[Several Weeks Later - Musutafu Private Middle School]
It had been several weeks since I started junior high at Musutafu Private Middle School.
And honestly?
Life was good.
Better than good, actually. Life was great.
I'd settled into my new routine with surprising ease—classes were laughably simple thanks to my photographic memory and enhanced processing speed, the teachers adored me for being the "model student," and my classmates had welcomed me with open arms.
Well, most of them anyway.
'The perks of being smart, friendly, and not a total asshole,' I thought, leaning back in my chair as I surveyed the classroom during a break between periods. 'Who knew basic human decency would make you popular?'
But there was another factor I couldn't ignore.
One that became increasingly obvious every time I caught groups of girls whispering and giggling while looking in my direction.
I was handsome.
Like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably attractive.
And no, that wasn't arrogance talking—that was just cold, hard fact.
Seven years of running electricity through my body had sculpted my physique in ways that shouldn't be possible for a twelve-year-old. My metabolism had optimized itself, burning away any excess fat while building lean, defined muscle. My skin had a healthy glow from all that bioelectrical stimulation. My posture was perfect from years of martial arts training.
And my face?
Let's just say puberty had been very kind to me.
Sharp jawline. Bright golden eyes that practically glowed when I used my Quirk. Messy blonde hair that fell in that "effortlessly attractive" way that people spent hours trying to achieve with hair products.
I caught my reflection in the classroom window and couldn't help but smirk.
'Damn,' I thought, running a hand through my hair and watching it fall back into perfect disarray. 'I'm basically an anime protagonist now. The generic "cool guy" type that every girl crushes on and every guy either wants to be or wants to fight.'
"Kaminari-kun!" A girl named Yuki—petite, with brown hair in twin tails—appeared at my desk, her cheeks slightly pink. "Um, I was wondering if you could help me with the math homework from yesterday? I didn't really understand the quadratic equations part..."
Before I could respond, another girl—Hana, tall with glasses and an intellectual vibe—materialized on my other side.
"Actually, Kaminari-kun promised to help me with English today," she said, shooting Yuki a pointed look. "Didn't you, Kaminari-kun?"
'I did?' I thought, trying to remember. 'Pretty sure I didn't, but okay.'
"I can help both of you," I said diplomatically, pulling out my notebook. "How about during lunch? We can go over everything together."
Both girls lit up like Christmas trees.
"Really? Thank you so much, Kaminari-kun!"
"You're the best!"
They hurried back to their seats, already whispering excitedly to their friends.
From across the room, I caught the eyes of several boys who were not looking at me with the same adoration.
'Ah yes,' I thought dryly. 'The jealousy. Can't have popularity without attracting some haters.'
A guy named Takeshi—built like a linebacker despite being twelve, with a strength-enhancement Quirk—had been giving me death glares since day one. Apparently, he'd been the "cool guy" before I showed up and stole his thunder.
'Not my fault you have the personality of a brick wall, buddy,' I thought, meeting his glare with a friendly wave.
He scowled harder and looked away.
'Yeah, that's what I thought.'
Of course, being the "perfect student" came with its own set of challenges.
Some boys—usually the ones who fancied themselves tough guys or mini-gang leaders—occasionally tried to start trouble with me. Testing boundaries. Seeing if the "smart kid" would back down when confronted.
I always tried to resolve things peacefully first.
"Hey, Takeshi-kun," I'd say with exaggerated politeness, "I noticed you were having trouble with the chemistry assignment. Want me to explain it? I'm happy to help!"
"I don't need your help, Kaminari," he'd growl, trying to look intimidating.
"Are you sure? Because your last test score was—"
"Shut up!"
'Ah, the classic "deny the problem exists" strategy,' I thought. 'A bold choice. Let's see how that works out for you.'
Most of the time, simply being aggressively helpful was enough to defuse situations. Kill them with kindness, as they say.
But occasionally—occasionally—some idiot would push too far.
Like that time a week ago when a group of three boys cornered me after school, trying to intimidate me into doing their homework for them.
"Come on, Kaminari," their leader, a kid named Ryo with a smoke-generation Quirk, had said. "You're smart, right? Just write out the answers for us. Unless you want problems."
