, pushing his way through the police tape and the crowd, disappearing into the city streets.

 

Izuku watched him go, letting out a soft sigh. "He's right," Izuku muttered. "I probably just got in his way."

 

The heroes eventually let Izuku go, writing the incident off as a misguided but ultimately successful civilian rescue. Izuku walked the rest of the way home in the twilight, the adrenaline fading, replaced by a deep, bone-aching exhaustion. Using his muscles to that extreme, even with his Tetramand biology, took a toll. His upper back ached, and his lower fingers were scraped from digging into the concrete.

 

"I really need to work on my technique," Izuku murmured to himself, writing furiously in his slightly singed notebook with his upper hands while his lower hands massaged his aching shoulders. "If I had anchored my feet instead of my lower arms, I could have used all four hands to create a more even distribution of force, potentially freeing Kacchan three point four seconds faster..."

 

"I AM HERE!"

 

Izuku stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around.

 

Bursting out from a side alley, sliding to a halt in front of Izuku, was All Might. The hero struck a pose, his golden hair catching the light of the streetlamps.

 

"All Might?!" Izuku gasped, stumbling backward, his massive boots clunking awkwardly on the sidewalk. "What are you doing here? How did you get rid of the reporters?"

 

"Hahaha! Standing for justice means knowing how to evade the press, my boy!" All Might laughed loudly. "I have come to thank you, and to revise what I said earlier!"

 

All Might stepped forward, the smile fading from his face, replaced by a look of intense gravity.

 

"If you hadn't been there... if you hadn't acted... I would have been a worthless bystander," All Might said, looking up into Izuku's four eyes. "Thank you, Izuku Midoriya."

 

Izuku's breath hitched. "N-No, All Might! It was my fault he was there in the first place! If I hadn't distracted you, the bottle wouldn't have fallen. I got in the way... I was reckless..."

 

"You were the only one who acted!" All Might's voice boomed, cutting through Izuku's self-deprecation. "Of all the people there, the heroes, the police, the bystanders... you were the only one who moved. You, a boy with a body feared by society, threw yourself into the fire to save a boy who hated you."

 

All Might paused. And then, a horrific sound echoed in the quiet street.

 

POOF.

 

A massive cloud of steam erupted from All Might's body. Izuku coughed, waving his four arms to clear the vapor. When the steam settled, Izuku's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror.

 

The Symbol of Peace was gone. Standing in his place was a skeletal, emaciated man with sunken eyes, wearing clothes that hung off him like a scarecrow. He coughed violently, a spray of blood splattering the pavement.

 

Izuku shrieked, an incredibly high-pitched, un-Tetramand sound. "A-A-All Might?! You deflated?! What happened?! Are you an imposter?! A villain?! Oh my goodness, my brain can't process this!" Izuku's four arms flailed in a panic, his massive hands gripping his own head.

 

"Calm down, my boy," the skeletal man sighed, wiping the blood from his chin. "I am All Might. This... this is my true form."

 

The man lifted his baggy white t-shirt. On the left side of his chest was a horrific, spider-webbing scar that looked like the epicenter of a volcanic eruption. The skin was purple and twisted, a testament to unimaginable trauma.

 

Izuku stopped flailing, his four eyes locking onto the wound. He had seen injuries before in his hero analysis, but this was different. This was a mortal wound.

 

"Five years ago," All Might said, his voice quiet, stripped of its booming bravado. "An enemy attacked me. My respiratory system was nearly destroyed. My stomach was removed. I can only do hero work for about three hours a day now. The rest of the time, I look like this."

 

Izuku's analytical mind raced. "Five years ago... the fight with Toxic Chainsaw?"

 

"You know your stuff," All Might chuckled softly, though it ended in a cough. "But no. That punk couldn't scratch me. This fight was kept from the public. A Symbol of Peace cannot be seen as vulnerable."

 

All Might looked up at Izuku, his sunken blue eyes piercing through the twilight. "I smile to show the pressure of heroes, and to trick the fear inside of me. Today, I reached my limit. I couldn't move. But when I saw you—a boy with a monstrous appearance but a pure, heroic heart—charge into that fire... it gave me the strength to move one last time."

 

All Might took a step closer, looking at Izuku's massive, imposing frame. He looked at the four arms, the dense crimson skin, the sheer, undeniable power radiating from the boy.

 

"Top heroes have stories about them from their school days," All Might said, his voice gaining a fraction of its former power. "Most of their stories have one thing in common: their bodies moved before they had a chance to think."

 

Izuku gasped. Tears, hot and fast, welled up in all four of his eyes.

 

"That is what happened to you today, isn't it?" All Might asked.

 

Izuku nodded, a choked sob escaping his lips. He fell to his knees once again, bowing his head. The giant monster of Aldera, crying like a child.

 

"You are worthy to inherit my power," All Might declared.

 

Izuku stopped crying. He sniffled, looking up through his tears. His brain, usually so quick to analyze, stalled completely. "Inherit... your power? What do you mean?"

 

All Might smiled. It wasn't the blinding, media-ready smile of the Symbol of Peace. It was the genuine, weary smile of a man who had finally found what he was looking for.

 

"My Quirk, Young Midoriya, is not a simple strength enhancer," All Might explained, holding out his hand. "It is a sacred torch, passed from one generation to the next. It cultivates power, stockpiles it, and hands it down. I was the eighth to receive it. It is called... One For All."

