Yujiro Hanama was now ten years old.
His body was no longer that of a normal child. Each movement carried weight, precision, control. A decade old and already a predator among sheep.
The staff at the orphanage no longer scolded him for training too hard. They didn't ask about the bloodstains on his shirt or the cracks in the brick walls behind the building. They simply looked the other way.
They were afraid.
And they were right to be.
Yujiro didn't train for strength. He trained for purpose. Strength was inevitable.
It happened on a cold evening. One of those quiet, brittle nights where the silence itself felt like a scream waiting to erupt.
Miss Maru had sent Yujiro out to buy candles—the power had flickered twice that week.
He didn't make it halfway down the block.
A truck exploded down the street in a fireball of black and orange. Glass shattered in a dozen shopfronts. A shockwave followed that knocked most to their knees.
Yujiro remained standing.
Then the screams started.
A villain emerged through the smoke—a mass of shifting muscle, tendons twisting like serpents across his frame. His quirk distorted him—his arms bulged, veins flared under skin that no longer looked human. One eye was covered by a steel plate bolted to his skull.
He grabbed a bystander and hurled her against a wall like garbage.
Blood painted the sidewalk.
Something in Yujiro's chest snapped.
He didn't run. He didn't scream.
He walked.
A boy. Ten years old. Approaching a monster.
The villain turned, snarling. "You wanna die first, brat? Fine."
Yujiro didn't answer.
The villain charged.
He swung a meat-cleaver of a fist down with all the force his warped body could muster.
Yujiro stepped inside the arc. His elbow slammed into the man's jaw. Bone met bone. Something cracked.
The villain stumbled.
Yujiro's foot pivoted. He twisted, then drove a palm strike into the villain's throat.
He choked. Spat blood.
Yujiro didn't stop.
He grabbed the man's wrist and ripped.
The sound wasn't clean. It was wet. Ligaments tore. The joint separated.
The villain screamed.
Yujiro kneed him in the gut hard enough to fold him in half.
"You hurt her," Yujiro said, voice low. "So I'm going to hurt you."
He punched the villain's ribs. Once. Twice. Ten times. Faster than most could see.
Blood spewed from the man's mouth. His body crumpled.
Yujiro stood over him, chest heaving, face spattered red.
And he kept hitting.
People screamed. Not at the villain.
At Yujiro.
He didn't hear them. The roar in his head drowned everything.
He only stopped when another presence dropped from the sky.
The wind exploded outward.
And there he was.
All Might.
The Symbol of Peace landed with a quake. He expected chaos.
He didn't expect to see a ten-year-old boy covered in blood, standing over what used to be a living man.
Yujiro turned.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment… the world stopped.
All Might walked toward him slowly. Not in aggression. Not even in concern.
In curiosity.
"You're not afraid," he said.
Yujiro's voice was even. "Should I be?"
All Might looked at the broken body behind the boy. "He would've killed everyone on this street. You stopped him."
Yujiro nodded. "He didn't deserve mercy."
All Might studied him. The bloody fists. The stillness in his expression. The fact that he hadn't even wiped the blood from his cheek.
"You have power," All Might said quietly.
Yujiro finally looked up. "Power doesn't make anyone special."
"No," All Might replied. "But what you do with it does."
A beat of silence.
Then Yujiro turned to walk away. "I don't need praise. Or lectures."
All Might didn't stop him. He just watched.
Something flickered behind his eyes—not judgment. Not pride.
Recognition.
Back at the orphanage, Miss Maru burst into tears when she saw him—his face bruised, shirt soaked in blood.
But Yujiro walked past her.
He went to the bathroom. Washed his hands slowly. The water ran red, then pink, then clear.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
His reflection looked back with no expression.
Then… the corner of his mouth curled.
Just slightly.
He didn't smile because he won.
He smiled because he felt something.
Because for the first time…
The monster inside him felt satisfied.