Sunlight hit my eyes, and I shot up like a missile. Today wasn't just another day of training. No, today was about breaking limits. Four-year-old me had practiced control, precision, and combos—but now it was time to see what my Quirk could really do.
I flexed my tiny fingers. Sparks flickered like impatient lightning. I can do more. I have to.
First, I tested Howitzer Impact—or, at least, my tiny, miniature version. Normally, this move required immense strength and careful timing. But even at four, I remembered the mechanics perfectly. I crouched, ignited a concentrated explosion in my hands, and projected it forward.
BOOM. The sandbox trembled. Not as massive as my teenage version, but precise. Perfect trajectory. Perfect compression. Perfect destruction.
A grin spread across my face. "Yes! That's just the start. Just the start."
Next, I tried experimenting with mobility-enhanced blasts. Tiny bursts under my feet, mid-jump, even while spinning. Each time, I adjusted angles to maximize both propulsion and attack potential. Within minutes, I could chain three bursts in rapid succession, moving like a miniature storm.
I landed in the crater I'd created yesterday, sparks flickering along my fists. "Even UA first-years won't move this fast," I whispered. I'll be ahead of everyone before I even enroll.
Then came the fun part: combining moves. Small Howitzer bursts followed by mid-air propulsion, landing strikes enhanced by micro-explosions, rapid chains of small blasts creating a mini artillery field… I grinned maniacally.
"I'm untouchable," I muttered. Even as a four-year-old, my brain raced faster than any opponent could predict. Every action had a reaction planned in advance. Every explosion had a counter-strategy embedded.
By afternoon, my little arms were trembling. Sweat streaked my face, but I couldn't stop. There was no stopping. I drew diagrams in the dirt, labeling angles, distances, timings. Even toddlers should have a plan.
I imagined UA students facing me: Deku struggling to predict my explosions, Todoroki stunned by my speed, Kaminari shocked by the intensity… all of them falling behind before they even begin.
Mom came by again, holding a snack. "Kacchan, maybe—"
I cut her off with a spark-laced punch into the air. Tiny, controlled explosion. "No time! Every second counts! This isn't play! I'm training! Stronger! Faster! Better!"
She froze, eyes wide. But I didn't care. She didn't need to understand. No one needed to understand.
By evening, I had created a mini "ultimate combo": a small Howitzer Impact, rapid mid-air bursts, spinning projectiles, and a finishing concentrated strike. Even in toddler form, I felt the raw power.
I collapsed in the sandbox, chest heaving, sparks still flickering from my tiny fists. My body was exhausted, but my mind was electric. Every day, I was pushing myself further. Every day, I was rewriting the limits of what I should be capable of.
Four years old. Miniature body. Full power.
Tomorrow, I decided, I would start real-world simulations: dodging, chasing, attacking—imaginary enemies but real precision. If I could master these, by the time UA came around… I wouldn't just be strong. I'd be unstoppable.
I looked at the sky, sparks dancing faintly in my hands, and whispered, "This is just the beginning. Kacchan will not wait. Kacchan will not lose. Kacchan will be stronger than anyone… before anyone even knows what's coming."