He made the last train with less than a minute to spare, collapsing into a seat and trying to catch his breath. The car was mostly empty—just a few late workers and students heading home.
Izuku pulled out his phone, seeing missed messages from his family asking where he was. He texted back quickly: "Extra training. On last train home. Be there soon."
Yumeko responded almost immediately: "Be safe. Mom saved dinner for you."
Good training session? the Voice asked as the train pulled away from the station.
"Yeah," Izuku admitted quietly, watching the city lights blur past the window. "Really good."
You learned a lot. Pushed boundaries. Discovered new techniques. That's what training is supposed to be.
"The partial transformation thing... that's going to be my ace, isn't it?"
Probably, the Voice agreed. It's certainly the technique most likely to surprise opponents. Most people, even pro heroes, won't have seen anything like that before.
"Because it's aggressive."
Because it's effective, the Voice corrected patiently. Stop framing everything in terms of aggression versus passivity. Think in terms of effective versus ineffective. Winning versus losing.
Izuku leaned his head against the train window, feeling the vibration of motion through the glass. His body was tired now—not exhausted, but pleasantly fatigued. The kind of tired that comes from good training, from pushing limits without breaking them.
Today had been long. Combat training where he'd demonstrated control. The park with his friends where he'd been genuinely himself. Then Gym Gamma where he'd pushed his quirk to new heights.
Three different versions of Izuku Midoriya in one day.
Which one is real? he wondered.
All of them, the Voice answered. That's what you don't understand yet. The controlled fighter, the friendly teenager, the ambitious warrior pushing limits—they're all you. You contain multitudes. You're complex. That's not weakness—that's being human.
"But which one wins the Sports Festival?"
The one who's willing to do what it takes. The Voice paused. Today at the park, you chose friendship over training. That was good. Healthy. Necessary, even. But in nineteen days? At the Festival? You need to choose winning. Need to commit completely. No hesitation, no holding back, no worrying about what people think.
"And after the Festival?"
After, you can be whoever you want. But during? You need to be a winner.
The train rumbled on through the night, carrying Izuku closer to home. To family. To the slums where his journey had started and the expectations that weighed on his shoulders.
Nineteen days until the Sports Festival.
Nineteen days until everything changed.
But tonight, on this train, Izuku felt something he hadn't felt in weeks: balanced. Like maybe he could be strong and human. Ambitious and caring. A fighter and a friend.
Maybe the Voice was right. Maybe he contained multitudes.
Maybe that was okay.
The train pulled into his station. Izuku gathered his things, shouldered his bag, and stepped out into the cool night air.
Tomorrow would bring more training, more challenges, more questions about who he was becoming.
But tonight?
Tonight he'd trained well, spent time with friends, and discovered new techniques that might just win him the Sports Festival.
Tonight, that was enough.
The walk home through the slums was quiet, familiar. His apartment building rose ahead, lights in windows marking which families were still awake.
Home.
Where people loved him and believed in him and waited for him to become something great.
Izuku climbed the seven flights of stairs—the elevator still broken—and opened the apartment door.
"I'm home," he called out.
And for once, he actually felt like he was
Izuku woke to his alarm at 5:30 AM, the same time as always. The apartment was still dark and quiet—his family wouldn't be up for another hour at least. He lay on the futon for a moment, listening to Shinji's breathing beside him, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles from yesterday's intensive training.
Good ache, though. The kind that meant progress.
Ready for another day? the Voice asked, stirring to awareness as Izuku fully woke.
"Yeah," Izuku muttered quietly, sliding out of bed and grabbing his uniform. "Let's do this."
He moved through his morning routine on autopilot—shower, uniform, quick breakfast of rice and miso soup that his mother had prepared the night before. His notebook sat on the kitchen table where he'd left it, and he took a moment to review his three chosen techniques one more time.
Erosion Beam. Cyclone Sphere. Tremor Edge.
Commit them to memory, the Voice suggested. Make them as natural as breathing.
Izuku traced the sketches with his finger, visualizing each technique. The concentrated particle stream. The spinning explosive sphere. The oscillating cutting sheets. By the time the Sports Festival arrived, these needed to be second nature. No hesitation, no uncertainty—just execution.
The train ride to UA was quiet, most passengers still half-asleep in the early morning commute. Izuku used the time to mentally rehearse, imagining different combat scenarios and which technique would be most effective. The analysis came easier now, his mind sharper after last night's creative breakthrough.
You seem more focused than usual, the Voice observed. Yesterday's park visit and training session did you good.
"Balance," Izuku said quietly, watching the city pass by through the window. "You were right about that. I can be multiple things. I just need to know when to be which."
Smart. Very smart.
UA's campus came into view as the train pulled into the station. The massive structure rose against the morning sky, imposing and inspiring in equal measure. Izuku felt the familiar flutter of anticipation in his chest. Another day of training. Another step toward the Sports Festival.
Another chance to prove he belonged here.
The classroom was about half-full when Izuku arrived, students trickling in with varying degrees of wakefulness. Kirishima waved from his seat, his hair somehow already perfectly styled despite the early hour. Momo was reviewing notes at her desk. Bakugou sat with his feet up, eyes closed but definitely not asleep—his posture too tense for that.
"Morning, Midoriya!" Uraraka called out cheerfully as he took his seat. "Did you get home okay last night?"
"Yeah, caught the last train." Izuku pulled out his notebooks, organizing them on his desk. "Thanks again for yesterday. The park was really nice."
"We should do it again sometime!" Mina chimed in from across the room. "Maybe this weekend? If we're not all dying from training!"
More students filtered in. Iida arrived precisely three minutes before homeroom officially started, his internal clock apparently more accurate than most watches. Todoroki entered silently, taking his seat by the window without acknowledging anyone. Tsuyu settled in with her characteristic calm.
The usual pre-class chatter filled the room—discussions about yesterday's combat training, speculation about today's schedule, complaints about homework from other classes.
Then Aizawa entered.
The sleeping bag he'd been carrying was conspicuously absent, and his expression was even more serious than usual—which was saying something. The class immediately fell silent, that collective student instinct that recognized when a teacher meant business.
"Sit," Aizawa said flatly, though everyone was already seated. He moved to stand at the front of the classroom, his tired eyes scanning the room with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see through any facade. "We need to talk about today's schedule."
Here it comes, the Voice observed. Something's different about his tone.
