Chapter 3: The King's Severance
10 Years Later, Monday, April 2
In the Underground Masquerade at 12:37 AM, two fighters were in the ring.
CRASH!
One of these two fighters was punched right into the arena's walls. The fighter's bald head hit the concrete with a dull, heavy impact, sending a fine cloud of plaster dust raining down. His dark, determined eyes clenched shut as the breath was instantly driven from his lungs, leaving his thick, bearded jaw hanging slack in a silent gasp and black tongue sticking out. His tan-skinned muscles, usually coiled and ready, went instantly limp, and the crimson dragon tattoo on his thigh seemed to momentarily blur as his body collapsed heavily against the wall before sliding down into a crumpled heap on the floor. He lay there, a massive, unmoving slab of humanity, the red boxing wraps around his hands the only vibrant color in the sudden stillness. His arms and legs were stretched out twenty feet from his collapsed body, limbs grotesquely distended and useless.
"Your quirk, Whipcord, is certainly impressive. You use your extreme range to neutralize long-distance fighters, and grappling makes short work of anyone fighting in close." The sound of shifting debris punctuated the final word.
"However," A deep voice cut through the dust, the smoke dissipating just enough to reveal a massive, shadow-cloaked figure. A metal gauntlet—smoke curling off its surface—punched through the last veil of haze. "As soon as your enemies bypass that long range and lock you into mid to close range combat... it becomes difficult to reel in those stretched limbs before they snap or get tangled." The dust cleared completely, revealing Whipcord's opponent.
A fourteen-year-old Izuku, fighting under the moniker Ryomen Sukuna, was a chilling spectacle of supernatural power disguised in fighting gear. His height was immense, standing at six feet, eight inches—a towering, intimidating figure whose frame was lean but immensely powerful, suggesting the same density and hardened musculature of a true cursed spirit. He weighed approximately 285 pounds, a mass that defied his age. He was encased in his battle attire: an upgraded black kimono draped over his colossal frame. The red hood was drawn, casting his pink hair deep into its shadow. Covering his face was the chilling, red Oni Mask, a gruesome grin frozen onto his face that broadcast malice in the arena. His arms were covered by custom-made, heavy metal gauntlets—thick, dark steel cuffs designed to focus and contain the raw, destructive power of his cursed energy. His immense stature, combined with the grotesque mask and imposing armor, made him appear less like a human and more like an ancient, terrifying guardian called from the underworld.
"I suggest that you give up." The masked man said with a cold tone. "Your attacks are too slow and weak to be able to affect me."
Whipcord began to stand up with a chuckle, shakily. "So the rumors about you were true, Ryomen Sukuna, 'the King of the Masquerade', no wonder you haven't lost in years". As the elongated man finally completely lifted himself up and reverted his limbs to normal, he replied to Izuku's demand. "However, I also have a reputation to uphold." Whipcord then started to reach into his left pocket. "If I just lose and give up, I would lose all of my respect from my buyers. However," the bald man stopped looking in his pocket to reveal a red vial in his hand. "If I win, MY BUYERS WILL TRIPLE WITH CUSTOMERS AND RATES!" Whpcord then final sticks the red vial in his neck and sticks out his black tongue. "SO I'M GOING TO DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO WIN!"
A raw, choking roar erupted from Whipcord's throat. His body didn't just bulk up; it began to crackle and warp under the drug's pressure. His light brown skin darkened to a deep, ruddy crimson, and the muscles that had been merely large swelled to monstrous proportions, tearing the seams of his boxing shorts. His eyes rolled back momentarily before snapping open, now glowing with a sickly, vibrant yellow that matched the black of his distended tongue.
Then, his quirk reacted. His arms, still retracted, now pulsed with thick, visible veins that resembled dark ropes. When he moved, they didn't just extend 20 feet—they shot out with the speed of a bullet, traveling farther and hitting with the dense, blunt force of steel. His movements were jerky, painful, and far less controlled, but undeniably powerful. The stretching was no longer fluid; it was a violent, weaponized snap, turning him from a careful grapper into a grotesque, rage-fueled coil of muscle and bone. He was ready to fight, but he was no longer truly himself.
Whipcord's manic grin spread, displaying his black tongue as he lunged forward, not with his body, but with an arm that shot forward like a pneumatic piston.
Izuku didn't move an inch until the last millisecond. "So you're using Trigger to defeat me, huh?"
The colossal arm, reinforced by the drug, missed the towering figure by a hair's breadth. Whipcord didn't retract it; he just slammed the massive fist into the concrete floor, tearing a deep trench in the stone.
The King of the Masquarde watched the destruction with a smile on his face, easily sidestepping the shrapnel. "I had a hunch that you once used Trigger due to your black tongue, but I didn't expect you to get a hold of the enhanced version. I haven't fought one of you guys since the Sky Egg Bombing."
Whipcord roared, his voice a gravelly, animalistic bellow. He launched a frantic, simultaneous frenzy of attacks. His primary arms extended and swung in wide, destructive arcs, while his Trigger-fueled legs stretched and kicked out like whips, aiming to snag Izuku and slam him into the opposite wall.
The masked giant was a ghost in the chaos. Izuku's two visible arms blurred into motion, the heavy metal gauntlets blocking the massive blows with metallic clangs and redirecting the kinetic force into the ground. He ducked under a snapping leg, allowed a haymaker to scrape harmlessly past his red hood, and took two steps back to avoid a crushing stomp. Each of Whipcord's attacks was devastating, but Izuku dodged without effort, his movements fueled by calculation, not panic. The frustration boiling off Whipcord was thick enough to taste.
The cloaked boy finally stopped, settling into a wide, stable stance, his arms relaxed at his sides. "You know, before Kiroku scheduled our fight, my sponsor mentioned your clientele. It's mostly illegal betting, drugs... standard trash."
Whipcord paused his attack, panting raggedly, the sickly yellow light dimming slightly in his eyes.
