"Hmm, let's check how much money I have," Kouta said, opening his phone to check his bank account.
He had about ¥15,000.
"I should be able to make money with this. I could try investing… but that means doing research on investing. That might not work. Worst case scenario, I just enter Class 1-A after the sports festival."
But a deeper concern lingered at the back of his enhanced mind. He knew the timeline was bound to change, and he wanted to be positioned early to prevent any unnecessary deaths.
Kouta began snapping his fingers rhythmically, searching for a solution.
'Do I have to enter illegal underground fighting?' he thought.
"I'd rather not. That's too risky. I don't even know what kinds of Quirks they might have. If someone has an ability similar to mine or something overpowered, I could get killed," he reasoned aloud.
He sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room.
"It looks like I'm going to have to continue working part-time and invest slowly. I guess with the money I have, and with the time I've got to prepare… it'll have to do."
With that decided, he grabbed his wallet and phone and headed out. He took a train to Tokyo, making his way straight to the city's largest library.
Upon arrival, he beelined for the sections on science, mathematics, engineering, and anything related to finance and investing. He then proceeded to download everything directly into his mind using New Order.
He managed to touch about 2,534 books over four hours, being careful, selective, and focusing only on high-value texts. Even with his rules, the process was mentally tiring, forcing him to take short breaks.
As evening approached, he headed home, not wanting to be late and risk a lecture from Rika.
Arriving back at his apartment, he collapsed onto his bed, exhausted.
"Tomorrow will be a physical training day," Kouta muttered into his pillow. "I really don't want to train."
In his past life, he had never trained consistently, first due to his medical condition, and later due to sheer lack of motivation. He'd start, only to quit after a few days.
"Ah," he sighed, pushing himself up. "Enough sighing. I need to eat. I can't even quit the part-time job unless I take some serious risks."
'The fastest ways to make money are either gambling or fighting in an illegal ring,' he thought, dismissing both options. He wasn't ready to fight without proper protection, and getting caught cheating at gambling would be disastrous.
He headed downstairs to Rika's for dinner. As he ate, he quietly activated a new rule.
"[Every nutrient in the food I eat will be absorbed into my body completely.]"
After dinner, Kouta changed into his convenience store uniform and headed to work for his part-time shift.
The work was monotonous, but with his cognitive rules active, he used his phone to read research papers during the quieter moments, his mind absorbing the information with effortless speed.
When the clock finally struck midnight, Kouta sighed with relief as his shift ended. With weary steps, he headed home, his only intent to fall into a deep, restoring sleep.
Unfortunately, that peace was not to be. As he walked the quiet streets back home, a woman suddenly bumped into him, her face pale with fear.
"Please, help me!" she pleaded, just as three thuggish-looking men emerged from a nearby alleyway.
Given the late hour, the streets were nearly deserted.
Kouta looked from the terrified woman to the approaching men and sighed. "Get behind me," he said to her, stepping forward.
"Trying to be a little hero, kid?" sneered the lead thug.
"Not really," Kouta replied, raising his hands into a loose guard. "But I have to." 'This is so cliche,' he thought internally.
He began muttering rules under his breath, preparing for the inevitable.
First Rule: "[My body takes no harm from channeling the rotational force of Earth or from any related effects.]"
Second Rule: "[Kazuraba Kouta, when you attack, defend, or are struck, your body channels immense rotational force directly from Earth's spin through the affected limb or point of contact.]"
Thug 1 glanced at his larger companion, Thug 2, and jerked his head toward Kouta, who was still murmuring to himself.
"Don't make this hard, kid," Thug 2 grunted, then launched a heavy hook aimed at Kouta's head.
Kouta didn't move. The woman screamed.
Her scream was immediately drowned out by a much louder one from Thug 2. He reeled back, clutching his arm, which now hung at a sickeningly wrong angle, the bones visibly shattered. The shock of it even silenced the woman.
Kouta hadn't budged an inch; he'd barely felt the impact.
"You two are next," Kouta said, his voice flat and his expression one of profound tiredness.
The two remaining thugs looked at each other, then at their incapacitated friend. As Kouta took a single step forward, they turned and fled without a backward glance.
Kouta looked at the injured thug. "Go."
Clutching his destroyed arm, the man scrambled away into the darkness.
Without another word, Kouta simply turned and walked off. The woman opened her mouth to thank him, but he was already gone, having moved away with unnatural, silent speed.
"This feels surreal," Kouta muttered to himself once he was alone. "Looks like Boruto actually knew what he was doing."
He'd been inspired by a certain character's planetary technique to craft his own defensive rule.
'With a rule like this, shouldn't I technically be the strongest in this world already?' he wondered.
"I shouldn't get overconfident," he cautioned himself quietly. "This is MHA. There could be someone with a Quirk that directly counters this, or something even more overpowered." The last thing he wanted was to die or get seriously hurt because of arrogance.
Finally reaching home, he took a quick shower and fell onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"I really hate training," he stated to the empty room. He didn't even reach for his phone to doomscroll. The encounter had sharpened his focus, his life was in a form of 'danger' until he was absolutely sure of his safety. With that sobering thought, he closed his eyes and sought sleep.
. . . .
Monday.
Early morning, around 6:00 AM. Kouta stood alone in the park, the dawn light casting long shadows. In his hand, his phone displayed a long list of potential New Order rules.
He scanned the list, feeling a flicker of indecision. 'Too many options,' he thought. 'But the fundamentals are clear.'
"I guess I should just use the gravity training method and drill my martial arts," he said aloud, committing to the path.
He placed a hand over his chest and focused, declaring two new rules.
First Rule: "[My bodily cells optimize structure for maximum strength, durability, recovery in direct response to stress or damage.]"
Second Rule: "[My body experiences the effects of training under gravity equal to my current maximum tolerable level.]"
Instantly, a colossal weight seemed to settle into every molecule of his being. His knees buckled, and he nearly crashed to the ground, but he managed to lock his legs, gritting his teeth. He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his body to adjust.
"Okay," he grunted, the word heavy with effort. "I can start my training from now on." The statement was one of pure resolve, overriding his deep-seated dislike for the grind.
He began to practice the martial arts forms etched into his memory. Every movement, punches, kicks, knees, elbows was a monumental effort against the invisible force pressing down on him.
Yet, despite the crushing heaviness, a strange clarity emerged. His movements, though slow and labored, were becoming sharper, more precise with each repetition, his enhanced cellular optimization already beginning to force adaptation.