[A/N: Ive shifted to a new device and there might be some mistakes in this chapter so do highlight it , I'll correct it. Thanks!]
Four years passed in the blink of an eye.
We were fifteen.
Me. Midoriya. Bakugo.
And we weren't what we once were.
Not even close.
They had trained, bled, bruised, broken, and rebuilt. Grown beyond what even I could imagine. And while the world marched forward in its expectation of would-be heroes… we had laid foundations no one else could see.
We weren't just strong.
We were evolving.
By "we"—I mean all of us.
In the last year alone, my strength had sharpened into something terrifying. My punches could shatter reinforced steel walls like they were cardboard. When I unleashed a heavy strike—a real one, with full force and chakra behind it—the shockwaves could rattle every window pane in a city block and crumble a small building with sheer impact.
I once tested my might on a titanium-reinforced deep-earth plate.
Punched straight through.
Didn't even slow my fist down.
And speed? Let's just say this—there isn't a civilian vehicle around that could catch up to me now, not even if they broke every law of physics.
Cars? Outpaced. Trains? Laughed at.
Planes—well, unless it's a military-grade fighter… I'm miles ahead by the time they get lift.
But strength and speed weren't the only gifts maturity brought.
Three Years Ago-
For months I'd buried that gnawing frustration, the question that echoed in my skull with every stride and every failed limit:
I'd been obsessing over my limits—testing, poking, pushing. I tried everything: sprints until my vision blurred, meditation until my legs went numb, burning through every last drop of chakra and stamina in training. I was sure something had to give. If I just emptied myself enough, maybe… something would awaken.
But nothing happened. Not that day. Not the next.
I was dead on my feet that morning as I trudged to school, bag dragging at my side.
Bakugo was gone—his mother had whisked him off out of town for a relative's wedding. That left just me and Midoriya.
Both exhausted; me from self-induced depletion, him from overtraining, bags under his eyes and barely keeping pace as we trudged toward class.
It was supposed to be a normal morning. Then fate intervened.
We turned the corner near the market, and chaos hit like a slap.
Flashing lights. A battered police barricade. And, at its center, two heroes were fighting desperately against something enormous—a pulsing, hulking mass of red muscle, monstrous and faceless, shuddering with every movement. Water slicked the asphalt—a half-dried attempt by the heroes, who wielded some kind of liquid quirks.
But they were losing.
One hero—a tall man with streams of water limping down his side—stood on a shattered leg, the other barely holding him upright. His right arm was gone below the elbow, dripping with blood.
The woman beside him swayed on her feet, uniform torn, cheek swollen and eyes glassy. Still, she forced herself to stay between the villain and a group of cowering civilians behind a broken fence.
Despite it all, their priorities were clear. When they saw us, they didn't scream for help or shout for backup.
"You two—get to safety!" the woman barked, voice quivering but proud, "We'll… take care of him. Go… just move out, get away!"
The villain—towering above them, muscles rippling on his inhuman form—grinned. His voice was a guttural, ugly rasp:
"Keh keh keh… Thinking of others when you're about to be ripped to shreds in seconds? Is that 'heroic spirit?' Pathetic."
He flexed, an obscene, living mountain of aggression.
Midoriya and I froze, instinctively stepping between him and the wounded. Fear, exhaustion, and panic churned in my gut. I could feel my own chakra, thinned out and wispy, refusing to answer any call.
But Midoriya—trembling, sweat beading on his forehead—didn't hesitate.
With a sudden, desperate cry, he lunged, pouring absolutely everything into a punch aimed straight at the villain's chest. It was his strongest blow—every drop of courage, every ounce of training, every shred of stubbornness that made him Deku.
The force of the impact blew out a cloud of dust and broken stone. For half a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
When the smoke cleared, the villain hadn't budged an inch. He barely looked winded. A twisted smile spread across his lips.
"Hah! That tickled, boy!"
He flexed his arms, cracking his neck for effect.
"What's your name? Gonna have to remember you! I'm Muscular, by the way."
