"So, you are a child after all."
"Well, I will be 13 soon...I said that I am a legal adult. Nothing about my age." Seeing Aizawa's 'look', Shigure blurted out.
"Right. My instincts were right about you." He heaved a sigh. Looking a few years older than usual.
'Why is he acting like he got a very big responsibili—' Shigure shut down that thought.
He didn't need a mirror to know why.
"Anyway, to train you, I need to first assess you. Follow me."
Shigure walked behind him while darting his gaze left and right. 'UA is really big. I am more than 3 years early to come here... Is he going to make me go on a test like what the main cast had to go on the first day?'
Before long, they reached a room. Aizawa motioned with his hand, and Shigure entered it.
He then looked at a room which was around the size of a gymnasium.
All white.
In fact, so white that Shigure felt like he might go blind by the whiteness.
BANG
A loud sound could be heard, followed by something heading towards Shigure in his vision.
He tilted his head and saw a metal ball coming towards him.
He took out his bat and deflected the ball.
The moment the metal ball was deflected, a second followed. Then a third.
By the fifth, Shigure was grinning.
"Oh, it's like that, huh?"
He adjusted his grip on the bat. The metal rod hummed faintly in his hand.
The white room echoed with the sharp *clang* of impact each time he struck.
Speed Up.
To him, the world crawled. The metal balls slicing through the air looked like they were floating.
He twisted, jumped, and stepped back. Deflections came with pinpoint accuracy, a rhythm forming between breath and impact.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
They came faster.
Shigure twirled the bat once, his fading—replaced by a calculating look.
'Is this a test? Or an attempt to break my staff?'
Thirty.
His bat connected. Again. Again.
Then—
He winced.
Just for a second.
A sting in his arm.
He looked down. He felt his entire arm still vibrating.
While distracted, one hit his side—not strong enough to break ribs, but enough to knock the wind out. He staggered, biting down on his lower lip.
'Huh... they're heavier now. Not just faster.'
He ducked, but another grazed his thigh.
Speed wasn't enough.
He stopped moving. Stood still.
Three balls were coming. One from above, one straight on, and another angling from the left.
Slow Down.
His domain shifted.
The metal spheres dragged in the air like they were underwater. Their speed dropped to a crawl.
Shigure moved through them, weaving cleanly between. His eyes darted, calculating trajectories, estimating mass.
More launched—dozens now. The rhythm broke. The new ones are crashing with the slowed ones. The room was in chaos.
One clipped his shoulder. Another smacked against his side. His vision shook from the hits. He bit back a curse.
'Don't get sloppy now. Don't lose control. Focus.' Shigure reminded himself, his eyes darting left and right.
He shifted between Speed Up and Slow Down, managing energy as best he could. It was draining fast.
Then—
Silence.
The sound of machinery winding down. The air calmed.
He stood in the middle of the gym-sized room, chest heaving.
Bruises were already forming. His arms throbbed. His legs felt like stone.
He smiled. His usual polite smile.
The door creaked open.
Aizawa's silhouette stepped into the white void.
"Follow me."
No reaction. No comment.
Typical.
Shigure rolled his shoulder and followed, each step making him wince slightly.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black-wrapped chocolate bar. It was thick. Industrial-looking.
"Mint this time. Hope it doesn't taste like battery acid."
He unwrapped it and took a bite. Energy flooded back into him.
---
They walked silently down a long hallway. The only sound was their footsteps and the faint hum of distant ventilation.
"I've got a good grasp of your abilities," Aizawa finally said. "Next is more important. Lecture time. Pay attention."
Shigure didn't reply, just kept chewing his chocolate.
"Triage. It's the first thing a real hero learns."
Aizawa glanced back. Shigure met his eyes.
"In battle, you don't get to help everyone. You help the ones who matter most in that moment. It's brutal, but real."
He continued.
"You see ten civilians. One's pinned under rubble. One's bleeding out. Others are panicking. You've got three villains charging in. What do you do?"
Shigure tilted his head.
Aizawa answered his own question.
"You prioritise. Bleeding one gets a tourniquet. Panicking ones get told to shut up. The rubble case might have to wait, even if they're screaming."
"And the villains?"
"You don't fight to win. You fight to delay, disarm, or disable. Long enough to save the ones who matter."
He paused.
"Switch too late, people die. React too slowly, people die. Save the wrong one, someone worse dies."
Shigure smiled. A tired, amused smile.
"Sounds like a game I'd actually enjoy losing."
Aizawa didn't react. Just turned the corner into the next hall.
---
The training area looked like a city block.
Fake streets, broken cars, and small buildings. Robots moved within—painted either red or blue.
