The first day of Resin Protocol control training was specifically humiliating in the way that things are humiliating when you know you should be able to do them, and your body insists on proving that you still can't do them with the required precision.
Partial activation—supposedly just extending the resin onto the right forearm and keeping it there without spreading or dispersing—turned out to be far harder than the description suggested.
The first attempt produced resin on the right forearm and also on the left hand, which was not the goal.
The second produced both forearms simultaneously, which was more consistent but still not the target.
The third produced exactly what he wanted for about four seconds before the resin redistributed toward the right shoulder for reasons Mineta still didn't fully understand.
Hayashi watched all of this from the edge of the tatami without commenting.
—What are you feeling? —he finally asked.
Mineta looked at the right forearm where the resin had been.
—Like trying to move a muscle I didn't know existed before the USJ. I know it's there. I roughly know where it is. But the signal I send doesn't reach exactly where I want it to.
—It's motor control, —Hayashi said. —The quirk has opened new routes in the nervous system. The routes exist, but the brain hasn't mapped how to use them precisely yet. It's like learning to use your non-dominant hand.
—And how do I learn?
—Repetition. —Hayashi looked at him with the expression of someone who knows the answer won't be welcomed but gives it anyway because it's correct. —Lots of repetition. Try to avoid frustration if possible, because frustration interferes with motor learning.
—Frustration is hard to avoid when the goal is clear and the execution isn't.
—I know. Try anyway.
Mineta nodded.
And then, because the tatami was there and he needed to do something with his hands while processing the previous instruction, he threw three spheres against the back wall of the dojo with the precision of someone who had been making that exact motion for three years.
The spheres bounced. They returned. He caught them.
Hayashi observed him during the moment.
—Why did you do that? —he asked.
Mineta thought.
—Because I needed to remind myself that I have two things, —he said. —Not just one.
Hayashi nodded, with the tone of someone who had been expecting to hear that before he actually did.
—Good, —he said simply.
The second day was better than the first in the specific sense that the fourth attempt produced eleven seconds of stable resin on the right forearm before it dispersed.
Eleven seconds was little. But it was also almost triple the four seconds of the previous day.
Mineta noted it with the neutrality of someone recording data, because data is the only honest way to evaluate progress when the progress is too small to feel in real time.
The fifth attempt produced eight seconds. The sixth produced fifteen. The variability was real and was the most immediate problem.
At the end of the session, Hayashi proposed something different.
—Let's work both things together, —he said.
—Both things?
—The Resin Protocol and your original quirk. —Hayashi pointed to the open space in the dojo. —The problem with control training is that the brain processes it as something completely new. Something without context. But your original quirk has been in your system for three years. It has established routes. It has automatisms.
Mineta processed where this was going.
—You want me to use the spheres and activate the Resin Protocol simultaneously.
—I want you to use the spheres first. Let the nervous system enter the mode it already knows. And from there, try to layer the Resin Protocol on top.
It was a logic Mineta hadn't considered. The spheres as a bridge, familiar territory from which to extend into new territory.
He tried it.
First the spheres. The familiar sensation of the scalp follicles producing something they had been producing his entire life. The nervous system in the mode it knew.
And then, from there, the extension onto the forearms.
The resin appeared on both forearms simultaneously, which was not the goal, but without migrating elsewhere. And it lasted nineteen seconds before dispersing.
Nineteen seconds without migration. More than any previous attempt that day.
—There, —said Hayashi.
—Using them together is more stable than the Resin Protocol alone, —Mineta said, processing what had just happened.
—The nervous system has a familiar route. The Resin Protocol hooks onto that route instead of trying to create one from scratch. —Hayashi looked at him. —They are not two separate quirks. They are the same quirk in two developmental phases. When you treat them as one, the system manages them as one.
It was information that fundamentally changed the framework of his training. Mineta noted it mentally, with the focus of someone who has finally found the right angle to a problem he had been approaching from the wrong side.
The third day brought frustration earlier than usual.
Not because the training was worse, but because Mineta did the calculations he had been avoiding for several days, and the result was not good.
Three days of control training. Four days remaining before the Festival. Integration of the two quirks was promising but still highly inconsistent. Adhesion in the palms wasn't working intentionally. Pressure Discharge hadn't even been attempted.
One week was very little time.
He had known that from the start. But knowing it abstractly and realizing it after three days of training, where progress was real but insufficient, were two different things.
Hayashi noticed it in the way Mineta worked that day: stiffer, with that quality of someone pushing against the process rather than working within it.
At the end of the session, while Mineta packed up silently, Hayashi spoke.
—Stop.
Mineta stopped.
—Sit.
They sat at the edge of the tatami.
—What are you thinking? —asked Hayashi.
—That one week isn't enough.
—It isn't, —Hayashi said.
Mineta looked at him.
—That's not what I expected you to say.
