The ruined testing chamber at Sector Gamma-9 smelled of burnt metal and dust. Crush-Fist stood before Kenzou Rokujo, who was still staring mournfully at the cavity where a multi-million-dollar machine had been a moment ago. Dr. Hanzo was already on a secured line, yelling about geological stability and insurance forms.
"Alright, Rokujo," Crush-Fist said, his voice flat with disbelief. "Forget everything you thought you knew about your body. Your baseline is not 'Quirkless.' Your baseline is… an orbital strike. We need to reset your muscle memory."
Kenzou, chastened, bowed slightly. "I'm sorry, sir. I really thought I was holding back."
"That's the problem! You were holding back the effort, but the output remained absolute," Crush-Fist sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "For years, you've been doing the same movements that would exhaust a normal person, and your body adapted by evolving to a ridiculous, frictionless state. You don't have a gear lower than 'overdrive'."
Crush-Fist led Kenzou out of the demolished facility and into a large, enclosed canyon, clearly used for massive, long-range Quirk training.
"Lesson one," Crush-Fist announced, pointing to a nearby rock the size of a microwave oven. "I want you to pick up that rock and place it gently on the ground, ten feet away. Use only the force needed to move a rock of that size."
Kenzou nodded, approaching the rock with extreme caution. He extended his hand, concentrating with an intensity he usually reserved for calculating the distance of his 10km run. Be normal. Be normal. Be gentle.
He curled his fingers around the rock and applied what he genuinely thought was a light, three-fingered grip.
The rock immediately disintegrated into a fine, sparkling dust that drifted down his arm.
Crush-Fist pinched the bridge of his nose again. "You powdered a boulder. With your grip."
"I... I wasn't even punching!" Kenzou protested, shocked. "I barely squeezed!"
"Your 'barely' is a hydraulic press, kid. This is going to be harder than I thought," Crush-Fist muttered, running his hand through his short, messy hair. "We can't train control until we can limit the output. I need to make your body feel weak again. I need to simulate normal human limits."
Over the next two days, Kenzou was subjected to a bizarre array of experiments designed to restrict his boundless strength. They tried reinforced metal chains (which snapped when Kenzou simply stretched), high-tech gravity generators (which short-circuited under his weight), and even specialized Quirk-dampening fields (which made Crush-Fist feel weak, but Kenzou felt "slightly chilly").
Finally, Dr. Hanzo, now looking like a man who hadn't slept in a week, returned with a solution that was as absurd as Kenzou's power itself.
"We can't stop the power," Dr. Hanzo explained to Kenzou, holding up a briefcase made of reinforced carbon fiber. "So we have to absorb it immediately upon any muscle contraction. This technology was developed to neutralize the recoil of heavy artillery Quirks, but we've adapted it to cover your entire body."
He opened the case, revealing what looked like a cross between a sleek, black diving suit and medieval armor. It was segmented, jet-black, and covered in pulsing blue fiber optics.
"This is the Kinetic Energy Neutralization Suit, Version 1," Crush-Fist said with a hint of sarcasm. "It's ugly, but it's built using the strongest non-Quirked materials available.
Every single part of this suit is designed to absorb and instantly convert 99.9% of your excess kinetic energy into harmless light, heat, and sound."
Kenzou stepped into the suit. It fit perfectly, but it felt strangely heavy—the first real physical resistance he had felt in years. As soon as he flexed his bicep, the suit reacted, emitting a faint, high-pitched hum, and the blue fibers momentarily pulsed brighter.
"Okay, Rokujo. Try to punch the air. Just a test jab," Crush-Fist commanded.
Kenzou punched the air. It felt like punching through molasses. It was the first time his arm had ever felt resistance, the first time his muscles had ever slightly burned. The suit hummed loudly, and the blue fibers flared like strobe lights, instantly neutralizing the world-ending force. The only thing the air felt was a light whoosh of displacement.
"It works!" Dr. Hanzo cried, tears welling in his eyes. "He moved! And the atmosphere is still intact!"
"Good," Crush-Fist grunted. "This is your new costume. It is mandatory. Until you learn to punch like a human, you wear this. It's ridiculous, but it's the only thing that keeps you from becoming a national incident."
Kenzou now wore the cumbersome, jet-black Neutralization Suit everywhere. He only took it off to shower and sleep, much to the confusion of his mother, who was told it was a new "training device." He was effectively walking around at the strength level of a highly-trained, but fundamentally normal, human.
This new reality came with profound frustration. Every mundane task became a struggle:
Opening a jar? It took actual effort.
Running his daily 10km? It left him genuinely winded and dripping with sweat. He finished it in the time a top marathon runner would—not the two minutes he was used to.
Punching a speed bag? The bag just swung back, instead of flying into the next town.
"See, Kenzou," Crush-Fist explained during one late-night training session, where Kenzou was struggling to lift a standard gym barbell, "this feeling—this weakness, this resistance—this is what it means to be a hero with limitations. Now, try to apply this feeling to your movements. You need to develop a 'normal filter' in your mind."