"But I heard a particularly interesting rumor," The masked man continued, his voice cold and flat, cutting through the noise of the now-silent, watching crowd. "I heard a significant part of your business is kidnapping women and children for sex traffickers. Is that true?"
Whipcord managed a guttural, wet chuckle. "Who cares?" he slurred, spitting a mixture of blood and foam onto the stone. "It's profitable. They're just cargo!"
The ambient temperature in the arena dropped. All pretense of excitement vanished from Izuku's massive frame. This wasn't about a fight or a title anymore; this was the line due to Wasuke's influence. The cursed man knew Whipcord had crossed.
And in the blink of an eye, the former King of Curses vanished.
A black blur erupted across the pit. Izuku appeared directly in front of Whipcord, bypassing his monstrous reach entirely. Before the villain could even twitch, Izuku's hands shot out and grasped Whipcord's thick, bulging forearms, instantly locking onto his primary limb connections.
"Cleave"
Suddenly, multiple molecular-level slashes instantly materialized around Whipcord's arms. Whipcord's two primary, bulging arms—the source of his power and pride—dropped silently to the ground in multiple pieces, the cuts perfectly cauterized by Izuku's reserve cursed technique.
Whipcord didn't feel pain yet, only a searing shock and the immediate, staggering loss of his limbs. He looked down at the two severed stumps, his yellow eyes wide and filled with comprehension.
Izuku wasted no time. As Whipcord opened his mouth in a silent scream of agony and disbelief, the colossal boot of the King of the Masquerade shot up. The metal-shod sole of Izuku's boot slammed into Whipcord's jaw with the force of a hydraulic press, snapping the bald man's head back and crushing his manic grin instantly.
Whipcord collapsed, his monstrous body crumpling without the slightest resistance. He hit the stone floor with a dull thud, unconscious before he even finished falling. As he lay defeated, the crimson color instantly faded from his skin, the sickly yellow light left his eyes, and the unnatural, rope-like veins on his body immediately receded, leaving his form looking pale and deflated. He reverted to his normal appearance, leaving his severed, Trigger-enhanced arms lying uselessly beside his head.
A voice boomed from the crackling arena speakers, shattering the silence: "The King of the Masquerade wins! Ryomen Sukuna defeats Whipcord in a total match time of 3 minutes and 37 seconds!"
The crowd, which had been silent with dread moments before, erupted into a tidal wave of ecstatic noise. Cheers of "SUKUNA! SUKUNA!" drowned out the music as betting slips rained down from the bleachers. The masked man, ignoring the fanfare entirely, simply turned and walked with slow, deliberate steps toward the exit tunnel, the red hood masking his final expression as he disappeared back into the darkness.
1:00 AM in the Alleys of Hosu
"Good work as always, Sukuna," Giran said, lighting a slim silver cigarette. He reached into his right pocket and pulled out a disappointingly thin stack of yen. "Here's your cut for the fight."
Izuku, who towered over the broker in an oversized black hoodie and beanie, designed to hide his four arms and pink hair, took the money. He wore simple dark sweatpants with red shoes, and his fighting gear, including his Oshiwa Gauntlets and mask, was packed away in the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He quickly counted the currency.
"Hey, Giran," Izuku's voice was dangerously low, amplified by the natural resonance of his massive chest. "This is only ¥700,000. Where is the rest of the money? I should be making at least two and a half million just for the win."
Giran blew a plume of smoke, a lazy smile stretching his crooked teeth. "Ah, the King finally learned how to count! Congratulations! It's true that the champion normally makes ¥2,500,000 for winning. And with the exact-time bet—3 minutes, 37 seconds, beautiful timing, by the way—you added another ¥1,500,000. That's a total pot of ¥4,000,000."
The broker held up a finger, smoke curling around it. "However, you first cut Whipcord's arms into pieces, which cost us ¥1,000,000 in lost side bets from the High Table."
"I never told you to bet on me not cutting off his arms," Izuku shot back, his frustration clear. "I told you only to place specific wagers that I approved of."
"You hadn't maimed anyone in a month, kid. I figured it was a safe bet for a million." Giran shrugged, unfazed. "Anyway. Since I had to repair and reinforce your Oshiwa Gauntlets after your last fight two weeks ago, I deducted the hefty ¥1,600,000 repair fee before splitting the rewards. That left us with ¥1,400,000 to divide fifty-fifty. So, ¥700,000 is your final cut."
Izuku clenched the yen so tightly that the paper nearly tore, his jaw flexing beneath the skin of his cheek. "...Fine. When is my next fight scheduled?"
Giran's smile widened into a cruel grin. "Sorry, kid. I'm afraid you're not going to be fighting anyone for a month."
"WHAT!?" Izuku's shock was genuine. "How? I should be fighting someone at least once a week!"
"You're the best fighter in the Masquerade, and you haven't lost to anyone in three years." Giran pointed a mocking finger at Izuku's face. "Maybe, if you just throw some fights, you would be on a regular schedule, and I wouldn't have to risk all these hyper-specific bets just to get you a challenge."
"I would rather die than lose a fight."
"Well then, that's a you problem, Sukuna. If you ever want to reconsider your reputation here, you know where to find me." Giran began to walk away, dissolving into the alleyway shadows. "Oh, by the way, I could have made you pay me ¥100,000 more if I hadn't minus the support gear before dividing our earnings. Consider that mercy from your favorite sponsor."
"Damnit," Izuku muttered, turning sharply in the opposite direction. "That crooked-teeth bastard is playing us."
Wasuke formed a temporary mouth on Izuku's right cheek. "Well, maybe if you didn't cut Whipcord's damn arms off, we would have had enough money to live comfortably this month."
"You were the one who let me cut off his arms in that fight."
"Yeah, but that was because you don't like me talking when you're fighting, and also because if we didn't cut off his arms at that specific point and time, we wouldn't have finished the fight in time." Wasuke lamented. Izuku and Wasuke spent most of the last nine years perfecting how to use both shrine and cursed energy together. Izuku was already accustomed to fighting in smaller bodies due to him having to fight in both Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro's bodies, but besides when Sukuna initially reincarnated into Megumi's body, he never had someone else control his cursed technique. Because of this, Izuku forced Wasuke to train for three hours every day so there would be no delays when Izuku wanted to use his slashes. He also made Wasuke shut up when he was fighting due to Izuku not wanting to get distracted during the fight.