"As you're all aware, the Sports Festival is in eighteen days," Aizawa continued. "Eighteen days to prepare for the most important event of your first year. Eighteen days to develop, refine, and perfect your abilities." He paused, letting that sink in. "Which is why we're changing the training format."
The classroom atmosphere shifted immediately—curiosity mixed with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.
"Today, and for the next two weeks, we'll be implementing individual quirk training sessions," Aizawa said. "Each of you has different abilities, different strengths, different weaknesses. Group training is useful, but right now you need specialized development that addresses your specific needs."
Kirishima's hand shot up. "So we're training alone?"
"Yes and no," Aizawa replied. "The sessions will be individual, but you'll be supervised by myself or another faculty member. We'll be rotating through the class, working with each student one-on-one to identify areas for improvement and develop strategies specific to your quirk's capabilities."
This is good, the Voice said with interest. Individual attention means you can test your new techniques without the whole class watching.
"The Sports Festival isn't just about raw power," Aizawa continued, his gaze moving across the room. "It's about control, creativity, adaptability, and strategic thinking. Some of you rely too heavily on brute force." His eyes lingered on Bakugou for a moment. "Some of you are too defensive and need to develop offensive capabilities." A glance at Koda. "And some of you—" his gaze settled on Izuku for just a beat longer than comfortable, "—need to explore the full potential of your quirks beyond your comfortable patterns."
Izuku felt his heart rate pick up slightly. Did Aizawa somehow know about last night? About the new techniques?
He can't know, the Voice assured him. But he's perceptive. He probably noticed you've been holding back, sticking to familiar moves.
"Your training schedules will be posted outside the gym facilities," Aizawa said. "Each session will be approximately ninety minutes. Some of you will train in Gym Gamma, others in the standard training grounds, depending on your quirk's requirements and destructive potential." Another pointed look at Bakugou, who smirked.
"Will we have homework assignments related to this?" Iida asked, his hand raised properly.
"Yes. Each of you will be required to submit a training journal documenting your progress, challenges, and strategic insights. This isn't just about physical development—it's about analytical thinking and self-awareness." Aizawa pulled up a document on the classroom screen. "Your first journal entry is due Friday. Minimum one thousand words, maximum two thousand. Focus on your quirk's current limitations and potential growth areas."
The class collectively groaned at the homework announcement, though it was half-hearted. Most of them understood the value of self-analysis.
"Questions?" Aizawa asked, scanning the room.
Momo raised her hand. "Will we still have our regular academic classes?"
"Modified schedule. Morning academics will be condensed, afternoon will be dedicated to individual training. You'll still cover all required curriculum, just in a more efficient format." Aizawa's expression softened slightly—barely noticeable, but there. "Look, I know this is intensive. I know the pressure is high. But this is your future we're talking about. The Sports Festival is broadcast nationally. Pro heroes, agencies, scouts—they'll all be watching. How you perform determines your internship opportunities, which determines your early career trajectory."
The same speech from yesterday, but somehow it hit harder now. Eighteen days. Individual training. Everything coming into focus.
"One more thing," Aizawa said, his tone becoming even more serious. "During these individual sessions, I expect complete honesty. If you're struggling with something, say so. If you think your quirk can do more than what you're currently showing, explore it. This is a safe environment to push boundaries and make mistakes." His eyes swept the room. "But if I catch anyone holding back because they're worried about looking weak or different, we're going to have a very unpleasant conversation."
That last part seemed directed at several students, but Izuku felt it particularly. Holding back. Comfortable patterns. Exactly what he'd been doing until last night.
Well, the Voice said dryly, looks like Aizawa just gave you permission to go wild with your new techniques.
"Training schedules are posted now," Aizawa said, pulling out his phone and presumably sending the information. "Check them during break. Your first sessions start this afternoon. Until then, we have academics to cover. Everyone turn to page forty-seven in your hero law textbooks."
The class shifted into academic mode, pulling out books and notebooks. But Izuku could feel the undercurrent of excitement and nervousness running through everyone. Individual training. Specialized development. Eighteen days to become something more.
As Aizawa began the lesson on hero liability laws, Izuku pulled out his phone under his desk and checked the posted training schedule.
Midoriya Izuku - Individual Quirk Training Location: Gym Gamma Time: 2:30 PM - 4:00 PM Supervisor: Eraserhead (Aizawa) Focus Areas: Creative quirk application, range development, precision control
Izuku felt his stomach do a small flip. Aizawa. Of course it was Aizawa. The one teacher who seemed to see through every facade, who pushed buttons specifically to get reactions, who would immediately notice if Izuku was hiding something.
This could be good or very bad, the Voice observed.
"Both," Izuku muttered under his breath, sliding his phone away and trying to focus on hero liability laws.
But his mind was already racing ahead to 2:30 PM. To Gym Gamma. To ninety minutes alone with Aizawa where he'd be expected to show everything he could do.
The new techniques. The enhanced control. The transformation ability.
Everything that made him different now.
Eighteen days until the Sports Festival.
But first, he had to survive training with Aizawa.
The morning dragged by with painful slowness. Present Mic's English class was energetic as always, but Izuku found it hard to focus on verb conjugations when his mind kept drifting to the afternoon's training session. All Might's Hero Foundation Studies covered rescue protocols and civilian evacuation strategies—important material, but Izuku's notes were less detailed than usual.
During the break between classes, the hallway buzzed with conversations about the new training schedule.
"I've got Cementoss at Training Ground Beta," Kirishima said, pumping his fist. "Gonna work on hardening endurance! Maybe learn to hold it longer!"
"I have Ectoplasm in the standard gym," Kaminari groaned. "Something about 'precision control and not frying my own brain.' So unfair."
"I'm with Thirteen," Uraraka said, looking nervous but excited. "Gravity manipulation applications in rescue scenarios. That actually sounds really cool!"
Izuku listened to his classmates share their assignments, noting the variety. Everyone had been matched with a supervisor whose expertise aligned with their quirk's needs. Thirteen for Uraraka's gravity. Cementoss for Kirishima's hardening. Ectoplasm for Kaminari's electricity.
And Aizawa for him.
"What about you, Midoriya?" Momo asked, approaching with her characteristic grace. "Who's supervising your session?"
"Aizawa-sensei," Izuku said, trying to sound casual. "At Gym Gamma."
