The local clinic smelled like cheap antiseptic and stale coffee.
Izuku sat on the examination table, watching the tired doctor wrap his forearm in a pale blue cast.
The bone had been set. The swelling was going down.
It still hurt like hell.
"You're lucky it was a clean break," the doctor said, writing on a clipboard. "No heavy lifting with that arm for at least six weeks. Understand?"
'If only you knew.'
"Yes, ma'am."
She gave him one last disapproving look—the kind that said I know you're not telling me everything—and sent him on his way.
Izuku walked home in silence.
His right arm hung in a sling. Every jostle sent a dull throb radiating through his radius.
But his mind was somewhere else entirely.
'Six weeks.'
Six weeks until the cast came off.
Six weeks to plan.
Six weeks to figure out how to build a body strong enough to wield the power of a god without imploding.
He turned the corner onto his street, his sneakers scuffing against the pavement.
'Okay. Let's do the math.'
The Shadow Monarch's power was necrotic mana.
Mana that corroded living tissue if the vessel wasn't strong enough to contain it.
Raising one dead fish had fractured his bone.
Which meant his current body could handle approximately zero-point-one shadow soldiers before catastrophic failure.
'Not great.'
He needed density. Muscle mass. Bone strength. Tendon durability.
He needed to turn this fourteen-year-old quirkless body into a fortress.
'No shortcuts. No quirks. Just iron and discipline.'
He pushed open the front door.
"Izuku!"
Inko was on him before he even got his shoes off.
She grabbed his shoulders, eyes red and puffy, mascara streaked down her cheeks.
"What happened? The school called and said you fell—why didn't you call me? Are you okay? Does it hurt?"
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Izuku looked at her.
Really looked.
She was small. Soft. The kind of mom who cried over every scraped knee and bad grade.
The original Izuku would've broken down. Apologized. Cried with her.
But he wasn't that Izuku anymore.
"I'm fine, Mom."
His voice came out steady. Calm.
Inko blinked, caught off guard.
"It's just a fracture," he continued, gently pulling away from her grip. "Clean break. Six weeks and I'll be good as new."
"But—"
"I tripped near the koi pond. Stupid accident. That's all."
He gave her a small, reassuring smile.
It felt wrong on his face.
Inko stared at him like he'd just spoken a foreign language.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
'No. I died, got isekai'd into a shonen anime, and now I have death magic that's actively trying to kill me.'
"Yeah. I'm sure."
He walked past her, heading toward his room.
"I'm gonna rest for a bit. I'll be down for dinner."
She didn't follow.
He could feel her watching him, confused and worried.
'Sorry, Mom. I'll explain when I figure out how to explain any of this.'
Izuku closed his bedroom door and locked it.
The room was small. Cluttered with All Might posters, action figures, and stacks of hero analysis notebooks.
It felt like someone else's life.
'Because it is.'
He crossed to the mirror hanging on the back of his closet door.
His reflection stared back.
Pale skin. Messy green hair. A face that still had baby fat clinging to the jawline.
He pulled his shirt off with his good hand.
'Oh. Wow. Okay.'
He was skinny.
Not lean. Not wiry.
Skinny in the way that made you look breakable.
His ribs were visible. His shoulders were narrow. His arms looked like they'd snap if someone shook his hand too hard.
'This is what I'm working with.'
He pressed his fingers against his sternum, feeling the faint pulse of that cold, unnatural presence coiled in his chest.
The shadows.
They were still there. Waiting.
Hungry.
'Alright. Step one: don't die from my own power.'
He grabbed a blank notebook and a pen from his desk.
'How do you build a vessel for a god?'
He wrote one word: Iron.
No flashy martial arts. No U.A. obstacle courses.
Just heavy, brutal weightlifting to tear his muscle fibers down and force them to grow back thicker.
Denser bone. Stronger tendons.
He needed to eat until he was sick, lift until his hands bled, and sleep.
Then repeat it.
He looked at his broken arm in the sling.
'Upper body is out. Fine.'
A cold smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
'Good thing I don't need my radius to squat.'
The temperature in the room dropped.
Just a degree. Maybe two.
But Izuku felt it.
The cold presence in his chest stirred, like something enormous shifting in its sleep.
He looked down at his casted arm.
The dull throb was still there, a constant reminder of how weak he was.
How fragile.
'One fish. That's all it took to break me.'
He clenched his good hand into a fist.
'Next time, I'm raising an army.'
But first, he needed to survive the process.
He stood, walked back to the mirror, and met his own eyes.
"Six weeks," he said aloud.
His reflection didn't answer.
The shadow in his chest pulsed once, cold and patient.
Waiting.
TO BE CONTINUED