"Also, cutting off his arms was way too brutal, Izu. You could have killed the bastard if he bled out."
"Whipcord would have been fine," Izuku said in a deadpan voice. "I used a Reverse Cursed Technique to instantly cauterize the bleeding parts of his arms. Also, the guy deserved it for selling off women and children.
"That may be true, but that kind of judgment is for the police and heroes to decide and not us."
"Wasuke, you and I both know that ever since Hero Society reemerged because of All Might, police cases take way longer to actually be resolved. He could have been trafficking people for years before the police caught on. That's probably why Giran told us before our fight was even scheduled. He wanted us to dismantle him and take all of the profit himself. He probably also lied about the prices for the gauntlets, to make us feel indebted to him."
"But even so, Giran does have a point," Wasuke explained. "If you stopped being such a prideful asshole and just threw some of these stupid fights, we would be making a lot more money than we are making now."
"Wasuke," Izuku replied. "You may have taken away most of my cursed emotions, but you're not going to throw away my pride." Izuku then reflected on a bitter memory. "Damn, if only we didn't help the Naruhata Vigilantes. We could maybe have had a bit more of a challenge fighting people on Trigger."
Flashback 4 Years, April 27, 10:00 pm on the Streets of Naruhata
The sun had just dipped behind the cramped skyline of Naruhata, painting the narrow side streets in long, grimy shadows. At eleven years old, Izuku Midoriya was an unnervingly massive child, standing at six feet and weighing a dense 185 pounds. His shoulders were broad and thick, forcing him to wear a colossal, dark hooded jacket layered over two sweatshirts—not for warmth, but to clumsily conceal the unnaturally heavy bulge of his two hidden secondary arms. Over his shoulder was slung a heavy duffel bag, adding to his formidable bulk.
He relied on disguise here. His bright pink hair was shoved under a beanie, and his intense, dark eyes scanned the chaotic back alleys with fierce concentration.
"Hey Izuku," Wasuke complained, forming a small mouth on the pink-haired boy's cheek. "Why the hell are we here again instead of resting at home?"
"It's because we lost our last fight," Izuku coldly stated. "It was the only way we could pay the rent since Giran has no more fights lined up this week."
"Awwwww. Is little Izuku sad that his ten-month winning streak is over?"
"Shut it, Wasuke," Izuku snapped, his frustration rising. "I would have beaten him if I'd known he had that enhancement drug on him, but I have to give him credit for playing dirty."
"Yeah, yeah, but where are we actually supposed to find our client?"
Before Izuku could answer, a frantic shout cut through the night: "HEY EMO GUY, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!"
A bright streak of energy, as a boy in an oversized All-Might hoodie zipped suddenly around the corner, his shoes barely scraping the pavement as he slid in a panic-fueled, controlled run. Right behind him, shattering the relative quiet of the street, was a massive Rhino Villain, snorting steam and charging with blind, destructive momentum.
The Villain's gaze instantly locked onto Izuku's unmoving silhouette. The Rhino bellowed, diverting its charge and aiming its thick horn directly at the pink-haired boy.
Izuku didn't flinch. He let the Villain close the distance, allowing the Rhino's kinetic energy to build. Just as the horn was inches from his chest, Izuku's massive, visible arms shot out and gripped the Villain's enormous shoulders. Utilizing the Rhino's own charging weight against itself, Izuku twisted his entire frame, effortlessly lifting the sheer mass and slamming it down into the concrete with a ground-shaking impact. The Villain instantly collapsed into an unconscious heap.
The boy in biker gear, having skidded to a startled stop a few feet away, stared wide-eyed at the disabled beast, then slowly looked up at the unnaturally huge boy in the oversized hoodie.
"Crawler, are you okay?" a bright, worried voice called out.
Skirting the unconscious Rhino Villain, a young girl darted into the alley. Her pink hair was tied up in energetic, high pigtails accented with simple pink clips, and she wore a devil-themed pop star idol costume with a black leotard, heart motifs, bat wings, and platform boots.
I'm okay, Pop!" Koichi replied quickly, shaking off his shock. Koichi was wearing an All Might hoodie with simple, protective googles, dark trousers, and body armor underneath. His face was open and slightly anxious, a sharp contrast to the silent giant beside him.
"Oi Kid, You know it's illegal to use your quirk without a license, right?" A tall, powerfully built man, about the same size as Izuku, with a grizzled look and a black trench coat, dropped silently from the rooftop awning above. He wore a simple black face mask that obscured everything but his intense, narrow eyes. He planted his feet beside the unconscious Rhino and looked directly at Izuku.
'Aren't you one to talk?' Izuku thought to himself. "No, it's fine. The villain came after me, so it's self-defense."
'So these are the vigilantes of Naruhata.' The pink-haired boy thought to himself. 'The Cruller: the boy who has the quirk that lets him slide on the ground, Pop-Step: The girl with a jumping quirk, and finally Knuckle Duster, just the person I was looking for.'
"Knuckle Duster," Izuku whispered loud enough for only him to hear. "I have the support item that you requested."
Knuckle Duster eyes were in shock for just a second until he told the Cruller curtly, "Hey Kid, let's end patrol early today."
"But why, master? It's only 10 pm."
"Don't you and Pop have that festival to prepare for?"
Pop Step, catching the hint, immediately went into a cold sweat. "The old fart's right, Crawler! Help me go over my lines before Narufest."
The Cruller sighed. "Okay, fine then." The pair then slid and jumped away. "See you at the hideout, master!"
As soon as both The Cruller and Popstep leave, Izuku and Knuckleduster begin to go into one of the alleys. "I'm surprised Giran didn't come here himself? He is normally very protective of his clients."
Izuku then drops the duffel bag and the floor and then replies, saying, "Don't worry, I owe him a favor, and if I say anything about this to anyone, He will kill me on the spot."
