Arch 2: 「Act 4」
Toshinori stared at the boy in disbelief, his eyes wide as he processed what he was seeing.
"Is this really your version of One for All?"
Toshinori stood frozen, his eyes wide as he watched the black tendrils with the green hue writhe around the boy's arm. They've seemed to pulse with energy, twisting and moving like something alive. He couldn't take his gaze away, his expression a mix of disbelief and amazement.
The boy was evenly glancing at the tendrils that's coiling around his arm, watching as they all extended outward, forming several smaller branches that swayed like vines in the wind. His eyes narrowed slightly as Izuku focused, the green glow intensifying with each new tendril.
"They're quite a lot more versatile than they look," Izuku murmured before he shifted his gaze back to Toshinori. "Being the ninth user, I ended up unlocking the Quirks of the previous wielders. From the Second to the Seventh, they were all stored within One for All."
The tendrils shifted again, creating small shapes in the air as the boy spoke, his voice was calm but heavy with meaning. "It wasn't easy to control them at first, but over time, I learned to make them my own."
The boy flexed his fingers, the black tendrils branching further, forming intricate patterns in the air. They coiled and also uncoiled smoothly, as if it's responding to his every thought. He glanced at Toshinori, his expression steady.
"Since these Quirks were all stored within One for All," Izuku began, his voice even but thoughtful, "they didn't just remain dormant. They grew stronger, affected by the stockpile's power."
He waved his arm slightly, and the tendrils shot forward, intertwining like vines before retreating back to his arm. "Take the Blackwhip, for example. From what I've heard about the Fifth, it's versatile, sure, but it was still limited back then. It didn't have the reach or adaptability it does now. But inside One for All, it's grown exponentially. It's not just a tool anymore; it's become something far more powerful."
He lowered his arm, the tendrils retreating into his hand before vanishing entirely. He looked back at Toshinori, his green eyes unwavering. "And that's the same for all the Quirks within it. They've evolved, just like One for All itself."
All Might blinked, still processing everything the boy had just explained. The very idea that One for All could do so much more than he'd ever fully imagined left All Might to be both amazed and overwhelmed. But he shot him with a grin.
"Young Midoriya, I never in my wildest dreams imagined that a user of One for All could access the Quirks of the past users," the man exclaimed, his voice was brimming with excitement. "But here you are, proving me wrong in the best way possible!"
All Might placed both his hands on his hips, his skeletal frame standing tall despite his frail state. "So, tell me, is there a catch to all of this? Any type drawbacks to using these powers?"
His blue gaze softened as he looked at Izuku, his tone shifting to concern. "I know the toll One for All takes on a body, so what about these Quirks? Do they push you past your limits too?"
Izuku glanced at All Might, his eyes momentarily drifting before he nodded slowly. "Yeah, there is a drawback," he began, his voice quieter now. "But it's only with one of the Quirks—Gearshift. If I push it too far, my cells would start burning out. I can feel it the longer I'm using it." He paused before he look at All Might with a more serious expression. "But that's not the biggest issue."
Izuku looked back at All Might, his eyes troubled. "One for All can't be passed down to anyone who already has a Quirk. If someone with a Quirk tries to inherit it, their body would just crumble. It's too much for their system to handle."
All Might's eyes widened at the boy's words. "What?" He asked, his voice was full of disbelief. The man shook his head slightly, as he tried to just processed the gravity of the situation. "What?"
Izuku took a deep breath, trying to explain it as clearly as he could. "Normally, people can't handle more than one Quirk," he started, his tone steady. "Think of a cup."
"One Quirk is just enough to fill it up, but if you try to add more, it's just going to spill all over. That's what happens when One for All gets passed down—it doesn't just carry its own power, it takes on all the others too, the other six Quirks. It's just too much. The body can't handle it."
Izuku paused for a moment, glancing at All Might. "The Fourth user, Shinomori, he lived the longest before you. He was 40 when he died, but it wasn't from a villain. It was because of the Quirks he had to carry. The strain of it, the weight of One for All, it just, it wore him down. He died from old age, even though the man was still young by normal standards."
The boy tilted his head back a bit, gazing at the endless expanse of the sky above. The waves of the sea lapped gently in the background, but his focus seemed distant, heavy with the weight of his words.
"When I forcefully transferred One for All," he began, his tone quieter now, "the body couldn't handle it. It started breaking apart almost immediately. The aftermath of the transfer barely lasted an hour, but even in that short time, the body was already crumbling. All it took for it to be fully gone, was a last punch from me."
Izuku turned his gaze to All Might, his expression grim as he spoke, the weight of his words clear.
"It really can't be passed down to someone who already has a Quirk," he said, his voice low but firm. "If it is, the result, it's not just painful, it's like suicide. The body can't take it. Even with all of the power One for All has, it's too much for someone on who's already got a Quirk of their own. It would tear them apart."
