"I can't believe you have to leave again."
Yu's voice came from the couch, loaded with a sigh so theatrical it could have won an award. She was lying down, a fashion magazine she wasn't reading open on her chest, watching Izuku methodically tie his shoes by the door.
"Seriously, it's a crisis. The plant girl is monopolizing all your coaching time. My shoulders are incredibly tense, you know? I feel like my traps are about to go on strike. My 'enhancement sessions' are suffering catastrophic consequences."
From the entryway, Izuku turned to look at her. There was no amusement on his face, only the expression of someone presenting a logical, well-founded argument.
"Her entrance exam is in two weeks, Yu. We're in the intensive phase. It's crucial to make sure all the knowledge settles and her body adapts. We can't let up now." He paused, raising a finger. "Besides, last night I gave you an hour-long foot massage while we watched that monster movie you like, the one, Kaiju Apocalypse 3."
"That was basic maintenance, Izuku, not a performance enhancement," she retorted, pouting in a way that was only half-joking. She sat up, letting the magazine slide to the floor. "A foot massage prevents cramps, but it doesn't realign my center of gravity. It could be completely misaligned right this second and we wouldn't even know. That's professional negligence on your part. What if I'm needed for a mission tomorrow and my balance is one percent below optimal? Lives could be at stake."
"Your center of gravity is perfectly fine. I checked it yesterday when we were practicing those falls from the rooftop."
"That was yesterday! The human body is a dynamic, constantly changing system. Excellence requires constant vigilance," she declared with the solemnity of a doctor discussing a critical case.
Before Izuku could dismantle her twisted logic with another irrefutable fact, the living room television screen flickered to life on its own, interrupting their domestic routine. The sly, smiling face of Nemuri Kayama, Midnight, filled the screen, greeting them from what looked like her office at U.A.
"Good morning, lovebirds. Hope I'm not interrupting any… particularly intense domestic training sessions."
Yu shot up, her cheeks flushing bright red. "We were discussing breakfast logistics, Nemuri! And we are not lovebirds! This is a purely professional conversation!"
Nemuri ignored her completely, her smile widening if that was even possible. "Right, right… Well, sorry to interrupt your important symposium, but I have news. Principal Nezu is very interested in seeing the progress of his star project. He's been reviewing my reports on Miss Shiozaki's training, and it seems his curiosity has reached a peak."
Izuku straightened up, all the morning's lightness vanishing from his posture. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you have an official demonstration scheduled," Nemuri said, her tone growing more serious, losing its playful edge. "Tomorrow at four in the afternoon, at Training Ground Gamma."
The news landed heavily in the room. Yu fell silent, her mouth slightly agape.
"Mirko and I will be there to evaluate. And the principal, of course," Nemuri continued, her gaze fixed on Izuku through the screen. "You'd better have something good to show. U.A. has invested a lot in your potential as a coach, Izuku-kun, and took a chance on Miss Shiozaki based on your recommendation. Tomorrow is your first real progress report. Don't forget it."
The call ended as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the screen black and Yu and Izuku in a silence charged with a new, heavy layer of pressure.
Yu was the first to speak, her voice now much lower. "Do you think she's ready?"
"She will be," Izuku said with unshakable calm. He finished tying his last shoe and stood up. "That's why we can't let up now."
The next morning, the air in one of U.A.'s private gyms was thick with concentration. Izuku and Ibara were running through a final warm-up session before the afternoon's demonstration. A few thin, controlled vines hung from the ceiling, where Ibara had been snaking them through a series of hoops as a precision test.
"You're tensing up again," Izuku said, his voice a quiet but firm murmur. He circled her as she held a low stance, her hands outstretched. "I can feel the hesitation in your energy flow. What's wrong?"
"It's… the pressure, Coach Midoriya," she admitted in a low voice, not breaking her focus. Her eyes were fixed on a spot on the opposite wall. "Knowing that Principal Nezu will be watching… It's different from our usual sessions."
"Good. Use that pressure," he replied bluntly. "Pressure isn't your enemy. It's just energy. You can let it crush you, or you can channel it. Turn it into fuel." He stopped beside her. "Remember, Ibara. It's not brute force. Draw the power from the earth. Let the energy rise from the ground, through your legs, settle in your core, and then release it through your arms."
