On the screen, the film crew credits scrolled slowly against a black background, accompanied by melancholic orchestral music. The post-credit scene had just ended, leaving the usual emptiness felt after a story concludes.
Fuse Yasushi sat on the sofa, but his mind was elsewhere. Around him, dozens of small metal objects—spoons, forks, coins, even paper clips—floated in the air, rotating slowly like satellites orbiting their master planet.
For the past two hours, he had divided his focus: part of his brain enjoying the movie, the rest maintaining precise telekinetic control over those objects.
It was exhausting mental multitasking, forcing his subconscious to take over his quirk control.
But now the movie was over.
Fuse exhaled long—fiuuh—the sound heavy in the silent room.
With a lazy yet decisive wave of his hand, he cut the magnetic flow. Cling. Klang. Ting. The metal objects dropped all at once, sliding neatly back to their places. Spoons and forks floated into the open kitchen drawer, coins into the jar on the table, paper clips into their box.
Flawless precision—and all the result of thousands of hours of micromanagement practice!
Fuse turned off the TV. The screen went black, reflecting his tired yet unsatisfied face. He stood, stretching his stiff muscles until his spine let out a soft crack.
He walked toward the front door, steps steady.
"Where are you going?"
The voice came from the kitchen. Sakura, his mother, stood there drying her hands on a towel. Her face looked sleepy, a little puffy. She stared at her son's back with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Fuse stopped, hand already on the doorknob. He turned slowly, a thin smile on his lips.
"Just a walk," he answered briefly.
He paused, eyes glancing at the dark TV screen as if searching for his own reflection.
"Even if I'm strong," he continued, voice lowering, turning introspective, "it doesn't mean I can stay cooped up in my room like an animal in a zoo. My soul needs space to breathe, Mom."
He looked at her again, smile widening slightly. "I want to see the world. Or at least the small part I can reach on foot."
Sakura narrowed her eyes, skeptical. She glanced at the wall clock showing just past five in the evening. The sun was dipping west, painting the sky in orange streaks.
"But it's already evening, Fuse," she said. "What's out there at this hour? Shops are closing, streets are jammed with people heading home from work."
Fuse struck a dramatic thinking pose, finger on his chin. He nodded slowly, as if pondering a profound philosophical question.
"The sight of exhausted capitalist society after a hard day's work," he answered with mock seriousness. "Tired faces, slumped backs from mortgage burdens, empty eyes staring at the future. I want to see those faces. That's all. A field study in sociology."
Sakura sighed long, shoulders dropping. "Sounds like a made-up excuse… no need to lie to your mother, Fuse. You just want to go out, right?"
She studied his face for deception but found only strange calm.
"Besides," Sakura continued, "what's so interesting about tired workers' faces? It's just depressing."
"Sometimes it motivates, Mom," Fuse countered, shrugging. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the irony of his own words. "For an unemployed person—or a student like me—it's the best entertainment. A reminder of the fate to avoid."
He opened his eyes, gazing at her with playful spark.
"Have you heard that meme going around online? About how an unemployed person regrets not watching people leave for work in the morning?"
Sakura shook her head, sleepy face flat and uninterested. "No. And I'm not sure I want to."
"It's almost exactly what I'm doing," Fuse chuckled softly. "And whether it's interesting or not, I decide. That's the observer's right."
Fuse saw the lingering worry on his mother's face. He softened his expression.
"Don't worry, Mom. Won't be long," he promised. "I'll be back by eight. In time for dinner, if there's any left."
"I know you always have answers for everything. You've had a comeback for every argument since you could talk," Sakura relented, sighing again. "Fine. My only request: be careful."
Fuse nodded obediently. "Roger that. I'll bring home happiness."
He opened the door, stepping into the cooling evening air. He closed it behind him, then slipped both hands into the pockets of his black hoodie.
The evening breeze hit his face, carrying the scent of cooling asphalt and neighbors' cooking. Fuse walked leisurely, enjoying the rhythm of his own footsteps on the sidewalk.
His destination was clear: his usual training spot. A secluded beach littered with industrial scrap—the place where civilization dumped its leftovers, and where Fuse forged himself.
Along the way, at a quiet residential corner, he passed an elderly woman. Her back was hunched, hair cotton-white, and she was being led by a plump Shiba Inu eagerly sniffing an electric pole.
Fuse recognized her. A neighbor.
He paused, pulling one hand from his pocket and bowing politely.
"Good evening," he greeted with a genuine friendly smile. "Out for another evening walk?"