I'd smiled. Not a friendly smile. The kind of smile that made people's survival instincts start screaming.
"You know," I'd said conversationally, electricity beginning to crackle across my fingertips, "I've been looking for someone to practice my Quirk control on. Specifically, I've been working on delivering precise electrical shocks—just enough to make every muscle in your body seize up without causing permanent damage."
The sparks had intensified, yellow lightning dancing between my fingers. "Want to volunteer as test subjects?"
They'd left very quickly after that.
'Violence should be a last resort,' I'd thought, watching them scramble away. 'But sometimes you need to remind people why it's called a last resort instead of a never resort.'
The next day, Ryo had very politely asked if I could tutor him in math—for a reasonable fee, of course.
I'd agreed. Money was money, after all.
.
.
.
"Kaminari-kun! Did you finish the reading assignment?"
I turned to see Kenju approaching—a short kid with wild black hair and an energy-absorption Quirk that let him store kinetic energy and release it later. He was enthusiastic, slightly hyperactive, and had attached himself to me like an eager puppy within the first week.
"Yeah, finished it last night," I said. "Why? Did you forget again?"
"Maybe..." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Could I maybe look at your notes real quick? Just to jog my memory?"
"Sure." I slid my notebook across the desk.
"You're a lifesaver!" He immediately started copying down key points at lightning speed.
"Kaminari-sama is so generous!" A girl named Mei—no relation to the support course genius—swooned dramatically from her desk. "Sharing his wisdom with us mere mortals!"
'Kaminari-sama?' I thought with amusement. 'When did I get promoted to lord status?'
"I'm not that special," I said modestly. "Just organized."
"So humble!" another girl, Akari, clasped her hands together. "That's what makes him even more attractive!"
Several boys groaned.
"How does he do it?" one of them muttered. "What's his secret?"
"Maybe it's the hair?" another suggested. "Girls love blonde guys."
"Or the Quirk? Lightning is pretty cool..."
"I think it's because he's actually nice to people," a third boy said thoughtfully. "Revolutionary concept, I know."
I pretended not to hear them, fighting back a smirk.
I thought. 'If they know that I'm actually a thirty-something-year-old man in a twelve-year-old's body, and all of this is just me playing a character. Would they still think I'm cool? Or would they be deeply, deeply disturbed?'
Probably the second one. Definitely the second one.
"Alright, everyone! Take your seats!" Our homeroom teacher, Yamada-sensei—a middle-aged woman with a patience Quirk that literally made her more patient—entered the classroom. "We have an announcement to make!"
The class settled down, everyone returning to their assigned seats.
"As you all know, we'll be electing a class president today," Yamada-sensei continued. "This person will be responsible for representing Class 1-B in school meetings, organizing class events, and serving as a liaison between students and faculty."
'Oh boy,' I thought. 'Here we go.'
"Does anyone want to nominate themselves or someone else?"
Immediately, Mei's hand shot up. "I nominate Kaminari-kun!"
"Seconded!" Akari called out.
"Thirded!" Yuki added.
"That's not how voting works," Yamada-sensei said patiently, "but we'll accept it as nominations. Anyone else?"
Takeshi raised his hand. "I nominate myself."
'Of course you do,' I thought.
"Anyone else? No? Alright, then we'll have a simple vote between Kaminari-kun and Takeshi-kun. All in favor of Kaminari-kun?"
A forest of hands shot up—easily three-quarters of the class.
"All in favor of Takeshi-kun?"
Three hands... Including his own.
'Ouch,' I thought, genuinely feeling a bit bad for the guy. 'That's rough, buddy.'
Yamada-sensei smiled. "Congratulations, Kaminari-kun! You're our new class president!"
Applause erupted.
I stood and bowed politely. "Thank you, everyone. I'll do my best to represent Class 1-B well."
More applause, as I sat back down, I caught Takeshi's expression—a mixture of humiliation and barely contained anger.
'Note to self,' I thought. 'Keep an eye on that guy. Humiliated bullies tend to do stupid things.'
But forget about Takeshi and his wounded pride.
