"Huhhh...."
A rough and deep sigh escaped, drawn with great difficulty through a throat that felt dry like sandpaper, then exhaled in a trembling breath.
Each inhale, each exhale was like an admission of the exhaustion gnawing at every fiber of muscle in his body.
The broken rhythm became the background music to the scene before him: an endless expanse of turquoise sea clashing with the pale sky along a blurred horizon line.
At the boundary between land and sea, a young man stood alone. His posture was tall, with broad shoulders now slightly hunched. Sweat soaked his temples, causing strands of his dark red hair to stick to his flushed skin from exertion.
Sweat also trickled down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his hooded black jacket, its thick fabric feeling heavy and damp amid the salty sea air.
His eyes, the same deep shade as his hair, stared blankly at the ceaseless rolling waves.
He was surrounded by debris. Rusted metal chunks, remnants of old ships or perhaps failed constructions, scattered across the golden sand around him.
The scent of salt from the sea mixed with the sharp smell of rust and metal, wafting in the air. The sound of crashing waves on the shore became the heartbeat of his solitude, starkly contrasting his own erratic pounding heart.
At this moment, the muscles in his arms and back throbbed with pain. His knees felt weak, trembling slightly each time he shifted his weight. Every cell in his body begged for rest, to lie down on the cool sand and surrender to gravity.
His body screamed to stop!
But in his dark red eyes, something like a spark of fire burned brightly.
His dry and cracked lips pressed together into a thin, hard line. Slowly, with a movement that felt like dragging a heavy load, he began to raise his right arm.
Immediately, the muscles in his shoulder tensed in agony, and he could feel a faint vibration traveling from his shoulder to the tips of his trembling fingers. His arm felt alien, heavy like lead.
When his arm rose to chest height, he gritted his teeth, and to lock in his resolve, he bit his lower lip hard. Suddenly, a sharp pain and a slight salty taste of blood on his tongue became an anchor, focusing his blurring mind.
Not yet. I'm not done. Give up? Heh, what's that?
Ordinary people stop when they're tired. They leave everything to fate.
But I'm not ordinary. I am the protagonist!
With that renewed determination, he started again. He opened his trembling fingers, his palm facing the pile of junk in front of him. His eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening. He took a deep breath.
And suddenly, a vibration occurred!
Grains of sand around the nearest metal chunk began to dance, as if lifted by something invisible.
Soon after, with a soft grinding sound as metal scraped against sand, a rusted bolt the size of a thumb lifted from the ground.
The object wobbled in the air, as if resisting the pull from its exhausted master's will.
Fuse growled softly, sweat now streaming more heavily down his face, stinging his eyes. He pushed harder. His focus became as sharp as a fingertip.
At this moment, one by one, other metal pieces began to respond. Nuts and bolts, jagged steel plates, and some bent rebar rods lifted from their sandy resting places.
They floated hesitantly around him, forming an unstable constellation of scrap. The movements weren't smooth; he could feel every fluctuation in his concentration reflected in the wobbling objects.
He clenched his fist, and the metals began to spin around him, creating a small vortex of rust and steel.
At first slow, then faster and faster, producing a whistling sound of air sliced by the sharp metals, which then merged with the sound of the waves.
His body trembled violently under the strain. Pain stabbed at his temples, pulsing in rhythm with his roaring pulse in his ears, nearly drowning out the ocean's sound.
He tried to maintain control, manipulating the vortex into a more complex shape, a dancing spiral.
However, at this moment, his vision suddenly narrowed, the edges of his sight becoming dark and blurry. The muscles in his raised arm now spasmed uncontrollably.
The vibration turned into a violent shake.
And suddenly, a sharp steel plate lost its momentum and fell back to the sand with a loud THUD, shattering his concentration.
At this moment, the flying objects suddenly dropped back to the ground in a chaotic series of clangs, thuds, and clatters.
The entire metal vortex collapsed!
At the same time, his last strength left his body. His arm fell limp to his side. His knees could no longer support his weight. He staggered one step back, his eyes widening in brief shock at his body's betrayal, before his legs gave out completely.
