I stirred under the covers, body heavy with echoes-not just from the Zombie Dungeon's grind or yesterday's backyard flood, but from the multiversal blaze with Jean Grey. Her screams, the Phoenix fire in her eyes, the warmth of our union sealed across dimensions... it lingered like a phantom ki pulse, stirring something primal in my Saiyan core. The system's recalibration hummed faintly-multiversal ki affinity unlocked, whatever that meant. A bridge between worlds? I pushed it down, swinging my legs over the bed's edge. Mom was already humming in the kitchen, the scent of miso soup wafting through the apartment. Normalcy. That's what I clung to. Hero in training, not a father to a cosmic heir.
Breakfast was quick-Mom's worried glances over my "late-night study session" excuses met with my brightest grin. "Training today, Izuku? Don't flood the yard again!" she teased, ruffling my hair. I laughed, the sound genuine despite the shadows-All For One's betrayal, Stain's blade, now Jean's fire. "Promise, Mom. Just... balancing things out." She nodded, pride in her eyes, oblivious to the Gacha System's whims. As she headed to work, I suited up: hero costume snug, Weighted Training Bands cinched tight for that extra bite, Kinetic Glove flexing on my right hand. Dimensional Storage thrummed-36 Senzu Beans, the Vampire Dungeon Ticket still dormant. Resurrection on cooldown, Transform ready for shifts. But today wasn't about beasts or undead. It was harmony: Sacred Gear: Ocean at 50%, my Saiyan Physiology locked at 60%. Imbalance bred waste-Saiyan ki raw and explosive, Ocean fluid and primordial. Push Ocean to 60%, weave them seamless, or risk burnout in the next crisis.
The backyard waited, still scarred from yesterday: churned mud, splintered fences half-repaired by my hurried ki-reinforced patches. Overcast skies promised rain, perfect for water ki amplification. I centered myself, legs crossed on a cracked patio stone, eyes shut. Breathe in the moisture-heavy air, feel the ki coiling green in my veins-Saiyan essence, Broly's legendary fury tempered by control. Oceanus stirred, his voice a deep current: The sea and the storm must dance, young Saiyan. One feeds the other; imbalance drowns the soul. Right. Start simple. Internalize the aura, green light dimming to a subtle shimmer. At 50% Ocean, I could summon 40-meter torrents, sense water regionally-rivers blocks away, humidity in the clouds. But blending? That was the edge.
First drill: Fluid strikes. I rose, Weighted Bands adding drag to every motion, and flared ki at 20%-enough for speed without shattering the apartment complex. Palms out, I channeled Ocean, pulling moisture from the air into a sphere of liquid ki, 2 meters wide, swirling with primordial depth. Infuse Saiyan power: green veins pulsed through the water, turning it viscous, electric.
I thrust- the sphere elongated into a spear, water ki hardening to diamond edges via Saiyan density, launching at a training dummy I'd rigged from scrap wood and tires. Impact: a crash like thunder, the dummy exploding in a spray of splinters, the spear dissipating into harmless mist. Progress. But control- the backlash rippled up my arm, ki feedback like pins in my nerves. Too much Saiyan rawness; Ocean needed finesse.
Hour one blurred: reps of ten, tweaking ratios. 60% Ocean ki, 40% Saiyan- the spear curved mid-flight, homing on ki-scanned targets, slicing clean without waste. Sweat beaded, stamina dipping, but Saiyan recovery kicked in, Zenkai-like adaptation sharpening the blend. Oceanus approved: Deeper, child. Let the green storm rage within the blue depths.
By noon, I'd escalated: summon a 20-meter wave from the sprinklers and puddles, infuse it with 30% Saiyan ki for armored crests-crashing waves that didn't just flood, but pummeled like green-fisted hammers. The yard became a battlefield: mud walls rose and fell, water ki tendrils-now laced with aura flares-whipping at invisible foes, each strike a balanced surge. One misstep, and the wave backlashed, slamming me into the fence; pain flared, ribs cracking, but I ate a Senzu Bean-35 left-health snapping back, lesson etched: harmony or rupture.
