The digital alarm clock on the nightstand didn't stand a chance. Its rhythmic, piercing beep-beep-beep was a jarring intrusion into the sanctuary of the master bedroom, a sound that grated against the heightened senses of a boy who lived in a world of vibration, molecular frequency, and metallic resonance.
Midas didn't even open his eyes. He merely shifted his weight under the weighted silk sheets—sheets woven with microscopic gold filaments to provide the heavy tactile feedback his dense body required to rest. His right hand snaked out with the casual, liquid grace of a predator. His index finger brushed the cold plastic casing of the clock.
A faint, honey-colored ripple of light cascaded from his skin. In less than a microsecond, the molecular structure of the plastic was dismantled and rewritten. The copper circuitry, the glass display, and the cheap polymer housing were crushed together, their atoms forced into the dense, crystalline lattice of 24-karat gold. The screaming electronics were silenced by the sheer mass of the transformation. The device, now weighing several pounds more than it had a moment ago, slumped onto the mahogany wood with a heavy, resonant clink.
"Good grief," Midas sighed, his voice dropping into a deeper, more resonant register than it had been a year ago.
He sat up, the silk sliding off a chest that looked like it had been sculpted by a master renaissance artist out of marble and iron. At fourteen years old, Midas stood at a commanding 5'10", possessing a physique that was less about the bulky, overblown look of a bodybuilder and more about high-tensile, functional density. Twelve years of living in this world had changed him fundamentally. The jagged scar over his right eye—a souvenir from the day his power first surged out of control during a childhood tantrum—glowed with a faint, molten light in the dim morning.
He didn't swing his feet to the floor. Instead, he simply exhaled, and his body drifted upward.
The Internal Lattice: Biology of a JuggernautThis was the crowning achievement of his twelve-year timeskip. Eight years ago, Midas had realized that if he could manipulate gold externally, he was limiting himself to being a mere "caster"—a glass cannon. He wanted to be a juggernaut, an immovable object. Through agonizing, microscopic sessions of meditation, he had performed the ultimate transmutation: he had changed himself.
His skeletal system was no longer just calcium and marrow. It was a biological alloy, a flexible, golden lattice that could withstand forces that would liquefy a normal human's frame. His heart was reinforced by golden filaments, allowing it to pump blood at a pressure of nearly $180/110$ mmHg at rest without any risk of stroke, fueling his muscles with oxygen-rich blood at an unnatural rate. By manipulating the "weight" of the gold integrated into his organs, he could effectively negate gravity or increase his mass a hundredfold.
He floated toward the bathroom, a silent, golden ghost in the morning light. As he splashed cold water on his face, he caught his reflection. His pure golden teeth gleamed back at him—a permanent transmutation he'd performed to ensure his body was as much a weapon as it was a vessel. His physical stats had hit a plateau of "Peak Human Plus." His base strength allowed him to punch through reinforced steel without a thought, and his top running speed clocked in at 230 mph. This wasn't "God-tier" yet—he wasn't leveling mountain ranges with a sneeze—but in the world of middle schoolers, he was a biological anomaly.
—---------------------He drifted downstairs, hovering inches above the mahogany steps, and entered the dining room. The Gold Estate was a palace of modern architecture, all glass, white stone, and metallic accents. His mother, Cybele, was already there. She was a woman of elegance and iron, the CEO of a global conglomerate and the source of his primary "fuel."
"Good morning, Mom," Midas said, his feet finally touching the floor as he deactivated his internal levitation.
Cybele turned, a radiant smile on her face. "Good morning, my little golden boy!"
Midas rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small, genuine smile. "I'm almost six feet tall and I can lift a tank, Mom. Can we retire the 'little' part?"
"Never," she chirped, sliding a massive silver platter onto the long dining table.
On the platter sat what looked like ten thick, juicy steaks. But as the light hit them, they shimmered with a heavy, metallic luster. This was his "diet." Over the years, he'd discovered a biological quirk: he couldn't eat the gold he transmuted himself. His body recognized it as "self," and attempting to consume it caused a violent, nauseating rejection. But gold generated by Cybele or natural ore pulled from the earth? That, his body could metabolize into raw kinetic energy and cellular reinforcement.
Midas sat down and began to devour the golden steaks. To any observer, the sound would have been like a machine shop—the crunch of metal on metal as his reinforced teeth pulverized the high-density gold. In minutes, the entire platter was clean. He felt the gold dissolve in his stomach, the energy rushing into his bloodstream and fortifying his internal lattice.