He fell backward. No resistance. He felt a momentary weightless sensation before his back slammed into the soft sand. He felt no pain. Instead, it expelled the remaining air from his lungs with a loud whoosh.
For a few seconds, he could only lie there, gasping, staring blankly at the cloudless blue sky.
The sun shone so brightly, a blinding white ball of fire that hurt his unprotected eyes.
With a soft groan, he raised his arm, which felt as heavy as stone, his trembling palm blocking the piercing light. The world suddenly dimmed behind the shadow of his hand, and he could feel his own blood pulsing at his fingertips.
The sand beneath him felt cool and slightly damp, a soothing contrast to his hot, burning skin.
In the silence after his failure, amid his exhaustion, the corners of his lips began to curve upward. Soon after, he closed his eyes, savoring the moment.
"Heh..." His hoarse voice came out as a broken whisper. "An overpowered protagonist from birth is cool, but a protagonist who struggles desperately to become strong... is way cooler."
He paused for a moment to take a deep, trembling breath.
"And that person... is me!"
After saying it, he let the silence take over once more, his smile not fading.
After several long minutes, he groaned and began to move. He pressed his elbows into the sand, pushing his upper body up. His abdominal muscles felt like they were on fire as he struggled to sit up.
Then, he planted his hands in the sand, pushing himself to a kneeling position, his head bowed for a moment as the world spun around him.
Finally, with one last push, he managed to stand, his legs wobbling for a few seconds before finding their footing.
He looked down, gazing at his black jacket now covered in sand.
With deliberate and careful movements, he began to brush off the fabric with his hands until the last grains of sand fell away. After ensuring his clothes were clean, he straightened his body.
The pain and exhaustion were still there, etched into every line of his body, but his posture had changed. His shoulders pulled back. His head held high.
Soon after, he turned and began walking away from the beach. No longer glancing at the metal debris or the ocean. His back, straight and unyielding.
…
"Euh... my whole body hurts."
That low growl escaped from between his clenched lips, feeling more like a vibration in his chest than a spoken complaint.
Every step Fuse took on the glossy shopping mall floor felt like a small torment. The muscles in his thighs and calves throbbed with dull pain. His shoulders felt stiff and heavy, causing his usually upright posture to slump slightly.
The air inside the mall felt cool and sterile, filled with the low hum of air conditioning and faint echoes of other shoppers' chatter along with soft pop music playing from the speakers.
The sweet aroma from the bakery in the corner mixed with the sharp perfume scent from the cosmetics counter he had just passed, a combination he usually enjoyed.
However, all of this now only made his head ache even more!
He buried both hands deep into the pockets of his black jacket, as if seeking warmth or just support for his limp arms. His walk lacked the usual confident stride; his steps felt heavy, dragging slightly on the slick floor.
He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping along with the exhale from his lungs.
"Am I going to keep doing this over and over?" he asked the void, his voice soft and hoarse.
His eyelids felt like lead, and he had to fight to keep them from closing. Suddenly, a big, deep yawn tried to escape, and he suppressed it with difficulty, only managing to turn it into a trembling inhale that made his jaw click 'creak.'
He rubbed his itchy eyes with the back of his hand, trying to dispel the fog of drowsiness threatening to swallow him whole.
I wonder if I'm experiencing growth? he thought, his mind drifting away from his physical pain into his usual labyrinth of narcissism.
I must be, right?
Right?
RIGHT?
At this moment, his thoughts began to race, creating a sharp contrast with his sluggish body.
It can't be otherwise, right?
I've trained this hard, pushing myself beyond limits that would make a normal person faint.
I've been training for 1000 years.
I should be strong enough to crush and conquer this world like a demon king, right?
One snap of my fingers and buildings crumble, villains would surely bow at my feet.
He coughed softly, a dry sound that pulled him back from his over-the-top power fantasy.
"Forget the joke," he muttered to himself, shaking his head slowly, trying to clear his mind. "I'm really curious if there's any progress."
