The beach had quieted. The gulls had gone. Even the wind was hushed, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Jura stood alone.
No Izuku. No All Might. Just him, the dim orange glow of sunset bleeding across the horizon, and a strip of cracked concrete beneath his bare feet.
He'd been thinking about this for weeks. Testing breath control, nerve patterns, and pressure points. Sketching internal maps of his own body like a sacred diagram.
He settled into a wide, grounded stance. Arms loose. Shoulders rolled back. His breathing slowed—six counts in, eight counts out.
The First Gate—the Gate of Opening—resided in the left side of his brain, just behind the forehead. It wasn't muscle, but mind. A breaking of inhibition, a mental uncaging.
He reached for it first.
Click.
The world brightened. His body felt lighter. His doubt vanished like mist.
Then—he moved downward.
The Second Gate—Gate of Healing—was deeper. Buried in the back of right side of his brain.
He touched it gently.
Then—
Click.
The surge hit like thunder rolling inside his chest.
Heat poured from him in visible waves. Steam rose off his arms, shoulders, neck. Muscles expanded slightly beneath skin that threatened to tear.
But this time—he didn't lose control.
Because he'd prepared.
He'd layered them like silk threads instead of dynamite cords.
The First Gate cleared his hesitation, sharpened his instincts.
The Second Gate sustained his output, poured stamina into flame, and kept his limbs from buckling.
Together, they made him something else.
Jura moved.
Not for combat, not for flair—just movement.
He sprinted forward, and the world warped around his motion trail. Sand behind him exploded in jets. He zig-zagged between rusted wrecks, leapt off a half-buried minivan, flipped, landed—no stumble.
He pushed off again, this time backward, sliding under a toppled washing machine and dragging it behind him for resistance.
His body wanted to spiral. To push harder. To go faster.
But he pulled back.
Control, he thought. Don't let the gates dictate your rhythm.
You dictate theirs.
One minute in.
Muscle strain began to build—but his mind was calm.
Two minutes.
His internal temperature spiked. A trickle of blood rolled from his left nostril. His breath grew ragged.
Three minutes.
A micro-seizure jolted through his right leg, a sign of fatigue-induced nerve flare.
But he didn't stop.
Not until the four-minute mark, when his fingers began to numb and his vision flickered at the edges.
Then, he shut them.
First Gate—disengaged.
A cold clarity returned. Like his thoughts slipped back into their natural frame.
Second Gate—disengaged.
The heat drained.
His knees hit the sand. Steam rose in curls around him, and he coughed once—then laughed.
It wasn't a full laugh.
But it was real.
"Four minutes and ten seconds," he muttered. "Didn't rupture. Didn't black out."
He fell onto his back, arms sprawled, staring at the darkening sky.
Somewhere far off, Izuku was probably still taking notes under All Might's watchful eye.
And here he was—quietly, invisibly—becoming something no one in this world had words for yet.
——Week 2 of the eight month——
The last refrigerator clanged into the scrap pile.
Izuku fell onto his back with a groan, arms stretched, eyes fixed on the stars beginning to peek through the evening haze. His fingers were blistered, his shirt clung to his skin, and his body screamed for rest.
Jura remained standing, dusting off his hands. The sand around him steamed faintly, as if his body hadn't fully cooled down from hours of physical trial. His breath came slow, measured. Even now—he was testing his limits.
All Might stood atop a half-sunken shipping container, arms crossed, the wind tugging at the tattered edge of his cape.
His voice rang out, low and serious:
"You've both done it."
The boys turned toward him, breath still heavy.
"You've taken what should've been a year of work," All Might continued, "and crushed it earlier than I expected in eighth months of grit, blood, and madness. And look around you—"
He gestured wide.
The once-wretched junkyard was now pristine. Waves lapped against a clean, empty shoreline. No scrap. No rot. Just sky, sea, and proof.
"You've broken the limits I thought you had," he said. "Both of you. And now…"
He stepped down.
"I must give you the truth."
They froze.
All Might looked at them both. His expression was heavy—not tired, but weighted with something deeper.
"There's a power," he said. "One I've carried for decades. A quirk that can be passed. Inherited. The embodiment of strength—stockpiled across generations."
Izuku's breath hitched.
Jura narrowed his eyes.
"It's called One For All," All Might said. "And now… I need to choose a successor."
He looked between them.
"You're both worthy. In ways I didn't expect. But it can only go to one."
Silence.
The wind whispered across the sand.
Jura opened his mouth.
He already knew what he'd say.
He'd seen the boy push himself beyond reason. Seen the fear in Izuku's eyes become resolve. If anyone deserved it—it was him.
But before Jura could speak—
"I choose him."
Izuku's voice cut through the quiet like a bell.
All Might blinked. "Midoriya…?"
Izuku didn't look at them. He was staring at the ground, fists clenched.