 

"One... For All," Izuku repeated, the name tasting like history on his tongue. "But... Quirks are genetic. How can you pass it on? And why me?"

 

All Might gestured to Izuku's body. "Because of that. The power of One For All has grown immensely with each generation. It is a hurricane of pure, kinetic energy. If I were to pass it on to a normal boy, the sheer force of the Quirk would blow his limbs clean off. A normal vessel would shatter under the pressure."

 

All Might's eyes burned with a profound, awestruck intensity.

 

"But you... you are not normal. I watched you shatter concrete with your bare hands. I watched you rip a fluid Quirk apart. Your bones are like steel. Your muscles are like bedrock. Your body, Izuku Midoriya, is the most perfect vessel for this power I have ever seen. If you take this power, you won't just hold it. You will master it. You will become a hero that far surpasses even me."

 

Izuku stared at his own hands. The four red hands that had broken doors, shattered pencils, and scared his classmates. The body he had viewed as a curse, a barrier to his dream of making people feel safe.

 

It wasn't a curse. It was a prerequisite.

 

He had been given the body of a titan so that he could carry the weight of a god.

 

Izuku stood up slowly. He wiped his face with his upper arms. He looked down at the skeletal man who had been his idol for ten years. There was no hesitation. There was no fear.

 

Izuku clenched all four of his fists, his crimson skin tightening over his massive muscles. He stood tall, towering over All Might, casting a long, imposing shadow in the streetlights. But his four eyes were soft, filled with an unwavering, unbreakable resolve.

 

"I'll do it," Izuku said, his deep voice carrying the weight of a solemn vow. "I will take your power. And I will use it to protect everyone. Even the people who are afraid of me."

 

All Might smiled, the exhaustion momentarily leaving his face. "A quick answer. I expected nothing less. But do not think it will be easy, my boy. A vessel may be strong, but it must still be prepared to hold an ocean."

 

All Might pointed a bony finger toward the horizon. "Tomorrow, your real training begins. We have ten months until the U.A. Entrance Exams. Get ready, Izuku Midoriya. I am going to push your four arms to their absolute limits."

 

Izuku grinned, a wide, slightly terrifying, but entirely heroic smile.

 

"Bring it on."

 

The salty, stagnant scent of the ocean mixed with the pungent odor of rotting garbage and rusted metal. Dagobah Municipal Beach Park was less of a beach and more of an illegal dumping ground, a testament to the apathy of the city’s residents. Mountains of discarded appliances, tires, and ruined furniture stretched across the sand, obscuring the horizon.

 

Standing at the edge of the concrete promenade, looking out over the sea of trash, was Izuku Midoriya. At fourteen years old and seven feet, two inches tall, he looked like a crimson statue erected to guard the ruins. The early morning mist clung to his broad shoulders, his four massive arms resting loosely at his sides.

 

"This," a raspy voice coughed from behind him, "is your training ground, Young Midoriya!"

 

Izuku turned to see the skeletal form of Toshinori Yagi—All Might—shuffling down the concrete steps. He wore baggy sweatpants and an oversized white t-shirt, carrying a clipboard that seemed comically large in his bony hands.

 

"Dagobah Beach," Izuku rumbled, his deep voice vibrating in the quiet morning air. His four green eyes scanned the terrain. "I've read about this place. The ocean currents bring in illegal dumping from the bay, and locals use it as a junkyard to avoid disposal fees. It's an environmental disaster."

 

"Exactly!" All Might pointed a bony finger at the trash. "Heroes these days are all about the flashy fights and the media coverage. They forget that the root of heroism is community service. Restoring this beach to its former glory will be the first step in forging your spirit!"

 

All Might held up a dense packet of paper. "I have devised the 'Aim to Pass: American Dream Plan'! It is a grueling, ten-month regiment designed to push your body to the absolute breaking point. You will haul this trash, piece by piece, to the designated disposal zones. It will build your muscles, your stamina, and prepare your vessel for the immense burden of One For All!"

 

Izuku took the packet with his lower right hand, flipping through the pages with his upper hands while his lower left hand rubbed his chin. The packet detailed calorie intake, sleep schedules, and a meticulous, section-by-section clearing plan.

 

"Ten months..." Izuku muttered, his analytical brain immediately running the numbers. "The total tonnage of the debris spread across this two-kilometer stretch, assuming a varied density of household appliances and waterlogged furniture... All Might, sir, are you sure this will take ten months?"

 

All Might coughed violently into his fist. "Of course, my boy! Even for someone of your... impressive stature, this is a monumental task. The human body requires rest, recovery, and—"

 

"I'll start over there," Izuku interrupted politely, pointing to a towering pile of rusted refrigerators and a half-crushed pickup truck.

 

Izuku stepped off the promenade and onto the sand. His heavy, custom-made boots sank slightly, but he quickly adjusted his center of gravity. He approached the pickup truck. It was a rusted, hollowed-out shell, but the frame and engine block were still intact. It easily weighed two tons.

 

All Might watched, expecting Izuku to grab a stray tire or perhaps a microwave to start his first day.

 

Instead, Izuku squatted down beside the truck. He wedged his two massive, upper hands under the rusted wheel wells. He engaged his legs—thighs as thick as oak trunks—and simply stood up.

 

The sound of screeching metal echoed across the beach as the two-ton pickup truck was hoisted off the sand with zero hesitation. Izuku lifted it over his head, his upper arms locking out perfectly. He didn't even look strained; his breathing remained steady, his crimson face entirely neutral.

