My Hero Academia: Heavenly Restriction

The Aldera uniform chafed against my raw skin. I adjusted the tie, studying my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Three hours of hauling junk had left its mark - faint scratches across my forearms, a bruise darkening on my shoulder. Nothing that would raise alarms, but enough to notice.

At least the shirt covers most of it.

The walk to school gave me time to catalog the differences in my body. Each step felt lighter than yesterday, muscles adapting faster than they should. Normal humans didn't recover this quickly. Normal humans didn't feel stronger after a single day of training.

But I'm not normal, am I?

Aldera Junior High rose before me, a monument to mediocrity. Students streamed through the gates, their morning chatter a dull roar. I spotted Bakugo ahead, his spiky hair unmistakable. His shoulders tensed as I approached, but he kept walking.

Interesting. The old Izuku would have shrunk away, grateful for being ignored. But I saw the slight hesitation in Bakugo's stride, the way his head tilted just enough to track my movement in his peripheral vision.

The sludge villain incident had changed things. Not enough for Bakugo to acknowledge Izuku directly - his pride wouldn't allow that. But enough to make him uncertain.

First period dragged. The teacher's voice faded into white noise as I reviewed Izuku's notebooks. His analysis was impressive, if unfocused. Pages of Quirk observations and hero statistics, but no practical applications. All theory, no execution.

"Midoriya!" The teacher's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. "Perhaps you'd like to solve this equation?"

I glanced at the board. Basic algebra. Child's play compared to calculating explosive force trajectories.

"X equals negative seven," I said without standing. "The polynomial factors to-"

"That's... correct." He frowned, thrown by my casual response. "Pay attention anyway."

Several students turned to stare. I met their gazes coolly until they looked away. Even this small act of defiance felt foreign in Izuku's body. His memories suggested a pattern of shrinking, apologizing, making himself small.

Not anymore.

History class proved more interesting. This world's development had diverged significantly after Quirks appeared. Power dynamics, social structures, even basic technology evolved differently when a percentage of the population gained supernatural abilities.

I took actual notes this time, comparing the timeline to my own world's history. The emergence of Quirks had fractured society in ways my universe never experienced. Yet somehow they'd rebuilt, adapted, created an entire hero system to channel and control these powers.

Fascinating. Inefficient, but fascinating.

Lunch couldn't come soon enough. I claimed a spot on the roof, away from the crowds. The morning's workout had left me ravenous. Inko had packed enough food for three people, bless her.

"Well, well. If it isn't little Deku."

I didn't look up from my lunch. Three sets of footsteps approached - Bakugo's usual hangers-on, but not the man himself. Interesting.

"Heard you've been working out." The leader - Tanaka? Izuku's memories supplied - circled into view. "Trying to be a hero again?"

I took another bite of rice. The food here was better than my world, I'd give them that.

"Hey!" Tanaka slammed his hands on the wall beside me. "I'm talking to you, Deku!"

I chewed slowly, deliberately. Let them stew in my silence.

"Think you're tough now?" The second boy - couldn't remember his name - stepped closer. "Just because you got lucky with that sludge villain?"

Four more bites. Then I can justify punching someone.

"Maybe he needs a reminder." Tanaka reached for my lunch. "Quirkless losers should know their-"

My chopsticks snapped between my fingers. Just cheap wood, but the sound cut through their posturing.

"I'm eating," I said quietly. "Leave."

They exchanged glances, thrown by the steel in my voice. This wasn't the meek Deku they expected.

"Or what?" Tanaka's Quirk manifested - hardened fingernails extending into claws. "You'll cry to the teachers?"

Three bites left. Almost there.

"Bet he thinks he's special now." The third boy sneered. "Probably jerks off thinking about being All Might's sidekick."

Two bites.

"Nah." Tanaka leaned closer, his breath hot on my neck. "He's probably too busy crying about his whore mo-."

The chopsticks crumbled to dust in my grip.

I moved. No warning, no posturing, no drawn-out exchange of threats. Just a simple pivot and strike, my fist connecting with Tanaka's jaw in a textbook right hook.

The crack echoed across the roof. Tanaka sprawled backward, blood spraying from his split lip. His friends froze, eyes wide with shock.

I stood slowly, brushing rice from my uniform. Tanaka lay groaning, his Quirk deactivated. One hit. That's all it had taken to shatter his fragile bravado.

"My mother," I said softly, "is none of your concern."

The other two backed away, helping Tanaka to his feet. His eyes rolled unfocused, jaw already swelling. Probably concussed.

Good.

"You're crazy," one of them whispered. "Fucking psycho."

I picked up my lunch, appetite gone. "Tell the nurse he fell. Otherwise..." I smiled, channeling the expression that used to terrify new recruits. "We'll have to continue this discussion."

They fled, dragging their semi-conscious friend. I watched them go, a familiar calm settling over me. Violence was simple. Violence I understood.

But this isn't my world, a voice whispered. These aren't soldiers or monsters. They're children.

I examined my knuckles. No blood, no bruising. Just like the training injuries, my body adapted instantly to the trauma of impact. Another data point supporting my theory.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. I gathered my things, already composing responses for the inevitable questions. Tanaka wouldn't admit to being dropped by the Quirkless kid. His pride wouldn't allow it. And his friends...

I smiled again, remembering their faces. They'd keep quiet too.

Besides, I thought, heading back to class, what's one more secret in this borrowed life?

The afternoon classes passed in a blur. Teachers droned, students whispered, and I planned my next beach assault. The ten square meters I'd cleared yesterday were just the beginning. With my enhanced recovery, I could push harder, work longer.

