The morning sun painted Takoba Beach in gold. My phone's camera swept across pristine sand where mountains of trash once stood.
"Ten months ago, this place was a junkyard." My voice carried over the gentle waves. "Now..."
I panned across families setting up beach umbrellas, kids building sandcastles, and early morning joggers leaving footprints along the waterline. The transformation felt surreal - like watching a time-lapse in reverse, each piece of garbage giving way to something beautiful.
The camera settled on a familiar refrigerator, its rusted bulk a lone sentinel against the restored landscape. Mom stood beside it, hand resting on the dented metal.
"The last piece." She smiled at the camera. "Your throne, Sensei."
Gramps emerged from behind the fridge, tea cup in hand. "Proper spot for an old man to watch his student grow." He patted the metal surface. "Though I suppose it's time to let this one go too."
The recording ended. I tucked my phone away and gripped the refrigerator's edges. Ten months of training made the weight almost negligible. The metal groaned as I lifted, sand cascading from its underside.
"Need a hand, young man?" Gramps sipped his drink.
"Just enjoying the moment." The fridge balanced easily above my head. "Last piece of trash on my beach."
"Your beach?" Mom's laugh carried across the sand. "Getting cocky, aren't we?"
"Earned confidence." Gramps corrected. "Boy's allowed some pride today."
I walked the fridge to the waiting truck, memories playing behind my eyes - that first day, barely able to move a microwave. Now the massive appliance felt like a cardboard box.
The truck driver gaped as I set it down gently in the bed. "You sure you're not using a quirk, kid?"
"Just good old-fashioned muscle." I patted the fridge farewell. "Thanks for handling the disposal."
"Thank you for the business." He shook his head. "Place looks amazing."
As the truck pulled away, Gramps finished his sake and stretched. "Well then. Time for our last lesson."
Mom already had her phone ready. "You boys behave."
"Sensei?" I shifted my weight, testing the familiar burden of my training weights. "Would it be alright if I used escrima sticks? Been practicing with them and-"
"Planning to bring them to UA's exam?"
"Ah. No." I rubbed my neck. "Support gear application got denied. Not quirk-related."
"Then there's your answer, brat." His eyes crinkled. "Not that you needed them to beat a poor old man."
"Poor old man who put me in the sand yesterday."
"Only six times. You're improving." He gestured at my weighted clothing. "Take those off. Time to see what you can really do."
I blinked. "The weights? All of them?"
"All of them."
One by one, I removed the carefully hidden weights - ankles, wrists, vest, belt. Each piece landed with a heavy thud, leaving deep impressions in the sand. The total weight had grown gradually over months, reaching nearly 150 kilograms.
Without them, my body felt strange. Untethered. I jumped experimentally, sand spraying as I accidentally launched myself two meters up.
"Oh." I landed softly, knees flexing. "Oh."
"Better adjust quick." Gramps settled into his stance. "I won't wait."
Mom's camera tracked us as we squared off. The morning sun caught the emerald studs in my ears - Mom's New Year's gift catching light as I mirrored Gramps' position.
"Ready, boy?"
My grin answered for me.
He moved. I moved. Sand exploded around us as ten months of training crystallized into pure motion.
My fist passed through empty air where his head had been. His counter-strike brushed my ribs as I twisted away, the gentle tap carrying enough force to send shivers through my muscles. We separated and clashed again, faster.
"Better!" His praise didn't slow his attacks. "But still telegraphing your right cross."
"Not anymore." I changed the cross into a grab, catching his sleeve. Victory lasted half a second before he turned my grip against me, sending me cartwheeling.
I landed running, feet barely touching ground as we accelerated. Without weights, my speed felt unlimited. Gramps matched me effortlessly, his movements smooth as flowing water.
"Good!" He blocked my combination. "Now show me what you've really learned."
The real lesson began. Each exchange lasted fractions of seconds, impacts creating small shockwaves in the sand. My attacks flowed like his taught me - redirect, adapt, overcome. His defenses remained impenetrable, but I managed to slip through occasionally.
A glancing blow to his shoulder. A knee that brushed his guard. A kick that forced him to actually block instead of redirect. Small victories against a master.
His counterattacks landed more frequently, each precisely calculated to teach. A tap to show an opening. A sweep to remind me about footwork. A throw to emphasize balance.
"You've grown strong." He caught my kick and spun me. "But strength alone isn't enough."
"That's why-" I rolled under his strike. "-you taught me-" My elbow sought his ribs. "-to flow!"
"Show me!"
The fight accelerated again. My consciousness expanded like he'd trained me - feeling air currents, reading muscle tensions, predicting movements before they began. His techniques came at me like a rushing river, and I became the stones that split its flow.
For three glorious seconds, I matched him perfectly. Attack and defense blended seamlessly as we moved across the sand. Then he smiled.
"Not bad." His form shifted subtly. "But you're still a hundred years too early."
