Chapter 10: First Lesson in the Unknown
The internet was on fire. In the hours following the scaffolding collapse, grainy cell phone footage of the rescue went viral. Every major news network and hero blog was running the clip on a loop: a mysterious blue and black figure, appearing in a flash and moving faster than the eye could follow. Hero forums were abuzz with speculation, the anonymous threads exploding with theories.
"New speedster hero debuts in Musutafu! Who is he?!"
"The Quirk seems to be a transformation type. Did you see the green light? And the way he just vanished? My guess: high-level teleportation combined with super speed."
"Forget the Quirk, let's talk about a hero name. I'm voting for 'The Blue Streak.' Simple, classic."
"Nah, that's boring. How about 'Highway Star' or 'The Azure Blur'?"
Ben watched the clips on his phone, a strange sense of detachment washing over him. The figure on the screen felt both intimately familiar and like a complete stranger. To the world, he was a mystery, a flash of heroic potential. To himself, he was just Ben, a kid in way over his head, sitting in the back of his grandfather's old station wagon.
Gwen sat beside him, nervously chewing on her thumbnail. "The whole city is talking about you."
"About him," Ben corrected quietly, gesturing to the phone.
Grandpa Max drove in silence, his eyes on the road, his expression firm. They left the familiar city streets behind, heading towards the industrial outskirts, a part of town dominated by colossal, silent warehouses and rusting fences. He finally pulled up to a massive, derelict building, a skeleton of steel and concrete with shattered windows that looked like vacant eyes. A heavy chain and padlock were on the gate, but Max produced a key and unlocked it with a practiced motion, as if he'd been here a hundred times before.
He drove the car inside, the cavernous space echoing with the sound of the engine before he cut it, plunging them into a dusty silence. Shafts of afternoon light pierced through the grime-covered skylights, illuminating dancing motes of dust in the vast, empty space. The air smelled of old oil, damp concrete, and time itself.
"Alright," Max said, his voice cutting through the stillness. It had changed. The warm, grandfatherly tone was gone, replaced by the clipped, no-nonsense authority of a commander. "Training starts now."
He led them to the center of the warehouse floor. He turned to Ben, his gaze intense. "First question, Ben. What is that thing on your wrist? Don't tell me what it does. Tell me what you think it is."
Ben looked down at the device. It was a watch, but it was so much more. "It's… a piece of tech. Alien tech. It holds all these different lifeforms inside it."
"Exactly. It's a tool," Max stated. "And any good tool needs a name. Makes it easier to understand. Have you given it one?"
Ben hadn't, not really. But now, looking at it, a name seemed to form in his mind. It was a matrix of alien DNA, capable of creating nearly infinite combinations of heroes. A matrix of omnipotence.
"Omnitrix," Ben said, the word feeling right the moment he spoke it. "A combination of 'Omni' and 'matrix.' Because that's what it is."
"Good," Max nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "The Omnitrix. Now, let's see you use it. The rescue was pure instinct. The U.A. exam will require skill and control. Prove to me it wasn't a fluke. I want you to turn into the fast one again."
Confidence surged through Ben. He'd done it once under pressure; he could certainly do it again now. He activated the watch—the Omnitrix—and expertly twisted the dial to the sleek, aerodynamic silhouette he now recognized.
"One XLR8, coming right up," he said with a smirk, and slammed the core down.
The green light erupted, but the sensation was immediately, violently wrong. He wasn't being compressed into a sleek form; he was expanding. A wave of raw, brute force flooded his system. His bones thickened, his muscles bunched and swelled with explosive growth, and his skin stretched, hardening into a tough, reddish hide. A second pair of muscular arms ripped through the sides of his hoodie, sprouting from his torso with a strange, disorienting feeling.
When the light faded, he was a mountain of muscle, nearly twice his normal height, with four powerful, four-fingered hands. He looked down at his new appendages, flexing them in disbelief.
"Whoa…" he breathed, his voice now a deep, gravelly baritone. "Four arms. Heh, simple enough." He looked at Max. "Okay, so, not XLR8."
"No," Max said, his expression unchanging. "Not XLR8. But the lesson remains the same." He pointed to a stack of heavy, wooden shipping crates in the corner. "Your task is simple. I want you to take that stack and re-stack it over here, in the exact same order. A simple test of strength and precision."
Ben—or rather, Four Arms—grinned. "Precision? With this much muscle? No problem."
He stomped over to the crates. The problem became apparent immediately. His brain was still wired for two arms, but four limbs were responding to his commands, often with conflicting results. He reached for the top crate with one hand, but his lower-left arm got in the way, nudging the entire stack. It wobbled precariously.
"Okay, easy does it," he muttered. He tried again, attempting to gently grip the crate with two hands. But he completely misjudged his own strength. The instant his fingers made contact, a sickening crunch echoed through the warehouse as the thick wood splintered into pieces under his immense power.
He stared at the wreckage in his hands, then at the wobbling stack. Frustration mounted. He tried to grab the next crate, but his poor control over his four powerful arms made every movement a clumsy disaster. One hand would lift, the other would push. He tried to coordinate them, but it felt like trying to pat his head, rub his stomach, and juggle all at once. With a final, infuriated grunt, he tried to secure the stack, but his upper-right hand shoved when his lower-right hand pulled. The entire pile of crates toppled over with a thunderous crash, spilling across the floor in a mess of broken wood.
A few minutes later, after the red flash of the Omnitrix timing out, Ben stood amidst the debris, panting and thoroughly humbled.
Max walked over, his face calm but his eyes sharp with the weight of the lesson. "Power is a wild animal, Ben. Strength, speed, fire… they are all useless, even dangerous, until they are tamed. That rescue in the street was instinct. The U.A. exam is about skill. You cannot rely on getting the alien you want. You have to be ready to master the alien you get."
He gestured to the Omnitrix on Ben's wrist. "That device's unpredictability is your greatest weakness right now. If you go into a fight expecting speed and get brute strength instead, you'll lose. But if you learn to adapt instantly, to assess the situation and use the power you're given to its greatest potential… then that same unpredictability will become your greatest strength. No enemy will ever know what to expect from you. That is your real test."
Ben looked down at the watch—the Omnitrix—with a dawning, sober understanding. It wasn't a superhero vending machine. It was a chaotic, powerful partner he had to learn to dance with. His triumph on the street felt like a distant memory, replaced by the colossal scale of the challenge in front of him.
He had a long, long way to go before the entrance exam.
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Plz help the story with your power stones.
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