Age: 15 (6 months before the U.A. exam - POV Toshinori Yagi)
The sea breeze at Dagobah Municipal Beach used to smell of death and stagnation. Now, thanks to the efforts of a single boy (and, as I understand it, his absent friends), it was starting to smell of salt and possibilities.
I sat on the edge of the seawall, my skeletal form shrinking inside a yellow sweatshirt two sizes too big. I coughed discreetly into my fist, tasting the familiar metallic tang in my throat.
Down on the sand, young Midoriya was fighting a rusted refrigerator.
He wasn't using ropes. He wasn't using wheelbarrows. He was using an iron bar as a lever and a stack of tires as a fulcrum.
"Give me a place to stand, and I shall move the world..." I murmured, quoting Archimedes.
It was fascinating to watch. I had been coming to see him for a month. At first, it was just curiosity about the boy who ran until he passed out. Now, it was respect.
Midoriya had no Quirk. That was a biological fact. But his mind... his mind was a Quirk in itself. He didn't attack the trash; he dismantled it strategically. He calculated weights, angles, and friction.
The refrigerator moved, falling with a dull thud onto the collection tarp.
Midoriya wiped the sweat from his forehead, panting. He looked stronger than a month ago. His shoulders had broadened. His back had definition. But his eyes... his eyes kept looking for something that wasn't on the beach.
I stood up and walked down the concrete stairs.
"Good use of leverage, young Midoriya," I said.
He turned around, with that bright, nervous smile that always disarmed me.
"Yagi-san!" He greeted, bowing. "Good morning. I didn't see you arrive."
"I'm an old ghost; I'm hard to see," I joked, sitting on a clean tire. "Take a break. If you pass out, I don't have the strength to carry you to the road."
Izuku laughed and sat on the sand in front of me, opening his water bottle.
"You're going fast today," I commented, pointing to the cleared area. "You seem to be in a hurry."
"I have to finish this section before the weekend," he said, looking at his hands. "If I don't increase the workload, my muscles will plateau. And I don't have time to plateau."
There was an urgency in his voice that worried me. It wasn't healthy ambition. It was fear.
"Why the rush?" I asked softly. "U.A. isn't going anywhere."
Izuku lowered his gaze. He squeezed the water bottle until the plastic crackled.
"My friend... Kacchan. He's building something. Support gear. Hydraulic gloves, jump boots..."
"Sounds useful," I said. "Many heroes without strength Quirks, like Eraserhead or Sir Nighteye, use tools."
"I know." Izuku looked up, and I saw the storm in his green eyes. "But he's not doing it because he thinks it's a good strategy. He's doing it because he's afraid I'll die. He thinks I'm fragile. He thinks that without his technology, I'm useless."
I listened in silence. During our morning chats, the name "Kacchan" came up constantly. At first, I thought he was a bully. Then I thought he was a rival. Now I realized it was something much more complex. He was the sun around which Midoriya's world orbited.
"He's a genius," Izuku continued, with painful admiration. "He calculates everything. He predicts everything. If he says I need armor, it's because his numbers say I'm going to lose. And that terrifies me, Yagi-san. It terrifies me that he might be right."
"And that's why you're here alone?" I asked. "To prove his numbers are wrong?"
"To change the variable," Izuku replied firmly. "If I become stronger than he calculated, then his prediction will fail. I want... I want him to look at me and not see a victim. I want him to look at me and see an equal."
I sighed, looking at the horizon.
This boy was fighting on two fronts: against his own lack of power and against the gigantic shadow of his friend. That "Kacchan" sounded intense. An architect who wanted to control the destiny of everyone around him.
"You know, young Midoriya..." I began, scratching my sunken cheek. "Having someone who cares enough about you to build you armor isn't a bad thing. Fear is a form of love, even if it's a clumsy and loud form."
"I know. But it suffocates me."
"Then show him." I leaned forward. "Not with words. Not with anger. With results. Geniuses like your friend are usually stubborn, but they can't deny reality when it's right in front of them. If you move that mountain of trash with your own hands, he'll have to recalculate."
Izuku looked at me. The doubt in his eyes began to dissipate, replaced by determination.
"Recalculate..." he repeated. "Yes. I have to break his data."
"Exactly." I stood up, feeling my knees protest. "But be careful with pride, kid. Accepting help isn't weakness. Even All Might has sidekicks. No one holds up the sky alone."
Izuku nodded, standing up as well.
"Thank you, Yagi-san. Your advice always... helps me sort out my head."
"I'm just a retired old man who talks too much." I patted his shoulder. "Now get back to work. That refrigerator isn't going to recycle itself."
"Yes!"
I watched him resume his labor. This time, he attacked the trash with a different energy. It was no longer desperation. It was a challenge.
I walked away along the seawall, coughing into my handkerchief again.
Katsuki Bakugou.
That name was becoming recurrent in my thoughts. A technical prodigy, overprotective, aggressive, and brilliant. If Midoriya was the heart, that boy seemed to be the brain and the fist.
Maybe... I thought, looking at my skeletal hand. Maybe One For All needs someone like Midoriya to carry it, but Midoriya needs someone like Bakugou to survive the weight.
It was an interesting duality.
I pulled out my phone. I had a message from Gran Torino: «Did you find the successor yet or are you still wasting time?»
I smiled.
«Almost, master. Almost.»
I looked one last time at the green-haired boy lifting a truck tire with a shout of effort.
He wasn't ready yet. His body needed a little more time. And his mind needed to resolve that conflict with his friend. But the fire was there.
It just needed a spark to become a bonfire. And I had a feeling the spark was coming soon.