"The board is asking about your progress, Midas," Cybele said, her tone shifting slightly toward the professional. "They want to know if the heir to Aurum International is going to enter the recommendation track for UA or the general exam."
"General," Midas said firmly, wiping a speck of gold dust from his lip. "Recommendations are for people who need a head start. I want to walk through the front door and let them see exactly what they're dealing with."
Cybele nodded, pride shining in her eyes. "Spoken like a true Gold. Just remember, the world is watching. You aren't just a student; you are a brand. And the brand must be indestructible."
—------------------------------------
The walk to school was a trial of patience Midas no longer possessed. He lived in the most exclusive district of the country, separated from his academy by three sprawling cities. A normal student would take the bullet train. Midas took the sky.
He stepped out onto the paved driveway and reached into his blazer pocket. He pulled out a small, solid gold coin—a custom-minted piece worth more than a luxury car—and tossed it into the air. Before it could reach the apex of its arc, Midas's eyes flashed a brilliant, molten yellow.
The coin violently expanded. The gold flowed and stretched, obeying his mental command as the molecular bonds tightened until it formed a sleek, aerodynamic golden surfboard. He hopped on, the metal locking to the soles of his boots through a microscopic magnetic bond.
BOOM.
A localized sonic pop echoed through the estate as he shot into the sky. He wasn't just "flying"; he was surfing the air currents, leaning into the turns as he banked over the Musutafu skyline. He moved at a constant $337$ km/h (roughly 210 mph), his internal lattice protecting him from the staggering wind pressure. To anyone on the ground, he was nothing more than a golden streak across the morning sky, a "UFO" report that would be dismissed as a trick of the light by noon.
He touched down in a quiet, trash-strewn alleyway a few blocks from the school gates. He stepped off the board, and with a thought, the metal lost its shape. It didn't melt; it snaked up his leg like a living liquid, disappearing through the pores of his skin to be stored in his bloodstream.
As he walked onto the campus, the atmosphere shifted. Midas was well aware of his reputation. He was the "Golden Prince"—tall, wealthy, and possessing a presence that felt physically "heavy" to those around him. He could feel the eyes of the female students on him—a mix of hunger, curiosity, and intimidation. He ignored them all with a mask of cold, professional indifference.
"Midas-kun! You're here!"
The mask cracked. He turned to see Momo Yaoyorozu. Over the last twelve years, their friendship had evolved into the most important anchor in his life. She was brilliant, elegant, and—judging by the blush currently spreading across her cheeks—just as flustered by him as he was by her.
"Hey, Momo," Midas said, his voice dropping into a softer, more grounded tone. "You're early."
"And you're flying again," she teased, falling into step beside him. Her dark hair was tied in that signature spiky ponytail, and she looked perfectly refined in her uniform. "I saw a golden streak over the third district and knew it had to be you. You really should be more careful; the news might pick you up on radar one of these days."
"Let them," Midas replied, falling into a synchronized stride with her. "If they can track me, they're welcome to try and catch me."
They spent the day in a synchronized rhythm. They shared every high-level academic class, their desks positioned so close that Midas could catch the faint, clean scent of her perfume. During a lecture on Quirk Physics, he found himself watching the way Momo meticulously took notes, her "Creation" quirk occasionally manifesting tiny, perfect tools—a silver ruler here, a custom fountain pen there. She was his equal in every sense, and the mutual pull between them was becoming a gravity all its own.
—-------------------------------------When the final bell rang, the sky was a bruised purple, the sun dipping below the horizon and painting the city in a light that matched Midas's irises.
"Let's walk today, Momo," Midas suggested as they exited the gates. "I've been in the air too much lately. I need to feel the ground."
"I'd like that," she said softly, her hand brushing against his arm.
They walked through the high-end shopping district, discussing their future plans for UA. It was a moment of rare peace, two teenagers caught in the orbit of their own shared affection. But Midas's peace was always a fragile thing.
Suddenly, his internal lattice vibrated. It was a sensory feedback loop he had developed: Metallic Resonance. Within a 30-meter radius, he could feel the sudden displacement of air and the massive surge of kinetic energy coming from a nearby office building's alleyway.
"Momo, get behind me. Right now," Midas commanded, his voice turning into a whip-crack of authority.
"What? Midas, what's—"
CRASH!
The brick facade of a nearby warehouse didn't just break; it disintegrated. Out of the dust stepped a man who looked like a mountain of corded, pulsating meat. He was nearly seven feet tall, his skin a mottled, angry purple from the sheer pressure of his blood flow. His quirk was Hyper-Hypertrophy—a strength-enhancer that traded intelligence and speed for raw, building-level destruction.
