The night was utterly silent.
In the cellar beneath the mansion, a young man with his upper body bare struck the wall again and again, his fists moving in a steady rhythm. Each punch landed with precision, every blow measured and controlled, as if following an invisible standard.
By the middle of the night, the small cellar was covered in deep fist marks. Even more shocking was the state of the boy himself—his hands were red and swollen, blood slowly seeping from torn skin. Yet despite this, he showed no sign of stopping. Suddenly, his legs moved, and a series of explosive sounds rang out.
"Pa! Pa! Pa—!"
The deafening noise echoed violently through the cellar. If not for the soundproofing built into the underground structure, it would have been enough to wake countless people from their sleep.
After a long while, his legs finally refused to respond.
Yaoyorozu Chihiro collapsed onto the ground in a thoroughly undignified sprawl, gasping heavily for air.
A strange scent gradually spread from his body—rich and intoxicating, like the aroma of Irish red wine. As the scent intensified, the swelling in his hands and the bruises on his legs began to fade, healing at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Every Quirk had a weakness. Or rather, every Quirk required a medium.
Yaoyorozu Momo's Creation required body fat, as well as a detailed understanding of the object's structure and materials.
So what, exactly, did Super Cure require?
Feeling the Quirk repair his body with frenzied efficiency, Chihiro narrowed his eyes and fell into deep thought.
"It's not physical stamina."
His strength hadn't been drained much at all. Even when he was exhausted, Super Cure continued operating at full force. As a passive Quirk that activated automatically once triggered, minimal stamina consumption made sense.
"It's not food, either."
As his body neared full recovery, Chihiro pressed a hand to his stomach experimentally. There was no hollow emptiness—no hunger at all.
His brows knit tighter as he continued testing possibilities. If Super Cure didn't rely on normal consumables, then things could get troublesome. As Chihiro knew well, some Quirks caused… embarrassing side effects when overused. If something like that occurred in combat—
Even he didn't want to imagine the result.
Yet as he pondered, the strange scent grew stronger. It wasn't foul. On the contrary, it was fragrant—deep, mellow, almost luxurious.
Only now did Chihiro realize his face had grown increasingly flushed, as if he had drunk far too much alcohol.
Suddenly, he sniffed the air unconsciously.
One might not notice it at first, but once it passed a certain threshold, even the dullest person would react—let alone Chihiro.
"So that's the side effect…"
His palm slammed against the ground as he tried to push himself upright. But the moment he lifted his body, dizziness washed over him.
This was drunkenness.
The side effect of Super Cure was exactly this—when operating at full capacity, his body secreted alcohol-like substances, intoxicating him from the inside out.
"This is bad… Who knows how much 'alcohol' it actually produces?!"
The thought barely formed before Chihiro collapsed again, sprawled across the floor like a drunkard.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The violent knocking at the door exploded through the early morning.
It startled the pigeons Chihiro kept on the property—and also jolted awake Chihiro himself, who had barely managed to crawl back to his bedroom before collapsing there in disgrace.
Pressing his fingers to his temples, he groaned softly. His head still felt heavy, dizzy, and unpleasant. Being drunk was never enjoyable.
He dragged himself out of bed, glanced briefly at his reflection, adjusted his clothes as best he could, and hurried to open the door.
"So early…?"
Standing outside was Yaoyorozu Momo, dressed in tight black training wear that outlined her slender figure perfectly. Chihiro yawned uncontrollably.
"Did you drink last night?"
Instead of answering, Momo's nose twitched slightly. She stepped closer, carefully sniffing the air around him, as if confirming something. A trace of surprise crossed her face.
In the eyes of their parents, aside from his chronic illness, Chihiro was practically flawless. A genius like him… drinking alcohol?
Chihiro had anticipated her doubts. In fact, he had planned to reveal the truth gradually. What he hadn't expected was for Momo to arrive so early—and to notice immediately.
Remaining calm, he allowed a hint of excitement to surface and said with feigned surprise:
"I know what my Quirk is."
"What? Really?!"
Pure joy flashed across Yaoyorozu Momo's face.
No one understood this sickly boy's talent better than she did. From their parents, she had heard that Chihiro had once defeated an armed adult with a dagger at the age of five. That alone was astonishing—but hearing and seeing were different things.
Half a year ago, she had witnessed Chihiro wield a wooden sword and fight seven famous kendo masters from the city to a standstill. If not for his physical collapse at the end, the outcome would have been impossible to predict.
Those were trained masters—men who, even without Quirks, could easily take on criminals. And yet Chihiro had held his own against all of them.
The implications were terrifying.
"So what is your Quirk?" she asked quickly.
"Is it a constantly active mutation type? Or an emitter? Or a temporary transformation?"
The questions poured out one after another.
From Yaoyorozu Momo's perspective, Chihiro's Quirk would directly determine his future physical condition. If it were a constantly active mutation-type Quirk, his frail body might finally be reinforced—something that would be nothing short of a miracle for him.