The real highlight of these past few weeks?
My friendship with Kirishima Eijiro.
From day one, we'd just... clicked.
It was weird, actually. In this life, I'd had friends—good friends, even—but there was always that barrier of "appropriate adult behavior" and "professional boundaries" and all that boring stuff.
But with Kirishima?
We were just two kids being idiots together. And it was fantastic.
"Denki!" Kirishima called during lunch break, waving from across the cafeteria. "Saved you a seat!"
I grabbed my tray and navigated through the crowded space, dodging students and narrowly avoiding a collision with someone's backpack. "Thanks, man." I slid into the seat across from him. "What'd you get today?"
"Katsu curry!" He held up his plate proudly. "What about you?"
"Yakisoba." I poked at the noodles with my chopsticks. "Not bad, but not as good as Megumi-nee's cooking."
"Your past babysitter and sister from other mother, right? The recent college graduate?"
"Yep. She's been with my family for years now. Makes the best home-cooked meals." I took a bite. "So how'd your morning classes go?"
Kirishima groaned. "Terrible! That math quiz destroyed me! I studied and everything, but my brain just doesn't work with numbers, you know?"
"Want me to tutor you?" I offered. "I've got time after training."
His eyes lit up. "Really? Dude, you're the best!"
'He's so earnest,' I thought with genuine affection. 'Just like in the show. All heart, zero cynicism. It's actually kind of refreshing.'
Over the past weeks, I'd learned that Kirishima wasn't some prodigy or secret genius hiding his power level. He was just... a normal kid.
A normal kid with a Hardening Quirk that was still developing, some confidence issues he tried desperately to hide behind enthusiasm, and a work ethic that was admirable but still nowhere near obsessive.
'He's not Red Riot yet,' I'd realized during one of our first conversations. 'He's still figuring out who he wants to be. Still building that unbreakable spirit.'
Which meant I had an opportunity.
An opportunity to help him become the hero I knew he could be—maybe even earlier and stronger than in canon.
"Hey, Kirishima," I said casually, "how would you feel about training together? Like, real training. Not just the school stuff."
He paused mid-bite. "Training? Like... Quirk training?"
"Quirk training, physical conditioning, martial arts—the whole package." I grinned. "I've got a pretty solid routine going. Figured you might want to join."
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then his face split into the widest smile I'd ever seen.
"Hell yeah! That sounds amazing! When do we start?"
"How about after school today?"
"Perfect!"
And just like that, I'd gained a training partner.
.
.
.
Turns out, Kirishima was serious about training.
Like, genuinely committed in a way that surprised me.
Every day after school, we'd meet up at a local park—one with minimal foot traffic and plenty of open space—and put ourselves through absolute hell.
"Again!" I barked, watching Kirishima struggle through his twentieth set of push-ups. "Your form is sloppy! Straighten your back!"
"I'm... trying..." he gasped while his arms shaking.
"Trying isn't good enough! You want to be a hero, right? Heroes don't give up because it's hard!"
"I know!" He gritted his teeth and forced out five more push-ups before collapsing.
I crouched beside him. "Good. Take thirty seconds to breathe, then we're doing squats."
"You're a monster," he wheezed.
"Thank you."
'This is kind of fun,' I thought, checking my stopwatch. 'Playing the drill sergeant. Though I should probably tone it down a bit so he doesn't hate me.'
But Kirishima never complained—not seriously, anyway. He grumbled and groaned and occasionally looked like he wanted to die, but he always showed up. Always pushed through.
'That determination,' I thought, watching him force his exhausted body through another exercise. 'That's what makes him a true hero. Not his Quirk. Not his strength. Just his refusal to quit.'
We didn't just do physical training, either.
I'd convinced my old karate instructor to let us attend adult classes—"special talented students who can handle advanced techniques," I'd said, using my reputation and puppy-dog eyes to maximum effect.
The instructor, Tanaka-sensei—a grizzled man in his fifties with a reinforcement-type Quirk—had been skeptical at first. "You're twelve," he'd said flatly. "The adult class will break you."
