I found Eijiro, Mina, and Iida in the crowd and made my way over to wish them luck before we all scattered to different agencies.
"Yo, Denki!" Eijiro greeted me with his shark-tooth grin, though I noticed it seemed slightly forced. "Ready for your week with Mirko? That's gonna be intense, man!"
"Born ready," I replied, bumping fists with him. "You're going with Fourth Kind, right? That'll be good for you—he's got a reputation for being tough but fair."
"Yeah! Gonna get so much manlier!" Eijiro's enthusiasm was genuine, but something in his eyes seemed distracted.
Mina bounced over, her pink skin practically glowing with excitement. "I still can't believe you kissed Momo-chan in front of everyone! Denki, you absolute madman! That was so romantic!"
"Can we not—"
"There is steam coming from her head! I thought she was going to short-circuit! Oh wait, that's your thing—"
"Mina, I will tell Aizawa-sensei about the incident with the glitter bomb in the common room."
She gasped dramatically. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me."
"Fine, fine! But seriously, that was adorable and I'm shipping it so hard right now."
I turned to Iida, who was standing slightly apart from the group. "Good luck with your internship, Iida. Where did you end up choosing?"
"Hosu City," Iida replied, his voice carrying less of its usual animated energy. His expression was serious, almost stern. "Manual's agency. I believe it will provide excellent experience in urban hero work."
Something about his tone set off alarm bells in my head.
'Hosu. The Hero Killer. Ingenium's younger brother going to the exact city where Stain is operating. Oh fuck, the timeline is still following that path despite everything I changed.'
In the original timeline, Iida had chosen Hosu specifically to hunt down Stain after the villain had attacked and paralyzed his brother Tensei. The Iida standing in front of me had that same dark intensity lurking beneath his surface—the look of someone planning something dangerous and possibly stupid.
'I should say something. Warn him. Tell him revenge is a bad idea and hunting Stain alone is suicide. But judging from his expression, I don't think he'll listen and if I'm too direct and specific about what I know, it'll raise questions I can't answer. How would I know Stain is in Hosu? How would I know what Iida is planning?'
Instead, I settled for something more subtle. "Iida, if anything happens during your internship—anything dangerous or complicated—make sure you call for backup, okay? Don't try to handle everything alone. That's what teammates are for."
Iida's eyes flickered toward me, surprise crossing his features. "Of course, Kaminari. That is basic hero protocol."
'He's lying. I can see it. He's going to do something reckless and probably stupid. Just like in the original timeline.'
"I'm serious," I pressed, making my voice firm. "Promise me. If things get dangerous, you'll call for help."
For a moment, Iida looked like he might brush off my concern with his usual formal reassurances. But something in my expression must have conveyed how serious I was, because he paused.
"I... promise, Kaminari. Thank you for your concern."
'That's the best I'm going to get without revealing too much. I'll just have to trust that my interference has changed things enough that he won't get himself killed and if everything went according to the plan, I can meet with him before he encountered Stain.'
The station announcements began calling for departures, and the crowd started shifting as students headed toward their respective trains and buses.
"Alright, everyone!" I raised my fist toward the group. "Let's make this week count. Learn everything we can, make our mentors proud, and come back stronger!"
"Yeah!" Eijiro matched my energy, his grin returning to full brightness.
"Do your best!" Mina added, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
I turned and saw Midoriya talking with Iida about something. Later we exchanged final farewells before scattering in different directions. Most of my classmates headed toward train platforms, their excited chatter fading as they disappeared into the crowd.
Me? I had a different kind of journey ahead.
'Unfortunately, there's no train station in the middle of a forest, so I get to take a bus to the nearest stop to Mirko's place. And thanks to Japan's annoyingly restrictive Quirk usage laws, I can't just run there at Mach speed.'
I pulled out my phone, checking the bus schedule as I made my way toward the street where public transportation would take me to the outskirts of the city.
'Public Quirk usage without a license is illegal unless there's an immediate threat to life. Which means I'm stuck traveling like a normal person despite being able to cross the country in minutes. The irony is not lost on me.'
Still, as I boarded the bus and found a seat near the window, I had to admit there was something peaceful about taking things slow for once. I plugged in my earphones, pulled up my carefully curated playlist, and let the music wash over me as the city began sliding past outside.
'For a guy who moves faster than the speed of sound, sometimes taking things slow is good practice. Helps me remember what normal actually feels like.'
The bus rumbled along, carrying me toward the forest, toward Mirko's remote training ground.