 

But he wasn't done. While holding the truck aloft with his upper arms, Izuku looked down at the pile of refrigerators. He reached out with his lower left arm, gripping a double-door fridge by its frame, and hoisted it under his arm like a football. With his lower right arm, he grabbed a washing machine by its drum, lifting it effortlessly.

 

Carrying a pickup truck, a refrigerator, and a washing machine simultaneously, the Tetramand teenager turned and began a light, brisk jog toward the designated disposal zone at the edge of the street. His heavy footsteps shook the sand, completely unbothered by the uneven terrain.

 

He dumped the appliances and the truck into the designated drop zone with a thunderous CRASH, dusted off his four hands, and jogged back to All Might, a bright, eager smile on his face.

 

"Okay! What's next?" Izuku boomed cheerfully.

 

All Might stood frozen, his sunken blue eyes wide, the clipboard slipping from his bony fingers and clattering onto the concrete. He stared at the empty space where a massive pile of trash had been just thirty seconds prior. He looked at Izuku, who wasn't even sweating.

 

"You... you..." All Might stammered.

 

"Is my form wrong?" Izuku asked nervously, his upper hands instantly flying up to wave defensively. "I tried to use my legs, just like the diagrams in the packet! Did I go too fast? I'm sorry, I just wanted to get a good start!"

 

All Might rubbed his temples, letting out a long, wheezing sigh. He had forgotten. He had fundamentally miscalculated the sheer, terrifying reality of a Tetramand's biology. The American Dream Plan was built for a human attempting to become superhuman. Izuku was already a titan.

 

"Young Midoriya," All Might said slowly. "At this rate, how long do you estimate it would take you to clear this entire beach?"

 

Izuku looked at the beach, his four eyes blinking in sequence as he performed the mental math. "Well, if I work for three hours every morning before school, and account for the travel time to the drop zones... I should have it completely pristine in about three and a half weeks. Maybe four, if I find something really heavy buried in the sand."

 

All Might stared at the boy. Four weeks. It took me a year to build the muscle mass required for One For All, and he's going to clear a municipal disaster zone as light cardio.

 

All Might suddenly burst into boisterous, booming laughter, transforming into his muscular form in a cloud of steam. "HAHAHA! FANTASTIC! ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE, MY BOY!" All Might slapped Izuku on the back—a strike that would have broken a normal man's spine, but Izuku merely swayed slightly.

 

"It appears," All Might boomed, his golden hair catching the morning sun, "that I have grossly underestimated your physical capabilities! The physical conditioning portion of our training is entirely redundant!"

 

All Might deflated back into his skeletal form, wiping a bit of blood from his chin. "Which means," he continued, his tone turning dead serious, "we have to change our approach entirely. Raw power is not your weakness, Izuku. Restraint, technique, and coordination are."

 

Izuku tilted his head. "Coordination?"

 

"You have four arms," All Might pointed out. "And yet, you carry yourself like a man who is afraid to bump into a glass table. You have spent your entire life pulling your punches, holding back your strength, and treating the world like it is made of tissue paper. That is incredibly noble, and it proves you have the heart of a hero."

 

All Might stepped closer, looking up into Izuku's eyes. "But when you face a villain—a true monster who wants to take lives—you cannot hesitate. You need to know how to fight. You need to know how to utilize all four of those massive limbs in perfect, lethal harmony, without losing your control."

 

Izuku looked down at his four red hands. He had never thrown a real punch in his life. He had pushed Kacchan once, a decade ago, and it had haunted him ever since. The thought of fighting, of striking someone with his full weight, terrified him.

 

"And furthermore," All Might added, placing a hand on Izuku's chest. "One For All is a tempest. It is a hurricane of stockpiled kinetic energy. Your body is a titanium vault, yes. But if you detonate a nuclear bomb inside a titanium vault, the vault still cracks."

 

Izuku gasped. "You mean... the Quirk could still hurt me?"

 

"If you channel one hundred percent of One For All through your muscles right now, it will violently tear your muscle fibers. You won't explode like a normal boy would, but you will be severely injured," All Might warned. "You must learn to moderate the flow. To open the valve just enough."

 

All Might picked up his clipboard and snapped it in half over his knee.

 

"The new plan starts now," All Might declared. "For the next ten months, you are not a garbage collector. You are a martial artist. And I am going to teach you how to fight."

 

 

 

The following months at Dagobah Beach were a grueling test, not of Izuku’s muscles, but of his mind and reflexes.

 

Izuku cleared the beach in exactly twenty-six days, just as he had calculated. Without the trash in the way, the pristine white sands became their private dojo.

 

Month three. The sun was beating down on the sand.

 

"Again!" All Might shouted in his muscular form.

 

Izuku lunged forward. He threw a massive right hook with his upper arm. All Might ducked under the blow easily.

 

"Too predictable! You're telegraphing your strikes from the shoulder!" All Might roared, delivering a swift, open-handed palm strike to Izuku's ribs.

 

Izuku grunted, the blow feeling like a cannonball, but his dense muscles absorbed the impact. He pivoted, attempting to grapple All Might with his two lower arms.

 

"Better!" All Might noted, easily slipping out of the grapple. "But your upper arms are just hanging there! If your lower arms are engaged in a grapple, your upper arms must be striking, defending, or setting up the next move! You are a Tetramand, Izuku! Think in four-four time, not two-four!"

