It had been some time since the summer sun first peered above the horizon.
Kirishima gathered his belongings and stood at the entrance of Midoriya’s house.
"It's a bit bittersweet to leave so soon after coming all this way. I wanted to treat you to something special during your stay, but it feels like I haven't quite managed that," he said.
"No, everything your mother made was delicious. Her cooking has a magic you just can’t buy, no matter where you look," Midoriya replied.
"You're exaggerating. It wasn't that grand," Kirishima replied with a modest smile.
"I'm speaking as someone who's tasted plenty of good food. Honestly, it's amazing you don't pack on more weight, Midoriya," the young man said.
"Every time we talk, I'm reminded how well you handle conversations with adults," Midoriya added.
"Well, our experiences aren't the same. Don't underestimate the instincts of a veteran with fifteen years under his belt. Besides, you may be a kind kid, but you hardly ever share your thoughts with your mother. Fix that, and you'd prove far more endearing. Even now, you're better than Bakugo, that idiot," Kirishima teased.
"That's only because it's hard... Besides, you and I have both been sons long enough," Midoriya shot back.
"True. Izuku, it wouldn't hurt if you explained a bit more to your mother about what's going on. Kirishima, on the other hand, has it easy—his mother really dotes on him," he said.
"I know I worry my mother a lot at home. I wish things could be different, but since I'm aiming to be a Hero, I'm pretty much set to be an unfilial son. So I have to excel elsewhere. Understand, Midoriya?"
"*Sigh*... Alright. I'll try," came the resigned reply.
Watching Midoriya's heavy sigh, Kirishima couldn’t help but laugh.
Midoriya was someone who excelled at helping others yet tended to neglect the little details at home.
If he could at least share what he was thinking or doing daily—even if he was trying to hide some things—it would be a big improvement over acting like a typical teenager.
After all, he was still just a teenager.
"Well then, I must be off. Take care, ma'am. And Midoriya, don't overdo it," Kirishima said.
"Right. Have a safe trip. Next time you come, I'll whip up something truly delicious," the lady responded.
"I'm not overdoing it. Ever since we were kids, whenever Kirishima started overworking, he’d glare at me like he was about to set his eyes on fire. Even if he seems like he'd be fine in a natural disaster, you still need to be careful," Midoriya teased.
"That sounds harsh. I'd be in serious trouble if a disaster hit, too. Anyway, I really must go now. I'm off, Midoriya," Kirishima said.
With a playful tousle of Midoriya's hair after all the banter, Kirishima bid his farewells.
Stepping out the front door, a familiar sight greeted him.
He had visited this neighborhood so many times since childhood that every corner was etched in his memory.
Without hesitation, Kirishima headed to the station, grabbed a drink, and found a seat to wait for his reserved train.
It was Saturday, and despite the early hour, the station bustled with people.
Most of them were tourists.
Watching the crowd, Kirishima thought about how roughly a third of his journey was already behind him.
He had met good people and learned plenty along the way.
In Tokyo, he had made friends with a charming little kid and another who shared his interests.
In Mustafu, he had witnessed Midoriya and Bakugo grow.
He hoped the rest of his journey would be just as smooth as he sipped his drink.
By the time the glass was empty, it was nearly time for the train to arrive.
Kirishima tossed the empty bottle into a trash can and stood up.
A new martial art awaited him.
*
Kyoto's station was sleek and modern like those in other cities, yet it possessed an old-world refinement.
Perhaps it was the legacy of the ancient capital.
With summer vacation coinciding with the weekend, the station teemed with people.
Most were there to sightsee.
Kyoto boasted a wealth of historic sites like Heian Shrine and Kinkaku-ji, but Kirishima wasn’t particularly interested in them.
He hadn’t come all this way just to leisurely tour the landmarks.
Instead, Kirishima hailed a taxi right outside the station.
After stowing his duffel bag in the back seat and reciting the pre-checked address, the driver shot him a curious glance.
"Kid. Were you invited there?" the driver asked.
"Huh? I guess you could call it an invitation. I mentioned I was visiting, and they agreed. Do you know the place, sir? It must be famous. And please, speak casually—I feel a bit uneasy when you’re overly formal, like you're my grandfather," Kirishima replied.
"Alright then. You might not know, but folks my age are well aware. It's not the house that's famous; it's the person who lives there. You didn't know? Well, back in the day, everyone in these parts knew the name Sri Muang. He was a good man," the driver said with a smile.
"Oh? The person who welcomed me said his name was Sri Muang as well, though his voice sounded rather old. He mentioned his name was Samat," Kirishima said.