"He deserves it," he said. "More than me. He doesn't just use power. He understands it. Controls it. That fight he had with you three weeks ago—he didn't even go full speed, and I could still barely track his movement."
He glanced at Jura now.
"There's something inside him," Izuku said. "And I don't know what it is, but if that gets paired with One For All…"
He smiled, a little sad.
"He could do anything."
Jura stood silent.
Inside, his chest cracked.
He thought of what it would feel like—to add One For All to the Eight Gates. To finally stop holding back. To know what it was like to punch through the sky, tear down gods, not worry about backlash or limiters.
He could see it.
He could taste it.
But then… he looked at Izuku.
That same kid who once threw himself at a sludge monster with no quirk, no plan, just raw heart.
And Jura smiled.
It hurt.
But he smiled.
"No," he said gently. "Give it to him."
All Might raised a brow.
"Why?" Izuku asked, startled. "You—Jura, you could be unstoppable with that quirk."
"Exactly," Jura said. "That's why I shouldn't have it."
Izuku looked confused.
Jura stepped forward, his voice steady now.
"I have my own power," he said. "And yeah, it's terrifying. But it's mine. All Might, you once said power is responsibility. But when you stack two mountains on one person—eventually they collapse. Izuku? He doesn't need raw strength to be dangerous. He's already brave. Already smart. One For All won't change who he is."
He looked to All Might now.
"But it would change me."
All Might was silent.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Very well," he said. "Midoriya… we'll begin tomorrow."
Izuku looked like he might cry, but he held it together, nodding fast.
All Might placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Both of you are my successors. Just in different ways."
As the night deepened, and the stars grew sharper, Jura turned away—expression unreadable.
Inside, though?
He felt hollow.
Power had knocked. He'd answered.
And then he'd shut the door himself.
——COUPLE DAYS LATER
Izuku crouched low, trembling, one foot buried in the sand as arcs of wild green lightning whipped around his limbs like angry snakes.
"Come on… Come on—"
He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and tried to force his body to move.
Then—
BOOM.
The air exploded outward in a burst of raw kinetic force. A blast of wind cratered the sand beneath him, flinging debris in a messy spiral. Izuku was launched several meters backward, flopping into a heap with a coughing wheeze.
Jura was beside him before the dust even settled, arms crossed, unimpressed.
"You were just about to fire off all of it, weren't you?"
Izuku rolled onto his back, dazed. "I—I thought if I could just… push through…"
"Don't," Jura said flatly. "That's how you blow your legs out of your sockets."
He squatted down beside him, jabbing a finger into Izuku's chest. "Imagine using the entirety of All Might's power, with a body that's still figuring out where its balance center is. You'd explode like a water balloon with a firecracker in it."
Izuku blinked. "I just thought I needed to—"
"You're thinking like a fan," Jura cut in. "Not like a fighter or a hero."
Izuku went quiet.
Jura rubbed his chin, glancing at the power still sparking in Izuku's fingertips. "You don't need to detonate. You need to flow."
He stood and started pacing. "Think of it like this… have you ever put an egg in the microwave?"
Izuku blinked again. "…Huh?"
Jura pointed dramatically at the sky. "Microwaves don't always run at 100% power. They can be adjusted. And more importantly—when they do heat something, they don't just nuke one spot. They warm everything, slowly, evenly."
He turned, grinning slightly. "That's how you need to treat One For All. Not a blast cannon. A heat map."
Izuku's eyes widened. "You mean… spread it throughout my body, like warming an egg?"
Jura smirked. "Exactly. Let the power wrap around your body, not punch through it."
"Full cowl…" Izuku murmured.
"I was gonna save it for later," Jura admitted, "but I figured trying to spar with a glowing kid who can't stand up straight would be a waste of time. Plus," he added, tapping his temple, "fighting an elderly man with a glaring injury doesn't give you a real benchmark. You need this sooner."
Izuku closed his eyes and focused.
Green lightning began flickering again.
But this time, red lines glowed faintly beneath his skin—veins lighting up, channels opening. The energy wasn't blasting out from one point—it was circulating.
Then, violently—
CRACK-BZZZTTT—
The power surged, uncontrolled. Lightning sprayed across the beach like fireworks, and Izuku dropped to his knees, sweat pouring down his face.
"Aaaagh—! Is this what you felt like when you first opened the gate?!"
Jura raised an eyebrow. "Worse. My lungs nearly collapsed."
Izuku groaned, trying to stay upright. "This is crazy. It's like every part of me's screaming to shut off…"
"Good," Jura said. "Now lower the heat."
"Huh?"
"Dial it back. Focus. Aim for one percent. Not ten. Not five. Just one. One percent across everything, like a whisper instead of a scream."
Izuku grunted.
Tried again.
And again.
Each time, his body convulsed with tiny bursts—sparks dancing, red lines flaring. He kept falling, kept sliding, kept fighting to pull the current inward.
