The moment seems to stretch out ad nauseum, her crouching in front of me while I sit frozen, waiting for her to use her quirk to decapitate me. Again, she never does.
I look at her.
A smile spreads on her face. The storm clouds retreat.
She ruffles my hair. "Clever boy."
"Is that a yes?"
"Hmmm…" She slides her hand down from my hair to my neck, long fingers tracing and hooking through the bomb pin there. "Your quirk isn't ideal for my line of work. It's not exactly subtle. But I think I can make it work."
My small shoulders sag, relief flooding my system. At least she's not trying to kill me. "So we're good?"
"We're good, little man."
"And you'll train me?"
Standing up, she smiles. "I'll whip you into shape, don't you worry. As long as you take care of my finances and you still act as a training dummy, I'll do it."
I let out a weary sigh. At least I've given myself some more breathing room. At least now I have other things to do besides stay locked up inside and get tortured every day.
All I can hope now is that she's a good teacher. Maybe not kind, I can't expect her to be kind, but I can hope that she's effective.
*
She is not a good teacher.
As the final months of summer draw to a close and the slight autumn chill begins to seep under my skin, our 'training' starts.
In the abandoned building by the train tracks, a few hundred meters away from her apartment, I get torn to shreds. The difference between now and a couple weeks ago? I am graciously allowed to fight back.
I laugh as I get back onto my feet, blood pouring from a closing wound that splits me shoulder to hip. Just because she allows me to fight back doesn't mean I can.
"Try again, make sure you actually try this time."
I grit my teeth. For the past few weeks, she barely let me use my quirk, instead insisting on basic hand to hand combat.
Her leg crashes into my ribcage and I'm sent hurtling across the dusty floor. "What good is a fancy quirk if you can't move your body?"
There's no air in my lungs. I wheeze. The pain is sharp.
"I'm…" I cough. "I'm only… seven."
"I was put through worse at your age." Her voice is cool as she approaches me, white hair flowing down her shoulders. "And I wasn't half as smart. Hah! Maybe that's your problem. Too smart for your own good."
I struggle to stand, but I manage it, my wounds closing, my ribcage clicking into place. Even without pulling the pin, my quirk still works, though only to a much lesser degree. My regeneration is slower, but it's still lightning fast compared to that of a normal person.
As long as I have blood.
She stands in front of me, tall, lean, and willowy, her body tailor made for this stupid style of martial arts she practices. It has no stances, no movements. It's barely a style. I should know, I used to like watching the UFC.
"You have bad habits," she says. "Learn how to fight before?"
I can't tell her I used to do boxing for two years before I quit. Too expensive. Who would believe that coming from a seven year old.
"My parents," I say, twisting the truth. "They hired tutors. Only self defense."
She decks me in the jaw before I can react. "Well, you'll have to unlearn everything. Boxing is all well and good, but it's outdated, not to mention terribly boring. Most fighting styles are like that, relics of a past where humans only had their bodies to rely on."
I spit out blood. "Let me guess, quirks changed that?"
"Ugh, can you just let me finish for once?" She pouts. "But yes. Nowadays, if you're learning traditional martial arts, you're probably wasting your time. You need a style that meshes with your quirk. The quirk is the body, the body is the quirk."
She comes at me again, all feints and misdirection. When I think I know where the next attack is coming from, I'm met with a sobering kick to the head. When I think I understand her patterns, I get my legs swept out from under me. When I finally understand it, when I see how her hips twist to drive a hook into my stomach, I'm met with nothing.
Then a kick to the temple.
I'm fighting a snake. That's the only explanation. I keep looking for patterns like a fool panning for gold, like I'm insane. She has no patterns.
I feel like a little mouse fighting a serpent toying with its food.
She takes me for a spin, elbows and light strikes to grab my attention while she disappears from my sight entirely. It takes a few seconds to realize we're standing back to back.
"This is something only I was taught," she says. "Well, there were others. But they're all dead now. It's perfect combat flexibility."
"Seems to me like you're just pulling tricks."
"That's because we're fighting quirkless," she says. "I need you to look at me and I need you to understand how I move. This isn't something I can teach, it's something you have to get used to intuitively."
She kicks me from behind and I'm sent stumbling.
"The only way you can do that…!" She's already charging at me. I ignore a feint, block a kick, but get my legs pulled from under me.
She presses her leg on my chest, leaning down, smirking. "Is by getting hit."
The pressure on my chest gets heavier and heavier until my ribs crack.
