What if Deku had a Saiyan quirk that's overpowered

 

 

The clinic smelled of antiseptic, sterile cotton, and the faint, ozone-like scent of a quirk sterilization field. Four-year-old Izuku Midoriya sat on the crinkling paper of the examination table, swinging his legs back and forth.

 

But his legs weren’t the only things swinging.

 

Protruding from the base of his spine, swishing through the air with a mind of its own, was a two-foot-long, monkey-like tail covered in thick, brown fur. It curled around the edge of the examination table, tapped against the metal siding, and then wrapped snugly around Izuku’s waist like a furry belt.

 

Dr. Tsubasa adjusted his round glasses, his eyes darting from the X-rays on his glowing monitor to the green-haired boy sitting in front of him. He rubbed his chin, a gesture of profound medical bewilderment.

 

"Well, Mrs. Midoriya," the doctor began, his voice laced with an emotion bordering on awe. "I can safely say you don't need to worry about Izuku being Quirkless."

 

Inko Midoriya let out a breath she had been holding for weeks. She clutched her purse to her chest, a watery smile breaking across her face. "Oh, thank goodness. When the tail grew in last month, we were so surprised. My husband breathes fire, and I can pull small objects to myself. We didn't know where a mutant-type appendage came from."

 

"It's far more than just a mutant appendage, I assure you," Dr. Tsubasa said, swiveling his chair around. He tapped the X-ray on the screen. "Look at this bone density. The muscle fibers. Izuku is only four years old, but his cellular makeup is... well, it’s anomalous. His muscle fibers are roughly fifty times denser than an average human’s, yet they retain perfect elasticity. His bones are akin to reinforced steel. And this tail—it possesses a complex network of nerves that connect directly to his central nervous system and seemingly, to an internal energy reserve."

 

Inko blinked, her smile faltering slightly. "Energy reserve? Is it... is it a dangerous Quirk?"

 

"Dangerous?" Dr. Tsubasa chuckled, though it sounded slightly nervous. "In the way a bulldozer is dangerous to a sandbox, perhaps. We categorize Quirks into Emitter, Mutant, and Transformation. Izuku seems to possess a hyper-rare hybrid. His body is a biological marvel—that's the Mutant aspect. But the energy readings we got from his blood tests suggest he can generate, store, and expel massive amounts of kinetic energy. We’ll register his Quirk officially as Primal Physiology."

 

Izuku’s eyes sparkled like emerald stars. He hopped off the table, his tail uncoiling to balance him perfectly as he landed without a single sound. He didn't just step; he seemed to float down, the floorboards barely registering his weight.

 

"I can be a hero, Mom!" Izuku cheered, throwing a small punch into the air. "I can be just like All Might!"

 

Inko rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her son. "Yes, Izuku. You're going to be a wonderful hero."

 

Neither of them noticed the slight trembling in the doctor's hands as he updated Izuku's medical file. The energy readings hadn't just been high. They had broken the machine.

 

 

 

The playground at the local park was usually a place of innocent chaos, a proving ground where children tested their newly awakened Quirks. For Katsuki Bakugo, it was his kingdom. He was a prodigy, blessed with an incredible Quirk that allowed him to sweat nitroglycerin and ignite it at will. He was loud, proud, and completely convinced of his own absolute superiority.

 

"Hey, Deku!" Katsuki shouted, stomping across the sandbox with two of his lackeys trailing behind him like pilot fish.

 

Izuku, who had been quietly building a rather intricate sandcastle using his tail to pat down the turrets, looked up. He smiled warmly. "Hi, Kacchan!"

 

Katsuki glared at the furry brown appendage wrapping around Izuku's waist. He felt a strange, inexplicable irritation bubbling in his chest. Everyone was talking about Izuku's new Quirk. The teachers whispered about it. The other kids stared at it. It was stealing his spotlight.

 

"You think just because you grew a monkey tail you're better than me?" Katsuki sneered, popping a small explosion in his palm. Crack-pop! The sharp sound made the other children flinch.

 

Izuku blinked, confused. "No, Kacchan. I don't think that. Your Explosion Quirk is amazing!"

 

"Don't patronize me, you damn extra!" Katsuki lunged forward, kicking Izuku's sandcastle into a spray of loose dirt. "You're still just weak little Deku!"

 

One of the other boys in the sandbox, a kid with small wings, started to cry as the sand hit his face. Izuku's expression changed. The innocent, wide-eyed smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp frown. Something deep within his chest—a primal, ancient instinct that he had only just begun to feel—flared to life.

 

It was a feeling like a coiled spring, hot and electric, wrapping around his heart.

 

"Kacchan, stop it," Izuku said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its childlike tremor. "You're hurting him."

 

"Or what?" Katsuki roared, raising his right hand. He aimed it directly at Izuku’s face, a larger explosion sparking to life. "I'll show you who the strongest is!"

 

As Katsuki thrust his palm forward, time seemed to slow down for Izuku. He could see the sparks igniting, the heat expanding. But he didn't feel fear. He felt an overwhelming, thrumming surge of power demand release. His body reacted before his mind could comprehend it.

 

Izuku raised his small, chubby hand and simply pushed outward.

 

He didn't hit Katsuki. He didn't even make physical contact. But from Izuku's palm erupted a concussive wave of sheer, invisible kinetic force—a localized burst of raw Ki.

 

BOOOOOOM!

 

A shockwave ripped through the playground. The air distorted, shimmering with a faint, ghostly teal light. Katsuki Bakugo was violently lifted off his feet, catapulted backward through the air as if struck by a speeding truck. He flew a full twenty feet, skipping across the grass before crashing hard into the trunk of a large oak tree.

 

Silence slammed down on the park.

 

The wind howled for a moment, rushing back in to fill the vacuum created by the blast. The sandbox was gone, blown away completely, leaving a shallow, perfectly spherical crater in the dirt.

 

Izuku stood frozen, his hand still outstretched. The teal aura flickered around his skin for a second longer before vanishing.

 

He looked at his hand. Then, he looked at Katsuki.

 

The blonde boy was slumped against the tree, gasping for air, his eyes wide with a terror that no four-year-old should ever experience. Katsuki wasn't badly hurt—the blast had been blunt force, dispersed widely—but the psychological impact was devastating. For the first time in his short life, Katsuki Bakugo had looked upon true, insurmountable power. It wasn't a quirk. It was an overwhelming force of nature.

 

The other children began to scream, scattering in sheer panic. Mothers ran forward, scooping up their crying kids, shooting terrified glances at the green-haired boy standing alone in the crater.

 

Inko ran to him, her face pale. "Izuku! Izuku, what happened?!"

 

Izuku looked up at his mother, tears welling in his eyes. His tail drooped, wrapping tightly around his leg in distress. He looked at the trembling form of his former friend, and a heavy, suffocating realization settled over his young mind.

 

He wasn't like the other kids. He was dangerous.

 

"I'm sorry," Izuku whispered, staring at his small, trembling hands. "I didn't mean to. I just... I just pushed."

 

 

 

Ten years passed.

 

The world of Aldera Junior High was an ecosystem built on Quirks. The strong ruled, the flashy were popular, and the weak were pushed to the margins.

 

Izuku Midoriya existed entirely outside of this ecosystem. He was a ghost, a phantom that walked the halls wrapped in a heavy, suffocating cloak of self-imposed isolation.

 

At fourteen years old, Izuku was not a scrawny boy. He was built like a Greek statue carved from granite, though he hid his physique under a specially tailored, oversized school uniform. His brown tail remained neatly wrapped around his waist, hidden entirely beneath his shirt so as not to draw attention.

 

To the rest of the school, Izuku Midoriya was the quiet kid. The weird kid. The kid you absolutely, under no circumstances, messed with.

 

It wasn't because he was a bully. It was because everyone remembered the stories from elementary school. They remembered the times Izuku had accidentally torn heavy metal doors off their hinges just by opening them too fast. They remembered the time he caught a falling steel girder at a construction site with one hand, without even breaking a sweat.

 

Izuku lived in a world of cardboard.

 

Every single second of his life was an exercise in supreme, agonizing restraint. When he brushed his teeth, he had to focus entirely on not snapping the plastic toothbrush into plastic shrapnel. When he wrote his notes in class, he had to hold the pencil with such delicate precision that it felt like he was performing brain surgery, lest the lead turn to dust between his fingers. When he walked down the stairs, he had to consciously bleed off his momentum, otherwise, his feet would crush the concrete steps into powder.

 

He was a walking, breathing nuclear reactor, and he knew it.

 

His Quirk hadn't just made him strong; it had altered his very biology. He possessed a bottomless appetite, requiring thousands of calories a day just to maintain his baseline energy. He could fly—or rather, manipulate the internal energy in his body to defy gravity—though he never did it where anyone could see. He could sense the energy of living things around him, a passive radar that constantly buzzed in his mind.

 

And then, there was the Urge.

 

Deep within his blood, a primal, roaring instinct constantly whispered to him. It wanted him to fight. It wanted him to find the strongest creature on the planet and test his limits against it. It was a battle-lust so fierce it sometimes gave him migraines. But Izuku fought it down. He crushed it beneath his iron will and his unwavering desire to be a hero who saved people, not a monster who destroyed them.

 

"Hey, Midoriya," a voice called out as Izuku packed his notebooks into his yellow backpack.

 

Izuku paused, turning his head slowly. The classroom was mostly empty. Katsuki Bakugo stood near the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

 

Katsuki had grown into a tall, fierce teenager. His Explosion Quirk was incredibly powerful, and he was the undisputed king of Aldera. But whenever he looked at Izuku, there was a tension in his shoulders, a slight narrowing of his eyes.

 

Their relationship was not a friendship, nor was it a rivalry. It was a cold war.

 

Katsuki had spent the last ten years pushing himself to his absolute physical and mental limits, driven by the haunting memory of that day in the park. He was loud, he was aggressive, and he bullied everyone—except Izuku. Katsuki never raised his voice at Izuku. He never sparked his explosions near him. It wasn't out of respect; it was out of a deep-seated, agonizing inferiority complex. Katsuki knew that no matter how much he trained, no matter how powerful his explosions became, Izuku was a mountain he could never summit.

 

"Kacchan," Izuku replied gently, his voice soft, almost a whisper. He always spoke softly, afraid that if he raised his voice, the sheer barometric pressure from his lungs might shatter the classroom windows.

 

"You're applying to U.A., aren't you?" Katsuki asked, his red eyes burning with a mixture of resentment and determination.

 

"Yes," Izuku nodded slowly. "I want to be a hero."

 

Katsuki ground his teeth, a small pop of smoke escaping his collar. "Don't get in my way. You hear me? I don't care about your... whatever the hell your Quirk is. I'm going to be the number one hero. I'm going to surpass All Might. And I don't need you looking down on me while I do it."

 

Izuku sighed, picking up his backpack. He walked past Katsuki, stopping just for a second by the doorway.

 

"I've never looked down on you, Kacchan," Izuku said softly. "I think you're amazing. You can use your power with all your heart. I envy that."

 

With that, Izuku walked out into the hallway, leaving Katsuki alone to stew in his frustrating, boiling anger. Katsuki punched the wall, hard, leaving a scorch mark. He hated when Deku talked like that. He hated that the strongest person he knew walked around like he was walking on eggshells.

 

 

 

The walk home was the only time Izuku could somewhat relax. Taking the route through the underpass, the shadows offered a brief respite from the glaring sun. He hummed a quiet tune, checking his phone for hero news. There was a report of a villain with a sludge-type Quirk causing trouble downtown. Izuku made a mental note to avoid the area; he didn't want to get involved and risk collateral damage.