Izuku then unzips the bag, revealing the support gear inside. It was primarily a high-amperage stun gun, but its main feature was a built-in automated external defibrillator (AED) system. The body was smooth polymer, and the back panel featured a small, clear screen that read 'Ready' above a red emergency button, all running on the same battery. "Thank you. It's exactly how I wanted it," Knuckleduster said, inspecting the device closely.
"Don't worry about it," Izuku replied, putting the device back. "I'm just the deliverer; you should be thanking Giran for being able to make this." Izuku turned to leave but stopped and looked back. "By the way, who are you trying to save?"
Knuckleduster looked at the hooded boy in shock.
Izuku continued, his voice low and analytical. "I've been tracking your exploits. Even though your methods are brutal, you never cause serious injury. A stun gun powerful enough to require an integrated AED means you anticipate the target will be near death, probably due to drug-induced overdose or mind control. Whoever it is, you expect them to need immediate life-saving care right after you defeat them."
Knuckleduster looked down, remaining silent.
"I get it," Izuku said, turning around and beginning to leave the alley. "If your secret identity were to be revealed, it could cause you a lot of trouble. But whoever it is, I hope you succeed in saving them." The formidable hooded boy then disappeared into the darkness.
Present Day
"Hey," Wauke said in a comforting voice. "At least you helped the vigilantes save someone and indirectly helped stop the spread of Trigger. That's like the third heroic thing that we've done since we reincarnated."
"That may be true, but right now, doing the right thing doesn't pay the bills. How the hell are we going to make more mon—"
"Izuku!" Wasuke whispered sharply as he formed an eye on Izuku's left hand. "Someone assholes are following us."
Izuku didn't stop or break stride. He discreetly shifted his gaze to the reflected light in a darkened shop window, confirming that Wasuke was right. Two figures were walking casually about fifty yards behind them on the street, and a glint of metal high above them confirmed a third stalker on a rooftop with a sniper rifle.
The air instantly chilled around Izuku. He abruptly increased his speed, darting through a gap between two condemned buildings and vanishing into a maze of side alleys, the heavy duffel bag swinging easily with his unnaturally powerful momentum.
He deliberately led the two ground pursuers on a convoluted, looping chase through the tightest parts of Hosu. He used sudden stops, sharp turns, and the constant shadows to force them to break formation, knowing the sniper would struggle to get a clean shot.
After two minutes of calculated, relentless movement, he finally cornered himself into a dead-end alley cluttered with industrial refuse.
The two pursuers rounded the final corner, confident they had located the cursed boy. The alley was dark and empty.
"We've lost him! Does Silencer have an eye on him?" one of the stalkers whispered to the other.
The second stalker then looks at his phone to read a text message. "Sorry, man, Sukuna vanished from her scope."The man then begins to look around, "The kid has to be around here somewhere. There's no way someone so big can hide away so easily."
As the two men turned to examine the stacked crates and dumpsters, a new, massive shadow fell over them. A cold wave of malice hit their backs, freezing them in place.
Ryomen Sukuna stood directly behind them. The oversized hoodie was still pulled up, but the chilling red Oni Mask was now strapped tight over the fabric, obscuring his face completely. His four arms were still mostly hidden by the massive sleeves, but the dark, heavy steel of the Oshiwa Gauntlets now encased both his two visible and hidden limbs, clicking ominously as he lowered his primary pair of hands in front of the hoodie's massive silhouette.
"Looking for someone?" the masked figure asked, his voice low and devoid of humanity.
"Now, now, let's not rush into things, Sukuna." The first stalker said in a business-savvy voice. "We're not here to fight, we're just here to talk."
Izuku then looks at the man and realizes that both he and the other stalker were relaxed and haven't moved their bodies into a fighting stance.
The first stalker was a man wearing an impeccably tailored, dark gray suit that looked pristine despite the street's filth. He had a disarming, practiced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and his hair was slicked back neatly. He looked less like a low-level mercenary and more like a high-end corporate recruiter—a perfect salesman.
However, Izuku wasn't just inspecting the man physically. He was also looking at the man's soul. When Izuku landed a black flash against a strong-armed fighter three years ago, he finally reawakened his ability to observe other people's souls. However, he found out, like in Izuku's original world, he can see what their Quirk Factor looks like; it looked similar to how the innate domains in a jujustsu sorcerer's soul looked.
Inside of his soul, his human appearance didn't change, yet the inside of his Quirk Factor, the wellspring of his ability, was unsettling. Izuku sensed an overwhelming concentration of mass, a domain that felt perpetually tethered to itself. It was like looking at a perfectly spherical marble that contained the gravity of a boulder. The domain was intensely small and compact, forcing all its immense potential inward, making the space around his Quirk Factor feel oddly compressed, like a tightly wound spring. Furthermore, within that intensely condensed core, Izuku could perceive a tiny, perfectly formed miniature reflection of the man himself, seemingly contained within the marble-like mass. It suggested an ability focused entirely on altering density or space, perhaps manipulating his own presence... or the presence of others.
The four-armed boy then looked at the other stalker. He was a young man with a dark durag pulled low over his forehead. He wore a brightly colored, overly large basketball jersey that hung down to his knees, accessorized with a thick silver chain. His lower half was encased in voluminous, dark cargo pants with black shoes.
The stalker's Quirk Factor was a domain of restrained hydro-kinetic energy, an immense volume of pressure that looked like a perfectly groomed ocean surface. The control over this inner ocean was clearly maintained by an external lock. As Izuku stared, he realized that in man's soul, his durag was off, revealing his blue wavy hairstyle. The domain's power manifested as highly concentrated, sharp-edged waves and jets of water that looked like they were ready to explode outwards from the soul's center, right where the man's hair would be. The power was tied directly to his unique hairstyle and the textile covering it.
Izuku finished his silent analysis of the two men. He let the tense silence hang in the air for another beat before finally speaking, his voice flat and detached behind the mask.
"You have five minutes."
