The next morning of training, Sensei Kuro threw me off a cliff.
"Learn to teleport or splat!" His booming laughter echoed as I plummeted, my heart in my throat. The lotus in my eyes spun frantically as I tried to grasp at the infinite space around me. The ground rushed up—
I hit the water instead, a hundred meters sideways from where I should have landed. Salt water filled my nose and mouth as I flailed to the surface.
"Good! But next time aim for land!" Kuro's voice carried across the water. "The fish don't need saving!"
That set the tone for the next ten months.
Every morning started with Mom's perfect breakfast spread and her knowing smile. "Try not to die today, dear." She'd adjusted surprisingly well to finding out about my training.
"No promises," I'd say through a mouthful of rice. She'd swat me with a newspaper, but her eyes would crinkle with pride.
Kuro worked me like a dog. When he wasn't throwing me into mortal danger, he drilled the fundamentals of Arashi-ryu into my muscles until they screamed. "Your quirk gives you power," he'd growl while demolishing my attempts at defense. "But power without control is just destruction."
I lost count of how many times I ate dirt. But slowly, painfully, things started clicking.
The Storm Step flowed naturally when I used small spatial jumps to enhance my footwork. Thunder Palm strikes hit harder when backed by infinite space. Even the Mountain Root stance felt unshakeable once I learned to anchor myself.
"You're still thinking too much," Kuro said one day, after I managed to land a clean hit during sparring. "The storm doesn't plan its path. It simply is."
"That makes no sense, old man."
He threw me off another cliff.
Mom started joining us for dinner after training, bringing take-out from fancy restaurants I'd never heard of. "A growing hero needs proper nutrition," she'd insist, though I noticed she always ordered my favorites.
"How's the corporate espionage going?" I asked one night, half-joking.
She smiled serenely. "Oh, you know. The usual backstabbing and hostile takeovers." Then she stole my last dumpling.
The months blurred together in a haze of training, studying, and increasingly less awkward family meals. My control grew sharper, my techniques smoother. The lotus in my eyes spun less frantically and more purposefully.
One morning, I caught myself absently juggling three cups of tea through infinite space while reading a book and maintaining a barrier against Mom's attempts to fix my "atrocious bedhead."
"You're ready," Kuro declared that afternoon, after our usual spar ended in a draw. "Well, as ready as you'll ever be."
I sprawled in the grass, exhausted but grinning. "Thanks for not letting me die, Sensei."
"The entrance exam is in three days," he said, ignoring my gratitude like always. "Remember what I taught you."
"Yeah, yeah. To whom much has been given..."
"Much is expected." He smiled, rare and genuine. "Make it count, kid."
That night, Mom outdid herself with a feast that could have fed an army. As we ate, she pulled out a small box.
"A gift," she said, sliding it across the table. "For luck."
Inside was a silver pendant, elegantly simple, with a twelve-petaled lotus etched into its surface.
"It was your father's gift," she added softly. "He'd want you to have it."
I clasped it around my neck, words failing me. Mom reached over and squeezed my hand.
"You're going to be amazing," she said. Then her eyes narrowed. "But if you damage that outfit I had specially tailored, there will be consequences."
I laughed, the pendant warm against my chest. "Yes, mom."
The morning of the exam, I stood before the mirror running a hand through my hair for the hundredth time. Ten months of Kuro's hellish training had transformed me in ways I hadn't fully registered until now. Gone was the pretty but scrawny kid who'd started this journey – in his place stood someone who looked like he'd walked out of one of those fashion magazines Mom was always leaving around.
The lotus in my eyes spun lazily as I took inventory. My snow-white hair, still perpetually tousled despite Mom's best efforts, had grown out a bit. The way it fell across my forehead somehow made the twelve-petaled pattern in my eyes stand out even more dramatically against their silver-grey backdrop. The dimensional shimmer in my sclera seemed more pronounced too, like looking into deep water under moonlight.
"Still devastatingly handsome," I muttered. "Just... more so."
It wasn't just vanity talking. The countless hours of training had carved definition into what used to be a lean but unremarkable frame. My shoulders had broadened, my chest and arms now rippled with subtle muscle, and even my jawline seemed sharper. The black outfit Mom had bought fit like a second skin, highlighting the athletic build I'd developed without making me look like one of those muscle-bound pro heroes.
I adjusted the silver lotus pendant, letting it rest perfectly centered against my collarbone. The whole effect was... well, if I was being honest, I looked dangerous. Not in the obvious, threatening way that some heroes did, but in the way a finely crafted sword looks dangerous – elegant, precise, and absolutely lethal when necessary.
"You're preening again," Mom's voice came from the doorway, tinged with amusement. "Though I suppose you've earned it."
I turned to find her leaning against the frame, already immaculately dressed for work despite the early hour. Her knowing smile widened as she gave me an appraising look.
"The outfit suits you," she said, crossing the room to adjust my collar. "You look just like—" She caught herself, the ghost of something sad flickering across her perfect features before vanishing behind her usual serene expression. "Well, you look ready to take on the world."
"Thanks to your crazy training outfit requirements," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "I still can't believe you made me do backflips in a three-piece suit."
"Style and substance, dear." She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from my shoulder. "A hero should look the part, even during training. Besides," her eyes glinted mischievously, "it was good practice for maintaining spatial barriers while moving. Can't have your clothes getting torn up every time you fight."