Four men stood in the dimly lit courtyard, their heavy, mud-caked boots deliberately grinding into the splintered remains of the dojo's antique front gate. A beautifully carved wooden sign that had hung above the entrance for generations now lay fractured in the dirt, serving as a footrest for the intruders. The acrid stench of cheap, unfiltered tobacco hung heavy in the cold evening air, mixing with the scent of crushed pine.
They weren't professional villains. They had no grand ideology or master plans. They were just street-level scavengers, petty thugs trying to squeeze a few easy yen out of an old man in a forgotten, quiet neighborhood.
Master Kenji stood on the weathered wooden porch, leaning heavily on his worn wooden cane. The evening wind tugged at his loose, faded yukata, revealing the bandages tightly wrapped around his frail torso. Despite his fragile appearance, his eyes remained sharp and unyielding.
"I told you last month, Yamaguchi," Kenji said, his voice raspy but carrying a steady, disciplined cadence. "We don't need your protection. This dojo has stood here long before your gang arrived, and it will stand long after."
The leader, a heavy-set man named Yamaguchi, let out a harsh, barking laugh. He spat a thick glob of saliva onto the meticulously clean cedar floorboards of the porch. Slowly, he rolled his thick shoulders. With a sickening, grinding crunch that sounded like grinding stones, the skin on his thick forearms rapidly hardened, transforming from flesh into jagged, gray concrete.
"Times change, old man. History doesn't pay the bills," Yamaguchi sneered, taking a heavy, thudding step forward. He casually swung his concrete-coated fist backward and slammed it into one of the dojo's main wooden support pillars. The wood groaned in agony, splintering inward and leaving a massive, jagged dent. Dust fell from the roof tiles.
"Pay the fee, or accidents happen," Yamaguchi threatened, a cruel smile stretching across his face. "Maybe a tragic fire burns this old firewood down. Maybe you trip and break your other leg. It would be a shame for a retired 'hero' to die in a completely preventable accident."
His three friends chuckled from the back, emboldened by their leader's display of power. One of them, a lanky teenager with a patchy beard, ignited pathetic, sparking mini-explosions from his fingertips, throwing shadows across his face in a cheap attempt to look intimidating.
"You should leave," Kenji sighed, slowly closing his eyes as if the sight of them was merely exhausting rather than frightening.
"Or what?!" Yamaguchi barked, the veins in his neck bulging as he raised his heavy, concrete fist high into the air. "You gonna hit me with that little stick, old man?!"
Before Kenji could answer, the sliding paper doors of the training hall were pushed open. The sharp, piercing squeak of the wooden tracks cleanly cut through the tension in the courtyard.
Zoro stepped onto the porch.
He was barefoot, his simple white undershirt plastered to his heavily muscled chest with fresh sweat from a brutal training session. The cold wind didn't seem to affect him at all. The thugs didn't bother looking at his face or noting his intense demeanor. Their mocking eyes immediately dropped to his left hip, where three real, meticulously maintained steel swords were secured tightly in a dark green sash.
Yamaguchi blinked in genuine confusion, then let out a loud, mocking laugh that echoed into the street. "Are you kidding me? A kid playing samurai? Is this a cosplay club now?"
Zoro didn't say a single word. His face was an absolute mask of terrifying calm. He walked down the wooden steps, his bare feet moving completely silent against the creaking wood—a predator stalking prey. His right thumb rested gently on the golden guard of the uppermost sword, pushing it open just a fraction of an inch. A sharp sliver of cold, polished steel caught the pale moonlight, reflecting a deadly promise.
"Listen, kid," the lanky thug with the sparking fingers sneered, eagerly stepping forward to show off for his boss. "Put the plastic toys down before you hurt yourself. We're here for business, not playtime."
He reached out an arrogant hand, intending to grab Zoro roughly by the collar.
Watching from the porch, Kenji didn't even flinch. Fools, the old master thought silently. In my prime, I fought villains who could level city blocks. Yet, the aura this Quirkless boy naturally emits is heavier than any of them. He is a beast wrapped in human skin.
Zoro didn't draw the blade. He just seamlessly shifted his weight.
Before the thug's sparking hand even got within a foot of his shirt, Zoro pivoted on his heel. With terrifying precision, he thrust the hard, lacquered bottom of his scabbard directly into the man's solar plexus.
Crack.
The sound was sharp and definitive. The air violently exploded from the thug's lungs in a sickening wheeze. His eyes bulged out of his skull. Before the man could even begin to drop to his knees in agony, Zoro fluidly swept his right leg, striking the thug's ankle with the devastating force of a swung iron bar. The man's feet were completely swept out from under him. He hit the gravel back-first with a heavy thud, his eyes rolling into the back of his head before he even stopped moving. He was out cold.