 

Squelch.

 

Izuku stopped. His ears, highly attuned to even the faintest sounds, picked up the wet, shifting noise echoing from the manhole behind him.

 

He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. His energy-sensing ability flared, painting a picture in his mind of a dark, malicious, and panicked energy rising from the sewers.

 

"A medium-sized meat suit... perfect," a gurgling, wet voice hissed.

 

Izuku slowly turned around. Looming over him was a towering mass of putrid, dark green sludge. Eyes and a jagged mouth floated within the viscous fluid. The Sludge Villain lunged forward, extending thick, muddy tendrils toward Izuku, aiming to force himself down the boy's throat.

 

"Don't fight it, kid! It'll only hurt for about forty-five seconds!" the villain laughed.

 

The sludge wrapped around Izuku, engulfing his arms, his chest, and moving toward his face.

 

Most people would panic. Most people would thrash and scream as the acidic, suffocating mud entered their mouth.

 

Izuku just stood there. He closed his eyes.

 

Don't hit him, Izuku told himself. If I punch him, the air pressure in this enclosed tunnel will rupture the concrete, collapse the street above, and kill the pedestrians. Think. Control.

 

The sludge pushed against Izuku's lips. The villain paused, confused.

 

"What the... why aren't you choking? Open your mouth!" the villain roared, trying to force his fluid into the boy's respiratory system.

 

Instead of fighting back physically, Izuku simply allowed his inner energy—his Ki—to flare outward by a fraction of a percent.

 

A sudden, intense heat radiated from Izuku’s skin. A faint, golden-teal aura flickered to life around his body. The temperature in the tunnel instantly spiked by fifty degrees.

 

The Sludge Villain shrieked in agony as the fluid touching Izuku's skin began to rapidly boil and vaporize. It was like trying to wrap oneself around a live star.

 

"AHHH! BURNING! WHAT ARE YOU?!" The villain frantically pulled his tendrils back, smoking and bubbling, retreating toward the manhole in absolute terror.

 

Before Izuku could even open his eyes to see the retreating villain, the manhole cover at the far end of the tunnel exploded upward with a deafening CLANG.

 

"FEAR NOT, YOUNG MAN!"

 

A voice boomed through the tunnel, so loud and full of charisma that it made the very concrete vibrate. Izuku’s eyes snapped open.

 

Standing at the entrance of the underpass was a man built like a mythological titan. He was over seven feet tall, clad in a white T-shirt and cargo pants, his blonde hair styled into two prominent V-shaped tufts. His smile was blinding.

 

All Might. The Symbol of Peace. The Number One Hero.

 

Izuku’s heart leaped into his throat. He had idolized this man his entire life.

 

"I AM HERE!" All Might roared. He pulled his right fist back, his muscles bulging as power rippled through his arm. "TEXAS... SMASH!"

 

All Might threw a punch at the air. The sheer wind pressure generated by the strike howled through the tunnel like a localized hurricane. It slammed into the retreating Sludge Villain, scattering his liquid body into a thousand droplets against the walls.

 

Izuku braced himself, crossing his arms over his face as the gale-force winds hit him. He dug his shoes into the concrete, easily resisting the wind, though his school uniform fluttered wildly.

 

In seconds, it was over. The villain was a series of helpless puddles on the ground.

 

All Might laughed heartily, walking forward and quickly scooping up the sludge into empty soda bottles he pulled from his grocery bags. Once he was done, he turned to Izuku, putting his hands on his hips.

 

"Sorry to get you caught up in my villain hunting, young man! The sewer system here is quite the maze. But you held your ground well!" All Might boomed, giving Izuku a thumbs-up.

 

Izuku stared, star-struck. His tail, hidden under his shirt, was wagging so fast it was practically vibrating against his spine. "A-All Might! I... I'm a huge fan! Can I have your autograph?!"

 

Izuku frantically reached into his bag, pulling out his Hero Analysis for the Future notebook, only to find that All Might had already signed it with a massive, sprawling signature across two pages.

 

"WOW! Thank you!" Izuku bowed deeply.

 

"NO PROBLEM!" All Might said, stretching his legs. "Now, I must be off! I have to deliver this miscreant to the police!"

 

"Wait," Izuku said, taking a half-step forward. The question he had wrestled with his entire life burned on the tip of his tongue. Can someone with a power that destroys everything they touch become a hero who saves people?

 

But as he looked at All Might, he felt a strange sensation. His energy-sensing ability pinged. Beneath the colossal, roaring energy of the Symbol of Peace, Izuku sensed something... wrong. A hollow spot. A flickering ember of weakness, like a dying star. All Might was injured. Badly.

 

Before Izuku could voice his concern, All Might leaped into the air, rocketing out of the tunnel and into the sky, propelled by his monstrous leg strength.

 

Izuku watched him go, clutching his notebook to his chest. He sighed, the heavy weight of his reality settling back onto his shoulders. He was alone again in his world of cardboard.

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, the peace of the afternoon was shattered by the sound of rolling thunder. But there were no storm clouds in the sky.

 

Izuku was walking through the shopping district when the ground shook. He heard the screaming first, then smelled the acrid scent of burning ozone and nitroglycerin.

 

Nitroglycerin.

 

Kacchan.

 

Izuku broke into a run. He didn't use his full speed—if he did, the sonic boom would shatter the windows of the storefronts around him—but he moved fast enough to be a green blur to the regular pedestrians.

 

He rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. The entrance to Tatooin Shopping District was a warzone. Fires raged out of control, licking the sides of the buildings. A crowd of bystanders was held back by the police and several Pro Heroes.

 

Death Arms, Kamui Woods, and Mount Lady were standing on the sidelines, looking frustrated and helpless.

 

In the center of the inferno, rising from the concrete, was the Sludge Villain. All Might must have dropped the bottles mid-flight. The villain was massive now, having absorbed the surrounding debris.

 

And trapped within the center of the sludge, thrashing wildly and setting off desperate, deafening explosions, was Katsuki Bakugo.

 

"His Quirk is too dangerous! I can't get close with my wood!" Kamui Woods shouted over the roar of the flames.

 

"I need a two-lane road to get in there!" Mount Lady cried out, shielding her face from the heat.

 

"We just have to wait for someone with a suitable Quirk!" Death Arms grunted, looking utterly defeated.

 

Izuku stood at the back of the crowd. He watched the heroes standing around, doing nothing. He watched the flames spread.

 

Then, he looked at Katsuki.

 

The sludge was forcing its way down Katsuki’s throat. The blonde boy’s red eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a stark, naked terror. It was the same look he had given Izuku ten years ago in the sandbox. He was suffocating. He was dying.

 

Izuku’s heart stopped.

 

The world went perfectly silent. The roar of the flames, the screams of the crowd, the shouts of the heroes—it all faded into white noise.

 

Izuku didn't think. He didn't weigh the consequences. He didn't worry about the collateral damage.

 

For the first time in ten years, he let the chains slip.

 

Crack.

 

The concrete beneath Izuku's sneakers spider-webbed, shattering into a thousand pieces. In a fraction of a millisecond, Izuku vanished from the back of the crowd.

 

He didn't run. He utilized the Zanzoken—an afterimage technique born of moving faster than the human eye could track.

 

Death Arms blinked. One moment, he was staring at the villain. The next moment, the air tore open with a deafening CRACK, like a thunderclap right next to his ear. The wind from the sudden displacement of air nearly knocked the massive hero off his feet.

 

Suddenly, standing right in the center of the raging inferno, mere inches from the towering Sludge Villain, was a boy in a black school uniform.

 

Katsuki, half-choking on sludge, widened his eyes. Deku?

 

The Sludge Villain looked down, recognizing the green hair. "YOU! The kid from the tunnel! You're dead!"

 

The villain raised two massive tendrils of sludge, hardened with debris, and brought them crashing down toward Izuku like massive whips.

 

"Hey, kid! Get out of there! You're gonna die!" Death Arms screamed, surging forward, but he was far too slow.

 

Izuku didn't move. He didn't adopt a fighting stance. He just stood there, his green eyes locked onto the villain, glowing with a faint, terrifying teal light. His tail, having torn through his uniform trousers in his sprint, whipped aggressively behind him.

 

Control, Izuku thought, his mind perfectly clear. Breathe. Just a fraction of a percent.

 

As the massive sludge whips descended upon him, Izuku raised his right hand. He curled his middle finger against his thumb, forming a tight circle.

 

He didn't throw a punch. He didn't use an energy blast. He just aimed his hand at the massive bulk of the villain.

 

And he flicked.

 

The motion was so small, so deceptively simple, that none of the heroes even registered what he had done.

 

But physics registered it.

 

When Izuku’s middle finger snapped forward, it moved with thousands of tons of kinetic force behind it. It struck the air in front of him, compressing it to the point of singularity.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOM.

 

It was not an explosion of fire. It was an explosion of pure, unadulterated barometric pressure.

 

A shockwave of compressed air erupted from Izuku's finger in a massive, cone-shaped blast. The sheer force of the air pressure instantly snuffed out the fires burning in the alley, blowing the flames away into nothingness.

 

The blast hit the Sludge Villain. The villain didn't just splatter; he atomized. The hyper-compressed air shredded the liquid body on a molecular level, scattering the sludge across a two-mile radius in a microscopic mist.

 

The shockwave continued upward, roaring into the sky. It hit the cloud cover above the city.

 

The clouds physically split in half. A massive, circular hole was torn into the overcast sky, revealing the blue heavens above. A violent gust of wind swept through the entire shopping district, blowing out the windows of abandoned cars and forcing the Pro Heroes to drop to their knees to avoid being blown away.

 

Then, just as suddenly as it had erupted, the gale stopped.

 

Silence descended upon the Tatooin Shopping District. The fires were gone. The villain was gone.

 

Katsuki Bakugo fell to his knees on the scorched concrete, coughing violently, gasping for the sweet, clean air. He looked up, trembling from head to toe.

 

Standing in front of him was Izuku Midoriya. His right hand was still raised, two fingers extended. Smoke—actual steam—was rising off Izuku's skin. His brown tail swished slowly behind him.

 

Izuku slowly lowered his hand, his teal eyes fading back to their normal emerald green. He looked at his fingers, slightly panicked. Too much. I used a whole one percent.

 

He quickly turned to Katsuki, his terrifying aura vanishing, replaced instantly by the meek, nervous demeanor of a middle schooler.

 

"K-Kacchan! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?!" Izuku rushed forward, offering a hand to the boy.

 

Katsuki stared at the hand. He stared at the boy who had just obliterated a supervillain and changed the weather with a flick of his finger. Katsuki slapped the hand away, scrambling backward, his pride and his worldview shattered into a million irreparable pieces. He couldn't speak. He just shook.

 

Slowly, the Pro Heroes approached. Death Arms, Kamui Woods, and Mount Lady walked forward, their eyes wide, their jaws slack. They looked at the crater in the street. They looked at the sky, where the clouds were still pushed back in a massive circle.

 

"Kid..." Death Arms swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "What... what the hell was that?"

 

Izuku panicked. He realized what he had done. He had broken the cardboard. He had exposed himself.

 

"I-I'm so sorry!" Izuku bowed deeply, his tail wrapping nervously around his leg. "I-I didn't mean to use my Quirk! I know it's against the law! I just... my legs moved on their own! I'm sorry for the mess! I'll pay for the broken windows!"

 

The heroes didn't scold him. They couldn't. They were absolutely terrified of the boy bowing in front of them.

 

 

 

From the roof of a nearby building, a skeletal figure watched the entire scene unfold.

