The image above is MC 13 years old
+++++++
The Training Gym Gamma at U.A. High School was massive. It was a huge space of reinforced concrete and steel, designed to withstand explosions, acid, and the tantrums of superpowered teenagers. Currently, it was empty, save for a single figure standing in the center of the gym.
Akira stood with his eyes closed, his breathing rhythmic and deep.
He had grown. Now the little baby was standing 5.3 feet tall, which was tall for his age. The baby fat was gone, replaced by lean muscle. He wore a sleek, form-fitting black tracksuit.
His hair was blood-red, spiking up in a way that looked effortlessly cool but actually required zero effort because it just did that. His birthmark, the feather-shaped flame on his forehead, seemed more defined now, a stark contrast against his skin. Even with his eyes closed, his posture screamed readiness.
Inhale.
Exhale.
He centered himself. The pool of blue energy in his chest was no longer a small puddle. It was a lake.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound cut through the silence like a starter pistol.
Three massive blast doors at the far end of the gym slid open. From the shadows, three robots surged forward. They were the standard U.A. Entrance Exam fodder — Villain Bots. Painted a dull, military green and looking like trash cans on steroids, they rushed across the floor, their optical sensors looking for the target.
The robots closed the distance in seconds. Ten meters.
Akira didn't move his feet. He opened his eyes.
Bloom!
From his skin, thousands of tiny, blue flames erupted. But they didn't burn like fire. As they left his body, they hardened, condensing into razor-thin shards of bluish-golden light. They looked like flower petals made of glass.
"Target acquired," the lead robot droned, raising a pneumatic arm.
It never got to finish the sentence.
Akira snapped his fingers.
The storm of petals swirled. It was a beautiful, terrifying vortex of blue light. With a sound like a thousand wind chimes shattering at once, the petals shredded the air.
Shing-shing-shing-shing!
The robots didn't explode. They fell apart.
It was precise. Surgical. The petals sliced through steel joints, severed hydraulic lines, and decapitated the sensors with horrifying efficiency. In less than a second, the three menacing machines were reduced to a pile of scrap metal, sparking harmlessly on the concrete.
Akira didn't smile. He knew this wasn't over.
Rumble.
The floor beneath his feet vibrated. A low, grinding sound echoed from below.
Subterranean approach. Classic.
Akira bent his knees, shifting his weight.
The concrete directly under him exploded upward. A massive, drill-nosed robot burst from the ground, its spinning metal beak aiming to skewer him.
In that split second, Akira jumped.
But a normal jump wouldn't be enough to clear the drill's reach. He needed raw power.
Phoenix Drive!
He focused the blue flame internally. Instead of projecting it, he flooded his own muscle fibers with it. The healing energy didn't just repair; it hyper-accelerated his biological potential. It forced his muscles to contract harder and faster than humanly possible, instantly repairing the micro-tears caused by the strain in real-time.
BOOM.
He launched himself into the air, the force of his jump cracking the concrete platform he had just been standing on. He soared twenty feet up, flipping gracefully over the drill robot's confused sensors.
He was upside down, suspended in mid-air.
Now.
He reached out with his right hand. The cloud of blue petals that had decimated the first wave responded to his will. They rushed toward him, swirling around his arm like a localized tornado, locking together to form a pair of long twin blades of solid blue fire.
Simultaneously, he kicked out with his left foot. He condensed the remaining flames beneath him, creating a hexagonal platform of hard light in thin air.
Kick. Slash. End it.
He planted his foot on the mid-air platform, bending his knee to launch himself downward like a missile.
"Finally," he gritted out, his eyes locked on the robot's exposed neck joint. "Now just one mo — "
CRACK.
The blue hexagonal construct beneath his foot didn't hold. It splintered like cheap glass under the immense pressure of his Phoenix Drive strength.
"Shit," Akira hissed, his eyes widening. "Not again."
Instead of launching himself at the robot, his leg punched straight through his own construct.
He flailed. Gravity, his oldest and most persistent nemesis, reclaimed him.
He fell face-first.
WHAM.
He hit the floor hard, bouncing once before sliding to a stop right in front of the drill robot. His impressive twin blades flickered and dissolved into harmless blue sparks.
The drill robot whirred, its sensors locking onto the boy groaning on the ground. It raised a massive metal arm to capture him.