"Then let us try," I'd challenged. "If we can't keep up after one week, we'll drop out and stick to the kids' classes. But if we can keep up..."
He'd studied us for a long moment. Then shrugged. "Fine. But don't come crying to me when you're too sore to move."
One week later, Tanaka-sensei had grudgingly admitted we'd earned our place. "You're both idiots," he'd said, which I was pretty sure was his version of a compliment. "Talented idiots, but idiots nonetheless. Fine. You can stay."
Kirishima had actually cried from happiness.
'Adorable,' I'd thought. 'Like a puppy who just got adopted.'
.
.
.
Our peaceful duo training routine lasted exactly three weeks.
And then she showed up.
Mina Ashido.
I'd known she existed in this school—she was in Class 1-C, so I'd seen her around campus—but I'd never interacted with her directly as I didn't find the right moment.
Until fate decided to throw us together in the most chaotic way possible.
It was a regular Tuesday afternoon. Kirishima and I were walking to our next class, discussing whether we should add weapons training to our routine, when we heard a commotion up ahead.
A crowd had gathered in a corner of the hallway, students forming a circle around something.
"What's going on?" Kirishima wondered aloud.
"Let's find out." I pushed through the crowd, my height and reputation making people move aside quickly.
In the center of the group was a girl with pink skin and pink hair, wildly curly and cut short. She had yellow horns protruding from her head and black sclera with yellow irises—a mutation-type Quirk, clearly.
She was demonstrating her Acid Quirk, creating small pools of corrosive liquid that sizzled against the tile floor.
"See? I can control the pH level!" she was saying enthusiastically. "Watch! This one will melt through paper but not hurt my skin!"
She generated another glob of acid and dropped it on a piece of notebook paper someone had offered. The paper dissolved instantly.
The crowd oohed and aahed.
'Show-off,' I thought with amusement. 'But at least she's got control. That acid could be dangerous if—'
Splash.
Several drops of acid flew off her hand as she gestured too enthusiastically.
Straight toward a girl standing at the edge of the crowd.
A girl with pink hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing the uniform of Class 1-C.
'Sakura?' I thought randomly. 'She looks like Sakura from Naruto.'
Time seemed to slow.
The acid droplets arced through the air, spinning lazily, heading directly for her face.
She didn't see them coming—she was looking down at her phone.
The crowd was too shocked to react.
And the acid was maybe half a second from impact.
'Nope.' I moved.
Electricity surged through my nervous system, cranking my perception and reaction speed to maximum.
The world blurred. One moment I was standing beside Kirishima.
The next, I was in front of Sakura-look-alike, my hand outstretched, catching her before moving away.
The girl looked up from her phone, blinking in confusion. "Huh? What—"
Then she noticed me standing in front of her, below acid drops melting the ground slightly, and her eyes went wide. "Oh my god! Did you just—"
"Saved you from a face full of acid? Yeah, probably." I smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. You okay?"
Her face turned approximately the same shade as her hair. "I— You— Thank you!"
From behind me, I heard Kirishima's voice, "Dude! You just left me in the dust! Not cool!"
And from the center of the crowd, a panicked voice, "Oh no oh no oh no! I'm so sorry! Is she okay? Are you okay?"
The pink girl—Mina—pushed through the crowd, her expression horrified as she took in the scene.
"I didn't mean to— The acid just—I'm so sorry! I should've been more careful! I—"
"It's fine," I interrupted gently.
"Whoa, thank God, but" Mina breathed. " What is your Quirk, you moved pretty fast."
Then I explained about my Quirk briefly.
"That's so cool!" Her mood shifted from horror to excitement in approximately two seconds. "What's your Quirk called? Are you in the hero track? Can you control voltage and amperage separately? Do you—"
"I'm Kaminari Denki," I cut in before she could launch into twenty more questions. "First-year, Class 1-B. This is Kirishima Eijiro, also Class 1-B."
Kirishima waved, finally having caught up. "Yo."
"I'm Ashido Mina! Class 1-C!" She grinned widely, all previous panic apparently forgotten. "Nice to meet you! Though I wish it wasn't because I almost melted someone's face off..."