 

Toshinori Yagi, the true, emaciated form of All Might, gripped the guardrail of the roof so tightly that the metal buckled beneath his bony fingers. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, but he didn't care. His sunken blue eyes were fixed intensely on the green-haired boy down in the alley.

 

Toshinori had felt his time limit expire. He had stood in the crowd, watching Bakugo suffocate, feeling entirely pathetic and useless. He had cursed his own weakness, his own failing body.

 

And then, he had seen it.

 

He had seen the boy from the tunnel move faster than Gran Torino. He had seen the boy generate a shockwave that rivaled, or perhaps even exceeded, his own Delaware Smash.

 

And he had done it with a single finger.

 

Who is this boy? Toshinori thought, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way it hadn't in years. That wasn't just raw power. That was absolute, terrifying, god-like strength. And yet... he rushed in when the pros hesitated. He rushed in to save a boy who clearly despises him.

 

Toshinori coughed up a bit of blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A fierce, brilliant smile stretched across his skeletal face.

 

He had been looking for a successor to One For All. He had been looking for someone with the heart of a hero.

 

But as he watched Izuku Midoriya nervously apologize to the terrified Pro Heroes, Toshinori realized something profound. This boy didn't need One For All. This boy already possessed a power that could shake the very foundations of the earth.

 

What this boy needed was a teacher. He needed someone to show him how to carry the weight of being a god among men. He needed someone to teach him how to be a Symbol.

 

"Well," Toshinori whispered to the wind, his eyes shining with renewed hope. "Looks like I have a new job."

 

 

 

The sun was setting by the time Izuku was allowed to leave. The police had taken his statement, their hands shaking as they wrote down his name. The Pro Heroes had practically escorted him out of the alley, desperate to get the walking nuke away from the crime scene.

 

Izuku walked home alone, his head hung low.

 

He had messed up. He had used his power in public. Now everyone would know. The government would probably come for him. They would classify him as a dangerous anomaly, maybe lock him up in Tartarus just to be safe.

 

"I just wanted to save him," Izuku muttered to himself, kicking a pebble. The pebble shot forward with the speed of a bullet, embedding itself deep into a concrete wall down the street. Izuku winced. "Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

 

"I DON'T THINK IT WAS STUPID AT ALL, YOUNG MAN!"

 

Izuku jumped, spinning around.

 

Stepping out from the shadow of a streetlamp was All Might. He was in his muscle form, steam radiating off his massive frame, striking a heroic pose.

 

"A-All Might?!" Izuku gasped, taking a step back. "What are you doing here? Did you come to arrest me for using my Quirk?"

 

All Might suddenly deflated with a loud POOF, coughing up a fountain of blood.

 

"AHHH!" Izuku screamed, his tail bristling wildly. "You deflated! You're a fake! An imposter!"

 

"No, no, I am All Might," the skeletal man wheezed, waving a hand dismissively as he wiped the blood from his chin. "This is just... well, a long story involving a toxic attack five years ago. My respiratory system was nearly destroyed, my stomach was removed. I can only do my hero work for about three hours a day now."

 

Izuku stared, his analytical mind reeling. The Number One Hero, the Symbol of Peace, was dying. That explained the hollow energy signature he had sensed earlier.

 

"Why are you showing me this?" Izuku asked, his voice trembling.

 

Toshinori walked forward, his expression turning serious. He looked down at the boy, studying the fierce, barely-contained power humming beneath his skin, and the gentle, anxious soul that kept it in check.

 

"I saw what you did today, young Midoriya," Toshinori said softly. "I saw you rush into danger when seasoned pros, and even I, stood by and did nothing. You acted on pure, heroic instinct."

 

Izuku looked down at his hands. "I lost control. I could have killed him. I could have killed everyone in that alley."

 

"But you didn't," Toshinori countered. "You controlled it perfectly. You atomized the villain and left the hostage unharmed. You moved with a precision and a power that I haven't seen in... well, perhaps ever."

 

Toshinori took a deep breath, placing a heavy, bony hand on Izuku's shoulder.

 

"You have a power that terrifies people, don't you?" Toshinori asked gently. "You live in a world made of glass, terrified that one wrong move will shatter everything."

 

Izuku's breath hitched. Tears welled in his eyes. For ten years, no one had understood. No one had seen past the terrifying strength to see the scared boy underneath. But All Might saw it. All Might knew what it was like to wield power that could alter the weather.

 

"I... I just want to be a hero," Izuku cried, the tears finally falling, his tail wrapping around his waist for comfort. "But I'm a monster. If I let go, even a little bit, things break. People get hurt. I don't know how to use this power without destroying the world."

 

Toshinori smiled—a warm, fatherly smile.

 

"You are no monster, Izuku Midoriya. You are a hero," Toshinori said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "A hero who has been fighting a battle every single day just to keep others safe from himself. That restraint... that is the mark of a true savior."

 

Toshinori stood up straight, though he remained in his skeletal form.

 

"You have the power to protect this planet. But power without philosophy is just violence," Toshinori said. "I cannot give you strength. You already have more than enough. But I can give you everything else. I can teach you control. I can teach you how to smile in the face of fear. I can teach you how to be a Symbol."

 

Izuku looked up, his emerald eyes wide, reflecting the light of the streetlamp.

 

"Izuku Midoriya," All Might declared, pointing a finger at the boy. "Will you allow me to be your mentor?"

 

The wind blew gently through the quiet street, rustling Izuku's green hair. The suffocating weight he had carried for ten years didn't vanish, but for the first time, it felt like someone else was helping him carry it.

 

Izuku wiped his eyes, his expression hardening into one of absolute resolve. Deep within his chest, the primal, roaring energy of his Saiyan blood pulsed—not in anger, but in joyous excitement.

 

He looked at the Symbol of Peace, and he nodded.

 

"Yes," Izuku said, his voice steady. "Please teach me."

 

And so began the true story of Izuku Midoriya. The boy who would not just become the greatest hero in the world, but the protector of the Earth itself. The boy with the tail.

 

 

 

Dagobah Municipal Beach Park was a graveyard of the industrial age. Mountains of rusted refrigerators, crushed cars, and rotting tires stretched out across the sand, forming jagged, metallic cliffs that blocked the view of the ocean. The air smelled of salt, decaying seaweed, and oxidized iron.

 

It was 5:00 AM. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the trash.

 

Standing in the center of a small clearing he had made among the debris was Izuku Midoriya. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. In his right hand, he held a single, raw egg.

 

"Again," a deep, resonant voice commanded from atop a nearby pile of broken washing machines.

 

Toshinori Yagi, in his emaciated, skeletal form, sat cross-legged on a rusted dryer, wrapped in an oversized trench coat to ward off the morning chill. His piercing blue eyes were fixed intensely on his new pupil.

 

Izuku took a deep breath. He focused his mind, drawing his attention away from the roaring river of primal energy—the Ki—that constantly cascaded through his veins. He tried to compartmentalize it, to push it down into his toes, to leave his arm entirely devoid of superhuman strength.

 

He slowly, agonizingly, squeezed his fingers around the egg.

 

Crack. Splat.

 

Yolk and egg whites burst through his fingers, dripping down his palm and onto the sand. Izuku groaned, his brown, furry tail drooping behind him in defeat. He wiped his hand on a rag he had tucked into his waistband.

 

"That's the fourteenth one," Izuku sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I was barely touching it, All Might. I swear. I tried to use just the muscles in my fingertips, but the moment I applied pressure, my body instinctively backed it up with my internal energy."

 

Toshinori hopped down from his perch, landing lightly on the sand. He walked over, his oversized clothes billowing in the sea breeze.

 

"Do not be discouraged, young Midoriya," Toshinori said, pulling another egg from a carton sitting on a nearby crate. He handed it to the boy. "The fact that your body subconsciously reinforces your physical movements with your... what did you call it? Ki?"

 

"Yeah. Ki," Izuku nodded, staring at the new egg as if it were a bomb. "Dr. Tsubasa called it kinetic energy, but it feels more like life force. It's connected to my emotions, my physical stamina, and my tail. If I don't actively suppress it, it just... leaks out."

 

"Fascinating," Toshinori murmured, rubbing his sharp chin. "Most Quirks require conscious activation. Yours is a constant, passive state of absolute power. That is why you live in a world of cardboard, my boy. To you, steel is like wet tissue paper. Concrete is like sand. You have spent your entire life terrified of breaking the world around you."

 

Izuku looked down at the egg. "If I want to be a hero, I can't just blow things up. The Sludge Villain... that was a mistake. I used a fraction of a percent of my power, and I changed the weather. If I punch a purse snatcher, I'll turn him into red mist. If I try to catch a falling civilian, I might snap their spine from the sudden deceleration."

 

"Exactly," Toshinori said, suddenly shifting. A plume of steam erupted from his body, and in a fraction of a second, the skeletal man expanded into the towering, muscular titan known as the Symbol of Peace.

 

"AND THAT IS WHY WE ARE NOT HERE TO MAKE YOU STRONGER!" All Might boomed, striking a pose that made the surrounding mountains of trash rattle. "WE ARE HERE TO MAKE YOU WEAKER! OR RATHER, TO TEACH YOU TO HOLD YOUR IMMENSE POWER ON A LEASH!"

 

All Might knelt down, placing a massive hand on Izuku's shoulder. His smile was radiant, but his eyes were entirely serious.

 

"Izuku, a hero's job is not just to defeat the villain. Anyone with a gun or a strong enough Quirk can do that," All Might explained, his voice dropping to a more intimate, resonant tone. "A true hero's job is to make the public feel safe. We smile to mask the fear in our own hearts, and to tell the world, 'It is fine now.' But if the public looks at you and sees a god of destruction... they will not feel safe. They will feel terror."

 

Izuku swallowed hard, remembering the terrified faces of Death Arms and Kamui Woods. "I know."

 

"You possess the physical strength to shatter a continent," All Might said, standing back up. "But to be a Symbol, you must master the art of restraint. You must learn martial arts not to maximize your damage, but to minimize it. You must learn to redirect force, to use your opponent's momentum against them, and to strike with surgical precision."

 

All Might gestured to the mountains of trash. "For the next ten months, until the U.A. Entrance Exam, you will not clear this beach by throwing cars into the ocean. You will clear it by dismantling it. Piece by piece. With your bare hands. Without breaking the glass, without crushing the metal out of shape, and without making a sound."

 

Izuku's eyes widened. "Without making a sound?"

 

"If you make a loud noise, it means you used too much force," All Might challenged, his grin widening. "Can you do it?"

 

Izuku looked at the towering piles of garbage. He looked at his hands. For the first time in his life, he was being given a task that actually challenged his control, rather than his strength.

 

A fierce, determined smile broke across Izuku's face. His tail snapped like a whip in the air behind him.

 

"Yes, sir."

 

 

 

The ten months of training were a grueling exercise in supreme psychological torture.

 

Izuku spent hours every day moving refrigerators, cars, and steel girders. At first, it was a disaster. He would grip a car door too tightly, and the metal would instantly crumple into a dense ball of scrap. He would take a step with too much enthusiasm, and his foot would sink two feet into the bedrock beneath the sand, creating a miniature earthquake.

 

But Toshinori was a patient, brilliant teacher. He understood the burden of strength. He taught Izuku how to breathe. He taught him forms of Aikido and Judo—martial arts focused entirely on grappling, redirecting momentum, and incapacitating an opponent without blunt force trauma.

 

By month five, Izuku was carrying rusted pickup trucks over his head while performing graceful, silent ballet leaps across the sand. He learned how to dial his Ki down to practically zero, rendering his monstrous strength dormant.