The old lady looked up, squinting behind thick glasses, then beamed wide, showing gums.
"Oh, Fuse-chan! Good evening. Yes, he's extra fussy today," she answered in a trembling yet warm voice. "Where are you off to so late? A date?"
Fuse laughed. "No, Granny. Just getting some air."
After brief small talk, Fuse continued. But as he passed her, his right hand in his pocket moved slightly.
A 100-yen coin slipped from his pocket, flying low and silently. It soared above Granny Tanaka's head, circling her and the dog in a two-meter radius.
Fuse closed his eyes briefly while walking, feeling the magnetic wave reflections from the coin.
Minutes later, the salty sea smell hit. The faint crash of waves against rocks grew clearer.
Fuse arrived.
Mountains of metal scrap loomed high, forming menacing silhouettes against the darkening purple sky. Old refrigerators, rusted car frames, giant iron pipes—all piled like ancient beast carcasses.
"How cruel. Why do you humans throw all this away?"
Fuse stood at the beach's edge, letting the strong sea wind whip his jacket and red hair. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with fresh salty air.
Then he opened them. Red glowing in the twilight.
"Seems no one's here," he muttered, scanning around.
He looked at the sky. The first star appeared, twinkling shyly.
"The sky's getting dark," he said. "Perfect time to train. Darkness is the best friend for sharpening the sixth sense."
At that moment, his mind drifted back to the fight against Bakugo at Ground Beta. Victory was sweet, yes. But one thing bothered him. When defending against Bakugo's explosions, he had to consciously move his wings, consciously form shields. There was a fraction-of-a-second delay between perceiving the threat and reacting with his quirk.
To him—who had watched countless fantasy stories in his previous life—that delay was death.
In the superhero world, a fraction of a second was the difference between life and death. If a sniper aimed from a kilometer away, or a speedster attacked faster than a blink, he wouldn't have time to think!
"I need automatic defense," he muttered to the waves. "I need… Gaara's Sand Defense. But with iron."
He imagined human eyelids. When dust or an insect approached, eyes closed automatically. Without thinking. Without conscious command. Pure reflex. A perfect biological defense mechanism!
"I want that. No—I must have that."
Imagining himself shot by a supersonic bullet, and an iron bar flying on its own to protect him before he even registered the threat… the thought made him shiver. Not from fear, but from overflowing excitement.
Nothing was cooler than that!
Fuse walked into the middle of the scrap labyrinth. He chose an open area surrounded by high scrap piles, creating a natural arena.
He stood straight, feet shoulder-width apart. He slowly raised both hands, palms up. KRRRRRR… The massive grinding of metal filled the air.
Around him, hundreds—perhaps thousands—of iron pieces began vibrating. Bolts, nuts, nails, car plate fragments, rebar—all lifted from their sandy graves. They rose, forming a dense cloud of metal dust around Fuse.
Sweat instantly beaded on Fuse's forehead. Lifting this much weight at once required incredible mental focus!
To him, it was like holding a thousand kite strings in a storm.
"Focus…" he hissed.
He began spinning them.
The metal started orbiting his body. He separated them by size and function.
Small iron—nails, bolts, screws—moved fastest. They whizzed in the innermost layer, just two meters from his body, nearly invisible to the eye.
Medium iron—car plates, fridge doors, wheel rims—moved slower in the middle layer.
Large iron—construction beams, machine frames—orbiting slowly in the outer layer like floating fortresses.
"Now…" Fuse regulated his quickening breath. "The hardest part."
At that moment, he left one car-door-sized steel plate floating directly in front of him. He intended this plate to be his sole defensive tool!
Then, without hesitation or mercy on himself, he hurled the small iron at his own body!
Instantly, a concrete nail shot from orbit. Pistol-bullet speed. Target: Fuse's stomach.
Fuse didn't see it with his eyes. That would be useless in pitch darkness anyway!
So he closed his eyes tightly, relying on his magnetic sense.
At that moment, he felt a sudden disturbance in the magnetic field to his left. A small object moving at high speed toward his center of gravity!
Block! his mind screamed, and the steel plate moved. TING! The nail ricocheted, sparking orange in the dark.
"One," Fuse counted.
Attack again. Instantly two bolts shot from opposite directions. Front and back.
Fuse spun the steel plate at insane speed, turning it into a protective propeller. TING! TANG! Success.
"Faster," he commanded himself. "More. Don't give me time to think!"
Dozens of nails and bolts began random attacks. From above, below, left, right. They came like a mini meteor shower. Fuse stood still in the storm, eyes closed, sweat pouring from his body.
