Yaoyorozu Chihiro fled back to the villa in a thoroughly disheveled state. He tore off his black robe, his expression dark enough to drip ink, and strode straight into one of the villa's side compartments. A month earlier, with his uncle and aunt's permission, he had converted this space into a wine cellar, now stocked with a wide variety of famous vintages.
He grabbed a large wine jar at random, ripped off the sealing cloth, and drank stubbornly, gulp after gulp. Perhaps only by getting completely drunk could he forget that terrifying sense of oppression—the feeling of a gun barrel pressed straight against the center of his brow, freezing his entire body.
"All Might…" Chihiro muttered coldly, his voice devoid of warmth. Lifting the wine jar, he made a silent toast in the direction of that overwhelming presence. "Tonight, I was well and truly taught a lesson."
The next day, before dawn had fully broken, Chihiro opened his bleary eyes and saw a familiar figure standing not far away, arms crossed. He jolted violently, sobering up halfway in an instant, and forced a wry smile.
"Sister… how did you get in?"
Yaoyorozu Momo casually raised a brand-new key in her hand. Her toes tapped rhythmically against the floor as she smiled faintly."Don't change the subject, Chihiro. You should know better—my Quirk can make keys. Now explain this to me: why did you fall asleep in the wine cellar, and why do you smell like alcohol from head to toe?"
Chihiro turned his head away and remained silent. Any explanation at this point would only sound like an excuse.
Momo looked at him for a moment, her expression stiffening slightly. Finding no one to argue with, she waved her hand and created a bathrobe, tossing it straight at him.
"Go wash up."
Taking the robe, Chihiro stretched lazily and headed toward the swimming pool outside the villa.
The pool wasn't particularly wide, but it was astonishingly deep—deep enough to submerge five or six stacked Chihiros. As for why it had been built so deep—
Standing at the second-floor window, sipping black tea like a refined noblewoman, Yaoyorozu Momo knew the answer all too well.
Before the morning mist had fully lifted, a small figure was already visible beneath the water's surface. In the deep pool, Chihiro held a massive greatsword nearly as tall as himself, swinging it again and again through the water. Each slash was heavy, deliberate, and relentless.
The water surged violently, as if hidden currents were churning beneath the surface.
After watching for a long time, Momo set down her tea and went downstairs. She walked to the edge of the pool, casually created a tree branch, and tossed it into the water.
Crack. Crack.
The branch didn't even have time to drift—it was crushed almost instantly by the violent flow.
Momo curled her lips slightly. Just as I thought.
For her younger brother, bathing had always meant sword practice. This was the result of training day after day.
Chihiro had once explained it proudly:"This is training momentum. If I can bear the pressure of boiling water today, tomorrow I can bear the weight of the entire world."
Momo still couldn't fully refute that logic. From what she understood, water and air behaved similarly—ignoring breathing. Movement in water disturbed currents, just as movement in air disturbed airflow. The difference was density; water simply made those effects more apparent.
"The U.A. entrance exam doesn't allow weapons," Momo said calmly, taking another sip of black tea. "Which means—you won't be able to use a sword."
Chihiro didn't respond. Or rather, he couldn't. His face was flushed from exertion, his eyes locked onto the greatsword's path through the water. Every ripple, every shift in resistance replayed endlessly in his mind.
"Dad didn't say it outright," Momo continued, "but I think he really wants you to aim for first place."
Suddenly, a spark flashed through Chihiro's thoughts.
He tightened his grip with both hands and twisted sharply.
Crash!
A towering wave erupted from the pool, surging several meters high. Even more shocking, the water itself split forward like a blade, carving a clean line through the pool's surface.
"…Uncle's expectations."
Momo, now thoroughly splashed, took a deep breath. She forcefully suppressed the urge to smack him, repeating silently to herself, I can't beat him. I can't beat him.
As Chihiro hoisted the heavy sword and walked away, he waved casually without turning back."Oh—next time you watch me train in the pool, maybe don't wear something so light. Pay a bit more attention."
His voice carried a teasing edge as he disappeared from view.
Momo froze. She looked down at herself, momentarily confused. "I'm properly dressed—"
Then realization struck.
Her outer shirt was soaked through, clinging awkwardly. Heat rushed to her face as she glared furiously in the direction Chihiro had gone. Without hesitation, she created a bathrobe, wrapped herself up tightly, and stormed back into the villa.