At this moment, far ahead of him.
At the end of the long, bright corridor, screams echoed. Not joyful shouts, but piercing cries of fear, followed by the loud crash of shattering glass.
The monotonous harmony of the shopping center shattered instantly!
Fuse's sluggish movement halted abruptly.
His body, which had been slumping, now tensed. The drowsiness hanging in his eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a sharp, alert gaze. His head lifted, and he narrowed his eyes, the muscles around them crinkling as he tried to focus on the source of the commotion.
A large electronics store, visible in the corner of his eye, now had its glass facade cracked and partially shattered.
From inside the store, two figures moved frantically.
The first figure had a strange and terrifying form; his lower body had transformed into a motorcycle frame, complete with wheels and a roaring engine. His skin seemed fused with chrome and black metal, a horrifying blend of biology and mechanics.
He held several bulging money bags.
The second figure was thinner and moved like a snake. His arms extended unnaturally, coiling through the air as he swept the remaining cash from the destroyed register into a large bag.
His elastic body allowed him to reach anything from a distance!
To him, the scene was like an action movie playing out from afar!
Amid the chaos, Fuse spotted a small movement near a pillar not far from the store. A trembling store employee, his face pale as a sheet, pressed a phone to his ear. His lips moved quickly and silently.
It was a panicked report to the heroes!
Hearing faint whispers about heroes, the two villains jolted. Greater panic radiated from their movements.
"Hurry, Gomu! The heroes are coming!" roared the motorcycle man, his voice muffled by his own engine's rumble.
The thin villain, called Gomu, quickly retracted his extended arms, his movements becoming awkward and rushed.
He jumped onto his partner's back, and with one deafening engine roar, the motorcycle man sped forward, intending to escape through the screaming and scattering crowd of shoppers.
For a moment, it seemed they would succeed in fleeing.
However, Fuse, still standing in place, didn't even move. He merely tilted his head slightly, his gaze cold and calculating.
Inside his jacket pocket, his index finger moved a little.
TWANG!
The sound was loud and sharp.
A silver flash suddenly shot through the air, faster than ordinary eyes could catch.
A ten-centimeter concrete nail, coming from who knows where, struck the rear tire of the motorcycle man with deadly precision. A loud pop followed by a hiss of high-pressure air escaping quickly.
At this moment, the motorcycle veered wildly, leaving black rubber streaks on the floor as its deflated tire made it unstable. Control was lost in an instant!
The two villains screamed in surprise as they were thrown from the motorcycle-body, crashing in a chaotic heap accompanied by the sound of metal clanging and groans of pain.
Before they could comprehend what happened, before they could crawl to escape, a series of quick and muffled sounds suddenly rang out.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
Dozens of similar nails shot from the same direction, not aimed at their bodies, but at their clothes!
The edge of the motorcycle man's leather jacket was pinned firmly to the floor. The loose hems of Gomu's pants were nailed on both sides. His shirt collar, jacket sleeves—all were impaled into the ceramic floor with cruel precision, rendering them helpless like insects pinned to a display board.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" screamed Gomu, his body writhing.
He tried to extend his arms to remove the nails, but every time he moved, the pinned fabric yanked him back harshly.
He couldn't get enough leverage!
The motorcycle man tried to spin his wheels, his engine roaring in frustration, but his body was restrained. He could only growl like a trapped beast.
At this moment, the store owner, a middle-aged man with a potbelly and sweaty face, mustered the courage to emerge from his store. He stepped over the broken glass, his eyes widening in disbelief at the scene before him.
The two villains who had terrorized his store moments ago now lay helpless on the floor, pinned by dozens of strange nails!
And now his money bags lay scattered around them!
The store owner's eyes darted around, searching for the hero who could capture the two villains so easily, but he found no one.
The crowd could only stare in confusion from afar.
Far behind the crowd, Fuse pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket. He glanced at his nails indifferently, as if he had just completed the most boring task in the world.
However, a thin smile of satisfaction curved his lips.