He couldn't move. He had to force his quirk to move on its own. He had to suppress the instinct to "think" and replace it with "feel."
TING! TING! TANG! TING! Metal clash sounds became chaotic music. Sparks burst around him like strobe fireworks.
Of course it was hard for Fuse—he had always relied on thinking before acting. Relying on instinct was something he had never considered.
At that moment, Fuse suddenly felt a sharp sting in his left arm. SRET! One nail slipped through! It grazed his skin, tearing his jacket sleeve. Warm blood seeped out.
"Gkh!" The pain snapped him awake. Don't let your guard down! If that hit my neck, I'm dead!
He didn't stop. He intensified it instead. He knew he was playing with fire—or rather, bullets. But to him, fear of death was the best motivator for evolution!
One hour. Two hours. Three hours passed.
Fuse no longer felt his arms. His brain felt like it was boiling inside his skull. His nose began bleeding, dark red blood dripping onto the sand. His mental vision blurred. He was utterly exhausted!
Every successful block brought slight satisfaction. Every failure and graze brought anger at his own weakness. His jacket was now full of small tears. His body covered in bruises and scratches.
But he endured until this moment.
Suddenly, a large bolt shot toward his heart. Faster than the others. Of course, Fuse—already too exhausted—didn't sense it at all. His reaction was far too slow. Even his protective plate moved late.
But just before the bolt struck his chest… A dinner spoon—one of the small orbiting objects—suddenly shot on its own, intercepting the bolt's path. KLANG!
The bolt ricocheted!
The object had moved by itself. His quirk reacted to the threat without conscious input!
Fuse's eyes—unable to see anything in the darkness, his body near death from exhaustion—had no idea what happened.
At that moment—BRUK! All the orbiting metal—tons of iron—crashed to the sand with an earth-shaking roar. Luckily, he had programmed them to fall away from his body.
"Hah…" Fuse collapsed. Knees hit sand, then his body followed. He fell on his back, breathing like someone just pulled from drowning. Haaah… haaah… haaah…
His chest heaved violently, pain radiating through every muscle fiber. His stamina was drained, as if his soul had been sucked out.
"So this is how it feels…" he whispered, voice hoarse and dry. "To be on the brink of death. Like being watched by the angel of death standing at my feet, holding an hourglass nearly empty."
He stared at the night sky. The full moon shone brightly above, a silver eye gazing coldly. Surrounded by scattered stars keeping him company.
Amid the pain, Fuse smiled. A wide, bloody-toothed smile full of victory.
With his last remaining strength—from who knows where—Fuse forced his hand to move. He weakly swung it into the air. Srrrt. Instantly, all the surrounding iron lifted again, resuming orbit.
Soon after, he covered his eyes with his bloody, dirty hand. "Good night, World," he whispered.
And within seconds, under the moon's embrace, Fuse Yasushi fell into deep sleep, drifting into dreams of becoming an untouchable god.
…
3 a.m. Izuku Midoriya was running. Tap. Tap. Tap.
His footsteps rhythmic, breaking the silence of the still-sleeping residential district. His breathing steady—hosh-hosh—forming white vapor clouds in the cold morning air. Sweat soaked his training shirt, clinging to his back like a second skin.
His body clock woke him at exactly three.
It had become ingrained after ten months of hellish training with All Might. His body—now a vessel for One For All—was strong enough not to explode.
Yet his soul still craved that purifying pain. He feared stopping would shatter the rhythm he built so painfully, and he'd revert to the weak Izuku who could only dream.
The streets were empty. Only streetlights hummed softly, casting pale yellow light on the sidewalk. The moon still hung high, reluctant to relinquish its nightly reign.
Occasionally, a stray dog's bark startled him, making his heart leap. He'd glance quickly, alert, before smiling at himself and continuing.
His mind drifted to the past. Remembering training on this very beach—hauling old refrigerators, tires, and trucks with ropes, muscles screaming, while All Might laughed in his skinny form atop a fridge. The memory was sweet, like honey on a wound. He felt lucky. So very lucky.
Unconsciously, his feet brought him back there. To the beach.
Midoriya bent over, hands on knees, panting. He had run nonstop for two hours.
The sun began peeking over the eastern horizon, painting the sky in purple and orange gradients. Salty sea wind hit his face, drying the sweat on his forehead. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the waves calm his racing heart.
Then he opened them.
And the world stopped.
