What if deku had a stand called gorillaz

 

The world is not equal.

 

Izuku Midoriya learned this fundamental truth at the tender age of four. It was a lesson taught not through textbooks or gentle reprimands, but through the harsh, unyielding reality of a doctor’s sterile office and the pitying eyes of a mother who didn't know how to fix a broken dream. It was a truth reinforced every single day on the playground, in the classroom, and in the mocking sneer of his childhood friend.

 

Eighty percent of the global population possessed a genetic abnormality, a superhuman trait called a "Quirk." From breathing fire to manipulating gravity, the extraordinary had become the mundane. The remaining twenty percent were left behind in the evolutionary dust, relics of a bygone era. They were Quirkless. They were normal.

 

And in a society of superhumans, being normal was the worst thing you could possibly be.

 

Izuku sat in his middle school classroom at Aldera Junior High, staring blankly at the scarred surface of his wooden desk. The rhythmic hum of the fluorescent lights above provided a dull soundtrack to the teacher’s droning voice.

 

"Since you're all third-years, it's time for you to think seriously about your futures," the teacher said, holding a stack of career aptitude papers. He paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'll pass out these handouts, but... I know you're all planning to go into the hero course!"

 

He threw the papers into the air. Instantly, the classroom erupted into a chaotic display of minor Quirks. Hands elongated, firecrackers popped from palms, and a student in the front row began to levitate. It was a cacophony of adolescent power.

 

Izuku kept his head down, raising a singular, timid hand.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful Quirks," the teacher sighed affectionately, waving them down. "But remember, using your powers in school is against the rules."

 

"Hey, teach!" a brash, arrogant voice cut through the noise, loud and abrasive as a siren. "Don't lump me in with these background characters! I'm not gonna be stuck at the bottom with the rest of these rejects."

 

Katsuki Bakugo leaned back in his chair, his feet resting casually on his desk. He exuded a dangerous sort of confidence, a natural born predator lounging among prey. The class immediately bristled, throwing insults his way, but Bakugo merely laughed, small sparks popping and snapping across his palms like angry fireflies.

 

"You all should shut up like the extras you are!" Bakugo barked, his crimson eyes gleaming. "I aced the mock tests. I'm the only one at this school who stands a chance at getting into U.A. High School. I'll surpass All Might himself and become the top hero, and my name will be carved into the ranks of the wealthiest, most famous heroes in history!"

 

"Oh, right," the teacher adjusted his glasses, looking at a clipboard. "Midoriya, don't you want to go to U.A. too?"

 

The entire classroom froze. The silence was absolute, heavy, and suffocating.

 

Then, the laughter started.

 

It was a cruel, booming sound that bounced off the walls and rattled inside Izuku's skull. His classmates pointed, sneered, and howled.

 

"Midoriya? No way!"

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

"He doesn't even have a Quirk! What's he gonna do, aggressively take notes at a villain?"

 

Izuku stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor. "T-They got rid of that rule!" he stammered, his face burning with humiliation. He waved his hands defensively, his voice wavering. "There's no rule against Quirkless students taking the exam anymore! I could be the first one to—"

 

BOOM.

 

A concussive blast of heat and kinetic force slammed into Izuku's desk, shattering the wood and throwing Izuku backward onto the floor. The smell of burnt sugar and sulfur filled the air. Bakugo stood over him, his right hand smoking, his eyes narrowed into furious slits.

 

"Listen up, Deku," Bakugo growled, using the childhood moniker that meant 'useless'. "You're worse than the rest of these rejects. You're completely Quirkless. You really think you can stand in the same ring as me?"

 

"N-No, wait, Kacchan!" Izuku scrambled backward, his back hitting the chalkboard. "I'm not trying to compete with you! I promise! It's just... it's been my dream since I was little. And... well, I won't know unless I try."

 

Bakugo’s expression darkened into something ugly and contemptuous. "Try? Try what? The entrance exam is practical! What can you do? You’ll just die!"

 

The rest of the day passed in a numb haze. Izuku was used to the bullying, the isolation, the relentless reminder of his own inadequacy. It was a heavy coat he wore every single day. But the closer graduation loomed, the heavier the coat became.

 

When the final bell rang, Izuku remained in his seat, packing his bag slowly. He pulled out a slightly battered notebook with the words Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13 scrawled across the cover. It was his life's work, a meticulous documentation of heroes, their Quirks, their weaknesses, and their combat strategies. If he couldn't have a Quirk, he would compensate with knowledge.

 

Before he could put it in his yellow backpack, a hand snatched it from his grasp.

 

"We're not done talking, Deku," Bakugo said, holding the notebook up by the corner. Two of his lackeys stood behind him, snickering.

 

"Kacchan, give it back," Izuku said softly, reaching for it.

 

Bakugo didn't reply. He clamped his hands around the notebook. With a sharp crackle, an explosion detonated from his palms. The intense heat scorched the covers, singeing the edges of the pages and filling the room with the acrid stench of burning paper. Izuku let out a small, strangled gasp.

 

Bakugo casually tossed the smoldering notebook out the open window.

 

"Most top-tier heroes have stories about their school days," Bakugo said, leaning in close. His voice was low, terrifyingly calm. "Stories about how they were the only one from their mediocre middle school to make it to U.A. I want to be the only one from this garbage dump to get in. I'm a perfectionist, you see."

 

He placed a hand on Izuku's shoulder. Smoke plumed from his fingers, the heat sinking through Izuku's uniform, burning his skin just enough to leave a warning.

 

"So forget U.A., nerd," Bakugo whispered. He turned to walk away, his lackeys following. But he stopped at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder with a chillingly blank expression.

 

"You know, if you really want a Quirk that badly, there might be another way," Bakugo said. "Just pray that you'll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a swan dive off the roof of the building."

 

The words hung in the air. Izuku stood frozen, his breath hitching. He told me to kill myself. The sheer cruelty of it echoed in his mind, wrapping around his heart like barbed wire. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to do something. But as always, his body remained rooted to the spot. Because what could he do? He was Deku. He was nothing.

 

Izuku walked home in a daze, his feet carrying him automatically toward the small koi pond outside the school. There, floating among the fish, was his ruined notebook. He fished it out, the wet, charred pages crumbling in his hands.

 

"Stupid," he muttered to himself, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. If I actually jumped, he'd be charged with instigating suicide. Think before you speak, Kacchan."

 

He forced a wobbly smile onto his face, looking down at his own reflection in the rippling water. A messy mop of green hair, wide, fearful green eyes, and a constellation of freckles. He didn't look like a hero. He looked exactly like what he was: a victim.

 

But as he walked away, clutching his ruined notebook, a spark of stubborn defiance flared in his chest. No. I won't give up. I don't care what he says. I don't care what the doctors say. I will smile like All Might, and I will save people.

 

He took a shortcut through a concrete underpass. The tunnel was dark, cool, and echoed with his lonely footsteps. He raised his chin, adopting a faux swagger, mimicking his idol.

 

HA HA HA! Have no fear! For I am here! he thought, trying to muster the courage.

 

Then, he heard the sound.

 

It was a wet, squelching noise, like mud being violently churned in a blender. It came from the manhole cover directly behind him. Izuku turned, his blood running cold.

 

The iron cover rattled and shot upward, clattering against the concrete. From the dark depths of the sewer, a massive, grotesque mountain of dark green sludge erupted. It had no defined shape, just swirling, viscous liquid, but as it rose to the ceiling of the underpass, two massive, bulbous eyes and a jagged mouth formed in the muck.

 

"A medium-sized invisibility cloak," the Sludge Villain gurgled, its voice wet and guttural. "Perfect."

 

Izuku's legs locked. His brain screamed at him to run, to flee, to do anything, but pure, unadulterated terror rooted him in place. This was a villain. A real villain.

 

Before Izuku could move an inch, the villain lunged.

 

A tidal wave of foul-smelling, suffocating sludge slammed into Izuku, knocking him to the ground. Viscous tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him down. Then, the sludge forced its way into Izuku's mouth and nose.

 

"Don't worry," the villain purred, the sound vibrating through Izuku's skull. "I'm just taking over your body. It'll only hurt for about forty-five seconds. Then, it'll all be over."

 

Izuku thrashed wildly, his hands clawing at the sludge. It was like trying to grab water. His fingers slipped harmlessly through the liquid mass. His lungs burned. Panic clawed at his throat, but he couldn't scream. He was drowning on dry land.

 

I can't breathe! he panicked, his vision blurring at the edges. I'm dying. I'm actually dying. Someone... anyone... help me!

 

His struggles grew weaker. His heart pounded in his ears, a frantic, erratic rhythm that began to slow. The world around him darkened, the dim light of the underpass fading into a tunnel of black. Is this it? Dying... in a sewer... having done nothing...

 

Then, a sudden, explosive crash shattered the silence.

 

The manhole cover was ripped completely off its hinges. A massive, towering figure stood at the entrance of the tunnel, silhouetted by the afternoon sun.

 

"FEAR NOT, YOUNG MAN," a voice boomed, deep and resonant, vibrating with absolute authority. "FOR I AM HERE."

 

The Sludge Villain let out a shriek of terror and swung a massive, liquid arm at the newcomer.

 

The figure dashed forward with impossible speed. He pulled his right arm back, muscles bulging against his white t-shirt. "TEXAS... SMASH!"

 

He threw the punch. He didn't even make physical contact with the villain. The sheer air pressure generated by the force of his swing created a localized hurricane within the tunnel. The wind pressure hit the villain like a freight train, atomizing the sludge into thousands of droplets.

 

The pressure released Izuku, sending him tumbling across the concrete. As he gasped for air, coughing up foul-tasting sludge, his fading vision caught a glimpse of two massive, golden bangs pointing toward the sky.

 

All... Might...?

 

Then, everything went black.

 

 

 

"Hey! Hey! Wake up!"

 

Izuku’s eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw was a face—a very large, very chiseled face with a blinding white smile, leaning over him.

 

"Ah! Good! You're awake!" All Might roared, stepping back and striking a pose. "Apologies for getting you caught up in my villain hunting! I usually don't make mistakes like this, but I'm in a new city and got a bit turned around! HA HA HA!"

 

Izuku scrambled backward, his mind short-circuiting. It was him. It was really him. The Number One Hero. The Symbol of Peace. Standing right in front of him in a casual white t-shirt and cargo pants. He looked larger than life, a mountain of muscle and charisma.

 

"A-A-All Might!" Izuku shrieked. "You're... you're real!"

 

"I am indeed!" All Might patted his pockets. "Now, I must be going! I've captured the evildoer in these soda bottles, and I must deliver him to the authorities!" He held up two large plastic bottles, the green sludge villain sloshing angrily inside them.

 

"W-Wait!" Izuku scrambled to his feet. "An autograph! Please! I have my notebook—"

 

Izuku grabbed his charred notebook off the ground and flipped it open. Across a massive two-page spread, a giant, sprawling signature was already written in bold marker.

 

"HE ALREADY DID IT!" Izuku screamed, bowing furiously. "Thank you! Thank you so much! It will be a family heirloom! I'll pass it down for generations!"