Ibara nodded, her face flushed from the effort and his proximity. There was no longer any panic or surprise in her expression when he touched her to correct her posture. In the first few weeks, every adjustment had made her jump, but now, she had come to accept his teaching method as a necessary and strangely comforting part of her development.
"Let's do one last power exercise before we rest," Izuku announced. "I want you to release everything at once. Understood?"
"Understood."
Ibara readied herself, bending her knees and planting her feet firmly on the mat. She focused, feeling the connection to the earth beneath her. Izuku positioned himself directly behind her for one final correction. His hands landed on her hips, adjusting her angle by a few millimeters.
"Your stance is slightly off to the left," he murmured. And then, with a quick, practical motion completely devoid of any emotion other than that of a coach, he gave her a firm, resounding pat on her rear.
"Remember, Ibara!" he said, his voice loud and clear, echoing in the quiet gym. "All energy emanates from the core!"
She flinched visibly, a deep blush coloring her cheeks and neck, but there wasn't a hint of embarrassment or discomfort in her eyes. She nodded with devout seriousness, her mind processing the instruction with absolute clarity. In recent weeks, her mind had reached a unique and wonderful conclusion about her coach's methods, one that transformed his every action into something more.
Coach Midoriya's touch… it's a blessing, she thought, as she felt the energy concentrate in her core, right where the sensation of the pat still tingled. I must be grateful for his direct and clear guidance. He purifies my doubts with his actions.
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her voice quiet but resonating with a new and formidable strength that hadn't been there moments before.
"I am ready, Coach Midoriya. With your guidance, I cannot fail."
Izuku gave her a smile. It was a smile so full of pure and absolute pride that it made her feel invincible, as if she had already passed the test.
"I know. Now, rest, hydrate. And then, we're going to show them what you're capable of."
Training Ground Gamma at U.A. was a vast expanse of concrete and metal structures designed to simulate an industrial complex. Rusted steel beams, thick pipes, and cement block buildings created a labyrinth of potential combat scenarios. In an elevated observation room, with an enormous panoramic window offering a flawless view of the entire field, the supervisory committee waited.
Nezu, the principal, sat calmly in a comfortable armchair, a cup of steaming tea held between his paws. Beside him, Nemuri Kayama watched with the analytical interest of a teacher about to grade a crucial exam. Standing closer to the glass, Yu chewed on her lip, her nervousness so palpable it almost seemed to vibrate in the air. And next to her, Rumi Usagiyama, Mirko, stood with her arms crossed impatiently, her posture radiating a skepticism as thick as the concrete below.
"I don't even know what I'm doing here, I don't even work at U.A.," Mirko grumbled, tapping her foot on the floor. "How long are we going to wait? We've been here five minutes already. She's going to go out there, tickle the robots with a few twigs, and we'll all go home."
"Give her a chance, Rumi," Yu replied, her voice tense as she kept her eyes on Ibara's small figure in the center of the field. "They've worked really hard. Izuku knows what he's doing. He wouldn't put her out here if he wasn't absolutely sure."
"Of course he's sure," Mirko snorted. "That kid has more confidence than a cat with nine lives. The question is whether the confidence is justified."
"Izuku-kun's confidence is intriguing, to say the least," Nemuri added, adjusting her glasses. "His reports have been concise but very optimistic. He talks about exponential growth in biomass production and reaction speed. Let's see if it's not just talk."
"Optimism doesn't win fights," Mirko stated flatly.
Down on the field, Ibara stood alone. She looked small and vulnerable in the midst of the vastness of concrete and metal. Around her, arranged in a wide circle, a dozen humanoid training robots activated. Their metal bodies creaked as they moved into combat stances, and their optical eyes glowed with a menacing red light.
Nezu's voice came over the intercom, clear, precise, and devoid of emotion. "Miss Shiozaki, the test will begin on my mark. The objective is to incapacitate all targets in the shortest time possible. Your performance will be evaluated on speed, efficiency, and control. Begin… now."
In the discreet earpiece Ibara wore, Izuku's voice was a calm and confident whisper, an island of serenity in the middle of the pressure.
"Alright, Ibara. No hesitation. Exactly as we practiced. Show them 'The Garden'."
She closed her eyes. She took one deep breath, filling her lungs. And then, she stomped her right foot on the ground.
The reaction was instantaneous, violent, and terrifying.
