The first morning of training nearly killed him. All Might's booming voice echoed over the beach, the sound bouncing off the rusted hulls of abandoned ships and the mountains of trash that littered Dagobah Municipal Beach Park. Midoriya had shown up bright-eyed and ready… at least until the first round of hauling refrigerator doors into a rusted dumpster nearly made his arms fall off.
From that day on, it became routine. Early mornings before school, late evenings after homework, and entire weekends devoted to clearing the beach. The once-soft hands of a boy who spent his free time taking notes on heroes became calloused and raw. His sneakers wore thin, his shirts clung to him in sweat, and his muscles ached in ways he didn't know were possible.
By month two, the changes were visible. His stamina was up, his shoulders broader. He could lift heavier scrap, push larger piles toward the dumpster, and run the length of the beach without wheezing. All Might, despite his goofy grin and over-the-top pep talks, kept the training brutal. "A hero's body must be ready for a hero's burden!" he'd say, pointing dramatically toward the horizon.
Midway through month four, All Might introduced weighted vests. Every run, every push-up, every trip hauling garbage now came with an extra twenty pounds strapped to his torso. At first, it felt like being crushed under rubble. Weeks later, it felt like a second skin.
By month six, the beach was transforming. The sand peeked out from under the junk, the shoreline opened up, and for the first time, Midoriya could see the ocean stretch wide and clear. People passing by started to notice. They'd wave, smile, even thank him. It was the first time he truly felt like he was doing something heroic, even without a Quirk.
Months seven through nine were the hardest. All Might ramped up the intensity—more running, more lifting, more endurance training. Midoriya's diet changed too, forcing him to eat enough protein and calories to fuel the endless workouts. His school life became a balancing act of classes, friends, and sheer exhaustion. There were nights where he wanted to quit, where he questioned if he could really become a hero. But every morning, he showed up.
By the tenth month, the transformation was complete. The beach was spotless, the ocean breeze carried the scent of saltwater instead of rust, and Midoriya's body was lean, strong, and ready. All Might stood beside him, arms crossed, the faintest hint of pride in his eyes.
Izuku Midoriya was now ready for the entrance exam for U.A
POV Change - 3 Weeks Earlier
While Midoriya spent his mornings knee-deep in sand and sweat, dragging rusted metal toward overflowing dumpsters, Accelerator was on the opposite end of the moral spectrum. His work with Giran had started as simple courier jobs—deliver this, pick up that—but lately, things had gotten uglier.
Payment disputes weren't uncommon. When a client came up short, Accelerator's job was just to pass it up the chain. Then Giran would "handle" it. Accelerator didn't care to know the details. Money was money, and he wasn't in the business of moral audits.
But his latest job… something about it felt off. Same setup—meet in a back alley, exchange the package, collect payment—but this time, the air was wrong. The client's eyes darted too much, their hand lingered too close to their jacket.
The gun came up fast. The trigger pulled faster.
The bullet never made it. It froze midair, inches from Accelerator's forehead, before spinning backward and tearing through the shooter's shoulder. They screamed, stumbled back, but Accelerator was already moving. A flick of his wrist sent the gun flying into a wall, another step had them slammed into the asphalt. The fight lasted less than ten seconds.
That's when he saw him—tall, scarf draped around his neck, eyes narrowed under messy hair. Eraserhead.
For the first time in years, Accelerator felt the floor tilt under him. His reflection control was gone. Just… gone.
Eraserhead's voice was calm, but edged with steel. "You're coming with me."
By the time the bindings wrapped around him, Accelerator had already sized up the situation. No point in fighting when your Quirk's a dead engine. He let them haul him in, lips curling into a snarl.
Interrogation was… expected. Four walls, a metal table, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Eraserhead sat across from him, file in hand, expression unreadable.
"You've been busy," Detective Tsukauchi said, flipping through the pages. "A lot of it isn't exactly legal."
Accelerator leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. "You gonna tell me what this is about, or are we just here to play twenty questions?"
"Using your quirk without a license, endangering civilians by intervening with a hostage situation and these boxes." Eraserhead pulled out the black substance inside of the box. "Do you have any idea what this is?"
The room was thick with silence, the dull hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound filling the air. Accelerator's pale eyes narrowed as he stared down the black, viscous substance sealed inside the evidence bag.
"That's Trigger," he said flatly, voice low and clipped. "Experimental Quirk-enhancing drug. Illegal as hell."
Detective Tsukauchi's gaze hardened. "This stuff was found at the scene where you interfered. We need to know what you were doing with it."
Accelerator's scowl twisted into something colder. "You think I'm some dealer? I take jobs. Sometimes the cargo isn't pretty. Doesn't mean I use it."
Eraserhead leaned forward slightly, his tone sharp. "You realize working outside the system, with no oversight, puts everyone at risk—including yourself, and this drug right here is illegal, we could legally put you in jail for this. But if you help us find the dealer, we can let you off with a warning"
Accelerator let out a deep sigh, "I'll call my employer. He might know something about this." Before Accelerator got up to go, Eraserhead gave him a warning. "If you're unable to give us any results within 3 weeks then we're taking you to court"