'This is going to be interesting,' I thought, watching the urban landscape gradually give way to suburbs and then to the dense greenery of the forest region. 'Training with the Rabbit Hero who's famous for her aggressive, no-holds-barred fighting style. Someone who fights primarily through pure physical combat and doesn't rely on flashy Quirk techniques.'
A grin spread across my face. 'Yeah. This is exactly what I need.'
...
One and a half hours later...
The bus stopped at what could barely be called a station—more like a covered bench on the side of a rural road with a small sign indicating this was indeed an official stop. I was the only passenger getting off, which made sense considering we were now surrounded by dense forest with no visible civilization in any direction.
"Thanks for the ride," I called to the driver, who gave me a slightly concerned look as if wondering why a teenager was getting off in the middle of nowhere.
The moment the bus pulled away, I consulted the directions Mirko had sent me. According to the coordinates, her house was about fifteen minutes deeper into the forest following a specific trail.
'Of course she lives in the middle of nowhere. Why would a hero who can leap over buildings and kick through concrete want to deal with neighbors or noise ordinances?'
I adjusted my backpack—which contained my newly upgraded hero costume—and started hiking along the indicated path. The forest was beautiful in that pristine, untouched way that you rarely found near cities. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, birds sang overhead, and the air smelled clean and green and alive.
After about fifteen minutes of walking, the trail opened up into a small clearing, and I got my first look at Mirko's home.
'Small and cozy' was right. The house was modest—single-story, built with natural materials that blended seamlessly with the surrounding forest. It looked sturdy and practical rather than flashy, with a wide porch and what appeared to be a well-maintained training area off to one side.
'This is actually kind of perfect. Remote enough for serious training without worrying about collateral damage or disturbing anyone. Close enough to nature to be peaceful. And knowing Mirko, probably reinforced enough to withstand her kicks without collapsing.'
I approached the front door and noticed it was slightly ajar—not wide open, but definitely not closed.
'Is this a test? A trap? Or is she just that confident in her abilities that she doesn't bother locking her door?'
Despite the open door, I wasn't about to just walk into someone else's home uninvited. That's how you get kicked in the face by territorial Pro Heroes. I raised my hand and knocked twice, firmly but politely.
"Hello? Mirko-san? It's Kaminari Denki from U.A. I'm here for the internship!"
Silence.
I waited a few seconds, then knocked again. "Is anyone home? The door was open, so I wanted to check before—"
The door suddenly exploded outward.
A powerful kick came directly at my face, fast enough that most people wouldn't have even seen it coming.
But I wasn't most people.
Yellow lightning erupted across my body as I activated Raijin Drive instinctively, time seeming to slow as my enhanced perception kicked in. The world became crystal clear—every detail sharp and defined. I could see the trajectory of the kick, calculate the force behind it, and plot my counter-movement all in the fraction of a second before impact.
I twisted to the side, the kick passing within centimeters of my nose. I felt the displaced air ruffle my hair as the strike missed.
"Very good!"
Rabbit Hero: Mirko stood in her doorway, her distinctive appearance exactly matching the pictures I'd seen—white hair tied back, red eyes gleaming with predatory excitement, her hero costume showing off her incredibly athletic build. Her rabbit ears were perked forward, and her expression radiated pure, unrestrained enthusiasm.
"You were surprised, but you still dodged my attack!" She grinned widely, revealing sharp canines. "Seems all that speed thing from the Sports Festival wasn't just for show. Good for both of us!"
I deactivated Raijin Drive, electricity fading from my skin as my heart rate slowly returned to normal. "Good for you and me both, or I would have ended up in a hospital on the first day. You know, normal people say 'hello' before attempting to kick someone's face off."
"Where's the fun in that?" Mirko laughed, completely unapologetic. "Besides, I needed to see if you had actual reflexes or if you were just fast in a straight line. Congratulations, you passed the test!"
'This woman just tried to concuss me as a greeting. I'm either going to learn an incredible amount this week, or I'm going to die.'
"Hello!" I said, deciding to restart this interaction with proper social conventions. "My name is Kaminari Denki, but please call me Denki. It's an honor to intern with you, Mirko-san."
She looked me up and down with the critical eye of someone evaluating a potential training partner, her rabbit ears twitching slightly.
After a moment, she nodded with apparent satisfaction. "Rumi Usagiyama, but you already know that. Call me Rumi." Her grin took on a slightly feral edge. "And drop the '-san.' We're going to be hitting each other a lot this week—formality is stupid between people who fight together."