"The Gold Heir!" the villain roared, his voice sounding like two grinding boulders. "I heard your blood is worth more than a bank vault! If I bring your head to the boss, I'll never have to work another day in my life!"
The villain didn't wait for a reply. He lunged. Despite his size, the sheer explosive power in his legs sent him hurtling forward like a freight train. He swung a massive, tree-trunk-sized arm in a horizontal arc, aiming to take both their heads off.
"Momo, stay back!" Midas yelled.
He didn't dodge. He needed to test his newest, most taxing technique.
"Aurum Armament: Obsidian Compression."
Midas didn't just coat his arm in gold. He pulled the liquid gold from his own marrow and pores and compressed it. He forced the gold atoms so close together that they couldn't reflect light, bypassing the yellow spectrum entirely. His right arm and shoulder didn't turn golden—they turned a terrifying, light-absorbing jet black. This was his version of Armament Haki—gold so molecularly dense it was functionally indestructible.
CLANG!
The villain's fist hit Midas's black-gold forearm. The sound wasn't like a punch; it was like a church bell being struck by a sledgehammer. The ground beneath Midas's boots shattered into a crater as the kinetic energy was transferred into the asphalt. But Midas didn't move an inch. His expression remained cold, almost bored.
"Is that the best you can do?" Midas asked.
The villain's bloodshot eyes widened. "What… what the hell are you?!"
"Your worst financial mistake," Midas growled.
He stepped into the villain's guard. His speed was no longer a cruise—it was localized, explosive acceleration. He delivered a straight punch to the villain's solar plexus. The obsidian-gold knuckles hit with the weight of $10,000$ kilograms of force. The villain's chest visibly dipped inward, the air leaving his lungs in a sickening spray of spit. He was launched backward, skipping across the asphalt like a stone on water before crashing through a parked transit bus, flipping the twenty-ton vehicle on its side.
The villain scrambled out of the wreckage, his muscles bulging even further until his skin began to tear. He was a "Building Crusher," and his ego couldn't handle being stopped by a teenager. He raised both massive hands over his head, preparing to slam the ground and bring the entire street down on them.
"I'm done playing with you," Midas muttered.
He slammed his palm onto the asphalt. His 30-meter radius was absolute domain. He felt the trace amounts of gold ore and metallic minerals deep beneath the street—the "Earth Veins" he had been practicing with for years.
"Earth Vein: Golden Iron Maiden!"
The ground beneath the villain didn't just crack; it exploded. Four massive, jagged pillars of pure gold shot upward like the teeth of a dragon. They didn't kill him—Midas was surgically precise—but they curved mid-air, wrapping around his wrists and ankles. Within seconds, the villain was pinned to the side of a brick building, his arms and legs spread-eagle and bound by four-inch-thick bands of solid gold.
The villain roared, his muscles straining against the restraints, but the more he pulled, the more Midas mentally reinforced the density. The gold didn't break; it hummed with the frequency of Midas's will.
Midas stood up, the black "obsidian" gold receding back into his skin, leaving his arm slightly warm from the friction. He turned back to Momo. She was standing there, a flashbang she'd created held tightly in her hand, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She looked at the captured giant, then back at Midas. Her expression was a mix of terror at the violence and a deep, soul-stirring awe.
"Midas… you handled him like he was nothing," she breathed.
"He was just a wall," Midas said, walking over and gently taking her hand. His own heart was racing, but not from fear—from the rush of the output. He could hear the distant wail of police sirens. He had no interest in being a celebrity witness today. "And I've spent twelve years learning how to break walls."
He wrapped an arm around Momo's waist, pulling her flush against his side. She gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his blazer, her face burying into his shoulder.
"Hold on," he whispered.
He pushed his internal gravity to its limit. With a sharp whoosh, they shot into the sky, leaving the cratered street and the trapped villain behind. They soared over the rooftops, the cool night air whipping through their hair and calming their racing pulses. Below them, the blue and red lights of the police cruisers began to swarm the scene.
As they flew toward the Yaoyorozu estate, the silence between them was heavy with everything they hadn't said yet. Momo tightened her grip on his neck, and for a moment, the boy who wanted to be the strongest felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.
He dropped her off on her private balcony. She lingered for a second, her hand resting on his chest, her eyes searching his molten gold ones.
"Thank you, Midas," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "For everything."
"Always, Momo," he replied.
He turned and shot back toward his own home, a golden streak against the moonlit sky. His body was sore, and he was starving, but as he looked down at his knuckles, he knew one thing for certain.
High school was going to be the beginning of an era. And he was going to be the one who set the standard.