I moved. The weights should have dragged at my limbs, should have made each step feel like wading through molasses. Instead, they felt... light.
Gramps's first strike came fast - a testing blow aimed at my solar plexus. I redirected it with Water Stream, feeling the force flow through my guard like a breaking wave.
"Better." His eyes narrowed. "But still too rigid."
His next series of attacks blurred the line between strikes, each flowing into the next. I caught glimpses of Camie at the edge of my vision, her eyes wide as she tracked our movements.
Block. Redirect. Counter. The familiar patterns of Water Stream guided my responses, but something felt different. My body moved with new certainty, reading intent before motion.
"Your guard is full of holes." Gramps's palm struck my chest, sending me skidding backward. "Stop thinking so much."
"I'm not-"
His kick interrupted my protest. I crossed my arms to block, but the impact never came. Instead, his leg hooked behind mine in a perfect sweep.
Shit.
The sand rushed up to meet me. I turned the fall into a roll, coming up just in time to see his next attack descending like judgment.
Something clicked.
My body moved, knees releasing tension as I shifted to the side. The world slowed for a fraction of a second as I registered my position - low, coiled, perfect angle for-
My leg snapped up in an arc, catching Gramps on his side. He shifted with the impact, but his eyes widened slightly.
"Now that," he said, "was interesting."
"Holy shit," Camie whispered from the sidelines. "Did you see how fast-"
Gramps's counter-attack cut off her observation. His fists became a blur, testing my guard from every angle. I flowed through the assault, letting Water Stream guide my defense while looking for another opening.
There.
I dropped low again, releasing my knees. The same instinct from before took over, body moving through a sequence that felt both foreign and familiar.
This time Gramps was ready. He redirected my kick with insulting ease, using my own momentum to throw me across the beach.
"The Manji Kick," he said as I recovered. "An interesting choice."
"The what?"
"A counter-technique that uses the opponent's attacking motion to create an opening." He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "Though your version needs work."
"I didn't- it just happened."
"A natural counter." He resumed his stance. "Now, let's see if you can do it again."
The next exchange pushed me to my absolute limit. Gramps's attacks came from impossible angles, each one a test of my growing abilities. The weights that had felt so natural minutes ago began to drag as fatigue set in.
But that new instinct remained. Twice more I found the perfect angle for the Manji Kick, though Gramps countered both attempts with practiced ease.
"Enough." He raised a hand, calling a halt. "You're starting to slow."
I wanted to protest, but my burning muscles said otherwise. Sweat dripped from my chin despite the cool morning air.
"That was..." Camie approached, shaking her head. "Fam, I could barely track half of those exchanges."
"The boy's speed has improved." Gramps's clinical tone couldn't quite hide his approval. "Though his technique remains sloppy."
"Sloppy?" I wiped sweat from my eyes. "I landed a clean hit."
"You landed one surprise attack because I didn't expect that particular counter." His mustache twitched. "Try it again now that I'm prepared."
"I-"
His fist stopped a millimeter from my nose.
"Exactly." He lowered his hand. "You've gained power, speed, even some interesting new instincts. But you're still way too early to challenge me seriously."
"Damn." Camie whistled. "Gramps doesn't play."
"The boy knows this." He turned toward the rising sun. "Which is why he'll be here every morning this week."
I rotated my shoulder, feeling the pleasant burn of exertion. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Earlier. Do some research on some different martial arts to use." His grin promised interesting kinds of pain. "And double the weights."
"But-"
"No buts, you brat." He started walking away, hands clasped behind his back. "Oh, and bring the girl. Her insight might be useful."
We watched him disappear down the beach, his figure becoming a shadow against the dawn.
"So," Camie bumped my shoulder. "That was intense."
"Yeah." I stared at my hands, still trying to process the morning's revelations. "Did you really see the whole thing?"
"Most of it." She created a quick illusion of our spar, though the movements looked jerky and incomplete. "But like, my eyes couldn't track everything. You were both just blur blur punch kick holy shit."
The illusion dissolved as she waved her hands for emphasis. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't help but smile.
"Very technical analysis."
"Hey, I'm not the martial arts nerd here." She poked my chest. "Speaking of which, what was that kick? The one that actually landed?"