Momo's eyebrows rose slightly. "The homeroom teacher himself. That's... significant. He usually only directly supervises students he thinks have considerable untapped potential."
Great, the Voice said. No pressure there.
"Ribbit, I have Recovery Girl," Tsuyu added, joining the conversation. "Working on expanding my tongue's range and developing new applications for my wall-climbing."
"I'm with Snipe," Todoroki said quietly from nearby—unusual for him to join group conversations. "Precision training. Apparently my ice constructs 'lack finesse' according to my file."
Bakugou shoved past them in the hallway, clearly having overheard. "I got All Might," he said with aggressive satisfaction. "One-on-one combat development with the Number One Hero. Obviously they know who the real winner's gonna be."
"Congratulations, Bakugou," Iida said diplomatically, though his hand-chopping suggested he found the bragging distasteful. "I'm certain we'll all benefit from our individual sessions."
The bell rang, signaling the end of break and the start of Ectoplasm's Mathematics class. As everyone filed back into the classroom, Izuku felt the weight of the upcoming session settling on his shoulders.
Ninety minutes. Alone with Aizawa. Expected to show creative applications and full potential.
The same teacher who'd been watching him carefully since the drug attack. Who'd offered help that Izuku hadn't accepted. Who seemed to know something was different even if he couldn't prove it.
You'll be fine, the Voice said. This is an opportunity. Show him the new techniques—the Erosion Beam, the Cyclone Sphere, the Tremor Edge. Prove that you're developing, improving, becoming more versatile.
"And if he asks about the Voice?" Izuku thought.
He won't. How could he? He doesn't know it exists. Just stay calm, stay focused, and show him what you've learned.
Mathematics passed in a blur of equations that Izuku solved mechanically, his mind elsewhere. The lunch period brought more excited chatter about training sessions, with students comparing schedules and swapping stories about previous experiences with different teachers.
Izuku sat with his usual group—Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, and Momo—but found himself contributing less to the conversation. His thoughts kept circling back to Gym Gamma, to what Aizawa would expect, to how much he should reveal.
"You're quiet today," Uraraka observed, nudging him gently. "Nervous about training with Aizawa-sensei?"
"A little," Izuku admitted. "He's... intense. And perceptive. Feels like he sees things others miss."
"That's what makes him a good teacher," Momo said thoughtfully. "He pushes students specifically because he sees their potential. If he's supervising you personally, it means he believes you're capable of more than you're currently showing."
That's exactly what I'm worried about, Izuku thought but didn't say.
The afternoon's final academic period was Hero Art History with Midnight—normally one of his favorite classes, but today the information about golden age hero merchandising strategies barely registered.
Finally, mercifully, the bell rang at 2:15 PM.
"Remember!" Midnight called out as students began packing up. "Training journals are due Friday! I want deep analysis, not just 'I practiced my quirk and got better'! Give me insight!"
Students filed out, heading toward their various training locations. Izuku walked toward Gym Gamma with deliberate steps, his heart rate gradually increasing.
The facility was different in the afternoon light. Where last night it had been nearly empty and shadowed, now it was bright and active—though compartmentalized. Izuku could hear the distant sounds of other students training in separated sections, but Gym Gamma's main arena had been reserved for his session.
Aizawa was already there, leaning against one of the reinforced pillars with his characteristic slouch. His capture weapon hung loose around his neck, and his expression was unreadable as Izuku approached.
"You're early," Aizawa observed, checking his phone. "Two minutes. Good. Shows you take this seriously."
"Yes, sir." Izuku set his bag down near the entrance, already wearing his gym uniform. No hero costume for this—Aizawa had specified training gear only.
"Before we start," Aizawa said, pushing off from the pillar and walking toward the center of the space, "I want to establish expectations. This isn't a test. This isn't an evaluation. This is development. I'm not here to judge what you can already do—I'm here to help you discover what you could do."
He's being... supportive? the Voice noted with surprise. That's unexpected.
"Your training schedule says 'creative quirk application,'" Aizawa continued, stopping in the middle of the arena. "That tells me someone—probably Nedzu—thinks you've been playing it safe. Sticking to techniques you're comfortable with instead of exploring your quirk's full potential."
Izuku felt a flash of defensiveness but pushed it down. "I... yes, sir. That's probably accurate."
"Probably?" Aizawa's eyebrow raised. "Either you have been or you haven't. Which is it?"
"I have been," Izuku admitted. "Until recently."
"Recently meaning...?"
"Last night. I came here after school and experimented with some new applications."
Aizawa's expression shifted slightly—not quite approval, but interest. "Show me."
Just like that? the Voice asked. No warm-up, no explanation, just 'show me'?
"All of them?" Izuku asked.
"Start with whatever you think is most important. We have ninety minutes. That's plenty of time." Aizawa moved to the side of the arena, giving Izuku space. "And Midoriya? Don't hold back because you think something is 'too aggressive' or 'too dangerous.' The equipment here is designed to take punishment. Use it."
Izuku took a deep breath, centering himself. His quirk responded immediately, sand materializing from the ground and swirling around him in familiar patterns. But this time, instead of forming his usual floating blades or constructs, he focused on the first new technique.
Erosion Beam.
"This is something I developed last night," Izuku said, gathering sand into his extended palm. "I realized I've been treating sand as a solid mass—blades, fists, barriers. But it's actually millions of individual particles that I can control separately."
"Interesting premise," Aizawa said, arms crossed but attention completely focused. "Continue."
Izuku compressed the sand tighter and tighter, then began accelerating each grain individually. Thousands of particles moving in perfect alignment, creating a concentrated stream. He aimed at a reinforced training dummy about thirty meters away.
The beam shot forward like a lance of compressed air, but instead of dispersing, it maintained cohesion. The concentrated stream of hyperaccelerated sand particles hit the dummy dead center and immediately began cutting. Not an impact, not an explosion—continuous erosive force that carved through the reinforced material like a pressure washer made of stone.
Izuku maintained the technique for ten seconds, drawing a clean line across three separate dummies before releasing it. The sand fell to the ground, leaving deep gouges in the training equipment.
Silence.
Then Aizawa spoke, his voice carefully neutral: "That's new?"
"Yes, sir. Developed it last night."
"And you can vary the width?"
"Yes." Izuku demonstrated, creating a wide spread beam that covered a meter, then compressing it down to a few centimeters that punched completely through a dummy in seconds.