His eyes widened, green pupils shrinking to pinpricks. His mouth fell slightly open, no sound escaping. In the middle of the scrap-filled sand, a natural—or rather, supernatural—phenomenon was occurring!
Piles of iron, steel plates, bolts, and nuts… moving, floating, orbiting in complex, orderly patterns, creating a massive, terrifying yet beautiful metal vortex. It was like watching a storm made of industrial civilization's remnants.
What is that…?
Midoriya stepped forward hesitantly, squinting into the dawn gloom.
At the vortex's center lay a body.
A young man, flat on his back in the sand, arms spread as if embracing the sky. And the objects… they orbited him as if he were the sun of this iron solar system.
Midoriya squinted harder. Dark red hair, handsome face… For him, no one else fit the description better!
"Fuse… kun?"
The name escaped as a whisper full of disbelief.
"Why is he there?!" Midoriya jolted. "Is he unconscious? Attacked? I have to help him!"
Hero instinct took over. Midoriya ran toward the vortex, sand kicking up behind his heels. But he stopped abruptly when close enough to feel the air vibration around the metal.
He saw sharp nails whizzing. He saw steel plates spinning at deadly speed.
"If I remember correctly…" Midoriya muttered, analytical brain kicking in fast. "Fuse-kun has a magnetic quirk. He can control earthly metals at will… But this…"
He looked at the vortex from bottom to top. Hundreds of objects, each with different trajectories and speeds, yet none colliding. Perfect harmony in chaos.
Midoriya's body trembled. Not from cold, but pure awe.
He's… he's sleeping, Midoriya realized, seeing Fuse's chest rise and fall regularly. He's controlling all this while asleep?!
The concept shattered his understanding of quirk control. For Midoriya, using One For All required total focus, painful concentration to avoid destroying his own body. But Fuse? He performed god-level manipulation unconsciously. As if his quirk was part of his breathing!
How is that possible?!
"How incredible is he?" Midoriya whispered, hugging himself to stop the shaking.
But awe quickly turned to worry again.
"I have to save him! What if he's exhausted and the metal falls on him?"
Midoriya stepped forward once, but hesitated. But what if I approach carelessly and get shredded by this iron storm?
He stepped back. Maybe I should wake him from a safe distance.
Midoriya nodded to himself. He drew a deep breath, cupped hands around his mouth like a megaphone, and shouted with all his might, shattering the beach's silence.
"FUSE-KUN!!! WAKE UP!!!"
The shout echoed, bouncing off scrap piles.
In the vortex's center, Fuse's body twitched slightly. He stirred, groaning softly like someone disturbed from deep Sunday sleep. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking at the brightening sky.
He sat up, rubbing sticky eyes with the back of his hand, then yawned wide, covering his mouth with his bloody, dirty hand.
And as consciousness returned… BRAK! KLANG! DUK! Instantly, his subconscious concentration broke.
All the orbiting metal—tons of iron—crashed to the sand. The deafening roar shook the beach, raising small dust clouds. Luckily, the fall pattern was programmed to avoid the center, keeping Fuse safe in his scrap circle.
Midoriya jumped in shock, shielding his face from dust. Once it settled, he ran forward, leaping over freshly fallen iron.
"Fuse-kun!" he called in panic, kneeling beside his classmate. "Are you okay? I saw you surrounded by metal—I thought you were in danger! Or your quirk went out of control!"
Fuse stared at Midoriya blankly. His brain still half in dreamland, unable to distinguish reality from dream. He tilted his head, messy red hair falling over his forehead.
"Midoriya?" his voice hoarse, typical of just-woken.
He paused, processing his classmate's presence in this remote place at this early hour.
"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly.
Midoriya sighed in relief seeing Fuse seemingly intact, though looking utterly wrecked.
"Seems you're okay," Midoriya said, relieved smile spreading. "I… just finished jogging."
He scratched his cheek with his index finger, slightly embarrassed admitting his extreme routine. "I came here to train. It's my favorite spot."
Midoriya then examined Fuse closer. His black hoodie was torn in many places, revealing scratched and bruised skin. His face dirty with dust and dried blood from last night's nosebleed.
"Can you stand?" Midoriya offered his hand.
Fuse stared at the hand a moment. He was surprised by the genuine kindness, but then the corner of his mouth lifted into a thin smile. He took Midoriya's hand and pulled himself up.
"Thanks," he said briefly.
Fuse stood, brushing sand from his pants and jacket. Seeing his favorite jacket's state, he sighed long with regret.
