ShuraZero
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Chapter 37: Old Legends and New Shields
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 18:22:35 +0000 UTCAll Might's office at U.A. was a sanctuary of silence and memories. At night, without the bustling energy of the students, it became a shadowed cave, lit only by the silver glow of the moon filtering through the enormous windows. Toshinori Yagi, in his skeletal form, seemed like just another shadow, a frail figure seated behind a desk far too large for him. The weight of the world, which he normally carried on his muscular shoulders, now seemed to crush his very bone structure. With a slow, deliberate gesture, he picked up an old rotary phone, an anachronism in this age of technology, and dialed a number he knew by heart.
The phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally, a gruff voice, sharp as a knife, answered on the other end. "This had better be important, Toshinori. I was in the middle of an excellent dream about taiyaki. And they were the good kind, with the perfect red bean filling."
Toshinori let out a sigh that seemed to carry away some of his exhaustion. "Hello, Master. I'm sorry to bother you. I needed… to talk."
"You haven't called me just to chat since Nana died," Gran Torino's voice replied, without a hint of softness. "So spit it out. It's about the attack on U.A., isn't it? I saw it on the news. A disaster. Hope none of your brats got too hurt."
"It was worse than a disaster, Master. It was a massacre, narrowly avoided," Toshinori said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "The villains were brutal. They were outnumbered and outmatched. Aizawa and Thirteen went down. They were lost."
He paused, the memory of the scene at the USJ still fresh and painful. "But then… something happened. Two of my students, Uraraka and Yaoyorozu, displayed a power and coordination that were extraordinary. They fought with incredible ferocity and intelligence. They held off dozens of villains on their own."
"Oh yeah? Sounds like you've got a good crop this year," Gran Torino commented, a hint of interest in his voice.
"Good isn't the word for it," Toshinori continued, his tone shifting, filling with a reverent awe. "One of the boys… young Midoriya… his injuries were… fatal. The doctors had given up on him. And then, somehow… he recovered. A 'miraculous' recovery, they called it."
"Miracles don't exist, Toshinori. Only Quirks we don't understand."
"I know. And at the center of it all, there he was. Young Midoriya. A boy who, until recently, I believed had a minor, almost useless Quirk. But I saw him, Sorahiko. I saw him organizing them from a hospital gurney. I saw him sacrifice himself without hesitation to protect his classmate. I saw the loyalty he inspires. He has the spirit of a true hero, the greatest heart I've seen in a generation. Greater even than mine when I met you."
Gran Torino was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was more serious. "You talk about him with a special kind of fire. Sounds like you've finally found your successor. It's about time."
Toshinori's tone turned bitter, heavy with the weight of an unbearable frustration. "That's the hell I'm in, Master," he confessed, his voice breaking slightly. "I can't. The boy… he already has a Quirk. One he was born with. One For All can't be transferred to a vessel that is already full. It would be like trying to pour an ocean into a glass of water. It would kill him. I have found the perfect candidate, the only one I see as worthy of inheriting Nana's legacy… and he's ineligible. Fate is laughing at me. It has shown me the purest hero I have ever known and told me I cannot give him the power to change the world."
The silence on the other end of the line was long and heavy, filled with the shared history of two men who had seen too much. Gran Torino, for the first time in a long while, didn't have a quick answer. He could only process his former student's cruel dilemma.
Dagobah Beach at sunset was their private dojo. The setting sun painted the sky in oranges and violets, and the sea breeze was cool and salty. Izuku was no longer just another participant in the training; he was, unequivocally, the coach. He stood before Inko, his posture relaxed but his gaze focused, while Ochako, Momo, and Toga watched from a safe distance, sitting on an old tire.
"Alright, Mom. Today we're going to work on Phase 2 of your manual: the 'Vector Shield'," Izuku said, his voice clear and patient over the murmur of the waves. "You've already mastered 'attraction.' Pulling objects toward you has become almost a reflex. Now we're going to learn to 'push.' It's not about moving an object, but about projecting your power outward, like an invisible wall of force."
Inko wrung her hands, her expression a mixture of nervous determination. "But Izuku, I've never 'pushed' anything in my life. My instinct is always to pull things toward me, to protect them… to protect you," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly.
Izuku gave her a patient smile, one that conveyed absolute confidence in her. "I know. And it's a wonderful instinct. It's what makes you who you are. But to truly protect, sometimes you have to keep danger at bay. Don't think of it as 'pushing.' Think of it as 'repelling.' Like planting your feet and telling the world, 'This is as far as you go.'"
The training began. The plan was simple. Ochako, using her Quirk with a finesse she had perfected in recent weeks, gently floated beach balls toward Inko. Inko's goal was to use her power to repel them before they touched her.
She failed. Again and again.