 

"Well, I must be off!" All Might crouched, his leg muscles tensing like coiled springs. "A pro is constantly fighting time and enemies!"

 

"Wait!" Izuku reached out a hand. I have to ask him. I have to know. If anyone can tell me, it's him. "I have a question!"

 

"NO TIME FOR QUESTIONS!" All Might yelled, and he sprang into the air.

 

The force of his jump shattered the pavement beneath him. He shot into the sky like a rocket. But as he looked down, he felt a sudden, heavy weight attached to his leg.

 

"Hey! Let go!" All Might yelled over the roaring wind. Izuku was clinging to his cargo pants, his face flapping in the extreme wind pressure, his eyes squeezed shut in terror. "Your fanaticism is too much! If you let go now, you'll die!"

 

"If I let go now, I'll die!" Izuku screamed back, tears streaming from his eyes.

 

"Good point!" All Might sighed. He scanned the city below, spotting a tall office building. He adjusted his trajectory and landed on the rooftop with a heavy thud, sliding across the concrete to dissipate his momentum.

 

Izuku collapsed onto the roof, trembling like a leaf, gasping for breath. "That... was... terrifying..."

 

"Good grief," All Might said, brushing off his pants. "If you talk to the people downstairs, they'll let you out. I really am out of time, so I must go."

 

"Wait!" Izuku cried, standing up. "Just one second! Please!"

 

"No! I have no time!" All Might turned away.

 

"Even if I don't have a Quirk!" Izuku shouted, the words tearing from his throat.

 

All Might froze.

 

Izuku clenched his fists, staring at the hero's broad back. "Can someone without a Quirk... be like you? Can I ever hope to be a hero?"

 

The silence on the roof was deafening. The distant hum of Tokyo traffic felt a million miles away. Izuku poured his heart out, his voice shaking.

 

"People think I don't have a chance," Izuku confessed, looking down at his battered red shoes. "They bully me. Because I don't have a power. But... I want to save people. I want to save them with a fearless smile, just like you do. I want to be the greatest hero, someone who can bring hope to—"

 

A sudden burst of steam erupted, hissing loudly.

 

Izuku flinched, coughing as the thick white vapor clouded his vision. "A-All Might?"

 

When the steam cleared, Izuku's jaw dropped. The towering, muscular god of heroes was gone. In his place stood a skeletal, frail man with sunken eyes, sharp cheekbones, and clothes that hung off his emaciated frame like a scarecrow. He was coughing violently, a trail of blood leaking from his mouth.

 

"W-What?!" Izuku shrieked, looking around wildly. "Where did he go?! You're a fake! An imposter!"

 

"I am All Might," the skeletal man sighed, wiping the blood from his chin. He sat down heavily against the railing. "You know how guys at the pool suck in their gut to look buff? I'm like that."

 

"No way..." Izuku whispered, his reality shattering.

 

"A fearless smile, huh?" All Might muttered, his voice lacking its previous boom. It was quiet, raspy, and tired. He pulled up his oversized t-shirt, revealing a horrific, jagged scar that covered the entire left side of his chest. It looked like the flesh had been scooped out and violently stitched back together.

 

Izuku gasped, taking a step back.

 

"Five years ago," All Might said softly. "An enemy did this to me. My respiratory system was nearly destroyed, and my stomach was completely removed. I've had repeated surgeries, but it's left me wasting away. Right now, I can only do hero work for about three hours a day."

 

"Five years ago..." Izuku calculated rapidly. "Was it the fight with Toxic Chainsaw?"

 

"You know your stuff," All Might chuckled dryly. "But no. That punk couldn't scratch me. This fight was kept under wraps. I asked the government to bury the report. The Symbol of Peace... the man who saves people with a smile... must never be daunted by evil."

 

All Might looked up at the sky, his blue eyes hollow. "I smile to hide the fear inside. It's a brave face I put on when the pressure is high. This job is not a comic book, young man. Pro heroes are always risking their lives. Some villains simply cannot be beaten without power."

 

He finally turned to look at Izuku. His gaze was not unkind, but it was profoundly tragic.

 

"So, no," All Might said, the words striking Izuku like physical blows. "I cannot simply say, 'You can become a hero even without power.'"

 

Izuku stopped breathing. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

 

"If you want to help people, become a police officer," All Might continued, standing up and walking toward the roof access door. "They get mocked because the heroes deliver the villains to their doorstep, but it's a fine profession. It's not bad to dream, young man. But you also have to consider what's realistic."

 

The heavy metal door clanged shut.

 

Izuku was left alone on the roof.

 

He didn't move. He couldn't. The words echoed in his mind, louder than Bakugo's explosions, louder than the taunts of his classmates.

 

You cannot become a hero.

 

The one person in the world who Izuku believed in, the one person whose opinion mattered above all else, had looked him in the eye and agreed with everyone else. It was over. The dream was dead.

 

Izuku mechanically walked down the stairs of the office building. He didn't register the passage of time. He didn't feel the chill of the late afternoon air. He felt completely, utterly hollow. Like someone had reached into his chest and scooped out his soul.

 

He found himself wandering the streets, his head down. He didn't even know where he was going. What was the point? Should he go home? Tell his mother he was giving up? Throw away his notebooks?

 

BOOM.

 

A massive explosion shook the ground beneath his feet. Izuku blinked, snapping out of his trance. Black smoke billowed into the sky a few blocks away. The distant wail of sirens pierced the air.

 

A villain attack? his mind provided automatically. His feet twitched. Habit dictated that he run toward the scene, take out his notebook, and analyze the heroes.

 

He stopped himself. What's the point? I'm not a hero. I'll never be a hero.

 

But despite his thoughts, his legs moved. He walked toward the smoke, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He told himself he was just going to look. Just to see.

 

He pushed his way through a thick crowd of onlookers that had gathered near a shopping district. The area was devastated. Storefronts were shattered, fires were burning in the alleyways, and the heat was oppressive.

 

A line of pro heroes stood at the perimeter, keeping the crowd back. Death Arms, a hero with superhuman strength, was trying to lift fallen rubble. Kamui Woods, a hero who could manipulate his wooden body, was struggling to get close to the center of the chaos. Mt. Lady, a giantess, was stuck in the narrow street, unable to utilize her size.

 

Izuku looked past them, toward the center of the destruction.

 

His heart stopped.

 

There, towering over the burning street, was the Sludge Villain.

 

Izuku's breath caught in his throat. How? All Might captured him! He was in the bottles!

 

Izuku’s eyes darted to his own hands, then back to the scene. A sickening realization washed over him. When he had clung to All Might's leg in the sky... the bottles must have slipped from the hero's pockets.

 

This is my fault, Izuku realized, a cold sweat breaking out over his body. Because I was reckless. Because I forced All Might to land. I let the villain loose.

 

"Why aren't the heroes doing anything?" a man in the crowd muttered.

 

"They can't," a woman replied, pointing. "The villain has a hostage. And the hostage has a crazy Quirk. He's setting off explosions everywhere!"

 

Izuku looked closer. Through the swirling mass of dark green sludge, he saw a frantic, thrashing figure. Explosions were detonating randomly, tearing up the street and keeping the heroes at bay. The sludge villain was using the explosions to create a defensive perimeter.

 

But it was the hostage's face that made Izuku's blood turn to ice.

 

Ash-blonde hair. Crimson eyes.

 

Kacchan.

 

Bakugo was drowning in the sludge, just like Izuku had been. His explosions were desperate, chaotic, lacking their usual precise malice. He was suffocating.

 

"It's no use!" Death Arms shouted, shielding his face from another blast. "There's no opening! We have to wait for someone with a more suitable Quirk to arrive!"

 

"But he's dying!" Mt. Lady cried out.

 

Izuku stood frozen. The heroes were waiting. They were giving up on Bakugo. They were just going to stand there and watch a middle schooler suffocate to death because their Quirks weren't "suitable."

 

Izuku looked at the crowd. Everyone was watching. Waiting for someone else to fix it.

 

He looked at Bakugo. The sludge was covering his mouth and nose. His explosions were getting weaker. But in that brief second, through the smoke and the fire, Bakugo's eyes met Izuku's.

 

It wasn't a look of arrogance. It wasn't hatred. It was pure, unadulterated terror. It was a plea for help.

 

No.

 

Something inside Izuku Midoriya snapped.

 

It wasn't a conscious decision. He didn't think about his lack of a Quirk. He didn't think about All Might's words on the roof. He didn't think about the fact that he was running toward certain death.

 

Before his brain could even process what he was doing, Izuku broke through the police line and sprinted dead ahead into the blazing inferno.

 

"Hey! Kid! Stop!" Death Arms roared.

 

Izuku didn't stop. He couldn't stop. His yellow backpack banged against his shoulders. He didn't have a plan. He had no weapons. He had no power. But as he ran, a strange, inexplicable sensation washed over him.

 

The roaring flames, the screaming crowd, the explosions—everything began to sound muffled, as if he had been submerged underwater. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat.

 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

 

But it was changing. The rhythm of his heart was accelerating, not out of fear, but out of an overwhelming, intense fury. He was furious at the villain. He was furious at the heroes for standing by. Most of all, he was furious at his own helplessness.

 

I refuse, Izuku thought, his eyes locked on the Sludge Villain. I refuse to be nothing. I refuse to watch him die!

 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

 

The heartbeat in his ears morphed. It deepened. It grew heavier. It wasn't a heartbeat anymore. It was a bass drum.

 

DOOM. DOOM. DOOM.

 

Izuku gasped as a phantom vibration rippled through his chest. It felt like standing directly in front of a massive concert speaker. A heavy, rhythmic bassline suddenly filled his mind, accompanied by the sharp, synthetic scratch of a vinyl record.

 

What... what is this?

 

"You again?!" the Sludge Villain roared, recognizing the boy charging at him. "You want to die that badly?!"

 

Izuku pulled his backpack off his shoulders and hurled it at the villain. The zipper broke, sending pens, textbooks, and a metal pencil case flying into the villain's gelatinous eye. The monster shrieked, its grip loosening just a fraction.

 

Bakugo gasped for air, his eyes wide as he stared at the Quirkless boy who had just rushed a monster. "Deku?! What the hell are you doing?!"

 

"I don't know!" Izuku screamed back, tears flying from his eyes. He clawed frantically at the sludge, trying to dig Bakugo out. "My legs just moved on their own! You looked like you needed saving!"

 

"Get off me!" the villain roared, raising a massive tendril to swat Izuku into the pavement like a fly.

 

The shadow looming over Izuku was absolute. Death was descending.

 

But Izuku didn't flinch. The heavy, funky bassline in his head reached a chaotic crescendo. The music felt tangible, electric, pulsing through his veins. He felt a wellspring of spiritual energy erupt from the very core of his soul, born from his unyielding desire to save the boy who hated him.

 

I WILL NOT BE HELPLESS!

 

The air around Izuku shimmered, warping like heat haze on a summer road.

 

From the shadow cast by Izuku’s feet, something rose.