"Red ones are villains. Blue ones are civilians. They move, react, and scream. Use your judgment."
Shigure cracked his neck.
"No bat this time?"
"Just your quirk. Let's see what you do."
The alarm blared.
Simulation: Start.
Immediately, a red robot leapt out of a second-floor window, landing on a car hood. Civilians scattered. Blue units ran screaming.
Shigure activated Speed Up and dashed forward. He caught one of the blue units about to run into a collapsing wall and yanked it back.
Debris slammed down behind them.
"You're welcome," he muttered.
Red units were converging—three from the east, one from the north.
Shigure slowed time around them.
He zipped through the slowed zone, shoving blue units aside, positioning them behind cars or walls.
A red unit raised a fake gun.
Shigure threw a loose chunk of debris at its head. It clattered and collapsed.
Thirty seconds in, he'd already moved a dozen civilians to safety.
Then came the child.
Blue unit. Stuck under a tipped vending machine.
Shigure hesitated.
A red unit was near. Too near.
He dove, rolled, and with a quick lift, tilted the machine just enough for the blue unit to crawl out.
The red unit fired a stun blast. It hit his shoulder.
He grunted. The pain was real enough.
He sped up.
Then slowed the red down.
Then ran.
All the while, his head kept calculating. Where to go next, who to move, who to abandon.
It wasn't perfect.
Two blue units got 'eliminated' by red before he could intervene.
But most didn't.
By the time the alarm stopped, he was panting, lying on his back.
Covered in dirt. Slightly electrocuted.
"What do you think?'
Aizawa's voice cut in, calm and steady. He stood a few steps away, arms crossed.
"You did well. Better than most third-years, and not too far from an average pro."
Shigure sat up. His fingers brushed dirt off his pants. His expression remained neutral.
"But that's not enough," Aizawa continued. "Not for someone with your quirk. You can move through time. Think faster. React faster. You should've done better."
He didn't raise his voice.
"You had time. But you still hesitated. Your choices weren't wrong, but they weren't sharp either. You saved most of the civilians, but not all. And you took more hits than you should've."
Shigure didn't answer. Just listened. Still.
Aizawa took a step closer. "The core of the problem isn't your reaction time. It's your foundation."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Your fighting style is sloppy. Full of wasted movement. Too much improvisation."
A short pause.
"Even with your weapon, there's no structure. Without it, you're barely holding form. Rest. Five minutes. Then we spar. No quirks."
---
Shigure sat at the edge of the mat. He opened a vial of bitter liquid, poured it down in one go. A slight grimace followed. Another chocolate—dense, dark—was placed on his tongue. He chewed slowly, feeling the surge of energy build.
Speed Up.
A pulse flickered around him. Just enough to kick his metabolism up. Bruises faded a little. Muscles loosened.
Five minutes passed.
He stood.
Aizawa was already on the mat. His scarf rested over his shoulders, like a waiting serpent.
Shigure entered the ring.
A blink.
Red eyes.
His quirk shut down.
'This is the benefit of having contacts. Nobody knows when my quirk is on. So Aizawa has to always keep his quirk on to shut me down.'
He didn't react. Just raised his hands. Basic stance.
The fight began.
Shigure lunged. Quick jab to the chest.
It was caught. Twisted. A subtle shift in grip—Shigure's body turned and slammed onto the mat.
"Too stiff."
He got up, pivoted to a low kick.
Aizawa stepped out, palm-struck his chest. Shigure stumbled.
The scarf snapped forward. Coiled around his wrist.
Yank. Spin.
Thrown again.
Aizawa didn't rush. Every move was clean. Deliberate.
Shigure tried a feint. Faked left, went right.
Didn't matter.
An elbow slammed into his ribs.
His breath hitched.
"You don't break rhythm. You don't adapt mid-strike."
Shigure rolled away. Came back with a mid-line thrust—an attack he'd used on bots before.
Blocked.
Countered.
"Predictable."
Another sweep. A kick to the back of the leg.
He fell again.
"You waste movement. Burn energy. Rely on bursts instead of flow."
Shigure stood slower this time. His stance faltered for a second. Aizawa closed in.
The scarf moved like it had its own mind.
Wrapped his ankle. Yanked.
Face-down on the mat.
"You don't think about being disarmed. Don't think about being watched."
Another throw.
Shigure's body ached. Every joint shouted. But his face stayed calm.
No outburst. No retort.
Just stillness. Processing.
He stood up again, slightly hunched. Then, without a word, reached to the side and drew his staff. The polished black metal extended with a sharp click.
Aizawa didn't object.
"Fine. Let's see what you've got with it."
***
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