 

It was the hardest thing Izuku had ever done. His human brain was wired for bipedal, two-armed coordination. For ten years, his lower arms had largely been used for utility—carrying extra groceries, holding notebooks, or bracing himself. Using them as active, simultaneous combat limbs required rewiring his neural pathways.

 

He spent weeks simply standing in the sand, practicing shadowboxing. He would throw a jab with his upper left, a cross with his lower right, an uppercut with his lower left, and a block with his upper right. Slowly, agonizingly, the movements became fluid. The mental lag between thinking of a four-limb combination and executing it began to vanish.

 

Month six. Restraint training.

 

Izuku sat cross-legged on the sand, a carton of raw eggs resting in front of him.

 

"The goal," All Might said in his skeletal form, sitting under an umbrella, "is to crack the egg with one hand, empty the yolk into the bowl, and set the two halves of the shell down without fracturing them further."

 

It sounded simple. For Izuku, it was torture. His fingers were as thick as sausages and possessed the grip strength of an industrial hydraulic press.

 

He reached out with his upper right hand, pinching an egg.

 

CRACK-SQUELCH.

 

The egg obliterated instantly, the yolk dripping down his red knuckles.

 

"Too much force," All Might noted dryly.

 

"I barely touched it!" Izuku groaned, frustrated.

 

"Your 'barely' is a normal man's 'crushing grip'," All Might replied. "Control, Izuku. Feel the fragility of the object. Do not command it to break; invite it to open."

 

By the end of the week, Izuku could flawlessly crack eggs with all four of his hands simultaneously, juggling the yolks in the air before catching them in four separate bowls without a single drop of shell falling in. He was learning absolute, microscopic control over his monstrous power.

 

Month nine. The Integration.

 

The beach was entirely cleared. The ocean waves lapped gently against the pristine sand. Izuku stood in the center of the beach, wearing only his custom-made, heavily reinforced shorts. He was sweating profusely, all four of his eyes closed in deep concentration.

 

"Now," All Might commanded from a safe distance. "Pull the power from your core. Do not let it flood. Let it trickle. Five percent."

 

Izuku dug deep within himself. For months, he had felt the spark All Might had given him—a blazing, golden sun resting in his stomach. He had consumed All Might's hair months prior, and the Quirk had settled into his DNA like a second heartbeat.

 

He visualized the energy. He didn't picture a microwave or a lightbulb. He pictured a massive, subterranean reservoir of pressurized water, held back by a colossal steel dam. He reached out with his mind, grabbing the heavy, iron wheel of the valve. He turned it, just a fraction.

 

VZZZT.

 

The sound was electric. Suddenly, brilliant, emerald-green lightning erupted from Izuku's skin, accompanied by veins of glowing, radiant gold. The power surged through his crimson flesh. His dense, braided muscle fibers visibly swelled, the red pigmentation glowing brightly under the strain.

 

The air around him instantly became heavy, a localized pressure drop causing the sand to swirl around his feet.

 

Izuku gasped, his four eyes snapping open. They weren't just glowing now; they were practically burning with emerald light.

 

"I... I feel it!" Izuku rumbled, his voice echoing with a terrifying, dual-layered resonance. It was the voice of Izuku Midoriya overlapping with the sheer acoustic power of One For All.

 

"Hold it!" All Might shouted against the wind. "How does your body feel?!"

 

"It feels..." Izuku gritted his teeth, his four massive hands clenching into fists. The green lightning arced wildly between his upper and lower arms. "It feels like my bones are vibrating! Like my muscles are trying to rip themselves off my skeleton!"

 

"That is only five percent!" All Might called out. "Your body is containing it perfectly! Your bones aren't cracking, your ligaments are holding! But you feel the strain, don't you?!"

 

Izuku nodded, maintaining the output. Even with a body stronger than steel, One For All was a chaotic, violent force. It was fighting against his anatomy, trying to burst out. If he were a normal human, at five percent, his bones might have survived, but the pain would have been debilitating. For Izuku, it was merely an intense, full-body burn, like the last rep of the hardest workout of his life.

 

"Now, unleash it!" All Might pointed to the ocean. "Give me a five percent smash!"

 

Izuku pivoted. He didn't pull back just one arm. He pulled back his two upper arms, bracing his stance with his lower arms and his massive legs. The green lightning congregated tightly around his upper fists.

 

"DOUBLE DETROIT..." Izuku roared, the sound shaking the water itself. He thrust both upper arms forward with explosive, blinding speed. "...SMASH!"

 

He didn't hit anything. He punched the empty air.

 

KRA-KOOM!

 

A shockwave of compressed air erupted from his fists, tearing a physical trench through the sand, skipping over the surface of the ocean, and violently parting the water in a massive, V-shaped wake that traveled for nearly half a mile before dissipating.

 

Izuku stood there, the green lightning fading from his skin. He fell to his knees, panting heavily, all four of his arms trembling violently. His red skin was smoking slightly, radiating intense heat.

 

All Might walked up to him, looking out at the parted water, completely awestruck.

 

"Five percent," All Might whispered to himself. "With his base physical strength added to the kinetic output of One For All... his five percent is comparable to my twenty percent."

 

All Might placed a hand on Izuku's massive, trembling shoulder. "You did it, Young Midoriya. You controlled it. Your vessel holds strong."

 

Izuku looked up, a weary but incredibly bright smile on his face. "I'm ready, All Might. I'm ready for U.A."

 

 

 

The morning of the U.A. Entrance Exam was crisp and clear.