"Fair enough, Rumi."
She continued her assessment, circling me slowly like a predator examining prey. It was oddly nerve-wracking despite my confidence in my abilities.
"Alright, here's what's happening," Rumi announced suddenly, gesturing toward her house. "Go inside, change into your hero costume. When you come back out, I'm going to attack you from multiple directions at full power."
My eye twitched. "I'm sorry, did you just say 'full power'?"
"Full power," she confirmed cheerfully. "I need to check your reaction time and maximum speed. Figure out your limits, your weaknesses, your instincts. Can't train you properly if I don't know what I'm working with."
"And if you hit me at full power?"
"Then you die!" She said it with the same casual tone someone might use to discuss the weather. "But hey, I don't want my first intern dying on day one, so try not to die, okay? That would look bad on my record."
'She is absolutely insane. But I like her already.'
"We're just jumping straight into combat without any getting-to-know-you conversation or discussion of training methodologies?" I asked, trying to sound reasonable.
Rumi's grin widened impossibly further. "The best way to get to know each other is through fighting! You learn way more about a person by how they move, how they react under pressure, how they fight back. All that talking shit is just wasting time when we could be training."
She grabbed my shoulders and physically turned me toward the house, giving me a light push. "Now get your ass into that costume and meet me back out here. We're burning daylight!"
I headed into Rumi's house to change, my mind already racing through combat strategies and survival tactics.
...
[Third Person POV]
**Best Jeanist Agency — Tokyo**
The interior of Best Jeanist's agency was exactly what one would expect from Japan's fourth-ranked hero—immaculate, stylish, and organized with the precision of someone who treated heroism as both an art form and a science. Every surface gleamed, every fiber of fabric in the building seemed perfectly aligned, and the ambient lighting created an atmosphere of calm professionalism.
Bakugo Katsuki stood in the center of the main office, his posture rigid with barely contained aggression, his red eyes locked on the hero who'd chosen to mentor him.
Best Jeanist adjusted the denim collar of his hero costume with practiced elegance before turning his full attention to his new intern. His expression was calm, professional, and completely neutral—which somehow made his next words hit even harder.
"To be honest," he said with deliberate clarity, "I don't like you."
Bakugo froze, his entire body going still except for the slight twitch in his right eye. "Huh?"
Best Jeanist continued as if discussing the weather, his voice maintaining that same measured, almost clinical tone. "You chose my agency because of my reputation. I rank among the top five heroes in popularity, after all. That's a logical decision based on career advancement."
"So what?!" Bakugo snapped, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Isn't that normal? Why the hell else would I choose an agency?"
"It is normal," Best Jeanist acknowledged with a slight nod. "And I don't deny your talent, Bakugo-kun. That would be foolish and dishonest."
He paused, his piercing gaze seeming to dissect every aspect of Bakugo's posture and expression.
"I watched the entire Sports Festival. Every match, every decision, every moment of your performance. You lost to Kaminari-kun in the finals, but not because you were fundamentally weak."
Bakugo's jaw clenched so hard his teeth should have cracked.
"His Quirk holds a natural advantage over yours—electrical attacks that can disrupt your sweat production and move faster than your explosions can track. But that matchup disadvantage doesn't mean your Quirk is inferior." Best Jeanist's tone remained clinical, analytical. "Your Quirk has tremendous destructive potential. Your reflexes are exceptional. Your combat instincts are sharp and your aggressive fighting style, while crude, shows the foundations of genuine tactical thinking."
He adjusted his denim sleeves with precise movements.
"By all measurable accounts, you're the kind of prodigy that agencies compete to recruit. Your raw abilities place you among the top tier of this year's first-year students at U.A."
Bakugo's fists trembled, "Then what the hell is your problem?!"
Best Jeanist's expression didn't change, but his voice took on a sharper edge. "The problem is that you believe you are destined to be superior."
Bakugo's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the directness.
"You don't work toward greatness—you assume it's owed to you. You don't earn respect—you demand it. You don't see other heroes as peers to learn from—you see them as obstacles to overcome or inferiors to dismiss." Best Jeanist's voice remained perfectly calm, which made the criticism cut deeper. "That mindset is your greatest flaw, and it will destroy your hero career before it truly begins if left uncorrected."
Veins bulged on Bakugo's forehead, his entire face flushing red with rage. "You calling me arrogant?! You don't know anything about me! I've worked harder than anyone! I've trained more than—"
He didn't get to finish. Best Jeanist's Quirk activated with practiced precision. The fibers of his denim sleeves suddenly moved like living things—thin, impossibly strong threads shot forward faster than Bakugo could react, wrapping around his arms, torso, and legs with the efficiency of a spider binding caught prey.
