Two figures stood apart from one another in a dojo, staring at each other, poised for combat. One of the two was short and elderly, dressed in yellow. The other was tall and young, clad in a black gi, an orange sash tied around his waist. A staff covered in a strange fabric was slung across his back, both ends of it bulging and coloured orange.
An unspoken signal crossed between the two, and combat began in earnest. The yellow combatant darted forward, a tempest forming in his wake as the air currents bent to his will. An explosion brightened the room as dark robes buffeted, the younger boy launching himself into the air, somersaulting over the elder warrior. Another explosion was emitted from the boy's feet, and the fight was taken to the air.
To an outsider, the fight would've been largely incomprehensible, such were the speeds both were going at, combustion and air pressure warring with each other. Black and yellow fought against each other in an awe-inspiring display of martial combat.
The yellow hero had the advantage of speed and stature, easily weaving around the younger trainee's blows, explosions detonating futilely in the air around him. Yet the boy clad in black fought with poise regardless, elegant open handed strikes darting out, and retracting just as quickly, refusing to overextend.
For a few moments it seemed as if this would be the nature of the fight, and then the boy rolled his shoulders, the staff rolling off of his back and into a weighted arm. The boy leapt up, dodging a blur of yellow as he did so, and reared back, gripping onto the staff as if it were a javelin.
The staff suddenly flared brightly, wreathed in combusting nitroglycerin. It looked as if the boy was holding a spear of golden fire. The spear was let loose, and it soared towards the ground where it detonated into a controlled maelstrom of kinetic force and heat. The yellow streak suddenly faltered and fell to the ground, the air pressures he was so reliant on interrupted.
Intending to capitalize on this moment of weakness, the black clad youth darted down, his descent fueled by combusting feet. He was too slow. Within a few seconds he was on his back, and his teacher was standing on his chest, a foot placed at his throat.
"Yield." The elderly man spoke for the first time in the duel.
With a grudging nod, the youth yielded.
"That was better, Katsuki."
"It wasn't good enough, Sorahiko, and you know it." Katsuki scowled, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he paced away from the hero, kicking his staff into his hand.
It had been an idea from one of Gran Torino's hero partners when he was a few months into his training. His sweat was wicked away by specialized fabric on the staff and pulled to either end of the staff, where it could be combusted at will. It was certainly much better than his previous idea of having gauntlets with reservoirs in them.
"You're too hard on yourself, kid." The veteran sighed, leaning against a wall. "I don't know of any other twelve year olds who train nearly as hard as you."
"WELL, THAT"S BECAU-" Katsuki yelled, before cutting himself off. He exhaled roughly, before shaking his head. "It's because I need to. I won't fail anybody ever again."
Briefly, images flashed through his mind's eye. Water rushing past. Screams. A blur of green hai- Katsuki looked down at his side. His hand was shaking again. Slowly, he clenched it, and the shaking drew to a close.
"I won't fail like I did with Deku" The youth muttered lowly.
Gran Torino sighed, as he took a swig from a water bottle, watching the distressed youth. He remembered a night 5 years ago, when a boy with blond hair and red eyes on the verge of tears showed up at his door, demanding to be trained. The kid had apparently managed to track down a retired hero at the age of 7, and was mature enough.
He snorted softly, shaking his head. He had been about to slam the door closed and call child services, when he'd looked into those crimson orbs, and seen the sheer amount of emptiness and guilt within it.
He'd accepted, and met with the kid's parents. There he learned the tragic story behind Katsuki Bakugo. He learned about the tragedy that had taken Izuku Midoriya from this world, and how at the hour of his greatest need, when he actually needed to save someone, his quirk had failed him, how he had failed.
Such an event had quenched the fires of arrogance and pride within the boy, reducing it to mere embers of passion, a raw desire for redemption, to make sure he would never fail again. A desire to save people no matter what.
Gran Torino understood that. How the loss of someone due to your weakness could change someone.
Briefly, black hair danced across his vision, along with laughter and a toothy smile.
Gran Torino hissed under his breath, shaking his head with self-recriminating humor as he stared at his charge. They made a twisted pair.
He cleared his throat loudly, aiming to knock Katsuki out of his thoughts. He knew they'd get no further training done today.
"Say, I'm feeling hungry. What do you say we get something to eat?" The veteran wryly smirked, thinking back to another past pupil of his. "Besides, there's someone I want you to me-"
A loud noise interrupted him, and Gran Torino looked up, to see a staff rolling on the floor, having slipped from suddenly loose fingers.
"You okay?" The hero asked gruffly, darting over to the boy.
Katsuki didn't respond, staring wide eyed at the TV mounted in the corner of the dojo. He collapsed to his knees, his frame shaking.
"What, what is it?!" Gran Torino asked concernedly, laying a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder even as his eyes going to the TV as well.
"D-deku?" Katsuki rasped out.
On the screen, a small boy was facing down a giant.
So there we go, another chapter down. Sorry for my ridiculously slow updates, I'm seriously busy. Wrapping up my degree, I finish in April, and I've been accepted into the Canadian Forces, going to basic this summer. Life's kinda crazy for me rn.
Also, I've been wrestling with motivation for this story, mostly because my interest in MHA has been going up and down, mainly due to how contrived and handwavy the writing has been in it. Like holy shit in Season 5 Episode 6 of MHA, Kinoko Komori literally violates the Geneva convention in a training exercise and nobody bats an eye. I mean shit, if that's permissible, why the hell can't Momo just pop out four gas masks and use a paralyzing gas agent? Or hell, just straight spawn in a glock and just kneecap everybody. Because if biological warfare is apparently allowed, then I guess anything fuckin goes eh?
God, I watched it a week ago and I'm still pissed off. Not only that, but because of how fuckin poorly Momo is written. And how poorly written that fight scene is written. If Momo can pop out a slab of straight tungsten AND be able to wield it effectively enough to be used as a shield, then she should have bodied Itsuka. I mean, how does Itsuka dent a metal that is literally tough enough to withstand atmospheric reentry without deformation with her fucking fists? Fuck man. I'm just gonna stop here, because I'd go on a fuckin rant if I didn't. I mean, well, a rant longer than this one already.
Hope the chapter was good.