Kenzou hated it. He hated feeling weak. He hated the suit. He felt like an imposter. His dream was to be the strongest, and now he was intentionally limiting himself to be... average.
"But Crush-Fist-san," Kenzou complained, dropping the barbell with a clatter. "How can I be a hero if I'm weaker than the people I'm supposed to save?"
"You're not weaker," Crush-Fist corrected sternly. "You're safe. And you still have the mind of a hero. The goal now is to remove the suit and replicate this feeling of weakness. It's mental control, not physical limitation. And that brings us to your next problem."
Crush-Fist slid a large manila envelope across the floor.
"U.A. has a supplementary entrance exam next week for candidates with 'unconventional Quirk manifestation timelines.' Dr. Hanzo pulled some strings with the 'Passive Enhancement' lie," he explained. "You're going. You can only use a controlled, minimal amount of your strength—the level of a standard Pro Hero's basic punch. If you use the suit, you fail the practical. If you use your true power, you fail and probably get arrested."
The night before the U.A. exam, Kenzou was back in the shattered testing canyon, wearing only his training clothes.
"Last chance, Rokujo," Crush-Fist warned, standing before a large, hollow concrete cylinder—the largest piece of debris they could find. "I want you to punch this and leave a dent. Just a dent. No vapor, no shockwave. No dust."
Kenzou breathed in, focusing. He thought about the resistance of the suit. He thought about the feeling of the heavy barbell. He channeled the feeling of weakness.
He threw a quick, short punch.
Crack!
The concrete cylinder didn't explode. It cracked neatly across the top, leaving a deep, localized dent. It was a perfect, powerful, but controlled punch—the kind of punch a Pro Hero would use to stun an opponent.
Kenzou stared at the dent, a triumphant, almost tearful smile spreading across his face. "I did it! I controlled it!"
"Good," Crush-Fist said, sounding relieved. "You have the control. Now go home, rest up, and ace that U.A. exam."
As Kenzou began the long walk back, a massive explosion erupted behind him, followed by a terrifying, metallic screech.
"What now?" Crush-Fist yelled, already activating his own Quirk.
From the canyon emerged a colossal, seven-meter-tall Villain, covered head-to-toe in heavily armored scrap metal, steam billowing from every joint. This wasn't a minor criminal; this was Junkyard, a powerful fugitive known for transforming surrounding metal debris into temporary, city-smashing bodies.
And Junkyard had just harvested the wreckage of the testing chamber. He was covered in Kinetic Energy Neutralization Suit plating and bits of the titanium impact machine.
"Crush-Fist!" Junkyard's booming, distorted voice echoed across the canyon. "I smelled the strongest fight of my life here! Now, it's mine! I'll take all this leftover strength!"
Junkyard roared, bringing down a massive, wrecking-ball-sized fist made of repurposed titanium plating, aiming it straight at Crush-Fist.
"Rokujo! Run! You can't use your full power here!" Crush-Fist screamed, preparing to intercept the blow with his density Quirk.
Kenzou froze. He was miles from any civilian area. This was the most powerful, immediate threat he had ever faced. Crush-Fist was about to be obliterated by a fist made of the same metal Kenzou had casually vaporized hours ago.
I have the control now, Kenzou thought desperately. I can use the control. I can use the "normal" punch.
He charged forward, bypassing Crush-Fist and intercepting the villain's huge metallic arm. He focused on the feeling of his last, successful, restrained punch—the one that only left a dent.
Kenzou hit the villain's massive forearm with his perfect, controlled, "normal" punch.
BWOOM.
The sound was not the sonic boom of Chapter 1, but a heavy, localized thud. Junkyard's forearm, composed of multi-layered titanium and reinforced carbon fiber, collapsed instantly. The force traveled up the villain's improvised arm, and the entire seven-meter body, which was now vibrating violently, was thrown backward fifty yards, skidding across the canyon floor, leaving a huge trench.
The villain lay motionless, the metallic armor cracked open, the actual villain inside unconscious and bleeding.
Kenzou stared at his fist. The punch had worked. It was controlled. It was a normal punch... for a hero capable of defeating a city-level threat in a single blow. It was the absolute limit of what he could consider "holding back."
Crush-Fist, standing behind him, looked pale and horrified, clutching his chest. "That... that was your controlled punch?"
"I... I think so," Kenzou whispered, looking at the utterly defeated villain. "I made a dent, Crush-Fist-san. A big dent."
"A dent!?" Crush-Fist yelled, gesturing wildly at the wrecked villain. "You just hit with the force of fifty heavy-duty Pros combined! If you use that on the U.A. robots, you'll tear a hole in the school grounds! We're back to square one!"
Kenzou looked at the sunrise peaking over the canyon wall. His U.A. exam was only hours away, and he had just proven that even his "controlled failure" was a world-ending victory.
How am I supposed to pass an exam designed for people who have limits?
The stage is set! Kenzou has a "normal punch" that is still absurdly overpowered. How will he navigate the U.A. entrance exam, and what role will his unwitting mentor, Crush-Fist, play in trying to secretly manage the disaster that is Rokujo Kenzou?