"Lovely," the man in the suit replied, his practiced smile never wavering. "Well, I guess we should introduce ourselves. My name is Shogo, and my friend to the right of me is Shio. We came to you to ask for your help with a job."
Izuku tilted his masked head slightly in a gesture of surprise, then returned to his cold composure. "Go on."
"We initially wanted you to track down Whipcord and tear down his organization since he was beginning to steal lots of our clients," Shogo explained, pulling out a small notepad. "However, since you ruined his reputation, our previous clients will come back shortly. What we want you to do now is help protect us during a large 'transaction'."
Izuku stared the man down. "What drugs are you planning on selling?" He knew Wasuke would disapprove of the damage a highly volatile substance like Trigger could cause if released back onto the streets.
"Don't worry, man," Shio said. "We're just selling weed. Not any of those hard drugs like meth or Trigger."
Izuku then began to calm down and think about what the two criminals were offering. "Ok, so you want me to help protect you guys during this drug deal, but why?" Izuku then pointed up to the rooftop to the left of him, where the sniper at. "You seem to have a pretty good bodyguard already."
Shogo looked up from his notepad, acknowledging the sniper's position. "Silencer, stand down. Sukuna is no longer a threat."
As soon as he said that, a woman jumped down to the left of Shogo without making a sound. She wore a sleek, matte-black supervillain suit molded for utility, covered in tactical webbing and pouches designed to hold extra ammunition clips and two holstered 9mm silenced pistols. Her face was obscured by an imposing mask—a black disc etched with multiple fine, radiating lines that resembled a sonar display.
Her Quirk Factor was perhaps the most unsettling of the three: a perfect vacuum in her soul's domain. It appeared as an intensely black sphere that seemed to swallow every form of spectral energy that touched it. It wasn't a powerful energy source; it was an absolute sink. Izuku noticed a sad girl in the black sphere moving her mouth, but nothing was coming out. Any vibration, any trace of sound wave energy that the girl used, was immediately absorbed into this cold, silent core. It was the absolute manifestation of a sound-dampening quirk—a weaponized silence capable of neutralizing the sonic signature of a high-powered rifle round before it even reached the surrounding air.
"Well, Silencer might be a useful hidden bodyguard," Shogo continued smoothly, "but she is not enough for this mission. The heroes are starting to catch on to our operations, so we need bigger guns for one last transaction to defend ourselves."
Izuku crossed his gauntleted arms, the steel scraping lightly. "If the heroes already know about your operations, then why should I help you? Why run the risk of getting caught instead of just lying low?"
"Because we know you need the money," Shogo coldly explained, closing his notepad. "We heard your talk with Giran. You won't be able to survive next month without another job. If you complete this job, we will pay you the other ¥4,000,000, and then you will never hear from us again."
Izuku thought about Shogo's offer. The man was right. He and Wasuke would be struggling to get by for another month without another fight, and if they lost the next match at the Masquerade, they would be back on the streets. The money was enough to buy them a few months of safety.
"Fine then," Izuku finally responded to the trio. "I will take the job. Where are we meeting?"
"A warehouse near the edge of Hosu at 11:00 pm tonight." Shogo handed Izuku the note containing all the details. "How should we contact you?"
"That's for me to worry about," Izuku replied as he launched himself upward onto the nearest roof, the heavy gauntlets easily finding purchase. "I will see you guys tonight."
Izuku's Apartment at 9:00 pm
Izuku's apartment was a single, tiny room—barely more than a studio—designed for one person. It was sparsely furnished due to a lack of funds and the need to move quickly. A cheap futon was laid on the floor, next to a stack of worn analysis notebooks filled with meticulous studies of multiple heroes and villains, which served as his makeshift table.
This simple space served as both his refuge and his lab. He didn't have the luxury of comfort, but the four walls were enough to keep him safe from the outside world for a few precious hours.
The most utilized area was the small, inefficient kitchenette. Izuku had developed a genuine passion for cooking, which, ironically, was a skill fueled by his complex quirk. His extreme metabolism and the constant need to power his quirk and colossal frame meant that groceries—especially protein—were prohibitively expensive.
Izuku opened his tiny, rattling refrigerator. Most of the space was dedicated to vegetables, rice, and spice jars. Where others would store expensive cuts of beef or chicken, Izuku had several neatly labeled, vacuum-sealed containers of muscle tissue. This was not typical meat; it was regenerated flesh—clean, sterile, and biologically identical muscle tissue that his cursed energy allowed him to painlessly harvest and instantly regrow. It was the only way he could afford the thousands of daily calories required to maintain his massive frame and powerful emitter quirk.
Wasuke often complained about the faint metallic flavor, but Izuku was meticulous. He could expertly prepare this self-sourced protein—marinating it in soy and ginger, pan-frying it until perfectly seared, or mixing it into savory broth. It was a bizarre, grim necessity, but it also offered Izuku a small, quiet act of self-sufficiency that he enjoyed, allowing him to focus on creation rather than just combat.
For the job with Shogo, Izuku needed to prime his body for peak performance. He pulled out the largest stainless-steel bowl he owned and began preparing his pre-mission meal: a massive, modified version of Gyūdon (Beef Bowl).
He took nearly two pounds of his regenerated flesh and sliced it thinly. He sautéed it rapidly with large quantities of sweet onions and then simmered it in a savory, concentrated broth made of soy sauce, mirin, and sake, adding extra ginger and brown sugar to forcefully override the subtle metallic flavor. The broth was purposefully reduced until it became a thick, almost syrupy glaze, ensuring every bite was saturated with flavor and calories.
He piled the sweet and savory, steaming meat mixture high over an immense mound of white rice—a double portion designed to supply the necessary carbohydrates for his cursed energy reserves. This meal was a heavy, dense caloric charge, perfectly engineered to allow him to fight at maximum strength for hours without suffering burnout or metabolic crash.