What followed was pure education. Every move I'd learned appeared in its highest form, each technique demonstrated through my helpless defense. Sand flew as he tossed me around like a leaf in a hurricane, his movements too perfect to counter, too fast to evade.
I hit the ground one final time, breath rushing out as I stared at the sky. "I yield."
"Hmph." He offered his hand. "Seven hits."
"Really?" I let him pull me up. "I counted four."
"Seven solid contacts. Your speed's improved dramatically." His eyes held rare pride. "You'll do well tomorrow."
Mom lowered her phone, wiping tears. "That was beautiful. Like a dance."
"A dance?" I brushed sand from my hair. "Pretty sure I was the one getting dipped."
"Brat." Gramps retrieved his sake cup. "A master leads. The student follows. That's how we learn."
The sun had risen fully, warming the beach. Other visitors were arriving, giving our sand-scarred battlefield curious looks.
"I should get cleaned up." I bowed formally. "Thank you for everything, Sensei."
"Save the formality for when I visit the dojo up north." He waved his cup. "Your mother's cooking breakfast, and I'm not missing these pancakes."
Mom laughed. "I haven't even offered-"
"But you will." He started walking. "Coming?"
I shared a look with Mom, both of us fighting grins. Same old Gramps.
"Race you home?" I offered my arm.
"Without your weights?" She hooked her elbow through mine. "That's hardly fair."
"I'll run backwards."
"Now you're just showing off."
We followed Gramps home, the morning stretching bright before us. Tomorrow would bring challenges, but today was for family. For pancakes and laughter and one last lesson from a master who'd become so much more.
I touched my earrings, caught Mom's matching necklace sparkling in the sun. Some weights you never wanted to take off.
"Hurry up, you two!" Gramps called back. "Pancakes wait for no man!"
"Coming, coming." I smiled at Mom. "Think he knows you're making waffles?"
"Let him figure it out himself."
February 26, 2226
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the black turtleneck's collar. Strange, seeing myself like this. Even in my past life, I'd never looked quite this... refined.
The sweater's tailoring emphasized my athletic build without being showy, its ribbed cuffs resting perfectly at my wrists. A silver chain caught the light as I moved, simple yet elegant against the dark fabric. The emerald earrings Mom gave me added just the right touch of color, matched by the watch's subtle gleam.
"Izuku?" Mom's voice carried from the kitchen. "Breakfast's ready!"
"Coming!" I grabbed my gym bag, double-checking its contents. The black compression shirt and white martial arts pants were carefully folded, obi wrapped around them. My red Jordans sat on top, their metallic finish unmarred. Glad Michael Jordan made it from my world. Though I doubt Bang would approve of the sneakers.
Mom had outdone herself - the kitchen table groaned under a spread that could feed five. Rice, grilled fish, miso soup, tamagoyaki, and what looked like three different side dishes.
"Mom, the exam's only four hours."
"You need your strength." She adjusted a bowl that was already perfectly aligned. "And your backup strength. And your backup-backup strength."
"Pretty sure that's not how it works." I settled into my chair, fighting a grin. "But I appreciate the thought."
She sat across from me, hands clasped tightly. "You look so handsome. Like a young CEO."
"Or a yakuza's heir." I sampled the tamagoyaki. Perfect, as always. "Though I guess they dress flashier these days."
"Izuku!" But she laughed, tension easing from her shoulders. "You're going to do amazing things today. I just know it."
"Because of the outfit?"
"Because you're you." Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "My brilliant, dedicated, incredible son who turned a junkyard into a beach. Who trains until his hands bleed, then gets up and trains more. Who-" She sniffed. "Who's going to make me cry into my breakfast if he doesn't stop looking so grown up."
"Mom..."
"I'm fine!" She dabbed her eyes with a napkin. "Just... proud. So proud it hurts sometimes."
I reached across the table, squeezed her hand. "Thank you. For everything. These past ten months-"
"Eat your breakfast." She squeezed back. "Before I really start crying."
We ate in comfortable silence, sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. The apartment felt different somehow - like the space itself knew changes were coming. Or maybe that was just me, hyper-aware of every detail on this pivotal morning.
The clock struck seven. Time to go.
Mom walked me to the door, fussing with my collar one last time. "You have everything? Phone? Train pass? Lunch money?"
"Yes, yes, and yes." I shouldered my gym bag. "Plus emergency money, basic first aid kit, and three backup pens."
"That's my boy." She straightened my necklace, though it didn't need it. "Go show them what you can do."
I hugged her tight, feeling her tears dampen my shoulder. When we separated, her smile was watery but strong.
"Knock 'em dead, honey."
The door closed behind me with a soft click. I stood there a moment, ten months of preparation crystallizing into this single point in time. Ahead lay UA, Japan's top hero school. My first step toward a dream I'd inherited across worlds.
Time to make it count.