Just then, the robot froze mid-swing. The red light in its eye dimmed to a standby orange.
The blast doors at the entrance slid open with a cheerful ding.
Two figures walked in.
One was familiar: Recovery Girl, looking as unimpressed as ever, tapping her syringe-cane against her palm.
The other was... distinctive. He was small, maybe two feet tall, with white fur, a scar over one eye, and a tail that twitched with manic intelligence. He wore a tiny suit with a tie that was arguably better tailored than most politicians'.
"Nicely done, Akira-kun!" Nezu chirped, his voice high and gratingly cheerful. "You almost pulled it off! The sequencing was flawless! The reaction time was sublime! But unfortunately... only almost."
The rat clapped his paws together. "HAHAHAHAHA!"
Akira groaned, rolling onto his back, his flames already healing him.
"Have I told you," Akira wheezed, sitting up slowly and rubbing his face, "how much I hate you, you damned rat?"
"BAHHAHAHAHHA!" Nezu threw his head back, laughing even harder. "You have! Approximately forty-two times this month alone! Your consistency is admirable!"
Thwack.
Recovery Girl brought her cane down on Akira's head. It wasn't a hard hit, but it was precise.
"Get serious, boy," she scolded. "You lost focus. You tried to rush the construct. Hard-light constructs require constant density maintenance. You sacrificed density for speed, and look where it got you. Face down in the dirt."
Akira rubbed his head, wincing. "It wasn't focus, Grandma. It was the output ratio. My legs were overcooked at 150%, but the platform was only reinforced for 100%. The math was off."
"Excuses," she sniffed.
Nezu wiped a tear from his eye, turning to the elderly heroine. "Oh, let him have some excuses, Chiyo. It makes the crushing defeat more palatable! Besides, I am the one listening to your daughter's request to push him to his limits. If he breaks, we just fix him! He can self-repair, after all! Hahaha!"
Akira sighed, dusting off his tracksuit. He stood up, feeling the ache in his ribs fade as his passive healing kicked in.
My mother's request.
He looked at his hands. They were calloused. Scarred (though the scars always faded eventually). They weren't the soft hands of a healer anymore.
His mind drifted back.
Eight Years Ago.
The memory was sharp.
It was a week after the Quirk Evaluation. Akira — still five — had been excited. He had registered his quirk. He had named it Phoenix. He was ready to start his life.
He stood in the backyard of their house. It was a nice day. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and the birds were singing.
Honoka stood across from him. She wasn't wearing her apron. She was wearing her Hero suit — a practical, green and white tactical bodysuit with reinforced plating and a utility belt filled with medical supplies.
Akira bounced on his heels, grinning.
"So, Mom!" he chirped. "What are we doing first? Are we going to practice making little blue butterflies? Or maybe I can try to heal a dead flower? I think I should focus on stamina training first, right? If I increase my mana pool — I mean, stamina — I can heal more people without passing out."
He had it all planned out. A chill training arc. Low stakes. Maybe a montage with upbeat music. He would learn to control the blue fire, impress his mom, and live a peaceful life as a support hero who stayed in the backlines and collected a paycheck.
Honoka smiled. It was a beautiful smile.
"That sounds like a sensible plan, Akira," she said softly.
"Right?" Akira nodded enthusiastically. "I mean, I'm a healer. My job is to fix things. I don't really need to fight. I can just — "
WOOSH.
He didn't see it coming.
A fist — encased in a gauntlet of green fire — was buried in his gut.
It wasn't a love tap. It wasn't a playful spar. It was a perfect, textbook gut punch delivered with the force of a hydraulic press.
"GAH — !"
The air left his lungs instantly. His feet left the ground.
Akira flew backward. He tumbled through the air, crashing into the wooden fence that bordered their garden. The wood splintered. He hit the ground hard, gasping for air that refused to enter his body.
He lay there, curled in a fetal position, clutching his stomach. His vision swam.
What... what the heck?
--<<>>--
What do you think of the quirk usage? Let me know!
This is the final chapter of early update. From now I will be upload 1 chapter every day.
Plus if you want, you can read up to +10 chapters (It's 9 right now, the final advanced chapter will be up soon) and support me you can alway join my P@treaon. (Just search up Joe_Mama p@treon on google.)
And if like the fanfic, add this to your library, and powerstones and comments are greatly appreciated!