—I told you from the start that one week wouldn't be enough to control it completely. —Hayashi gave him that expression of someone who has been waiting for the right moment to say something. —What I didn't tell you, because you needed to reach here on your own, is that fully controlling it is not the right goal for the Festival.
Mineta processed that.
—What is the right goal then?
—To control it enough for it to be a tool rather than a variable. —A pause. —At the USJ, the Resin Protocol activated on its own because the conditions forced it. It was useful, but it wasn't yours. What you need for the Festival isn't total mastery. It's that when it activates, it's because you decided it would. The decision is yours, even if the execution is still imperfect.
—An imperfect tool you control is always more useful than a perfect tool you don't control.
—Yes. —Hayashi nodded. —And you have two tools, not one. You fully master the spheres after three years. And the Resin Protocol you are just beginning to control after a week. Together they are more than either one alone, even though the latter is still unpredictable.
Mineta looked at his own hands.
Two tools. Not one. And I've been so focused on the Resin Protocol this week that I almost forgot the spheres exist, work, and have been exactly what I needed them to be for three years.
It was an uncomfortable observation about his own attentional bias.
—I've been training the Resin Protocol as if the spheres didn't exist, —he said.
—Yes. —Hayashi said. —That changes starting tomorrow.
The fourth day was different in every way.
Hayashi designed the session around integrating the two things rather than treating them separately.
First: sphere throwing with precision. Familiar territory. Nervous system in the mode it had used for three years.
Second: from that state, extension of the Resin Protocol.
Third: maintaining both simultaneously.
The third step was the hardest because the brain tended to prioritize one or the other rather than managing both in parallel. When Mineta focused on the Resin Protocol, the sphere accuracy dropped. When he focused on the spheres, the Resin Protocol stabilized but lost coverage.
—Don't manage them separately, —Hayashi said. —They are the same system. The scalp produces spheres. The skin produces resin. It's the same process in different zones. Treat it as such.
It took him four attempts to understand it practically rather than just theoretically.
On the fifth attempt, he threw two spheres at the target Hayashi had placed on the wall, extended the Resin Protocol on his torso simultaneously, and maintained both for twenty-eight seconds before the resin began to migrate.
Twenty-eight seconds with both active.
—There, —said Hayashi.
Mineta looked at his hands. The spheres regenerating on his scalp. The resin visible as a subtle sheen on his torso.
The same system. Not two things. One thing with two expressions.
The fifth day, Hayashi introduced a new element.
—Today we work decision-making under pressure, —he said.
—How?
—I'm going to throw objects at you. You decide in the moment what to use for each one. Spheres, resin, or both. Don't overthink. The decision has to come before the object.
The first object was a rubber ball thrown from the side. Mineta used two spheres to redirect its trajectory before it arrived.
—Good. Next.
Two objects simultaneously. Rubber ball from the front, sandbag from the side.
Spheres for the ball. Resin Protocol on the torso to absorb the bag, which arrived before he could redirect it.
The bag hit. The resin absorbed some of the impact. The result was a lesser hit than without the resin, though greater than if he had redirected it with the spheres.
—What could you have done differently? —asked Hayashi.
—Use the spheres on the bag instead of the ball. The bag was the greater threat. —A pause. —I chose the ball because it entered my field of view first. The decision was by order of appearance rather than by priority.
—Exactly, —said Hayashi. —Decision-making under pressure tends toward what is most visible, not what is most dangerous. That's the bias we need to correct.
They continued for two more hours. By the end of the session, Mineta had made correct prioritization decisions in about half the scenarios. The other half still showed bias toward what was most visible.
It wasn't a brilliant number. It was an honest one.
The sixth day was the longest of the week.
Four hours instead of the usual two, with that Hayashi silence characteristic of someone who has calculated the remaining time and work and concluded the math required adjustment.
The first hour was integration of the two quirks in real movement. Not static on the tatami, but moving, using the three combat styles as a base. Spheres thrown while moving. Resin Protocol extended while dodging.
The second hour was decision-making under pressure with the most complex scenarios Hayashi had designed to date. Three objects simultaneously. Objects from blind angles. Situations requiring both tools in quick sequence.
The third hour was specific work on Resin Protocol consistency. One week of training starting from zero left control better than nothing but far from reliable.
The fourth hour was active rest. Slow movements, breath control, smooth integration before the Festival.
By the end of the four hours, Mineta sat on the edge of the tatami, his body sending the usual inventory of sustained effort.
—How's the control? —asked Hayashi.
Mineta made an honest assessment.
—Spheres one hundred percent. As always. —A pause. —Resin Protocol between forty-five and fifty percent at best. Still high variability. Works when it works, fails when it fails, and I don't always know in advance which it will be.
—And both together?
—More stable than Resin Protocol alone. The spheres give the system a route it already knows. —Mineta looked at his hands. —But still unpredictable. I can't rely on Resin Protocol as a primary tool. I can use it as an additional tool when it appears where I want it.