In less than two seconds, Bakugo was completely immobilized, bound by threads that felt like steel cables despite looking like ordinary fabric.
"This," Best Jeanist said with the same even tone, "is me doing my job as a professional hero and mentor."
Bakugo struggled violently, his Quirk sparking uselessly as the threads prevented him from building the necessary sweat for effective explosions. "What the—?! Release me, you bastard!"
"Not yet." Best Jeanist gestured toward a large mirror on the wall. "First, look at yourself."
Still bound, Bakugo was rotated to face his reflection. His eyes widened in absolute horror.
His distinctive spiky hair—his pride, his signature look, the hairstyle he'd maintained with religious dedication—had been completely flattened against his skull by Best Jeanist's fiber manipulation.
"W-What the hell...?! My hair—my hair's gone flat!!" Bakugo's voice cracked with genuine distress, his face contorting between rage and something approaching panic.
"Image is important in hero work," Best Jeanist explained calmly, as if he hadn't just committed what Bakugo clearly considered a war crime. "But more important is learning to control your emotions. Your explosive personality—pun intended—alienates potential allies, frightens civilians, and provides enemies with predictable reactions they can exploit."
Bakugo thrashed harder against the bindings. "RELEASE ME YOU DENIM BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!"
"Let's try to get that temper under control, shall we?" Best Jeanist's voice carried a hint of satisfaction. "We have a full week together, Bakugo-kun. By the end of it, you'll either learn to manage your rage constructively, or you'll spend the entire internship immobilized and contemplating your choices."
"I'LL MURDER YOU! I'LL BLOW THIS ENTIRE BUILDING—"
"Day one," Best Jeanist said to himself, already preparing for what would clearly be a very long week. "This is going to be quite the challenge."
...
Yamanashi Prefecture — Gran Torino's Residence
The building looked like it had been forgotten by time itself—old, worn, with peeling paint and windows that hadn't been properly cleaned in what might have been decades. It stood in a quiet residential area, so unremarkable that most people walked past without giving it a second glance.
Inside, the space was somehow even more run-down. Furniture from several decades past, walls with visible cracks, a general atmosphere of benign neglect that suggested the owner either didn't care about appearances or actively avoided attention.
Currently, that interior was being further damaged by Midoriya Izuku's training.
The green-haired student was sprawled on the floor, chest heaving as he desperately tried to catch his breath after what could only be described as a completely one-sided beatdown disguised as a "training exercise."
Gran Torino stood nearby, leaning on his cane with casualness. His small, elderly frame and seemingly gentle demeanor completely contradicted the absolute monster of combat ability he'd just demonstrated.
"Hmph." The old hero made a sound somewhere between approval and disappointment. "The progress you've made so far is... monstrous."
Midoriya could only groan in response, still too winded to form coherent words.
"You've not only already grasped that One For All is something that flows through the entire body," Gran Torino continued, his sharp eyes studying Midoriya like a fascinating specimen, "but you've also learned to use it somewhat efficiently."
He tapped his cane against Midoriya's foot—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his point.
"Did Toshinori help you with this?" His tone carried barely concealed skepticism. "Because I seriously doubt that big blond oaf gave you even a single useful hint about proper One For All utilization."
Midoriya winced, both from the physical exhaustion and from the criticism of his mentor. With significant effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position, his hero costume torn in several places from impacts with walls and floor.
"A-actually..." he scratched his head awkwardly, "it was thanks to a friend."
Gran Torino's eyebrow rose sharply. "A friend?"
"Yes! A classmate of mine. Kaminari-kun. He gave me some ideas that ended up helping me a lot with understanding One For All's mechanics..."
The old man crossed his arms, letting out a dry click of his tongue that conveyed volumes of displeasure. "Didn't expect to hear that. Even if this Kaminari fellow just got lucky with his suggestions, it's still more help than that idiot Toshinori provided as your supposed mentor."
He made a disgusted face, his expression souring further. "It's almost shameful. A student doing more effective teaching than the current Symbol of Peace. What a waste."
Gran Torino then pointed his cane at a nearby wall that sported a fresh crater—evidence of Midoriya's attempts to reach him during their "training."
"Anyway. What was that thing you did just a moment ago? That quick dash at the wall?"
"That...?" Midoriya began to stand up, confused by the question.
