My Hero Academia: Limitless

As we walked back to the car, Mom's security detail formed a tight perimeter around us. The media had caught wind of our presence on campus - their cameras and microphones pressed against the human barrier like waves against a seawall.

I waited until we were safely inside the car before speaking. "I'm not working with no damn HPSC."

Mom burst out laughing - not her polite social laugh, but the real one that made her sound decades younger. "Oh thank god," she said, wiping her eyes. "I thought I was going to have to talk you out of it."

"What, you think I'm stupid? The way you and Nezu reacted?" I shook my head. "Besides, I've got better options."

"Speaking of options..." She pulled out her phone, scrolling through what looked like social media metrics. "What do you want to do with your newfound fame?"

I glanced at the numbers over her shoulder. My follower count had exploded since USJ - apparently fighting an artificial human made for good publicity.

"I mean, I'm not against using it," I said carefully. "But it needs to feel real. No PR team managing my posts or whatever."

"Absolutely not." She locked her phone, giving me her full attention. "The moment people smell manufactured content, your credibility tanks. Look at Endeavor."

"Yeah, his social media's painful."

"Because he lets his agency control everything." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But you'll need some guidance. Basic media training at least."

I shifted in my seat, trying to find a position that didn't make my ribs scream. "Fine. But I post what I want, when I want."

"Within reason."

"Mom."

"What? I'm not trying to control you. But there are certain..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Legal considerations. NDAs. Quirk usage regulations."

"I know how to avoid getting sued."

"Do you?" She raised an eyebrow. "Did you know posting videos of unauthorized quirk use can result in fines up to ten million yen?"

"...okay maybe I need some legal guidance."

The car turned onto the expressway, heading toward our penthouse in Minato. Mom's driver, Tanaka, expertly weaved through traffic while maintaining a speed that wouldn't attract attention.

"So what's your angle?" Mom asked.

"Hm?"

"Your brand. Your image. What story do you want to tell?"

I looked out the window, watching Tokyo's skyline slide past. "I don't want to be another All Might clone."

"Good. The market's saturated with those already."

"But I also don't want to be..." I gestured vaguely. "You know. Fake deep. Like those heroes who post philosophical quotes over gym selfies."

Mom snorted. "God, yes, please don't be that."

"I just want to be..." I trailed off, trying to find the right words.

"Real?"

"Yeah. But like, actually real. Not 'carefully curated authenticity' real."

She nodded slowly. "It's risky. Being genuine means being vulnerable sometimes."

"Better than being plastic."

"True." She pulled out her tablet, making quick notes. "We'll need to coordinate with U.A.'s PR department. Set some boundaries about what you can and can't share about school."

"Already got that covered. Signed the forms during orientation."

"Those were basic NDAs. This is different." She looked up from her tablet. "After USJ, you're not just a student anymore. You're a public figure."

The weight of those words hit me. "That's... weird to think about."

"Get used to it." She set the tablet aside. "The media's already calling you the 'First Year Phenom.'"

I groaned. "Please tell me that's not sticking."

"Would you prefer 'Baby-Faced Brawler'?"

"I hate everything about this conversation."

Mom laughed again - still the real one. "Welcome to hero society, sweetheart. Where your brand matters almost as much as your quirk."

"Speaking of quirks..." I flexed my hand, remembering that moment during the USJ fight. That brief touch of something vast and incomprehensible. "We should probably talk about what happened."

Her laughter faded. "Yes, we should." She pressed a button on the armrest, raising the privacy barrier between us and Tanaka. "What exactly did you experience?"

I tried to put it into words. "It was like... you know how my quirk usually feels? Like I'm manipulating the space between things?"

She nodded.

"This was different. Deeper. Like I wasn't just manipulating space anymore, I was... part of it? No, that's not right." I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. "I can't explain it properly."

"Try."

"It was like... okay, you know how a 2D drawing of a cube isn't actually a cube? It's just a representation of one?"

"Yes..."

"It felt like I'd been looking at that drawing my whole life, thinking I understood cubes. And then suddenly I was seeing an actual cube for the first time." I paused. "Except it wasn't a cube. It was... everything. All of space. All at once."

Mom was very still. "And you can't access this anymore?"

"No. I've tried, but..." I shrugged. "It's like trying to remember a dream. I know it happened, but I can't quite grab hold of it."

She was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"Just Ka-" I caught myself. "No. Nobody else."

If she noticed my slip, she didn't show it. "Good. Keep it that way."

"Why?"

"Because power like that attracts attention. The wrong kind of attention."

"Like the HPSC?"

"Among others." She turned back to me. "Promise me something?"

"What?"

"Don't try to force it. That level of power... it'll come when it's ready. Trying to rush it could be dangerous."

I thought about arguing, but something in her expression stopped me. "Okay. I promise."

The car pulled into our building's underground parking. As we rode the elevator to the penthouse, Mom's phone chimed with a message.

"Ah," she said, reading it.

"What is it?"

"Just business stuff."

The elevator doors opened. Mom's security team did a quick sweep - standard procedure - while we waited.

Finally, her head of security gave the all-clear. We stepped into the penthouse, and I immediately headed for my room.

"Where are you going?" Mom called after me.

"Shower, then bed. I'm wiped."

"What about dinner?"

"Not hungry."

"Yoichi." Her tone made me stop. "You need to eat. Your body's still healing."

I sighed. "Fine. But can we do takeout? I'm not up for a whole production."

"Already ordered. Your usual from Marugame should be here in twenty minutes."

I turned back, surprised. "You ordered before we left U.A.?"

