The sun beat down on the training grounds, each ray feeling like a miniature hammer blow. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, and the smell of damp earth and something vaguely floral hung heavy in the air. Today was… a mess. Aizawa-sensei was off helping Eri with her own… unexpected… floral explosions, leaving us, his class of budding heroes, to navigate our own quirk-induced chaos.
My own hands felt alien. Instead of the familiar crackle of One for All, they were calloused, the skin around my fingernails stained a deep green. Vines, thin and wiry, sprouted from my palms, reaching for the nearest support. It felt…wrong. Completely, utterly wrong. I'd tried to summon a controlled burst of power, but instead, a small patch of petunias had exploded from the ground, narrowly missing a bewildered Kirishima.
Speaking of Kirishima, he was currently trying to extract a handful of thorny vines that had somehow latched onto his arm. Each struggle only released a burst of tiny, hard strawberries. It was… an explosion of red and green, a bizarre harvest of pain and sweetness. Bakugo, as always, was the loudest, his explosions replaced by thorny tendrils that lashed out indiscriminately. He was practically a walking, grumbling bramble bush.
"DAMN IT!" Bakugo roared, a thorny vine whipping past my ear. "GET THESE STUPID WEEDS OFF ME!"
I winced. I understood his frustration. Sero was practically a green web, his usual tape transforming into thick, unruly vines that tangled everything in their path. Iida, bless his heart, tried to maintain order, but each attempt to coordinate training resulted in a cloud of wheat stalks erupting from his legs, tripping him and anyone nearby. Denki, usually the bright spark, was emitting a soft glow from the swarm of fireflies that now surrounded him. They were pretty, but hardly practical for close-quarters training.
We were a mess, a beautiful, chaotic mess of plant life. We fumbled through each drill, our quirks colliding, entangling, and causing more frustration than progress. I'd accidentally sprouted a small, thorny rose bush on Iida's head and Sero almost strangled Bakugo with his own vine quirk. By the time we were dismissed, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The day had been a complete failure.
That evening, Iida, ever the responsible one, called a mandatory class meeting in the common room. "We must establish a plan," he declared, his voice tight with concern, "to adapt to these… unusual quirk changes. We cannot falter in our training."
He suggested team bonding exercises, drills that would force us to work together, to utilize our altered quirks in a cooperative way. It was a good idea, actually. We spent the next few hours clumsily helping each other. I helped Sero untangle some vines from a chair while he used his vines to help me reach a high shelf. Kirishima had me plant some strawberries by the window. The exercise was almost calming.
Bakugo, of course, was reluctant at first, grumbling about "stupid nature quirks" but even he eventually joined in, albeit with more than a few muttered curses. He somehow managed to help Iida untangle his wheat stalks while Iida helped him break any stubborn thorns that kept growing out of his arms. We had a few squabbles, but by the end, we were laughing, the shared frustration giving way to a strange sort of camaraderie. They were, despite the weirdness, my friends, and we were all going through this together.
Later, tucked into my futon, the soft glow of the fireflies from Denki's practice session drifted through my window. My chest was tight, a knot of anxiety twisting inside me. What if I never got my quirk back? What if these vines were all I had left? Would I be useless, a hero whose power was reduced to a small, thorny patch of earth?
I traced the outlines of a small vine that was still poking out from under my fingernail. It felt… alien. It was me, yet it wasn't. And the thought of losing One For All, of becoming someone else, someone weaker…it was terrifying. I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come, but the fear, like a stubborn weed, had taken root. What would tomorrow bring? And more importantly, would I be able to face it, a hero or a walking garden? The thought kept me awake, the shadows in my room dancing with the phantom rustle of unknown leaves and the silent promise of thorns.