The Sakura girl had recovered from her embarrassment enough to speak. "Thank you so much, Kaminari-kun. I'm Fujimoto Haruka. I owe you one."
"Don't worry about it," I said with a dismissive wave. "Just glad I was fast enough."
"Fast? Dude, you teleported!" Kirishima clapped me on the shoulder. "I didn't even see you move!"
'Because I'm running electricity through my nervous system 24/7,' I thought. 'But we're not telling people that.'
"Just good reflexes," I said aloud.
Mina was studying me intently, her black-and-gold eyes narrowed in concentration.
Then she gasped before pointed directly at my face. And declared, in the loudest voice possible, "PIKACHU!"
My eye twitched. 'What.'
"What?" I said aloud.
"Pikachu!" She repeated, bouncing excitedly. "Your hair! Your electricity! You're like a human Pikachu! It's perfect!"
Around us, the crowd that had been slowly dispersing stopped and turned back.
Kirishima's mouth fell open. Then he started shaking—trying desperately not to laugh.
Several of my classmates who'd followed the commotion were covering their mouths, shoulders trembling with suppressed giggles.
Even Haruka was fighting back a smile.
Yeah—Pokémon exists in this world, and it's actually one of the most popular franchises, despite the strange cosmic irony that almost every other movie, series, or piece of media revolves around Quirks.
For some weird, universe-level reason, stories about superpowers dominate fiction, as if humanity can't stop romanticizing what it already lives with every day. Pokémon stands out as an exception
"My name," I said with exaggerated patience, "is Kaminari Denki. Not Pikachu."
"I know!" Mina said cheerfully. "But you remind me of Pikachu! He's my favorite Pokémon! So cute and electric and—"
Kirishima lost it.
He doubled over, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, pointing at me with tears streaming down his face. "PIKA— PIKACHU! BAHAHAHA!"
The rest of the crowd followed suit.
Suddenly everyone was laughing, some people already pulling out their phones to spread this absolutely humiliating piece of information.
I stood there, electricity crackling around my clenched fists, my smile frozen in place like a statue's.
'Deep breaths,' I told myself. 'She didn't mean anything by it. She's just enthusiastic and has no filter. This is fine. You are fine. You are not going to electrocute your future classmate on the first day of meeting her.'
"I am not," I said through gritted teeth, "a Pikachu."
"Sure you're not, Pikachu!" someone from the crowd called.
More laughter.
"Pika pika!" another voice added.
Even more laughter.
Mina, apparently oblivious to my suffering, was giggling along with everyone else. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to embarrass you! It's just— You're so blonde and sparky!"
"It's okay," I lied, my smile becoming slightly manic. "Totally fine. Not bothered at all."
Kirishima was literally on the floor now, gasping for air between bouts of hysterical laughter.
'I'm going to kill him,' I thought pleasantly. 'We train together every day. I know exactly how much voltage it takes to make him really uncomfortable. Just a little shock while he's sleeping. He'll never prove it was me.'
"Anyway!" Mina said brightly, either not noticing or not caring about my internal murder plotting. "Thanks for saving Haruka-chan! You're pretty cool, Pikachu—I mean, Kaminari-kun!"
"Just Kaminari is fine," I said weakly.
"Nah, I like Pikachu better!" She winked. "See you around!"
And with that, she bounced off down the hallway, leaving chaos in her wake.
The nickname spread through the school like wildfire.
By the end of the day, at least a dozen people had called me "Pikachu" or made Pokémon jokes.
Even some of the teachers were in on it.
"Excellent work on your essay, Pikachu—ahem, Kaminari-kun," Yamada-sensei had said with a completely straight face.
I'd just smiled and plotted revenge.
'Damn you, Ashido Mina,' I'd thought darkly. 'You have made a powerful enemy this day.'
But despite the embarrassing nickname incident, Mina kind of... stuck around.
She started showing up at our training sessions, claiming she wanted to "watch the cool guys work out."
"Don't you have your own friends?" I'd asked pointedly during one session.
"Yeah, but they're not doing the cool stuff!" She'd flopped down on the grass, watching Kirishima attempt pull-ups. "You guys actually do stuff! It's way more interesting!"