The concrete at her feet shattered. From the fissures erupted thick vines of a green so dark it was almost black, covered in sharp thorns the size of daggers. They exploded outward with a dull roar, like the sound of the earth breaking. They spread at an incredible speed, covering a fifty-meter radius and turning the industrial plaza into a dense, menacing forest of thorns in under ten seconds. The vines wrapped around the metal beams, climbed the walls of the cement buildings, and created an impenetrable dome of lethal vegetation.
In the observation room, the skepticism shattered.
Mirko leaned forward, her red eyes wide, pressing her face against the glass. Disbelief had completely replaced her previous expression. "Whoa… that's… new. And fast. Very, very fast."
"Area control on an impressive scale," Nezu murmured, taking a sip of his tea without looking away from the spectacle. His tail swished slowly from side to side. "The deployment speed is top-tier. Fascinating."
Yu let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in a hiss. A proud smile spread across her face. "That's my boy…"
Izuku's voice sounded in Ibara's ear again, cutting through the roar of her own creation.
"Now, don't let anything move."
Inside the newly created garden of thorns, the robots began to advance, their servomotors whirring as they took their first step toward her.
It was their first and last move.
Instantly, the ground beneath them came alive. The vines forming the thorny carpet shot upwards with lethal precision. They wrapped around the robots' metal legs, squeezing with enough force to dent the metal and halt their advance. At the same time, they climbed up their torsos with unnatural speed. Other vines, thin and sharp as whips, shot out from the walls of the garden, enveloping the robots' arms and heads, immobilizing them completely.
There was a series of sharp cracks and metallic groans. The vines tightened, and with brutal and perfectly coordinated force, they crushed the robots' heads, pierced their armored torsos, and tore their limbs from their joints. It was a silent, efficient, and utterly terrifying massacre, all controlled by the will of the girl who remained motionless and serene in the center of her deadly creation, her arms slightly outstretched.
In less than a minute, it was all over. All the robots were shattered, immobilized, and completely neutralized, turned into mere sculptures of twisted metal trapped in a nightmare garden.
Ibara, panting lightly from the effort, relaxed her stance. The garden of thorns shuddered and, with the same speed it had appeared, slowly retreated back underground, disappearing into the cracks in the concrete and leaving only the metallic remains of the robots as proof of its existence.
A stunned silence reigned in the observation room. Mirko was the first to break it. She stepped away from the glass, walked to the console, and picked up the intercom microphone. Her face was a mask of pure disbelief and a new, profound respect. Her voice, now completely devoid of skepticism, boomed across the training field.
"Alright, kid. I take it back. The plant girl has fangs. Lots of 'em. And they're sharp."
From his own control room in another building, Izuku replied over the comms, but he wasn't speaking to the committee. His question, calm and filled with a palpable pride, was for Ibara alone.
"See? What did I tell you about channeling the 'divine illumination' from your core?"
The phrase, completely out of context for the others, made Yu bring a hand to her face to hide a smile, while Nemuri simply raised an eyebrow with an expression of poorly disguised amusement. They exchanged a look that clearly said, What on earth is he talking about? Mirko just frowned, her expression one of pure, unfiltered confusion.
It was Nezu who took control, his calm voice cutting through the air and returning seriousness to the moment.
"Impressive, Mr. Midoriya, Miss Shiozaki. Truly impressive. You have demonstrated exceptional destructive power and area control. The speed and efficiency are, without a doubt, at a first-class level."
He paused, and his tone became sharper, more analytical. The tone of an educator about to deliver a difficult lesson.
"But in solving one problem, you have created a new one, a much more dangerous one. Your power is now so vast and so fast that it is, by its very nature, indiscriminate. In a real-world scenario, with civilians trapped in the rubble of a collapsed building, or with fellow heroes fighting alongside you inside that garden, how do you ensure that your 'attack vines' distinguish between an enemy and an ally? Between a robot and a person you are meant to rescue?"
The question, so sharp and pertinent, fell over the room. The triumphant atmosphere vanished, replaced by the cold, harsh light of heroic reality.
"What you have displayed is a tool of mass destruction," Nezu continued, his voice relentless. "A very effective one, no doubt. But heroes are not mere instruments of destruction. They are symbols of hope, protectors. A power that cannot discern is as dangerous to the innocent as it is to the guilty."
They had mastered power, but not precision. They had won the battle against the robots, but not the conceptual war that heroism entailed.