Two years later.
Fourteen-year-old Izuku Midoriya wasn't just prepared—he was dangerous.
Not in the way of a thug swinging a pipe in a back alley.
Not even in the way of a rookie hero eager to prove himself.
He was dangerous like a blade hidden in the folds of a cloak—silent, unseen, and ready to cut before anyone even realized it was there.
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The Gym That Wasn't a Gym
Every afternoon after school, Izuku disappeared. Teachers thought he went straight home. Classmates assumed he stayed in the library. In truth, he had turned an abandoned warehouse on the city's edge into his personal training ground.
Stacked crates became barricades. Rusting steel poles served as makeshift climbing posts. Old mats scavenged from a closed dojo lined the floor for close-combat practice.
Here, his training was relentless. His intelligence had already mapped hundreds of fight patterns from recorded hero battles. Now, his body was catching up.
Footwork drills until his calves burned.
Shadow sparring until his knuckles were raw.
Weighted sprints until his lungs felt like fire.
He didn't train to look strong. He trained to win—whether the fight lasted ten minutes or ten seconds.
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Sparring with Ghosts
Since he had no real sparring partners, Izuku fought against "ghosts" in his mind—imaginary opponents based on real heroes and villains. He would mimic their speed, their quirks, their weaknesses, pushing himself to counter every possible move.
A ghost of Mt. Lady's towering frame—how to evade her giant steps without being crushed.
A ghost of Eraser Head—how to maintain an advantage if his hypothetical quirk got erased.
Even a ghost of All Might—how to survive three seconds against overwhelming power.
He kept records of these "fights" in notebooks labeled Simulation Logs. Each entry ended the same way: Outcome: Survive.
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Social Warfare
But Izuku's growth wasn't limited to fists and footwork. He understood something many heroes didn't: battles weren't always fought on the battlefield. Some were fought in classrooms, in conversations, in the space between words.
He started reading people better than ever.
Which classmates were jealous.
Which teachers played favorites.
Which strangers in a crowd might be concealing something.
He learned how to speak in ways that gave nothing away—neutral expressions, controlled tone, measured gestures. If someone tried to provoke him, he could disarm them with a single calm sentence.
Some called him cold. Others called him mysterious. Izuku didn't care what they called him—so long as they underestimated him.
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The School Incident
One rainy Tuesday, an argument broke out in the hallway between two boys. It escalated quickly—shoves, fists, and then a fall toward a glass display case.
Izuku moved before he thought.
One hand caught the falling student's collar, the other braced against the wall to redirect the momentum. The boy landed on his feet, shaken but unharmed.
Teachers rushed in seconds later, demanding explanations. Both boys looked at Izuku—expecting him to gloat or play hero. Instead, he just said quietly,
"Someone could've been badly hurt. So i stopped them from hurting their future."
No lecture. No showboating. Just a fact. And somehow, that left the deepest impact.
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Home, but Not at Rest
At home, Inko still worried. She could see the discipline, the maturity… but she could also see the weight on his shoulders. He didn't laugh as much as other boys his age. His friends were few. His hobbies were just extensions of training—reading strategy guides, studying combat theory, memorizing emergency protocols.
"Sweetie," she said one night while he was cleaning and rewrapping his training gloves, "you're still young. You can relax a little, you know?"
Izuku gave her that same faint smile he'd worn for years.
"If I relax now, I might regret it later."
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A Test of Skill
Late one evening, in his warehouse gym, Izuku blindfolded himself and started a new drill. The goal: move silently across the obstacle course without making a single sound loud enough to be heard outside the walls.
Crates. Mats. Metal poles.
He flowed over and around them like water, every movement controlled.
Halfway through, he stopped—not because of fatigue, but because he sensed something. A faint vibration through the floorboards. Footsteps.
Someone was outside.
Izuku removed the blindfold, scanning the shadows. The person moved away after a moment, leaving only the quiet hum of the streetlights. He didn't chase. Instead, he filed the information away. If someone had found his training ground, he'd have to be ready for them next time.
---
He ended the night at his desk, adding the incident to his contingency notes. Fourteen years old, and he was already treating life like a chessboard. Every piece, every move, every possible counter.
As he closed the notebook, his eyes drifted to the city beyond his window. Somewhere out there, an event was waiting for him.
And when it came… his blade would already be drawn.
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Thank you for reading chapter 6 .
Next chapter: The time has come to meet the no.1 hero again