Aizawa walked over to inspect the damaged equipment, running his hand along the carved grooves. "Sustained cutting force at range. Adjustable width for different applications. Low quirk cost since you're manipulating existing particles rather than creating constructs." He looked back at Izuku. "What's the maximum range?"
"I tested up to fifty meters last night, but I think I could push further."
"And the maximum duration you can maintain it?"
"Twenty-five seconds before concentration starts to strain. But that was after two hours of other training. Fresh, I could probably do longer."
Aizawa nodded slowly, his expression still unreadable. "You named it yet?"
"Erosion Beam. Since it erodes whatever it touches."
"Practical name. I approve." Aizawa gestured to the arena. "What else did you develop?"
Izuku felt a small surge of confidence. Aizawa wasn't criticizing, wasn't questioning—he was genuinely interested. Maybe this wouldn't be as difficult as he'd feared.
Show him the Cyclone Sphere next, the Voice suggested. Different application, shows versatility.
Izuku gathered sand again, this time forming it into a sphere about basketball-sized. Instead of solid compression, he set the outer layer spinning rapidly while keeping the core stable. The technique hummed with barely contained energy.
"This one's for range and area control," Izuku explained, then launched the sphere toward the far end of the arena.
The projectile flew in a straight line, maintaining its rotation throughout the flight. When it hit the wall—easily sixty meters away—it exploded outward, the spinning outer layer fragmenting into dozens of sharp projectiles that peppered everything in a three-meter radius.
"Cluster munition," Aizawa observed. "One projectile becomes many. Can you control the detonation timing?"
"Yes, sir." Izuku formed another sphere, this one set for delayed detonation. It flew, bounced off a pillar, rolled several meters, then exploded. "I can also set it for proximity detonation if I sense movement nearby through my sand-sense."
"Your sand-sense has a range of...?"
"Seventy meters, sir. Increased from fifty after the drug enhancement."
Aizawa made a note on his phone—probably documenting the range increase for Izuku's file. "Name for this technique?"
"Still deciding between Cyclone Sphere and Shrapnel Sphere."
"Cyclone Sphere sounds more heroic. Shrapnel has villain connotations." Aizawa looked up from his phone. "Third technique. You said you developed multiple things last night."
Izuku nodded, forming sand into thin sheets that he layered on top of each other. Then he set them oscillating—rapid back-and-forth vibrations that created a buzzing sound. The layered construct hovered in front of him, visibly trembling with contained energy.
"This one's for close quarters," Izuku said, moving the oscillating sheets toward a nearby dummy. When they made contact, the effect was immediate and brutal. The rapid vibrations acted like a chainsaw, the layered sheets cutting through reinforced material with terrifying efficiency.
He held the technique for five seconds, carving a deep gash through the dummy's torso, then released it. The sand fell away, leaving devastation behind.
Aizawa was quiet for a long moment, studying the damaged dummy with his analytical gaze. When he finally spoke, his tone had shifted to something more serious.
"Tremor Edge?"
Izuku blinked in surprise. "How did you—"
"The oscillation pattern. It's creating tremors that do the cutting. Obvious name." Aizawa walked over to the dummy, examining the cut closely. "This is significantly more destructive than your other two techniques. More aggressive. More designed to cause damage rather than control a fight."
Here it comes, the Voice warned. The criticism about excessive force.
"Yes, sir," Izuku said carefully. "But in close quarters against someone with strong defense like Kirishima's hardening, I'd need something that can cut through—"
"I'm not criticizing," Aizawa interrupted, looking up from the dummy. "I'm observing. All three of these techniques show creative thinking and tactical awareness. They cover different ranges and situations. That's good development." He straightened up, facing Izuku directly. "What I'm curious about is the timeline. You've been at UA for over a month. You've had your quirk for years. But you developed three new techniques in a single two-hour training session last night?"
Izuku felt his stomach tighten. This was the dangerous question. The one that might lead to questions about why he suddenly became so much more capable.
Careful, the Voice cautioned. Don't lie, but don't reveal everything either.
"The drug enhancement increased my quirk factor density by sixty percent," Izuku said, choosing his words precisely. "It also improved my neural processing—my ability to control individual particles simultaneously. Before, I could manage complex techniques, but not like this. Not with this level of precision and variation."
"So the enhancement didn't just make you stronger—it made you smarter. More capable of creative applications."
"Yes, sir."
Aizawa studied him for a long moment, those tired eyes seeming to see through layers of careful explanation. "And that's the only change? Just enhanced processing and quirk density?"
Izuku's heart rate spiked. Did Aizawa suspect something else? Did he somehow sense the Voice?
Stay calm, the Voice said firmly. He's fishing. He doesn't know anything concrete.
"The body transformation also completed," Izuku said, deflecting slightly. "What used to take eight to ten seconds now happens in under a second. That's changed how I think about defense and mobility."
"Show me."
"Sir?"
"The transformation. Show me how fast it is now."
Izuku hesitated only a moment, then transformed. His entire body dissolved into sand in less than a heartbeat—flesh to particles in the time it took to blink. He held the form for three seconds, experiencing that strange sensation of distributed consciousness, then reformed.
Aizawa's expression was carefully neutral, but Izuku caught the slight widening of his eyes. "That's... significantly faster than the hospital tests showed."
"I've been practicing, sir. Getting more comfortable with the sensation."
"Good." Aizawa pulled out his phone, making a quick note. "Transformation speed is critical for combat applications. The faster you can shift, the more unpredictable you become." He looked up. "I saw you use partial transformation during yesterday's combat training—turned your torso to sand to avoid Ojiro's tail strike. That was smart, efficient. But I want to see what else you can do with it. Show me the full range."
Izuku transformed just his right arm, the limb dissolving to sand while the rest of his body stayed solid. Then his left leg. Then just his torso. Each transformation took less than a second, precise and controlled.
"Can you transform while moving?" Aizawa asked.
"Yes, sir." Izuku walked forward, transforming his right leg with each step, then his left, creating a strange fluid motion. "It's harder—requires more concentration—but it's manageable."
"And in combat? Can you use transformation offensively, not just defensively?"
That was the real question. The one that got at the heart of what Izuku had discovered last night. The technique he'd been keeping quiet about.
You have to answer, the Voice said. He asked directly. And he's already seen you use partial transformation before. He's asking about applications, not capabilities.
