[49] Combinations

Stretches in my comfy Stitch onesie and adjusts my glasses

Ah, hello my wonderful readers! I hope you didn't miss me too much during my little break. Though I suppose "break" might be a generous term for what basically amounted to me ugly crying over Ai Hoshino for several hours straight. 

Glances at the crumpled tissues scattered around my desk

You know, it's funny -after episode 1, I actually had this whole other story plotted out. "Where Our Blue Is" - a tale of idols, reincarnation, and found family. Had character sheets drawn up and everything! 

Picks up a notebook covered in doodles of a certain purple-haired idol

But then you beautiful people just had to hit that 750 powerstone mark, didn't you?

Pauses to sip some tea

Oh, and to the reader who sent me that incredibly detailed presentation about the harem members - I see you, and I appreciate your enthusiasm. 

Glances at the growing stack of reader theories

But I digress! You've earned this bonus chapter fair and square, and far be it from me to keep you waiting any longer. 

Now! Let's see what trouble our favorite problem child has gotten himself into now...

======

The sun hung directly overhead, marking six grueling hours of training. My body thrummed with the familiar ache of pushing past normal limits. Gramps stood across from me, his weathered face unreadable as I removed the last of the weights.

"Show me." Two words that carried the weight of a week's evolution.

I rolled my shoulders, feeling almost weightless. The beach stretched empty around us, this secluded cove our private arena. Perfect.

My feet shifted in the sand, settling into the opening stance of Strong Style. Gramps mirrored me, his form deceptively relaxed.

No signal. No warning. We moved.

Sand erupted as I closed the distance. A Blitz carried me within striking range, my kick already in motion. Gramps deflected it with his forearm, but I was already moving again. Another Blitz. Right side. His counter missed as I slipped past his guard.

My fist connected with his ribs. A solid hit.

He created space instantly, eyes narrowing. I pressed forward. Two more Blitz movements had me flanking his blind spot. My knee drove toward his kidney.

His elbow caught me in the sternum. Hard.

I rolled with the impact, using a Blitz to reposition. His fist passed through the space my head had occupied a fraction of a second earlier.

"Better." His voice carried no strain. "But-"

My roundhouse kick interrupted him. He blocked it, but the force pushed him back a step. Finally.

His smile vanished.

The next exchange blurred. My Blitz-enhanced combinations met his perfect defense. Each time I thought I had an opening, his counters proved me wrong. But I kept moving, kept flowing. Strong Style adapted, evolved with each exchange.

His palm strike grazed my cheek. I twisted, letting the momentum fuel my spin kick. He ducked under it, but I was already transitioning into the next movement.

Blitz. Strike. Redirect. Flow.

Like water wearing down a rock.

My elbow slipped through his guard. Another clean hit. His eyes changed.

The counterattack came faster than anything he'd shown before. I Blitzed away, barely avoiding the combination that would have ended the fight. But he was already there, reading my movement.

Time to show him.

I gathered my strength, channeling it through the principles he'd taught me. The world slowed as I initiated the sequence.

Blitzkrieg.

The first Blitz put me at his left. Strike. The second had me attacking from behind. Strike. The third came from his right. Strike.

Each hit connected.

His hand snapped out, impossibly fast, but I was already moving. The sequence that had been building in my mind all week emerged fully formed.

Blitz into range. My left leg launched upward, a modified Capoeira kick aimed at his temple. He blocked, but I was already transitioning. The momentum carried me into a Muay Thai roundhouse from the opposite side.

His guard shifted to compensate. Perfect.

The final rotation brought me behind him, my leg already chambered for the finishing strike. All three kicks landed within a second of each other.

Tri-State Smash. I'll workshop the name later.

The impact actually made him stumble.

His counter came like lightning, but I was ready. Strong Style flowed through each movement as we traded strikes at speeds that turned the world into a blur. His experience met my evolution. His mastery clashed with my innovation.