 

To the heroes, to the crowd, to Bakugo, and to the Sludge Villain, nothing changed. Izuku stood alone, an unarmed, Quirkless boy facing a monster.

 

But to Izuku, the world exploded into color and sound.

 

A figure manifested beside him, towering over his small frame. It was humanoid, but possessing the lithe, muscular proportions of a primate. Its fur was a sleek, midnight black, but heavily patterned with vibrant, neon-colored graffiti tags that pulsed in time with the bassline echoing in Izuku’s ears.

 

The entity wore oversized, baggy 90s-style streetwear—a faded army-green bomber jacket over a torn graphic tee, loose cargo pants, and chunky, high-top sneakers. Around its neck rested a massive pair of industrial, steel-plated headphones. Its face was a stylized, ape-like visage with glowing, equalizer-bar eyes that shifted rapidly in neon green and hot pink.

 

Izuku stared at the manifestation. He didn't know what it was. He had never seen anything like it in any of his hero notebooks. It wasn't a Quirk. It didn't feel biological. It felt like an extension of his own spirit, a raw projection of his will to fight.

 

The Sludge Villain’s tendril whipped downward, aimed perfectly to crush Izuku's skull.

 

Izuku, acting purely on instinct, pulled his right fist back.

 

The primate entity perfectly mirrored his movement. It planted its chunky sneakers onto the pavement, drew its right arm back, and twisted its hips. The graffiti on its fur flared blindingly bright.

 

Izuku threw his punch at the empty air in front of the sludge.

 

The entity punched forward.

 

When the entity’s fist collided with the sludge tendril, it didn't just hit it. It resonated.

 

The entity let out a bizarre, rhythmic battle cry, its voice sounding like a mix of a screaming synthesizer and a roaring beast.

 

"DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DROP!"

 

The impact was cataclysmic.

 

A massive, invisible shockwave erupted from the entity's fist. It was a localized sonic boom, an explosion of pure kinetic and auditory energy. The air warped violently.

 

To the outside world, it looked as if Izuku Midoriya had thrown a punch at the air, and a hurricane had answered.

 

BOOOOOOM!

 

The concussive force struck the Sludge Villain with the power of a detonating bomb. The shockwave ripped through the villain's liquid body, the intense, high-frequency vibration instantly destabilizing the sludge. The villain shrieked as its body literally vibrated apart, exploding into a shower of thousands of green droplets.

 

The force of the invisible blow was so immense that it shattered the windows of the surrounding shops. The flames burning in the alleyways were instantly snuffed out by the vacuum pressure. The shockwave continued upward, hitting the overcast sky and ripping a perfectly circular hole through the dark clouds, allowing a single shaft of sunlight to pierce through.

 

Bakugo was thrown free of the villain, tumbling across the pavement and skidding to a halt near the heroes. He coughed violently, dragging oxygen into his burning lungs, his crimson eyes wide with absolute shock. He stared at Izuku, who was still standing in a punching stance.

 

The street fell dead silent.

 

The burning crackle of the fires was gone. The wailing of the villain was gone. The only sound was the tinkling of shattered glass falling from the storefronts.

 

The pro heroes were frozen in place, their jaws hanging open.

 

"What... what just happened?" Death Arms stammered, looking at the sky, then down at the scrawny, green-haired kid. "Did he... did he just punch the air?"

 

"There was a shockwave..." Mt. Lady whispered, shivering despite her size. "I couldn't see anything, but the pressure... it felt like a bomb went off."

 

Standing in the back of the crowd, hidden among the civilians, a skeletal blonde man clutched his stomach. Toshinori Yagi—All Might—stared at the boy he had dismissed just an hour ago. He hadn't seen a Quirk. He had felt something else. He had felt a raw, unyielding aura of pure heroism. A spirit so powerful it had physically manifested as force.

 

He acted, All Might thought, his heart pounding in his weakened chest. Before any of us pros could move. Before I could move. The one with no power... was the only one who acted like a hero.

 

In the center of the street, Izuku slowly lowered his fist.

 

The heavy bassline in his head began to fade, transitioning into a soft, melodic hum. He looked to his right. The graffiti-covered primate stood beside him, its glowing equalizer eyes looking down at Izuku. It tilted its head, the heavy headphones shifting around its neck, and gave Izuku a thumbs-up.

 

Then, it dissolved into a mist of neon light, sinking back into Izuku's shadow.

 

Izuku blinked. He looked at his hand.

 

"I..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "What was..."

 

Before he could finish the thought, a wave of profound, agonizing exhaustion crashed over him. Summoning a Stand—a physical manifestation of life energy—for the first time placed an unbelievable strain on the human body. Izuku’s muscles screamed in protest. His vision swam with black spots. His knees buckled.

 

He pitched forward, collapsing onto the cracked pavement. As the darkness claimed him, the last thing he saw was Kacchan’s bewildered face, and the last thing he heard was the fading scratch of a vinyl record in his mind.

 

He didn't know what power he had just awakened. He didn't know that his life was about to become a bizarre, dangerous adventure. All Izuku Midoriya knew as he drifted into unconsciousness was that for the first time in his life, he wasn't useless.

 

He was a hero.

 

The first sensation Izuku Midoriya registered was pain.

 

It wasn't the sharp, biting sting of one of Katsuki Bakugo’s explosions, nor was it the suffocating, burning panic of the Sludge Villain’s acidic mud in his lungs. This was a deep, resonating ache that had settled into the very marrow of his bones. His muscles felt as though they had been stretched on a medieval rack, wrung out like a wet towel, and then filled with molten lead.

 

He groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. He was staring up at a familiar ceiling, entirely plastered with limited-edition All Might posters. The Symbol of Peace beamed down at him from a dozen different angles, flashing that signature, fearless smile.

 

Izuku shifted beneath his heavy duvet and instantly regretted it. A jolt of exhaustion shot up his spine.

 

What... what happened?

 

The memories hit him like a bullet train. The bullying in class. The ruined notebook. The Sludge Villain in the underpass. All Might. The crushing revelation on the rooftop. You cannot become a hero. The explosion in the shopping district. Bakugo suffocating. Running into the fire.

 

And then... the music.

 

Izuku’s breath hitched. He remembered the phantom bassline, the heavy, thumping rhythm that had drowned out the roaring flames. He remembered the towering, graffiti-covered primate that had risen from his shadow. He remembered throwing a punch, and a shockwave so powerful it had shattered the villain into a thousand pieces and cleared the sky itself.

 

"Was it... a dream?" Izuku muttered, his voice raspy and dry.

 

The door to his bedroom suddenly burst open. Inko Midoriya stood in the doorway, a tray carrying a glass of water and a bowl of rice porridge trembling in her hands. Her eyes, so similar to her son’s, were red and puffy, with fresh tears already beginning to well up at the sight of him awake.

 

"Izuku!" she wailed, abandoning the tray on his desk and throwing her arms around him.

 

"M-Mom! Ow, careful, I'm sore," Izuku winced, gently patting her back.

 

"You foolish, wonderful, reckless boy!" Inko sobbed into his shoulder, squeezing him tighter. "When the police brought you home last night, I thought my heart was going to stop! They said you charged right into a villain attack! Without a Quirk! The pro heroes scolded you for being so dangerous, but... but they also praised you. They said you bought them the time they needed. But you were passed out! You wouldn't wake up!"

 

"I'm sorry, Mom," Izuku whispered, guilt twisting in his gut. "I didn't mean to make you worry. My body just... moved on its own."

 

Inko pulled back, cupping his face in her hands, inspecting him for any lingering injuries. "You slept through the whole night and half of today. Are you hungry? Are you in pain? Should I call a doctor?"

 

"No, no, I'm okay," Izuku lied, trying to sit up. As he pushed himself off the mattress, a sharp spike of adrenaline hit his system. The sheer effort of moving his exhausted body triggered something deep within him, a survival reflex born from the stress of the previous day.

 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

 

Izuku froze. His heart rate hitched.

 

Inko wiped her eyes, stepping back to grab the glass of water from the desk. "Here, drink this first. You must be severely dehydrated, sweetie."

 

As she turned her back, the auditory hallucination returned. It was faint at first, like music playing through a wall in an adjacent apartment. A heavy, rhythmic bass drum. The scratch of a vinyl record.

 

DOOM. DOOM. DOOM.

 

Izuku’s shadow, cast across the floor by the afternoon sun streaming through his window, began to distort. The edges of the dark silhouette rippled and boiled.

 

"Mom, wait—" Izuku started to say, panic rising in his chest.

 

From the shadow, the entity erupted.

 

It materialized in complete silence, rising behind Izuku’s bed like a phantom. It was exactly as he remembered it from the alleyway. A towering, muscular, primate-like humanoid. Its sleek black fur was adorned with glowing, neon-colored graffiti tags—bright pinks, toxic greens, and electric blues that pulsed in time with the phantom bassline. It wore baggy, olive-green cargo pants, chunky high-top sneakers, and a torn graphic tee. A pair of massive, industrial-grade headphones rested around its thick neck.

 

Its eyes, two glowing equalizer bars, blinked slowly.

 

Izuku pressed himself flat against his headboard, his mouth opening in a silent scream. It was real. It was actually real. There was a glowing, eight-foot-tall street-punk gorilla hovering in his bedroom.

 

"Here you go, Izuku," Inko said, turning around with the glass of water.

 

She walked straight toward him. Straight toward the massive entity that was currently floating between the desk and the bed.

 

"Mom! Look out!" Izuku yelled, throwing his hands over his face.

 

But Inko didn't stop. She didn't scream. She didn't drop the water.

 

In fact, she walked right through it.

 

Izuku peeked through his fingers, his eyes widening in absolute disbelief. Inko’s arm passed seamlessly through the entity’s muscular torso. There was no resistance, no distortion of light, nothing. The entity simply looked down at Inko's arm passing through its chest with a bored expression, chewing on what looked like a phantom piece of bubblegum.

 

"Look out for what, honey?" Inko asked, blinking in confusion. She held out the glass.

 

Izuku stared at his mother. Then he stared at the entity.

 

"You... you don't see that?" Izuku asked, his voice trembling. He pointed a shaky finger directly at the glowing ape.

 

"See what? Your All Might poster?" Inko looked over her shoulder, bewildered. "Izuku, are you sure you didn't hit your head? Do you have a concussion?"

 

"N-No! I'm fine! I'm fine, really!" Izuku stammered, frantically waving his hands. He grabbed the water and took a massive gulp, nearly choking. "I just... had a weird dream! That's all!"

 

Inko sighed, the worry etching deep lines into her face. "Please, just rest today. I'm going to make you some katsudon for dinner. Don't do anything strenuous."

 

"I promise. Thanks, Mom."

 

Inko gave him one last concerned look before gently closing the door behind her.

 

The moment the latch clicked, the room plunged into a tense, suffocating silence. Izuku sat perfectly still on his bed. The entity floated a few feet away, its massive sneakers hovering an inch above the carpet. It stared at Izuku. Izuku stared back.

