The hum of energy inside me hadn't faded. It was like a second pulse—quiet, steady, insistent. A rhythm reminding me that I wasn't just a guy who'd lucked into Mineta's body. No, I had the cheat code installed, and I'd only scratched the tutorial.
I tugged at my hair again, grinning. No sticky spheres, no ridiculous grape-bush crown. Just… hair. Still purple, still wild.
"Okay," I whispered to myself.
But the moment the thrill wore off, curiosity came knocking. If I could redirect the quirk's stickiness away from my scalp, could I aim it somewhere else? Anywhere else?
I raised my right arm, staring at it like a mad scientist about to test on his first victim. Which, in this case, was also me. "Muscle control, huh?"
I flexed my bicep. It bulged a little—not All Might level, more "skinny guy pretending in front of a mirror." But what fascinated me wasn't the muscle, it was the effort. My quirk's energy responded to focus, flowing easily when I thought about "quirk manifesting". But muscles? Muscles were stubborn. They resisted.
It was like trying to play a piano with mittens on. I could feel each strand, each fiber twitching under my command, but coordinating them? That was like asking an octopus to juggle.
I winced, my arm cramping. "Okay. Controlling quirk is easy. but Controlling muscles feels like trying to do math in Latin."
So for now Instead of controlling muscle ,I started controlling quirk, I redirected that hum of energy toward my palm. Not to pull out a ball this time. I pictured it spreading thin, like paint across canvas.
And there it was. A sticky film coated my palm, shimmering faintly in the sunlight. It wasn't perfect—it looked like my skin had just sweated out grape jelly—but it clung, tacky and firm.
My grin widened. "Gloves, version one."
Of course, I had to take it further. Removing Shoes and Socks off. cool earth beneath my feet. I willed the quirk downward. Sticky warmth spread over my soles until they looked like someone had poured glossy purple resin over them.
It felt weird. Like walking barefoot on flypaper. Every step made a soft skrk sound. I shuffled, then lifted one foot, testing balance.
"Not bad," I muttered. "Now… let's add bounce."
I remembered the spheres rebounding like rubber balls. If I could layer that elasticity into my soles…
The first jump sent me flying four feet up. My stomach lurched as the ground rushed back. I landed with a sharp jolt that rattled my teeth.
"Ow!" I hissed, clutching my legs. Pain stabbed my shins. Clearly, human joints were not designed for trampoline physics.
As the Pain subsides
"Think… sneakers with built-in shock absorbers," I muttered.
I thickened the quirk layer around my soles, like padding. Not just sticky, not just bouncy—cushioned. The next leap launched me high, but when I came down, the impact dissolved into a soft spring. My knees didn't scream this time.
Laughter escaped before I could stop it. I bounced again. And again. Each jump sent me higher, leaves shaking as I sprang like a deranged pogo stick. It was ridiculous, exhilarating, addictive.
For a glorious five minutes, I was a kid in a bounce castle the size of the world.
Finally, sweaty and grinning like an idiot, I collapsed onto the grass. My heart hammered, lungs heaving. "Best. Upgrade. Ever."
But even as I rested, another thought crept in. my quirk's isn't just for bouncing. It can also use for climbing.
I sat up, scanning the clearing. My eyes landed on a tall tree at the edge, its trunk rough and branches sprawling skyward like an open dare.
"Oh, you're perfect," I said, pointing at it dramatically. "Time to Spider-Man this."
I marched over, slapped my quirk-coated hand against the trunk… and immediately felt underwhelmed.
It stuck, sure. But not enough to pull my whole weight up. The second I tried to climb, my hand peeled off like a cheap sticker on a wet bottle.
"Ugh. Fail."
But If hands weren't enough, then maybe… legs.
I coated my feet in stickiness again, then my palms, thicker this time. I crouched low, pressing all four limbs against the trunk like the world's most awkward gecko.
Slowly, I shifted upward. One sticky hand, one sticky foot, peel the other, re-stick. My limbs trembled, but it worked.
I was climbing.
The bark scraped my arms, sweat dripped into my eyes, but upward momentum carried me. Each meter felt like victory. The ground shrank beneath me, the wind rustling leaves close to my ears.
Halfway up, I dared a glance down. Mistake .My stomach flipped. Heights had always been… let's say "not my favorite."
But adrenaline kept me going. I grit my teeth, slammed another sticky palm onto the bark, and pulled. Slowly. Carefully.
By the time I reached the top branch, my arms burned and my legs wobbled, but triumph blazed brighter than exhaustion.
I perched on the branch, chest heaving, and looked out. The view stretched far—a patchwork of rooftops, roads, and endless blue sky , For a moment I stayed, just taking it all in.