Sand flew. The sound of impacts echoed across the empty beach. Neither of us spoke - the fight itself was our conversation.

Ten minutes passed in a symphony of violence. My breathing remained controlled. His attacks kept coming.

I saw the end approaching in the subtle shift of his weight. One final exchange.

He struck first. I Blitzed past his guard, chambering my strongest kick. The manji kick. His palm thrust aimed for my core.

Impact.

We separated instantly, both sliding back in the sand. My legs trembled. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

"Enough."

The tension drained from the air. I sank to the sand, letting my breathing return to normal. He dabbed at his lip with his sleeve.

He grinned. "Not bad."

I nodded, still catching my breath.

"That last combination - Tri-State Smash?" He rolled his shoulder. "Alright name. Better technique. You'll want to adjust the timing on the second rotation though. Leaves a small opening."

"Noted."

He walked over, extending his hand. I took it, letting him pull me up.

"Strong Style suits you." His eyes held approval. "Keep developing it. Make it truly yours."

"You're leaving."

"Mm. My idiot brother's been watching the dojo. Time to make sure he hasn't corrupted my students too badly." He stretched, joints popping. "You know where to find me if you need anything. Though I doubt you will for a while."

The sun had begun its descent, painting the beach in orange and gold. Gramps gathered his things, movements as fluid as ever despite our spar.

"One last thing." He paused. "Remember what I said about conviction. And for heaven's sake, work on your guard against low kicks. You're still dropping your right elbow."

He turned and walked away, his figure silhouetted against the setting sun. I watched until he disappeared around the bend, then gathered my weights.

===

Damn it, I'm late again.

I adjusted my training bag, feeling the familiar weight of the iron plates inside as I climbed the apartment stairs. The scent of katsudon drifted down the hallway. Mom's specialty - her way of showing both love and concern when I pushed too hard.

A muffled sob echoed through my door, followed by Camie's voice: "Girl, you can't let him get away with that! He's literally right there!"

I slipped my key into the lock and walked in as quietly as possible. Maybe if I-

"Izu!" Camie's head popped up over the back of the couch, her face lighting up. "You missed the best part! This guy just-"

"Izuku." Mom's tone carried that special mix of relief and reproach that only she could manage. She stood in the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand. "Your phone?"

I pulled the device from my pocket. Dead. "Training ran long. I should have-"

"Four hours long?" She tapped the spoon against her palm. "The food's been ready since three."

"Babe, you look wrecked." Camie vaulted over the couch. She circled me, taking in the sand-covered clothes and forming bruises. "Gramps went full sensei mode?"

"Something like that." I dropped my bag by the door. The plates inside clinked against the hardwood.

"Those better not leave marks on my floor." Mom pointed her spoon at the bag. "Shower first. Then food. Then we're having a discussion about time management."

"And watching the end of this movie," Camie added. "The main guy's about to realize his childhood friend's been in love with him for like, forever."

I glanced at the TV. The paused frame showed a rain-soaked couple almost kissing. "How many romance movies have you two watched today?"

"Only four." Mom's stern expression cracked slightly. "Though I still say the second one had an unrealistic view of marriage proposals."

"Facts." Camie nodded sagely. "No way he afforded that ring on a baker's salary."

"The ring wasn't the issue. It was the timing. You don't propose at someone else's wedding."

"Unless it's like, previously arranged with the couple."

"Even then, it's tacky."

I edged toward the bathroom as they launched into what seemed like a well-worn debate. The apartment smelled amazing - katsudon, miso soup, and something sweet I couldn't quite identify.

"Ten minutes!" Mom called after me. "Any longer and we're starting without you."

The hot water felt like heaven against my muscles. Sand swirled down the drain as I replayed the day's training. More than I'd managed all week, but still not enough. Strong Style needed work. The timing on that second rotation-

"Izu! Food's getting cold!"

I shut off the water. Clean clothes waited on the counter - Camie's doing. She had an uncanny knack for picking out my most comfortable options.

