Soon, Izuku was completely drenched in sweat from his morning workout. His shirt clung to his body like a second skin, the fabric dark and soaked. His breaths came in sharp, ragged huffs, and his muscles trembled under the strain.
If he had been training outside, steam would've risen off him like a Titan shifter from AOT. His arms felt heavy, tingling slightly from the blood rush and burning from the push-ups, planks, and shadowboxing.
Despite the ache, he couldn't stop the small, triumphant smile curling at the corner of his lips as he pushed himself up from the floor.
He staggered toward the mirror, wiping sweat from his brow. His reflection stared back at him—messy green hair plastered against his forehead, tired but determined eyes glowing with restrained excitement.
He reached for the black mask sitting on the dresser and pulled it over his face. It settled perfectly, hiding away the exhaustion and revealing only the intensity in his gaze.
' I'm ready, ' he thought.
Meanwhile, in the quiet of the house, Inko finally woke up. She sat on the edge of her bed for a moment, rubbing her eyes and stretching her stiff shoulders. She lived an ordinary, simple life—laundry, dishes, cleaning, worrying about bills.
Ordinary… except for the fact that her husband hadn't come home in months. No phone calls, no messages. For all she knew, he could've vanished off the face of the earth.
But right now, there were more immediate concerns. She was raising their son alone, and caring for Izuku always came first.
She stepped out of her room, her slippers padding softly against the floor, and made her way to his door. She pushed it open gently.
"Izu—? Oh my gosh!"
Izuku was lying in bed, blankets pulled up to his chin, wearing his mask and coughing weakly like a man with a damaged lung. He looked up at her slowly, eyes half-lidded, feigning a sickly expression.
"Inko rushed over. 'Izuku, what's wrong?'"
"I think I caught the flu," he rasped, adding another weak cough for effect.
She put her hand on his forehead. The heat radiated off him—his skin still flushed from the intense workout. Inko jerked her hand back instinctively.
"Yep. Definitely a fever." She sighed, brows knitted with concern. "You don't have to go to school today. I'll call your teachers and explain."
Izuku nodded weakly. "Thanks, Mom… I'll just rest a bit."
Her face softened as she tucked the blanket around him like she used to when he was little. "Alright. I'll make you something warm to eat. Maybe soup?"
"No, I'll just take some medicine and flu pills," he mumbled. "I'll be fine."
"Okay, okay. Just rest. Get better, alright?" she said, gently patting his arm.
Izuku nodded again, voice muffled. "I will."
Satisfied, she smiled and quietly left, closing the door behind her.
The second she was gone, Izuku's expression changed. The weak, sickly look melted into one of pure satisfaction and excitement.
'It worked.'
He listened closely, waiting for her footsteps to reach the kitchen and then the soft clatter of pots—proof she was downstairs.
Once he was sure she was occupied, he flung the blankets off, rolled out of bed, and walked over to the window, peeking outside to make sure no one was watching.
' This is perfect. I need the swelling from yesterday's beating to go down, but this gives me a full day or week. No interruptions, no school. I can actually push myself.'
He went back to his routine immediately—stretching, push-ups, core exercises, shadow sparring. The floors creaked slightly beneath him, his breathing got louder, and the sweat returned.
He added more advanced techniques to his workout—kicks, basic boxing stance drills, simple defensive footwork he copied from hero videos and old martial arts books.
He knew being strong meant nothing if he didn't know how to fight with that strength. Physical power was useless without control. As he worked through his movements, he caught himself thinking:
' I should join a dojo… or at least watch real fighters. I need technique, not just muscles. The future hero version of me needs it.'
Izuku felt in control— of his life. He kept training, building himself in secret, away from prying eyes and school bullies.Today was his day. His first real step forward.
....
For the entire week, Izuku stayed home, keeping his routine strict and relentless. Every day was the same: push-ups, sit-ups, squats, planks, and other improvised indoor exercises.
At first, his body protested with every movement—muscles screaming, joints aching, and his lungs burning for oxygen. But day by day his stamina began to catch up. The soreness dulled. His arms shook less. His form became sharper, tighter, stronger.
Still, he never allowed himself to slack. He kept pushing even after the pain faded, determined to grow beyond the limits of a normal middle schooler.
Now, it was Sunday night. Izuku sat at his small desk, finishing the last of the notes and homework his class had sent him through the group chat.
The room was silent except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the soft clicking of his pen. When he finished, he leaned back and rubbed his stiff wrist.
'I honestly feel stronger already. Imagine what I'll achieve with three years ahead of me, ' he thought with a smirk. He dropped his pen onto the desk and stretched as he stood up.
Four days ago, the swelling on his face finally disappeared, and he dropped the fake flu excuse. Still, he continued staying home, saying he needed the time to catch up on studying. Inko didn't argue. She was always soft-hearted when it came to him, always giving him the benefit of the doubt.
During that week, things changed between them. He started helping around the house—cleaning the floors, washing dishes, even cooking meals when she got tired.
They talked more. She laughed more. Inko grew to appreciate him deeply, seeing a side of her son that was responsible and dependable.
And Izuku noticed that too.
' She's a chill lady,' he thought as he glanced toward her room. ' Kind of a cry baby, but that's just how she is. Honestly, where the hell is this guy's dad? Doesn't even call or send a message. Deadbeat.'
He shook his head and flopped onto his bed. The mattress springs creaked slightly under his weight as he stared up at the ceiling.
His mind drifted back to the world he was in now—the dangers waiting in the future: powerful Nomu tearing through heroes like tissue paper, villains with nothing left to lose, All For One plotting in the shadows.
This universe was terrifying. And it would only get worse from here. This life is going to be hell. But before battles with villains or saving civilians… he had a simpler goal. He needed to get into U.A.
With no quirk.
That hurdle alone was monstrous.
' Which is why I have to work like hell if I want to inherit One For All—and I need to be strong enough to handle at least 30% by the beginning, ' he thought, clenching a fist.
It was a frightening goal. Impossible for any normal person.
Though time would judge the outcome.
Izuku rolled onto his side and exhaled slowly. Tomorrow would mark the real start of everything—the official beginning of his One Punch Man routine.
The schedule that would either break him… or turn him into someone capable of surviving this world. He closed his eyes, a confident smirk forming.
Tomorrow, it all begins.
TO BE CONTINUED