The pain in his body seemed to vanish, replaced by a warm wave of satisfaction. Without waiting for the heroes to arrive, without seeking recognition, he turned around.
With steps now straight and full of energy, he walked away, blending back into the crowd, leaving the chaos behind as if nothing had happened.
…
The savory aroma of freshly grilled fish lifted from the grill mixed with the scent of steaming fluffy rice, filling the Yasushi family dining room with comforting warmth.
In the midst of that peaceful domestic atmosphere, Fuse Yasushi sat with perfect posture, his chopsticks pausing momentarily over his rice bowl. A silent chuckle vibrated in his mind as he observed his parents.
His mother, Sakura, moved with gentle efficiency in their small kitchen, preparing the last side dishes. Meanwhile, his father, Isamu, sat across the table, his face illuminated by the blue light from the tablet in his hands, his brows furrowed as he read the evening news.
Both were immersed in their own worlds, completely unaware of the faint smirk hidden on their son's face.
If only they knew who was sitting right in front of them, Fuse thought, a pleasing sense of superiority flowing through him.
His mind drifted back to the earlier scene. Nails flying, the low-level villains panic, the witnesses confusion. He was a ghost, an unseen vigilante dispensing justice without seeking the spotlight.
This was one important step in a hero's narrative!
The best heroes, the true legends, usually started their careers from the bottom, from the shadows. They didn't appear right away with flashy costumes and bombastic stage names.
They built their reputations through actions, not appearances. For example, not showing their faces during rescues! That was a classic move.
Later, Fuse continued his fantasy, his eyes now staring blankly at the rice grains in his bowl. Once I'm at U.A., everything will be different. There, at the most prestigious hero school in all of Japan, he could finally design his own costume. A masterpiece that would radiate his power and handsomeness.
There, he wouldn't hide his face like a coward anymore. He would step into the center of the stage. Let them all—classmates, teachers, media, and the whole world—witness how a true hero shines.
His name would be etched in history!
"What's with you, Fuse?" His mother's soft voice broke his reverie. Sakura placed a plate of grilled fish in front of him, its fragrant steam bringing Fuse back to reality. "You're smiling to yourself like a weirdo."
Fuse lifted his head, his smirk turning into a calmer, slightly mysterious smile. "Nothing, Mom. Just thinking about something funny."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Funny how the world often doesn't realize what they have right in front of their eyes." Fuse replied, his tone carrying a double meaning that only he understood.
From behind his tablet, Isamu raised one eyebrow without shifting his gaze from the screen. "Like what, for example? Discount sardines at the supermarket that turn out to be better quality than expected?"
Fuse snorted softly. His father was always like that. "Better you don't know. It's not something you'd understand." Of course, I mean me! his inner voice shouted triumphantly.
"You should stop thinking weird things, son," Sakura said as she sat in her chair, handing a small plate of pickled ginger to Fuse. "Your mind wanders too much sometimes."
Fuse took the fish with his chopsticks, placing it on his rice. "Weird thoughts? Mom, every day I think rationally. I have a five-year plan neatly laid out in my head. My grades at school are always the best. All my friends love me because of my charm." He paused, chewing his food slowly. "What's irrational about all that?"
Sakura sighed, a gesture mixing affection and resignation. "Not that. It's just... you're too confident. Sometimes, Mom worries that your confidence will make you blind to important things."
"Confidence is a hero's greatest asset, Mom," Fuse replied firmly. "Without it, how can someone save others if they don't even believe in themselves?"
Isamu finally set down his tablet, looking at his son with a sharp gaze. "Hero, huh? You haven't even entered the school yet, son. Don't get ahead of fate."
"This isn't about getting ahead of fate, Dad. This is about creating my own fate," Fuse said. "The U.A. exam is just a formality. A gate I have to pass through. The outcome was decided from the start."
"What about Fumikage-kun?" Sakura asked, trying to steer the conversation to a more grounded topic. "Is he just like you, already sure of the result?"
