Age: 12 (First Year of Aldera Junior High)
Aldera Junior High was a zoo.
If elementary school was a daycare where Quirks were toys, middle school was the savanna. Here, teenagers with raging hormones and unstable superpowers tried to establish their dominance. The hierarchy was clear: Strong Quirks on top, weak Quirks in the middle, and the Quirkless... well, they were the grass.
We were in the cafeteria. The noise was deafening. I was eating my curry rice with one hand, reviewing an advanced chemistry textbook with the other.
Next to me, Izuku was reviewing his English notes. He didn't shrink in his seat anymore. He occupied his space. His back was straight, and although he was still a nerd mumbling irregular verbs, there was a calm about him that disconcerted the local predators.
"Hey, Bakugou."
I sighed, closing my book. Here we go.
Three third-year guys stood in front of our table. The leader, a tall guy with a square jaw and fingers that elongated into bone blades, smiled at me with that cheap arrogance of someone who thinks he's the protagonist.
"What do you want, Tsubasa?" I asked, not bothering to look him in the eye.
"Just wondering..." Tsubasa leaned a hand on the table, his blade-fingers scratching the surface. "You're the best first-year. You have a Pro-level Quirk. Why do you keep dragging this dead weight around with you?"
He pointed his chin at Izuku.
"The Mukosei stains your image, Bakugou. You should sit with us. The elite should stick with the elite."
I waited for Izuku's reaction. In the past, he would have lowered his head. He would have trembled.
Izuku put down his sandwich calmly. He looked up and met Tsubasa's gaze. Not with fear, but with analytical curiosity.
"Tsubasa-senpai," Izuku said, voice steady. "Your Quirk is 'Bone Lance,' right? Phalanx extension."
Tsubasa blinked, surprised by the audacity.
"So what if it is, Deku?"
"I was just thinking..." Izuku tilted his head, adopting that harmless "snake" posture Ogawa had taught him. "If you extend the bone without increasing the muscle mass of the forearm, the stress point on your wrist must be enormous. If someone were to hit your wrist laterally while your fingers are extended... they would shatter like glass, wouldn't they?"
Silence fell over the table.
Tsubasa instinctively pulled his hand back, covering his wrist. The implied threat, delivered with the tone of an innocent academic observation, destabilized him.
"Are you threatening me, Quirkless trash?" Tsubasa growled, recovering his bravado. He raised his hand to grab Izuku by the collar.
Izuku didn't move. He didn't need to.
Before Tsubasa could touch him, my hand shot out and grabbed the bully's wrist in mid-air. I didn't use explosions. Just iron grip and technique.
"He's not threatening you," I said, squeezing his wrist right on the pressure point I knew would hurt. "He's giving you free consulting. You should thank him."
"Let me go!" Tsubasa shouted, trying to activate his blades.
"Bad idea," I warned, letting smoke rise from my palm, heating his skin. "The keratin in your bones is flammable at high temperatures. If I explode now, I won't just break your wrist. I'll turn your hand into a candle."
Tsubasa went pale. His two friends took a step back, unsure.
"Besides," Izuku continued, going back to his sandwich as if nothing had happened, "your friends have 'Rubber Skin' and 'Heat Vision' Quirks. Rubber melts with Kacchan's fire, and heat vision requires direct eye contact, which is useless if Kacchan uses a flashbang. Tactically, you three have a 95% probability of losing in less than ten seconds."
I laughed. A short, dry laugh.
I released Tsubasa's wrist with a dismissive shove.
"You heard him. The nerd ran the numbers." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "Izuku isn't my pet, Tsubasa. He's my analyst. And you're just an extra with long bones. Get lost before I decide to test the tensile strength of your face."
Tsubasa rubbed his wrist, looking at us with hate, but fear won out. The combination of my physical threat and Izuku's psychological dissection was too much.
"You guys are crazy," he muttered, turning around and leaving with his henchmen.
The cafeteria, which had gone silent to watch the fight, returned to its usual murmur. No one wanted to mess with the Explosive Demon and his Strategist's table.
I glanced sideways at Izuku.
"'Shatter like glass,' huh?" I commented. "That was cruel, Deku."
Izuku shrugged, with an innocent smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Just a scientific observation, Kacchan. Besides..." he lowered his voice, "I saw he was putting all his weight on his right foot. If he attacked me, I was going to kick his left ankle. He would have fallen right on top of you."
"Don't you dare throw trash on me," I grumbled, but inside I was smiling.
Izuku had handled the initial pressure. He had used his brain to disarm the enemy verbally, giving me the opening to finish the job physically.
We were a team.
"Finish eating," I ordered. "We have to go to the hardware store after school. I had an idea to improve my gauntlets, and I need you to check the schematics."
"Yes!" Izuku pulled out his notebook, forgetting the fight instantly. "Are you going to use tungsten alloy or carbon fiber? Because I read that..."
As he chattered about materials, I looked at the cafeteria exit. Middle school would be easy. We had already won the psychological war before the first battle even started.