"Yes, sir," Izuku said carefully. "I've been working on that."
"Show me. Use a golem as an opponent."
Izuku formed a sand golem—three meters tall, basic humanoid shape. It stood still, waiting for instructions.
"Make it attack you," Aizawa said. "Full intensity. I want to see how you respond."
Izuku fed the golem aggressive commands through his quirk. It immediately rushed forward, arm cocked back for a devastating punch aimed at his chest.
At the last instant, Izuku transformed just his torso to sand. The golem's fist passed through empty space where his chest had been a moment before.
While the golem was extended and off-balance, Izuku's solid arms—which had never transformed—wrapped around the attacking limb and pulled. His legs swept the construct's feet. His torso reformed as the golem fell, and Izuku's elbow came down on its head with full force.
The golem shattered into loose sand.
Silence filled the gymnasium for several long seconds.
Aizawa's expression had changed. Still neutral, still controlled, but there was something else there now. Recognition. Calculation. The look of someone revising their assessment of a situation.
"Again," Aizawa said quietly. "Multiple opponents this time. And don't hold back—I need to see what you're actually capable of."
Izuku formed three golems this time. They attacked from different angles simultaneously—punch from the left, kick from the right, grab from behind.
What followed was fifteen seconds of fluid, devastating combat.
Izuku transformed his torso to avoid the punch from the left while his solid arms counterattacked, striking the golem's head. His legs—still solid—swept the kicking opponent from the right, using the momentum of the avoided kick. The grab from behind passed through sand as Izuku transformed his entire upper body, dropping low and reforming with an uppercut that shattered the third golem.
The golem on the right was recovering from the sweep. Izuku transformed his left leg, letting a retaliatory kick pass through empty space, then reformed and countered with his solid right leg—a devastating roundhouse that caved in the construct's chest.
The final golem from the left tried to grapple. Izuku let it grab his shoulders, then transformed everything except his core and head—the golem's grip found only sand. Izuku slipped free like water through fingers, reformed behind the construct, and delivered a palm strike that sent the golem sprawling.
Three golems. Fifteen seconds. Total victory.
Izuku stood in the center of the arena, breathing slightly harder from the intensity, surrounded by dissolving sand constructs.
Aizawa was quiet for a long moment, his analytical gaze studying Izuku with an intensity that made the silence uncomfortable.
When he finally spoke, his voice was measured and serious. "That technique right there—that specific application of selective transformation in combat—that's going to win you matches at the Sports Festival. Maybe the whole tournament."
"Sir?"
"It's unpredictable. Versatile. Nearly impossible to counter without prior knowledge." Aizawa walked closer, his eyes never leaving Izuku's face. "You're not just avoiding attacks. You're weaponizing intangibility. Flowing around strikes while counterattacking from angles opponents can't defend against. That's advanced combat application of a quirk most people would use purely defensively."
Dangerous, the Voice whispered. He sees exactly what this technique is.
"Is that... a problem?" Izuku asked carefully.
"No. It's effective. There's a difference." Aizawa crossed his arms. "But it does change how I approach your training. Those three ranged techniques you showed me? Erosion Beam, Cyclone Sphere, Tremor Edge? Those are good. Solid development for versatility. But this—" he gestured to where the golems had fallen, "—this is what makes you genuinely dangerous."
There was that word again. Dangerous. Not strong, not skilled, not controlled. Dangerous.
"The question," Aizawa continued, "is whether you're comfortable with being dangerous. Because once you start using this technique in matches, that's how people will perceive you. Not as the analytical student with good fundamentals. As someone who can flow around any attack and counterattack from impossible angles. As a threat."
Izuku thought about the Bakugou fight. About the cold statement afterward. About the distance his classmates had been keeping lately.
"I'm already seen as a threat," he said quietly. "After the Bakugou match. After the drug attack changed my quirk. Might as well earn the reputation."
Aizawa studied him for another long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Then let's make you better at it. I've got fifty-three minutes left in this session, and I'm going to use them to refine that technique until it's sharp enough to cut diamond."
What followed was the most demanding training Izuku had experienced at UA. Aizawa didn't just observe—he actively coached, breaking down every movement, every transformation, every decision into its component parts and optimizing them.
"First issue," Aizawa said, creating distance between them. "You're transforming reactively. You see the attack coming, then you transform. That's too slow against skilled opponents. You need to transform predictively—read their intent and transform before they commit to the strike."
"How do I read intent?"
"Body language. Weight distribution. Muscle tension. Eye movement." Aizawa fell into a combat stance. "Watch my shoulders. My hips. Those tell you where the strike is coming from before my fist moves. Now, I'm going to attack you. Don't react to my punch—react to my setup."
Aizawa moved, his shoulder dropping slightly, hips rotating, weight shifting forward. Izuku transformed his torso before the punch even began its arc.
The fist passed through empty space.
"Better," Aizawa said, resetting. "But you transformed your entire torso. Wasteful. You only need to transform the specific impact point. Smaller transformation means faster reformation and less quirk drain. Again."
They drilled it repeatedly. Aizawa attacking from different angles, Izuku learning to read the preparatory movements and transform only the necessary body parts. Shoulder drop meant punch—transform just that side of the torso. Hip rotation meant kick—transform the target leg. Weight shift backward meant grab attempt—stay solid and counter.
After twenty minutes, Izuku was transforming specific sections of his body with surgical precision. Not his whole torso—just the eight-inch circle where the impact would land. Not his whole leg—just the thigh or shin or knee being targeted.
"Good," Aizawa said, slightly winded from the constant attacks. "Now we work on offensive integration. Your counterattacks are solid, but they're sequential. You transform, avoid, then counterattack. That's two separate actions. I want them simultaneous. Transform and strike in the same motion."
"I don't understand."
"Watch." Aizawa pulled out his capture weapon, letting it unfurl. "When I use this, I'm not thinking 'throw weapon, then restrain target.' I'm thinking 'restrain target' and my body executes the entire sequence as one action. That's what you need. Don't think 'transform torso, avoid punch, then counter.' Think 'counter through transformation' and let your body execute it as a single flowing motion."
They drilled that concept for another twenty minutes. Aizawa created more golems, each one attacking with simple patterns while Izuku worked on integrating defense and offense into single fluid movements.
Transform torso while already swinging the counterattack. The avoided punch and the return strike happening simultaneously, not sequentially. It felt wrong at first—counterintuitive—but gradually Izuku's body adapted to the new mental framework.