'She's not wrong,' I'd admitted internally. 'Most twelve-year-olds aren't training like they're preparing for war.'
Eventually, she asked if she could join our training.
"Really?" I'd said skeptically. "You want to do this?" I gestured at Kirishima, who was currently doing weighted squats while crying.
"Hell yeah!" Her grin was infectious. "I want to be a hero too! And you guys are way more serious about it than anyone else in our year!"
I'd looked at Kirishima. He'd shrugged, still mid-squat. "I'm cool with it if you are, man."
I'd studied Mina for a long moment, watching her practically vibrate with enthusiasm.
'In canon, she becomes a solid hero,' I'd thought. 'Good combat instincts, creative Quirk usage, strong team player. Having her train with us could only help.'
"Fine," I'd said. "But same rules apply to you as apply to Kirishima. No complaining and no quitting. And if I tell you to do something, you do it. Deal?"
"Deal!" She'd stuck out her hand for a shake.
I'd taken it, sealing our agreement while smirking internally.
And that's how our duo became a trio.
.
.
.
Training Mina was... interesting.
Unlike Kirishima, whose Quirk required him to build physical toughness and stamina, Mina's Acid was more about control and versatility.
"Your problem," I'd told her after watching her spar against Kirishima, "is that you're using your Quirk like a weapon. Just shooting acid and hoping it hits."
"What's wrong with that?" she'd asked, genuinely confused.
"Nothing, if you want to be a mediocre hero." I'd pulled out a notebook—yes, I'd started keeping training notes on my friends, shut up—and flipped to the section I'd labeled "Ashido Mina - Quirk Development."
"Your Acid has way more potential than you're using. You can control the pH level, right? Make it more or less corrosive?"
"Yeah, but—"
"And you can generate large volumes quickly?"
"I mean, yeah, but it drains my stamina if I—"
"Then you need to focus on three things." I held up fingers as I counted. "One: Control. You should be able to create acid barriers—defensive walls that stop attacks. I'm calling it Acid Veil."
Her eyes widened. "I can do that?"
"You won't know until you try. Two: Mobility. You can skate on your acid for faster movement. Use it like a surfboard or roller skates."
"Oh! Like those videos of acid skating on YouTube!"
"Exactly. And three: Durability." I pointed at her exposed skin. "Your body is naturally resistant to your own acid, but you need to strengthen that resistance. Practice generating acid against your skin, building up tolerance. The stronger your resistance, the more powerful acid you can use without hurting yourself."
She'd stared at me like I'd just revealed the secrets of the universe. "Kaminari-kun... are you some kind of training genius?"
"No," I'd said honestly. "I just think about how Quirks work and how to maximize their potential. Most people don't bother."
Kirishima had groaned from where he was doing sit-ups. "Don't encourage him, Ashido-chan. His ego's already big enough."
"My ego is perfectly sized, thank you," I'd retorted. "Unlike your brain, which is apparently too small to remember the breathing technique I taught you. You're doing it wrong again."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
"...No, I don't."
Mina had burst out laughing, and just like that, our dynamic was set.
Me as the "drill sergeant genius."
Kirishima as the "determined punching bag."
And Mina as the "chaotic energy" that kept things from getting too serious.
'This is nice,' I'd thought, watching them bicker and laugh while running laps. 'Having friends my physical age. People I can actually be around without constantly calculating power levels and future plot points.'
.
.
.
Time continued its relentless march forward.
Days became weeks. Weeks became months. And our little trio grew closer with each passing training session.
We celebrated birthdays together—Mina's was in July, Kirishima's in August, and mine in June, so we basically had an excuse to party every few months.
We attended summer festivals as a group, with Mina dragging us to every food stall and game booth while Kirishima and I took turns winning her stuffed animals from the shooting games.
"You're using your Quirk to steady your aim!" Mina had accused when I won the grand prize—a massive Pikachu plushie, which she'd found hilarious.
"Prove it," I'd challenged.
She couldn't, but she'd pouted adorably anyway, so I gave to it her a gift and she accepted with a smile and blushing lightly.