 

The massive, glass-fronted H-shaped building of U.A. High School loomed over the gates like a fortress. Thousands of students from across the country were swarming the entrance, buzzing with nervous energy.

 

Then, the crowd suddenly parted.

 

It wasn't a gradual parting. It was an immediate, terrified scramble, as if a wild bear had just wandered onto a playground. The chatter died down, replaced by sharp gasps and panicked whispers.

 

Walking up the main concourse was Izuku Midoriya.

 

He was wearing his specially tailored middle school uniform, which stretched tightly across his massive chest and broad shoulders. To accommodate his secondary set of arms, the shirt had been radically altered, essentially turning it into a complex vest with four sleeve openings.

 

He was seven feet, two inches of pure, crimson intimidation. His four eyes were wide, taking in the majesty of the school. He was muttering to himself, his upper right hand writing furiously in a notebook, his lower left hand holding the notebook, and his other two hands gripping the straps of his oversized yellow backpack.

 

“The structural integrity of the main building implies a Quirk-reinforced architectural design, likely Cementoss's handiwork, which means the foundational load-bearing walls could theoretically withstand an impact from a high-yield emitter Quirk…”

 

"What is that guy?!" a student whispered loudly.

"He looks like a final boss!"

"Is he an applicant or a security measure?!"

"Don't make eye contact, he has four of them!"

 

Izuku heard the whispers. A year ago, he would have hunched over, apologized to the air, and tried to shrink. But not today. Today, he carried the power of All Might in his core. He carried ten months of martial arts training. He simply stood tall, offering a bright, warm smile to anyone who made eye contact, which usually resulted in them immediately looking away in fear.

 

"Stupid Deku."

 

Izuku stopped. Standing a few yards away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, was Katsuki Bakugo. He glared up at Izuku, his crimson eyes burning with that familiar, defensive fury.

 

"Kacchan!" Izuku smiled genuinely, his upper hand waving. "Good morning! We both made it!"

 

"Don't talk to me like we're friends, you freak," Bakugo sneered, stepping closer. Even though Izuku towered over him, Bakugo refused to be intimidated. "I don't know what kind of training you did to get even wider, but it doesn't matter. You're just a giant target. I'm going to crush this exam, and I'm going to crush you."

 

Izuku's smile didn't falter. He just nodded softly. "Do your best, Kacchan. I'll do mine."

 

Bakugo scoffed, turning on his heel and storming toward the auditorium. "Get out of my way."

 

Izuku watched him go, letting out a soft rumble of a sigh. He turned to continue walking when he suddenly heard a yelp of surprise behind him.

 

A girl with bobbed brown hair and a permanent blush on her cheeks had tripped over an uneven paving stone. She was pitching forward, her arms flailing, heading face-first for the concrete.

 

Izuku didn't even have to think. His reflexes, honed by All Might on the beach, took over instantaneously.

 

He pivoted with blinding speed. He didn't use his upper arms; those were still holding his notebook and backpack. Instead, his two lower arms shot out, moving faster than the eye could track.

 

His massive, thick red hands gently caught the girl by her shoulders, mere inches from the concrete. He held her suspended in the air, utilizing the absolute perfection of the "marshmallow rule." He didn't squeeze; he merely supported her weight flawlessly.

 

"Whoa!" the girl gasped, hovering above the ground.

 

Izuku gently hoisted her back to her feet, releasing her shoulders immediately and taking a respectful step back. "A-Are you okay?!" Izuku asked, his deep voice cracking into a nervous, high-pitched octave. "I'm so sorry for grabbing you so suddenly! I just saw you falling and my body moved on its own!"

 

The girl, Ochaco Uraraka, blinked. She looked up. And up. And up.

 

She took in the towering height, the crimson skin, the four massive arms, and the four glowing green eyes. By all accounts, she should have been terrified.

 

Instead, a massive, beaming smile broke across her face.

 

"Wow!" Ochaco exclaimed, her brown eyes sparkling. "You are huge! And so warm! Thank you so much for the save! That was incredible, your lower arms just whoosh and caught me!"

 

Izuku short-circuited. All four of his eyes widened. She wasn't scared. She didn't call him a villain. She was... thanking him. And she called him warm.

 

"I-I-It was nothing!" Izuku stuttered, his red skin flushing an even deeper, darker shade of crimson, making him look like a giant, overripe tomato. His upper hands covered his face while his lower hands frantically waved in the air. "Just good luck! Good luck on the exam! Have a nice day!"

 

"Thanks! You too!" Ochaco waved cheerfully as she bounded toward the auditorium, completely unfazed by his appearance.

 

Izuku stood there, steam practically rising from his head. She talked to me. She smiled at me. Is this what interacting with girls is like?

 

 

 

The written exam was a breeze for Izuku. Ten years of meticulous, obsessive note-taking and analysis made the academic portion feel like a casual crossword puzzle.

 

However, the orientation for the practical exam, held in the massive auditorium, was a different story.

 

Izuku sat in his designated seat. Or rather, he squeezed into it. He had to sit perfectly straight, his massive shoulders spilling over into the aisles, his knees practically touching his chin.

 

On the stage, the Voice Hero: Present Mic was enthusiastically explaining the rules of the practical exam. It was a mock urban battle. Examinees would face off against three types of robotic "villains," worth one, two, and three points respectively. The goal was to rack up as many points as possible within ten minutes by destroying or immobilizing the robots.