"There," Aizawa said as Izuku executed a particularly clean sequence. "That's what I'm looking for. The golem threw a punch, and from an outside perspective, you simply counterattacked. The transformation was invisible—just part of the motion. That's how you make this technique truly unpredictable."
The Voice was practically singing with satisfaction. This is exactly what we needed. Professional-level refinement. Years of underground hero experience compressed into coaching.
"Positioning next," Aizawa said, not giving Izuku time to rest. "You're fighting from a static position, letting opponents dictate the engagement range. Against someone like Todoroki who controls the entire battlefield, that's suicide. Use your transformation for mobility, not just defense."
"Mobility?"
"Full-body transformation. You tested it last night—you can move as sand. That's faster than running, harder to track, impossible to intercept. Use it. Transform, reposition, reform at an advantage angle, strike. Make them chase shadows."
They spent fifteen minutes working on transformation mobility. Izuku would full-body transform, drift to a new position at high speed, and reform already attacking. The sensation was disorienting at first—consciousness distributed across sand particles moving rapidly—but he adapted quickly.
"Chaining," Aizawa said as they entered the final phase of training. "Multiple transformations in sequence. Avoid an attack, transform to reposition, reform and strike, transform again to avoid retaliation, reform at a new angle. Make yourself impossible to pin down. Become water flowing through their defenses."
Aizawa created five golems this time, each one with different attack patterns. They engaged Izuku simultaneously from multiple angles—a stress test of everything they'd been working on.
What followed was thirty seconds of the most fluid combat Izuku had ever experienced.
He flowed through the golems like a ghost. Transformed to avoid, reformed to strike. Used full-body transformation to reposition, partial transformation to weave through attacks. Read the golems' body language, transformed predictively. Integrated offense and defense into single seamless motions.
Sand and flesh blurred together. Izuku was everywhere and nowhere, solid and intangible, attacking from angles that shouldn't exist. The golems couldn't touch him—every attack passed through empty space while counterattacks found solid targets.
When it ended, all five golems lay shattered across the arena floor.
Izuku reformed in the center, breathing hard but exhilarated. That had been... perfect. Exactly what the technique could be when fully refined.
Aizawa actually smiled—a rare expression on his usually tired face. "That. That right there is what happens when raw talent meets professional coaching. You just went from 'decent combat application' to 'nightmare to fight against.'"
"Thank you, sir," Izuku said, genuinely meaning it. "That was..."
"Intensive. I know." Aizawa checked his phone. "We've got twelve minutes left. Let's talk about integration with your other techniques. You've developed four distinct tools now—three ranged attacks and one close-quarters defensive-offensive hybrid. They need to work together."
They spent the final minutes discussing tactical applications. How Erosion Beam could force opponents into predictable movements that set up the transformation technique. How Cyclone Sphere could create openings and control space. How Tremor Edge worked as a finishing move after transformation created vulnerabilities.
Aizawa's analytical approach turned Izuku's collection of techniques into a cohesive fighting system. Not random tools, but an interconnected strategy with multiple layers and options.
"Your training journal," Aizawa said as the session wound down. "Due Friday. I want systematic analysis—not just 'here's what I can do' but 'here's how everything connects.' Think like a professional hero, not a student. You're building a combat style now, not just learning techniques."
"Yes, sir."
Aizawa pulled out his phone, reviewing something—probably notes from the session. "One more thing. That Tremor Edge technique—the oscillating sheets for close-quarters cutting."
"Yes, sir?"
"Scrap it."
Izuku blinked, surprised. "Sir? But I thought—"
"It's a good technique," Aizawa interrupted. "Effective, powerful, well-designed. But it's wrong for you." He gestured at the arena where they'd been training. "Your greatest strength is distance fighting. Erosion Beam gives you sustained cutting power at range. Cyclone Sphere gives you area control and multi-target capability. Your transformation technique gives you defensive superiority and counterattack potential. You're built to control space and keep opponents at the ranges you dictate."
Izuku felt a flash of defensiveness. "But what if someone gets close? Like Bakugou or Kirishima? I need something for—"
"You have something for close range," Aizawa said firmly. "Your transformation technique. That's your close-quarters defense and offense combined. You don't need a close-range cutting attack because you shouldn't be in close range long enough to use it. And if someone forces you there, you transform and reposition." He crossed his arms. "Tremor Edge is you trying to cover a weakness by playing to someone else's strength. That's tactical suicide."
The Voice was quiet, processing the criticism.
"Think about it systematically," Aizawa continued. "Every technique should reinforce your core strategy, not compensate for gaps. Your strategy is range control and defensive superiority. Erosion Beam—range control. Cyclone Sphere—range control and area denial. Transformation—defensive superiority with repositioning. Those three techniques create a coherent fighting style. Tremor Edge? That's you saying 'but what if they get close and I can't transform?' That's fear-based technique development, not strategic planning."
Izuku felt the words hit harder than he'd expected. Because Aizawa was right. He'd developed Tremor Edge last night specifically because he was worried about close-quarters fighters. It was compensation, not optimization.
"So what do I do if someone like Kirishima closes the distance?" Izuku asked.
"Transform and create distance. Use Erosion Beam to keep them back. Drop Cyclone Spheres to control their approach angles. Make them fight your fight, not theirs." Aizawa's expression was serious. "You're trying to be good at everything. That's impossible. Be exceptional at what you're naturally suited for and develop techniques that prevent opponents from exploiting your style's inherent limitations. Don't try to beat close-range fighters at close range—deny them close range entirely."
That's... actually profound tactical thinking, the Voice admitted reluctantly. He's right. We were developing Tremor Edge from a position of fear, not strength.
"Focus on your two ranged techniques and your transformation," Aizawa said. "Three core tools that work together. That's a complete fighting style. Add more and you're diluting your effectiveness, spreading your training time too thin." He paused. "You've got eighteen days. Master those three completely rather than becoming mediocre with five techniques."
"Yes, sir," Izuku said, though part of him mourned the loss of Tremor Edge. It had been such a cool technique.
"You can always develop it later," Aizawa added, reading his expression. "After the Sports Festival, when you have time to expand your repertoire. But right now? Focus. Specialization wins tournaments."
"Understood."
