A Dragon in a China Shop Part Nine [MHA/SI/FriendInsert]
An old dog cannot learn new tricks.
A man past his prime cannot attempt to get it back.
Quirks, unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, were a different beast. The only problem I had wasn't time, which I could get, but the reactions that would be inevitable.
When everything had first begun, my Quirk seemed simple enough. I could exhale fire. It felt obvious. My mouth was literally exhaling flames, and that was how my Quirk was registered. Then, one day I dimly realized I needed to stop flaming about if I wanted to step inside any shop with a properly functional fire alarm system.
Closing my mouth worked, insofar as it made the flames leave through my nostrils.
It took more than a fair share of trial and error to actually stop the flames from spreading out from my stomach. As that happened, I realized I had been awfully wrong on what my Quirk actually was. The flames weren't a product of some kind of chemical reaction within my body.
They were the literal excess energy that was produced from the ultra-rapid cycle of death and rebirth that my entire cellular structure underwent. The excess energy was, in one word, the peak efficiency by-product of a stomach that could survive on a single grain of rice for a full day.
I had wondered why I hadn't needed glasses, but my vision was merely the most advanced possible for the human body. I could have, then, changed what my Quirk was.
But the more dangerous or unique a Quirk, the higher the risks. Breathing fire was boring; it was useless most often than not, and the fire-proof nature of my body was believed a consequence of it. I wasn't really fireproof. The skin simply died and was replaced faster than the flames could burn it.
I should have died young; it was the natural conclusion to someone having such a powerful Quirk. Humans age, grow weak, and then they die.
But that isn't because the cells slow down, but rather because multiple errors in the human body compound together and inevitably lead to a catastrophic existential failure for the entire organism.
That being the case, I still did age. Releasing excess energy served that purpose, at least. I could run for days without being tired, but this also meant I had to check what I ate often, and control the release of the extra energies whenever necessary.
If my heart sped up, everything within my body sped up; if oxygen arrived later, everything within me began to die only to be replaced with cells that required less oxygen. I wondered if I hadn't actually been genetically crossed with a starfish, but I had never needed to check if cutting my head would make another pop out.
Still, there was a reason I hadn't cared about the Hero business, though possessing a Quirk that would have been quite useful for it. It was an obvious reason.
I didn't want to be beholden to the people. I didn't want the responsibility, nor did I want to create strife. People working hard for years, or decades, getting surpassed by someone who needed but a week to reach their physical conditioning or even less...that was the kind of atmosphere or emotional turmoil I'd be giving them.
Thus, I didn't care about the Hero business. It didn't suit me, and I didn't like getting hurt or fighting other people. I was a big softy; and better to worry about a restaurant's working force than a potential villain trying to kill the people around me.
Yet, there I was.
I couldn't go to a gym, because a slightly portly man stepping in and becoming a muscle-bound individual the next minute would, inevitably, raise questions and make rumors. Sure, perhaps it was paranoia, but I couldn't risk it.
Thankfully, Izuku solved that problem for me. Her training required dumbbells apparently, and while she had attempted to keep it hidden, it hadn't really taken that much to find them hanging around in her room.
Thus, while she was busy with school, I'd take them on loan while absentmindedly munching on beef. One needed the proteins to make the muscles. The first lifting was hard. The second noticeably less. The third was no different than lifting a cup filled with coffee and by the fourth, it was like lifting paper.
"Maybe I went overboard," I mumbled glancing down at my biceps, now threatening to rip my sleeves apart. "Inko's going to get mad if I rip another shirt."
Not that my wife disliked the idea of me getting fit, but she probably wouldn't like it if I told her there wasn't just that reason. I had no expectations to be a part of anything; I didn't want to end up fighting anyone.
At the same time, I didn't want to be powerless in a situation in which having strength would, instead, be useful. I had little excuses; it didn't take me months or years to get back into top shape, and breaking past the limits of the human form was the one thing my Quirk was pretty much meant for.
Inko would probably kill me herself if she found out what I was planning, though there was little doubt she didn't suspect some of it.
Still, with the mighty biceps of strength threatening to rip my shirt, I put the dumbbells back where I found them and cracked my neck a bit. The flames that spluttered out of my mouth were a dim yellow. In seconds, the portly belly reformed and I sighed, letting more flames out to stop the process and stabilize it.
It was the restaurant's day off, which was why I found Inko in the living room, watching the tournament replays. I sat by her side, and Inko gently placed her head against the nook of my arm, which moved to ensnare her around the shoulders. "You're not going to bulk too much, are you dear?"
"I don't think I will," I mused back. "I definitely don't want to be unable to pass through the doors, and the restaurant's kitchen is too small for someone as big as All Might to step through."
Inko smiled at that, and then sighed. "I...I've erased the last recording."
"Dear?" I muttered.
"Seeing Izuku get hurt live was enough," she muttered. "I couldn't keep that tape around."
I turned thoughtful, and then nodded. I gave a gentle pecking kiss to Inko's forehead, and settled to watch the other matches.
"She did get second," I mused as I glanced at the silver medal nailed to a nearby wall.