 

"Okay," Izuku whispered to himself, his analytical mind kicking into overdrive to stave off a panic attack. "Okay. Calm down. Let's think about this logically. I can see it. Mom cannot see it. She passed right through it. That means it has no physical mass... unless it wants to. It hit the sludge villain yesterday. So it can interact with physical objects, but it can also become completely intangible."

 

He slowly reached out a trembling hand toward the entity.

 

The primate mirrored his movement, reaching out a massive, black-furred hand covered in neon pink graffiti.

 

When their fingers touched, Izuku didn't feel fur or skin. He felt a vibration. It was a low-frequency hum, like touching the surface of a subwoofer during a rock concert. The entity felt warm, humming with kinetic energy.

 

"You're... me," Izuku breathed, a sudden, profound realization washing over him.

 

He didn't know how he knew it, but it was an instinctual certainty. This creature was not a ghost. It was not a monster. It was a physical manifestation of his own life energy, his spirit, his soul. It was a projection of his innermost will.

 

Izuku closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of the entity. He imagined it fading away, sinking back into the floor.

 

When he opened his eyes, the entity was gone. The phantom music had stopped.

 

He focused again, visualizing the entity, recalling the intense desire to protect, the rhythm of his heartbeat, the sheer defiance he felt facing the sludge villain.

 

DOOM.

 

The bassline returned, and the entity instantly manifested beside him, crossing its arms and striking a relaxed pose.

 

"Incredible," Izuku whispered, scrambling out of bed. He ignored the aching in his muscles. He ran to his desk, grabbing a fresh, unburned notebook and a pen. He began furiously scribbling down notes, his eyes darting between the paper and the glowing primate.

 

Name: TBD.

Appearance: Humanoid primate, street wear, graffiti markings. Floating/Intangible.

Visibility: Invisible to non-users (Mom couldn't see it). Only I can see it. Do others with this power exist?

Abilities: Extreme kinetic force. Shockwave generation. Intangibility.

Range: ???

 

Izuku stood up, walking toward the opposite side of his small bedroom. The entity followed him, hovering over his shoulder like a loyal bodyguard. Izuku told it to stay. It stopped. Izuku walked backward until his back hit the door. The entity remained by the bed. The distance was about two meters.

 

Izuku tried to walk down the hallway to the bathroom, commanding the entity to stay in the bedroom. As soon as Izuku crossed the two-meter threshold, a sharp tug pulled at his chest, like an invisible bungee cord reaching its limit. The entity was forcefully dragged through the wall, re-materializing directly behind Izuku.

 

"Close range," Izuku muttered, rushing back to his notebook. "Maximum operational range is approximately two meters from my body. But if it's invisible to everyone else... to them, it just looks like I have a telekinesis or shockwave Quirk."

 

Izuku stopped writing. He stared at the word Quirk.

 

He reached down and felt his left foot, pressing his thumb against his pinky toe. He had two joints. The genetic marker of the Quirkless. The absolute, undeniable scientific proof that he possessed no genetic abnormalities.

 

"This isn't a Quirk," Izuku said aloud, looking up at the entity. "Quirks are biological. They rely on sweat glands, muscle fibers, or mutated organs. You aren't biology. You're... something else entirely. You're a stand-in for me. A manifestation that stands beside me."

 

Izuku smiled, a genuine, wide smile that he hadn't worn in years.

 

"A Stand," he decided. "I'll call this power a Stand."

 

The entity blinked its equalizer eyes, tilting its head. It tapped its chunky headphones with a massive finger.

 

"Right," Izuku nodded, walking over to his desk. "You like music. You operate on rhythm. When my heartbeat spiked, you appeared. When I felt that bass drop in my head, you punched."

 

Izuku opened his laptop. He was a hero nerd, but he also had a deep appreciation for pre-Quirk era culture, specifically music. The world had stagnated culturally when Quirks appeared, as society focused entirely on the superhuman phenomenon. Izuku loved digging up old bands from the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

 

He scrolled through his playlist and clicked on one of his favorites—a virtual band from the early 2000s known for their eclectic mix of hip-hop, dubstep, rock, and funk.

 

He hit play.

 

A heavy, groovy bassline leaked from his laptop speakers.

 

The Stand’s eyes instantly lit up in vibrant, neon pink. The graffiti on its fur pulsed perfectly in time with the song. It began to bob its head, shifting its weight from foot to foot, boxing the air with fluid, rhythmic strikes.

 

Izuku laughed aloud, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy.

 

"Alright then," Izuku said, writing in large, bold letters across the top of his notebook page. "Your name is [Gorillaz]."

 

The Stand threw a sharp jab into the air, its fist stopping perfectly on the snare drum beat.

 

DO-DROP!

 

A localized, invisible shockwave burst from the Stand's fist, blowing Izuku's posters violently off the wall and sending his desk chair spinning across the room.

 

"Ah! Shh! Keep it down!" Izuku panicked, waving his arms. He quickly turned the music off. [Gorillaz] immediately slouched, crossing its arms and looking thoroughly disappointed.

 

Izuku looked out his window. The sun was beginning to set. If he was going to test this properly, he couldn't do it in his bedroom. He needed space. He needed junk. He needed isolation.

 

He knew exactly where to go.

 

 

 

Dagobah Municipal Beach Park was a tragedy. Years of changing ocean currents had turned the once-beautiful coastline into a dumping ground. Piles of rusted refrigerators, crushed cars, broken televisions, and mountains of scrap metal completely obscured the sand. It was a monument to societal neglect.

 

For Izuku Midoriya, it was the perfect laboratory.

 

The moon was high, casting long, eerie shadows across the metallic wasteland. Izuku stood in a small clearing near the water’s edge, wearing his dark middle-school tracksuit. He had sneaked out after his mother had gone to sleep, a pair of earbuds securely in his ears, connected to an old MP3 player in his pocket.

 

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of salt and rust.

 

"Alright, [Gorillaz]," Izuku whispered. He hit play on his MP3 player. An upbeat, funky track filled his ears.

 

Instantly, the shadow at his feet extended, and the towering primate rose into the moonlight. Its neon graffiti glowed vibrantly against the dark backdrop of the trash heaps.

 

"Let's test your raw strength," Izuku said, pointing at a rusted, heavy-duty pickup truck sitting atop a pile of washing machines. "Lift that."

 

[Gorillaz] hovered forward, floating to the edge of its two-meter radius. It grabbed the front bumper of the truck. Izuku watched closely, noting the Stand's mechanics. The Stand didn't strain. It didn't have muscles that fatigued in the traditional sense. It simply lifted the truck above its head as easily as Izuku might lift a cardboard box.

 

"Incredible," Izuku muttered. "If I had to guess, an A-grade in physical power. Now, throw it."

 

[Gorillaz] hurled the truck toward the ocean. It flew through the air, crashing into the waves fifty feet away with a massive splash.

 

Izuku cheered, but the celebration was cut short. A sudden wave of dizziness hit him. His knees buckled, and he was forced to brace his hands on his thighs, panting heavily.

 

"Okay..." Izuku gasped, wiping a small trickle of blood from his nose. "So, there's a cost. The Stand itself doesn't have muscles, but it uses my stamina to exist and perform actions. Lifting something that heavy drains my life energy. If I overuse it, I could pass out... or worse."

 

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and stood back up. "Physical strength is great. But your real ability is the shockwaves. The vibration."

 

He walked over to a stack of five old, tube-television sets. He commanded [Gorillaz] to stand in front of them.

 

"Yesterday, you absorbed the kinetic energy of my punch and amplified it through sound," Izuku reasoned. "Let's see if we can control it."

 

Izuku squared his stance. He threw a slow, controlled jab. [Gorillaz] mirrored the movement, its massive fist gently tapping the glass screen of the middle television.

 

"Vibrate," Izuku commanded, focusing on the bassline playing in his earbuds.

 

[Gorillaz] placed its hand flat against the glass. The Stand’s neon markings began to pulse rapidly. A high-pitched, whining sound filled the air, like a mosquito near the ear, but amplified a hundredfold.

 

The glass of the television screen began to ripple like water. Then, the plastic casing cracked. Within three seconds, all five televisions violently imploded, shattering into thousands of pieces of shrapnel.

 

Izuku shielded his face with his arms, grinning wildly behind them. Kinetic Resonance. It can find the resonant frequency of an object and vibrate it until it shatters. And if we do it fast...

 

"Let's try a projectile," Izuku said, his confidence surging.

 

He pointed to a large, rusted shipping container about thirty feet away. It was well outside the Stand's two-meter physical range.

 

"Wind up," Izuku said.

 

Izuku pulled his arm back. [Gorillaz] mirrored him. Izuku focused entirely on the rhythm of the music. He waited for the buildup of the track, feeling the tension mount in his chest. As the beat dropped, Izuku threw a devastating punch into the air.

 

[Gorillaz] threw a punch with immense velocity.

 

"DO-DROP!" the Stand cried out.

 

Instead of a localized shockwave, the Stand compressed the kinetic soundwave into a visible ripple in the air, a sphere of distorted gravity roughly the size of a basketball. The projectile of pure, concentrated bass shot forward like a cannonball.

 

It struck the side of the shipping container.

 

CLANG-BOOOOOOM!

 

The impact was deafening. The massive metal container folded inward, a perfect, circular indentation appearing in the thick steel before the entire structure was violently knocked backward into a pile of tires.

 

Izuku threw his hands in the air, laughing triumphantly. "Yes! We have range! We have power! With this... I can do it. I can pass the U.A. Entrance Exam!"

 

"A TRULY MAGNIFICENT DISPLAY!"

 

Izuku screamed, spinning around so fast he tripped over his own feet and landed hard on his rear.

 

Standing atop a nearby pile of broken refrigerators, silhouetted by the moon, was All Might. The Number One Hero was in his muscular form, striking a heroic pose, his teeth flashing brilliantly.

 

"A-All Might?!" Izuku yelled, scrambling backward as [Gorillaz] instantly moved to stand protectively in front of him.

 

"I am here... doing a late-night patrol!" All Might boomed. He jumped down from the fridges, landing with a heavy thud that kicked up a cloud of sand. A second later, a plume of steam erupted from his body, and he deflated into his skeletal, frail form. He coughed violently into his hand.

 

"You shouldn't push yourself!" Izuku panicked, scrambling to his feet.

 

"I'm fine, my boy," All Might wheezed, wiping his mouth. He looked at Izuku, his sunken blue eyes holding a complex mix of guilt, awe, and curiosity. "Actually, I was looking for you."

 

"Looking for me?"

 

All Might sighed, his posture drooping. He suddenly bowed his head, a gesture so humble it made Izuku uncomfortable. "I came to apologize, young man."

 

"Apologize? For what?"

 

"For my words on the rooftop," All Might said softly. "I told you to be realistic. I told you that you couldn't be a hero without power. I spoke down to you, letting my own cynicism cloud my judgment. But then... I saw what you did."