We studied together, trained together, and occasionally got into trouble together.
Like that time Mina accidentally melted through a bench at the park, and we'd had to pool our allowances to pay for repairs.
Or when Kirishima's Hardening failed mid-sparring match and I'd accidentally launched him into a tree.
"I'm fine!" he'd called from the branches. "Totally fine! Just... stuck. Little help?"
"How are you stuck?" Mina had yelled. "Your Quirk is literally hardening!"
"My jacket got caught!"
I'd just sighed and climbed up to retrieve him, muttering about disaster magnets and bad luck.
But through it all, we grew stronger.
Kirishima's Hardening improved dramatically—his skin becoming tougher, his endurance increasing, his confidence building with every successful training session.
Mina developed her Acid Veil technique and could now skate on her acid with impressive speed and control.
And me?
I'd achieved something I'd been working toward for years. Intangibility through molecular vibration.
By vibrating my body at specific frequencies using precise electrical control, I could phase through solid matter—walls, floors, even people if I timed it right.
It was exhausting, required immense concentration, and I could only maintain it for a few seconds at a time. But it worked.
'One step closer to being an actual speedster,' I'd thought the first time I successfully phased through a concrete wall. 'Flash, eat your heart out.'
.
.
.
And now, here we were.
Final year of junior high approaching.
Fifteen years old—well, physically Fifteen, mentally... Let's leave it at physical age, but who's counting?
Anyways, I had one more year until we'd all take U.A.'s entrance exam.
"Denki!" Kirishima called, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You ready for sparring today?"
We were standing in our usual training spot—a secluded section of the park where we'd worn down the grass from months of combat practice.
"Born ready," I said, rolling my shoulders. "But are you ready? Last time I went easy on you."
"Easy?!" He activated his Hardening, skin turning dark and rocky. "Dude, you launched me fifteen feet!"
"Exactly. Easy." I grinned, electricity already crackling across my body. "Today I'm using seventy percent."
His eyes widened. "Seventy?! That's not fair!"
"Life's not fair, Kirishima-kun." I dropped into a combat stance. "Now come at me with everything you've got."
He charged.
[POV Shift - Brief Interlude]
'He's a monster,' Kirishima thought, not for the first time, as he rushed forward with his Hardening active.
Three years of training together, and Kaminari still felt impossible to fight.
He was fast—faster than anyone Kirishima had ever seen. Faster than most pro heroes, probably. But it wasn't just speed.
It was the way he thought.
Every movement was calculated. Every counter was predicted three steps ahead. Even when Kirishima tried to be unpredictable, tried to throw random attacks or feints, Kaminari always seemed to know where he'd strike next.
'It's like fighting someone who can read minds,' Kirishima thought, throwing a hardened punch that Kaminari sidestepped with minimal effort.
The blonde's hand shot out—not even using his full speed—and tapped Kirishima's ribs with electrically-charged fingers.
ZAP.
Pain exploded through his torso, muscles seizing involuntarily.
"Opening on your left," Kaminari said calmly, already repositioning. "Your guard drops when you commit to a right hook. I've told you this a dozen times."
"Easy for you to say!" Kirishima gasped, forcing his body to move despite the lingering electrical shock. "You're like a freaking ninja!"
"Ninjas are stealthy. I'm just fast." Another tap, this time on his shoulder. "And you're still dropping your guard."
ZAP.
"GAH! Stop doing that!"
But despite the pain—despite the frustration of never landing a solid hit—Kirishima couldn't help but smile.
Because three years ago, he couldn't have lasted ten seconds against Kaminari.
Now? He could go almost two full minutes before getting completely overwhelmed.
'That's progress,' he thought, activating his Hardening to maximum and charging again. 'Real, measurable progress. And it's all because this crazy guy decided to train me.'
Kaminari blurred. One moment he was directly ahead.
The next, he was behind Kirishima, tapping the back of his neck with electrical fingers.
"Too slow," he said. "Again."
Kirishima spun, throwing an elbow—Kaminari ducked.
A leg sweep—Kaminari jumped.
A desperate lunge—Kaminari sidestepped and, almost gently, placed his palm against Kirishima's chest.