Lunch was a protein bar from Storage, devoured mid-meditation. Afternoon brought the grind: aerial integration. Launch with Saiyan flight-ki-propelled bounds at jet speeds-while shaping Ocean mid-air. At 55% mastery edging in, I pulled regional water: the neighbor's koi pond a block away, distant rain clouds yielding essence. A vortex formed around me in flight, 15 meters wide, green ki spiraling the blue core into a draconic serpent.
Dive-bomb a mock Nomu target (tire stack reinforced with ki barriers): the serpent coiled, fangs of pressurized water ki biting deep, Saiyan infusion exploding the core in a controlled blast-no neighborhood alarm. But the drain-ki at 50%, stamina flagging. Transform flickered temptation-tiger for precision leaps-but no, raw self. Push through. Hours ticked: failures (vortex dissipating, sending me tumbling into mud) to triumphs (serpent splitting into five serpents, each homing independently, shredding multiple dummies).
Dusk fell, sky bruising purple, my breaths ragged. Mastery ticked: 58%... 59%. The balance sang now-Saiyan explosiveness tempered by Ocean's flow, strikes not just destructive but adaptive, ki efficiency doubling. One final push: full summon. Ground trembled as I drew every drop-yard puddles, air humidity, even the apartment's plumbing groaning in protest. A 50-meter oceanic torrent rose, walls of water 10 meters high, infused 50/50 with green aura: a tidal colossus, waves crashing with ki-fueled shockwaves that cratered the earth without flooding streets. I waded in, shaping it-tendrils coiling my arms like gauntlets, punches rippling out at building-level force, water ki sensing micro-vibrations for perfect counters. A phantom enemy: dodge, weave, counter with a ki-charged uppercut that parted the torrent like a Red Sea. Exhilaration burned-60% locked. Oceanus boomed, Equilibrium achieved. The Saiyan sea rages eternal.
I collapsed to one knee, soaked, grinning through the ache. The yard? A lake now, fences gone, but Dimensional Storage could stash cleanup gear later. Stamina low, but the harmony-Saiyan at 60%, Ocean matched-felt like ascension. Green aura and blue currents intertwined in my core, ready for hybrid forms: aura-flared floods, water-ki Super Saiyan edges. Mom would kill me, but worth it.
As the stars pricked the sky, the Gacha System stirred-unprompted again, neon interface blooming like a reward.
System Notice: Mastery milestone achieved. Balanced progression detected. New pull authorized-heroic evolution vector.
Heart pounding, I activated it, the kaleidoscope whirling: fractured mirrors, ink-black voids, a pen scripting reality. It slowed, settling on a shimmering script, words twisting into existence.
Pull Result: Ability - All Fiction (Anime: Medaka Box, S-Tier Variant). The Abnormality that denies truth. User can declare any event, object, or concept as "fiction," erasing or rewriting its reality as desired. No weaknesses (immune to countermeasures, reality-warping backlash, or conceptual overrides). Limitation: 1 use per day. Stored in Ability Slot. Integrated with Gacha System for heroic application.
The knowledge flooded in, seamless as a ki infusion-a mental tome unfolding. All Fiction: from Medaka Box, Kumagawa Misogi's trump card, the skill to make the real unreal. But this variant? Pristine, no holes. Declare a wound "fiction," and it never was-flesh knitting, pain voided. A villain's quirk? "Fiction," and it's retconned from existence, no memories lingering. Even abstracts: declare "defeat" as fiction mid-battle, and victory rewrites the narrative. One use daily, recharging at midnight, but in heroic hands? A reset button for the impossible. Oceanus rumbled curiosity: The sea writes its own tales, but this... denies the author's ink. Synergy sparked-blend with Ocean for "fictional tides," erasing floods after they strike, or with Saiyan ki to nullify limits.