 

He also learned how to fly properly.

 

Toshinori had watched in absolute awe one evening as Izuku, sitting cross-legged on a pile of tires, simply floated into the air. Izuku explained that by projecting his Ki beneath him, he could ride the energy like a cushion, pushing against gravity. Toshinori realized that if anyone saw this, they would assume Izuku had a telekinetic or gravity-manipulation Quirk, which was a perfect cover for his true, apocalyptic nature.

 

By month nine, Dagobah Beach was pristine. The sand was white, the ocean view was unobstructed, and the horizon gleamed with the light of the setting sun.

 

Izuku stood at the shoreline, his hands on his knees, panting lightly. Not from physical exhaustion, but from the mental strain of ten months of absolute focus.

 

Toshinori, in his skeletal form, walked up beside him and handed him a water bottle. "You've done magnificently, young Midoriya. Your control over your body is leagues beyond what it was. But..."

 

Toshinori paused, pulling a large, heavy-looking duffel bag from the back of his nearby pickup truck. He dropped the bag onto the sand. It hit the ground with a resounding, thunderous THUD that actually shook the beach.

 

"...the U.A. Entrance Exam is tomorrow," Toshinori continued. "And while your control has improved, the heat of battle can cause a young man's instincts to take over. I have noticed that your... Saiyan blood, as you jokingly called it once, flares up when you are excited."

 

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "My tail gets a little antsy when I see a strong opponent. It's like an itch in my bones. I want to fight them."

 

"A dangerous urge for a hero," Toshinori warned gently. "To ensure you do not accidentally atomize a fellow student or obliterate the testing grounds, I contacted an old friend of mine in America. A support gear engineer."

 

Toshinori unzipped the duffel bag. Inside lay what looked like a set of thick, black, fabric cuffs—two for the wrists, two for the ankles—and a sleek, compressed black undershirt.

 

"These are made from a hyper-dense, Quirk-forged osmium alloy, woven into a flexible fabric," Toshinori explained, his eyes gleaming. "They are restraint weights."

 

Izuku tilted his head, picking up one of the wrist cuffs. He expected it to be heavy, but as he lifted it, he felt a genuine, physical tug on his muscles. He blinked in surprise.

 

"How heavy are they?" Izuku asked.

 

"The shirt is five hundred kilograms. Each wrist cuff is two hundred and fifty. Each ankle cuff is five hundred," Toshinori said, a sweatdrop forming on his temple. "In total, you will be wearing two metric tons of localized weight."

 

Izuku strapped the cuffs onto his wrists and ankles, and pulled the tight black undershirt over his torso. He buttoned his school uniform over it.

 

Then, he stood up.

 

For a moment, Izuku froze. He took a step forward. He swung his arm. He jumped a few inches off the ground and landed.

 

Suddenly, tears began to stream down Izuku's face.

 

Toshinori panicked, waving his hands. "Ah! Is it too heavy?! I told David it might be too much, even for you—"

 

"No," Izuku whispered, cutting him off. He looked at his hands, his whole body trembling. A massive, radiant smile broke through his tears. "All Might... it's not too heavy. It's... it's perfect."

 

Izuku took off sprinting down the beach. He ran as hard as he could. For the first time in his entire life, the ground didn't shatter beneath his feet. The air didn't explode in a sonic boom. He didn't move faster than the speed of sound. He just ran like a normal, highly athletic teenager.

 

The two tons of weight provided the exact amount of resistance his monstrous muscles needed to feel normal.

 

"I can push!" Izuku laughed, tears flying from his eyes as he did a backflip, landing solidly in the sand without creating a crater. "I can actually try! I don't have to hold back my muscles! The weights do it for me!"

 

Toshinori watched the boy run and jump with the unbridled joy of a prisoner who had just been unchained. The Symbol of Peace smiled, crossing his arms.

 

He wears two tons of solid weight just to feel normal, Toshinori thought, a mixture of awe and slight terror in his heart. Heaven help the villains of this world when he takes them off.

 

 

 

The morning of the U.A. Entrance Exam arrived with a crisp, cool breeze.

 

The Midoriya household kitchen looked like the aftermath of a culinary hurricane. Inko Midoriya, operating at maximum maternal overdrive, was cooking furiously. Izuku sat at the table, shoveling food into his mouth with terrifying speed.

 

"More rice, Izuku?" Inko asked, placing a massive, steaming bowl that could have fed a family of four in front of him.

 

"Thanks, Mom!" Izuku mumbled through a mouthful of grilled salmon, eggs, and toast. His Saiyan metabolism required an absurd caloric intake, especially now that he was burning energy just walking around in two tons of weighted clothing.

 

His baggy middle school uniform did an excellent job of hiding the thick black cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His brown tail was tightly coiled and secured flush against his lower back, hidden beneath his jacket.

 

After polishing off enough food to satisfy a small army, Izuku grabbed his yellow backpack.

 

"Izuku," Inko called out softly as he reached the door. She walked over and straightened his collar, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I know I used to worry. I know you're... different from other people. But I also know how hard you've worked. You're going to be an amazing hero."

 

Izuku smiled, a gentle, grounded expression that radiated pure confidence. "I will, Mom. I promise."

 

The walk to U.A. High School was surreal. For years, Izuku had dreaded leaving the house. Every step had been an exercise in paranoia. But today, with the heavy, comforting pull of the osmium weights grounding him to the earth, he felt liberated. He walked among the crowds of aspiring heroes, just another face in the sea of youth.

 

As he approached the towering, glass-fronted gates of U.A., he spotted a familiar head of spiky, ash-blonde hair.

 

Katsuki Bakugo was walking ahead of him, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture aggressive and tense.

 

"Kacchan!" Izuku called out cheerfully.

 

Katsuki flinched as if he had been struck by lightning. He stopped, slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder. His red eyes locked onto Izuku, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of Katsuki's face.

 

To anyone else, Izuku looked like a plain, slightly nerdy kid with a bright smile. But to Katsuki, who had spent the last ten months having nightmares about the pressure wave that had obliterated the Sludge Villain, Izuku looked like a smiling grim reaper.

 

"Deku," Katsuki grunted, his voice tight, lacking its usual explosive bravado.

 

"Good luck today, Kacchan! Let's both do our best!" Izuku beamed, giving him a thumbs-up.

 

Katsuki swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly in his pockets. He didn't yell. He didn't threaten to kill him. He just gave a curt, jerky nod, turned around, and walked into the building as fast as his legs could carry him.

 

Izuku sighed internally. He hated that Katsuki feared him, but All Might had assured him that time and actions would heal that wound.

 

As Izuku took his first step onto the U.A. campus, his foot caught on a slightly raised paving stone.

 

Because of the two tons of weight he was unaccustomed to wearing in a casual setting, his center of gravity betrayed him. He pitched forward, falling face-first toward the concrete.

 

Oh no, I'm gonna smash my face, Izuku thought, perfectly capable of stopping himself, but deciding it was better to just take the fall rather than do a one-handed handstand and shatter the pavement.

 

But he never hit the ground.

 

Suddenly, he felt a light touch on his back, and his body halted in mid-air. He floated, weightless, a few inches above the stone.

 

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

 

Izuku was righted and set back on his feet. He turned to see a girl with round, rosy cheeks and short brown hair bobbing in the wind. She had her hands pressed together in a triangle shape.

 

"I stopped you with my Quirk! I'm sorry I didn't ask first, but I figured you wouldn't mind," she smiled brightly. "It'd be bad luck to fall on your face before the exam!"

 

Izuku stared at her. He wasn't staring because she was a girl—though she was very pretty—but because he was internally calculating the physics of what had just happened.

 

She canceled my gravity, Izuku realized, his energy-sensing radar pinging as he examined her. But she didn't just cancel my body weight. She canceled the two tons of osmium I'm wearing. And she didn't even notice the difference! Her Quirk completely nullifies mass regardless of the object's density! That is an incredibly overpowered ability!

 

"T-Thank you!" Izuku bowed nervously, slipping back into his slightly awkward persona. "I'm Izuku Midoriya!"

 

"Ochako Uraraka!" she beamed. "Let's do our best today!"

 

She waved and skipped ahead. Izuku watched her go, a small, genuine smile on his face. U.A. really is full of amazing people.

 

 

 

The auditorium was massive, packed with thousands of hopeful students. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight snapped onto the stage, revealing the Voice Hero: Present Mic.

 

"EVERYBODY SAY HEY!" Mic roared, leaning into his microphone.

 

Silence. Absolute, deafening silence.

 

"Tough crowd!" Mic laughed, unfazed. He projected a massive hologram behind him. "Welcome to the U.A. Entrance Exam! Today, you listeners will be conducting a ten-minute mock urban battle! You can bring whatever gear you want! After this presentation, you'll head to your assigned testing centers!"

 

Izuku looked at his testing card. Battle Center B. He glanced over at Katsuki, who was seated a few rows ahead. Katsuki's card read Battle Center A. U.A. was smart; they had separated students from the same middle school to prevent cooperation.

 

Present Mic explained the scoring system. There were three types of villains—robots worth one, two, and three points respectively. The goal was to use your Quirk to disable as many as possible and rack up a high score.

 

"Excuse me! I have a question!"

 

A tall, broad-shouldered student with glasses and perfectly combed blue hair stood up, his arm raised straight into the air like a flagpole. A spotlight immediately hit him.

 

"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 of this foolish mistake!" The boy declared rigidly. He then turned around and pointed a finger directly at Izuku, who was sitting near the back. "And you, with the unkempt green hair! You have been muttering quietly to yourself this entire presentation! If you are not taking this seriously, you should leave immediately!"

 

The entire auditorium turned to look at Izuku.

 

For a normal fourteen-year-old, this would be mortifying. But Izuku Midoriya was not a normal fourteen-year-old. He had spent the last ten years staring down the barrel of an internal, apocalyptic urge to fight, and he had just spent ten months being trained by the Symbol of Peace.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't blush. He didn't shrink into his seat.

 

He simply looked at the boy with glasses. Izuku’s emerald eyes were calm, serene, and carried the weight of a seasoned warrior. For a fraction of a second, the heavy, imposing aura of the Primal Warrior leaked out—not aggressively, but like a mountain refusing to be moved by a gust of wind.

 

The boy with the glasses suddenly faltered. He felt a chill run down his spine, an instinctual, biological warning screaming at him to lower his pointing finger immediately. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt incredibly small.

 

"I apologize if my muttering disturbed you," Izuku said, his voice quiet, yet it carried clearly through the silent auditorium. "I was simply analyzing the structural implications of the testing centers. I will remain silent."

 

The blue-haired boy swallowed hard, lowering his arm quickly. "A-Ah. I see. Apologies." He sat down abruptly, wiping a sudden sheen of sweat from his forehead.

 

Present Mic cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "O-Okay! To answer your question, Examinee 7111, the fourth robot is worth zero points! It's a massive obstacle! I recommend you run away from it! Now, plus ultra! Let the exams begin!"

 

 

 

Battle Center B was a sprawling, hyper-realistic replica of a modern city district. Towering skyscrapers, winding alleys, and broad streets were bathed in the morning sunlight.

 

Dozens of examinees stood behind a massive metal gate, stretching and preparing. Izuku stood near the back of the pack. He took a deep breath, feeling the heavy, comforting squeeze of his osmium weights. He adjusted his sleeves, making sure the wrist cuffs were hidden.

 

He spotted Uraraka near the front, looking nervous. He also spotted the blue-haired boy with glasses, who was doing aggressive calf stretches.