"And you're done."
Electricity surged.
Not enough to seriously hurt—Kaminari had perfect control at this point—but enough to completely overwhelm Kirishima's nervous system.
His Hardening deactivated and his legs gave out. And he collapsed onto the grass, twitching and gasping.
"I hate you," he wheezed.
"No you don't," Kaminari said cheerfully, offering a hand to help him up.
"No, I don't," Kirishima admitted, taking the hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet. "But you're still a monster."
"Thank you."
From the sidelines, Mina was applauding enthusiastically. "That was so cool! Kaminari-kun, you're like a video game boss!"
"Don't encourage him like this daily," Kirishima groaned. "His ego doesn't need it."
But he was smiling.
Because despite the pain, despite never winning, despite being used as a training dummy for the past three years...
Kirishima wouldn't trade this for anything.
'Kaminari Denki,' he thought, watching his best friend demonstrate a new technique to Mina, electricity crackling around him like a living aura. 'You're going to be an amazing hero someday. I just know it.'
'And I'm going to be right there beside you when you are.'
[Back to Denki's POV]
"Alright, Ashido-san, your turn!" I called, gesturing for Mina to step onto the makeshift training ground.
She bounced over, already secreting small amounts of acid from her hands. "Ready when you are, Pikachu-kun!"
My eye twitched at the nickname—three years later and she still insisted on using it. "For the last time, my name is—"
"Yeah, yeah, Kaminari-kun, I know!" She grinned unrepentantly. "But Pikachu is cuter!"
'I'm going to electrocute her,' I thought darkly. 'Just a little bit. Just enough to make her regret her life choices.'
"Denki has that look again," Kirishima observed from where he was sprawled on the grass, still recovering. "The 'I'm plotting murder' look."
"I don't have a murder look," I protested.
"You absolutely do," Mina said. "It's the same look you get whenever someone mentions the middle school talent show incident."
I pointed at her threateningly, electricity sparking. "We agreed never to speak of that."
"You mean when you had to sing because you lost that bet with—"
"Never. Speak. Of. It."
She giggled but wisely decided to change the subject. "So! What are we working on today?"
I took a breath, forcing myself back into teacher mode. "Acid sliding. You've gotten good at creating the acid track, but your balance is still off. You're wasting energy compensating for wobbles instead of maintaining smooth momentum."
"Ugh, balance training is so boring though," she whined.
"Balance training is essential," I corrected. "In a real fight, you can't afford to fall over because your footing was wrong. Now, create a track—twenty meters, medium viscosity."
She sighed dramatically but complied, secreting acid from her feet that spread across the ground in a shimmering pink trail.
"Good. Now, skating position—knees bent, center of gravity low, arms out for balance."
"Yes, sensei," she said with exaggerated deference.
'Brat,' I thought affectionately.
She took off, skating across the acid with increasing confidence. Her form was much better than when we'd started—back then she'd fallen every three seconds. Now she could maintain balance for extended periods.
"Lean into the turns more!" I called. "You're fighting the momentum instead of using it!"
"Like this?" She adjusted her posture, taking the next curve more smoothly.
"Better! Now try a figure-eight pattern!"
From the grass, Kirishima watched with a smile. "You're a good teacher, man. Who taught you all this stuff?"
'YouTube, Reddit, and a lifetime of watching training montages in anime,' I thought but didn't say.
"Just studied a lot," I said aloud. "Read books on biomechanics, watched pro heroes train, experimented with my own Quirk. Most of it is just applied logic."
"'Just applied logic,' he says," Kirishima muttered. "As if that's a normal thing twelve-year-olds do."
"Fifteen," I corrected. "We're Fifteen now."
"Still weird."
I shrugged, not denying it.
Mina completed her figure-eight pattern and skated back to us, breathing hard but grinning. "How was that?"
"Much better. Your turn radius improved by at least thirty percent." I made a note in my ever-present training journal. "We'll work on combat applications next session. For now, cool down with some stretches."
"Aye aye, captain!" She saluted and immediately flopped down beside Kirishima to start stretching.
We continued for a while before heading home after 5 PM.