THWACK.
The cane hit his foot again with surprising force.
"OWWW!" Midoriya hopped on one leg, clutching his injured foot.
"Don't play dumb, boy," Gran Torino snarled, his friendly demeanor completely evaporating. "That quick dash you used trying to reach me. I'm absolutely certain you can only maintain 10% of One For All throughout your entire body without injuring yourself."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "But that jump? That specific movement? It had more power than that. It has at least 15% power behind it."
Midoriya, still holding his sore foot, looked up with a mixture of pain and pride. "I-I used 15% of One For All... but only in my legs. Not my whole body—just my lower body."
Gran Torino froze completely, his expression shifting through several emotions too quickly to track. "What?"
Midoriya continued, gaining confidence as he explained his reasoning. "It was another idea from Kaminari-kun. He pointed out that since my body can't handle 100% strikes without destroying my bones, I should just lower the percentage to something sustainable. That way, I can use a larger portion of One For All without ending up in the hospital after every fight!"
He turned to face Gran Torino fully, green energy crackling faintly around his legs as he demonstrated. "By limiting it to specific body parts and keeping the percentage controlled, I can use more power where I need it without the drawback of full-body injury. It's not perfect yet—I still need to work on the transition between percentages and maintaining control during combat—but it's already made a huge difference in my capabilities!"
Gran Torino stood absolutely still for a long moment. Then, slowly, he took a deep breath, rubbed his weathered face with both hands, and let out a laugh—short, sharp, and filled with equal parts amusement and exasperation.
"I was planning to teach you exactly that technique," he finally said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Partial enhancement, controlled percentages, isolated power distribution—that was going to be the core of your entire training curriculum here."
He fixed Midoriya with a look that mixed approval and annoyance. "But it seems that Kaminari boy taught you more about practical One For All usage than both Toshinori and I combined. That's... honestly impressive and slightly insulting."
Midoriya didn't know what to say. He felt incredibly grateful to Kaminari—the advice had genuinely transformed his approach to his Quirk—but he was also determined not to let that help become a crutch. He needed to surpass everyone on his own merits, through his own efforts.
'Kaminari-kun gave me the tools, but I still need to master them myself,' Midoriya thought firmly. 'I'll use what he taught me to become stronger, and then I'll find ways to go even further beyond!'
Gran Torino seemed to read some of that determination in Midoriya's expression. He nodded approvingly. "Well, this makes my job significantly easier. If you've already grasped the basics of percentage control and isolated enhancement, we can skip the foundational lessons and move straight to application."
He turned toward the door. "Come on. We're going outside."
"Outside?" Midoriya followed him, slightly confused. "What are we doing outside?"
Gran Torino's grin was absolutely terrifying. "Training your movement."
Fifteen Minutes Later...
In the narrow alley between Gran Torino's building and the structure next door—a space barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side—Midoriya was bouncing between the walls like a pinball, desperately trying to replicate the old hero's erratic, almost supernatural movement patterns.
Green lightning crackled around his body as One For All flowed through him at a controlled 10%, each impact against the walls leaving small cracks but no serious damage to his limbs.
"You're too tense!" Gran Torino shouted from below, standing casually at ground level while watching his student ricochet overhead. "Relax your body! Stop thinking so hard about the movements!"
Midoriya gritted his teeth, sweat already pouring down his face despite only a few minutes of this exercise. His mind raced, trying to calculate angles, predict trajectories, control his power output, maintain his balance—
"It's not about brute force or mathematical precision!" Gran Torino continued, his voice cutting through Midoriya's frantic thoughts. "It's about vision! Environmental awareness! You need a mental map of the space around you! Stop calculating and start feeling!"
One jump went too high, sending Midoriya overshooting his target wall. The next attempt went too short, forcing him to scramble for purchase. He completely lost his rhythm, his enhanced strength working against him as his trajectory became increasingly chaotic.
Finally, inevitably, he fell. Midoriya hit the ground with a dull thud that knocked the wind from his lungs. One For All dispersed into fading green sparks as he lay there, breathing heavily, every muscle screaming in protest.
"I-I..." he panted, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. "How was that?"
"A disgrace," Gran Torino replied without even a hint of mercy in his voice.
Midoriya simply fell flat on his back again, utterly defeated.
"Your movements are completely sloppy," the old man continued, walking closer and poking Midoriya's leg with his cane. "They are inefficient and predictable. You're using enhanced strength to compensate for lack of technique, which means you're wasting energy with every single movement."