 

All Might stood straight, looking Izuku directly in the eyes. "The pros were frozen. I was frozen. I stood in the crowd, clutching my pathetic wound, telling myself I was out of time, making excuses. But you... a timid, Quirkless middle schooler... you ran into the fire. Your actions spurred me into action. You taught me something yesterday. There are stories about every great hero, how they became great. Most have one thing in common: their bodies moved before they had a chance to think."

 

Tears pricked the corners of Izuku's eyes. He remembered the feeling perfectly.

 

"That was true for you yesterday, wasn't it?" All Might asked.

 

Izuku nodded, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "Yes."

 

"You are worthy," All Might said, his voice trembling with emotion. "You can become a hero."

 

Izuku fell to his knees in the sand. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. All the years of mockery, the isolation, the crushing weight of his mother's apologies, Bakugo's cruelty—it all washed away in the span of five words. The man he worshipped above all others had validated his existence.

 

All Might walked forward and placed a gentle, skeletal hand on Izuku's shoulder. He let the boy cry for a full minute before speaking again.

 

"However," All Might said, his tone shifting to one of intense curiosity. "I must ask about what the news is calling a 'late-blooming Quirk.' The pros were convinced you manifested a telekinesis or wind-pressure Quirk in a moment of extreme trauma. But watching you just now..."

 

All Might looked directly at the empty air beside Izuku. He was looking right where [Gorillaz] was standing, but his eyes were unfocused.

 

"You hit that shipping container from thirty feet away, but I didn't see you throw a projectile," All Might noted. "And earlier, when you crushed those televisions, the air around you didn't move, but the glass vibrated until it shattered. What exactly is your power, young Midoriya?"

 

Izuku sniffled, wiping his eyes. He looked up at All Might, then over at [Gorillaz].

 

"It's not a Quirk," Izuku said plainly.

 

All Might raised an eyebrow. "Not a Quirk? What do you mean?"

 

Izuku took off his left shoe and sock, pointing to his pinky toe. "I have two joints. I've been x-rayed half a dozen times. I lack the genetic Quirk factor. Biologically, I am one hundred percent normal human."

 

All Might stared at the toe, utterly baffled. "Then... what was that shockwave? How did you move that truck?"

 

"It's a spiritual projection," Izuku explained, standing up and dusting off his knees. "I call it a Stand. Because it stands beside me. It's a manifestation of my life energy, my willpower. It's completely invisible to anyone who doesn't possess one."

 

All Might’s jaw dropped. "Invisible? You mean... right now..."

 

"Yes," Izuku nodded. "He's standing right between us."

 

Izuku mentally commanded [Gorillaz] to act. The invisible Stand reached out and gently tapped All Might on the shoulder.

 

All Might physically jumped, his eyes widening in shock as he looked at his own shoulder, then at the empty space. "By the gods... I felt that. It felt like a massive, heavy hand."

 

"His name is [Gorillaz]," Izuku smiled. "He relies on rhythm and music to operate smoothly. His power is Kinetic Resonance. He can manipulate sound and vibrations. But because no one can see him, it looks like I have an invisible telekinetic power."

 

All Might stood in silence for a long time, digesting this impossible information. A power that wasn't a Quirk. A power born entirely from the soul.

 

"Incredible," All Might finally whispered. "A power born purely of a heroic spirit. It seems the universe decided to reward your unyielding heart, young Midoriya."

 

All Might coughed into his fist, turning serious. "I originally sought you out today to offer you my own Quirk. A transferable power called One For All. But seeing this... seeing your Stand... I believe giving you a second, overwhelmingly physical Quirk might tear your body apart."

 

"Wait, transferable Quirk?!" Izuku gawked.

 

"A story for another time," All Might waved a hand dismissively. "The point is, your power is incredible. But, watching you just now, I noticed something. When you lifted that truck, your knees gave out. When you fired that projectile, your nose bled."

 

Izuku blushed, wiping the dried blood from his upper lip. "Yeah. The Stand uses my stamina to operate. Since my body is weak, he exhausts me incredibly fast."

 

"Exactly," All Might pointed a long, bony finger at Izuku. "A heroic spirit requires a strong vessel. Right now, your vessel is a fragile teacup trying to hold a gallon of water. If you try to take the U.A. Entrance Exam in ten months with your body as it is, your Stand will drain your life force, and you will collapse before you even finish."

 

All Might turned, sweeping his arm across the vista of the trash-filled Dagobah Beach.

 

"You want to go to U.A.?" All Might asked, his eyes flashing with a competitive fire.

 

"More than anything," Izuku said firmly.

 

"Then we have ten months," All Might declared. "Ten months to forge your body into a vessel capable of sustaining your Stand! I will be your personal trainer, young Midoriya! We will clean this entire beach, piece by piece, tire by tire! It will be a secret training ground, a crucible to forge the ultimate hero!"

 

Izuku looked at the impossible mountains of trash. It looked like an insurmountable task. But then he looked at All Might, and he felt the phantom bassline thumping in his chest.

 

"I'll do it," Izuku said, his eyes burning with determination.

 

 

 

The First Month was pure, unadulterated agony.

 

All Might had designed a hellish training regimen he called the "Aim to Pass: American Dream Plan." It involved Izuku manually hauling heavy trash across the sandy beach. Tires, broken microwaves, waterlogged mattresses.

 

At first, All Might strictly forbade Izuku from using [Gorillaz].

 

"Your Stand is a crutch!" All Might barked from his lawn chair, drinking a protein shake while in his skeletal form. "If you rely on your spirit to do the heavy lifting, your physical muscles will never tear and rebuild! You must build the foundation first!"

 

Izuku dragged a rusted safe across the sand, his muscles screaming, his palms blistered and bleeding. Every night, he would collapse into bed, barely able to lift his chopsticks to eat his mother's katsudon. Inko was terrified by his constant bruises and exhaustion, but she saw a light in his eyes that hadn't been there since he was four years old. She bought him endless supplies of bandages and pain relief patches, quietly supporting his mad endeavor.

 

The Third Month brought a breakthrough.

 

Izuku’s physique began to change. His shoulders broadened. His chest firmed. The baby fat melted away, replaced by lean, dense muscle. He could now drag a pickup truck across the beach using only a harness.

 

All Might noticed the change and finally allowed the next phase of training.

 

"Now," All Might said, standing before a towering pile of crushed cars. "Summon your Stand. I want you to maintain him while you work."

 

Izuku put his earbuds in, hit play on a hip-hop track, and summoned [Gorillaz]. The massive primate materialized, looking as bored as ever.

 

"Now, move the trash together," All Might instructed.

 

It was harder than it sounded. Maintaining the manifestation of a Stand while doing intense physical labor was like trying to sprint a marathon while doing complex calculus in your head. Izuku’s brain felt like it was frying. Every time [Gorillaz] picked up a car, Izuku felt the phantom weight pressing down on his own spine.

 

But as the days turned into weeks, Izuku learned to compartmentalize the pain. He learned to sync his breathing with the Stand.

 

The Sixth Month was when they found the rhythm.

 

Izuku realized that his earbuds were limiting his connection with the Stand. [Gorillaz] thrived on ambient sound, on feeling the vibrations in the air.

 

Izuku brought a massive, battery-powered boombox to the beach. He set it on a stack of tires and blasted his favorite vintage tracks at max volume.

 

The change was instantaneous.

 

[Gorillaz] became fluid, dynamic, and terrifyingly fast. The Stand danced to the music, spinning, jabbing, and weaving through the piles of trash. Izuku stopped commanding the Stand verbally. Instead, he began to move with it.

 

All Might watched in absolute awe as the boy and the invisible entity engaged in a bizarre, beautiful synchronized dance. Izuku would throw a physical punch at a falling refrigerator, and [Gorillaz]’s fist would perfectly overlay his own, delivering a localized shockwave that shattered the appliance into easily manageable scrap metal.

 

They were becoming one entity. Izuku's physical vessel was finally strong enough to channel the immense spiritual pressure of the Stand without bleeding or passing out.

 

"He's a genius," All Might whispered to himself, taking notes in a small yellow notebook of his own. "He's not just using the power. He's weaponizing the very concept of rhythm. His movements are completely unpredictable because they follow a musical cadence, not a martial arts form."

 

The Ninth Month tested their precision.

 

Izuku had to learn how to control the collateral damage of his shockwaves. If he used [Gorillaz] in a crowded city during the entrance exam, he could inadvertently deafen or kill bystanders with the concussive force.

 

All Might set up targets—empty soda cans placed atop delicate glass bottles.

 

"Destroy the can, leave the bottle!" All Might ordered.

 

Izuku practiced Feel Good Inc., his technique of finding resonant frequencies. He would have [Gorillaz] tap the can, listening to the vibration, and then perfectly match it. The cans would crumple inward with a sharp POP, leaving the glass bottles untouched. It required immense focus, tuning out the crashing waves of the ocean and listening solely to the microscopic vibrations of matter.

 

 

 

The Final Day.

 

It was 6:00 AM on the day of the U.A. Entrance Exam.

 

The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon, casting a brilliant golden hue across the water.

 

All Might arrived at Dagobah Beach Park in his truck, a thermos of coffee in his hand. He stepped out and froze, his jaw dropping.

 

The beach was immaculate.

 

Miles of pristine, white sand stretched out before him, completely devoid of the thousands of tons of garbage that had plagued it for a decade. The ocean waves lapped gently against the shore, sparkling in the morning light.

 

It was perfect.

 

Except for one thing.

 

In the very center of the beach, a massive, compressed cube of pure junk—made of crushed cars, refrigerators, and steel girders—towered fifty feet into the air.

 

Izuku Midoriya stood shirtless before the monolith of trash. He was dripping with sweat, his torso carved with lean, powerful muscles. The scars of his ten-month labor marked his hands and shoulders. He was breathing heavily, his boombox sitting on the sand nearby, playing a slow, building, electronic beat.

 

"Young Midoriya!" All Might called out, transforming into his muscular form and rushing over. "You did it! You cleared the beach! But... why did you leave this pile?"

 

Izuku turned around, a wild, exhausted grin on his face. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

 

"I wanted to test something, All Might," Izuku said, his voice raspy. "My ultimate move."

 

All Might stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. "Ultimate move?"

 

"In the exam, I'm going to be facing robots," Izuku said, turning back to the mountain of steel. "I can't just shatter them one by one. I need to be able to clear a crowd. I need a barrage."

 

Izuku reached down and turned the volume dial on his boombox to the maximum.

 

The beat dropped. It was a heavy, aggressive, relentless drum track, paired with a haunting melodica hook.

 

From the sand, [Gorillaz] rose. The Stand looked different. Its neon graffiti was glowing with an intense, blinding light, leaving trails of afterimages in the air. Its eyes locked onto the mountain of trash.

 

Izuku settled into a wide boxing stance. [Gorillaz] mirrored him perfectly.

 

"All Might," Izuku said, his voice echoing with a strange, dual resonance, as if the Stand were speaking with him. "Watch this."

 

Izuku took a deep breath. He synced his heartbeat with the heavy bass drum of the music. Thump. Thump. Thump.

 

Then, he unleashed hell.