—That's exactly what it is right now, —Hayashi said. —An additional tool. Not the primary.
—The spheres are the primary tool.
—Yes. And they always have been. —Hayashi looked at him. —Don't forget that tomorrow.
It was the same reminder that had appeared on the first day when Mineta threw the three spheres at the wall. Only now, after six days of work, it carried a different weight.
—I won't forget, —Mineta said.
It was that last week, a Tuesday morning before classes, when Mineta decided to go for a run on Dagobah Beach.
It wasn't part of the plan. His body just asked for fresh air after days of dojos and classrooms. He arrived and started running. Firm sand near the water. The sound of the sea. Early morning light.
He had been running for fifteen minutes when he heard footsteps behind him. Mineta slightly turned without stopping.
Midoriya Izuku, in training clothes and that focused expression that was his natural state. They looked at each other for the time it takes to process that the other is there. Then Midoriya adjusted his pace to run alongside him silently.
Mineta adjusted his pace too.
They ran in silence for a while. The beach was clean, without the trash Mineta remembered from before.
It was Midoriya who spoke first, after about three kilometers.
—You come here to train too?
—Sometimes, —Mineta said.
—I've been coming for months. —Midoriya looked at the beach. —There used to be a lot of trash here.
—I know.
Midoriya glanced at him.
—Did you know?
—I passed by here some time ago. —Mineta didn't elaborate. —You cleaned it.
It wasn't a question. Midoriya paused.
—Yes. Part of the training. Someone told me that if I wanted to be a hero, I had to start by doing useful things even if no one was watching.
They ran in silence a little longer.
—The Festival is in two days, —Midoriya finally said.
—Yes.
—Are you ready?
—Enough. You?
—The arm is better. —Midoriya looked at his right hand while running. —Control still isn't what I want it to be. But it is what it is.
—Which part of control?
—Power. —A pause. —I know how to activate the quirk. I know I can use it in a finger without breaking my whole arm. But the range between minimum and maximum is too wide. I don't have the intermediate points.
Mineta processed it as they ran.
—The problem isn't the power, —he finally said.
Midoriya looked at him.
—It isn't?
—The problem is you think of the quirk as a switch. On or off. Maximum or minimum. But it's not a switch. It's a tap. The difference is a tap has intermediate positions.
—And how do you go from switch to tap?
—By learning where the intermediate positions are. You don't learn by activating maximum and lowering. You learn by activating minimum and slowly raising until you find each position before moving to the next. —A pause. —The first intermediate position is the hardest. The others follow.
Midoriya ran silently for several steps.
—And for the Festival? Two days isn't enough to learn them from scratch.
—No. But it's enough to start knowing where the first one is. And the first one is the one that changes everything that follows.
They ran to the end of the beach and stopped. The sea in front. Midoriya looked at the water.
—Thanks, —he said.
—It's information, —Mineta said. —Do something useful with it.
Midoriya nodded. Then, with that expression of his that means he has more to say:
—At the USJ. The Nomu stitching. And you staying when we told you to leave. —A pause. —I haven't forgotten.
Mineta didn't respond directly.
—The Festival is in two days, —he said instead. —Work on the first intermediate position this afternoon.
Midoriya looked at him for a second. Nodded. And they began running back.
The day before the Festival, the dojo session was short. Only light integration. No intense work. The body needed energy for the Festival, not for yesterday's training.
At the end, Hayashi asked:
—How's the control?
—Spheres one hundred percent, —Mineta said. —Resin Protocol between forty-five and fifty percent depending on the day. Still highly variable. Both together are more stable than Resin Protocol alone because they are the same system with two expressions.
—Is that enough for tomorrow?
Mineta thought.
—I have one tool I completely master and another that works about half the time. And I know how to combine them so the second is more useful than it would be alone. —A pause. —It's enough to work with.
Hayashi looked at him for a moment.
—Three years and one week of work, —he said. —What they see tomorrow is the result of that.
Mineta packed his bag and left.
That night, in the notebook:
Tomorrow is the Sports Festival.
Current status: spheres one hundred percent, as always. Resin Protocol between forty-five and fifty percent control, with high variability. Both together more stable than Resin Protocol alone because they are the same system with two expressions.
The most important thing this week wasn't controlling the Resin Protocol. It was remembering that the spheres exist, work, and have been exactly what I needed them to be for three years. I was so focused on the new that I almost forgot what I already had.
The spheres are the primary tool. Resin Protocol is the additional tool. That doesn't change tomorrow even if I want it to.
Midoriya on the beach. The switch and the tap problem. What he does with that information is his.
A long pause.
In the original canon, Minoru Mineta arrived at the tournament and lost in the first round in a way not worth remembering.
That changes.
Two tools. The decision is mine.
He closed the notebook. The piano from the building across the street played. He listened to it until the end before falling asleep.
End of Episode 24.