I was just… me. A kid with a quirk, testing limits, Feeling the kind of power I'd always dreamed of in my previous life, after seeing it in all those anime and manga.
A laugh bubbled up again, this one quieter, more real. "I did it."
The branch creaked under me, reminding me physics still existed. I scrambled to hug the trunk, heart hammering.
I took a deep breath at the top of the tree, legs dangling, quirk-coated hands gripping the rough bark. The world below looked a little less intimidating from up here—just a little. I was actually… proud. A sticky, bouncing Mineta had conquered vertical space.
Carefully, I began to climb down. One sticky hand, one sticky foot, slow and deliberate. Gravity was a patient teacher, but I was determined.
Halfway down, I froze. A flutter. Something small, feathered, and very, very angry appeared directly in front of my face.
"Whoa—what the—?!"
The bird didn't hesitate. It lunged, talons extended, and scratched across my cheek. Sharp little claws ripped through my skin with surgical precision. I yelped, flinging my head back, trying to swat it away.
"Shoo! Go! Leave! I'm not breakfast!"
The bird, apparently offended by my tone, flapped angrily, claws still scratching at my sticky gloves. In the chaos, my right hand slipped. My foot followed. Then my other hand.
"OH NO—!"
I was falling.
Instinct kicked in. My quirk responded faster than I could think. Purple stickiness surged outward. I pushed it into every corner of my body—hands, arms, legs, torso. The sticky energy exploded like grape-colored molasses, thick and bouncy.
My shirt ballooned into a gooey shell. My pants puffed out the same way, creating a cushion of sticky, elastic quirk-matter around me. I tumbled, spinning, bouncing off branches, leaves smacking me in the face, and—miraculously—the goo absorbed most of the impact.
"Whee—ahhh—ouch—owwww—woohooo!" I screamed, arms flailing like a ragdoll. Each bounce felt like the quirk had decided to play pinball with me. Trees, dirt, grass, even the occasional stubborn rock all contributed to my chaotic ride downward.
The bird perched somewhere above, eyeing me with what I assumed was judgment
After what felt like several lifetimes of ricocheting, rolling, and springing like some deranged cartoon, the bouncing finally slowed. I landed—somehow upright—though a little crooked, grass sticking to my gooey shell.
I sat there panting, hands pressed to my sticky face, quirk-layered shirt sagging, pants like inflatable purple balloons around my legs. My cheek throbbed where the claws had grazed, and a small smear of blood mixed with quirk-gunk. I touched the mark, wincing at the sting.
"
I leaned against the base of the tree, chest heaving, gooey purple shell sagging around me like a deflated grape-shaped marshmallow. For a moment, I just stared at it, wondering how I had ended up in this ridiculous, sticky, elastic mess.
"Okay… time to get out," I muttered, rubbing my scratched cheek.
I concentrated. Slowly, carefully, I willed the quirk to retreat from my shirt. The sticky shell softened, loosening like melting taffy. My fingers pushed against it, and it slipped away in globs, peeling like clingy wallpaper.
"Ugh… ew… sticky… why did I do this?" I groaned, shaking out my arms. Purple residue clung to my skin and hair, but the bulk of the goo collapsed onto the grass with a wet plop.
Next, my pants. I shifted, wiggled, and—carefully, carefully—peeled the quirk-layered fabric down. It was heavier than expected, and a few strands of sticky quirk clung stubbornly to my legs. One tug, two tugs… finally, freedom.
I stood up, blinking at my reflection in a nearby puddle. Hair messy, face scratched, clothes covered in small purple streaks, but upright and human-shaped again.
I gingerly rubbed my arms and legs, flicking off the remaining goo.
Taking a deep breath, I flexed my sticky-free hands and feet. The hum of the quirk was still there—quiet, obedient, waiting—but now obediently contained. No more accidental trampoline disasters. At least… for now.
But If I learn to control this quirk-ball, I won't just bounce aimlessly—I could roll like Cannonbolt, use it for mobility, defense, even ricochet off walls.
Before going home, I stopped by a nearby public toilet. The mirror was cracked, but it did the job. I splashed cold water over my face, scrubbing away the dust and blood until only the raw sting of the cuts remained.
Leaning closer, I studied the scratches on my cheek. If I could guide muscles, shift skin… maybe I could push my body to heal faster.
I closed my eyes, slowing my breath, focusing on the wound the way I'd practiced moving a single muscle. It felt strange—like flexing something invisible—but warmth slowly spread beneath the skin. The sting dulled bit by bit, until my forehead grew damp with sweat.
Minutes ticked by. My breathing grew heavy. Finally, when I opened my eyes again, the deepest cut had sealed over, leaving behind only a faint red line. The smaller scratches had faded almost completely.
I touched my cheek, exhausted but smiling. Much better.