[48] From Flash to Blitz

Hi everyone! waves enthusiastically while nearly knocking over a precariously balanced tower of energy drinks

Can you believe it? 4.8k powerstones! fans face with hands while trying not to cry You're all absolutely incredible, you know that? Like, seriously, I keep checking the numbers thinking there must be some kind of glitch, but nope! Still #1 in the rankings! 

Clutches chest dramatically

My little writer heart can barely take it! Every comment, every theory, every passionate debate about shipping (yes, I see you in the comment section, and you're all adorable) - it just makes me want to write even more! Though my boyfriend keeps reminding me that sleep is, apparently, "necessary for human survival" or whatever. 

Straightens glasses with ink-stained fingers

But enough about my questionable sleep schedule! We're heading into one of my absolute favorite parts of the story, and I just know you're going to love what I have planned! The Sports Festival arc is coming up, and- 

Catches self before revealing too much, claps hands over mouth

Oh! Oh no, I almost spoiled- muffled excited noises

Removes hands carefully

Let's just say... things might be a little different this year. winks I mean, did you really think we'd have the same old cavalry battle with our current cast? giggles mischievously

Starts bouncing in chair

The tournament structure too, it's going to be so- slaps hand back over mouth

Nope! No more spoilers! 

Straightens up and tries to look professional (fails miserably)

But seriously, thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me. Every time I see someone catch one of the little hints I've scattered throughout the story, or when you piece together the foreshadowing I've carefully planted... clutches heart It just makes all those 3 AM writing sessions worth it!

Pulls Stitch hood up for comfort

But I promise, the Sports Festival arc is going to be worth the wait. I've been planning this since... well, let's just say there's a reason my room looks like a conspiracy theorist's den right now. The walls may or may not be covered in color-coded sticky notes and string. 

Glances at said walls and quickly pulls curtain across them

Anyway! I should probably get back to writing before my editor stages an intervention about my "concerning caffeine intake" again. Plus, these fight scenes aren't going to choreograph themselves! Though sometimes I swear the characters just do whatever they want anyway...

Stands up and bows deeply

Thank you again for all your support! Remember, new chapters every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday - unless we hit those powerstone goals! winks Then who knows? Maybe we'll see each other more often!

Waves enthusiastically while accidentally knocking over stack of notebooks

Enjoy the next chapter! Plus Ultra!

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Four-thirty in the morning.

The numbers on my phone glowed softly in the darkness. Camie's steady breathing tickled my chest, her body curled against mine like a content cat. The guest room sheets rustled as she shifted closer, seeking warmth.

I hadn't slept. Didn't need to, really. My fingers traced idle patterns on her shoulder. In my past life as Toshiro, moments like these were... different. Multiple wives had been the norm, each relationship its own unique dance of politics and passion. Here, now, as Izuku Midoriya...

Camie mumbled something in her sleep, legs tightening around mine. A familiar gesture that had led to many pleasant mornings. And many close calls.

"No pulling out," she'd whisper, ankles locked behind my back. Every. Single. Time.

Not that I try very hard to resist.

The thought of her pregnant... our child... Images flashed through my mind. A little girl with Camie's mischievous smile. A boy with her talent for reading people. Running through our home, filling it with laughter.

And somehow, in these domestic fantasies, Momo was there too. Watching the children with that sharp intelligence in her eyes. Teaching them about molecular structures while making them snacks.

Greedy bastard, I thought, but without heat. The old ways lingered, it seemed. But this wasn't that world, and I wasn't ready. Not yet. The power to protect one family, let alone two...

Camie stirred. "Mmm... time?"

"Early. Sleep."

"Training?"

"Soon."

Her arms tightened briefly before relaxing. "Kiss first."

I obliged, pressing my lips to her forehead. She drifted off again instantly, trust radiating from every line of her body.

Four-forty-five.

I extracted myself to not upset her comfortability. The weights waited in my closet - 600 kilos of carefully distributed metal. Each piece locked into place.

The morning air bit sharp and clean as I stepped outside. Stars still dotted the sky, though the horizon hinted at dawn. 

Gramps waited at the entrance to the beach, steam rising from his tea. "Late."

"Four-fifty-nine."

"Cutting it close." He sipped his tea. "Get to running." 

The morning chill nipped at my exposed skin as we jogged along the beach. Six hundred kilos of weight distributed across my body made each step sink deep into the sand. Gramps kept pace beside me, his movements fluid despite his age.