 

Izuku exploded forward, his fists flying in a rapid-fire blur of jabs, hooks, and uppercuts. [Gorillaz] mirrored the barrage, its massive, intangible fists striking the mountain of steel.

 

"DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DROP!"

 

The Stand’s battle cry roared over the crashing waves, a terrifying sound of mechanical distortion and primal fury.

 

Every single punch that [Gorillaz] threw detonated a localized sonic boom. The air pressure became a physical weapon.

 

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

 

The shockwaves hammered into the compressed cube of trash. The steel didn't just bend; it atomized. The sheer, relentless force of the kinetic resonance tore the metal apart at a molecular level. Rust, glass, and steel were blasted upward into the sky, raining down into the ocean in a spectacular shower of debris.

 

Izuku didn't stop. He pushed past his limits, his muscles burning, his spirit blazing. The barrage lasted for ten full seconds, a devastating, rhythmic drum solo of pure destruction.

 

"Clint..." Izuku roared, pulling his right arm back for the final blow.

 

[Gorillaz] pulled back its massive fist, the graffiti on its arm glowing white-hot.

 

"...EASTWOOD!"

 

The final punch landed dead center on the remaining chunk of the trash pile.

 

CRA-KOOOOOOM!

 

A massive, directional shockwave blasted forward, completely obliterating the rest of the junk and violently parting the ocean waves for nearly a hundred yards, exposing the sandy sea floor for a brief, awe-inspiring moment before the water crashed back together.

 

The shockwave dissipated, rattling the windows of buildings miles away.

 

Izuku let out a long, exhausted breath. He lowered his fists. The boombox clicked off, the tape having reached its end.

 

[Gorillaz] faded away, sinking back into Izuku's shadow.

 

The mountain of trash was entirely gone. Not a single piece of scrap metal remained on the pristine beach.

 

Izuku stood in the silence, his chest heaving. He slowly turned to look at All Might.

 

The Number One Hero was standing perfectly still, the wind ruffling his blonde hair. He was staring at the spot where the ocean had been parted, an expression of profound, unadulterated respect on his face.

 

"Clint Eastwood," All Might repeated softly. He threw his head back and laughed, a booming, joyous sound that echoed down the coastline. "HA HA HA! Young Midoriya! I don't know who this Clint Eastwood is, but I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath!"

 

Izuku smiled, his legs finally giving out. As he fell backward, All Might caught him, holding him up.

 

"You've done it," All Might said gently, looking at the boy's scarred, muscular hands. "You've built the vessel. You've mastered your spirit. You are no longer just a boy dreaming of heroes, Izuku Midoriya."

 

Izuku looked up at the rising sun, the golden light warming his face. Ten months of agony, blood, and sweat had culminated in this exact moment. He felt a deep, unwavering confidence in his chest. He wasn't Deku anymore. He was a Stand User.

 

"Go home, take a shower, and get dressed," All Might smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "U.A. High School is waiting."

 

 

The morning of the U.A. High School Entrance Exam dawned crisp and cold, the late February air biting at Izuku Midoriya’s cheeks as he stepped out of his apartment building.

 

For the first time in his life, Izuku did not walk with his head bowed.

 

His old middle school uniform, once slightly baggy on his scrawny frame, now clung tightly to his newly developed physique. His shoulders were broader, his chest held high, and his posture radiated a quiet, hard-earned confidence. Beneath the black fabric, his muscles were dense and coiled, forged in the crucible of Dagobah Beach. Ten months of hauling rusted steel, hauling away the remnants of society's neglect, had transformed his body into a suitable vessel.

 

But it wasn't just his body that had changed.

 

As Izuku walked down the bustling sidewalks of Musutafu, the phantom bassline that had become his constant companion thrummed softly in the back of his mind. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was a comforting rhythm, perfectly synced with his resting heartbeat. He could feel [Gorillaz] resting in his shadow, a coiled spring of kinetic energy waiting for the beat to drop.

 

"Izuku! Wait!"

 

Izuku stopped and turned around. His mother, Inko, was jogging down the apartment steps, clutching a small, neatly wrapped bento box. Her eyes were already brimming with tears, a stark contrast to the bright smile on her face.

 

"You forgot your lunch, sweetie," she panted, pressing the box into his hands.

 

"Thanks, Mom," Izuku smiled warmly, placing it carefully into his yellow backpack.

 

Inko took a step back, her hands clasped together as she looked her son up and down. For the past ten months, she had watched him come home covered in bruises, smelling of rust and ocean salt, utterly exhausted but fiercely determined. She still didn't understand the sudden, miraculous manifestation of his "telekinesis Quirk"—as he had vaguely explained it to her—but she understood the change in his spirit. The fragile, timid boy who used to cry at the drop of a hat was gone.

 

"You look... you look so strong, Izuku," Inko whispered, a tear finally spilling over her cheek. "I'm so proud of you. No matter what happens today, you're my hero."

 

Izuku felt a lump form in his throat. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "I'll do my best, Mom. I promise."

 

With a final wave, he turned and began the trek toward the most prestigious hero academy in the country.

 

U.A. High School was less of a school and more of a fortress of dreams. As Izuku stood before the towering, H-shaped glass architecture, the sheer scale of the institution threatened to overwhelm him. The sun reflected off the pristine glass, casting an intimidating glare over the thousands of hopeful students filing through the massive iron gates.

 

This is it, Izuku thought, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack. The proving ground. Ten months of hell, all for today.

 

"Out of my way, Deku!"

 

The harsh, gravelly voice cut through the murmur of the crowd like a knife.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He slowly turned his head to see Katsuki Bakugo marching up the path, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his crimson eyes glaring daggers. Bakugo looked exactly the same as always—arrogant, volatile, and brimming with explosive power. But as he stopped in front of Izuku, a flicker of confusion crossed his features.

 

In the past, the mere sound of Bakugo's voice would have sent Izuku into a stammering, defensive panic. He would have cowed, shrunk in on himself, and apologized for simply existing in the same airspace.

 

Today, Izuku just looked at him. His green eyes were calm, steady, and completely unafraid.

 

"Good morning, Kacchan," Izuku said evenly, his voice devoid of its usual tremor.

 

Bakugo’s jaw twitched. He hated that look. He had hated it ever since the sludge villain incident ten months ago. He hated that Deku—the Quirkless, useless Deku—had run into the fire when no one else would. And he hated the impossible, invisible shockwave that had somehow shattered the villain. The news had called it a "trauma-induced late Quirk manifestation." Bakugo called it bullshit.

 

"Don't stand in front of me," Bakugo growled, stepping into Izuku's personal space. Small, warning sparks popped and cracked across his palms. "I don't know what kind of trick you pulled ten months ago, but you're still a pebble in my path. I'm going to U.A. You're going to die in the practical. So just turn around and walk away before I end you right here."

 

Izuku didn't move an inch. He simply stared at Bakugo's sparking hands, then up at his furious eyes.

 

The phantom bassline in Izuku's head picked up its tempo. His shadow elongated, just a fraction.

 

"I'm taking the exam, Kacchan," Izuku said, his voice quiet but carrying a weight that made the air between them feel suddenly heavy. "I'm not running away anymore."

 

Bakugo stared, completely unnerved by the lack of fear. He scoffed, shoving his shoulder violently against Izuku's as he pushed past him. "Whatever. Dig your own grave, nerd."

 

Izuku watched him walk away. He took a deep breath, releasing the tension in his shoulders. He had stood his ground. That was step one.

 

"Alright," Izuku muttered to himself, taking his first confident step toward the gates. "Let's do this—woah!"

 

His confident stride was immediately betrayed by a loose shoelace. Izuku’s foot caught his other ankle, and he pitched forward, gravity seizing him with ruthless efficiency. The concrete rushed up to meet his face. After all that cool posturing, I'm going to faceplant on the first step?! he panicked.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact.

 

It never came.

 

Izuku opened his eyes. The concrete was two inches from his nose. He was suspended in mid-air, hovering at a bizarre forty-five-degree angle. He felt a massive, tightening grip on the back of his middle-school uniform collar.

 

He didn't have to look to know what had happened. Acting entirely on its own protective instinct, [Gorillaz] had manifested just its right arm from Izuku's shadow, grabbing his shirt and halting his momentum instantly.

 

"Are you okay?!" a bright, cheerful voice called out.

 

Izuku awkwardly craned his neck to the side, still dangling by his collar from the invisible hand. A girl with a short, brown bob and permanent rosy cheeks was rushing over to him, her hands glowing with a soft pink light.

 

"I was going to use my Quirk to catch you, but you stopped yourself!" the girl said, her large brown eyes wide with amazement. She walked around him, examining his hovering form. "Whoa! That's incredible! You're just... floating! Is your Quirk telekinesis? Or gravity manipulation like mine?"

 

Izuku’s face flushed brilliant red. To her, it looked like he was defying gravity through sheer willpower. In reality, he was getting a brutal wedgie from an invisible gorilla.

 

"Y-Yeah! Telekinesis!" Izuku stammered, frantically sending a mental command to the Stand. Put me down, put me down!

 

The invisible hand slowly lowered him until his feet touched the pavement, then vanished back into his shadow. Izuku quickly stood up, aggressively dusting off his uniform. "T-Thank you, though! For wanting to help! I'm Izuku Midoriya!"

 

"Ochako Uraraka!" she beamed, clasping her hands behind her back. "It would've been bad luck to fall right before the exam, right? Your Quirk is super cool, Midoriya! Telekinesis is so versatile. I'm just hoping I can get enough points with my Zero Gravity!"

 

"Zero Gravity?" Izuku's analytical mind immediately fired up. "That's incredible! Removing mass from objects would drastically alter their kinetic potential, meaning you could turn virtually any debris into a weapon or clear paths instantly—"

 

Izuku clamped a hand over his mouth. He was muttering again.

 

Uraraka just giggled, a bright, musical sound. "You're a bit intense, huh? Well, good luck in there, Midoriya! Let's both do our best!"

 

She waved and jogged off toward the massive doors of the auditorium. Izuku watched her go, his heart doing a strange flutter in his chest. I talked to a girl! And she didn't think I was a total freak!

 

He smiled, reaching down to finally tie his shoelace, before jogging inside to join the masses.

 

 

 

The U.A. orientation auditorium was massive, resembling a high-end concert hall more than a school assembly room. Thousands of applicants were seated in tiered rows, the lights dimmed as a single spotlight illuminated the stage.

 

Izuku found his seat in the middle section, coincidentally placed right next to Bakugo, who was glaring at the stage with crossed arms.

 

"WELCOME TO TODAY'S LIVE PERFORMANCE!"

 

The voice exploded through the auditorium’s state-of-the-art sound system, accompanied by a heavy guitar riff. Standing at the podium was the Voice Hero, Present Mic. He wore his signature leather jacket, massive directional speaker around his neck, and golden blonde hair spiked up to impossible heights.

 

"EVERYBODY SAY 'HEY'!" Present Mic roared, cupping a hand to his ear.

 

Dead silence greeted him.