 

"So it's a pure combat scenario," Izuku rumbled softly, his muttering habit kicking in. His upper hands were writing furiously in his notebook, resting it on the back of the chair in front of him, while his lower hands were clasped over his knees. "Assuming the structural integrity of the robots is standard military-grade alloy, conventional physical attacks from average heteromorphic Quirks will be insufficient. However, target joints and sensory arrays will be vulnerable. I should aim to immobilize the treads of the three-pointers while..."

 

"Excuse me!"

 

A loud, authoritative voice rang out across the auditorium. A tall boy with glasses and perfectly combed blue hair stood up, pointing rigidly at Present Mic.

 

"On the printout, there are four types of villains! If this is a misprint, U.A., the most prominent school in Japan, should be ashamed!" The boy turned sharply, pointing directly at Izuku in the back row. "And you, the large applicant with the four arms! You've been muttering this entire time! It's distracting! If you're here on a pleasure trip, then you should leave immediately!"

 

The entire auditorium turned to look at Izuku. A wave of snickers and nervous murmurs rippled through the crowd.

 

Izuku didn't shrink away. He closed his notebook carefully. He stood up, which required him to awkwardly unfold his massive frame until he towered over the entire seating section. He placed his upper right hand over his chest and gave a deep, respectful bow.

 

"I sincerely apologize for the disturbance," Izuku's deep voice boomed. He didn't yell, but the sheer acoustic resonance of his chest cavity carried his words to the very front row without a microphone. "My analytical process requires vocalization to fully synthesize tactical data. I will cease immediately so as not to hinder my fellow examinees' concentration. Good luck to you, sir."

 

He sat back down.

 

The blue-haired boy, Tenya Iida, was completely taken aback. He had expected the monstrous-looking giant to bark back, to act like a brute. Instead, the boy had spoken with the refined, polite vocabulary of a scholar and bowed deeply. Iida felt a sudden pang of guilt.

 

Present Mic cleared his throat, breaking the stunned silence. "Alright, alright! Thanks for the catch, Examinee 7111! The fourth robot is the Zero Pointer! It's an obstacle! A massive gimmick! If you see it, run away! It's not worth any points!"

 

Izuku noted it down. An obstacle to avoid. Understood.

 

 

 

Battle Center B was a massive, faux-city district, complete with towering skyscrapers, wide streets, and tight alleyways. Hundreds of examinees stood nervously before the towering metal gates, waiting for the signal.

 

Izuku stood at the very front, directly in front of the gates. He had changed into his custom-ordered athletic gear: a skin-tight, reinforced black undershirt that accommodated his four arms, paired with dark green cargo pants tucked into massive steel-toed combat boots.

 

He stretched his limbs. Upper arms rolled their shoulders; lower arms twisted his torso. He was a coil of crimson tension, waiting to snap.

 

He spotted Ochaco looking nervous a few yards away. He took a step toward her, intending to offer some words of encouragement, to thank her again for earlier.

 

But before he could, Iida marched up, placing a hand on Izuku's massive forearm.

 

"Do not distract her!" Iida scolded sternly. "She is attempting to focus! Are you here to sabotage your competitors?!"

 

Izuku looked down at Iida. He gently but firmly removed Iida's hand from his arm using his lower left hand. "No, sir. I was simply going to wish her luck. As heroes, supporting one another is just as vital as combat prowess."

 

Iida blinked, once again stunned by the gentle, profound wisdom coming from the mouth of a terrifying demon.

 

"RIGHT, LET'S START!" Present Mic's voice screamed from a towering speaker system. "WHAT'S THE MATTER?! THERE ARE NO COUNTDOWNS IN REAL BATTLES! RUN, RUN, RUN!"

 

The massive metal gates began to slowly grind open.

 

Izuku didn't wait for them to open fully. The moment there was a gap wide enough, the crimson titan exploded into motion.

 

The sheer concussive force of his first step shattered the pavement beneath his steel-toed boots. He blurred past the other examinees, entirely vanishing into the faux-city before anyone else had even processed the starting command.

 

"Holy crap, he's fast!" someone yelled.

 

Izuku sprinted down the main avenue. His massive legs pumped like industrial pistons. Within seconds, his secondary set of eyes picked up movement in a side alley.

 

Three robots rolled out: two 1-Pointers and a 2-Pointer.

 

Target acquired, Izuku's mind instantly calculated.

 

He didn't activate One For All. He didn't need to. He bounded toward the robots. The 1-Pointer raised its bladed arm, calculating the massive target approaching it.

 

Izuku ducked under the blade with terrifying agility. He grabbed the 1-Pointer by its central chassis with his two lower arms. The robot, weighing easily over a ton, was hefted into the air as if it were made of cardboard.

 

Using the 1-Pointer as a makeshift battering ram, Izuku swung his entire torso, slamming the robot directly into the 2-Pointer. The metal-on-metal collision was deafening. Both robots crumpled into a heap of sparking wires and shattered armor.

 

The third robot, a 1-Pointer, targeted Izuku from behind, firing a low-yield kinetic blast.

 

Izuku didn't even turn around. He simply raised his upper right arm backward, letting the kinetic blast strike his thick, crimson bicep. The blast singed his shirt but didn't even leave a mark on his skin.

 

He pivoted, stepped forward, and drove all four of his fists simultaneously into the 1-Pointer's faceplate.

 

CRUNCH.

 

The robot's head entirely caved in, its optical sensors shattering as the machine was thrown backward thirty feet, skidding to a halt against a brick wall.