"And Midoriya?" Aizawa's expression became serious again. "What we worked on today—the refinements to your transformation combat application—don't broadcast it. Keep that sharp until the Sports Festival. The surprise factor is half the technique's value."
"I understand. Thank you, sir."
Aizawa nodded, gathered his things, and headed toward the exit. He paused at the doorway, looking back one more time.
"You asked if being dangerous was a problem," he said quietly. "It's not. But being dangerous without discipline is. You've got the discipline—that's why I'm comfortable refining your techniques rather than restricting them. Don't lose that balance."
Then he was gone, leaving Izuku alone in Gym Gamma with the echoes of the most productive ninety minutes of training he'd ever experienced.
That was, the Voice said after a moment of silence, exactly what we needed. He didn't just make us better—he made us smarter. More focused. He cut away the unnecessary and left only what actually works for our style.
Izuku stood in the center of the arena, looking at his hands. Two ranged techniques. One transformation defense. That was his fighting style now. Clean. Focused. Specialized.
And Aizawa was right. Trying to be good at everything meant being exceptional at nothing.
Better to be a master of three techniques than mediocre with six.
He gathered his things and headed toward the changing rooms, already revising his mental training schedule. No more time wasted on Tremor Edge. All focus on Erosion Beam, Cyclone Sphere, and transformation applications.
Izuku changed back into his school uniform quickly, his muscles pleasantly sore from the intensive session. The gym uniform went into his bag along with his notebook, which now had several new pages of training notes and technique refinements.
Two techniques. Erosion Beam and Cyclone Sphere. Plus transformation applications.
That was his arsenal now. Clean. Focused. Deadly.
The evening air was cool when he exited Gym Gamma, the sun already setting and painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Other students were scattered across the campus, heading toward the station after their own training sessions. Izuku could see Kirishima in the distance, talking animatedly with Sero. Uraraka and Tsuyu walking together toward the main gate.
Normal. Everyone just being normal after an intense day.
Izuku started toward the station, his mind already running through tomorrow's training plans. He could use the morning rooftop session to work on Erosion Beam's maximum range. Maybe test different particle compression ratios to find the optimal—
"Midoriya! Hey, wait up!"
He turned to see Mina jogging toward him, her pink skin almost glowing in the sunset light. Her gym bag bounced against her hip as she ran, and she was slightly out of breath when she caught up.
"Hey," she said, grinning. "You heading to the station?"
"Yeah," Izuku said, a bit confused by the sudden approach. "Just finished training with Aizawa-sensei."
"I know! I saw you go into Gym Gamma earlier. How was it? He's supposed to be super intense during one-on-ones." Mina fell into step beside him as they walked toward the main gate. "I had Midnight for flexibility and acid control applications. She's amazing but also kind of scary when she's in teaching mode."
"Aizawa was... thorough," Izuku said carefully. "Really pushed me to think about my techniques differently."
"That's so cool! I love these individual sessions—it's like having a personal coach who actually knows what they're talking about." Mina bounced slightly as she walked, her natural energy irrepressible even after what must have been an exhausting training session. "So, uh, can I walk with you to the station? We're going the same direction anyway."
Izuku glanced at her, surprised. "Sure. But... how do you know we're going the same direction? You've never asked before."
"Oh!" Mina's expression brightened even more. "That's because we just moved! Like, two weeks ago. My family's been in the same apartment forever, but my dad got a promotion at his company and we finally had enough saved up to move somewhere nicer." She gestured vaguely eastward. "We're in Kōhaku District now—you know the area?"
Izuku felt his eyebrows rise. "Kōhaku? Yeah, I know it. That's the stop right before mine."
"Exactly! I realized that when I was looking at the train map the other day. I take the Musutafu line just like you, get off at Kōhaku Station, and you keep going one more stop to..." She trailed off, suddenly looking uncertain. "Um, sorry, I don't actually know which district you live in."
"Shigaraki District," Izuku said, the name carrying weight he'd grown used to over fifteen years. The slums had an official name, even if most people just called them "the slums."
"Oh." Mina's expression flickered with something—recognition, maybe concern—but she recovered quickly. "Well, we're practically neighbors then! Just one stop apart. So I figured, why not walk together? More fun than walking alone, right?"
There was something genuine in her enthusiasm, no pity or judgment in her tone when he'd mentioned Shigaraki District. Just... friendliness. Actual desire to spend time together.
When was the last time someone wanted to spend time with you just because? the Voice asked quietly. Not for training, not for studying, not because they were worried. Just because they enjoyed your company?
Izuku realized he couldn't remember.
"Yeah," he said, feeling something in his chest loosen slightly. "That sounds good."
They passed through UA's main gate and headed down the street toward the station. The route was familiar—Izuku had walked it hundreds of times over the past month—but having someone beside him made it feel different. Less solitary.
"So Kōhaku District," Izuku said, trying to make conversation. "That's the one with the new shopping complex, right? The one they built like three years ago?"
"Yes! Oh my god, it's amazing. There's this arcade on the third floor that has the newest dancing games, and a takoyaki place that makes them with cheese inside." Mina's hands moved animatedly as she talked. "It's not like, super fancy or anything—definitely not like where Yaomomo probably lives—but it's so much nicer than our old place. I actually have my own room now!"
"That must be nice," Izuku said, thinking of the futon he shared with Shinji. Privacy was a luxury in the slums.
"It's amazing. Like, I can actually close a door and have quiet time, you know?" Mina grinned. "What about you? You said you have four older siblings, right? When we hung out at the park? That must be chaotic."
"It is," Izuku admitted. A month ago he might have kept his answer short, deflected the personal question. But something about Mina's openness made him want to reciprocate. "We've got a small apartment, so everyone's always kind of on top of each other. My oldest sister Akari basically raised me since our parents worked all the time. My brother Daichi taught me to fight when I was eight. Yumeko—she's the second oldest sister—she can read people scary well. Always knows when something's wrong. And Shinji, the youngest besides me, he's the competitive one. Always pushing me to be better."
"That actually sounds kind of awesome," Mina said. "I mean, cramped apartment aside. Having that many people who care about you and helped shape who you are? That's special." She smiled a bit wistfully. "It's just me and my parents, so our place always felt kind of quiet growing up. I used to wish I had siblings—someone to hang out with, you know?"
"It has its moments," Izuku said. "Though privacy is basically non-existent. I share a futon with Shinji."