Then—
Zzzt.
The light dimmed. Just a whisper of lightning remained. His body buzzed—not with pain, but motion.
Izuku took a step.
Then crumpled immediately, face-first into the sand, wheezing.
"HAHA—!" he laughed into the dirt, voice muffled. "That—that actually worked?! Did you just come up with that?"
Jura knelt down, hand on his back, laughing too. "I mean… maybe. Probably. Might've read it somewhere."
"You're a genius or insane," Izuku coughed.
"Both."
Jura flopped onto his back next to him.
The stars were just coming out again.
And for the first time since this started—they both felt like they were finally figuring it out.
——NEXT MONTH
The morning sun filtered through drifting sea mist, casting long shadows across the now-pristine beach. The wreckage was gone, replaced by smooth sand and a makeshift sparring ring outlined with scavenged ropes.
Jura stood at one end, rolling his wrists with lazy ease. No steam. No trembling aura. He was calm—the Gates sealed tight within him.
Across from him, Izuku crouched low, muscles humming with controlled tension. His green jumpsuit flickered with lightning pulses—three percent of One For All, flowing steady like electricity through copper wire.
His feet cracked the sand beneath him.
His breath was focused.
And his eyes were sharp.
"Ready?" Jura called, grinning.
Izuku nodded once.
Then moved.
Izuku lunged low—faster than a month ago, faster than yesterday. The lightning traced clean arcs behind him, red veins beneath his skin shimmering as he ducked under Jura's extended arm and threw an upward elbow toward his ribs.
Jura sidestepped easily, redirecting with a lazy twist of his torso, then flicked his heel toward Izuku's jaw.
Izuku dropped instantly, skimming under the kick and launching a spinning sweep at Jura's ankles.
Jura hopped the sweep and dropped into a narrow stance, arms raised.
"Good footwork," he said. "But you're still committing too much on the entry."
Izuku didn't answer—he moved. He rebounded off his own missed sweep into a roll, then came out of it with a short-range burst of speed, appearing behind Jura.
He aimed a quick snap-kick for the back of Jura's knee.
But Jura caught the motion mid-turn.
Their eyes met.
Jura smiled.
And let go.
Izuku pressed the advantage, throwing two lightning-quick jabs and a mid-section hook—testing range, feinting with intent.
Jura didn't retreat. He parried the first, rolled his shoulder into the second, and weaved under the third with a half-step that left Izuku off-balance.
Then Jura flicked his fingers out—one tap against Izuku's wrist, nudging his center of gravity.
Izuku stumbled—but recovered fast.
He used the momentum to throw himself backward, rebounded off the ground with a small burst of Full Cowl energy, and twisted in the air—spinning into a feint kick that became a downward elbow.
Jura caught it in a cross-guard. The impact rippled down his forearms, but his feet didn't move.
Izuku landed and pivoted instantly into a shoulder check—trying to catch Jura off balance.
But Jura leaned into it.
And pushed him back.
From the sidelines, All Might nodded thoughtfully.
"He's improving," he said to himself. "His power application's still rough in open space… but he's getting sharper at adapting under pressure."
He cupped his chin, eyes tracking Izuku's footwork.
"But he's still rushing his reads. He sees a narrow window and dives—instead of guiding the fight to open wider doors."
Then his tone softened, impressed.
"But his changes on the fly… that's hero-grade thinking."
Jura advanced now, moving with deliberate pace.
Izuku reacted, sidestepping, switching angles—but Jura mirrored him, tightening the space like a shrinking battlefield.
Izuku backed into the wind and suddenly charged—flicker-stepping right, then left, throwing a spinning hook punch designed to bait a counter.
Jura stepped into it, took the punch on his shoulder—and with the same motion, flicked his elbow back into Izuku's chest.
WHUMP.
Izuku staggered—but used the impact.
He let it launch him into a backward slide, flipped mid-air, and landed in a low stance, steam rising from his body.
"Three percent," he muttered through grit teeth. "Not enough."
Jura lowered his hands, breathing steady. "It's enough to move. Not enough to win."
Izuku laughed. "Guess I still need to learn to think while I move."
"That's the whole game," Jura said. "Power's just the paint. Tactics are the brush."
They both stepped back, breathing hard. Izuku collapsed into the sand, grinning up at the sky, his hair matted with sweat and sparks.
"Man… you didn't even open a gate."
"You didn't blow your arms out," Jura said, smirking. "So I'll call it progress."
All Might walked up then, arms behind his back, face proud but stern.
"You've both done well," he said. "But Midoriya—remember: instinct is good. But instinct guided by intention? That's how pros survive."
Izuku nodded, rubbing his ribs.
"And you," All Might added, turning to Jura, "don't keep holding back too long. Iron sharpens iron. And you're both going to need each other sharper than ever."