The train rattled into Musutafu station with a familiar jolt, the evening sun casting long shadows across the platform. The spars with Iida, Todoroki, and Bakugo at U.A. had been intense but purposeful—I'd held back to 30% ki, flaring my aura just enough to show the gap, not crush their spirits. Iida's engines had whirred with renewed determination, Todoroki's ice and fire syncing better, Bakugo's explosions sharper with grudging respect. They'd train harder, close the distance, and that was the point: heroism wasn't about staying ahead, but lifting others up.
The train doors hissed open, and I stepped out, my hero costume case bumping against my leg. I was in casual clothes now—jeans, a green hoodie, and sneakers—leaving the weight of the training grounds behind.
Home wasn't far, a short walk to our modest apartment, where Mom waited with her endless warmth. The Hero Killer Arc's shadow—Stain's defeat, Iida's revenge, Tensei's revival—faded with each step, replaced by anticipation of rest. Two days off, per Aizawa's orders after the spars: "Recover, Midoriya. You've pushed hard." No patrols, no villains, just time to breathe, to be Izuku, not the Green Spark. I savored it—downtime was rare in this life of quirks and chaos.
The apartment door clicked open, and Inko's voice rang out, "Izuku! You're home early!" She rushed from the kitchen, her green hair tied back in a messy bun, apron dusted with flour. The smell of miso soup and grilled mackerel wafted, comforting and familiar. I dropped my bag, hugging her tightly, my Saiyan strength restrained to a gentle squeeze. "Mom, missed you," I said, her warmth chasing away the training grounds' echoes. She pulled back, eyes misty, cupping my face. "My champion! How was the sparring? You look tired—sit, eat!" Her fussing was a balm, her love the anchor that kept my Saiyan heart human.
We sat at the table, the meal steaming before us. Inko chattered, her voice a melody of normalcy. "The neighbors are talking about the Sports Festival reruns—everyone's saying you're the next All Might!" I laughed, spooning soup, the broth rich and soothing. "It was intense, Mom. Iida, Todoroki, Bakugo—they're all getting stronger." I didn't mention the gap, the way my 30% ki had made their quirks feel like sparks against a storm. She beamed, "You're inspiring them, Izuku. That's what heroes do." Her words hit deep, the All For One memory—white hair, quirk stolen—fading in her glow. She didn't know he was her husband, erased by his own quirk, but her pride was real, untainted.
After dinner, we cleaned up together, her humming a tune from her favorite drama. I helped with dishes, suds bubbling, our laughter light as I "accidentally" splashed her. "Izuku!" she squealed, flicking water back. For a moment, I was just her son, not a Saiyan reborn with a system's whims. "Two days off," I said, drying a plate. "No hero stuff—just us." She smiled, eyes soft. "Perfect. Tomorrow, we'll bake cookies—your favorite chocolate chip."
Night fell, and I retreated to my room, the familiar posters of All Might a reminder of my path. I stripped to shorts, lying on the bed, aura internalized, ki calm. The spars replayed: Iida's Recipro Burst dodged with Saiyan speed, Todoroki's ice-fire countered with Protego, Bakugo's Howitzer Impact absorbed with durability. They'd seen the gap, felt my restraint, and vowed to close it. I marveled—they were real, growing. Uraraka's text buzzed: "Great job today, Deku! Miss you already <3" I smiled, replying, "Miss you too. Cookies tomorrow?" Her thumbs-up emoji warmed me.
Sleep came easy, the day's exertion lulling me. Dreams were quiet—no All For One shadows, just Mom's laughter and Class 1-A's cheers. I woke refreshed, ki full, aura steady. Day one of rest: baking with Mom. The kitchen was a flour-dusted battlefield, Inko measuring chocolate chips as I mixed dough. "Too much butter, Izuku!" she teased, swatting my hand. I laughed, sneaking a chip, her scold playful. We shaped cookies, the oven's warmth filling the apartment, and talked—her work stories, my spars (sanitized). "You're so kind to your friends," she said, sliding the tray in. "That's what makes you a hero." Her words grounded me, the system's balance a distant hum.
The cookies baked golden, and we ate them hot, chocolate melting, her smile brighter than the sun. "Perfect," I said, savoring the normalcy. Afternoon brought a walk in the park, hand in hand, her chatter about birds and flowers a simple joy. "You've grown so much," she said, squeezing my hand. "From that quirkless boy to… this." I hugged her, hiding the Saiyan truth. "You made me who I am, Mom." The park's cherry blossoms scattered, a brief escape from Hosu's shadows, Stain's defeat, and All For One's legacy.
Day two dawned lazy, rain pattering the window. Inko made tea, and we watched her drama, her head on my shoulder, laughter shared. "You're my world, Izuku," she whispered. I held her, the All For One memory—white hair, quirk stolen—fading, father or not, I was hers. Afternoon brought light reading—my hero notebook, sketching Stain's blade, planning for Nighteye's agency if Endeavor fell through. The system was silent, no new pulls since Resurrection, its balance felt right—50% Saiyan, magic, Transform, Resurrection avaliable. I rested, body and mind renewing, ready for tomorrow's heroics.
As evening fell, the Gacha System's neon interface flared, its mechanical voice echoing.
System Notice: Heroic alignment stable. User's rest and reflection align with balanced growth. New pull authorized.
My heart raced—a pull now, after two days of peace? The kaleidoscope spun, colors flashing: waves, orbs, ancient runes. It settled, a swirling blue symbol pulsing.
Pull Result: Sacred Gear – Ocean (S-Tier). Contains Primordial Oceanus from Percy Jackson world. Grants mastery over water, tides, and primordial seas, with Oceanus's consciousness as guide. Initial mastery at 0%.
I blinked, the symbol integrating into me like Transform—a perk, not an item, a core power. Sacred Gear: Ocean? From Percy Jackson, Oceanus the primordial god of the sea, ancient and vast. My mind flooded with knowledge: summoning tidal waves, controlling rivers, sensing water ki across oceans, even primordial floods that could drown armies. Oceanus's voice echoed faintly, a deep rumble. Young Saiyan, I am the eternal tide. Command me, and the seas obey. I tested it, whispering, "Tide," and a small wave of water materialized from the air, swirling in my palm. At 0% mastery, it was weak, but the potential was immense—water manipulation synergizing with my Saiyan ki, Harry Potter magic, and Transform.
I spent the night experimenting, the rain outside mirroring my focus. A wave crashed against my desk, controlled to avoid damage, then dissipated. Oceanus's voice guided, "Feel the flow, child of the stars. Water is life, endless." By midnight, I pushed to 10% mastery, summoning a larger wave, shaping it into a shield—Protego enhanced with tidal force. The system noted: Mastery at 10%. Primordial control unlocked—summon minor tides, sense water sources. I smiled, the gear's power a gift for balance, compensating for lost skills like Major Telekinesis. Rest had renewed me, and with 50% Saiyan, 10% Oceanus, I was ready for what came next.