Chapter 3: Miniature Explosions, Maximum Impact
I woke up with my fists already tingling. Tiny sparks danced between my fingers like impatient fireflies. Even as a four-year-old, my body ached—not from weakness, but from yesterday's relentless training. And I loved it. Pain was proof I was growing stronger.
I rubbed my eyes and grinned at my reflection. Four-year-old me stared back, but this time I noticed something new: my gaze wasn't afraid of the future. I knew exactly what I was capable of. And I was going to push it.Today's plan was simple: experiment. Not just regular blasts, not just angles, not just movement. Ultimate move experiments.
I started with small, controlled bursts, combining two different types of explosions in rapid succession. The sand craters shifted in unpredictable ways, but I adjusted mid-blast, learning how to chain explosions without losing control.
"That's… good. Better than before," I muttered, watching the shifting dirt. I could feel the technique forming in my body like a puzzle snapping into place.
Next, I tried a concentrated blast. Normally, I'd wait until I was older to focus energy into a single, devastating strike—but why wait? Tiny sparks swirled in my hands. I compressed them, ignited, and BOOM. A perfect, concentrated shockwave radiated outward, sending rocks tumbling.
"Yes! That's the base!" I shouted, jumping with excitement. My tiny legs could barely keep me balanced, but I didn't care. I could already feel the potential. Combine this with mobility… with timing… with trajectory… I could make something insane.
Then came the real fun: aerial experiments. Using small bursts of explosions under my feet, I launched myself into the air. I twisted, spun, and released mini-blasts mid-flight. By the time I landed, I had created a short-range explosive tornado of sand, dirt, and sparks.
I laughed—a short, high-pitched sound, but full of pure excitement. "Hah! Hah! Hah! This… is perfect!"
I paused, hands on knees, staring at the cratered yard. Even if the neighbors came back, they wouldn't understand. They never would. This wasn't play. This wasn't childish nonsense. This was evolution.By midday, Mom brought me lunch. She had that worried look again. "Kacchan, maybe you should rest?"
Rest? HA. I smirked. "I don't rest. I train. Every second counts." Sparks flared in my tiny fists. Mom flinched, dropping a spoon. "Kacchan!"
I grinned. "Don't worry. I control it. I always control it." But inside, my heart raced with excitement. Every blast perfects me. Every experiment brings me closer.
After lunch, I focused on precision. Rocks, bottles, toys—I lined them up like targets. I fired small bursts, then medium bursts, adjusting angles, timing, and pressure. By the end of the session, I was hitting targets with surgical accuracy.
"That's it. That's how I'll surpass everyone," I whispered. *Deku, Todoroki, even All Might—*they'll see me coming, and they won't know what hit them.
Then I went a step further: combination techniques. A small blast to push an enemy off balance, immediately followed by a concentrated strike to finish them. Even as a toddler, I could visualize moves like a battle map in my head, anticipating reactions before they happened.By evening, the yard was a cratered mess. My tiny body was shaking, but my mind was sharper than ever. I stood in the middle, sparks flickering along my fingers, chest heaving.
"This is just the beginning," I whispered, eyes burning. "Four years old… and already stronger than I should be. By the time UA starts, they'll see. No one is getting in my way."
I sat down, drawing small diagrams in the dirt with a stick. Attack sequences, angles, blast radii. Everything was meticulously planned. Even at four, I was laying the foundation for my ultimate self.And deep down, I knew something. This wasn't just training. This was a head start the world could never understand.Tomorrow, I decided, I would start testing mobility in combat scenarios, chaining multiple moves together while dodging imaginary opponents. That would be the real test: turning raw power into unbeatable skill.
Because one thing was certain: even as a tiny four-year-old, I wasn't just regressed in age. I was regressing in time to become unstoppable.