 

"Wow, tough crowd!" Present Mic didn't miss a beat. "Well, let me present to you the outline of today's practical exam! ARE YOU READY?! YEAAAH!"

 

Izuku leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with unabashed fanboy energy. It's the Voice Hero, Present Mic! I listen to his radio show every night! His Quirk, 'Voice', allows him to amplify his vocal cords to devastating levels. He's a master of sonic combat... wait.

 

Izuku paused, a realization dawning on him. Sound. Frequencies. If Present Mic is monitoring the exams, he's going to notice [Gorillaz]'s kinetic resonance. I have to be careful not to reveal the exact nature of the Stand, or else my 'telekinesis' cover will be blown.

 

"As your application materials state," Present Mic continued, pointing to a massive digital screen behind him, "you will be experiencing simulated city battles for ten minutes! You can bring whatever you want with you. After this presentation, you'll head to your specified Battle Centers!"

 

Izuku looked down at his test card. Battle Center B. He glanced at Bakugo's card. Battle Center A. They were splitting up students from the same middle schools to prevent cooperation.

 

"Three different types of faux villains are stationed in each battle center," Present Mic explained, as pixelated graphics of robots appeared on the screen. "They are worth one point, two points, and three points, depending on their difficulty. Use your Quirks to disable these faux villains and rack up your score! But remember, anti-hero acts like attacking other examinees are strictly prohibited!"

 

"Excuse me!"

 

A tall, broad-shouldered boy with slicked-back dark blue hair and rectangular glasses suddenly stood up a few rows ahead of Izuku. His hand was raised stiffly into the air, perfectly perpendicular to the ceiling.

 

"May I ask a question?" the boy boomed, his voice carrying without the need for a microphone.

 

"Hit me!" Present Mic pointed at him.

 

The boy turned around, fixing a stern, disapproving glare directly on Izuku. "You, with the messy green hair!"

 

Izuku blinked, pointing to himself.

 

"Yes, you!" the boy chopped his hand through the air robotically. "You have been muttering under your breath for the entire presentation! Furthermore, you have a large pair of headphones resting around your neck! This is an official examination, not a leisure activity! If you cannot take U.A. seriously, you should leave immediately!"

 

The entire auditorium turned to look at Izuku. Bakugo snickered next to him, a cruel smirk on his face. The old Izuku would have shrunk into his seat, profusely apologizing and tearing up under the pressure of thousands of eyes.

 

The new Izuku simply sat up straighter.

 

"I apologize if my muttering distracted you," Izuku said calmly, his voice clear and unwavering, projecting enough for the room to hear. "I was simply analyzing Present Mic's Quirk capabilities. As for the headphones..."

 

Izuku reached up and tapped the heavy, metallic earcups around his neck. "These are a necessary support item for the regulation and activation of my Quirk. They are cleared by U.A. administration. If you are going to judge someone's combat viability based on their appearance, you might find yourself underestimating villains in the field."

 

The auditorium fell silent again, but this time, the silence was laced with impressed murmurs. The blue-haired boy looked taken aback, his strict posture faltering for a moment before he bowed deeply.

 

"I... I apologize! I made an assumption without knowing the facts!" The boy turned back to the stage. "And Present Mic, sir! The handout lists four types of villains, not three! If this is a misprint, then U.A., the top hero academy in Japan, should be ashamed of this careless mistake!"

 

"Alright, alright, Examinee 7111," Present Mic waved his hands. "Thanks for the great setup! The fourth faux villain is worth zero points. It's an obstacle. Have you ever played Super Mario Brothers? It's like a Thwomp! There's one in every center. It's not impossible to defeat, but there's no reason to. I recommend you all just run away from it!"

 

An obstacle to avoid, Izuku noted mentally. A test of threat assessment and situational awareness.

 

"That's all from me!" Present Mic shouted, striking a dramatic pose. "I'll leave you with our school motto! As the great hero Napoleon Bonaparte once said... 'True heroism consists in being superior to the ills of life.' Go beyond! PLUS ULTRA!"

 

 

 

An hour later, the written portion of the exam was concluded. For Izuku, it had been a breeze. Years of obsessively analyzing hero tactics, physics, and Quirk biology had made him an encyclopedia of superhuman academics.

 

Now, he stood before the colossal gates of Battle Center B.

 

The "faux city" was staggering. It looked like a genuine, sprawling metropolis, complete with skyscrapers, alleyways, traffic lights, and parked cars, all enclosed within massive concrete walls.

 

Izuku had changed into his combat gear. It wasn't a formal hero costume yet—just a highly modified, durable green tracksuit Inko had tailored for him, reinforced with knee and elbow pads. Around his neck sat the heavy, industrial headphones he had purchased from an audio-tech surplus store. Attached to a secure armband on his bicep was a ruggedized MP3 player, loaded with the mixtapes he had cultivated over the past ten months.

 

He looked around the crowd. The other applicants were stretching, hyping themselves up, or showing off their Quirks. He spotted the blue-haired boy from the auditorium doing intense lunges, engines protruding from his calves. He also spotted Uraraka, taking deep breaths, her face pale with nervousness.

 

Izuku closed his eyes. He reached up and placed the heavy headphones over his ears. He plugged the auxiliary cable into the MP3 player.

 

The ambient noise of the crowd vanished, replaced by the soft, static hiss of the audio interface.

 

Izuku scrolled through his playlist. He needed something with a relentless tempo. Something that hit hard and fast. He found the track: a heavy, bass-driven electro-swing remix with aggressive snare hits and a driving brass section.

 

He rested his thumb on the play button.

 

"RIGHT, LET'S START!"

 

Present Mic’s voice boomed from the hidden loudspeakers towering over the gates.

 

The other applicants jumped, looking around in confusion. The massive metal gates began to slowly groan open.

 

Izuku didn't hesitate. The moment there was a gap wide enough for a human, he pressed PLAY and sprinted forward.

 

"THERE ARE NO COUNTDOWNS IN REAL BATTLES!" Present Mic yelled as Izuku left the others in the dust. "RUN, RUN, RUN! THE EXAM HAS BEGUN!"

 

The music hit Izuku's eardrums like a physical force. The deep, rolling bassline flooded his senses. The adrenaline spiked. The world around him slowed down, every detail sharpening into crystal clarity.

 

His shadow stretched out across the asphalt of the mock city.

 

With a silent, explosive burst of neon light, [Gorillaz] manifested beside him, running in perfect synchronization. The Stand’s equalizer eyes glowed hot pink, its oversized sneakers barely touching the ground as it hovered in Izuku's slipstream, the heavy graffiti on its fur shifting to the beat.

 

Izuku sprinted down the main avenue, his eyes scanning the alleys.

 

Clank. Clank. Clank.

 

From a side street, three robots rolled into view. They were bulky, single-wheeled machines with massive, green-painted chassis and laser targeting modules. Faux Villains. One-Pointers.

 

"Target acquired," the machines droned in robotic unison, aiming their blunted cannons at Izuku.

 

Izuku didn't slow down. He didn't break stride. He simply leaned into the rhythm of the music. The saxophone in his ears hit a high, brassy crescendo, followed by a heavy bass drop.

 

Izuku slid to a halt, spinning on his heel. Instead of taking a traditional fighting stance, he struck a bizarre, highly stylized pose. He leaned backward at an impossible angle, his left hand on his hip, his right hand pointing directly at the middle robot, his fingers snapping perfectly on the beat.

 

The applicants who had finally caught up and entered the city stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the green-haired kid who was apparently having a dance battle with a killer robot.

 

But [Gorillaz] was already moving.

 

The invisible Stand rushed forward to the edge of its two-meter radius. It pulled back its massive, graffiti-covered arm and unleashed a devastating backhand, synced perfectly with Izuku's snap.

 

"DO-DROP!"

 

The concussive shockwave was instantaneous. The air warped.

 

KRANG!

 

The center One-Pointer didn't just break; its entire front chassis imploded violently. The sheer kinetic resonance generated by the invisible blow sent a shockwave outward, blowing the other two robots off their wheels and smashing them into the concrete walls of the buildings, shattering them into scrap metal.

 

Three points in two seconds.

 

Izuku didn't wait to admire his handiwork. The tempo of the song was picking up, and so was he. He turned and sprinted down an intersecting street, [Gorillaz] floating faithfully by his side.

 

For the next five minutes, Battle Center B became a spectacle of rhythmic destruction.

 

Izuku fought completely differently than anyone else. Because the Stand was doing the physical striking, Izuku's body was dedicated entirely to footwork, positioning, and timing. To the outside observer, it looked utterly surreal.

 

A Two-Pointer, shaped like a mechanical scorpion, lunged at him with a metallic tail. Izuku merely sidestepped, twirling gracefully. As he spun, he threw a casual back-kick at the empty air.

 

[Gorillaz] manifested the kick, its massive sneaker slamming into the robot's underbelly. The kinetic resonance rippled through the machine, tearing its internal wiring apart. The robot crumpled with a screech of tearing metal.

 

Three Three-Pointers surrounded him in a plaza. They fired non-lethal, high-velocity tennis balls meant to simulate bullets.

 

Izuku didn't try to dodge. He simply started bobbing his head to the beat, weaving his upper body. [Gorillaz] stood over him, its arms moving in a blur, swatting every single projectile out of the air with microscopic shockwaves that popped like firecrackers. When the barrage stopped, Izuku threw a triple-jab combination. The Stand mirrored him, sending three compressed balls of kinetic sound across the plaza. The Three-Pointers exploded simultaneously.

 

Thirty-two points, Izuku counted in his head, his breathing remaining steady. The physical strain is minimal as long as I don't use large-scale shockwaves. The American Dream Plan worked. My body can handle the Stand's output for standard strikes.

 

 

 

Deep within the bowels of U.A., in a dark, high-tech observation room, the faculty of the hero course sat before a massive wall of monitors. Every camera in the mock cities was feeding them live data.

 

"The examinees this year look promising," Nezu, the chimera principal of U.A., noted from his custom high-chair, sipping tea. "A good crop of physical enhancements, elemental manipulations, and tactical minds."

 

"There's a lot of raw power," Aizawa Shota—the Erasure Hero—muttered from beneath his capture scarf. "But raw power without control is a liability. I'm looking for the ones who can think."

 

"Oh, come on, Eraser! Give them some credit!" Midnight, the R-Rated Hero, laughed, pointing a riding crop at a screen showing Bakugo blowing up a massive robot with a feral grin. "Look at the sheer destructive capability of the boy in Center A! He's a natural combatant!"

 

"He's aggressive," Aizawa noted dryly. "But look at Center B."

 

All eyes shifted to the monitor displaying Izuku Midoriya.

 

All Might, sitting in his skeletal form in the back row, leaned forward, a proud smile tugging at his lips. Show them, young Midoriya. Show them the power of your spirit.

 

On the screen, Izuku was currently sliding across the hood of a parked car. As he slid, he pointed finger-guns at two robots in an alleyway. Suddenly, invisible forces struck the robots, caving in their chests with the force of a wrecking ball.