She smiled. "I know my son."

"...thanks, Mom."

"Go shower. I'll call you when food arrives."

I stripped off the fancy clothes Mom had brought, wincing as the movement pulled at my ribs.

My phone rang just as I was about to step into the shower. Kuro's contact photo - an old training photo where he'd posed like a stereotypical kung fu master - filled the screen.

"Old man," I answered, sitting on the edge of the tub. "I was just about to-"

"Your footwork was sloppy," he interrupted. "During the USJ fight. You telegraphed that roundhouse so badly a blind man could've dodged it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Hello to you too. Yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking. The internal bleeding's mostly stopped."

"Internal bleeding wouldn't have happened if you'd maintained proper guard position." Papers rustled in the background. "I watched the security footage. Your stance was all over the place."

"I was fighting an artificial human designed to kill All Might. Pretty sure perfect form wasn't the priority."

"Excuses!" Something crashed on his end. "Damn cat. No, not you Mittens, the other- stop knocking over my- anyway, where was I? Right. Excuses are for people who accept mediocrity."

"Did you seriously call just to critique my fighting?"

"Someone has to. These fancy hero school teachers probably praise every little thing you do." More rustling. "Ah ha! Here's the timestamp. That spin kick? Amateur hour. You left yourself completely open."

I leaned back against the wall, unable to stop the small smile forming. This was Kuro's version of 'I was worried about you' - pointing out every flaw he could find.

"The spin kick worked though."

"It worked because your opponent was stupid enough to fall for it. A real fighter would've gutted you mid-rotation."

"Good thing it wasn't a real fighter then."

"Ha! Good thing." Something else crashed. "Mittens I swear to- no, put that down- sorry, the cat's being a menace today."

"You could just put her in another room."

"And miss her adorable face? Never." His voice turned serious again. "Listen, kid. That power you touched? It's not going anywhere. It'll come back when it's ready. When you're ready."

"Mom said the same thing."

"Smart woman, your mother. Terrible taste in tea, but smart." He paused. "How are you really doing?"

I looked down at my bruised chest. "Honestly? Better than I probably should be."

"Mm. The benefits of youth. I remember when I could bounce back from fights like that." He chuckled. "Now I need three different heat pads just to get out of bed."

"That's because you're ancient."

"Respect your elders, brat." Another crash. "For heaven's sake- Mittens, that scroll is older than Japan itself- sorry, gotta go prevent a historical tragedy. Call me when you're cleared for training. We'll fix that abysmal footwork."

"Yes, sensei," I said, loading the words with as much sarcasm as possible.

"And Yoichi?"

"Yeah?"

"Good job not dying."

He hung up before I could respond. Classic Kuro - couldn't let any genuine emotion sit for more than half a second.

I set my phone down and finally stepped into the shower, letting the hot water ease some of the lingering soreness. My mind drifted back to the USJ fight, trying to analyze it the way Kuro would.

He wasn't entirely wrong about the footwork. I'd gotten sloppy near the end, relying more on raw power than technique.

But what bothered me more was how much I'd enjoyed it. Not the violence itself, but the challenge. The thrill of pushing myself to the absolute limit. Was that normal? Was I supposed to feel guilty about that?

A knock at the bathroom door interrupted my thoughts.

"Food's here," Mom called through the door. "Don't let it get cold."

"Be right out."

I shut off the water and dried off carefully, mindful of the tender spots. The bruises looked better already - although I wished I got looked at by recovery girl.

My phone screen lit up with a message as I was getting dressed. Unknown number.

[Regarding your performance at USJ - we should talk. - HPSC]

I deleted it without responding. They could talk to my mother's army of lawyers if they wanted to push it.

Another message popped up immediately after.

[Your quirk's potential is being wasted at U.A. We can help you reach heights they can't even imagine.]

Delete.

[Think about what you could become with proper guidance.]

I blocked the number and pulled on a clean shirt. They'd probably try again from different numbers, but that was tomorrow's problem.

The smell of Marugame udon hit me as soon as I opened the bathroom door. Mom had set everything up on the kitchen counter - bowls, chopsticks, and those fancy cloth napkins she insisted on using even for takeout.

"Better?" she asked as I sat down.

"Yeah." I broke apart my chopsticks. "Kuro called."

"Mm. To criticize your fighting form, I assume?"

"Got it in one." I mixed the noodles, watching the steam rise. "Think he's right though. I got sloppy."

"You were fighting for your life against an engineered weapon. I think some sloppiness is forgivable."

I thought about Kuro's words. "A real fighter would've gutted me mid-rotation."

"A real fighter wouldn't have survived at all." She set down her chopsticks. "You did what you had to do. Won the fight, saved your teacher, protected your classmates. Everything else is just details."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts. Eat your food before it gets cold."

I knew that tone. Discussion over.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in our own thoughts. The udon was perfect - exactly what my body needed after days of hospital food.

I looked down at my empty bowl, the lingering warmth of the udon settling comfortably in my stomach. Mom was still picking at her noodles - she always ate slowly, claiming it was better for digestion or something.

"Hey Mom?" I ventured, breaking the comfortable silence. "Want to watch Gundam?"

She paused mid-bite, chopsticks hovering. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Which series?"

"Iron-Blooded Orphans? We never finished season one."

"The one with the child soldiers and political intrigue?" She set down her chopsticks. "Bit on the nose, given today's conversations."

I hadn't even made that connection. "We can watch something else if-"

"No, no. It's perfect actually." She stood, gathering our empty bowls. "Give me ten minutes to change and make tea?"

"I'll set up the viewing room."