The laughter instantly died in the courtyard.
The remaining three thugs froze, their brains violently short-circuiting as they failed to process the sheer speed and fluidity of the movement. There was no flashy transformation. No bright flash of light. No screaming out a Quirk activation. Just pure, brutal, unadulterated efficiency.
Zoro didn't even bother looking down at the fallen man. His dark, piercing eyes locked directly onto Yamaguchi.
"You little brat!" Yamaguchi roared, his face flushing dark red with humiliation and rage. He charged like a wild boar, raising both of his massive, concrete-covered fists, intending to smash the green-haired kid into a bloody pulp against the dirt.
Zoro didn't step back. He stepped in.
From the porch, Kenji watched the footwork with a critical, appreciative eye. Flawless balance. No wasted energy.
Zoro sidestepped the clumsy, telegraphed attack by a literal hairsbreadth. The rushing wind from the heavy concrete punch merely rustled his green hair. In that singular split-second where Yamaguchi was completely off-balance, suspended by his own unchecked momentum, Zoro's left hand grabbed the tightly wrapped hilt of his second sword.
Without unsheathing the blade, he whipped the solid, heavy handle upward in a vicious arc, catching Yamaguchi directly under the chin.
The impact sounded exactly like a heavy wooden mallet striking a ripe melon.
Yamaguchi's teeth clashed together violently, a spray of blood leaving his mouth. The sheer, monstrous force of the upward strike literally lifted his heavy, three-hundred-pound body a few inches off the ground. He hung suspended in the air for a fraction of a second before crashing backward into the dirt, raising a cloud of dust. As he lost consciousness, the hard concrete on his arms slowly crumbled and melted back into normal, bruised skin.
Two seconds. Two strikes. Two men down.
Zoro slowly turned his head toward the last two thugs standing near the broken gate. His calloused hand rested easily on his hilt again. His expression remained completely blank, devoid of adrenaline or excitement.
The two men looked down at their invincible, concrete-smashing leader twitching in the dirt, then slowly looked back at the green-haired kid. Absolute, primal panic hijacked their legs. Without uttering a single word, they scrambled frantically over the broken wooden gate, tearing their clothes on the splinters, and bolted down the dark, empty street, cowardly leaving their friends behind.
The courtyard fell into a deep, heavy silence, save for the whistling wind.
Zoro stood perfectly still, listening to their frantic footsteps fade into the distance. Slowly, his thumb clicked the sword guard completely shut. He let out a soft breath, his shoulders relaxing, and looked down at the unconscious men littering the courtyard.
"Fragile," Zoro muttered, clicking his tongue in mild disappointment.
"They rely on cheap tricks, intimidation, and the assumption that Quirks make them invincible," Kenji said, slowly walking down the wooden steps. His cane tapped softly against the gravel. "But underneath those flashy abilities, they are still just flesh and bone. The giant robots you will face at the U.A. Entrance Exams will not have a weak chin for you to strike, or lungs for you to empty."
Zoro looked at his master, his eyes narrowing in serious understanding. "I know. If I hit solid steel with the sheer force of this scabbard, the wood will eventually splinter. If I use the live blade without knowing its true breath, the steel will shatter."
Kenji nodded slowly, a faint hint of pride in his old eyes. He turned his back on the unconscious thugs and walked back toward the dark training hall. "Follow me."
Zoro stepped cleanly over Yamaguchi's chest and followed the old man inside.
The interior of the dojo was cool and smelled of aged pine, woven tatami mats, and years of dried sweat. It was a place of extreme discipline. Kenji walked to the very center of the expansive room and knelt painfully, his joints popping in the quiet space. He pressed his wrinkled fingers against the exact corner of a specific, unmarked tatami mat. With a soft mechanical click, he pulled the heavy mat aside, revealing a dark, hidden compartment beneath the floorboards. The musty scent of trapped, ancient dust immediately drifted into the air.
"If you truly intend to cut modern war machines," Kenji said, his voice echoing slightly as he reached deep into the darkness of the floor. "Training with standard, balanced steel is no longer enough for you."
With a heavy, strained grunt, the old man pulled a long, rectangular box from the hidden compartment. It was tightly wrapped in faded, dust-covered black canvas and heavily chained shut with a thick, rusted iron padlock.
Just watching the box hit the floor, Zoro felt a strange chill. The dull thud caused the wooden floorboards beneath their feet to visibly vibrate. It didn't just look heavy; it looked impossibly dense, as if the object inside possessed its own oppressive gravity. The metallic clinking of the chains seemed to hum in the quiet room.
Kenji looked up at Zoro, his eyes suddenly sharp and challenging, stripping away the persona of the frail old man.
"Let's see if you can even lift this."