All Might clenched his jaw, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. If what Izuku said was true, then One for All can't be passed on to anyone normally anymore. The thought gnawed at him—if he hadn't met Izuku and he chosen to pass it to Mirio instead, then the boy would have died.
The man sighed out shakily, his soft gaze was dropping to the sand beneath his feet as his shoulders slumped. After a moment, the man spoke, his voice was carrying a bitter edge.
"I never thought being Quirkless would turn out to have a perk," he said, a hollow chuckle escaping him, though it lacked any real humor. His hand clenched at his side, his mind was swirling with all the grim implications of what he'd just learned.
His expression turned serious as the man glanced back at Izuku, both of his brows were furrowing with concern. "Quirkless people are getting rarer by the day," All Might muttered, his voice heavy with worry and shaking.
"Their numbers just keep dropping, and the percentage is falling fast. If this keeps up, what's going to happen to One for All in the future?" All Might shook his head, his eyes distant as if he's still searching for an answer that wasn't there. "Will it eventually die out? Or will it just be too dangerous to pass down?"
Izuku's gaze was steady, though there was a sadness in his eyes as he shook his head. Izuku looked at All Might with a seriousness that weighed heavily in the air.
"The only way I can transfer One for All now," he began, his voice firm, "is probably until my second year at U.A. After that, I can't pass it on to anyone now, not even third years or older. Their bodies just won't be able to take it—whether they have a Quirk or not." He paused, his brows furrowing slightly. "One for All would've grown too much by then."
Izuku shook his head, trying to push the weight of their conversation aside. "We can talk about that later," Izuku said, his tone was firm but tinged with urgency. The boy glanced at All Might, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Right now, I need your help."
"Last night, when I ended up in this timeline, the other me, he disappeared," Izuku explained, his voice steady but with an underlying worry.
"The past me must've gone to my timeline. And well, his mom—my mom—called the police when he didn't come home. I went back to the apartment about an hour later, but it was already too late now. And so they're going to interrogate me today."
All Might blinked, his confusion replaced with concern. "The police? Why would they—oh. Of course they would." He trailed off, realization dawning on him.
Izuku nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yeah. To them, I just vanished, and then I've suddenly showed up again. They're probably going to have a lot of questions. And I can't exactly tell them the truth, can I?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly a bit stressed.
All Might hummed thoughtfully, his hand resting on his chin as he processed what the boy said. Then, after a moment, his eyes widened slightly, as if a realization hit him. "Wait," he said, blinking. "Is that part the reason you called me here? To help you with the police situation?"
The young boy nodded, the hint of tension still present in his expression. "Exactly. With the symbol of peace on my side, and someone who's also an alumni of U.A., we should be able to control the situation. At least enough to make sure things don't get out of hand."
All Might's brows furrowed, a thoughtful look crossing his face. The man rubbed his chin, clearly weighing the options. "I see. With my reputation and connections, we might be able to influence how this plays out. We'll have to be very careful with this, though. We can't let anyone suspect anything unusual."
He nodded, his expression focused as he began to think through the situation. "I know," he said, his voice quieter now, "but I've been thinking about what story I can use. We just need to figure out what the police are likely to ask me. The biggest issue will probably be my age, the other me is 14, but I'm 16. I can't just explain that away easily."
All Might frowned, his gaze shifting to the horizon as he considered the dilemma now. "It's not going to be easy to explain. People are going to notice the age difference, especially since your appearance has changed too. We'll need to be careful how we handle that."
All Might looked back at the boy, his expression serious. "But we'll figure something out. First, we should go over what we should expect from the police."
Ryūko groaned, slumping her shoulders as she stared at the plate in front of her.
The food she had attempted to make was an absolute disaster. The rice was overcooked, the vegetables were all burnt beyond recognition, and the chicken that Ryūko cooked was oddly charred on the outside while still raw in the middle.
She poked at it with her fork, the texture was making her face scrunch up in distaste. "Ugh."
"This is a catastrophe," she muttered, pushing the plate aside as if to remove the evidence of her culinary failure. The girl slumped back in her chair, rubbing her forehead with a sigh. "I should have really known better than to try cooking."
The kitchen was filled with the faint smell of burnt food, and despite her best efforts, it only made the situation worse. Ryūko slouched deeper into the chair, letting her frustration sink in. Ryūko hadn't all planned on messing this up. "Guess I'm back to takeout. Tsk, darn it." The girl muttered, eyeing the phone as if it might be her one and only salvation.
She sighed deeply as she picked up her phone, scrolling through the list of takeout options. Her frown deepened with every swipe, her left thumb flicking absentmindedly across her phone with a sour look. The list of fast food chains and delivery spots only got her more frustrated.
"Ugh. Why is everything so expensive?" The girl groaned under her breath, her voice filled with annoyance. Ryūko continued scrolling, her eyes narrowing in exasperation. The thought of ordering something after the mess she'd just made in the kitchen didn't sit right with her.