"Okay, that would drive me crazy," Mina admitted with a laugh. "I complained about our old apartment being small, but at least I had my own space. Now with the new place, I've got an actual bedroom with a door that closes and everything. It's amazing." "So all your siblings have quirks too, right? Earth-based like yours?"
"Sort of. Dust and stone variations. But they're all weak—not hero-level strong." Izuku felt the familiar weight of that reality. "I'm the only one who got a powerful quirk. The combination of our parents' quirks that actually worked."
"That must be weird," Mina said thoughtfully. "Like, exciting because you get to go to UA and everything, but also pressure-y because you're the one who made it."
"Yeah," Izuku said quietly. "It's exactly like that. They're all proud and supportive, but I also know they're living through me a bit. Like I'm carrying everyone's dreams."
They reached the train station, joining the flow of people heading toward the platforms. The evening commute was picking up—salarymen returning from work, students heading home from cram schools, the usual urban rhythm.
"That's heavy," Mina said as they scanned their passes and headed toward the platform. "Like, I'm glad my parents support my hero dreams, but I can't imagine carrying my whole family's hopes. That's a lot."
She paused, then added, "But you know what? I bet they'd be proud of you even if you weren't at UA. Even if your quirk wasn't strong. Because you're you, not just your quirk."
Izuku felt something twist in his chest. "Maybe. But the quirk is what got me here. What's giving our family a chance at something better."
"Sure, but—" Mina hopped up the stairs to the platform with characteristic energy, "—you're the one training until you collapse. You're the one analyzing opponents and developing new techniques. You're the one who knocked Bakugou on his ass in front of everyone." She grinned. "The quirk is just a tool. You're the one using it."
The train pulled into the station, and they boarded together, finding seats near the door. The car was moderately crowded but not packed.
"I guess I never thought about it that way," Izuku admitted as the train lurched into motion.
"That's because you're too busy being hard on yourself," Mina said, settling into the seat beside him. "I've noticed, you know. You're always analyzing, always thinking about what you could do better. Which is good! But also, like... you're fifteen. You're allowed to just exist sometimes without constantly optimizing everything."
You like her, the Voice observed. Not romantically—just as a person. She's genuine. No hidden agenda, no judgment. Just honest friendship.
"Says the person who just told me about her excitement over cheese takoyaki," Izuku said, feeling oddly comfortable with the banter.
"Hey! Cheese takoyaki is revolutionary and deserves excitement!" Mina laughed. "But seriously, I'm glad we're doing this. Walking together, I mean. You're really easy to talk to when you're not being all quiet and intimidating."
"Intimidating?"
"Dude, yes. Especially lately." Mina's expression became more serious. "After the Bakugou fight, you've been kind of... closed off? Like, you're there physically but your mind is always somewhere else. Training, planning, analyzing. It's like watching someone build walls around themselves."
Izuku felt the observation hit uncomfortably close to truth. "The Sports Festival is in eighteen days. I need to be ready."
"I know, and you will be. But you can be ready and also be human, you know?" Mina pulled out her phone, checking something. "We've got like fifteen minutes until my stop. Tell me something not related to training or quirks or the Sports Festival."
"Like what?"
"Anything! Favorite food, worst movie you've ever seen, embarrassing childhood story. Just... be a fifteen-year-old kid for fifteen minutes."
Izuku found himself actually considering it. When was the last time he'd had a conversation that wasn't about hero stuff? That wasn't strategizing or analyzing or preparing?
"Okay," he said slowly. "Uh... worst movie. There was this hero documentary my dad made us watch when I was ten about the Bronze Age heroes. It was so boring that even my siblings fell asleep, and Shinji can literally watch paint dry if someone challenges him to."
Mina burst out laughing. "Oh no, was it one of those super serious historical ones that's like four hours long?"
"Three and a half hours, but yes. And the narrator had the most monotone voice. Like someone programmed a robot to explain hero history with zero enthusiasm."
"I think I know which one you're talking about! My dad tried to show it to me once and I lasted maybe twenty minutes before I claimed homework emergency." Mina was grinning widely. "Okay, your turn. Ask me something random."
They spent the next fifteen minutes like that—trading stories, sharing stupid anecdotes, talking about nothing important and everything simultaneously. Mina told him about the time she accidentally melted her desk at her old middle school. Izuku shared the story of Yumeko accidentally dying all the laundry pink when he was seven. They compared notes on terrible teachers, argued about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Mina was pro, Izuku was horrified), and debated the merits of different training schedules.
It was... normal. Refreshingly, wonderfully normal.
"Kōhaku Station approaching," the automated voice announced.
"Oh, that's me!" Mina jumped up, grabbing her bag. The train began to slow, buildings outside transitioning from the slightly nicer commercial area to the residential district. "This was really fun! We should do this more often. Like, every day if you want?"
"Yeah," Izuku said, surprising himself with how much he meant it. "I'd like that."
"Awesome! Same time tomorrow?" Mina was already at the door as it opened. She turned back, gave him a bright wave. "And Midoriya? You're cooler when you're not trying so hard to be intimidating. Just... remember that, okay?"
Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd on the platform as the doors closed and the train continued toward Shigaraki District.
Izuku sat back in his seat, feeling something shift in his chest. The conversation had been so easy, so effortless. No analyzing, no strategizing, no Voice commentary trying to turn everything into a tactical advantage.
Just two fifteen-year-olds talking about nothing important.
She's good for you, the Voice said quietly. Pulls you out of your head. Makes you remember you're human, not just a fighter.
"Oh, that's rich coming from you," Izuku thought back with a edge of bitterness. "You're the entire reason I'm this way. The walls, the isolation, the constant strategizing. That's all you."
The Voice was silent for a moment. When it spoke again, there was something complicated in its tone. I'm part of you, remember? Not separate. Your quirk given consciousness. I don't make you do anything—I just amplify what's already there. The survival instincts, the drive to win, the understanding that strength matters. That was always in you. I just help you acknowledge it.
"By pushing me away from people who care about me."
By helping you survive. By making you strong enough that you won't get drugged in an alley again. By ensuring you win the Sports Festival and lift your family out of poverty. The Voice paused. But she's right. Balance matters. Being dangerous and being human aren't mutually exclusive. I'm... learning that too.
Izuku didn't respond, but something about the admission felt significant. The Voice acknowledging it might be wrong about something. Accepting that Mina's influence was valuable, not just a distraction.