 

"Right, let's start!"

 

Present Mic's voice blared from a speaker tower. The massive metal gates began to slowly grind open.

 

Before the gates were even a third of the way open, the other students hesitated, waiting for a countdown.

 

But Izuku didn't wait. He remembered All Might's advice. Villains don't give you a countdown.

 

Izuku stepped forward. Despite wearing two tons of weight, he exploded into a sprint. To the naked eye, he didn't disappear in a blur of god-like speed like he usually did. Instead, he simply moved like an Olympic sprinter, his powerful legs driving him through the gap in the gates before anyone else had even twitched.

 

"What are you waiting for?!" Present Mic yelled over the speakers. "There are no countdowns in real battles! Run, run, run!"

 

The crowd panicked and surged forward, but Izuku was already two blocks deep into the city.

 

A mechanical whirring sound echoed from an alleyway to his right. A One-Pointer robot, resembling a monowheel with two bladed arms, rolled out, its red optical sensor locking onto Izuku.

 

"Target acquired," the robot synthesized.

 

Izuku didn't break his stride. As the robot lunged, swinging its bladed arm, Izuku stepped perfectly inside its guard. He didn't throw a punch. Instead, utilizing the Judo principles All Might had drilled into him, Izuku grabbed the robot's arm, pivoted on his heel, and used the machine's own forward momentum against it.

 

He added a slight push—just a fraction of his physical strength, dampened by the osmium weights.

 

The One-Pointer was lifted off the ground, spun through the air, and slammed into a concrete wall with a deafening CRUNCH. The robot shattered into pieces, completely disabled.

 

"One point," Izuku murmured, his breathing completely even.

 

He moved on.

 

For the next eight minutes, Battle Center B became Izuku Midoriya's personal dojo.

 

He didn't use flashy explosions. He didn't shoot lasers. He didn't scream or shout. He simply walked through the chaos, a calm epicenter in a storm of destruction.

 

A Two-Pointer robot, resembling a mechanical scorpion, tried to strike him from behind. Izuku simply sidestepped, raising his weighted arm. The robot's metal stinger slammed into Izuku's forearm, directly onto the hidden osmium cuff. The stinger snapped in half on impact. Izuku then delivered a calm, open-palm strike to the robot's chassis, sending a focused wave of kinetic energy (strictly physical, no Ki) through the metal, short-circuiting its battery instantly.

 

A group of three-pointers surrounded him, firing rubber bullets. Izuku weaved through the projectiles with terrifying efficiency, his movements perfectly economical. He dismantled them not with brute force, but by striking their joints, ripping out their hydraulic cables, and using their own mass against them.

 

He looked like an ancient martial arts master trapped in a teenager's body. He was poetry in motion, heavily weighted, yet entirely unstoppable.

 

He had racked up seventy points in under six minutes.

 

 

 

High above the Battle Centers, hidden in a darkened monitor room within the U.A. main building, the judges watched the screens.

 

Pro Heroes, ranging from Midnight to Snipe to Ectoplasm, sat in the glow of the monitors, scribbling notes on clipboards. At the center of the room sat Nezu, the principal of U.A., a strange creature resembling a hybrid of a bear, mouse, and dog.

 

Standing in the back corner, wearing a suit that was far too big for his skeletal frame, was Toshinori Yagi. He was gripping a notebook tightly, his eyes glued to the screen showing Battle Center B.

 

"We have an excellent crop this year," Midnight purred, licking her lips as she watched Katsuki Bakugo unleash a massive explosion on screen A. "That explosive boy is ruthless. Very flashy."

 

"Look at this one in Center B," Snipe pointed, adjusting his cowboy hat. "The kid with the glasses. Engine in his legs. Fast, efficient, good form."

 

"They're good," a tired, drawling voice spoke up from the shadows. Shota Aizawa, the erasure hero known as Eraserhead, stepped forward. His eyes, bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, were locked onto a different monitor.

 

"But look at Examinee 1345," Aizawa said, pointing a bandage-wrapped finger at the screen showing Izuku Midoriya calmly dismantling a Three-Pointer. "What Quirk is that?"

 

The heroes turned their attention to the screen.

 

"Super strength?" Ectoplasm suggested. "He tore that robot's arm off with his bare hands."

 

"It's not just strength," Aizawa narrowed his eyes, his analytical mind going into overdrive. "Look at the way he moves. His clothes are bagging strangely. There's a severe discrepancy between his kinetic output and his momentum. He's moving like he's underwater, yet he's generating enough force to shatter steel."

 

Aizawa leaned closer to the monitor. "And look at the concrete beneath his feet. Every time he lands from a jump, the pavement cracks. The boy is incredibly heavy. I think he's wearing weights."

 

Toshinori swallowed hard, a drop of sweat rolling down his bony cheek. Aizawa noticed already. The man's eyes are too sharp.

 

"Weights?" Nezu piped up, sipping a cup of tea. "How fascinating! To handicap oneself during the U.A. entrance exam... it speaks to either supreme arrogance, or a terrifying necessity. Let us test their mettle, shall we?"

 

Nezu reached forward and flipped open a glass case on the control console. Inside was a large red button.

 

"Let's see how they handle the true test of a hero," Nezu smiled, and slammed his paw on the button. "The zero pointer."

 

 

 

In Battle Center B, Izuku had just gently set down a disabled Two-Pointer when the ground began to vibrate.

 

It wasn't a small tremor. It felt like a localized earthquake. The dust in the streets rose into the air.

 

BOOM.

 

A massive explosion tore through the center of the replica city. Buildings crumbled as a colossal, metallic behemoth rose from the smoke. It was the Zero Pointer. It was the size of a skyscraper, rolling forward on massive tank treads. Its singular red eye glowed with menacing intensity as it raised a fist the size of a house and smashed a building into rubble.

 

Panic erupted.

 

"Run! It's the Zero Pointer!"

 

"Are they crazy?! That thing will kill us!"

 

The examinees, who had been fiercely competing just moments before, now turned and fled in a unified stampede of terror. Even the boy with the engine legs was sprinting away in the opposite direction.

 

Izuku stood his ground. He looked up at the towering machine.

 

His Saiyan blood, which had been peacefully dormant under the weights, suddenly spiked. His heart hammered in his chest. A giant enemy. How fun.

 

Izuku took a step forward, intending to run up the side of a building and punch its head off. But then he remembered All Might's words. You are not here to fight. You are here to save.

 

Izuku stopped. If he fought that thing, if he actually hit it with any real force, the resulting shockwave would send shrapnel flying for miles. He could hurt the other students.

 

I should just run, Izuku decided, turning his back on the robot. I have enough points.

 

"Owww... help!"

 

The cry was faint, barely audible over the grinding gears of the colossal machine. But Izuku's hearing was absolute.

 

He snapped his head around. Near the base of the Zero Pointer, trapped beneath a massive slab of rubble that had fallen from a destroyed building, was Ochako Uraraka. She was pinned by her leg, struggling desperately to free herself as the massive tank treads of the robot rolled relentlessly toward her.

 

She was going to be crushed.

 

The other students were too far away. The pro heroes wouldn't make it in time.

 

Izuku didn't think. The cardboard world, the rules, the restraint—none of it mattered when someone was in danger.

 

I need speed. I can't reach her in time with two tons holding me down.

 

Izuku reached down to his ankles.

 

Click. Clack.

 

He unbuckled the osmium cuffs from his legs and let them drop.

 

THUD-CRACK.

 

The moment the cuffs hit the pavement, they smashed completely through the concrete, burying themselves deep into the dirt below.

 

Izuku reached under his sleeves and unbuckled the wrist cuffs. He let them drop. They shattered the street, creating miniature craters.

 

The relief was instantaneous. It was like taking off a heavy winter coat in the middle of a sauna. Izuku's muscles, freed from the two tons of resistance, practically vibrated with limitless kinetic energy.

 

Izuku looked up at the Zero Pointer. He looked at Uraraka.

 

I can't just run over there and pull her out, Izuku analyzed in a microsecond. If I run at full speed without weights, the sonic boom will deafen her and shatter the rubble on top of her, likely crushing her further. I need to destroy the robot before it reaches her, but I have to do it without creating a shockwave.

 

The answer was simple. Pure, concentrated Ki.

 

Izuku took a deep breath. He crouched low, his tail uncoiling from his waist and whipping excitedly in the air behind him.

 

He didn't jump using his leg strength. He used his Ki.

 

Whoosh.

 

To the absolute shock of the fleeing students who happened to glance back, Izuku Midoriya simply defied gravity. He rocketed into the air, a faint, teal aura wrapping around his body, propelling him upward like a missile. He flew straight up, leveling out directly in front of the Zero Pointer's massive face, hovering perfectly still in mid-air.

 

"H-He's flying?!" Uraraka gasped from below, her eyes wide.

 

Izuku raised his right hand. He opened his palm, aiming it directly at the center of the robot's head.

 

He didn't draw on a fraction of a percent this time. He drew on a full, controlled, concentrated one percent of his Primal Energy.

 

Bzzzt.

 

The air around Izuku began to hum. It sounded like a massive swarm of bees mixed with the crackle of a high-voltage power line. A sphere of pure, glowing teal energy materialized in the center of his palm. It was small—no bigger than a baseball—but the sheer density of the energy it contained distorted the air around it, creating a visible heat mirage.

 

The Zero Pointer raised its massive hand to swat him out of the sky.

 

Izuku's eyes hardened.

 

"Release."

 

Izuku thrust his palm forward.

 

The baseball-sized sphere of Ki did not explode. It did not create a shockwave. It behaved exactly as Izuku commanded it to.

 

A concentrated, blindingly bright beam of teal energy erupted from his palm. It was perfectly cylindrical, roughly three feet in diameter. It shot forward faster than the speed of light, completely silent.

 

The beam struck the Zero Pointer directly between its optical sensors.

 

It didn't shatter the metal. It didn't push the robot back. The sheer heat and kinetic density of the Ki beam simply erased whatever it touched.

 

The beam pierced cleanly through the robot's head, traveled down through its neck, and bored entirely through its massive chassis, exiting out the back and shooting up into the stratosphere where it harmlessly dissipated.

 

For a single second, the Zero Pointer stood perfectly still.

 

Then, the edges of the massive hole in its chest began to glow a furious, molten orange.

 

With a low, groaning screech of melting steel, the entire upper half of the Zero Pointer slid off its axis and collapsed backward, crashing into the empty replica city behind it. The lower half, containing the tank treads, sputtered and died, coming to a halt mere inches from where Uraraka lay trapped.

 

Izuku let out a breath, the teal aura fading from his body. He floated down gently, landing softly next to the rubble trapping Uraraka.

 

He reached down, gripping the massive concrete slab pinning her leg. He didn't strain. He didn't grunt. He simply lifted the slab with one hand, as effortlessly as if he were picking up a pillow, and tossed it aside.

 

"Are you okay?" Izuku asked gently, offering her his hand.

 

Uraraka stared at him. She looked at his hand, then up at the melted, slagged remains of a skyscraper-sized robot, then back to the boy with the monkey tail.

 

"Y-You... you're..." she stammered, entirely unable to comprehend what she had just witnessed.

 

"TIME'S UP!"

 

Present Mic's voice echoed through the city, signaling the end of the exam.

 

Izuku smiled, a gentle, reassuring smile. "It's fine now. You're safe."

 

 

 

In the monitor room, there was no cheering. There was no commentary.

 

There was only a dead, heavy, suffocating silence.

 

The Pro Heroes stared at the screen showing Battle Center B. The feed from the camera was slightly static-filled, corrupted by the immense energy output that had just occurred.