"Manji Kick, apparently." I moved through the motion slowly, trying to recapture that perfect moment of instinct. "It's like... you read their attack motion, drop your center of gravity, then use the momentum to kick."
"Show me again?"
I demonstrated the setup position. "See, when they commit to an attack, you release your knees like this-"
My legs buckled as fatigue finally caught up. Camie caught my arm before I could face-plant in the sand.
"Okay, that's enough for today." She pulled my arm across her shoulders. "Time to get you home before Queen murders us both."
"I can walk."
"Mm-hm." She started leading me off the beach. "Just like you're 'not tired' and this was 'light exercise', right?"
"...Point taken."
The sun crested the horizon as we made our slow way home, painting the city in shades of gold. My muscles ached, my new technique needed work, and I was probably in for a lecture from Queen.
But for the first time since USJ, I felt like I was moving forward again. Getting stronger.
Watch me, I thought to whatever force had sent those nightmares. I'm just getting started.
"You're doing the dramatic internal monologue thing again," Camie said.
"Am not."
"Your face gets all serious and your eyes go all I will surpass the heavens."
"That's... oddly specific."
She grinned. "Just wait until I tell everyone their class president is secretly a Chūnibyō."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me, fam."
We bickered all the way home, the weight of nightmares and responsibilities temporarily lifted by the simple joy of being alive and together in the morning light.
=====
Katsuki perched on the old log bridge, legs dangling over the stream below. The wood felt familiar under his palms - worn smooth by years of neighborhood kids playing their stupid games.
His stupid games.
The memory rose, sharp and clear despite the years between then and now...
"Forward march!" Young Katsuki had proclaimed, chest puffed out as he led his loyal squad across their newly-discovered bridge. "Members of the Bakugo Hero Agency, sound off!"
"Here!" The extras had chorused behind him, stumbling over each other in their excitement.
"Keep in formation!" He'd barked, trying to sound like the pros on TV. "A real hero agency needs discipline and-"
The old wood had creaked, shifted. One moment he'd been lecturing about proper hero conduct, the next he was plunging toward the stream below.
SPLASH
The cold water shocked his system, though it was barely deep enough to reach his chest. He'd surfaced spluttering, pride stinging worse than his scraped palms.
"Kacchan!" Three worried faces peered down from above. "Are you okay?"
"Of course he's okay!" Another voice chimed in. "It's Bakugo! He's super tough!"
"Yeah!" The third agreed. "Nothing can hurt him!"
Katsuki had shaken his head, unable to stop the smile tugging on his lips. "I'll be up there in a second, you extras just stay in formation!"
Then he'd heard it - the soft splash of footsteps in the stream. He'd turned to find Deku wading toward him, hand extended.
"Are you hurt, Kacchan?" Those damn worried eyes. That genuine concern. "Let me help-"
The memory shifted, warped. Suddenly he was choking on slime, desperately trying to blast his way free as that villain crushed the air from his lungs. His quirk had been useless. He had been useless.
Then Deku had appeared, throwing his bag with perfect accuracy before charging in quirkless and scared but determined and-
"I couldn't just stand there and watch you die!"
The scene changed again. USJ. Blood on the plaza floor. The Nomu approaching with those dead eyes as Katsuki struggled to rise.
He'd watched Deku's last move, saw the moment his former friend chose to attack the hand-covered villain to get that beast off of him.
After everything Katsuki had done, Deku had…
"Tch. Fucking Deku."
"Language," a familiar voice called from the bank. "Though I guess I know who to blame for that particular habit."
"What do you want, old hag?"
Mitsuki approached the bridge, hands in her pockets. "Thought I'd find you here. You always did come to this spot when something was bothering you."
"Nothing's bothering me."
"Right." She settled onto the log beside him, ignoring his scowl. "You just randomly decided to visit your old sulking spot for nostalgia's sake."
"I don't sulk."
"No? What would you call this then?"
"Strategic thinking."
"Ah yes, very strategic." She nudged his shoulder. "Brooding over old memories is definitely going to help you get stronger."
Katsuki's hands sparked reflexively. "I'm not-"
"Save it." She cut him off with a wave. "I've known you your whole life, kid. I know what it looks like when you're beating yourself up over something."
