Dagobah Beach lay quiet beneath the pale morning sun, the waves rolling in slow breaths as if the ocean itself were still waking up. Seven months of training had carved new pathways through the mountains of trash, turning what had once been a wasteland into something that felt almost alive. Sand had been cleared. Debris had been rearranged. The place had become a battlefield, a gym, a forge.
Izuku arrived first.
He exhaled softly, lifting screws and a rusted pipe into rotation around him. The metal orbited lazily at first, drifting in widening circles like planets pulled into alignment. His power hummed faintly behind his eyes, warm and familiar. Another day. Another chance to sharpen himself.
"Yo! Izuku!"
Kirishima's voice carried across the sand. He jogged over, red hair tied back, towel swinging over one shoulder. Morning light caught the faint hardening sheen on his forearms he'd clearly been warming up on the run here.
"You ready for today?"
Izuku smiled, a twitch of nerves tucked beneath the excitement. "Yeah. I'm… honestly excited to see how One For All feels now."
Before Kirishima could answer, a sharp burst of wind crashed against the sand. All Might landed in full glory—muscles, cape, shining presence—and just as quickly shrank into his gaunt form with a coughing fit.
"Morning," he rasped. "Today is important."
Both boys straightened. Izuku felt his heartbeat double. And then A whistle so shrill it cut the air in half. An old man in a yellow tracksuit stood atop a refrigerator like he'd always been there, chewing lazily on a piece of mochi.
"Yo. Which brat has the fancy power?"
All Might winced. "G–Gran Torino…"
Gran Torino hopped down with surprising energy for someone his size and age. He poked Kirishima's shin with a jab as sharp as a syringe needle.
"Good bone density. Good legs. You'll break 'em spectacularly."
Kirishima laughed nervously. "Uh… thanks?"
Izuku barely had time to exhale before Torino jabbed him in the chest.
"And you? Green bean? Training too?"
"Y-yes, sir!" Izuku squeaked, standing at attention.
"Good. Both of ya learning."
Gran Torino strode to the center of the sand, cracking his neck.
"Alright, brat. Show me One For All. Just a flick. No more."
Kirishima stepped forward, inhaled, and lifted his hand.
Nothing happened.
He tried again—nothing but a faint, dying spark. Izuku leaned toward him. "Maybe… kinda? It looked like something?"
Kirishima laughed awkwardly. "Guess not."
Gran Torino dragged a hand down his face.
"You're tugging at it like you're trying to yank cables out of a toaster. No wonder it's not responding."
All Might took a step forward. "Perhaps he simply needs"
"No coddling." Torino snapped. "He's not knitting sweaters; he's controlling a super battery." He circled Kirishima, poking ribs, flicking his forehead, nudging his shoulder.
"One For All doesn't live in the fingers. It lives…" He thumped Kirishima's sternum, hard enough to make him grunt.
"Here. In the core. In instinct. In the flow."
Kirishima straightened, eyes sharp.
"And your quirk" Torino flicked his hardened forearm "gives you an advantage. Your whole body already knows how to absorb stress. Full-body power control comes easier to you than someone who breaks bones every time they sneeze."
Izuku flushed a little. "So… Kirishima can distribute the power better?" "Exactly," Torino barked. "Harden. Stabilize. Then call the power. Don't force One For All through a single finger like a moron."
Kirishima nodded, inhaling deeply.
He hardened arms, chest, legs his skin taking on a faint, uniform shine. Then he breathed in again, longer, controlled, drawing power from somewhere deeper than muscle.
Green lightning began to crawl slowly, gently across his shoulders. All Might's expression softened, pride blooming in his eyes. "Yes… that's it." Gran Torino waved a hand. "Alright, brat. Flick."
Kirishima flicked
A clean burst of wind kicked up sand in a tight spiral. "I… did it."
Izuku lit up with genuine pride. "Kirishima! That was amazing!"
Gran Torino tapped Kirishima's knee. "Barely. But good enough to not scrape you off the pavement."
Then he pointed at Izuku.
"And now you two fight."
THE SPARRING MATCH
Izuku blinked. "Wh-what?!"
Kirishima pumped his fists, grin exploding across his face. "Seriously?! Hell yes!"
Gran Torino crossed his arms. "One percent ONLY. Control, not chaos."
Izuku swallowed, adrenaline thrumming beneath his ribs. He inhaled and pulled metal toward him. Four spheres rose first, then two steel rods, followed by thin strips peeled from the layered chest armor he'd forged over months.
Kirishima hardened completely, taking on that stone-like gloss. Green sparks danced faintly around his arms—ready, but controlled.
Gran Torino snapped his fingers.
"Begin."
Kirishima charged.
The ground cracked under his first step, the sand exploding outward as he barreled across the beach like a launched missile. Izuku reacted instantly, sending three spheres forward with a sharp flick of his hand.
The first sphere slammed into Kirishima's ribs. He grunted, but hardly slowed.
The second crashed into his shoulder, staggering him for half a breath. The third grazed his hip, glancing off hardened skin with a ringing metallic snap.
Kirishima powered straight through the barrage. Izuku pulled one of the thin metal strips from his chest plate, letting it uncoil and whip forward.
TECHNIQUE: IRON BIND
Compressed metal sheets, peeled from Izuku's chest armor, snap outward and coil around a limb with magnetic tension. Used for quick restraints or forced openings in defense.
The strip snapped around Kirishima's left wrist, locking tight.
Izuku yanked.
Kirishima stumbled, torso twisting his right side opening wide. Izuku didn't hesitate. He lunged in and planted a punch right into Kirishima's gut.
The impact echoed through Kirishima's hardened core enough to make him grunt and lose footing.
Before he could recover Two of Izuku's spinning spheres slammed into him
one catching his ribs,
the other striking his lower back.
Kirishima staggered a step.
But then he grit his teeth, hardened deeper—muscles bulging, plates tightening—and ripped free from the Iron Bind with a violent flex that snapped the metal in two.
He wiped his mouth, grinning even as he winced. "Nice hit," he said, breath sharp. "My turn!"
He lunged again.
Izuku tried to dodge, using his sixth ball to shove himself sideways—but Kirishima adjusted mid-charge, lowering his shoulder.
The shoulder-check hit like a truck.
Izuku flew backwards, sand exploding around him. The world spun. He gasped, rolling awkwardly before he could stabilize himself.
Kirishima didn't give him time.
He dashed forward and planted a hardened punch square into Izuku's shoulder—not enough to break, but enough to drive him into the ground and knock the breath from his lungs.
Izuku's vision flickered. He lay there, panting, metal rolling weakly around him. Gran Torino raised a brow. "Winner: the red-haired idiot."
Kirishima offered Izuku a hand, cheeks flushed, breathing hard. "Dude… that was awesome." Izuku weakly took the hand, letting Kirishima yank him up. His smile was tired but full of pride.
"Y-yeah… you too…"
The metal spheres fell around him like tired satellites, clinking softly in the sand.
And despite the exhaustion, despite the bruises already forming Izuku felt stronger than ever.