He crouched down, his weathered face suddenly serious. "You might be using 10% to make faster, higher jumps. In terms of raw speed, you're almost matching my velocity. But in technique? In actual combat mobility?" He shook his head. "You're still a crawling beginner learning to walk."
Midoriya forced himself to sit up again, nodding despite his exhaustion. "I... understand, Gran Torino-sensei. I'll—"
"I watched your match with that explosion boy during the Sports Festival," Gran Torino interrupted. "The one with the face of a delinquent and the personality of an angry chihuahua."
Despite his exhaustion, Midoriya couldn't help but crack a small smile at the description of Kacchan.
"If you had mastered your power more—if you'd relied on technique and strategy instead of just raw power output—you could have defeated him," Gran Torino stated flatly. "Your Quirk gives you physical capabilities that exceed his. But he has something you lack: combat instinct developed through years of actually using his abilities in real fights."
Midoriya's eyes widened. "Really? You think I could have won?"
"Think? I know you could have." Gran Torino stood up, brushing dust from his costume. "But 'could have' is worthless in hero work. Only 'did' matters."
Midoriya tried to stand but immediately felt the consequences of his repeated wall-jumping exercise. Every muscle in his legs felt like it was made of burning lead.
"Ngh...! This must be the result of using 10% jumps about... forty-seven times in a row," he muttered, forcing himself upright through sheer determination. "It hurts... but I can handle it. I've broken my bones before—this is nothing compared to that."
Gran Torino's grin took on a distinctly cruel edge. "That's nothing, kid. Today, I'll work your legs until you physically cannot walk. Tomorrow, we'll focus on your arms. The day after, your core and torso. And so on, rotating through your entire body to build up the enhancement capability."
Midoriya's expression completely withered, the color draining from his face. "Now I understand why All Might is so terrified of you..."
"Less talking," Gran Torino said cheerfully, his cane tapping against the ground. "More jumping. We've got six more hours of training today, and I want to see at least three hundred more wall bounces before lunch."
"T-Three hundred?!"
"Would you prefer four hundred?"
"No sir! Three hundred is perfect sir!"
As Midoriya reluctantly returned to his wall-bouncing torture, Gran Torino watched with a critical but satisfied eye.
'This boy has potential,' the old hero thought. 'Raw, unrefined potential that just needs proper shaping. And that Kaminari student who gave him those percentage control ideas... interesting. Very interesting indeed.'
...
[Denki's POV]
Mirko's Training Ground...
Rumi and I stood facing each other in what remained of her "training ground"—which at this point looked more like a disaster zone than a forest clearing. Trees lay scattered like fallen dominoes, the ground was torn up in massive gouges, and small electrical fires still crackled in various locations.
Neither of us said a word. She moved first—a blur of white that closed the distance between us in a heartbeat. Her leg came up in a devastating kick aimed at my ribs that would have absolutely shattered bones if it connected.
I activated Raijin Drive instantly, yellow lightning exploding across my body as the world shifted into that familiar slow-motion perception.
I twisted aside, her kick passing so close I felt the displaced air ruffle my hero costume. Without hesitation, I channeled electricity through my legs and launched a counter-kick of my own, lightning trailing behind the strike.
Rumi's grin widened impossibly as she contorted mid-air, dodging my attack with the kind of flexibility that shouldn't be physically possible. Her rabbit ears twitched, tracking my movements with predatory focus.
'She's not holding back at all,' I thought, electricity crackling more intensely around my body. 'Good. Neither am I—well, mostly. I'm keeping my speed at around 30% of maximum. If I went full Mach 5, this would be over instantly and probably not in a fun way.'
We clashed again, and again, and again—a rapid exchange of strikes that sent shockwaves rippling through the already devastated training area.
I ducked under a spinning kick, channeled lightning through my fist, and launched my Raging Thunder technique—a straight punch surrounded by crackling yellow energy designed to deliver both kinetic and electrical impact.
Rumi saw it coming, twisted impossibly, and dodged—but I was already anticipating that, already moving to her new position. My electrically-enhanced kick caught her in the side before she could fully recover her stance.
She went flying backward, skidding across the torn earth before catching herself with a powerful leap that absorbed the momentum. When she landed, her expression was absolutely delighted.
"Impressive!" she shouted, barely winded despite the hit. "You're actually keeping up! Most heroes can't track my movements, let alone counter them!"
"You're giving me too much credit," I called back, settling into a combat stance. "I'm barely managing here. You're way more experienced than I am."