"Hmm? Did you say something?"
"I asked," she repeated, crossing her arms in a defensive posture that didn't hide the vulnerability in her voice, "when you're going to train me like that again."
The question hung in the cool afternoon air. It was a challenge, a plea, and an invitation.
He didn't flinch. He saw the storm in her eyes: a mixture of wounded pride, jealousy, and a vulnerability that called out to him directly. He didn't need a complex analysis to understand what was happening.
"Right now," he answered, his voice low and firm, without a hint of doubt.
Yu blinked, caught completely by surprise by the direct answer. Her defensive posture wavered. "What? Now? What are you talking about? We just left U.A."
"So?" he replied, taking a step that closed the distance between them. "You've seen what's possible when there's a connection. You saw what I did with Ibara in an hour. I took her to a level she didn't think was possible."
"Yeah, I saw," she muttered, the resentment in her voice unmistakable.
"Good. But you and I…" Izuku continued, his gaze locked on hers, intense, almost accusatory. "Our connection is much deeper. We've been building it for a long time, living together, training together. You know my methods, and I know your limits better than anyone. You've neglected your potential, Yu. You've gotten complacent with your recent victory."
Every word hit its mark, aimed directly at her deepest insecurities. She felt exposed, read.
"That's not—"
"Yes, it is," he interrupted, not raising his voice, but with a firmness that allowed no argument. "It's time I reminded you who my main project is."
****
They walked the rest of the way to their apartment in a tense silence. Yu could feel her pulse hammering in her temples. She didn't know if she was furious, nervous, or strangely excited. Maybe all three at once.
When they entered and closed the door, the normality of their home—Izuku's boxes still half-unpacked, the previous night's dinner plates in the drying rack, the familiar smell of coffee—seemed to belong to another world, to a life they had left behind the moment he said, "Right now."
Izuku dropped the keys on the small entryway table and turned to her.
"Go get changed," he ordered. His tone was no longer that of her friend and roommate. It was the tone of the trainer, of the man who had dissected Ibara's Quirk and rebuilt it into something stronger.
"Here? Now?" she asked, her heart starting to beat a little faster. "What are we supposed to do in the living room?"
"We're not going to U.A.," he answered, his eyes scanning the space, already planning the exercises. "This isn't for the committee. It's not for Nemuri or Mirko to take notes and evaluate my progress." He paused, and his eyes locked back onto hers. "This is for us. Put on your hero costume."
Without another word, Yu went to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. As she changed out of her street clothes and into the tight spandex suit, her hands trembled slightly. What was she doing? What had possessed her to say that? The answer was simple: she had seen how easily he had connected with Ibara, and a primitive, possessive part of her couldn't stand it. She wanted that focus, that intensity, to be hers and hers alone again.
She looked at herself in the mirror. The Mt. Lady costume. It felt different putting it on here, in the privacy of her room. More personal. More vulnerable. She took a deep breath, gathered her resolve, and walked out.
Izuku was waiting for her in the center of the living room. He had moved the coffee table and the cushions to create an open space.
"Alright," he said. "Let's start with the basics. What is your biggest weakness as a hero?"
The question caught her off guard. "Excuse me?" she replied, offended. "In case you don't remember, I just defeated a giant robot without breaking a sweat. I don't think I have many weaknesses."
"Don't be childish, Yu. You know exactly what I mean," he answered, unfazed. "You destroyed a poorly designed robot in your giant form, where your strength is overwhelming. But here," he said, tapping his own chest, "in your base form, you're still just Yu Takeyama. Strong, yes. Trained, also. But without access to your true power."
He crossed his arms, waiting for the reply.
"My Quirk is Gigantification. It is what it is."
"No. Your Quirk is an immense power that you use for Gigantification," he corrected, stepping closer. "Your power is an on-off switch. You're either a normal girl or you're a skyscraper. There's no middle ground. That's your weakness. You're useless in a narrow hallway, in an indoor chase, in a hostage situation where you can't transform. Your power is only good for one thing."
He was right. She hated that he was right. Every word landed on the insecurities that had tormented her since her debut.
"So what do you propose, genius?" she asked with a hiss. She tried to maintain the facade of anger, but inside, a part of her was desperate to hear his solution.
"We're going to change that," he said, his tone softening slightly as he saw he had broken through her defenses. He moved closer, invading her personal space. "We're going to teach you how to filter the power of your Quirk without activating full Gigantification. We're going to make it so that Mt. Lady isn't just your giant form. We're going to make it a state of mind, a reserve of power you can call upon right here." He raised a hand and pointed to the worn-out sofa. "I want you to be able to lift that couch with one finger without growing a single centimeter."
The idea was revolutionary. Absurd. And tempting. The possibility of having that strength, but with the control and precision of her normal body, would change everything.
"That's… impossible," she whispered, but her own denial sounded weak.
"It's not. It's Quirk physics. It's control."
"And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?" she murmured. He stopped right in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth from his body and see the determination in his green eyes.
