Chapter 1: The Blue-Nosed Boy of Mustafu
The morning sun filtered through the curtains of a small, cozy room in Mustafu, casting dust motes that danced in the light like tiny, suspended stars. The alarm clock buzzed—a generic, rhythmic sound—and a small, furry hand reached out from under a thick, patchwork quilt to silence it.
Chopper yawned, a sound that started as a low hum and ended in a high-pitched squeak. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with his hooves. Yes, hooves.
At seven years old, Tony Tony Chopper was a medical anomaly, a biological curiosity. In a world where eighty percent of the population possessed a "Quirk," Chopper was still unique. He wasn't just a human with animal traits; he was a walking, talking, bipedal reindeer with a blue nose.
He hopped off the bed, his little hooves clacking softly against the wooden floorboards. He waddled over to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall, adjusting his large, pink top hat to make sure the white 'X' was perfectly centered. He turned left, then right, inspecting his blue nose. It twitched.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, his voice sounding like a small child trying to sound tough. "Today is another day. Don't let them stare."
"Get down here, you brat!" a sharp voice cracked like a whip from the bottom of the stairs. "Unless you plan on being late and making me look bad!"
Downstairs, the smell of burnt sugar and fluffy dough filled the kitchen. Dr. Kureha stood by the stove, taking a swig from a bottle of plum juice. She wasn't his biological mother—Chopper had been found wandering the snowy outskirts of the city years ago, alone and shivering. She was abrasive, loud, and claimed to be in the prime of her youth at over a hundred and thirty years old, but she was the only family he knew.
She slid a massive stack of pancakes onto a plate, letting it hit the wooden table with a heavy thud. She practically drowned them in syrup.
"Eat up," she commanded, not looking back from the stove. "And if anyone gives you trouble today, kick them in the shins."
"I'm not going to kick anyone, Doctorine!" Chopper protested, climbing onto the tall chair.
The walk to school was always a gauntlet. The neighborhood was quiet, lined with cherry blossom trees shedding their petals. Chopper clutched the straps of his oversized yellow backpack, trying desperately to blend in. It was impossible. He stood barely three feet tall in his default form—"Brain Point," as he secretly called it in his notebook.
"Kyaaa! Look!"
Chopper froze. Two high school girls stopped in their tracks, their eyes wide and sparkling.
"He's so tiny! So kawaii!" one squealed, frantically digging for her phone. "Can I take a picture? Let me squeeze his cheeks!"
Chopper's face flushed a deep, beet red under his fur. His body betrayed him instantly. He twisted his torso, waving his arms like wet noodles, a goofy, melted expression taking over his face.
"Shut up, you jerks!" he yelled, his voice cracking while he continued his happy little dance. "Calling me cute doesn't make me happy at all, you idiots!"
He scampered away before the camera flash could go off, his heart doing little somersaults. It was a strange dichotomy; half the world found him adorable, like a plush toy come to life. The other half found him unsettling.
He arrived at the elementary school gates. The noise of children screaming, laughing, and testing their Quirks filled the air. Chopper kept his head down, navigating through the sea of legs.
"Hey, Blue-Nose!"
Chopper flinched. He darted behind a tree, but as usual, he hid the wrong way—his entire body was completely visible, while only his eyes were concealed behind the trunk.
A group of boys stood near the sandbox. The leader, a boy named Kenji who could turn his skin into solid rock, laughed. "You're hiding backwards again, weirdo."
Chopper jumped out, brushing dirt off his shorts. "I wasn't hiding! I was inspecting the bark! For science!"
"Whatever," Kenji scoffed, dropping a soccer ball. "We need a goalie. Stand there and try not to cry if the ball hits your weird nose."
It was a backhanded invitation, but an invitation nonetheless. Chopper's eyes lit up. "Really? I can play?"
The game began, but Chopper wasn't athletic in this small form. He tripped over his own hooves twice. The mockery started as whispers but quickly grew louder.
"He's useless."
"Is he a pet or a student?"
Frustration bubbled inside Chopper's chest. He wasn't useless. He had been training his transformations in the backyard when no one was looking. He wanted them to say "Wow" instead of laughing.
Suddenly, things went wrong. Kenji, frustrated by a blocked pass, activated his Quirk. His leg hardened into jagged gray stone, and he kicked the ball with entirely unnecessary, brutal force. The ball launched like a cannonball, veering completely off-course.
It was hurtling straight toward a small, fragile-looking first-grader who had wandered too close to the field. The younger kid just froze, eyes wide in terror.
I have to stop it, Chopper thought. Brain Point was too weak. He wouldn't make it in time.
He focused. He felt the shift in his DNA, the sudden, violent expansion of muscle and bone. It was a sensation like stretching a thick rubber band to its absolute limit.
"Heavy Point!"
In a blink, the small, cute mascot vanished. In his place stood a massive, heavily muscled bipedal reindeer. His neck thickened, his shoulders broadened into mountains of pure muscle, and his shadow engulfed the entire goal post.
With a grunt that sounded more beast than boy, Chopper lunged forward and caught the speeding ball with one hand. The sheer force of the impact created a violent shockwave, kicking up a cloud of dust and cracking the dry earth beneath his heavy hooves. The ball popped instantly, his massive fingers crushing the leather.
Silence descended on the playground. Absolute, terrifying silence.
Chopper stood there, panting slightly, the ruined ball dropping from his massive hand. He smiled, a proud, triumphant smile. He had saved the kid. He had done it.
"I caught it!" he boomed, his voice deep and gravelly.
He waited for the applause. He waited for the "Cool!" and the "Awesome!"
Instead, the first-grader he had just saved fell backward, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Monster!"
The word cut through the air sharper than any blade. Chopper blinked, his smile faltering. The kids were backing away, their faces pale with genuine terror. Kenji had activated his full rock-armor, trembling defensively.
"It's a villain!" someone shouted.
"Run! It's going to crush us!"
"No," Chopper stammered, stepping forward. The ground shook heavily under his weight. "Wait, it's me! It's Chopper!"
"Stay back!" a teacher yelled, rushing over with his hands glowing with heat, ready to attack. "Get away from the students, you beast!"
Chopper froze. He looked at his hands—huge, hairy, built for destruction. They didn't see a hero who just saved a child. They didn't even see a boy.
They only saw a monster.
With a choked sob that sounded like a territorial roar to everyone else, Chopper turned and crashed straight through the school's iron fence, running blindly into the dense woods bordering the city.