The air in the dojo was thick with the smell of sweat and polished wood. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun that streamed through the high windows, illuminating the two figures moving in a blur of motion at the center of the mat.
"Focus, Choso! Guard your centerline!"
Yamamoto Kenji, a wiry man in his fifties with graying temples and eyes sharp as a hawk, deflected Choso's rapid-fire chain punches with deceptive ease.
Choso, now ten years old, gritted his teeth. He stepped in, shifting his stance to execute a Pak Sao, trying to trap his teacher's arm and open a path for a strike to the chest. He moved with a fluidity that was unnatural for a child his age, his movements precise, efficient, and relentless.
Faster, Choso commanded himself. My blood is pumping. Oxygen is flowing. Move!
He feinted a low kick, then lunged for a grapple. It was a good move. Fast. Unexpected.
But Yamamoto-sensei was faster.
With a fluid shift of his hips, the older man redirected Choso's momentum, sweeping his leg out from under him. The world spun.
Wham!
Choso hit the mat hard, the air rushing out of his lungs in a sharp grunt. He stared up at the wooden ceiling beams, blinking away the dizziness.
Kenji stood over him, offering a hand and a knowing smile. "You're getting faster, kid. But you're still telegraphing your intent. You attack with too much anger, not enough flow."
"Yeah, I know," Choso replied, taking the hand and hoisting himself up. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his breathing heavy but steady. His eyes burned with a competitive fire. "One more! I almost had you that time!"
"That's enough," Kenji chuckled, shaking his head. "That's all for today. It's getting late, and I wouldn't want your parents to get worried. Your mother gets really scary when she's upset, remember?"
Choso slumped slightly, the adrenaline fading. "Aww, man. Just when I was getting into the rhythm."
"Rest is part of training, Choso," Kenji said, patting his shoulder. "You've improved. Go clean up."
"You're right, Sensei," Choso sighed. He straightened his gi, brought his feet together, and bowed deeply. "Thank you for the lesson!"
He turned and jogged toward the locker rooms, his mind already dissecting the sparring session, replaying every mistake.
✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦
The hot water of the shower beat down on his muscles, washing away the tension of the day. Steam filled the tiled room, creating a private fog for his thoughts.
Choso leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall, watching the water swirl down the drain.
It's been five years, huh...
Five years since he started martial arts. Five years of conditioning his body, refining his diet, and secretly practicing Blood Manipulation in the dead of night. He wasn't the clumsy toddler anymore. He was ten. A decade in this world.
He closed his eyes, pulling up the familiar interface in his mind.
[Choso Template Synchronization: 38%]
Thirty-eight percent, he thought, a mix of pride and frustration bubbling in his chest. It's good. Way better than before. I have full control over 'Flowing Red Scale' now, even if I can't hold it for more than 5 minutes without risking anemia. 'Piercing Blood' is... functional, but the convergence takes too long.
He clenched his wet fist, feeling the hum beneath his skin.
But the most important part is the engine.
His Cursed Energy.
As I get older, my reserves are deepening. The spark I felt at four has grown into a steady, viscous current in my gut. My output is higher, my control tighter. I can reinforce my body with Cursed Energy almost subconsciously now, and I'm not running on fumes after a few minutes of practice anymore.
"Hey, Itadori!"
A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Kenta, one of the older students in the dojo, grinning at him.
"Good job out there today," Kenta said, wrapping a towel around his waist. "You almost tagged Sensei during that second round. Seriously, how are you ten? You move like a pro."
The other students in the locker room nodded in agreement, murmuring their praise. To them, Itadori Choso was a prodigy—the golden child of the dojo who learned forms faster than adults.
Choso offered a small, humble smile. "Thanks, Kenta-san. I still have a long way to go, though. Sensei tossed me like a sack of potatoes."
"Man, you're too modest," Kenta laughed, ruffling Choso's damp hair. "Keep it up, kid."
Choso nodded, muttering a quiet "Thank you," as he finished drying off. He dressed quickly in his casual clothes—a hoodie and cargo shorts—feeling the weight of his own expectations settling back onto his shoulders.
I still have more work to do! he thought, clenching his fist as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. The purple mark across his nose wasn't there yet, but his eyes... they were sharper. Harder.
He slung his bag over his shoulder, waving goodbye to the others. "See you guys next week!"
He walked back into the main dojo, where Yamamoto-sensei was sweeping the mats. Choso paused at the doorway, bowing one last time.
"Be safe getting home, Choso," Kenji called out without looking up. "Watch out for cars."
"I will, Sensei!"
✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦
The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as Choso walked through the streets of Musutafu. The city was winding down, the bustling energy of the day fading into the relaxed rhythm of the evening.
His thoughts drifted to the future.
I'm ten. That means Izuku Midoriya is also ten. Five years until the entrance exam. Four years until the Sludge Villain incident. Four years until All Might passes the torch.
He kicked a small pebble, watching it skitter across the pavement.
I've been careful so far. Staying out of the way. But... if I get into U.A., I'm going to change things. I can't just stand by and watch people get hurt because "that's how the story goes."
A worry gnawed at him. The Butterfly Effect. If he saved someone who was supposed to die, or defeated a villain who was supposed to escape, would he ruin the ending? Would Shigaraki get stronger faster? Would All For One change his plans?
He stopped walking, looking up at the first stars twinkling in the twilight.
If I change the canon, I lose my foreknowledge. I lose my advantage.
He stood there for a moment, the streetlights flickering on around him. Then, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It was arrogant. It was reckless. It was exactly what a Jujutsu Sorcerer would do.
To hell with the canon, Choso decided, resuming his walk with a newfound bounce in his step. I'm not here to reenact a manga. I'm here to live. Imma do my own thing. If the plot breaks, I'll just punch it back together.
He turned the corner, spotting the warm, yellow light of his porch.
"I'm home!" he called out as he opened the door, the smell of savory stew greeting him instantly.
"Welcome back!" Kaori's voice floated from the kitchen.
Choso smiled, kicking off his shoes. The future could wait. Right now, he was hungry.
✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