Chapter 2: The Fist of Love
The hiss of the bus's hydraulic brakes was the signal for the daily exodus. As the doors folded open, Lyorio stepped out into the warm, honeyed light of the setting sun. The city air, a cocktail of street food, exhaust fumes, and the faint, clean scent of an evening breeze, filled his lungs. Around him, a river of people flowed onto the sidewalk—a symphony of shuffling feet, tired chatter, and the digital chimes of phones. Each person was an island, adrift in their own thoughts after a long day.
Lyorio was no different. He moved with the current but was not a part of it. His vibrant red backpack was slung casually over his right shoulder, the other strap dangling loosely. White earbuds were nestled in his ears, feeding him a steady stream of a hero-analysis podcast that served as a comfortable buffer against the world's noise. He walked alone, his dark eyes calm and observant, until the stark white lines of a crosswalk and a glowing red hand brought him to a halt.
He stood at the edge of the human dam, waiting. To his left, a trio of high school girls erupted in a fit of giggles, their faces illuminated by the phone one of them held. To his right, an elderly man with a weathered face and patient eyes waited, his gnarled hands resting on the handle of a cane. In front of him, a small child held the leash of a ridiculously fluffy puppy, the small creature vibrating with an eagerness to cross.
Lyorio's gaze drifted upward, past the traffic lights, to the steel and glass canyons of the city. Gigantic holographic billboards shimmered against the deepening twilight. A dazzling ad for a soft drink, a promotion for the latest support gear, and then, a massive, unmoving image of the number two hero, Endeavor. He was captured mid-attack, wreathed in roaring flame and scowling intensity. He never smiles, Lyorio thought with a flicker of amusement, not even in advertisements.
A cheerful electronic melody chimed, and the red hand was replaced by a green walking figure. The dam broke. The crowd surged forward, and Lyorio moved with them, his long legs easily carrying him across the street.
A few more minutes of walking brought him to the quieter, residential streets. The scent of cooking dinners began to replace the city's sharper smells. He stopped before a modest, two-story house with a traditional tiled roof and a small, well-tended garden. It looked peaceful. Deceptively so.
He slipped the key into the lock. The click was soft as he opened the door, stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him. The familiar scent of home—wood, laundry, and his mother's cooking—greeted him.
"I'm back—"
His quiet announcement was violently cut short by a war cry from above.
"ACROSS EVERY FOREST AND JUNGLE, I AM THE PHANTOM MONKEY OF THIS FAMILY!"
Lyorio's eyes widened. A small body swung down from the second-floor landing, an impossibly long and rubbery arm latched onto the large overhead light fixture. His younger brother, Junio, was a ten-year-old blur of chaotic energy. Before Lyorio could even react, a small foot, propelled by the Tarzan-like swing, connected squarely with the side of his head.
CRACK!
His headphones flew off, hitting the door with a pathetic crunch of plastic and circuits.
Junio landed nimbly on his feet, his own grin wide and mischievous. "The Phantom Monkey strikes and vanishes!" he yelled, already sprinting away. "Too quick for the big, slow gorilla!"
Lyorio stood frozen for a second, a vein throbbing on his temple. He slowly placed his bag on the floor, kicked off his shoes, and an annoyed, almost predatory smile spread across his face. He broke into a run, his voice booming through the house.
"DID YOU MISS ME THAT MUCH, YOU LITTLE BRAT?!"
The chase was on. Junio was a marvel of elastic maneuvering. He bounced off walls, his limbs stretching to grab door frames and propel him around corners with astonishing speed. He moved like a super-powered insect, a flicker of motion that was almost impossible to track. Every time Lyorio's hand was about to grab his shirt, Junio would contort his body in an unnatural way or use a stray piece of furniture as a springboard to escape.
They barreled through the kitchen. "NOT IN MY KITCHEN!" their mother yelled, barely looking up from the stove, long since accustomed to the madness. "IF YOU BREAK A SINGLE PLATE, YOU'RE BOTH ON DISH DUTY FOR A WEEK!"
They tumbled into the living room, then sprinted down the main hall, their path leading inevitably to the one room they should have avoided. Their grandfather's room.
Junio made a final, desperate dive, but his luck had run out. Lyorio's lunge was perfect, his own arm stretching just that extra foot to wrap around his brother's waist. He tackled him onto the polished wooden floor, pinning the smaller boy beneath him.
Panting, Lyorio grinned down at his captured prey. "Nowhere left to run, you little maniac…"
"Now what…"
The voice was a low, gravelly rumble from the corner of the room. It cut through the air like a blade.
Lyorio's eyes shook. He knew that voice better than his own. He slowly, hesitantly, turned his head. His gaze fell upon the bed, where a large, powerfully built old man was sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His white hair was messy from his nap, and his face was a mask of pure annoyance. It was Garp, the retired hero, his grandfather.
"I was having a nice nap…" Garp growled, his voice thick with irritation. "And I open my eyes to find a pair of troublemakers like you wrestling on my floor."
A wave of pure terror washed over both brothers. Junio, seeing his chance, squirmed out from under a suddenly petrified Lyorio and bolted from the room with a speed he hadn't shown before. Lyorio scrambled to his feet, ready to follow.
He didn't make it two steps.
One moment, his grandfather was on the bed. The next, he was a shadow, a blur of motion that materialized directly over Lyorio, blocking the light from the doorway. His immense, calloused fist was cocked back, radiating a terrifying pressure.
"Did you miss my 'Fist of Love'?!" Garp roared.
BASH!!!
The impact wasn't just a punch; it was a detonation. Garp's fist connected with the top of Lyorio's head, and instead of just knocking him down, it drove him straight through the floorboards. Wood splintered and exploded upwards as Lyorio was sent crashing into the living room below.
He landed in a heap amidst a small cloud of dust and a rain of wooden debris.
From the kitchen, his mother's voice, laced with profound exhaustion, floated out. "Garp! That's the third time this year! How many times have you broken that floor, you retired old man? I just had it fixed…"
Later, at dinner, the atmosphere was one of perfect normalcy, as if a hole hadn't just been punched through the house. The only evidence of the earlier chaos was the large, comical bump on Lyorio's forehead. The four of them—Lyorio, Junio, their mother, and Garp—sat around the table.
"So," his mother began, her expression warm as she looked at her eldest son. "The exam. How did it go?"
Lyorio shoveled rice into his mouth. "It was okay. The smaller robots were no trouble, thanks to the old man's training."
A heavy fist lightly tapped him on the head, making him wince. "Say 'Grandpa'," Garp grunted from across the table.
"Ow! That hurts, old man!" Lyorio protested before his expression turned serious. He put his chopsticks down. "Honestly, though… I felt completely helpless. There was this giant robot… a Zero-Pointer. For the first time in my life, my Quirk… it felt useless."
His mother offered a gentle, reassuring smile. "At least you did your best, Lyorio. We can't ask for more than your all. I have a good feeling you passed."
Across the table, Garp was silent, his normally boisterous demeanor gone. He watched his grandson, his dark eyes calm and unreadable. His thoughts, however, were turning like the gears of a great machine.
Helpless. This is the first time I have ever seen the ever-optimistic Lyorio feel helpless before a challenge. I am certain he passed the exam; his fundamentals are too strong. But he is discouraged, not by failure, but by the existence of an overwhelming foe. Doubt has found him.
Garp picked up a piece of fish with his chopsticks, his gaze never leaving Lyorio's face.
Perhaps… perhaps it is time. The fear he feels now is a sign of maturity. Doubt is the soil in which true strength grows. It is time I showed him the family secret.