I stood, water sloughing off, the ability's weight settling like a crown. Multiversal father, balanced warrior, now reality's editor. Mom's key turned in the lock- "Izuku? Oh no, the yard!"-and I laughed, portal-ready cleanup in mind. The path sharpened: U.A. trials, All For One's shadow, whatever abyss next. With All Fiction? Even fate could be drafted anew.
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Some time later
The night after harmonizing Sacred Gear: Ocean with my Saiyan Physiology felt like a precipice. The backyard, now a muddy swamp from my 50-meter torrent, glistened under the moonlight, a silent testament to my climb to 60% Ocean mastery. My body thrummed with equilibrium—green Saiyan ki and blue primordial water ki braided seamlessly, ready for hybrid devastation.
All Fiction, the new S-Tier ability from the Gacha System's pull, sat heavy in my mind like a loaded pen, its once-a-day reality erasure a trump card I hadn't tested. The power to declare anything—wounds, quirks, even defeat—unreal was dizzying, but restraint held me. Hero, not god. Mom's exasperated sighs over the yard's ruin had faded into her usual warmth over late-night tea, grounding me. Sleep beckoned, but the Gacha System had other plans.
At 1:03 AM, the neon interface flared unbidden, its mechanical voice slicing through the quiet of my bedroom.
System Directive: Heroic Quest Initiated.
Objective: Defeat two minor villains in Musutafu using only Sacred Gear: Ocean at 60% mastery. No other abilities or items permitted—no Saiyan Physiology, no Transform, no All Fiction, no Dimensional Storage gear or Senzu Beans.
Reward: All Fiction usage increased to 2 times per day.
Failure: Ability locked for 7 days.
Quest active now—villain signatures detected in downtown Musutafu. Proceed.
My heart lurched. A quest—specific, binding, and brutal in its limits. Only Ocean? No ki-fueled punches, no tiger-form agility, no Senzu resets. Just water, waves, and will. The system's overlay pinged: two red blips pulsing 3 kilometers away, near Musutafu's industrial district. Minor villains, but no details—quirks unknown, threat level undefined.
I tugged on my hero costume—black-and-green bodysuit, sans Kinetic Glove or Weighted Bands, per the rules—and slipped out the window, Mom's snores a faint comfort. The night air bit my skin, heavy with urban dampness, perfect for Ocean's reach. I sprinted, rooftop to rooftop, not daring to flare Saiyan flight. Oceanus stirred, voice like a tidal rumble: The sea needs no flame to consume. Show them its depths.
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The Industrial District
Musutafu's industrial sprawl sprawled under a starless sky, warehouses and smokestacks casting jagged shadows. My water ki sense, now regional at 60% mastery, swept the area—moisture in pipes, puddles in cracked asphalt, even the sweat of distant night workers. Two signatures stood out: jagged, erratic, not civilian. One near a derelict factory, another stalking an alley 200 meters west. Villains. I crouched on a rusted water tower, centering Ocean's flow. No aura, just water ki—blue currents coiling in my veins, ready to summon torrents or shape tendrils. The system's rules were iron: Ocean only, or All Fiction locked.
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Villain 1: "Slickblade"
The first signature pulsed strongest in the factory's shadow. I descended silently, boots squelching in a puddle I immediately tapped, water ki humming to my will. A figure emerged—lean, wiry, in a tattered leather coat, his hands glinting with metallic claws dripping viscous oil. Slickblade, a D-list thug, quirk: Oil Secretion. His claws slashed air, leaving slick trails that ignited faintly, a chemical stink burning my nose. "Well, well, a hero pup," he sneered, spotting me. "Deku, right? Heard you're quirkless no more. Let's test that."
