Izuku Midoriya's POV
One day.
One more day until the U.A. entrance exam.
I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom, staring at the boy looking back at me. Green hair still messy, freckles still there, eyes still wide—but something was different. The fear that used to live behind those eyes had been replaced by something sharper. Something colder.
I raised my right hand. A thin stream of water rose from the sink faucet without me even touching it—coiling around my fingers like a living bracelet. I flexed, and the water snapped into a whip, cracking the air so hard the mirror vibrated.
I formed a shield next—translucent, curved, strong enough to block a thrown textbook (I'd tested that yesterday). The water shimmered under the bedroom light, catching every color like liquid glass.
One month ago I was Quirkless.
Now I had a Quirk.
And tomorrow I would walk through the gates of U.A. High School with it.
I smiled at my reflection. Not the nervous, hopeful smile I used to give myself when I practiced All Might poses in secret. This one was different. This one had teeth.
Kacchan—Katsuki Bakugo—had applied to U.A. too. Of course he had. He'd been screaming about it since we were kids. "I'm gonna be the number one hero! You're just gonna be a stepping stone, Deku!" he'd sneered last week when we passed each other in the hallway.
He didn't know.
He didn't know I wasn't stepping anymore.
I slipped on my hoodie, grabbed my notebook (now filled with pages of Water Quirk analysis: range, pressure, temperature resistance, potential for mist, waves, projectiles, even basic healing), and headed out. Mom was at work. The apartment was quiet. Perfect.
The streets of Musutafu were alive with the usual afternoon buzz—salarymen rushing home, kids laughing, the occasional low-level hero patrolling.
Cherry blossoms were long gone; it was late spring now, warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I walked with purpose, head up, shoulders back. No more slouching. No more looking at the ground.
I heard the explosion before I saw him.
A sharp boom—not loud enough to draw a crowd, but loud enough to make my ears ring. The alley mouth filled with smoke and the sharp scent of nitroglycerin sweat.
Katsuki Bakugo stepped out from behind a dumpster, palms sparking, crimson eyes narrowed to slits.
"Oi, Deku."
I stopped walking. Turned slowly.
He looked the same—spiky ash-blond hair, permanent scowl, hero costume sketches peeking from his bag.
His palm ignited.
"Die!"
The explosion roared forward—bright orange, concussive, enough to blow a normal person off their feet.
I didn't flinch.
Water surged up from the moisture in the air, from the damp concrete, from the leaking pipe behind me. It formed a curved shield in front of me—translucent, shimmering, solid as glass.
The explosion slammed into it and dispersed—flames scattering like water on a hot pan, smoke curling harmlessly around the edges.
Bakugo's eyes widened.
The shield dropped. I stood untouched.
"What the hell…?"
I stepped forward.
He raised both palms again—desperate now.
Another explosion.
Another shield.
Useless.
I raised my right hand.
Water whipped out—long, flexible, razor-edged from pressure alone. It cracked across his left forearm—not cutting skin, just stinging, knocking his arm down.
He snarled, fired again.
I sent two whips this time—one wrapping around his right wrist, pinning it to his side; the other snapping across his chest, forcing him back two steps.
He stumbled, palms sparking wildly.
"Stop—!"
I didn't.
Another whip—around his ankle, yanking his leg out from under him. He hit the ground hard on his back. I stepped closer, water coiling around both my arms now like twin serpents.
Bakugo stared up at me—eyes wide, furious, and—for the first time in years—afraid.
"Stop," he rasped. "Just… stop."
The whips froze mid-air.
I looked down at him.
"You've spent years telling me I was nothing," I said quietly. "Calling me useless. Quirkless. Weak. Telling me to take a swan dive off the roof. Every time I tried to stand up for myself, you pushed me back down."
I crouched so we were eye-level.
"Now you know how it feels."
His breathing was ragged. Palms still sparking, but weaker.
"How… how the hell do you have a Quirk?" he demanded, voice cracking. "You were Quirkless!"
I stood up slowly.
"I miss the part where that's your problem."
I turned my back on him.
The water whips dissolved into mist.
I walked away—past the dumpster, past the alley mouth, into the sunlight.
He didn't follow.
I didn't look back.
The walk home felt longer than it should have. My heart was pounding—not from fear, but from something else. Power. Control. For the first time in my life, I hadn't run. I hadn't apologized. I hadn't let him win.
I'd won.
Mom wasn't home yet. I locked the door behind me, went straight to the bathroom, and turned on the faucet.
Small cuts on my knuckles from earlier training—nothing serious. I focused. Water rose from the sink, cool and gentle, wrapping around my hands like liquid bandages. The cuts closed in seconds—skin knitting, redness fading. I stared at the healed skin in wonder.
Healing too. My Quirk could heal.
I went to my room, dropped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow was the entrance exam.
U.A. High School.
The place where heroes were born.
And I was going to walk in with a Quirk nobody expected.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep came fast.
In my dream, I stood on a rooftop, Musutafu sprawling below me. Bakugo was there, palms sparking, but smaller somehow. Weaker.
I raised my hand.
Water rose—taller than buildings, a tidal wave of it.
He tried to explode it.
The wave crashed.
He disappeared beneath it.
I stood above the flood, untouchable.
And I smiled.
Not the smile of a hero.
The smile of someone who'd finally learned how to push back.
When I woke up, the alarm was buzzing.
One day gone.
Exam day.
I sat up, water already coiling around my fingers.
Time to show them who I really was.