Midoriya stood rooted in shock, eyes wide, fist still raised and shaking.
He swallowed, voice thin but defiant:
"I-I… I won't tell you. You're a heartless villain—"
Muscular stood tall, arms rippling like ropes wrapping around steel beams, flexing with a gleam full of murder and cruelty. The ground beneath us felt tighter with every word from him, as if it wanted to run away too.
"I always like to know the name of my victims… KEKEKEKE!"
His laugh scraped against the air like claws on brittle glass.
The injured pro heroes behind us—still upright only by sheer force of will—gasped.
"Kid, r-run—take your friend and go!"
I clenched my fists.
Midoriya took half a breath—
"SHUT UP!" Muscular roared.
And then he grabbed something heavy from the side—a car. A damn car. With a casual twist of his grotesque body, he hurled the vehicle at us like it was nothing more than a paper ball.
I had only milliseconds to process before muscle memory took hold.
My body surged forward on instinct, planting my feet hard, arms raised in an X.
The side of the car slammed into my forearms.
CLANG!
I stopped it.
But the shock? It was no joke.
My breath ripped from my chest as pain shot down my left arm. My legs skidded back through the dust as metal screamed and crumpled. The air pushed out of me with a grunt as I finally tossed the wreckage aside.
I blinked—my left arm hung low. Numb. Tingling.
'Goddamn… he threw that hard.'
My reserves were low. Too low. Not even ten percent left. My vision pulsed at the edges. My knees ached. I could tell—my body was slipping into redline territory.
Muscular's voice dug through my chest again.
"So, who are you now, huh? Runt?"
His eyes flicked to me, filled with animosity. "Onion eyes."
I didn't respond.
Instead, I glanced at Midoriya—just subtly—eyes flashing a silent command. His head dipped. He understood.
He scattered backwards into position… deploying the clone jutsus I'd taught him. Silent. Clean. Fast.
Two… four… six, Seven shadows circled out and jingled silently into the broken wreckage dust.
All Equipped with Rasengan.
Muscular didn't notice. He was too busy laughing again.
We attacked , I punched him in the abdomen and dodged back the punch he landed, the rasengan hit him and dust and debris filled the area—
But we still underestimated him.
A flicker of muscle. A blur. I turned to shout—
"Midoriya, MOVE—!"
But it was half a second too late.
Muscular's fist punched straight through one of the clones—and caught Midoriya's real chest like a brick through drywall.
CRACK—
He flew backward like a comet, body flipping through the air uncontrollably, before smashing hard through an apartment wall with a spray of dust and splintered concrete.
"DEKU!"
Rage lit up my chest. Burning, sharp. I saw red. My feet launched from the ground without permission. I didn't stop to think—I just slammed my hands together and pulled every sliver of chakra I had left into one move.
"Shinra… TENSEI!"
The repulsion wave expanded, the wind cracking like lightning. The blast pushed through the battlefield in a wide arc—shockwave flattening debris, shredding dumpsters, snapping lamp posts like bamboo. It exploded outward with force enough to launch most brutes end-over-end.
But Muscular?
He planted his feet. Skidded back three meters. Four. Five.
Then he rebalanced and stood taller. Stronger.
His muscles now ballooned—his entire body packed under writhing layers of sinew. A living fortress of red veins and hatred.
"I'M GONNA KILL YA!"
I steeled myself, but my knees wobbled. I had nothing left. My sight blurred from chakra depletion, and I had no strength to summon, no jutsu to save me.
So I did the only thing I could.
Substitution.
With the last breath of ability, I switched places with a nearby garbage bin.
The moment his fist slammed into it and sent it flying into a wall in my place, I gasped in relief, clutching at my ribs.
"—Tch, another damn trick?!" he roared.
But trick or not, he was on me in no time.
And this time, I couldn't dodge.
I raised my arms again, trying to guard, but his next punch broke through.
THUD!
My body flew back like a doll, smashing into the wall of a shuttered noodle stand. I hit the concrete hard. My back ached. My ribs howled.