"Something on your mind?" His weathered face turned toward me, eyes sharp despite the early hour.

I measured my breathing before responding. "Relationships are... complicated."

"Ah." A knowing smirk crossed his face. "The young lady keeping you up at night?"

"Not exactly." Sand shifted under my feet as I adjusted my stride. "More about... potential futures."

"Children?" 

The waves crashed against the shore, filling the brief silence. "Among other things."

Gramps chuckled, a sound that carried across the empty beach. "In my day, I had similar concerns. Though perhaps from a different angle."

"Your reputation precedes you." 

"Gahahahaha! Indeed it does." He vaulted over a piece of driftwood with unnecessary flourish. "I was quite the terror in my youth. Different woman every night, fighting anyone who looked at me wrong."

"What changed?"

"My brother beat some sense into me. Literally." His expression grew distant. "Nearly killed him in that fight. Made me realize I was becoming exactly what I despised - someone who took without giving back."

We passed the halfway mark of our run. My weights felt heavier with each step, but I maintained the pace.

"The women though..." Gramps grinned. "That was different. Always made sure they knew exactly what they were getting into. No promises, no lies."

"Honest at least."

"Had to be. Hero work's dangerous enough without adding romantic complications." He glanced at me. "Though I sense that's not quite your situation."

I focused on the horizon. "It's... complex."

"Most worthwhile things are." He adjusted his stride to match mine perfectly. "You know, there was this one time - two sisters. Both martial artists. Powerful quirks. They actually suggested-"

"Gramps."

"Right, right. Too early for those stories." His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Point is, life rarely fits into neat little boxes. Especially for those of us who live differently than most."

The weight of his words settled alongside my physical burden. "Society has expectations."

"Society can kiss my wrinkled old ass." He spat into the sand. "You think I cared what anyone thought when I was revolutionizing martial arts? When I was saving lives my way?"

"Different era."

"Same principles." He moved closer, voice dropping. "Listen well, foolish disciple. Power - true power - comes with responsibility. But that responsibility is to do what's right, not what's expected."

My feet sank deeper into the sand as I processed his words. "And if what feels right goes against convention?"

"Then you'd better be strong enough to handle the consequences." He tapped his chest. "Here, more than here." He pointed to his bicep.

We ran in silence for several minutes, only the waves and our measured breathing breaking the pre-dawn quiet.

"There was one woman," Gramps said suddenly. "Quirkless. Ran a tea shop. Made me realize that all my strength meant nothing if I couldn't protect what mattered."

"What happened?"

"Villain attack. I was too focused on showing off, making a name for myself." His voice carried decades of regret. "By the time I stopped posturing and actually fought seriously..."

The unfinished sentence hung in the air between us.

"That and the fight with my brother is why I developed Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist. Learned that true strength flows like water - adapting, protecting, nurturing. Not just destroying."

I absorbed this, feeling the weight of both his words and my training gear. "Did you ever..."

"Find someone else?" He shook his head. "Had my chances. But I'd learned my lesson about dividing my heart. Poured everything into developing my style, teaching others. Making sure no one else would make my mistakes."

The sun began peeking over the horizon as we approached the end of our run. 

"You're not me though." Gramps stopped, turning to face me fully. "You've got something I never did at your age - wisdom to match your strength. Trust that wisdom."

I met his gaze. "Even if it leads to unconventional choices?"

"Especially then." He smirked. "Just don't expect me to give you advice about managing multiple women. I may have experience, but some mistakes are better learned firsthand."

"I never said-"

"You didn't have to." He resumed running. "Well, whatever it is or isn't, remember this - power without conviction is meaningless. Be true to yourself, protect what matters, and let the rest sort itself out."

We finished our run as the sun cleared the horizon. Gramps hadn't broken a sweat. I was breathing heavily, but controlled.

"Now then." He cracked his knuckles. "Let's see if you can apply that conviction to your training. Two hundred repetitions of the Flowing Water kata. With the weights."

I settled into my stance, mind clearer despite - or perhaps because of - our conversation.

"And Izuku?"

I looked up.

"Whatever you decide..." His eyes held both mischief and sincerity. "Make sure you're strong enough to handle angry parents. Trust me on that one."

The kata began, and I focused on making my movements flow like water - adapting, protecting, nurturing. Just as he'd taught me. Just as I'd need to be for whatever future awaited.

The weights felt lighter somehow.