"I'm not beating myself up over anything! I just..." He trailed off, glaring at the water.
"Just what?"
"Nothing."
"Katsuki."
"It's stupid, alright?" The words exploded out of him. "I'm supposed to be the strong one! The next number one! But every time something goes wrong, every time I need... he's just..."
"Ah." Mitsuki nodded slowly. "This is about Izuku."
"Don't say his name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you understand him! Like you know what he's become!"
"And what has he become?"
Katsuki's fists clenched. "Strong. Stronger than... than he should be. Than I expected. He's not the same weak Deku anymore."
"No," Mitsuki agreed. "He's not. But neither are you the same angry kid who used to lead playground hero agencies."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're both growing up. Changing. Maybe not always in the ways you expected, but-"
"He wasn't supposed to change!" The words tasted like ash. "He was supposed to stay in his lane! Be the same useless Deku who needed protecting! Not... not..."
"Not someone who could protect you instead?"
Katsuki's explosion scorched the log beneath them. "I don't need his protection! I don't need anyone's protection! I'm going to be the number one hero!"
"You know," Mitsuki said quietly, "being strong doesn't mean never needing help."
"Shut up."
"And accepting help doesn't make you weak."
"I said shut up!"
"No." Her voice hardened. "You're going to listen for once in your life, Katsuki Bakugo. Your pride - which, by the way, you definitely got from me - has already cost you one friendship. How much more are you willing to sacrifice on the altar of your ego?"
"I don't need-"
"Friends? Allies? People who care about you?" She shook her head. "You sound just like me at your age. And let me tell you, that path leads nowhere good."
Katsuki stared at his hands, remembering the feel of slime crushing his throat. The Nomu's dead eyes as it approached. Deku, always Deku, charging in despite the danger.
"I'm supposed to be stronger than him," he whispered.
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why are you supposed to be stronger?" Mitsuki's eyes held his. "Because you got your quirk? Because you decided he was beneath you? Because you spent years telling yourself that's just how things were supposed to be?"
"I..."
"The world doesn't care about 'supposed to be', kid. It doesn't care about your expectations or your pride or what you think you deserve. It just is what it is."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you have a choice to make." She stood, brushing off her pants. "You can keep holding onto what you think should be, or you can accept what is and move forward from there."
"That's..." Katsuki swallowed hard. "That's not fair."
"No," she agreed. "It's not. But that's growing up for you. Nothing's ever quite what we expect it to be."
She started walking away, then paused. "Oh, and Katsuki?"
"What?"
"Next time, maybe pick a sturdier log. That one's about to-"
The wood cracked beneath him. For the second time in his life, Katsuki found himself plunging toward the stream below.
SPLASH
He stood spluttering, pride stinging worse than the cold. His mother's laughter echoed from the bank.
"Some things never change, huh?"
"Shut up!" He dragged himself onto the bank, clothes dripping. "This is your fault! If you hadn't-"
"Hadn't what? Tried to help you get your head out of your ass?"
Katsuki opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. The memory of young Deku wading through the stream, hand extended in genuine concern, overlapped with the image of him facing down the Nomu.
I couldn't just stand there and watch you die!
"Fuck," he muttered.
"Language."
"You swear more than I do!"
"That's different." She started walking home. "I'm an adult. I've earned my profanity rights."
Katsuki watched her go, water dripping from his hair. The setting sun painted the stream in shades of fire, reminding him of explosions and determination and a friend he might have lost forever.
"Dammit, Deku." He clenched his fists. "Why couldn't you just stay weak?"
But he knew the answer. Had always known it, really. Deku had never been weak - not in the ways that mattered.
And now...
"Fine." Katsuki started walking home, ignoring the squelch of his wet shoes. "You want to be strong? I'll show you what real strength looks like."
Next time, he promised himself. Next time I'll be the one doing the saving.
The thought should have filled him with pride. Instead, it just felt hollow. Like something important had been lost along with that bridge - something he wasn't sure how to get back.
"Stupid Deku," he muttered. "Stupid pride. Stupid everything."
"Whatever." He shook his head, dispelling the image.
"I'll figure it out myself."