The first week of the new training regimen was nothing like dragging tires across the beach. It was a battle fought in the silence of their living room, and the enemy was Inko Midoriya's own mind—a far more stubborn adversary than any rusty refrigerator.
Izuku, having turned himself into a makeshift guru thanks to an afternoon of internet searching, tried to guide her with the seriousness of a Zen master.
"Okay, Mom, the 'Zen Mind in 5 Minutes' tutorial says to try 'guided visualization,'" Izuku whispered, sitting cross-legged on a cushion. "Imagine your thoughts are leaves floating down a quiet river…"
Inko, her eyes shut and her brow furrowed in concentration, snorted.
"The river reminds me I have to do the laundry. Did I add the fabric softener? I don't think so. See? Useless! My mind isn't a river; it's a to-do list with rapids of panic."
"No, no, that's okay!" Izuku hurried to say. "If a thought appears, you acknowledge it and let it go. Look, a thought about laundry! Goodbye, thought about laundry!"
"Now I'm thinking about how I haven't bought you new socks," she said, her eyes still closed. "And how chicken is on sale, but fish has omega-3s, which they say is good for brain function—and mine clearly needs help if I can't stop thinking about fish when I'm supposed to be achieving nirvana!"
Izuku sighed. This was harder than the entrance exam.
"I've got it!" he suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "A mental-cleansing gong! To disperse the negative energy!"
Before Inko could protest, Izuku reappeared with a pot lid and a wooden spoon. He stood solemnly beside her and, with the focus of a Shaolin monk, struck the lid with a thunderous blow.
GONG!
Inko flinched so violently she nearly fell backward.
"IZUKU! You're going to give me a heart attack!"
"But is the thought about the fish gone?" he asked, hopeful.
"Yes! It's now been replaced by a thought about how I'm going to hide every spoon in this house from you!"
Izuku set down his "gong" with a sigh. That method was out. It was time for phase two.
A week later, meditation had been relegated to ten minutes of "frustrated silence" in the morning. The action now centered on the coffee table, where a wooden tray held a hundred gleaming marbles.
"This is more complicated than the entrance exam," Inko grumbled, staring at the sea of tiny glass orbs.
"Not if we make it interesting," Izuku said with a sly grin. "I'll bet you the last slice of chocolate cake in the fridge that you can't get that emerald green one out in under a minute."
Inko's eyes lit up with a competitive gleam Izuku knew all too well. It was the same look she got when they played cards.
"Challenge accepted. Get ready to watch your mother devour that cake, young man!"
She leaned in, focused, and pulled. A cluster of ten marbles rolled toward her.
"Miss!" Izuku chirped. "My cake…"
"Hush, I'm just warming up!"
She tried again. This time, an entire section slid in her direction.
"Agh! It's useless!" She slapped the table with her palm. "It's like my Quirk only has one setting: all or nothing!"
Izuku watched her frustration and decided it was time to intervene—for the sake of science and, of course, the cake. He knelt beside her.
"You're thinking 'pull the marble.' You have to be more specific," he whispered. "Forget the others. Just look at that one. The blue one with the white swirl."
He moved behind her, so close she could feel the warmth from his body.
"Relax your shoulders… and align your hips."
His hands rested on her hips with surprising firmness, guiding her. Inko's heart skipped a beat. Okay, hands. On my hips. My son's hands. On my hips. Normal. Totally normal.
Izuku, for his part, was fighting his own internal battle.
Analyst Izuku: Stable center of mass, correct posture for efficient channeling.
Son Izuku: I hope she isn't uncomfortable. Focus, this is for her sake.
He quickly removed his hands.
"Like that. Now, concentrate. I'm going to help you."
He gently placed his hand over hers.
"Feel the connection. Just to that one."
Guided by his voice and the warmth of his hand, Inko immersed herself in the concept of the blue marble. And then, she pulled on the silken thread of her power. The marble slid out, alone, and dropped into her open palm.
"YES! HA! TAKE THAT!" she shouted, holding the marble up like a trophy. "THE CAKE IS MINE!"
Izuku laughed, filled with the pride of a son and the satisfaction of a coach. They had won.
The following week was the toughest. Phase three: reversal.
They started with a feather. Inko failed.
"Hmm," Izuku said, science mode activated. "Maybe the aerodynamics are too complex. We need something simpler!"
They tried a piece of tissue paper. Inko concentrated so hard she inhaled sharply, and the paper stuck to her nose.
"Not laughing, not laughing!" Izuku said, choking back a chuckle.
They tried a single grain of rice.
"It's too small!" Inko complained. "We look like two lunatics playing with our food! That's enough for today, Izuku! I'm going to scream if I have to look at that stupid grain for one more second!"
That night, he found her in the dark kitchen, her face in her hands. He sat with her in silence. The time for games was over.
"It's not about the feather, is it?" Izuku finally said, his voice surprisingly deep.
Inko shook her head without looking up. When she spoke, her voice was broken.
"I can't, Izuku. It's just… it goes against everything I am. My whole life has been… pulling. Pulling to get by, pulling to pay the bills, pulling so you could have everything you needed after your father…"
She trailed off, the old wound still too raw.
"After he decided his job was more important than his family," Izuku finished for her, his voice not angry, just filled with quiet acceptance. He looked at his mother and, for a moment, saw the woman behind her. "I know. You never let yourself push. You always pulled the weight, even when it was too heavy. Always toward yourself. To protect."
He leaned forward.
"This isn't an exercise anymore, Mom. This is for you. For the first time in your life, let yourself push something away. Reject it. Tell it not to come closer. Tell it to go away."
With tears rolling down her cheeks, Inko looked at the feather on the table. She channeled decades of frustration and exhaustion. She didn't think about telekinesis.
She thought of a single word.
ENOUGH.
And she pushed.
The feather slid an inch. Away from her.
It was a minuscule movement, but for her, it was like moving a mountain. A trembling, almost hysterical laugh escaped her lips. A laugh of pure, absolute release.
The next morning, the eve of Izuku's first day at U.A., Inko was alone in the living room. She looked at the TV remote. She concentrated. The remote slid an inch away from her. Then, back toward her. A small, secret smile played on her lips.
From the hallway, Izuku watched her. Phase three complete. He retreated in silence, determination hardening his features. Her training was over, but his own was about to begin. U.A. was opening its doors tomorrow, full of people with incredible Quirks, with their own manuals waiting to be read.