 

"Four points," Izuku rumbled calmly, dusting his knuckles off. "Sixty seconds in."

 

In the high-tech observation room, hidden deep within U.A., the faculty watched the monitors in silence.

 

The screens showed various examinees struggling, using their Quirks in creative ways to rack up points. Bakugo was a whirlwind of explosions, tearing through robots with feral precision. Iida was a blur of speed, kicking heads off chassis.

 

But the largest monitor in the center of the room was focused entirely on Battle Center B. It showed a seven-foot-tall red demon tearing through the robot forces with a level of brutal efficiency that was frankly terrifying.

 

"Good lord," muttered Snipe, adjusting his mask. "Look at the power on that kid. He's not even using a Quirk, is he? That's just raw, biological strength from his mutation."

 

"Examinee Izuku Midoriya," Nezu, the principal of U.A., stated, his paw resting on a mouse. "Quirk registered as 'Tetramand'. A profound, total-body physical mutation. He possesses superhuman strength, durability, and coordination. His scores on the written exam were in the top one percentile. A formidable intellect paired with overwhelming physical power."

 

Shota Aizawa, the erasure hero, stared at the screen through his bloodshot eyes. He watched as Izuku leaped onto the back of a massive 3-Pointer, using his upper arms to rip the robot's optical sensors clean out of their sockets, while his lower arms punched perfectly through the armor plating to sever the main battery cable. It took less than three seconds.

 

"He's highly trained," Aizawa noted, his voice flat. "Look at his footwork. He’s massive, but he isn't lumbering. He distributes his weight perfectly. He uses his lower arms for grappling and leverage, and his upper arms for concussive strikes. It’s a flawless martial art designed specifically for his anatomy."

 

All Might stood in the back of the room, in his muscular form. He watched Izuku with immense pride, his chest swelling. Show them, Young Midoriya. Show them the results of your restraint.

 

"He's got forty-five points already," Midnight whistled. "And he's not even breaking a sweat. It's almost unfair to the other kids."

 

"Let's see how he handles the true test of character," Nezu smiled, his paw hovering over a large red button on his console. "The true nature of a hero isn't found in how they destroy villains, but in how they handle an insurmountable obstacle."

 

Nezu pressed the button.

 

Back in Battle Center B, Izuku had just crushed a 2-Pointer between his upper hands when the ground beneath his feet violently shuddered.

 

It wasn't a localized tremor. The entire fake city was shaking. Dust fell from the rooftops. The windows of the buildings shattered in sequence.

 

"What is that?!" a random examinee yelled, pointing down the main avenue.

 

Izuku turned, his four eyes narrowing.

 

Rising from the center of the street, tearing the asphalt apart, was a machine of apocalyptic proportions. It towered over the buildings, a colossal, heavily armored juggernaut. It was easily the size of a skyscraper.

 

The Zero Pointer.

 

The robot raised a massive arm and slammed it into the street. The shockwave knocked dozens of examinees off their feet. Dust and debris exploded outward in a massive cloud.

 

"Run! It's the Zero Pointer!"

 

"It's huge! We can't fight that!"

 

The examinees broke into a panicked sprint, fleeing away from the mechanical titan as fast as their legs could carry them. Izuku stood his ground, anchoring his massive boots into the pavement. He analyzed the machine.

 

The sheer mass of the object makes physical confrontation illogical. The structural density of its armor plating is beyond my base physical limits. Furthermore, it yields zero points. Engaging is a tactical failure. Retreat is the only viable option.

 

Izuku turned to join the retreat.

 

"Ow! Help!"

 

The voice was faint, barely audible over the grinding gears of the Zero Pointer. But Izuku's secondary auditory canals picked it up instantly.

 

He stopped. He turned back toward the dust cloud.

 

The wind cleared just enough for his four eyes to pierce the gloom. There, lying helpless in the rubble directly in the path of the colossal robot's treads, was the girl with the brown hair. Ochaco Uraraka. A massive chunk of concrete had pinned her leg to the ground.

 

She looked up at the towering treads of the machine, tears in her eyes. The robot didn't care. It was programmed to move forward.

 

Izuku Midoriya didn't think. The tactical analysis, the point calculations, the logic of the exam—it all evaporated in an instant. All that remained was the primal, overriding instinct of a hero.

 

He had to save her. And his base Tetramand strength was not enough to stop a skyscraper.

 

I need it, Izuku realized. I need All Might's power. One hundred percent.

 

Izuku took a deep breath, expanding his massive chest. He dug into the core of his being, finding that blazing golden sun of stockpiled power. He didn't turn the valve this time.

 

He shattered the dam entirely.

 

VZZZZT-KRAK!

 

The eruption of power was terrifying. Violent, blindingly bright emerald lightning exploded outward from his body in a massive dome, shattering the windows of the buildings around him. His deep crimson skin immediately flushed to a dark, boiling maroon. His braided, steel-cable muscle fibers instantly gorged with power, expanding so violently that his reinforced undershirt shredded to pieces across his chest and back.

 

He could feel it immediately. The agonizing, excruciating strain. Even with his superhuman durability, channeling 100% of One For All felt like his bones were being submerged in molten lava. His muscles screamed, the fibers microscopically tearing under the impossible pressure of the kinetic energy.

 

But his body held. He didn't explode. He was the perfect vessel.

 

The examinees who were running away stopped, turning around as the sheer atmospheric pressure behind them plummeted.

 

They saw the red demon, wreathed in chaotic green lightning, his four eyes burning with a golden light.