"Hey, Izuku," Wasuke said from the massive mouth on Izuku's abdomen. Since Izuku was in his own apartment, he had his jacket off, fully revealing his four arms and mouth on his stomach. "Do you really think this is a good idea?" Wasuke continued, his voice muffled between mouthfuls of the Gyūdon. "If we get caught doing this, there's no chance we can ever become heroes."
Izuku looked down at his brother with a solemn expression. "We have no choice. Giran scammed us out of our prize money. If we don't take this job, we'll be struggling to survive next month. If this job goes well, we can finally break away from Giran's influence and apply for a hero school. Plus, weed isn't a high-priority substance in this day and age. So the police aren't likely to launch a major bust for it."
"I guess you're right," Wasuke conceded. "By the way, Izuku, what time is it?"
Izuku glanced at the small, cheap clock on the wall, and his eyes widened. The time was 10:10 pm. "Shit. We've got to go." Izuku instantly began devouring the rest of the meal and shoving the unclean dishes into the sink.
"I told you we should have invested in a damn phone!" Wasuke grumbled.
"Phones are too expensive," Izuku retorted, pulling his black hoodie back on and strapping his duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked at the address scribbled on the note in his hand. "Let's just get this over with."
10:59 pm An Alley Outside of the Warehouse
"Where the hell is, man?!" Shio said as he walked back in forth with a duffel bag on his arm. "He should have been here ten minutes ago!"
"Patience, Shio," Shogo said while looking at a watch on his arm. "He should be here any second now."
Suddenly, Ryomen Sukuna landed right in front of them from the rooftop.
"Where the hell have you been, man?! Shio asked, clearly frustrated at Sukuna's last-minute arrival.
"Sorry for the delay," The masked man said courteously. "I lost track of time preparing for the job."
"It's fine, Ryomen," Shogo replied, walking towards the Warehouse. "You are right on schedule."
As the three men began to walk inside of the warehouse, Izuku noticed that they were missing someone. "Where is the sniper?" Izuku asked.
"Silencer is on a nearby rooftop," The man in the durag replied to Izuku's question. "If anything goes wrong, we will be the first people that know."
Shogo then pulled out a mini keycard from his pocket, unshrunnk, and then swiped it against a heavy metal access door discreetly set into the side of the warehouse's loading dock. The door unlocked with a dull thunk and a low, mechanized groan.
The building itself was enormous—a rectangular block of corrugated metal and faded gray concrete, typical of the industrial edge of Hosu. The area immediately outside was asphalt, cracked and littered with pallets and discarded wrappers, smelling strongly of brine from the nearby harbor.
Shogo slipped through the door first, then Shio, and finally Izuku.
The interior was cavernous and cold, illuminated only by a few sickly yellow security lights strung high up in the steel rafters. Long, distorted shadows stretched across the concrete floor, broken up by immense stacks of wooden pallets and towering shelves laden with unmarked boxes shrink-wrapped in black plastic. The air was heavy, thick with the smell of dust, decay, and the faint, unmistakable scent of chemicals and salt air. It was clear this building was actively used for storing valuable cargo.
At the far end of the warehouse, near an open loading bay door that shimmered with the distant streetlights, a small group of figures was waiting, their forms barely visible in the gloom. The drug deal was about to begin.
Shogo took his position in the middle of the empty concrete floor. "Let's get this done quickly," he said, nodding to Shio.
Shio shrugged in his oversized jersey and began walking toward the waiting figures, who were holding a heavy duffel bag of their own. "Alright, let's see the goods."
Izuku, using his four eyes, watched the buyers approach. Their postures were too rigid, their movements too practiced for low-level villains. They moved with the unmistakable, disciplined coordination of trained law enforcement. Finally, Izuku was able to see that their uniforms under their coats were identical to those worn by the Hosu City Police Department.
"Wasuke, looks like you were right," Izuku muttered under his mask. "It was a trap."
Just then, Shogo's wrist vibrated as a text message came in. His usually placid face twisted into a face of pure shock. Finally aware of his betrayal.
WHAM
Before Shio could even reach the buyers, the massive metal loading door to the main dock slammed open with a concussive shockwave. Ingenium, the Turbo Hero, stood framed in the opening.
Ingenium was a figure of uncompromising heroism. His armor was a gleaming shell of futuristic chrome and deep blue, built for speed and impact. The angular helmet obscured his expression, but the jet exhausts lining his elbows were already glowing faintly red, humming with the contained power of his Engine Quirk—a clear sign he was primed to strike.
Stepping out from behind Ingenium was Manual, the Water Hose Hero. Manual looked less imposing, wearing standard hero gear with a blue and white color scheme, his costume built for functionality. His most notable feature was the complex, layered piping visible around his wrists and forearms, designed to manage the flow of his Water Hose Quirk.
Behind the two Pros surged a squad of other Hosu Heroes and police officers.
"You are all under arrest!" one of the buyers shouted, ripping open his coat to reveal a police badge. The others followed suit, producing capture weapons.
Chaos erupted.
"DAMN YOU HEROOOOEESSSSS!" Shio roared, his frustration finally snapping. He yanked the durag from his head, his blue, wavy hair instantly activating his Quirk. A pressurized column of water shot out from his scalp, aimed indiscriminately at the heroes and the police. His escape attempt was a desperate gamble to create a diversion.
But Shio was unlucky. Standing next to Ingenium was Manual, the Water Hose Hero, whose own mastery of water was far superior. Manual raised his hand, and Shio's volatile jet was instantly encapsulated and redirected back at him. The heavy, blunt force of his own water struck Shio squarely in the chest, dropping him in an unconscious, soaking heap onto the cold concrete.
Izuku didn't hesitate. His eyes snapped to the far wall. A large, grimy window near the ceiling shattered silently from a precise, high-speed impact. Through the jagged hole, Izuku could see the dark silhouette of Silencer positioned on a distant rooftop, confirming her involvement in the rescue. Slumped near that very window was the figure of the Pro Hero Native, incapacitated and covered in gunshot marks—a clear victim of Silencer's marksmanship.
