The next day, Izuku woke up feeling unusually refreshed. He sprang upright, energy coursing through him, and looked around. The sunlight spilling through the curtains revealed that he was sprawled on the living room couch.
' Oh yeah… I passed out last night. But damn, I slept good,' he thought with a small grin, rubbing his eyes as he swung his legs over the edge and stretched. His body moved smoothly, the lingering fatigue from his training already feeling distant.
Then—cramp!
A sudden, sharp pain shot through his glutes. He yelped softly, covering his mouth so Inko wouldn't hear him as she was sleeping. He pressed at the sore muscle, hopping slightly on one foot.
' Fuck… I hate these things. Better than ab cramps though… and cave injuries, of course, ' he mused wryly, wincing.
Once the pain subsided, he shook his head and forced himself to calm down. He walked slowly upstairs, legs stiff but steady, to the bathroom.
He turned the faucet and let the tub fill, steam curling up into the air. Sliding in, the warm water enveloped him, easing the residual tension in his muscles.
Good thing it's a Sunday, he thought with a smirk, leaning back against the edge and letting himself relax. He closed his eyes, enjoying the rare quiet moment.
As the water lapped softly around him, his mind wandered over everything that had happened so far. He hadn't actually seen a villain up close yet, but he had cataloged every encounter, every skirmish, and every subtle threat. His thoughts flicked to All Might—tracking the former Symbol of Peace had taught him a lot.
And then there was All For One. They had already met as, All Mights Hero work had already seen a noticeable decline since then, creating cracks in the system.
'So yeah… he's probably looking for a successor already. Might have spoken to Sir Nighteye about it too. Timing is going to be everything. I need to make my move carefully, ' he thought, eyes narrowing slightly as he imagined the path ahead.
He leaned back, letting the heat of the bath seep deeper into his muscles, and allowed a small, confident smile to creep onto his face.
'Tomorrow, training again. I need to keep pushing. No time to waste.'
The water rippled around him, quiet except for the faint hum of the pipes, as Izuku contemplated the next stage of his journey.
Izuku finally finished his bath, the warmth of the water lingering on his skin as he toweled off and headed back to his room.
Today wasn't just another training day. Today, he had something important planned. Something that required focus, patience, and a spark of creativity.
He walked over to his desk and pulled out his sketchbook. Beyond workouts and building his strength, he had a mission that felt equally vital: designing his hero suit.
The Canon suit was… fine, serviceable even. But it didn't feel like him. He wanted something that matched his vibe, that reflected who he was becoming. Something that felt like Izuku.
He settled into his chair, pen in hand, eyes narrowed in concentration.
'Yep… this is gonna be peak,' he muttered to himself.
Hours passed. The sun traveled across the sky, shifting the light in his room. He alternated between erasing and redrawing, jotting notes, tweaking proportions, imagining how each piece of fabric would move with his body. Every line, every detail, he scrutinized.
Seven hours later, Izuku's head finally collapsed onto the desk. Pencil still clutched in his hand, his warm breath fogged the pages slightly. The sketches under his arm were chaotic—a mess of ideas, none of them quite right.
Then—CRASH!
A bird slammed against the window, feathers fluttering in shock. Instantly, Izuku jerked upright, eyes wide.
'What the hell was that?!' he thought, heart racing.
He glanced around, taking in the room in half-light, before his gaze fell back onto the desk. Dozens of sketches, each one worse than the last, stared back at him.
Outside, the sky burned orange with the fading sun, painting the room in streaks of fire and shadow. Izuku spun in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
' Damn… zero creative ideas, ' he muttered, leaning back in defeat.
He tapped his chin, thinking aloud. "I should just… use Saitama's suit. I mean, I am doing his exercise routine anyway."
Then, as if the thought had unlocked something deep inside him, a surge of inspiration hit harder than any headbutt he'd taken during training.
He grabbed a fresh page, started sketching frantically, using the caped baldy as a reference. Lines became shapes. Shapes became concepts. Patterns, colors, utility features—they all clicked together.
Minutes later, he leaned back, chest heaving, a wide grin on his face.
' Yep… this is perfect. Well, the beta version at least.'
He traced his finger along the edges of the design, imagining how it would feel when worn, how it would move during a fight.
' Too bad I have to wait two years before I can actually wear it. But hey… nobody said I can't make it now, ' he thought, already reaching for his laptop.
He opened up the hero suit design software, the interface bright and sleek on his screen. With renewed energy, Izuku began translating his sketches into digital form. Every line, every panel, every seam was adjusted, enhanced, and optimized.
Hours could pass unnoticed now—he was lost in creation, designing not just a suit, but the first symbol of his future self: the hero he would become.
....
More months passed, and Izuku's training only intensified. Every day was a relentless grind: martial arts drills, the One Punch Man-style 100 daily exercises, sprints, core routines, shadowboxing, stair climbs, push-ups until failure—he did it all, and then some.
And each time, that strange, exhilarating feeling returned: the sudden, almost electric surge of energy, as if a hidden seal inside him was breaking. It had happened at least five times before, each one leaving him exhausted but stronger.
Then, one day, it came back—harder than ever. It was like he had taken, crack, meth, and steroid imaginable surged through his veins at once.
Adrenaline, power, speed, endurance—all amplified beyond belief. He felt untouchable, unstoppable.
His muscles rippled under his skin. His body expanded and tightened, transforming day by day until his physique mirrored Saitama's perfectly—lean, defined, and overwhelmingly powerful.
Magnifique.
Now, Izuku was in gym class. Second-year student. Taller than most of his classmates, shoulders broad and posture perfect.
They were outside on the track, preparing to run a timed race. He wore the standard gym clothes: a crisp white T-shirt and blue pants, nothing flashy, yet even that clung to his muscles in a way that didn't go unnoticed.
'I hate gym class, ' he thought, surveying the scene.
Why, you might wonder? The answer was simple: attention. Everywhere he looked, it followed him.
"Go Izuku!!"
"Please marry me!"
"Do you like third years?!"
"Did you read my letter?!"
A chorus of girls from all classes had abandoned their own warm-ups and drills, their eyes glued to him. Whispers, giggles, and the occasional shout filled the air. Meanwhile, many boys cast envious glances in his direction.
Izuku ignored them, as always. His focus wasn't on the attention or the envy—it was on himself.
Across the track, Katsuki stood stretching, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. The envy was obvious.
'How did he get so tall…?' Katsuki thought, scowling.' Well, whatever. I'm about to smoke this nerd.'
A teacher's voice cut through the murmurs.
"Alright, remember—not to use your quirks. Save them for U.A. class. Except you, Izuku, of course, since you don't have one."
The boys next to him snickered, loud enough for the class to hear.
"Quirkless nerd."
"You took my girl—I'll show you why I'm better."
Izuku simply tightened his stance, muscles tensing under his T-shirt, ready for the race. His gaze flicked to the track, focusing.
"On your marks… get set… GO!"
TO BE CONTINUED