A commotion at the school gates drew my attention as classes ended. Tanaka had emerged from the nurse's office, sporting an impressive bruise and a story about falling down stairs. His friends hovered nearby, carefully not looking in my direction.

Smart boys.

I took the long way home, letting my thoughts drift. Violence had always been my first response in the other world. It had to be - monsters didn't respond to reason. But here, in this softer universe of heroes and rules...

I'll need to be more careful, I decided. Save the violence for real threats.

I pushed open the front door, finding the house dark and quiet. Mom's shoes missing from the entryway confirmed she was still at work. A note on the kitchen counter caught my eye:

"Extra dinner in the fridge! Don't wait up - late shift tonight. Love you!"

My fingers traced the hurried scrawl. Izuku's memories surfaced - years of similar notes, his mother working double shifts to support them after his father left. Her exhausted smile when she'd come home late, still making time to ask about his day.

I'll take care of you, I promised silently. As soon as I make it as a hero, you'll never work another late shift again.

The beach stretched before me, a monument to human wastefulness. I'd barely made a dent in the endless sea of trash. But something caught my eye - a figure perched atop a refrigerator near my cleared area.

An old man sat cross-legged on the appliance, sipping water from a battered thermos. His white hair stood up in spikes, and a impressive mustache twitched as he watched me approach. Despite his age, lean muscle rippled under his martial arts gi.

"Afternoon," he said, voice gravelly with age. His eyes tracked my movements with unsettling precision.

I grunted in response, moving to grab a twisted piece of rebar. The old man's presence set off warning bells, but I had work to do.

"Interesting technique." He took another sip. "Though your stance needs work."

I straightened, studying him more carefully. His posture seemed casual, but something in the way he held himself... 

"I don't recall asking for advice."

"Hmph." He stroked his mustache. "Youth these days. No respect for their elders."

I hefted the rebar, testing its weight. "Most elders don't spend their afternoons watching teenagers clean beaches."

"True." His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Most teenagers don't spend their afternoons clearing junkyards either."

"I have my reasons."

"Oh?" He tilted his head. "And what might those be?"

I turned away, resuming my work. "None of your business, old man."

His laugh echoed across the beach. "GAHAHAHAHA! Direct, aren't you? Good. I hate when people dance around things."

I ignored him, focusing on dismantling a broken washing machine. His eyes burned into my back as I worked, assessing every movement.

"Your form is terrible," he said after several minutes. "You'll tear something if you keep lifting like that."

"Thanks for the concern." I yanked free a sheet of metal. "But I'm fine."

"Clearly." His voice dripped sarcasm. "That's why you're favoring your left side and overcompensating with your shoulders."

I paused. He wasn't wrong - I'd unconsciously adjusted my movements to account for lingering soreness.

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. "Just an old man offering free advice. Take it or leave it."

I studied him again. Despite his relaxed pose, nothing about him suggested weakness. If anything...

"You're a martial artist."

"Was." He patted the refrigerator. "Now I'm just a retiree who enjoys ocean views."

"From a junkyard?"

"Best seats in town." He grinned, mustache twitching. "No tourists."

Something about his manner nagged at me. The careful way he moved, the sharp intelligence behind his casual words. This was no ordinary old man.

"If you're going to keep watching," I said finally, "you might as well make yourself useful. What's wrong with my form?"

His grin widened. "Oh? Now you want advice?"

"I want to work efficiently." I gestured at the endless piles of trash. "If you actually know something helpful..."

"Hmph." He set down his thermos. "First, your breathing is all wrong. You're tensing when you should be relaxed, fighting yourself more than the weight..."

The sun sank lower as he spoke, pointing out flaws in my technique I hadn't even noticed. Small adjustments that made each movement more efficient, less taxing. The old man knew his stuff.

"Better," he said as I implemented his suggestions. "Though your footwork still needs work."

"Footwork?" I wiped sweat from my eyes. "I'm hauling trash, not dancing."

"Everything is connected." He slid off the refrigerator with grace. "Balance, breathing, movement - it all matters. Even for simple labor."

I snorted. "Simple labor that no one else is willing to do."

"True." He studied the cleared area, now significantly larger than this morning. "Though I wonder why you are."

I stayed silent, moving another pile of scrap to the designated zone. 

"Well." He stretched, joints popping. "This has been entertaining, but I should go. Same time tomorrow I hope."

"Tomorrow?"

"Mm." He started walking away, movements fluid despite his age. "If you're interested in learning proper technique."

I watched him go, questions burning in my throat. But something told me pushing for answers would be counterproductive.

"I never got your name," I called after him.

He waved without turning. "No, you didn't."

Cryptic old bastard.

But as I returned to work, I found myself incorporating his suggestions. Each movement felt smoother, more natural. The pile of cleared trash grew steadily larger.

The sun had nearly set when I finally called it quits. My muscles burned pleasantly, but nothing like yesterday's bone-deep exhaustion. Either the old man's advice had helped more than I'd thought, or...

I flexed my hand, watching tendons shift under the skin. The workout should have left me destroyed, yet here I was, ready for more. Normal humans didn't recover this fast.

But I'm not normal, am I?

Whether this enhanced recovery came from my presence in Izuku's body or something that had always been dormant within him, one thing was clear - I had an advantage. And I intended to use it.

The walk home gave me time to think. About training, about the old man's mysterious appearance, about the promise I'd made to Inko. So many pieces to juggle, so many secrets to keep.

One day at a time, I reminded myself. Focus on what's in front of you.

Right now, that meant getting stronger. Everything else would follow.

The house was still dark when I returned. I heated up the dinner she'd left, eating mechanically while reviewing the day's progress in my head.

Soon, I promised the empty kitchen. Soon you won't have to work so hard.

But promises needed power to back them up. 

And power... power took time.