 

"What is that kid's Quirk?" Snipe, the sharpshooter hero, asked, leaning in. "Telekinesis? Impact generation?"

 

"It's bizarre," Vlad King grunted. "His movements don't match the impact force. He's striking poses, dancing almost, and the robots are just exploding around him. There's a disconnect between his physical actions and the kinetic output."

 

"It's not just kinetic," Present Mic suddenly spoke up, his brow furrowed behind his orange shades. He wasn't looking at the video feed; he was staring at an audio-waveform monitor on his console.

 

"What do you see, Mic?" Nezu asked.

 

"I have the audio sensors maxed out in those cities to monitor for structural collapse," Present Mic explained, his voice losing its radio-host persona and turning dead serious. "Every time that green-haired kid 'attacks', my sensors are catching a microscopic, hyper-compressed frequency spike. He's generating localized soundwaves of over 200 decibels."

 

"Two hundred decibels?!" Recovery Girl gasped. "That's louder than a rocket launch! If he was projecting that outwardly, he'd be liquefying the organs of everyone around him!"

 

"That's the crazy part," Present Mic pointed at the screen. "He's not projecting it outwardly. The sound is completely contained within a localized point of impact. It's like... he's weaponizing the concept of kinetic resonance. He's finding the exact frequency needed to shatter the metal, delivering it via an invisible shockwave, and dissipating the excess energy instantly. The sheer control required for that is..."

 

Mic trailed off, looking at Izuku on the screen, who was currently doing a moonwalk while an invisible force ripped a robot in half behind him.

 

"...well, it's either the work of a seasoned pro, or a complete madman," Mic finished.

 

"He's certainly racking up points," Nezu observed. "Forty-five. Fifty. He's easily passing the practical cutoff. But true heroism isn't just about destroying enemies."

 

Nezu reached forward and flipped a large, red switch on the console.

 

"Let's see how they handle a true, insurmountable obstacle."

 

 

 

Izuku was panting softly, the sweat finally beginning to bead on his forehead. Fifty-two points. He had enough. He was sure he had enough to pass. The music in his ears was transitioning to a slower, more deliberate beat.

 

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet violently trembled.

 

Izuku ripped the headphones off his ears, letting them rest around his neck. Without the music, the real-world sounds rushed back in—the screaming of students, the crunching of concrete, and a deafening, mechanical roar.

 

At the far end of the main avenue, the buildings were being physically pushed aside.

 

A shadow fell over the mock city, eclipsing the sun.

 

Izuku’s eyes widened in horror.

 

Rising from the dust was a machine so colossal it defied architectural logic. It was the Zero Pointer. It stood easily fifty stories tall, its massive tracks crushing multi-story buildings like soda cans. Its singular, glowing red eye swept over the fleeing students, a deep, synthetic horn blaring from its chassis.

 

"Run!"

"Are you kidding me?! That thing is a skyscraper!"

"They expect us to fight that?!"

 

The examinees were breaking, turning, and sprinting in the opposite direction.

 

Izuku took a step back, every survival instinct screaming at him to join the retreat. Present Mic had said it. It's an obstacle. Run away.

 

Izuku turned to run. But as he did, his eyes caught movement in the dust near the treads of the approaching behemoth.

 

Ochako Uraraka was on the ground. A massive piece of debris had fallen from a crushed building, pinning her leg to the concrete. She was pushing against the rock, her face twisted in pain, but her Zero Gravity wasn't enough to lift the sheer mass while she was pinned.

 

The Zero Pointer’s massive tread was rolling directly toward her. She was going to be crushed.

 

Izuku stopped.

 

The fear evaporated, replaced instantly by the overwhelming, furious heartbeat that he had felt ten months ago in the alleyway.

 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

 

He didn't think about his score. He didn't think about the exam. He only thought about the girl who had caught him when he fell.

 

"Oww," Uraraka whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut as the shadow of the tread loomed over her.

 

Izuku moved.

 

He exploded off his back foot, sprinting directly toward the towering mountain of steel. The other fleeing applicants stared at him in shock, including the blue-haired boy, who had frozen in his tracks.

 

"What is he doing?!" Examinee 7111 gasped. "He'll be killed!"

 

Izuku ignored them. He was doing the mental math as he ran.

 

Clint Eastwood won't work, Izuku calculated, his mind racing. The sheer volume of the Zero Pointer is too much. A localized shockwave will just dent the armor. If I try to unleash a barrage big enough to destroy it, the stamina drain will literally tear my muscles off my bones and burst my heart.

 

He slid to a halt ten feet in front of the trapped Uraraka, placing himself directly between her and the rolling treads of the Zero Pointer.

 

"M-Midoriya?!" Uraraka cried out. "What are you doing?! Run!"

 

"I need a surgical strike," Izuku muttered, completely ignoring the towering death machine above him. He quickly reached down and placed the headphones over his ears. He fumbled with the MP3 player, scrolling rapidly to a very specific track.

 

It was a slow, deliberate song. Heavy acoustic bass, a sharp, synthetic snare, and a haunting, melancholic vocal track.

 

Izuku hit play.

 

[Gorillaz] materialized in an instant. But it didn't look relaxed. The Stand’s neon graffiti was flaring dangerously bright, the colors shifting violently between blood red and toxic green. The air around the Stand was visibly warping, humming with chaotic potential energy.

 

I can't destroy the whole thing, Izuku thought, adopting a low, grounded stance, pressing both of his palms flat against the trembling asphalt.

 

But a machine this big has thousands of moving parts. Gears, pistons, bolts. And every single object in the universe has a resonant frequency. If I find it... I can shake it apart from the inside out.

 

[Gorillaz] mirrored Izuku’s stance. The Stand lunged forward, reaching out and pressing both of its massive, invisible hands directly against the rolling steel tread of the Zero Pointer.

 

"Hold on, Uraraka!" Izuku yelled over the roar of the robot.

 

Izuku closed his eyes. He let the music take over. He didn't just listen to the beat; he forced the Stand to push the vibration into the metal.

 

Feel Good Inc.

 

The Stand’s hands began to vibrate. It wasn't a singular punch. It was a sustained, high-frequency pulse.

 

To the observation room, the audio monitors suddenly spiked so hard the screens cracked. Present Mic ripped his own headphones off, screaming in shock.

 

In the mock city, a terrible, ear-splitting whine filled the air.

 

Izuku was sweeping through the frequencies, his mind connected to the Stand.

 

20 hertz... nothing.

50 hertz... nothing.

120 hertz...

 

The massive Zero Pointer suddenly groaned. A deep, metallic shudder ran up its chassis.

 

Found it, Izuku thought, a feral grin crossing his face.

 

"AMPLIFY!" Izuku screamed, his eyes snapping open.

 

[Gorillaz] threw its head back and unleashed a sustained, terrifying roar.

 

"DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

The kinetic resonance hit the exact natural frequency of the Zero Pointer's internal skeletal structure.

 

The results were catastrophic.

 

The robot didn't explode outward. It violently, uncontrollably shook itself apart. The massive steel bolts holding the treads together instantly snapped under the microscopic vibrations, shooting out like bullets. The armor plating rippled like a disturbed pond before completely tearing away from the chassis.

 

The Zero Pointer halted its advance, its singular red eye flickering rapidly.

 

Up the legs, into the torso, up to the head—the kinetic wave traveled through the solid steel faster than the speed of sound. The internal gyros shattered. The hydraulics ruptured, spewing pressurized fluid. The entire fifty-story construct vibrated so intensely that the air around it became a blur.

 

"W-What's happening to it?!" the blue-haired boy yelled, shielding his eyes from the flying debris.

 

With a final, deafening CRACK that sounded like the earth itself splitting open, the Zero Pointer's internal spine failed.

 

The colossal machine collapsed straight downward, caving in on its own hollowed-out structure. Dust and smoke billowed outward in a massive tidal wave, engulfing the street.

 

The behemoth was dead. Defeated without a single physical punch being thrown.

 

In the silence that followed, the dust slowly cleared.

 

Uraraka coughed, waving her hands. The debris that had trapped her had been pulverized by the shockwave, freeing her leg. She looked up, her eyes wide with absolute awe.

 

Standing in front of her was Izuku Midoriya.

 

He was still in his low stance, his palms aimed at the ruined robot. But something was horribly wrong.

 

The sheer energy required to output a sustained, hyper-frequency vibration through a construct of that size had exacted a terrifying toll.

 

Izuku's headphones sparked, short-circuiting from the bio-electric feedback, and fell off his ears.

 

Blood was pouring profusely from both of Izuku's nostrils, running down his chin and dripping onto the asphalt. The blood vessels in his eyes had burst, turning the sclera a frightening shade of red. The sleeves of his tracksuit were shredded, revealing muscles that were deeply bruised, the fibers physically torn from the immense internal strain of fueling the Stand.

 

[Gorillaz] flickered violently, like a dying lightbulb, before dissipating into thin air.

 

Izuku let out a ragged, bubbling breath.

 

He turned his head slightly to look at Uraraka. He offered her a weak, blood-stained smile.

 

"Are you... okay...?" Izuku rasped.

 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed face-first onto the concrete like a cut marionette.

 

"MIDORIYA!" Uraraka screamed, scrambling forward and grabbing his shoulders. He was completely unresponsive, his skin burning hot to the touch.

 

"TIME IS UP!" Present Mic’s voice echoed over the PA system, sounding genuinely shaken. "THE EXAM IS OVER!"

 

The blue-haired boy ran over, dropping to his knees beside Uraraka. He looked at the unconscious boy, then up at the obliterated remains of the Zero Pointer.

 

"He... he destroyed that monster," the boy whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and profound respect. "He knew it was worth zero points. He knew it would destroy his body. But he didn't hesitate to save you. This boy... he understood the true meaning of the exam."

 

A small, motorized cart puttered through the clearing dust. An elderly woman with a massive syringe for a walking stick stepped off. Recovery Girl.

 

"Out of the way, children," she said gently, kneeling beside Izuku. She inspected his torn muscles and the heavy bleeding. "Goodness me. It's as if his body tried to process the energy of a small earthquake. The physical vessel was strong, but the output was just too monstrous."

 

She leaned down and kissed Izuku on the forehead. Her Quirk, Heal, activated, accelerating his natural cellular regeneration. Izuku’s breathing steadied, and the bleeding stopped, though he remained deeply unconscious.

 

"He'll be fine with some rest," Recovery Girl assured the panicked Uraraka. She looked back at the ruined Zero Pointer. "But what a spectacular display of heroism."

 

 

 

In the observation room, the monitors were static.

 

The teachers sat in stunned silence.

 

Aizawa Shota slowly unraveled his scarf, a rare, genuine grin crossing his face. "Zero points for the villain. But a perfect score for rescue."

 

Nezu chuckled, sipping his tea. "It seems we have a very interesting student joining us this year. A power that defies classification, and a heart that embodies the very essence of a hero."

 

In the back row, All Might clenched his skeletal fist, tears of pride streaming down his sunken cheeks.

 

You did it, young Midoriya. You showed them all. The world is about to hear your rhythm.