As Izuku reached the center of the park, the atmosphere changed.
Footsteps closed in from every direction.
He stopped.
One by one, the delinquents stepped out from behind trees, benches, and playground equipment, forming a loose circle around him. Their bodies blocked every exit—paths, grass, even the narrow trail leading back toward the street. No gaps. No chances to simply walk away.
Twenty. Izuku counted them automatically.
They weren't laughing. Just cold stares and clenched fists—boys ready to prove something through violence.
"So this is the quirkless frea—"
The sentence never finished. Izuku let go of his bag. It hit the ground mid-word.
He exploded forward. His fist slammed into the speaker's jaw with a brutal, compact strike—hips twisting, shoulder snapping through the motion. Bone cracked. The boy was thrown off his feet, launched backward like a rag doll.
He crashed into two others behind him.
All three skidded across the dirt, rolling to a stop in a tangled heap of groans and curses.
'I hate useless exposition,' Izuku thought flatly.
That was the signal.
The rest of them rushed him at once.
No like the movies where they cane one by onw. Just fists, boots, and bodies surging forward in a wave. Izuku didn't hesitate to fight back even though he was greatly out numbered.
He ducked under the first swing, pivoted, and drove an elbow into a ribcage. The boy folded instantly. Izuku grabbed his collar, yanked him forward, and shoved him into another attacker, sending both crashing into the grass.
Something whistled past his ear.
A kick.
Izuku leaned back just enough to let it miss, then slammed his heel down on the attacker's ankle.
CRACK.
A scream cut through the park.
Izuku seized the moment—literally—grabbing a wrist, twisting, and using the arm as leverage to swing the boy into the charging crowd. Bodies collided. Someone fell face-first into the dirt.
He didn't stop moving.
Every motion flowed into the next: short punches, palm strikes, knees to the gut. He used their numbers against them—forcing them to trip over each other, collide, panic.
A fist connected with his shoulder. He barely felt it. Izuku responded by driving his forehead forward.
THUD.
The boy dropped like dead weight.
Another tried tackling him from behind. Izuku widened his stance, hooked the guy's leg, and flipped him over his hip. The sound of air being blasted out of lungs hit almost as hard as the body hitting the ground.
Fear crept into their eyes now. They started hesitating. That was the worst mistake they could make.
Izuku stepped forward, breath steady, eyes locked, expression calm—almost bored—as he cut through them one by one.
No mercy. This wasn't a fight fueled by rage though. To him it was practice.
And as bodies hit the ground around him, one ugly realization spread through the group: they had made a grave mistake.
When it was over, silence reclaimed the park.
Izuku stood at the center of it all, the grass torn up, benches cracked, and bodies scattered around him like discarded trash. Some of the delinquents lay completely still, chests rising faintly as they drifted in and out of consciousness. Others curled on the ground, groaning in pain, clutching ribs, arms, or faces—too broken to even think about standing.
Izuku exhaled slowly. Not out of exhaustion. But release.
He bent down and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. His clothes were unruffled. His breathing steady. Not a bruise, not even a scratch marked his body.
'That was kinda fun,' he thought with mild surprise.
Almost… refreshing.
Without another glance at the fallen group, Izuku walked away, footsteps unhurried as he exited the park and disappeared down the street like nothing had happened.
---
Ten minutes later, the quiet shattered again.
Katsuki stormed into the park, hands shoved deep into his pockets, rage simmering just beneath the surface. His eyes swept across the scene—and his steps slowed.
Then stopped. The boys he'd sent were destroyed.
Strewn across the ground. Dirty. Bruised. Some unconscious. Others barely able to sit up, faces twisted in pain and humiliation.
Katsuki's eyes widened for just a fraction of a second before fury flooded in.
"What the hell is this?" he snapped. "How did you idiots get beat by a quirkless freak like him?!"
No one answered.
The closest thing to a leader among them tried to push himself up, only to collapse back down with a wheeze, pain flashing across his face. His mouth opened—but no words came out. Just defeat.
Katsuki clenched his fists, knuckles whitening as veins bulged along his arms. His teeth ground together, a sharp, dangerous sound.
Useless. All of them.
He turned away sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he inhaled hard, trying—and failing—to calm the storm inside him.
'Fine…If that's how it's going to be…'
His eyes burned with resolve.
'I'll settle this at U.A. That's if he enters' he thought.
And for the first time in a long while, Katsuki Bakugo felt something unfamiliar crawling up his spine. Not anger. Not pride. Fear—of what Midoriya Izuku might become.
....
More months passed.
Izuku grew stronger—steadier, faster, tougher—but eventually, the progress slowed. Then stopped. No matter what he did, his body refused to push further. It was like hitting an invisible wall, one that didn't crack no matter how hard he slammed into it.
He stood in the middle of the forest he'd practically claimed as his training ground. The paths between the trees were worn down from weeks of running. Broken branches littered the ground. The place carried the quiet familiarity of somewhere he'd exhausted completely.
Izuku stared at a thick tree trunk in front of him, jaw tight.
He had tried everything. Longer runs. Heavier workouts. Fewer rest days. More rest days. Pain, fatigue, hunger—he pushed through all of it. Still, nothing changed.
His body wouldn't budge.
'Damn it… what am I supposed to do now?' he thought. 'I'm not weak anymore—but I don't know if I'm strong enough for U.A. like this.'
And worse—
'In a few days, I'm supposed to meet All Might. I'm supposed to get his quirk.'
The frustration finally spilled over.
Izuku stepped forward and punched the tree.
BOOM.
The sound wasn't wood cracking.
It was an explosion.
The tree didn't snap or splinter—it vanished. The trunk disintegrated, bark and wood erupting outward as the upper half collapsed in a shower of debris. Dust and leaves rained down around him.
Izuku froze.
Slowly, he looked at his hand.
He turned it over. Flexed his fingers. Felt no pain. No recoil. No strain.
"…What?" he muttered.
'How did I do that?'
His heart picked up as he turned to the next tree. Thicker. Taller. Unharmed.
'Let me try that again,' he thought.
Izuku stepped back, set his feet, drew his fist in—and punched.
BOOOM.
The tree was erased just like the first. The upper half crashed down, branches snapping as they slammed into the forest floor.
Silence followed. Izuku stared at his right hand again, this time longer.
'Since when could I do this?'
Pieces started clicking together.
His broken mouse. The cracking his PS10 by mistake from a slight grip. Controllers snapping too easily in his grip. The fact that GTA6 still wasn't out somehow annoyed him more than all of that.
He had been strong for a while. He just hadn't noticed. Truth be told, Izuku had never actually tested his strength. Speed, stamina, endurance—that's where his focus had always been. Those were the stats that mattered for One For All. Strength would come later… or so he thought.
Now he wasn't so sure. He looked at the wrecked trees, then back at his hands. His mind raced.
'If I already have this kind of strength…'
The thought surfaced before he could stop it.
'Do I really need a quirk?'
TO BE CONTINUED