God, was that my shoulder cracking?
Dirt and stone rained over me.
The first real damage.
I tasted blood.
Before he could move again—to land a critical hit on me—
A sudden voice crashed across the rooftop-line like thunder:
"DAIJOUBU NAZE?!… WATASHIKA NA KITA!!!"
My eyes widened.
I barely had time to register the blur of movement when, in a single blink, the air cracked with a sonic pulse racing from behind me—
A titanic figure shot straight across my vision.
Even with my enhanced vision, I couldn't follow the movement. It was a flash of muscle, cape, and raw kinetic velocity.
BOOM!
Muscular was launched—literally—skyward.
"AAAAAAaaaaaaaaaA"
trail of red traced his exit as his body spiraled into the clouds with all the grace of a wrecking ball launched from a cannon.
A beat. A breath.
Then with calm cadence, the massive man turned his head, voice firm.
"Hawks. I leave this one to you."
He was gone before I realized it.
All Might.
The Number One.
The Symbol of Hope.
Seconds later, the site was swarmed. Blue and red lights flickered. Civilians were steered away. Medics arrived like clockwork.
Midoriya was already being carted off, swaddled in foam stretchers with a concussion, two cracked ribs, and a small orbital fracture. Nothing he wouldn't sleep off in four days, the healers said.
Me?
Ten broken bones. Shoulder dislocated. Some internal bruising. Stabilized within an hour.
I sat on the hospital cart, arm slinged, eyes distant.
All Might scolded us, of course. The words sounded like thunder but didn't linger. We nodded. We said "yes, sir." We even laughed about it with Midoriya once they told us he'd be fine.
But deep down?
I was disappointed.
Bakugo scowled at Midoriya's hospital bed with me also there-
"You really got yourself punched through a wall, huh, dumbass? Subbing with a dumpster? Lame."
From the next bed, Midoriya groaned, "Bakugo—don't yell, my head hurts…"
Bakugo ignored him. "Try thinking before you hero next time."
Suddenly, the door burst open and my mom stormed in, glaring at all three of us.
"Honestly, what am I raising—a hero or a demolition expert? Next time, just call me when you need to be scraped off a billboard!"
"What did I even do this time?!"- Bakugo.
We laughed But-
For the first time in this life, I felt it—uncertainty. The bitter taste of helplessness. I had no strength left that day. No chakra. No plan. And when Midoriya lay broken, and I stood unable to stop Muscular…
It shattered something in me.
That night, I made a vow: this would never happen again.
Since then, I trained relentlessly—not just for strength, but for survival. I built failsafes: ways to fight, escape, or endure even when my power ran dry.
Years passed-
But i just couldn't advance further.
"Why can't I improve as fast? Why is it so hard for me?"
Every morning, I watched Midoriya and Bakugo push themselves. They bled, they gritted their teeth in the dirt beside me. I saw Midoriya's hands trembling after each round of drills, Bakugo's shouts ringing out across the cracked stone of our training ground. I matched them at first, stroke for stroke, breath for breath.
The heroes helplessness at that day.
My desperation-
But sometimes, it felt like I had shackles no one else saw.
Always a fraction behind.
Always trying—but never enough.
They were my friends, maybe, but each time they surged past a plateau, something inside me burned. Why not me? I was stronger by leaps and bounds , no doubt in that but they were getting closer-
Why was I stuck in place when my soul screamed for more?
The heat of that thought finally reached breaking point one blistering afternoon. Sweat stung my face, blood ran from a cut on my brow, and the world seemed to blur in shouts and failure. Bakugo's fists detonated with ruthless clarity. Midoriya summoned wind and light, his feet flickering.
I felt their aura—limitless determination.
Mine? It felt like drowning.
"Why can't I—" I muttered, teeth clenched, knuckles white. "—Break through? What am I missing?!"
A tremor ran through my limbs—first from rage, then odd, sharp despair.