Po Kuroniji's match against Shoto had been a surprise. The match had been...well, apocalyptic might have been the correct word. Enji had nearly had a heart attack. The silence in the arena had been somewhat deafening. Shoto was the fan favorite; the absolute and clearly above-cut competitor who was meant to win.
And instead he had lost.
He had lost quickly. He had lost without doing anything wrong, but also without doing anything right. It was-It had been-a train wreck. It had been a train wreck.
A beginning in which the word Domination was echoed by the word Hilarity. Kuroniji's weapon was a pogostick. A pogostick that was also a tonfa. A pogostick that had been used to jump over Shoto's ice wall and which had then proceeded to beat the poor boy in every possible opening that could have ever been conceived.
This went beyond humiliation. Enji hadn't even been angry at Shoto. He had been...a shell. A shell of a man that had needed to be gently carried out to see his son.
A shell of a man that wondered where he had gone wrong with his life. The culmination of a man's efforts in training his son and there he was, having lost to a blind girl with a Pogostick.
Whatever the girl's Quirk was, it definitely had to have had some part to play with Shoto's utter demise. The boy had fought; but no counter even worked, no trick ever functioned, and no amount of tactics seemed to even sortie the right effect.
They were probably going over the recordings trying to understand what had happened, but most importantly, trying to comprehend how against all odds...my little Izucute had won. Sure, she had been beaten up, but even so she had managed to win. And there was no conceivable way that would have happened.
Unless one accounted for the girl's Quirk. It was probably that and it didn't work as well on my daughter as it did on Shoto. Sometimes it happened; my assistant chef's quirk was different depending on blood type, of all things, so...
My cellphone buzzed. I stared at it, and then read the message. "Superhero name. Send help dad. All Mighty Might Girl wasn't accepted," I spoke aloud, reading my daughter's text message to my wife, who giggled at that.
"That poor daughter of ours," she shook her head. "Creativity was never her strong point."
"How about..." I tapped away, "Izucute?"
Rejected.
It took three nanoseconds for the reply to arrive.
"She didn't like that," I said, as Inko giggled and gave her own suggestions. In the end, I gave her a list.
Hydra Girl. All Mighty Snake. Shirohebi. Perfect Daughter. Cuteness Girl. Mighty Tarragon. Green Scales. Salazar. Kayda. Ghidorah? Midorah! Or further names could be...
I received no reply, and thus deemed my job as a father successfully completed.
Once she returned home, Inko and I were patiently waiting for her to announce what hero name she had picked for herself.
She stared at us both, and then hung her head down in shame. "Dad...I hate you."
"What. Why?" I asked, blinking.
"I was confused, and called just as I finished reading your message..." Izuku mumbled, tears in her eyes. "I'm-I'm Midorah now."
"That's a beautiful Hero name," I said.
"B-But it's a Villain's name!" Izuku yelled back, "It's from Ghidorah, and he was a bad guy! And-And I know you're going to say it in an embarrassing way."
I stared at her. I inclined my head to the side, half-lost in thoughts. I rubbed my chin. Izuku's eyes widened in realization that I hadn't understood what she was referring to. "N-No! It's fine! Don't think about it dad!" she rushed forward, making a show by moving her arms right and left. "Let's think about something else! Like-"
"Midorah...My Dora...My Adorable!" I clapped my hands together once, having understood. "My Adorable Izucute!"
I felt triumphant like a man that had won the lottery. Izuku hung her head down in shame like someone who'd lost her last savings to a fire that also killed her pet goldfish.
"Midorah sounds like a good Hero name," Inko said instead with a smile. "I'll put it on the cake's frosting."
Izuku blinked at that. "Cake?"
"Yep," I said, affectionately rustling her hair. "Now, we didn't celebrate when the tournament was over because someone had to get healed urgently after nearly dying for some stupid medal," as I said that, Izuku began to wilt, I kept my hand on her head. "But you did participate in a tournament and you did your best, but if you do your best again like how you fought in the finals against Katsuki, I will ground you so hard, you'll make for a fine coffee."
Izuku wilted further under the assault of the horrifying pun. "I'm sorry dad."
"Just as long as you treat yourself better," I stopped patting her head, and instead tapped her nose once. She then blinked and frowned.
"Dad-did you get taller?"
"No, you just got smaller, and thus by consequence more adorable," I replied with a cheeky grin before lifting her up. "Look Inko! I caught a wild Izuku! It's a super rare, incredibly skittish creature!"
Inko chuckled again, finishing the last touches to the cake. "Let her down dear. She needs to take a seat if you want to take a proper photo."
"Of course darling," I smiled. "Family photo it is!"
I let Izuku go, and as she took her seat with the cake in front of her, I grabbed hold of the camera and took quite a few pictures to commemorate the event.
Why would I ever wish to trade these blissful moments of happiness...
...for the blood-soaked realm of Heroes and Villains?
Author Note: For those wondering, the chapter before this is canon and no retcon was executed. It's just that *someone's* Quirk does *something* to Timelines. This is how it gets showcased.
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