The first ball floated toward her. Inko held out a hand, her face a mask of concentration. But at the last second, her maternal instinct won the battle. Instead of repelling it, she attracted it, and the ball hit her gently in the chest. "Agh!" she complained in frustration. "I'm sorry, Ochako-chan!"
"It's okay, Inko-san! Again!" the girl encouraged with a smile.
The second ball floated over. Inko gritted her teeth. Repel, repel… But again, at the final moment, her Quirk did what it had been doing for forty years: it pulled. The ball landed in her arms.
After the tenth attempt, Inko dropped her arms to her sides, defeated. "I can't do it! It's useless! My brain is wired backward! Every time something comes at me, all I can think about is pulling it in to control it! It's like trying to unlearn how to breathe!"
Toga, who had been watching the scene with playful boredom, jumped to her feet. "Lemme see, lemme see! This is so booooring!" she exclaimed with her usual chaotic energy. "Inko-san, try this! Imagine it's me blowing you a kiss! A big, slobbery one, with tongue and everything! I bet you'll want to push that away! REJECT MY LOVE, INKO-SAN! REJECT IT WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT!"
Inko stared at her with a mixture of horror and amusement. Ochako and Momo burst out laughing. Toga's absurd intervention broke the tension and Inko's mental block. For a moment, she forgot her frustration and laughed with them.
Izuku smiled. This was the moment. He approached his mother. "Your mind is fighting your instinct," he said softly, his tone now serious and focused. "Theory isn't enough. I need to guide you, to help you feel the correct flow of energy. To recalibrate your instinct."
Inko looked at him. She already knew what he meant. There was no shame in her gaze, only the determination of a mother who wanted to be stronger to protect her son and his strange new friends. She nodded silently. "Do what you have to do."
Izuku moved behind her, into his familiar coaching stance. His hands rested on her hips to steady her, the gesture of an instructor, but also that of a son. Inko closed her eyes, preparing herself.
Izuku leaned in and whispered, his voice barely a murmur beside her ear, charged with an intensity that went beyond simple training. "Don't think about the ball. Don't think about the physics. Don't think about 'pushing' or 'repelling'," he told her, his breath brushing against her ear. "Close your eyes. Go back to the hospital room. Go back to the moment you saw me open my eyes. I want you to remember how you felt. That mix of infinite relief and protective fury. That feeling of 'no one will ever touch my son again'."
Inko felt a familiar warmth spreading from the points of contact where Izuku's hands rested. The calm he transmitted to her silenced the frustration in her mind and allowed her to focus on her heart. "Take that emotion, Mom," Izuku continued, his voice a guide in her darkness. "That lioness's fury. That mother's love that is stronger than any Quirk. And project it. Don't create a shield of force. Create a shield of love. Show the world that there is nothing more powerful."
Izuku's words sank deep within her. The image of her son, broken and bloodied on that gurney, formed in her mind with painful clarity. The fear, the helplessness… and then, the rage. A pure, primal rage, aimed at anyone who would dare harm her baby. "Momo, now," Izuku ordered, without raising his voice.
Momo, who was already prepared, nodded. The skin on her arm glowed, and from it emerged a small, metallic, and aerodynamic practice drone. With a gesture, she sent it flying at high speed directly toward Inko.
Inko didn't flinch. With her eyes still closed, she raised a hand. There was no grand gesture, no cry of effort. Just absolute calm. Her face was serene, but inside her burned the fire of a mother protecting her young.
An instant before the drone hit her, a distortion in the air, like the heat haze on a hot day, appeared in front of her outstretched palm. It was almost invisible, a ripple in reality.
The drone collided with the barrier. There was no explosion, but a dull thud and a flash of dissipated kinetic energy. The drone was violently repelled, as if it had hit an invisible concrete wall, and it slammed into the sand several meters away, a crumpled mess of metal and plastic.
Silence.
Inko opened her eyes. She looked at her hand, held out in the air, stunned. Then she looked at the shattered drone in the sand. She had done it.
Ochako, Momo, and Toga burst into cheers and applause. "SHE DID IT! INKO-SAN, THAT WAS AMAZING!" Ochako shouted, jumping with joy.
"A perfect manifestation of a telekinetic force shield! The efficiency was one hundred percent!" Momo analyzed, impressed.
"YEAH, MAMA MIDORIYA! NOBODY MESSES WITH THE BOSS!" Toga roared, brandishing her knife in celebration.
Izuku stepped back, letting his mother enjoy her moment. He watched her look at her own hand with a newfound sense of power, a smile of wonder and triumph illuminating her face.
She did it, Izuku thought, a wave of pride washing over him. The greatest power doesn't come from physical training, or from logic, or even from instinct. It comes from the will of the heart. My team… is getting scarier every day.
He looked at the sun sinking below the horizon, casting Inko's long shadow across the sand. The shadow of a new, formidable protector.
And this, he thought with a smile, is only the beginning.