The scene in the living room had shifted when I emerged. Mom sat in her usual chair, while Camie had claimed her favorite spot on the couch. The coffee table held a spread that could have fed half of UA.

"Finally." Camie patted the space next to her. "Now spill. What new moves did you come up with today?"

Mom set down her chopsticks. "After you explain why you couldn't send a quick text about being late."

"The phone died during training." I settled onto the couch, accepting the bowl Camie handed me. "And I lost track of time working on a new combination."

"Must have been some combination." Mom's eyes tracked over my visible bruises. "Those look worse than usual."

"Strong Style's evolving. Gramps helped me refine some of the rougher elements."

"By beating them into you?" But her tone had softened. She knew how important this was.

"More like letting me figure out what works and what doesn't." I demonstrated a simplified version of the Tri-State Smash with my chopsticks. "The basic framework pulls from multiple styles, but the execution needs to be seamless."

Camie leaned forward, eyes bright. "Show me the real version tomorrow?"

"After classes." I sampled the katsudon. Perfect, as always. "How was your day? Besides the movie marathon."

"Oh my god, tell him about the dress shop!" Mom's entire demeanor shifted. "Camie found the most beautiful-"

"Nope!" Camie's hand shot out. "That's a surprise. Plus we're still debating the color scheme."

"There's nothing wrong with traditional white."

"It's been done, though. I'm thinking something more modern. Maybe with some emerald accents?"

They launched into another friendly argument about wedding aesthetics. I focused on my food, hiding a smile as they debated the merits of various dress styles. Mom had started collecting bridal magazines a week ago, despite Camie and I both being first-year students.

"The venue's the real issue," Camie said, gesturing with her chopsticks. "Everything cool books up like two years in advance."

Mom nodded seriously. "The garden where your father and I married is still operating. The cherry blossoms in spring-"

"Mom." I set down my bowl. "We're fifteen."

"Sixteen in July," she corrected. "And it's never too early to plan ahead. The deposit lists are getting longer every year."

"Facts." Camie grinned at my expression. "Plus your mom's got amazing taste. Did you see the centerpiece ideas she found?"

I looked between them - my mother, practically glowing as she discussed flower arrangements, and my girlfriend, who played along with just enough sincerity to make me wonder if they were entirely joking.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur. The movie's plot proved predictable, but Camie's running commentary made it entertaining. Mom shared stories about her own dating experiences, carefully editing around certain details I pretended not to notice.

Later, after the food was cleared and Mom had retired to her room, Camie and I stood on my small balcony. The city lights painted everything in soft neon hues.

"Your mom's going to plan our whole wedding before we graduate," she said, leaning against the railing.

"Bold of you to assume she hasn't already." I wrapped an arm around her waist. "The venues are apparently very competitive."

"Mm." She tilted her head back, studying the stars. "The garden would be nice though. Traditional, but with some modern touches. Maybe some illusion work with the cherry blossoms..."

I looked down at her. The city lights caught the mischief in her eyes.

"You're as bad as she is."

"Worse, probably." She turned in my arms. "But you love us anyway."

"I do." The words came easily now, natural as breathing.

Her fingers traced one of the fresh bruises on my arm. "Next time text first? Before the epic training montage?"

"Promise." I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Though you seemed to keep busy."

"Please. Those movies were totally research. Gotta know what not to do when planning the perfect proposal."

"At someone else's wedding?"

"Nah." She grinned. "I was thinking more like after some big fight. You know, all dramatic and stuff. Maybe with some property damage in the background."

"Very romantic."

"Right? Plus it'll look great on Instagram."

We stayed on the balcony until the night air grew too cool, talking about nothing and everything. 

This is what I'm fighting for, I thought as we headed inside. Not just to become stronger, but to protect these quiet moments. These people who made everything worthwhile.

Even if they were apparently planning my wedding three years in advance.