The police opened fire immediately, their non-lethal, high-velocity rounds aimed at the massive, exposed figures of Izuku of Shogo. Izuku didn't flinch. He spun, placing his immense body between the line of fire and where Shogo was still stunned by the betrayal. Izuku enhanced his body with cursed energy, forming a thick, visible blue aura just inches from his skin. The heavy, rubber-tipped bullets slammed into the aura with continuous, loud THWACKS, the kinetic energy absorbed and dissipated by the raw power of his Quirk to protect the scared man.
"Shogo!" Izuku shouted at the still-shocked man. "Shrink into my hand!"
Shogo, snapping out of his shock, quickly activated his Quirk and turned into a tiny, marble-sized figure on the floor. Izuku stooped down, scooped up the miniature salesman, and with a grunt, hurled the tiny man through the shattered window toward the distant sniper.
Without waiting, Izuku used his immense leg strength to leap and smash through the roof of the warehouse, the corrugated metal buckling with a deafening roar that momentarily stunned the incoming Heroes. He landed heavily on the adjacent rooftop, leaving the confusion below.
Silencer, catching the miniature Shogo in one hand with terrifying precision, looked up just as Ingenium's engine roared to life below. She secured the tiny man and activated the second aspect of her Quirk. The sound-dampening field around her shifted, focusing on propulsion rather than silence. She shot off the rooftop with incredible velocity, moving at near sound speed, creating a faint sonic wave as she tore down the street, Ingenium instantly giving chase below.
Izuku began his escape across the rooftops, his four powerful limbs easily traversing the gaps, the weight of his gauntlets giving his jumps brutal momentum.
"I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!" Wasuke shouted at Izuku from inside of his mask. "WHY DON'T YOU EVER LISTEN TO ME BEFORE WE DO ANY OF THESE STUPID FUCKING PLANS?!"
"Yeah, I know Wasuke!" Izuku shouted back at his brother, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. "But at least we have a chance to run away. Besides Ingeium, no other hero in Hosu should be able to catch up with us!
WHOOSHH
"Are you sure about that, Villain!?"
A sudden jet of focused air kicked Izuku right in the face. Izuku then got kicked into a rooftop, bouncing off the roof three times before he was able to land on his feet. The top right side of his mask was cracked open, revealing two of his four eyes. Izuku then saw a man in a yellow fight suit land right in front of him.
The hero was short and wiry, his age evident in the wrinkles around his eyes, but his movement defied his appearance. He wore a simple, functional hero costume: an old-fashioned, bright yellow flight suit with heavy, padded boots. The most striking element was the constant, low whine of acceleration that followed him, and the faint traces of yellow exhaust puffing from the soles of his boots as he used his quirk to control his movements and launch himself like a living projectile.
Izuku's perception instantly reached the core of the hero's power. His quirk factor was a domain of perfectly compressed, focused atmosphere—a tireless, miniature reactor of pure kinetic force. It resembled a small, highly polished turbine chamber, where a ghostly, compressed reflection of the old man himself was constantly pumping raw kinetic energy into the core, causing it to gather and immediately expel bursts of golden-yellow wind through tiny, unseen nozzles. It wasn't about mass or volume; it was about the instantaneous, flawless conversion of air into propulsion, reflecting the veteran hero's conscious, masterful control over his quirk with zero wasted energy.
"Well damn, guess I'm getting rusty." The pro hero smirked to himself. "Back in my heyday, you would have been knocked unconscious from that kick."
"Old man, you're in my way," Izuku growled, immediately entering a combat stance. 'Who the hell is he?' Izuku thought to himself. 'I have never seen him in Hosu before, and I don't recognize him in the top 300 either.' Izuku then heals his bleeding forehead using Reversed Cursed Technique. 'With a kick like that, even without protecting myself with cursed energy. He would have to be at least in the top 100. Is he a retired hero they called in?'
"Wow," the old man then replied in shock. "It's really been that long since I did hero work again. You don't even know my name?" The pro then signs and gets into some sort of runner stance. "Anyways, so should respect your elders and call them by their real names."
The retired pro became a flickering blur, circling Izuku with casual speed. Izuku lashed out with a powerful punch, channeling his cursed energy, but the hero was already gone.
"And my name, brat, is Gran Torino!"
Gran Torino, without warning, slammed a precise, lightning-fast kick directly into Izuku's torso. The strike was small but carried the full, focused force of his Quirk. The impact hit Izuku like a freight train, and the sheer kinetic energy instantly lifted his massive body off the roof.
Izuku soared backward, smashing through the low perimeter wall and plunging seventy feet down onto the grimy asphalt street below with a ground-shaking crash. The force of the landing cracked the concrete under his massive frame.
Izuku landed heavily on his feet, creating a crater in the asphalt, but the shock was immense. He hunched over, spitting a mouthful of blood and broken teeth from his second mouth onto the ground. The impact had been staggering, but his massive frame and regenerative abilities kept him standing. He was on the street now, far from the rooftops, with his masked face contorted with rage.
Gran Torino landed softly on the edge of the rooftop directly above him. "You've got decent durability, kid. Let's see how you handle this."
'Damn,' Izuku thought to himself. 'He may not be as strong as her, but he is definitely fast, or maybe even faster than that Zenin Girl. That propulsion quirk is going to be a problem. Let's see how he does with my slashes.
Izuku immediately switched to ranged tactics, launching a series of high-speed, invisible Dismantle slashes toward the veteran hero. Gran Torino, due to his years of fighting as a pro, saw the masked man's hands slashing towards him and was forced to accelerate even further, the bursts of yellow exhaust from his boots turning into continuous lines of light as he dodged through the molecular threats. The cursed slashes carved deep, smoking trenches into the building behind him.
Gran Torino then looked behind him to see that a proportion of the building behind him had slash marks that weren't there before the fight. 'So he can also fire invisible telekinetic slashes? I have to make sure I watch his hands,'the veteran hero thought, his eyes narrowing in calculation.
Gran Torino quickly turned his head to get back into the fight. He used his Quirk to launch himself directly at Izuku's colossal body, slamming a precise, high-speed kick against Izuku's primary gauntlet. The impact was nothing to the heavy steel, but the shockwave rattled Izuku's entire arm, forcing him to shift his stance.