 

Midnight's pen slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floor. Snipe had pushed his cowboy hat up, his jaw hanging open beneath his mask.

 

Nezu had stopped drinking his tea. His cup hovered halfway to his mouth, his beady eyes unblinking.

 

"He... he flew," Ectoplasm whispered, breaking the silence. "He flew, and then he shot a laser beam."

 

"That wasn't a laser," Aizawa said, his voice entirely devoid of its usual lazy drawl. It was sharp, cold, and laced with profound alarm. "Lasers burn. That energy... it atomized the target. It ignored the robot's physical defense entirely. And he did it while hovering effortlessly."

 

Aizawa turned slowly, looking toward the back of the room. He locked eyes with Toshinori Yagi.

 

"All Might," Aizawa said softly. "Who is that boy?"

 

Toshinori stood frozen, sweat pouring down his face. He had told Izuku to hold back. He had told him to use martial arts. He had never, in his wildest dreams, expected the boy to unleash a concentrated Ki blast on camera.

 

He removed the weights to save her without causing collateral damage, Toshinori realized, a mixture of immense pride and sheer panic warring in his chest. He used a god-like attack with the precision of a scalpel.

 

"He is Izuku Midoriya," Toshinori said, trying to keep his voice steady, attempting to project the calm demeanor of a mentor. "His Quirk is... multifaceted."

 

Aizawa glared at the screen, watching as Izuku calmly walked over to the craters he had made earlier, picked up his heavy osmium cuffs, and strapped them back onto his wrists and ankles.

 

"Multifaceted is an understatement," Aizawa muttered grimly, his capture scarf shifting slightly around his neck as if reacting to his anxiety. "That boy isn't just a powerhouse. He’s an anomaly. If he decides he doesn't want to play by our rules..."

 

Aizawa let the sentence hang in the air, but every hero in the room finished it in their heads.

 

If he decides he doesn't want to play by our rules, there isn't a single hero on earth who can stop him.

 

The Entrance Exam was over. Izuku Midoriya had passed. But he had also officially stepped out of his world of cardboard, and the world of heroes would never be the same.

 

 

Shota Aizawa, the Underground Hero known as Eraserhead, sat alone in the darkened staff room of U.A. High School. The only source of light was the pale, blue glow of his computer monitor, illuminating the heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. It was 3:00 AM, hours before the first day of the new school year was set to begin.

 

Aizawa liked the quiet. It gave him time to think. And tonight, he had a lot to think about.

 

On the screen in front of him, playing on an infinite, silent loop, was the security footage from Battle Center B’s entrance exam.

 

He watched it for the fiftieth time. The massive, towering Zero Pointer robot, a marvel of U.A.’s engineering, lumbered forward, its tank treads crushing a replica city street. He watched as a green-haired boy, heavily weighed down by what Aizawa had deduced to be osmium training gear, suddenly shed his restraints.

 

Then, the anomaly occurred.

 

The boy didn't jump. He simply levitated. He ascended with a terrifying, smooth velocity, surrounded by a localized distortion field of teal energy. He hovered in the air, pointed a single hand at the mechanical behemoth, and fired a beam of pure, concentrated kinetic light.

 

The beam didn't blast the robot apart. It didn't explode. It simply... erased the matter it touched. A perfectly smooth, glowing hole was bored entirely through hundreds of tons of reinforced steel and circuitry.

 

Aizawa paused the video right at the moment the beam fired. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his dry eyes.

 

"Izuku Midoriya," Aizawa muttered, his raspy voice echoing slightly in the empty room.

 

He pulled up the boy’s file. It was maddeningly vague.

Quirk: Primal Physiology.

Type: Mutant/Emitter Hybrid.

Description: The user possesses anomalous muscle and bone density, alongside a prehensile tail. The user can also generate, store, and expel internal kinetic energy (Ki) for enhanced mobility and destructive output.

 

To a layman, it sounded like a strong, versatile Quirk. But Aizawa was no layman. He was a veteran of the underground, a man who fought criminals whose Quirks could melt flesh or warp minds. He understood the lethal mechanics of superhuman abilities better than almost anyone alive.

 

The energy readings from Battle Center B were attached to the file. When Midoriya fired that beam, the ambient temperature of the testing center had spiked by forty degrees in a millisecond. The barometric pressure had dropped so sharply that several nearby cameras had their lenses shattered.

 

And that was just an entrance exam. The boy was fourteen.

 

Aizawa hated Quirks like this.

 

In Aizawa’s philosophy, overwhelming power was a poison. It bred arrogance. It created heroes like Endeavor, who believed collateral damage was just the price of doing business. It created heroes who relied so heavily on their god-like abilities that the moment they met a villain who could counter them, they crumbled. If you could vaporize a city block with a thought, you never bothered to learn how to throw a proper punch. You never learned how to de-escalate. You never learned how to be a human being.

 

More than that, Quirks like Midoriya's were a liability. What happens when a boy with the power to alter the weather throws a temper tantrum? What happens when a villain uses a mind-control Quirk on him?

 

If Izuku Midoriya went rogue, there wouldn't be a police force or a hero agency capable of stopping him.

 

"All Might is training him," Aizawa said softly to himself, recalling the nervous sweat on the Symbol of Peace's brow during the exam review. "Of course he is. Birds of a feather."

 

Aizawa closed the file and powered off the monitor. The room plunged into absolute darkness.

 

He had made his decision. Today, during the Quirk Apprehension Test, he was going to break Izuku Midoriya. He was going to strip away that terrifying energy, expose the boy's reliance on his apocalyptic power, and show him exactly how helpless he was without it. If the boy showed even a hint of arrogance, even a fraction of a god-complex, Aizawa would expel him on the spot.

 

U.A. was not a training ground for walking nuclear warheads.

 

Aizawa stood up, grabbing his yellow sleeping bag and wrapping his capture scarf tightly around his neck. The dilemma was set. Now, it was time to test the anomaly.

 

 

 

Izuku stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, adjusting his U.A. uniform.

 

The gray jacket and red tie felt strangely formal, a stark contrast to the grueling, sweaty training gear he had lived in for the past ten months. But the real challenge lay beneath the fabric.

 

Beneath his uniform, perfectly concealed, was the black osmium undershirt. Strapped tightly to his wrists and ankles were the incredibly dense cuffs. All together, Izuku was currently carrying two metric tons of localized weight.

 

He had to be careful. The floors of his family apartment were not built to withstand a teenager who weighed as much as an SUV.

 

He didn't walk; he glided. Izuku had developed a specific method of movement, distributing his weight evenly across the flats of his feet, taking smooth, rolling steps that absorbed the impact before it could crack the floorboards. It was mentally exhausting, requiring constant, active focus.

 

His brown, furry tail swished out from behind him. U.A. had been incredibly accommodating, providing tailored uniform trousers with a reinforced slit at the base of the spine. The tail, which Izuku usually kept wrapped tightly around his waist to avoid drawing attention, now swayed freely.

 

I'm a U.A. student, Izuku thought, staring at his reflection. His emerald eyes gleamed with a mixture of excitement and deep, ingrained anxiety. I have to be careful. I can't let my power leak out. I have to be a normal student.

 

"Izuku! You're going to be late!" Inko called from the kitchen.

 

"Coming, Mom!"

 

Izuku glided into the kitchen, gratefully accepting a massive bento box that probably weighed ten pounds on its own. He kissed his mother on the cheek, gave her a reassuring smile, and headed out the door.

 

The commute to U.A. was relatively peaceful. Izuku rode the train, making sure to stand rather than sit. If he sat down, the plastic train seats would likely buckle under the two tons of osmium. He held onto the overhead bar, expertly dampening the train's momentum with his immense, suppressed leg strength so he wouldn't rip the bar from the ceiling when the train braked.

 

When he finally arrived at the massive, imposing door of Class 1-A, he took a deep breath.

 

Here we go.

 

He reached out, gripping the massive door handle with delicate precision, and slid it open.

 

The classroom was already buzzing with activity. Several students were gathered in small groups, chatting excitedly.

 

"Take your feet off that desk immediately!" a loud, rigid voice echoed.

 

Izuku peeked inside. Tenya Iida, the tall, blue-haired boy from the auditorium, was marching rigidly toward a desk near the back. Sitting with his feet kicked up, a scowl practically etched into his face, was Katsuki Bakugo.

 

"Huh? What's your problem, four-eyes?" Katsuki sneered, though Izuku noticed the explosive boy's shoulders were uncharacteristically tense.

 

"It is the property of U.A. Academy! You are disrespecting the upperclassmen who used it before us!" Iida chopped the air aggressively with his hand.

 

"I'll do what I want," Katsuki growled. Then, his red eyes darted to the doorway. He saw Izuku standing there.

 

Instantly, Katsuki’s feet dropped from the desk. He sat up straight, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and looked out the window, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might crack.

 

Iida blinked, surprised by his sudden compliance, before turning to the door. He spotted Izuku.

 

"Ah! You are the boy who realized the true nature of the practical exam!" Iida marched over, his heavy footsteps echoing. He stopped in front of Izuku and bowed a perfect ninety degrees. "I am Tenya Iida from Somei Private Academy! I must apologize for my behavior during the orientation. I judged you prematurely, thinking your muttering was a sign of disrespect. But you possessed a far superior spatial awareness and tactical mind than I did!"

 

Izuku waved his hands frantically, taking a half-step back, his tail wrapping instinctively around his left leg. "O-Oh, no, it's fine! Really! I was just nervous, and I tend to mumble when I analyze things. I'm Izuku Midoriya. It's nice to meet you, Iida."

 

"Midoriya!"

 

Izuku turned to see Ochako Uraraka bounding over, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile.

 

"I'm so glad we're in the same class!" she cheered. "I didn't get to thank you properly after the exam! That laser beam you shot was incredible! You completely melted that giant robot!"

 

The classroom went dead silent.

 

Several students turned their heads, staring at the unassuming, green-haired boy standing in the doorway.

 

"Laser beam?" a boy with spiky red hair asked, leaning over his desk. "I heard someone totally atomized the Zero Pointer in Center B, but I thought it was a rumor! That was you, man?!"

 

Izuku felt the blood drain from his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. "A-Ah, well, I just... you know, I focused my energy. It was nothing special."

 

Katsuki, still staring out the window, let out a dark, bitter scoff that sounded suspiciously like a choked cough. Nothing special. Yeah, right. He could have blown the moon out of orbit.

 

"It didn't look like nothing special!" Uraraka insisted, entirely unaware of the sheer panic she was causing Izuku. "You flew right up to its face and—"

 

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

 

The voice came from the floor. It was dry, exhausted, and devoid of any warmth.

 

Izuku looked down. Lying on the floor, perfectly still like a massive yellow caterpillar, was a sleeping bag. The zipper slowly opened, and Shota Aizawa pulled himself out, looking like a man who hadn't slept in a decade. He held a juice pouch in one hand.

 

"It took you eight seconds to quiet down," Aizawa said, stepping out of the sleeping bag and walking to the podium. "Time is a limited resource. You kids aren't rational enough."

 

The class stared at him, bewildered. Is this our homeroom teacher? He looks like a homeless man.

 

Aizawa scanned the room. His eyes lingered on Bakugo, then on Iida, and finally, they locked onto Izuku. The underground hero’s gaze was piercing, analytical, and entirely unamused. Izuku felt a strange prickle on his skin—his energy radar quietly warning him that this man was incredibly dangerous, despite having no overwhelming physical aura.