No banter—quest rules demanded focus. I raised a hand, Ocean at 60% pulling moisture from the air and ground, forming a 20-meter wave in seconds, its crest shimmering with primordial weight. Slickblade laughed, oil slicks pooling at his feet, spreading fast to coat the asphalt in a frictionless sheen. He lunged, claws aimed for my chest, skating on his oil like a blade-dancer.
I sidestepped, wave crashing down—not raw flood, but controlled, splitting into ten tendrils, each whip-thin and diamond-hard. Two lashed his ankles, yanking him off-balance; three more coiled his arms, water ki constricting like steel cables. He thrashed, oil spraying, but Ocean's grip held—60% mastery meant precision. I sensed the water in his sweat, his blood, and pulled—a subtle desiccation, enough to dizzy him, his movements slowing.
"Damn you!" he snarled, igniting his oil in a burst of flame. The heat licked my skin, but Ocean countered: a vortex spun from my palm, 5 meters wide, sucking in his flames and dousing them in a hissing spiral.
I tightened the tendrils, slamming him into a wall, concrete cracking. One final surge—water ki flooded his oil glands, overloading his quirk, oil production choking off. He slumped, unconscious, tendrils binding him for police pickup. One down. Oceanus rumbled approval: Swift, like the tide's pull.
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Villain 2: "Grindgear"
The second signature flared stronger, alley-bound. I moved fast, water ki sensing a heavier presence—mechanical, dense. Grindgear, another low-tier villain, quirk: Gear Manifestation. He lumbered into view: a hulking figure, 2.5 meters tall, body sprouting spinning metal gears from his skin, each razor-edged, grinding asphalt to dust as he moved. "Hero!" he roared, spotting me, gears whirring faster, launching like shuriken. No Saiyan speed to dodge—just Ocean.
I dove behind a dumpster, pulling water from a leaking pipe overhead, forming a 10-meter shield of pressurized water ki, gears pinging off it like bullets on steel. Grindgear charged, gears sprouting anew, a walking shredder. I pushed Ocean harder—60% mastery unlocking regional pull. A nearby fire hydrant burst at my command, water ki channeling into a 30-meter torrent, infused with primordial force.
It hit like a battering ram, staggering him, gears screeching as water flooded their axles, rusting on contact. He roared, hurling a gear-cluster the size of a car door. I shaped the torrent into a spiraling maelstrom, 15 meters wide, catching the cluster and grinding it to fragments in a watery blender.
He didn't quit—gears reformed, bigger, serrated, tearing through my shield. Pain grazed my arm, blood mixing with water ki. No Senzu, no Saiyan healing—just grit. I tapped deeper, sensing water in his body—60% mastery's edge. Blood manipulation surged: I pulled moisture from his veins, not lethal, but enough to sap his strength, gears slowing as dehydration hit.
"What—how?!" he gasped, stumbling. I summoned tendrils—twenty now, each a lashing spear, wrapping his limbs, neck, torso. They tightened, water ki crushing gears into his skin, pinning him to the ground. A final wave, 20 meters high, crashed down, flooding the alley, holding him under until he passed out, gears stilled. I bound him with hardened water ki cords, panting, arm stinging but intact.
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The system chimed as Grindgear slumped, neon overlay flashing.
Quest Complete: Two minor villains defeated using only Sacred Gear: Ocean.
Reward granted—All Fiction usage increased to 2 times per day. No penalties incurred. Return to base advised.
I staggered, water ki receding, the alley a flooded ruin but contained—no civilian risk. Oceanus's voice echoed: The sea carves its path alone when needed. Well fought. My arm throbbed, blood mixing with mud, but Ocean's regional sense confirmed no witnesses, no further threats. I limped back, rooftop to rooftop, the city's hum a distant comfort.
All Fiction now had two daily uses—erase two wounds, two quirks, two defeats. The power felt heavier, a blade to wield with care. Synergy teased: declare a flood "fiction" post-battle, undoing collateral damage, or negate an enemy's strike before it lands. But tonight, it stayed dormant. Hero work meant limits, not rewriting reality on a whim.