Were they just built different? Was I just… destined to trail behind? just like at that time?
I needed out. Needed air. I sprinted. Faster. Harder—branches ripped at my arms as I vaulted over the treetops ringing our training canyon. The wind howled in my ears as I ran and ran, heart pounding, until finally the ground fell away.
There was nothing beneath me but sky.
With a wordless scream, I leapt higher, summoning chakra until my feet burned. I soared, leaving the trees, the mountain peaks, even the clouds behind. My lungs ached. The world shrank below, every doubt and every limitation a small, petty dot on the horizon.
I screamed. Roared.
Every ounce of frustration, jealousy, and endless wanting—
I let it erupt.
Chakra rose with my fury; at that instant, I was not myself, but a storm.
My hand clenched, I focused everything into my palm—and with blinded rage, I brought it crashing down.
The air itself shattered. A shockwave blasted out in every direction—trees quivered, the distant lake warped in its bed, flocks of birds scattered like leaves in a typhoon.
I forced all my chakra—every droplet, every memory of trying and failing, pushing and clawing—out in a single, primal detonation.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence. I hung, weightless and empty, heart breaking open.
And in that vacuum, that emptiness, I heard it—a whisper from deep inside, old as stone and wild as instinct.
A pulse.
A path.
A beast's call—echoing from a place beyond this world's boundaries , beyond all they'd ever know.
Chikushōdō.
The Animal Path.
Raw chakra curled around my core, coiling into uncharted patterns. My senses exploded outward: I could feel insects crawling a mile away, the heartbeats of deer deep in the forest, even the flutter of a hawk's wings overhead.
It wasn't fury anymore.
Power flooded back, not as fire, but as life—untamed, hungry, ancient. I dropped from the sky and landed, knees buckling.
I understood, in that instant, why I'd struggled.
It wasn't about being weaker or slower. I'd been using a wooden blade, when I was born to use a sword-
I was becoming a- a-….
For the creatures,
It was never easy at first. Summoning them from the lands beyond? That takes precision. Focus. And insane chakra capacity. At first they were half-formed, sometimes too slow or too wild. But now?
Now they emerge fully. Formed. Bound to me completely.
I don't even need handsigns anymore—I call, and they arrive. Towering serpents with bright red scales and black eyes. Falcons the size of horses that tear the sky apart. Hulking rhino-like beasts bearing armor I never even imagined.
Their size, durability, even temperament—all of it depends on how much energy I pour into them.
And they obey only me.
Each one has no will of its own unless I grant it. They think when I allow them to. They fight exactly as I desire. They vanish when I choose, and I can summon them again without ritual. On my best day, I can sustain more than 150 across the battlefield, and if I push harder? Possibly 200, though I might black out after.
I'm still growing.
Always growing.
Meanwhile, Midoriya and Bakugo… they broke through their limits too.
Midoriya especially— after that incident—he's changed.
I trained with him often. Gave him techniques, shared chakra control strategies, even taught him my own custom jutsu. He wasn't born a prodigy, but damn if he didn't claw toward greatness like it tried to get away from him.
His reaction speed? Ridiculous.
Combat intelligence? Nearly on par with mine. And that's saying something considering I was a ninja back there-
He walks with confidence now—doesn't second guess every step.
Still humble, still cautious, but nowhere near as fragile as the boy he used to be. His biggest change, though?
He's started inventing. Combining jutsu, chakra techniques, and peculiar moves of martial energy that have never been taught to anyone. They're incomplete, unpredictable—but powerful. And if he survives learning how to control them, he's going to be something the world hasn't seen before.
As for Bakugo?
The guy's rage is focused now. Sharp as a blade and just as dangerous. His explosions have become precision tools—fragmented shrapnel bombs, aerial bursts, even heat-controlled chambers that blast targets without harming allies. Still hotheaded, of course. Still calls me "freakeyes" at least twice a day.
But we've all earned respect. From one another.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow's the next step.
The UA high school entrance exam.
For people like us… it was just another arena.