On the second night after revising his training plan, Izuku received a message from All Might.
Be at Dagobah Beach Park at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow.
He read it twice, as if the words might change.
"…Seriously?"
His thoughts immediately began to spiral—his own plan, All Might's plan, how they might overlap, where they might conflict. For a moment, it all tangled together.
Then he stopped.
Exhaled.
Closed the notebook.
"…I'll figure it out when I get there."
He opened his diary instead and wrote:
February 13: Tomorrow, I start training with All Might.
He paused, then drew a line through part of it and added beneath:
Starting tomorrow, I'm going to change.
—
Izuku was awake before dawn.
By five, his push-ups were already done, his muscles warm, his breathing steady. The morning felt different—quieter, but sharper, like the start of something important.
At 5:30, All Might arrived at Dagobah Beach Park, expecting an empty shoreline.
Instead, he saw movement.
"…Someone's here already?"
He shifted into his hero form and leapt onto a mound of debris for a clearer view.
Below, Izuku was clearing space, dragging aside scraps and broken pieces to carve out a small training area.
"…Might as well finish what I started," Izuku murmured under his breath.
He wore a simple tank top and shorts, both already damp with sweat. Sandbags were strapped securely to his arms and legs, weighing down every movement.
He took a slow breath.
"Alright… let's go."
He started running.
Not as a warm-up. Not casually.
Each step was deliberate, measured, part of something he had already committed to.
He circled the piles of trash in steady laps.
He had already run eleven kilometers just to get there.
His goal was twenty.
Stopping early wasn't an option.
From above, All Might watched without interrupting.
"…He's been doing this on his own…"
Izuku kept moving, his thoughts settling into place alongside his rhythm.
This isn't random. It's not just cleanup.
All Might said I need a stronger body.
And this place—uneven ground, shifting weight, heavy debris—
"…It's everything at once."
He slowed slightly, drawing in a controlled breath.
"Full-body conditioning."
"…Exactly."
All Might dropped down from above, landing lightly on the sand.
"I was hoping you'd figure that out."
Izuku came to a stop, straightening.
"All Might—you're early. It's not even six yet."
"And you're already halfway through your training," All Might replied.
Izuku hesitated, then said quietly, "…Every time you show up, I keep expecting you to start coughing blood."
"…Let's move past that," All Might said, waving it off.
His expression shifted, turning more serious.
"Midoriya. You're aiming for U.A., right?"
"Yes," Izuku answered immediately. "If I'm going to become a hero, that's where I need to go."
All Might gave a single nod.
"Then you have ten months."
Izuku's posture tightened.
"That's how long I have to prepare."
"Exactly."
All Might handed him a thick stack of papers.
"This is your training plan."
Izuku accepted it carefully, eyes scanning each page.
It was detailed. Precise. Every hour accounted for.
"It's built around practical work," All Might said. "Follow it consistently."
Izuku's fingers tightened slightly around the pages.
"…Then I'll need to work harder than anyone else."
All Might placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Can you keep up?"
Izuku didn't look away from the plan.
"…Yes."
—
Training began immediately.
"Move it to the entrance! Load it onto the truck!"
All Might's voice carried across the beach.
Izuku lifted and carried debris across the sand, his movements heavy but controlled. The extra weight strapped to his body never came off.
Every step demanded adjustment.
Every lift required balance.
Every motion forced his body to adapt.
Not just strength—control under pressure.
"Faster! Ten months won't wait for you!"
—
At school, nothing outwardly changed.
Izuku still sat in class.
Still listened.
Still took notes.
But beneath the surface, everything was different.
His hands never stayed still. Between lines of writing, he worked a grip trainer. The margins of his notebook filled with calculations instead of idle thoughts.
Ten months… roughly three hundred days. Recovery cycles matter…
He murmured quietly to himself.
"If recovery is too slow, progress drops. But if I reduce sleep…"
"Midoriya."
The teacher's voice cut through his thoughts.
A Quirk-extended hand tapped him sharply on the head.
"Focus."
"Yes, sir," Izuku said quickly, covering his mouth.
Whispers spread around him.
"He's still talking about U.A.?""Does he really think he can make it?""…He's obsessed."
Izuku didn't respond.
—
His schedule tightened until there was no empty space left.
He woke at four to run.
Trained at the beach before school.
Worked through classes without stopping his exercises.
Practiced alone during lunch.
Ran home after school, then trained again.
Returned to the beach in the evening.
Finished homework and journaling at night.
Then trained again before sleeping.
Every hour had purpose.
Even weekends offered no relief—only more time to push further.
—
Months passed.
The changes weren't obvious at first glance.
He was still lean. Still looked like himself.
But something had shifted.
In the way he moved.
In how long he could keep going.
In how quickly he recovered.
His strength had grown.
His endurance had deepened.
His control had sharpened.
Step by step, without fanfare or shortcuts—
Izuku Midoriya was changing.