"Hah… I should've taken this jacket off last night," he muttered, fingers touching a large tear in the sleeve. "How did I forget? This is limited edition merch."
He gazed at the jacket mournfully a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I can buy another later. Or sew it as a battle scar."
"What were you doing here, Fuse-kun?" Midoriya asked again, curiosity unstoppable. "I mean… sleeping in the middle of scrap metal?"
Fuse heard the question, then tilted his head again. He stared at the sky, trying to recall last night's sequence.
"What was I doing?" he repeated softly.
"No idea," he continued, striking a serious thinking pose as if solving quantum physics. "If I remember… I was training."
He looked at Midoriya and nodded confidently.
"Yeah, training. Becoming a god is exhausting, you know? Sometimes you fall asleep mid-creation process."
Midoriya could only stare, mouth slightly open. Training until passing out on the beach? That level of dedication even made Midoriya feel outdone.
Fuse stretched again, wincing slightly as bruised muscles protested.
"This was exhausting," he complained.
He started walking away from the scrap pile, steps slightly limping but still trying to look cool. He slipped one hand into his intact pants pocket, the other waving casually without looking back.
"I'm heading home. A hot shower's calling," he said. "Thanks for waking me, Midoriya. Otherwise I might've become scrap metal here."
He paused, turning halfway, looking at Midoriya with his signature lopsided smile.
"Next time we have a chance, I'll treat you to food. Katsudon, maybe?"
Midoriya jolted, face flushing. "Eh? N-no need, really… I didn't do anything. Just shouted."
Fuse chuckled softly. "Don't refuse good fortune, friend. Nothing's more beautiful than a hero friendship starting in a trash heap. Accept it—it's thanks from the future number-one hero."
Midoriya gaped a moment, then a wide smile spread across his face. He nodded. "Alright! Thank you, Fuse-kun!"
Fuse resumed walking, his back slowly fading, swallowed by the brightening morning sunlight.
Midoriya watched until he disappeared around the path's bend. Awe and burning motivation filled his chest.
Fuse-kun… he's truly incredible. Training that hard, pushing to his absolute limits. I can't fall behind! I have to train even harder!
With a spirited shout, Midoriya ran again, charging through waves and sand with renewed power.
Meanwhile, Fuse trudged home. Last night's adrenaline was gone, replaced by incredible soreness throughout his body. His stomach growled, demanding breakfast.
He reached his house. The neighborhood still quiet. Sparrows chirped on power lines.
Fuse sighed in relief. Good. Dad and Mom must still be asleep. I can sneak in, shower, ditch this jacket, and pretend I just woke up.
Perfect plan. High-level stealth scenario.
He opened the front door very carefully. Klek. Nearly silent.
He removed his shoes without a sound, then tiptoed into the genkan.
But as he lifted his head to step into the hallway…
His heart stopped. Standing straight at the living room doorway was Sakura.
His mother!
She didn't look sleepy. She didn't look freshly woken. In her nightgown, arms crossed over her chest, one foot tapping the floor in a deadly rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her face scowled. Eyes narrowed sharply, scanning Fuse from messy hair to sand-covered toes.
And most terrifying, a dark aura emanated around her—an aura even All Might might think twice before facing.
"F-Fuse…" her voice low, calm, but containing a ready-to-explode storm.
Fuse swallowed. Cold sweat poured down his back, more than when holding thousands of tons of iron last night.
"G-good morning, Mom…" he squeaked, arrogant smile instantly gone, replaced by a stiff child-caught-red-handed grin.
Sakura glanced at the wall clock, then back at her son.
"Eight p.m., you said?" she asked softly.
Fuse stepped back. "There's… a logical explanation for this, Mom. I… got lost on the path of life."
"Lost on the path of life in torn clothes covered in sand?" Sakura raised an eyebrow. "And this sea smell? Did you just fight Poseidon?"
Fuse opened his mouth, searching for excuses, narrative, plot armor. But before his mother, he realized: he wasn't the protagonist. He was just a boy who came home late.
And now deadly punishment awaited!
…
A/N: This is for this chapter… Not much to say. It's been a long time, maybe a week since I last updated here? Euh, I'm sorry... it seems I've been too immersed in enjoying fiction. Watching anime sometimes makes me happy, but on the other hand it makes me lazy. It's really a double-edged sword. Anyway, if you guys are too tired of waiting for the next chapter… please check my Patreon, where I update much faster than on this platform! (Now there are already 3 chapters I've updated!)
You can see the next chapter sooner on my patreon whose link is below:
https://www.pâtreon.com/Junxt
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