(3 hours later)

The morning sun blazed overhead as I completed the final kata. Three hours of continuous movement under six hundred kilos had pushed my limits, but my form remained precise. Each stance flowed into the next like water finding its path.

"Good." Gramps set down his third pot of tea. "Your movements are becoming more... yours."

I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of the training gear. "The style's evolving."

"As it should. Water Stream was never meant to be rigid." He approached, examining my stance. "You've been incorporating elements from your research. That kick sequence - definitely not my teaching."

"Capoeira mixed with Muay Thai. The circular motion helps maintain momentum with the weights."

"Hmm." His eyes narrowed. "Show me."

I demonstrated the combination - a flowing series of kicks that used the weight's momentum rather than fighting against it. The sand shifted beneath my feet as I moved.

"Interesting." He stroked his mustache. "You're adapting the core principles while making them your own. What do you call this variation?"

"Strong Style." The name had come to me during training. "Built on Water Stream's foundation, but..."

"But suited to your specific strengths." He nodded. "Good. A style should grow with its practitioner." His expression turned serious. "Ready to test it?"

I knew what he meant. We'd been building to this all week. "The Flash Step."

"Four attempts. No more." He moved to the center of our training area.

I settled into my stance, feeling the familiar burn of the weights. The Flash Step was Gramps' most demanding technique - an instantaneous burst of speed that could cover ten meters in the blink of an eye. Under normal conditions, it was taxing. With six hundred kilos...

Focus.

The world narrowed to a single point. I gathered my strength, channeled it through my core just as he'd taught me, and-

Move.

Sand exploded behind me as I appeared ten meters away. The weights screamed protest, but my form held.

"Again."

I didn't hesitate. Another burst. Another ten meters. The edges of my vision darkened slightly.

"Again."

The third Flash Step landed cleanly, but my legs trembled. Dark spots danced at the corners of my eyes.

"Last one."

Push through.

The fourth Flash Step felt like moving through molasses. I stuck the landing, but the world tilted dangerously. My knees buckled.

Gramps' hand steadied my shoulder. "Enough. Sit."

I sank to the sand, breathing hard. The dark spots gradually faded.

"Four clean executions with that much weight." He handed me a water bottle. "Impressive."

"Could maybe manage five-"

"You'll manage unconsciousness is what you'll manage." He flicked my forehead. "The Flash Step isn't meant to be spammed. It's a precision tool, not a crutch."

I drained the water bottle, letting my heart rate settle. "There has to be a way to make it more sustainable."

"Perhaps." He studied me thoughtfully. "Take off the weights."

My fingers moved to the releases automatically before pausing. "All of them?"

"All of them. Show me what you were thinking just now."

The weights hit the sand with dull thuds. My body felt impossibly light, like I might float away.

"Now." Gramps took a ready stance. "Show me this more 'sustainable' version you're contemplating."

I closed my eyes, remembering how the technique felt. The Flash Step's raw power came from condensing multiple movements into a single instant - like a compressed spring releasing. But what if instead of compressing everything...

My eyes snapped open. I moved.

The burst carried me five meters instead of ten. The strain was significantly less, though the speed was maybe fifty percent of a true Flash Step. I repeated the movement three more times in quick succession.

"Interesting." Gramps circled me slowly. "You've stripped down the technique. Sacrificed power and range for efficiency."

"A blitz instead of a flash." I demonstrated again, covering another five meters. "More applications in extended combat."

"Hmm." He stroked his mustache. "The principle is sound. You're trading the overwhelming force of the Flash Step for something more... adaptable." A smile crept across his face. "Like water wearing down a rock instead of smashing it."

"It fits better with Strong Style's flow." I moved through another sequence, feeling how naturally the modified technique integrated with my developing style. "The Flash Step is amazing, but it's like... a hammer. This is better."

"Your own technique, born from understanding the principles behind mine." He nodded approvingly. "This is how martial arts should evolve. Though I hope you're not expecting me to go easy on you just because you're developing your own style."

"I would hope not."

"Good." His grin turned predatory. "Because now we get to test how well this 'blitz' of yours holds up under pressure. Put the weights back on."

I eyed the six hundred kilos of metal. "All of them?"

"Did I stutter, foolish disciple?"

Definitely not going easy on me.

The weights locked back into place as the morning sun climbed higher. Another three hours of training stretched ahead, but I couldn't keep the smile off my face.

Strong Style was growing. Evolving.

Just like its practitioner.