Izuku seized the moment, using his massive size to change the entire battlefield. He brought out his hidden secondary pair of arms into play, the gauntlets scraping against the fabric of his hoodie. He unleashed a furious, wide-area attack: "WAVE OF DISMANTLES!"
This was no longer precision. The invisible slashes erupted outward in a dome, intended to shred the entire street and force Gran Torino to retreat. The old hero responded instantly, using a burst of maximum acceleration to vault straight up into the night sky, barely clearing the deadly zone of the molecular slicing.
"You're going to have to try harder than that brat," as Gran Torino stares down at Izuku with a grin.
Izuku didn't wait, immediately pressing the advantage. He launched a huge, invisible Dismantle at the airborne hero—a focused attack meant to track the target's weak points.
Gran Torino, however, used the peak of his jump to execute a perfect mid-air reversal, kicking off the air itself with a downward-aimed jet. He descended like a missile, forcing Izuku to block.
CLANG
Gran Torino slammed both boots onto Izuku's four gauntlets, driving the massive boy down onto one knee.
"You've got so much power, kid, but you're barely using half of it!" Gran Torino barked, his voice vibrating from the effort. "Why hide those other arms anyway? Aren't you trying to kill me!?"
Izuku roared, channeling a burst of raw cursed energy to blow Gran Torino backward. The hero shot away like a cork from a bottle, landing lightly fifty feet away.
Izuku regained his footing, his frustration palpable. 'Damnit! He is right. I can't hold back against him. Even if I used all of my power, I doubt I can beat him in a fair one-on-one fight right now. If I don't finish this fight quickly, all the other pro heroes will get here, and there's no way I can beat them all in a fight. Wait! Earlier, when I launched my first set of slashes. The old man looked back in surprise and then started to look at my hands.'
"Wasuke," Izuku whispered to his brother.
"I thought I wasn't supposed to talk to you when you're fighting," Wasuke whispered to his brother sarcastically.
"Not when I need your help! Listen! The old bastard isn't able to see my slashes, but he's fast enough to see my hands. I need you to chant and launch an amped dismantle, so I wouldn't have to move my arms to hit him."
"But wouldn't my slash only weaken him if I throw them?"Wasuke asked.
"Not if I also use cursed energy and a binding vow to pour all my energy to help boost your chanting." Izuku then looked up at Gran Torino in the air. "As soon as I distract him, start chanting."
"HEY, OLD MAN!" Izuku then taunts Gran Torino. "DIDN'T YOU ALSO SAY THAT A SINGLE ONE OF YOUR KICKS WOULD HAVE KNOCKED ME OUT ALREADY?! YOU HOLDING BACK ON ME YOU OLD GEEZERR?!"
Gran Torino, fueled by the insult and sensing the young man's renewed focus, shot forward, smiling with a blinding burst of speed. Izuku raised his four gauntleted arms to guard.
CRACK! The first wave of impacts struck with crushing, focused force. Izuku's powerful muscles immediately tightened to absorb the energy, but the kinetic shock was immense. His entire body was instantly covered in heavy, spiderweb bruising blooming under his clothes, and the heavy Oshiwa Gauntlets on his primary arms began to groan, fine fissures appearing in the dark, heavy steel.
"Scale of the Dragon"
FSSSH! The assault continued, a staccato drumbeat of crushing force that never let up. The steel of his gauntlets reached its limit. With a metallic scream, the gauntlets on his secondary arms shattered, exploding outward in a shower of broken metal shards. Now, only his exposed fists and his two primary, cracked gauntlets remained to block the blows. Izuku's focus was entirely on defense, enduring the onslaught, his muscles screaming under the repetitive kinetic shock.
"Recoil"
THWACK! Gran Torino unleashed a devastating combo, targeting the now-weakened primary gauntlets and Izuku's exposed ribs. The remaining heavy steel gauntlets buckled and tore free from his wrists, sending them skittering across the street. Izuku was now completely unprotected. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his cracked Oni Mask, and his cloak was ripped and dark with fresh blood soaking through the fabric where the kicks landed.
"Twin Meteors"
Gran Torino then rushes in at Izuku's head for his final kick to try to subdue and knock him unconscious to help Ingenium and his team catch the final two suspects.
Just as Gran Torino committed to the final strike, one invisible, impossibly sharp Dismantle was ready to erupt from Izuku's torso—not from his hands, but from the point where Wasuke's chanting reached its peak concentration. The slash was aimed directly at the veteran hero's trajectory. Gran Torino was so close, moving so fast, that he wouldn't have time to dodge this final attack.
But in the heat of the frantic, destructive exchange, one of Izuku's previous, wide-area Dismantles had severely compromised the structural edge of the neighboring building. A loud crack echoed through the air as a massive section of stone facade and steel support tore loose and began to plummet toward the street below.
Izuku and Wasuke glanced down. Directly beneath the falling debris was a young couple, startled by the noise and frozen in place, utterly unaware of the crushing tonnage bearing down on them.
Izuku had a fraction of a second to choose: maintain the attack on Gran Torino, which would guarantee his escape, or intervene.
However, Wasuke chose for him.
Suddenly, a huge invisible slash came out of nowhere, facing the falling debris.
With one giant invisible, molecular slash, the massive block of stone and metal was instantly shredded into harmless powder and small, manageable chunks that rained down lightly around the confused couple.
Izuku stood, momentarily exposed and off-balance, his energy focused outward, but the couple was safe.
That was all the opening Gran Torino needed. The hero, who had watched the heroic act in stunned silence, rocketed forward with a flash of yellow light. He delivered a thunderous, precise kick directly to the back of Izuku's head, snapping the immense boy's neck forward.
The red Oni Mask cracked down the center. Izuku Midoriya, Ryomen Sukuna, the King of the Masquerade, collapsed instantly, the ¥4,000,000 job ending with the cold asphalt of the street rising to meet him.