 

"I'm Shota Aizawa. Your homeroom teacher," he stated flatly. He reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a stack of blue U.A. gym uniforms. "Put these on and head out to the training field. We're doing a Quirk Apprehension Test."

 

 

 

The sun beat down on the expansive dirt field behind U.A. The twenty students of Class 1-A stood in a loose cluster, wearing their blue and white gym uniforms.

 

Izuku had successfully transferred his osmium gear beneath the gym clothes in the locker room without anyone noticing. The heavy cuffs were snug against his wrists and ankles, the undershirt compressing his impossibly dense muscles. He felt secure, grounded.

 

"A Quirk Apprehension Test?" Uraraka asked, looking concerned. "But what about the entrance ceremony? Or guidance counseling?"

 

"If you want to be a pro hero, you don't have time for leisurely events," Aizawa said, standing with his back to them, looking out over the field. "U.A.'s selling point is how unrestricted its traditions are. That's also how the teachers run their classes."

 

Aizawa turned to face them, his expression grim. "You kids have been doing these physical fitness tests since junior high. 50-meter dash, grip strength, seated toe-touch. But you were always barred from using your Quirks. The country's educational system is irrational. They take the average of everyone's results without factoring in abilities."

 

Aizawa pointed a finger at Bakugo. "Bakugo. You finished first in the practical exam. What was your best result for the softball throw in junior high?"

 

Katsuki scowled, his hands in his pockets. "Sixty-seven meters."

 

"Try doing it with your Quirk," Aizawa instructed, tossing a standard white softball to the explosive blonde. "Step into the circle. Do whatever you want, just don't leave the ring."

 

Katsuki stepped into the white chalk circle. He stretched his arms, a feral, aggressive grin slowly spreading across his face. He glanced back at Izuku for a fraction of a second, his red eyes burning with a desperate need to prove himself.

 

Katsuki wound up. As he threw the ball, he ignited a massive blast of nitroglycerin from his palm.

 

"DIE!" Katsuki roared.

 

The ball shot into the sky on a pillar of fire and black smoke, leaving a trail of ash in its wake.

 

Aizawa held up a small tracking device. It beeped. He turned the screen to the class.

 

705.2 meters.

 

"Know your own maximum first," Aizawa said, his voice cutting through the stunned silence of the students. "That is the most rational way to form the foundation of a hero."

 

"Seven hundred meters?! That's awesome!" a boy with a black lightning bolt in his hair cheered.

 

"We can use our Quirks as much as we want! This looks like fun!" a pink-skinned girl added, clapping her hands.

 

Aizawa’s eyes darkened. The air around him suddenly grew heavy, oppressive.

 

"'Looks like fun,' you say?" Aizawa's voice dropped an octave. "You have three years to become heroes. Are you going to have an attitude like that the whole time?"

 

Aizawa smiled, but it was a terrifying, predatory expression. "All right. Whoever ranks last in total points across all eight tests will be judged to have no potential... and will be punished with immediate expulsion."

 

The class erupted in shock.

 

"Expulsion?!" Uraraka cried out. "But it's the first day! Even if it wasn't, that's entirely unfair!"

 

"Natural disasters, massive accidents, ego-driven villains," Aizawa listed coldly. "Calamities whose time and place cannot be predicted. Japan is covered with unfairness. Heroes are the ones who reverse those situations. If you wanted to go talk with your friends at McDonald's after school, too bad. For the next three years, U.A. will inflict hardship after hardship upon you. Go beyond. Plus Ultra. Overcome it with all you have."

 

Izuku listened to Aizawa’s speech, his emerald eyes locked onto the teacher. He didn't feel fear of expulsion. He felt a profound respect. Aizawa was right. The world was unfair. The Sludge Villain had been unfair. The immense, world-breaking power trapped inside Izuku's own body was incredibly unfair.

 

Aizawa watched the class's reactions. He saw the panic, the determination, the fear. And then he looked at Midoriya.

 

The green-haired boy wasn't panicking. His expression was calm, resolute. His brown tail was entirely still, resting calmly behind him.

 

He thinks he’s safe, Aizawa deduced, his grip tightening on his clipboard. He thinks his overwhelming power guarantees his spot here. He thinks this is a game.

 

Aizawa's eyes flashed red for a microsecond. Let's see how you do when the game changes.

 

"Test one. 50-meter dash," Aizawa announced.

 

The students lined up in pairs. Izuku found himself paired with Katsuki.

 

They stood at the starting line. Katsuki was practically vibrating with tension, small sparks popping from his palms. Izuku stood calmly, his posture relaxed, distributing his massive weight perfectly so his shoes wouldn't sink into the dirt track.

 

"Run as fast as you can, Deku," Katsuki hissed, not looking at him. "Don't you dare hold back."

 

"I always do my best, Kacchan," Izuku replied softly.

 

A robotic camera hovered near the finish line. "Ready... Start!"

 

BOOM!

 

Katsuki launched himself forward, using simultaneous explosions from his palms to propel himself across the track like a human rocket. "Burst speed!" he yelled.

 

Izuku didn't use his Ki. He didn't levitate. He simply ran.

 

But running with two tons of osmium attached to his body required a specific technique. He couldn't push off the ground with full force, or he would shatter the earth and send a shockwave that would knock Katsuki off course.

 

Instead, Izuku engaged his freakishly dense muscles, regulating his physical output to precisely match the resistance of the weights. He moved with incredibly heavy, thudding steps, his legs churning like pistons in an engine.

 

Thud. Thud. Thud.

 

The ground trembled slightly beneath Izuku's feet, but it held. He crossed the finish line entirely out of breath—not from the exertion, but from the immense mental focus required to not break the sound barrier.

 

"4.13 seconds!" the robot announced for Katsuki.

 

"5.02 seconds!" it announced for Izuku.

 

Katsuki landed, panting, and glared at the time. He had beaten Izuku. But there was no triumph in Katsuki's eyes. He knew Izuku hadn't used his energy. He knew Izuku was holding back. Damn him.

 

Aizawa jotted down the times. He frowned slightly. 5.02 seconds. He didn't use the localized levitation he displayed during the entrance exam. Why? Is his Quirk strictly tied to offensive output? Or is he trying to hide his capabilities?

 

Test two: Grip Strength.

 

The class gathered around a set of digital dynamometers.

 

"Wow! 540 kilograms?! Are you a gorilla or an octopus?!" a boy named Sero yelled, looking at a tall student with multiple arms named Shoji.

 

Izuku stood near the back, holding his dynamometer.

 

He stared at the small metal device. He had to be so incredibly careful. If he squeezed normally, the device wouldn't just break; the metal would undergo cold fusion and turn into a solid lump of dense scrap.

 

Just the surface muscles, Izuku reminded himself. No Ki. No deep tissue engagement. Just the skin and the uppermost layer of muscle fiber.

 

Izuku gently closed his hand. He felt the metal creak instantly. He stopped immediately, releasing his grip before he destroyed the machine.

 

He looked down at the digital display.

 

490.5 kg.

 

Izuku sighed in relief. Okay, that's passable. Not too flashy, but enough to show I'm trying.

 

Aizawa watched from the corner of his eye. He saw the score. He also saw how effortlessly Midoriya had squeezed the device. There had been no strain. No bulging veins. The boy had barely flexed his fingers.

 

His file said he had anomalous muscle density, Aizawa thought, his eyes narrowing. But this is beyond anomalous. He just rivaled a multi-armed mutant Quirk using a single, relaxed hand. And still... no energy emission.

 

Test three: Standing Long Jump.

 

Aizawa watched as Katsuki used his explosions to fly over the sandbox. Aoyama, a boy with a navel laser, propelled himself backward.

 

Then it was Izuku’s turn.

 

Izuku stepped up to the edge of the sand. Again, he didn't want to use his Ki. He wanted to rely strictly on his weighted physical body.

 

He bent his knees. If I push too hard, I'll clear the whole school. If I push too soft, the two tons of weight will drag me straight down.

 

Izuku found the middle ground. He leaped.

 

His heavy body arced through the air. He cleared the sandbox entirely, landing with a heavy, resonating THUD on the grass beyond. The impact left two deep indentations in the dirt.

 

Aizawa wrote down the score. He cleared the box. Again, pure physical prowess. But his movements are... strange. He lands too heavily. He moves like a man walking on the bottom of the ocean.

 

The tests continued. Repeated side steps, seated toe-touch. Izuku performed well above average in all of them, utilizing his terrifyingly dense muscles, but never once unleashing the glowing teal energy Aizawa had seen on the video.

 

Aizawa was growing irritated.

 

He's sandbagging, Aizawa concluded, misinterpreting Izuku’s intense restraint for arrogant laziness. He possesses a power capable of leveling a city, and he refuses to use it. He thinks his base physical stats are enough to coast through this test. He thinks U.A. is a joke.

 

Finally, they reached the fifth test. The softball throw.

 

Uraraka stepped into the circle. She tapped the ball with her fingers, canceling its gravity, and threw it lightly into the air. The ball floated upward, continuing endlessly into the blue sky.

 

Aizawa showed the screen. Infinity.

 

The class cheered.

 

"Midoriya. You're up," Aizawa called out, his voice flat.

 

Izuku swallowed hard. He stepped into the chalk circle, holding the small white softball.

 

He looked out over the vast, empty field.

 

Okay, this is it, Izuku thought, his mind racing. The other tests were just about controlling my physical body. But a ball throw... if I just use my weighted arm, the ball will go far, but it won't be a heroic score. I need to show Mr. Aizawa that I have a Quirk worth teaching. I need to use a tiny, microscopic fraction of my Ki.

 

Izuku closed his eyes. He reached deep within himself, finding the roaring river of Primal Energy. He didn't want the glowing aura. He just wanted a tiny spark—a single drop of water from the ocean—to channel into his fingertips at the exact moment of release to propel the ball.

 

From the sidelines, Katsuki watched intently. He knew what was coming. He braced himself, gritting his teeth. Show them, Deku. Show them the monster.

 

Izuku opened his eyes. He pulled his arm back, preparing to throw. He felt the tiny spark of Ki travel up his arm, ready to detonate behind the ball.

 

Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him.

 

The spark of Ki vanished. It didn't just fade; it felt as if a heavy, invisible blanket had been thrown over his internal energy reserve. The roaring river of power went completely still, cut off from his conscious control.

 

Izuku blinked, confused. He threw the ball.

 

Because his energy had vanished at the last second, throwing off his meticulously calculated timing, his physical muscles faltered. The ball arced weakly through the air, landing with a pathetic plop a mere forty-six meters away.

 

The class fell silent.

 

"Forty-six meters?" someone whispered. "Did he mess up?"

 

Izuku stared at his hands. My Ki... it's gone. I can't feel it at all.

 

"I erased your Quirk."

 

Izuku snapped his head toward the voice.

 

Standing a few feet outside the circle was Shota Aizawa. His long, black hair was floating wildly in the air, defying gravity. His capture scarf slithered around his shoulders like a nest of angry snakes. But the most terrifying detail was his eyes. They were glowing a fierce, blood-red.

 

"I saw the entrance exam," Aizawa said, his voice cold, sharp, and dripping with disdain. "That energy beam you fired. It was incredibly powerful. It was also incredibly reckless."

 

Izuku froze. His tail wrapped tightly around his waist, a physical manifestation of his sudden anxiety.

 

Aizawa stepped closer, his red eyes boring into Izuku's soul. "You destroyed a massive obstacle and saved a fellow student. That looks great on camera. But what if you had missed? What if your trajectory was off by a single degree? That beam would have traveled for miles. It could have hit an airplane. It could have pierced a residential building. You possess the destructive output of a strategic bomber, and you wield it like a child playing with a laser pointer."