"I'm jealous of you, really," she says. "When I was learning this, I had to take breaks. I had to give my bruises and broken bones time to heal. You? You don't need breaks, do you?"
And she doesn't give me breaks. The 'training' (more like a completely one sided beating) goes on for hours at a time. Sunrise till sunset. By the end, by the time the sun sets and the night chill creeps into my bones, I barely feel human.
After hours upon hours of brutal combat training, there is nothing on my mind but the thought of fighting. My mind cannibalizes itself to keep up with the training, moulding itself until there is nothing but thoughts of combat.
I barely get tired, I'm never injured for long. That's my advantage. I can keep going. Not out of my own will, but I keep going because she will not stop until she sees the dullness in my eyes.
It is then, and only then, after hours, that she smiles.
"It's that time again. Quirk time."
'Quirk time' is just another step of training where we do the exact same thing, but we're allowed to use quirks. Of course, this just ends in me becoming a dummy for her slashing quirk.
But I'm getting closer now.
I can trade a few blows. I can avoid some slashes.
Every week I'm able to hit more, dodge more, get closer.
Closer until that final day, whenever it is.
Months. No. No way. I struggle not to laugh as I pull the pin. Am I a lunatic? Months to kill this? It'll take me years. Years. I have to take my time so when my chance comes, my victory will be guaranteed.
I will kill her.
After I'm sliced to pieces and put back together, I get my respite. Only after I become a shell do I get to rest. But even then, it's not really rest.
She ruffles my hair again for what feels like the hundredth time. "You're pretty good at this, little man."
As she walks across the warehouse floor to her shitty assassin hq setup that consists of a single laptop, leaving me alone and on my knees, I pull the pin again.
This is the time I actually train my quirk. This is the time I learn how to explode.
I'm not good at it at first. I can create explosions from any part of my body, but doing anything that requires any skill is beyond me. Creating bombs from my body like Reze is a step too far.
As the weeks pass, however, I get better at controlling my explosions. Sparks fly as I snap my fingers, sending arcing bullets of destruction at the empty barrels I designated as target practice.
I'm only a dozen feet away, but the explosive projectiles travel faster than I can blink. The shockwave is faint, my explosions are still not that powerful, but they still manage to rattle my small body.
I'm not getting any help because the woman has no idea how to help me with my quirk. Her only advice is that I keep using it, which I suppose is correct advice. The more I use it, the stronger it gets.
And so, there it is. My fourteen hour long training regiment. None of it would be possible without my regeneration, without her giving me blood when I need it.
But because of that ability, I progress at a blistering pace. I can feel myself getting stronger.
I collapse, my power fading, my explosions coming out as little more than smoke. The fuses that cover my arms like sleeves retreat into my skin as my body returns to normal. All that is left is a normal child, passed out on the cold, dusty floor of an abandoned warehouse.
One day, I will be more. But for now, this is all I am.
*
(3rd POV)
If there was one thing she didn't expect, it was that she would enjoy working while explosions rang off in the background. The child she had kidnapped turned out to be quite useful in making her stronger, but not only that, he was also scarily talented.
And smart. She couldn't forget that. He was a genius. He'd already figured out a way to launder her money.
She nearly foamed at the mouth when she found someone with those regenerative properties, already imagining how much stronger she'd get by having an undying live dummy. But he turned out to be way more useful than a dummy.
As she scrolled through her forums and IRCs for new jobs, she found the rhythmic noises of the explosions gone.
So, he'd finally passed out.
She'd never known a child to work so hard. Even when they raised her into a weapon at the Institute, not even those scientist freaks worked her this hard. She'd needed time to recover. He didn't.
At first, she was worried he'd die from exhaustion, so she tried to find his limit. He didn't have one. Aside from a few hours of sleep, he didn't need rest. He only needed blood.
She winced as her long fingers ran along her bandaged wrists. It was a good deal. He'd serve as an accountant and a training dummy, and in return, she'd train him. Not because she was kind, she thought, but because he could be even more useful if he was strong.
She walked over, crouching down next to the small boy and brushing the hair out of his face. She didn't even know his name. She never asked. Neither did he.
As she looked at his face, she realized that she knew nothing about the kid. Apart from being impossibly smart and rude, aside from the color of his hair and that of his eyes, she knew nothing.
That worked just fine with her.
She didn't want more.
----
A/N: Anyway, some main cast soon.
Currently at like 12 Powerstones, if we get to 100million by tomorrw I'm releasing a bonus chapter.