"Your power responds to your emotional state. We know that from experience," he explained, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. "Panic shrinks you. Calm stabilizes you. Anger makes you lose control. But that's reactive. We need it to be proactive. To control it, you need to feel it. You have to find the path your Quirk's energy travels through your body before the transformation. And I'm going to help you find it."
Before she could process his words, he was behind her. The movement was fast and confident. His chest brushed against her back, and Yu held her breath.
"Close your eyes," he ordered softly, his warm breath next to her ear.
She obeyed. The world shrank to the darkness behind her eyelids and the overwhelming presence of Izuku.
"Forget the training with Ibara. Forget the committee. Forget everything," his voice was a guide in her mental chaos. "It's just you and me. Here and now. Breathe. Inhale… and exhale. Slowly."
She felt his hands rest on her waist. The contact, even through the fabric of her costume, sent a jolt up her spine.
"Your Quirk resides in every cell, Yu. It's in your blood, in your bones. But the switch, the core from where it all unleashes… is here," he whispered, and his hands began to slide slowly up her sides with methodical pressure. "You have to feel it like your own heartbeat, like the air in your lungs."
His fingers traced the outline of her muscles. He was reading her body, searching for the energy channels she had never bothered to find. For Yu, every touch sent a jolt of heat across her skin. She tried to focus on the task, on the idea of "feeling her power," but it was nearly impossible. Her mind was a whirlwind of sensations: his breath on her neck, the warmth of his hands exploring her body with a clinical precision that felt unbearably intimate.
"Focus," he murmured, as if he could read her mind. "Stop thinking about me. Think about the power. Look for it. Where do you feel it?"
"I… I don't know," she panted, biting her lower lip. "I've never tried to feel it without transforming. For me, it's just flipping a switch."
"Then the switch is broken. We're going to install a dimmer switch," he said, patient, relentless. "Feel my hands. Forget the idea of power. Just focus on my touch. I'm going to follow the path."
His hands continued their journey upward to her shoulders, and he squeezed them gently, forcing her to straighten her back.
"The power flows from your core, up your spine, and explodes outward. It's uncontrolled, violent. But you're letting it all out at once. You have to build a gate, learn to open it just a little to release a controlled flow instead of an explosion."
She tried to visualize it: a gate, a controlled flow. But the image dissolved every time his fingers moved. It was an unbearable contradiction that had her on the verge of sensory overload.
"It's not working," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't concentrate. You're… distracting me."
There was a pause. She felt him consider her words. Instead of pulling away, she felt his body press slightly closer against hers.
"Yes, you can," he replied, his voice projecting absolute confidence into her chaos. "You're just used to brute force. This requires finesse. It requires you to silence the part of your brain that screams and listen to the part that whispers. Try again. From the beginning. With me."
His hands slid back down to her waist, to the starting point. This time, the journey was slower, more deliberate. Yu shivered as his thumbs pressed into the muscles of her lower back, just above her hips, in the small hollows on either side of her spine.
"Here," he said, his voice barely a breath. "The center of your universe. Everything starts here. The strength for your kicks. The balance for your stances. And the control of your Quirk. Forget everything else I've said. Just feel this. Feel the energy pooling here, under my thumbs. Picture it as a small, warm sphere of light."
She tried. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut tighter. A sphere of light at the base of her spine. Warm. Pulsing. She could almost see it in the darkness of her mind.
"Good," he encouraged her. "Your body is reacting. Now, don't let it explode. Make it rise. Slowly. Up your spine."
She felt his hands follow the path he described, a firm, guiding touch moving up her back, vertebra by vertebra. The warmth followed his fingers. The imaginary sphere of light seemed to follow it, too.
"That's it. Feel it connect to every muscle."
By the time his hands reached her shoulders, she was trembling.
"Now," he whispered, his lips brushing against her earlobe, "let a little of that power flow into your right arm. Only the right one."
She focused with an intensity she didn't know she possessed. She directed all her intention into her right arm, slowly extending it out in front of her.
And then she felt it.
A dense heat spreading from her shoulder, down her bicep, her forearm, to the tips of her fingers. Her arm felt… different.
"Open your eyes," Izuku commanded.
She did. She looked at her hand. It didn't look different. It hadn't grown or started to glow, but she could feel the power vibrating just beneath the skin.
"Look at the sofa," he said.
She turned her head toward the heavy piece of furniture. With a strange sense of detachment, she walked toward it. She raised her right hand and, after hesitating for a second, placed it against the couch and pushed.
There was no resistance.
The sofa, weighing well over a hundred pounds, slid across the wooden floor with astonishing ease and stopped in the center of the room with a dull thud.
Yu stared, her hand still outstretched, her mouth slightly open. She had moved it. With one hand. Effortlessly. Without growing a single millimeter. The energy in her arm dissipated, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness and a residual tremor.
She turned slowly to look at Izuku. He was standing where she had left him, arms crossed, watching her with a smile of pure satisfaction. It was the smile of someone seeing their boldest theory proven correct.
"I told you," he said, his voice soft but loaded with triumph. "The center of your universe. It's all in there. You just had to learn to listen to it."