 

The class watched in stunned silence. Aizawa was tearing Midoriya apart.

 

"Quirks like yours are the reason the world is a dangerous place," Aizawa continued relentlessly. "You rely on an overwhelming, apocalyptic power to solve your problems. But what happens when you encounter a villain who can nullify it? What happens when you're caught in a hostage situation where collateral damage isn't an option?"

 

Aizawa's capture scarf suddenly shot forward, wrapping tightly around Izuku's waist and pulling the boy slightly forward.

 

"You become a liability," Aizawa hissed, his face mere inches from Izuku's. "You think you can coast by on raw power without learning control. From what I've seen today, you are incapable of fine-tuning your Quirk. You are a walking disaster waiting to happen. Someone like you... cannot become a hero."

 

Silence descended upon the field. The wind stopped blowing.

 

Katsuki Bakugo stood frozen, his eyes wide. He knew Deku. He knew the sheer, unfathomable terror of that power. And he was watching this homeless-looking teacher lecture him like a misbehaving toddler.

 

Aizawa waited for the reaction. He expected anger. He expected arrogance. He expected the boy to shout about how strong he was, about how unfair this was.

 

Instead, Izuku looked Aizawa right in the red, glowing eyes.

 

Izuku didn't frown. He didn't yell. His emerald eyes were incredibly sad, but they were also shining with a profound, undeniable understanding.

 

"You're right," Izuku said softly.

 

Aizawa blinked. The response caught him completely off guard.

 

"You're entirely right, Mr. Aizawa," Izuku continued, his voice steady, devoid of any arrogance or malice. "My power is a liability. It's incredibly dangerous. I've spent my entire life terrified of hurting the people around me. I know that if I make a single mistake, I could kill someone."

 

Izuku gently placed his hands on the capture scarf wrapped around his waist. He didn't pull on it. He just held it.

 

"That's why I'm here," Izuku said, his gaze unwavering. "I came to U.A. to learn how to control it. I came here to learn how to save people without destroying the world in the process. I know I rely too much on my strength. I know I have a long way to go."

 

Aizawa stared at the boy. The sheer, unadulterated humility radiating from Midoriya was staggering. It wasn't an act. The kid truly believed every word he was saying. He wasn't an arrogant god. He was a teenager carrying a burden too heavy for his shoulders.

 

Aizawa felt a pang of guilt. He had misjudged the boy's character.

 

But character wasn't enough.

 

"Intentions don't save lives, Midoriya. Results do," Aizawa said softly, releasing the capture scarf. It slithered back to his shoulders. "I've erased your energy emission. You are practically Quirkless right now. Show me what you can do when your god-power is gone. Throw the ball again. If you fail to impress me, you're expelled."

 

Aizawa closed his eyes for a second, then opened them, his red glare locking back onto Izuku. Let's see if he breaks under the pressure.

 

Izuku walked back to the center of the chalk circle. He picked up another softball.

 

He closed his eyes, searching for his Ki. Nothing. Aizawa's erasure was absolute. The energy reserve was sealed shut.

 

He erased my Ki, Izuku analyzed, his mind moving at hyper-speed. He stopped the emitter aspect of my Primal Physiology.

 

Izuku opened his eyes, looking down at his hand. He flexed his fingers.

 

But he didn't erase my body.

 

Aizawa’s Quirk, Erasure, functioned by temporarily shutting down the Quirk Factor in a target's DNA. It stopped the biological mechanisms that allowed Quirks to activate. But it could not erase physical mutations. It couldn't make Shoji's extra arms disappear. It couldn't make Ojiro's tail vanish.

 

And it couldn't erase the fact that Izuku Midoriya's muscle fibers were fifty times denser than a normal human's.

 

Izuku took a deep breath.

 

If I don't have my Ki to propel the ball... I just have to use my arm.

 

Izuku planted his feet. The osmium weights around his ankles, still resting heavily against his skin, dug slightly into his shoes. He had two tons of weight holding him back. He couldn't afford to hold back his physical muscles anymore. Not if he wanted to stay at U.A.

 

Mr. Aizawa wants to see what I can do without my energy, Izuku thought, a fierce, determined spark igniting in his green eyes. I'll show him.

 

Izuku drew his arm back.

 

He didn't use a fraction of a percent. He didn't try to dampen the kinetic output. He engaged the full, terrifying, anomalous density of his Saiyan biology, pushing his arm forward with every ounce of physical strength he possessed.

 

He threw the ball.

 

CRACK-BOOOOOOM!

 

The sound was deafening. It wasn't the sound of an explosion. It was the sound of the air itself shattering.

 

Aizawa's hair whipped violently backward. His red eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror.

 

A massive shockwave of displaced air erupted from Izuku's hand, tearing across the field. The sheer barometric pressure hit Aizawa like a physical wall, forcing the veteran pro hero to stagger backward, digging his heels into the dirt to avoid being blown away.

 

The students of Class 1-A screamed, shielding their faces as a gale-force wind ripped through the area, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and tearing chunks of grass from the earth.

 

The ball was entirely invisible. It had broken the sound barrier instantaneously, leaving a white, circular vapor cone hanging in the air above the chalk circle. A massive trench, three feet deep and ten feet wide, had been carved into the dirt field, trailing directly beneath the path of the ball, created purely by the wind pressure of the throw.

 

Silence slammed back down on the field, broken only by the sound of dirt raining back onto the grass.

 

Aizawa stood frozen. His eyes were still glowing red. His Quirk was still active. He was looking directly at Midoriya.

 

My erasure is working, Aizawa thought, his mind struggling to process the impossible data his senses were feeding him. I shut down his energy. He has no emitter Quirk active. That was... that was just his arm.

 

Aizawa slowly looked down at the tracking device in his hand. The screen was cracked from the air pressure, but the digital display was still functioning. It beeped.

 

Aizawa slowly turned the screen toward the class.

 

Infinity.

 

The ball had been thrown with such catastrophic physical force that it had achieved escape velocity. It had left the planet's atmosphere.

 

Izuku stood in the chalk circle, his arm still outstretched. Smoke—friction burn from the air resistance—was rolling off his sleeve.

 

He slowly lowered his arm and turned to face Aizawa.

 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Aizawa," Izuku said, his voice quiet, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His tail wrapped around his leg in an apologetic gesture. "I hope I didn't break the ball. Without my energy to cushion the impact, I had to use my full physical strength... even with the weights on, it's a bit hard to control."

 

Aizawa felt his heart stop.

 

Weights?

 

Aizawa’s eyes darted to Izuku's wrists and ankles. He noticed the slight, unnatural bulge beneath the gym uniform. The boy wasn't just impossibly strong. He was handicapped. He was wearing weighted gear, he had his energy sealed away, and he had still thrown a baseball into orbit.

 

The dilemma that Aizawa had wrestled with in the staff room suddenly shifted from a question of pedagogy to a question of survival.

 

Aizawa realized, with a cold, terrifying certainty, that he held absolutely no power over this boy. If Izuku Midoriya wanted to, he could rip Aizawa in half before the hero's brain could even register the movement. Erasure was completely useless against a physical god.

 

But as Aizawa looked at the boy—rubbing his neck, looking genuinely guilty for tearing up the school's grass, apologizing for 'showing off'—the fear evaporated, replaced by a profound, overwhelming sense of relief.

 

The boy was a walking nuke. But he was a nuke with the heart of a saint.

 

Before Aizawa could speak, a roar of pure, unfiltered rage shattered the silence.

 

"DEKU!"

 

Katsuki Bakugo exploded from the cluster of students. His hands were sparking violently, his face twisted into a mask of absolute, desperate fury. The fragile illusion he had built in his mind—that Izuku was just holding back a flashy Quirk—had been utterly destroyed. Izuku had just achieved infinity with pure physical strength. It broke Katsuki's mind.

 

"TELL ME HOW YOU DID THAT, YOU DAMN NERD!" Katsuki screamed, launching himself through the air toward Izuku, his palm aimed directly at Izuku's face.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't adopt a fighting stance. He just watched Katsuki approach, his expression calm.

 

Suddenly, Katsuki jerked to a halt in mid-air, a foot away from Izuku.

 

Aizawa’s capture scarf was wrapped tightly around Katsuki’s waist, restraining him completely. Aizawa’s eyes were glowing red, erasing Katsuki's Explosion Quirk.

 

"What the... this cloth is stiff!" Katsuki struggled, his explosions failing to ignite.

 

"It's a carbon fiber woven with a special metal alloy," Aizawa growled, his voice returning to its normal, exhausted drawl. He yanked Katsuki back, setting him roughly on the ground. "Stop using your Quirk so much. I'm getting dry eye over here."

 

Aizawa let his hair fall, deactivating his Quirk. He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

 

He didn't restrain Bakugo to protect Midoriya. He restrained Bakugo to protect Bakugo. If the explosive boy had actually hit Izuku, the kinetic feedback from striking flesh that dense would likely have shattered Katsuki's arm into powder.

 

"We're wasting time," Aizawa said, turning his back on the pair and walking toward the next testing station. "Whoever finishes the rest of the tests gets to go back to the classroom. Let's move."

 

The rest of the class stared at Izuku in absolute, terrified awe.

 

"Hey... Midoriya," Kirishima whispered, slowly approaching. "What... what exactly is your Quirk?"

 

Izuku smiled nervously. "Oh, um... Dr. Tsubasa called it Primal Physiology. I just have really dense muscles."

 

"Dude, you threw a ball into space!" Kaminari yelled, his jaw on the floor. "That's not just dense muscles! You're like a superhero from a comic book!"

 

Uraraka walked up, beaming. "You got infinity too! That means we match!"

 

Izuku felt a blush creep up his neck. "Y-Yeah! That's... that's neat."

 

As the class moved on to the next test, Aizawa walked a few paces ahead, pulling out his eye drops.

 

He squeezed a drop into each eye, his mind still reeling from the shockwave that had nearly knocked him flat.

 

He had intended to break Izuku Midoriya today. He had intended to prove that the boy was helpless without his flashy energy. Instead, Midoriya had broken Aizawa's entire worldview.

 

He isn't arrogant, Aizawa thought, a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He's terrified. He restrains himself not because he looks down on us, but because he knows how fragile we are. He didn't want to use his full strength because he didn't want to cause a shockwave.

 

Aizawa slipped the eye drops back into his pocket.

 

The dilemma was resolved. Izuku Midoriya was the greatest threat to human society that had ever existed. But he was also its greatest hope.

 

All Might, Aizawa thought, looking up at the sky where the vapor trail of the softball was still slowly dissipating. You really found a terrifying successor. But fine. I'll play my part.

 

Shota Aizawa was an Underground Hero. He specialized in teaching from the shadows, in breaking down egos and forging realistic warriors.

 

Izuku Midoriya didn't need his ego broken. He needed to be taught how to step out of his world of cardboard without breaking it.

 

"Hey, problem child," Aizawa called over his shoulder.

 

Izuku jogged up, his tail swishing nervously. "Yes, Mr. Aizawa?"

 

"For the rest of the year," Aizawa said, not looking at him, "you will attend a special training session with me every Tuesday and Thursday after school. We are going to work on your physical control."

 

Izuku’s eyes widened, shining with genuine gratitude. He bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir! I promise I won't let you down!"

 

"See that you don't," Aizawa muttered, burying his face in his capture scarf. "And for the love of God, don't ever throw anything at full strength on my field again."

 

Izuku laughed softly, the heavy burden in his chest feeling just a little bit lighter. "I promise."