 

Izuku engaged his legs. The concrete beneath him didn't just crack; it vaporized into dust.

 

He leaped.

 

The sonic boom of his takeoff shattered the eardrums of anyone within a hundred yards. Izuku shot into the air like a crimson missile, defying gravity, rocketing directly toward the faceplate of the colossal Zero Pointer.

 

Higher and higher he flew, until he was eye-level with the mechanical titan, hundreds of feet in the air.

 

In the observation room, All Might stood up, knocking his chair backward, his fists clenched in pure, unadulterated awe. Yes, Izuku! Show them the symbol you will become!

 

Izuku hovered in the air for a fraction of a second, perfectly suspended at the apex of his jump. He pulled back all four of his massive arms. He didn't just channel One For All into one fist. He divided the catastrophic output evenly across his four limbs.

 

His muscles bulged to grotesque proportions, the red skin smoking, the green lightning coalescing around his four fists into a blinding star of kinetic force.

 

"QUADRUPLE..." Izuku roared, his voice booming with the combined force of a Tetramand and the legacy of One For All, vibrating the very air itself.

 

He thrust all four fists forward simultaneously, directly into the heavy armor of the Zero Pointer's face.

 

"...DETROIT SMASH!"

 

The impact was biblical.

 

The collision of his four fists against the steel did not just dent the armor. It completely annihilated the upper half of the robot. A shockwave of pure, compressed air ripped through the metal, traveling down the spine of the machine. The sheer kinetic force tore the skyscraper-sized robot in half, ripping its internal structure to shreds.

 

The shockwave didn't stop there. It exploded outward in a massive ring, blowing the clouds away from the sky over U.A. High School, creating a localized hurricane of wind pressure that swept across the entire faux-city.

 

The Zero Pointer's headless chassis teetered backward, before collapsing into a mountain of sparking, ruined metal.

 

Down below, the examinees, including Iida and a terrified Uraraka, shielded their eyes from the blinding flash and the hurricane-force winds, staring up at the sky in absolute, paralyzing disbelief.

 

High above, Izuku began to fall.

 

The adrenaline receded, replaced instantly by agonizing pain.

 

Izuku looked at his four arms. They weren't broken. The bones held true. But his arms were entirely numb, the crimson skin bruised a deep, sickly purple. Steam poured violently from his pores as his body frantically tried to cool the overheated muscles. The muscle fibers in his arms and legs had sustained millions of micro-tears from the 100% output.

 

He couldn't move his arms. And he was falling from a height of three hundred feet. Even a Tetramand would die from a fall like that onto solid concrete.

 

Think! Izuku's mind raced, panicked. I can't use my arms! My legs are locked up from the jump! How do I break my fall?!

 

As the ground rushed up to meet him, a shadow fell over him.

 

Smack.

 

Something soft and incredibly light slapped against his cheek.

 

Suddenly, the terrifying sensation of gravity completely vanished. Izuku's massive, four-hundred-pound body stopped in mid-air, floating gently just ten feet above the rubble.

 

He looked down. Ochaco Uraraka was standing below him, her hand outstretched, her fingers touching their pads together. Her face was pale, and she was panting heavily, clearly having pushed her Zero Gravity Quirk well past its weight limit to lift him.

 

"Release!" she gasped, pressing her hands together.

 

Gravity reasserted itself. Izuku dropped the remaining ten feet, landing flat on his back with a heavy THUD that cracked the pavement.

 

"Time's up!" Present Mic's voice echoed through the city, signaling the end of the exam.

 

Izuku lay on his back, staring up at the clear sky he had just created. His entire body throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, but he was alive. He had done it. He had used the power.

 

He heard the crunch of footsteps approaching. He weakly turned his head. Uraraka and Iida were standing over him, their faces a mixture of absolute awe and deep concern.

 

"That was..." Iida started, adjusting his glasses with a trembling hand. "...the most incredible display of physical power I have ever witnessed. You risked your life, and your entire exam score, to save her. I misjudged you completely, Midoriya."

 

Uraraka knelt beside him, wiping sweat from her brow. "Thank you. You saved me again."

 

Izuku looked up at them. He couldn't move his four arms to cover his face, so he just let them see his wide, genuine smile.

 

"I'm glad you're safe," Izuku whispered, his deep voice incredibly raspy.

 

"Oh dear, oh dear, look at this mess," a sweet, grandmotherly voice clucked.

 

An old woman in a lab coat, wielding a giant syringe like a walking cane, waddled through the crowd of stunned examinees. Recovery Girl.

 

She walked up to Izuku's massive, prone form. She inspected his purple, steaming arms, her eyes widening slightly.

 

"Incredible," Recovery Girl muttered softly to herself. "The kinetic force of that strike should have pulverized his skeleton into dust. But the bones are intact. It's just severe muscular strain and deep tissue bruising. His biology is an absolute miracle."

 

She leaned forward, extending her lips, and planted a kiss directly on Izuku's massive red forehead.

 

Izuku felt a sudden, massive drain of his stamina, followed instantly by a wave of soothing, regenerative warmth washing over his arms. The purple bruising rapidly faded back to his natural crimson. The micro-tears in his muscles knitted back together.

 

The exhaustion of the healing process, combined with the sheer emotional crash of the day, was finally too much. Izuku's four eyes fluttered closed.

 

As he drifted into unconsciousness, he didn't feel like a monster. He didn't feel like a freak.

 

He felt like a hero.