Ryūko groaned once more, pushing herself up from the table. The girl glanced at the food she had attempted to make, then back at her screen in frustration. "Might as well just get something from the vending machine," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. She wasn't in the moods to waste any more time or energy on cooking or ordering food.
With a resigned sigh, she slowly walked toward the door, slipping her shoes on with quick, practiced motions. "At least the vending machine can't really mess up a bag of chips," Ryūko said, trying to make her to feel much more better. "Whatever. It's fine."
Ryūko went and reached for her jacket, but her eyes had caught something on the table—it's a letter. That stupid letter. She froze for a moment, staring at it, the weight of it pulled her attention away from her first frustration. It's the letter that had led her here in the first place.
The girl clicked her tongue in annoyance, but in after a long moment of hesitation, she grabbed her jacket and slipped it on. Her gaze was lingering on the letter again, almost like it was daring Ryūko to read it. Groaning loud under her breath, Ryūko rolled her eyes and picked it up. "Fine, fine," the girl muttered to herself, "Let's just go see what this nonsense says."
As Ryūko unfolded the paper, she sank into the nearest chair, already bracing herself for whatever strange or a cryptic message her late father had left her. "This better not be some wild goose chase," she mumbled.
Ryūko's eyes skimmed the letter, but the more she read, the darker her expression became. The words blurred in front of her eyes as her grip tightened around the paper, the anger bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. Her breaths became shallow, her fists clenching harder, the letter starting to crumple in her hands.
With a sudden, violent motion, she threw the paper at the wall. It slapped against the surface, fluttering down to the floor, the sound of it echoing in the quiet room. Ryūko stood there, panting heavily, her chest rising and falling as she glared at the discarded letter with burning intensity. Her teeth clenched, and her fists were balled at her sides.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean?!" She shouted, her voice harsh, almost too loud in the otherwise silent room. Her fists clenched at her sides, the weight of that letter's contents sinking in, the shock was still refusing to fade.
Ryūko stood there, seething, her fists trembling as she glared at the crumpled letter on the floor. Her teeth were gritting so tightly that it felt like they might all break out. Her mind raced, torn between two impulses.
"That goddamn bastard." The girl muttered out through clenched teeth, her voice low and venomous. "Does he really want me to keep remembering his death? Making me go back there. It's insane. Does he really expect me to dig up all that pain again?"
Her heart pounded as the weight of it hit her again—her father's death, the anger, the grief. Every memory of him had been tied to that tragic day. The idea of returning to that place, facing the past, that was almost too much to bear. Yet, as her anger began to simmer down, another thought crept into her mind.
'What if this is the only way for me to find out who really killed him?'
The girl growled, kicking the crumpled letter against the wall. "Ah, damn it!" Her frustration spilled over, her fists shaking with the weight of it all. The choice wasn't easy. Go back and face the memories, or keep running, never knowing what really happened that day. But she wasn't the kind to shy away from a fight.
The girl's gaze lingered on the crumpled letter, her body stiff and unmoving for a long moment. The anger in her chest slowly simmered down, it's replaced by a gnawing heaviness that settled in her stomach. With a deep slow breath, Ryūko stepped forward, her boots scuffing lightly against the floor, and crouched down to pick it up.
Then, like some cruel flash of lightning, the image of her father lying lifeless, stabbed in the chest with a half of a scissor blade, burned into Ryūko's mind. It's vivid, more vivid than she wanted. His blood pooling, his face frozen in a moment of desperation and pain—it struck her like it had just happened yesterday.
A sharp exhale escaped her teeth as Ryūko sucked in a breath, her fingers clutching the letter tightly enough to crumple it further. The image just wouldn't leave the girl alone, and her chest felt tight, like it was being crushed under the weight of it all. She forced herself to close her eyes, but the shaky sigh that followed betrayed on how much the memory still affected her.
"Damn it," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder would make the memory more vivid. She tried to shove the haunting image from her mind, but it clung stubbornly, like a parasite burrowed deep within her thoughts.
The weight in her chest pressed heavier with each passing second, making it harder to breathe. Ryūko exhaled shakily, her breath hitching as she fought to steady herself. Her head lowered, her bangs falling forward to cast shadows over her face.
With trembling hands, she reached for the letter again, this time folding it with care, as though handling something fragile. Her movements were slow, deliberate—each crease an attempt to calm the storm inside her.
Her father's death wasn't just a memory at all—it was an unhealed scar, raw and ever-present. Yet, as her fingers brushed against the creased paper, something shifted. Grief and anger intertwined, giving way to a flicker of resolve. It wasn't just pain anymore for her. It was purpose.
Straightening her posture, Ryūko slid the letter into her jacket pocket with slow, deliberate movements. Her sigh escaped her lips, shaky yet resolute.
"Alright, old man," she murmured, her voice low and thick with emotion. Her gaze hardened, the fire in her eyes sparking to life. "Let's see what mess you're throwing me into this time."
TO BE CONTINUED