"Fumikage is a good friend," Fuse answered, his tone slightly condescending. 'A solid supporting character,' he added inwardly. "He's strong and has a unique Quirk. But he broods too much in the dark. He needs my light to shine brighter. Of course he'll pass; he's with me."
The conversation flowed on between bites of rice and fish. They talked about trivial things, the new neighbors, rising vegetable prices, summer vacation plans still far off.
Fuse answered every question cleverly and politely, playing the role of the good son perfectly.
However, behind that mask, his mind raced on, anticipating the moment after this dinner ended.
As the plates began to empty, Sakura looked at Fuse with a suddenly serious expression. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and said, "By the way, Fuse, you got a letter today."
The atmosphere at the dinner table changed instantly.
"That letter," Sakura continued, her eyes staring straight at Fuse.
Isamu just continued eating, chewing calmly. "Finish your food first before looking at it," he said flatly. "You already know what the result is."
Fuse nodded slowly, his heart beating a little faster than usual. Of course he already knew. There was no other possibility. But hearing confirmation that the letter had arrived... it felt different. This was the first physical proof of his grand destiny.
After dinner ended and he helped his mother clear the table, a small task he did to maintain his image as a devoted son, Fuse walked to his room. His steps were calm and controlled, hiding the surging anticipation within him.
His room was a reflection of his personality: neat, organized, and self-centered.
On his study desk, among neatly stacked textbooks, lay a thick cream-colored envelope. In the corner, the iconic U.A. logo was printed in maroon ink.
Fuse sat on the edge of his bed, picking up the letter. The paper felt smooth and heavy in his hands.
Carefully, he opened the seal.
Inside, there was a small hologram projector and a sheet of official paper. He ignored the projector—that message from All Might was for the side characters. He directly took the paper.
He read it slowly, his eyes tracing every word, every sentence. Even though he was one hundred percent sure of the answer, his heart still pounded hard. This was it. The defining moment. The first plot point in his life.
And at the bottom of the letter, below all the formalities and explanations, two words were clearly printed in bold, thick black ink:
ACCEPTED!
A wide and genuine smile, not a smug grin, but a smile of pure satisfaction, bloomed on Fuse's face. He didn't cheer. He didn't jump around. He just took a deep breath, letting the feeling of victory seep into every cell of his body.
With one quick and dramatic motion, he tossed the paper into the air.
Before the paper could float down, his eyes flashed.
From a small container on his desk, several small round magnets shot into the air, controlled by his will. Click. Click. Click. The magnets attached to the corners of the paper with perfect precision.
Then, with one mental push, he directed the acceptance letter to a large metal board hanging on the wall across from his bed.
KLANG!
The letter was now displayed magnificently in the center of the board, joining his other collection of achievements: gold medals from regional championships, academic award certificates, and photos of him winning various competitions. The board was a small shrine to his own greatness.
After admiring his work for a few moments, he pulled out his favorite 500-yen coin from his pants pocket. He lay back on the bed and began rolling the coin between his fingers, his movements agile and flawless. The cold metal felt soothing on his skin.
On the ceiling of his room, he imagined the faces of his competitors at U.A. Faces that would soon learn who the true ruler was.
Hah, so easy. he thought, as the coin continued to dance on his fingers. First arc... complete.
…
A/N: Hiii, we meet again! Sorry for the long wait for this chapter update. (hoping someone was waiting T-T). Anyway, it's a miracle I could continue this story, so I'll finish what I started!
For the next updates, I'll upload two chapters per week. Could be less... could be more, basically I don't know myself because I don't schedule it precisely. As long as there's no busyness IRL, I'll try to write it. Please look forward to the next chapter.
And don't forget to comment on this fiction! Please give your opinions on this chapter so I know which parts are lacking and need to be improved in the future hehe :3
Btw, I also have a Patreon. In the future, I'll upload regularly there! Ummm at least that's what I plan! Please come visit. And please subscribe if you're interested!
https://www.pâtreon.com/Junxt
Replace "â" with "a" and search for it in your browser.