"Exactly. Sri Muang Samat—the Tiger Sri Muang. He once ruled Kyoto," the driver explained.
"The way you describe him makes it sound like his line of work was rather... rough," Kirishima inquired.
"Ha, no need to worry. He wasn't yakuza. Well, I can’t say he wasn’t a criminal, but he was truly a good man," the driver replied thoughtfully.
Curiosity prickled in Kirishima as he wondered how someone could be labeled both a criminal and still be regarded as a good man.
Was it even possible for one person to inspire such contradictory opinions?
Intrigued, he pressed further, "So, was he considered a villain? Was he involved in organized crime?"
"Villain? No, no. He didn’t have a Quirk, so even if he wanted to be a villain, he couldn’t," the driver explained with a chuckle.
"Not a villain either? Then what exactly did he do?"
"Hmm... It's not something you see these days, but do you know what a vigilante is? We often refer to them as self-appointed enforcers," he replied.
"I'm not entirely sure, but I have a general idea of what they’re like..."
"After All Might took down most of the villains, they became nearly impossible to find. And if any trouble arose, the sheer number of Heroes meant people could always rely on them. But back in those days, things were very different," the taxi driver continued, shrugging with one arm resting on the steering wheel.
There was something strangely dissonant about hearing him reminisce about the past in such a youthful tone, especially coming from an old man with completely white hair.
Kirishima listened intently.
"Let's see... The first time that man came to this area was fifty years ago. I was just a bright-eyed college student back then. Those were truly chaotic times," the driver recalled.
"I’ve heard it was far worse than it is now," Kirishima remarked.
"Exactly. Public safety was in utter disarray. The police were clueless, there were too few Heroes, and villains lurked everywhere. Kyoto wasn’t the serene, ancient capital—it was more like a battleground," the driver explained.
"That must have been incredibly tough," Kirishima said sympathetically.
"It was rough for everyone. I struggled too, but back then, once the sun went down, no one felt safe venturing out. And then, that man appeared," the driver said.
"Did he fight the villains?" Kirishima asked.
"He didn't just fight them. The very street we’re headed to was once a den crawling with villains. With no Quirk to rely on, he beat them down with his bare hands, driving them out. Without a Hero license, you might think he’d be in trouble for using even a hint of a Quirk, but being Quirkless meant he wasn’t subject to the harsher penalties. If he were charged at all, it would have been for excessive self-defense. The police turned a blind eye more or less," the driver elaborated.
"Wow. He must have been really strong," Kirishima murmured, excitement building within him at the thought of a Quirkless man who had single-handedly cleaned up an entire street.
Over generations, Quirks had combined and grown stronger. But that didn’t mean the power of old-generation abilities could be dismissed.
Quirks were, at their core, potent weapons.
Their strength increased over time either through the merging of like abilities or through synergistic combinations of different Quirks—Bakugo being a prime example of the latter.
Yet, regardless of the era, the mere presence of a Quirk made those without one vulnerable.
Even if it wasn’t as all-encompassing as modern electricity-type Quirks, imagine someone capable of discharging enough electricity from both hands to rival a stun gun—challenging to face for any Quirkless individual.
In that sense, a man like Sri Muang Samat was likely a master of his craft.
"Of course he was strong. Even the most formidable villains would cower before Sri Muang. Later on, thanks to him, countless former criminals turned their lives around, settling down right in these streets," the driver said, his excitement evident.
"So you knew him personally? You recognized the address immediately," Kirishima observed.
"Haha, busted. Sri Muang probably doesn't remember me, but he’s been a benefactor. I was a third-year university student when my family ran into financial trouble. I’d been at school for nearly three years with just over a year to go, but I couldn't afford the tuition. I couldn't bring myself to give up after coming this far. So I took a leave of absence and ended up doing manual labor instead," the driver recounted.
"That must have been so challenging," Kirishima said.
"Not really. When you’re making money, it’s just a matter of hard work. I went to a job meeting and, before I knew it, I blacked out. When I came to, I was strapped to a metal bed—tied up so tightly I couldn’t move and even gagged. Then a man in surgical scrubs came in and started coldly counting my organs, as if deciding how to best use them. I was terrified and could only cry," the driver recalled.
"Good grief. Were there people openly trafficking human beings right in the heart of the city?" Kirishima asked, frowning.
The driver shook his head as he continued. "They were absolute scum. Just when I thought I was doomed, I heard shouts and the sound of something crashing. Not long after, a huge man burst through the door. Even though I was still tied up, I managed a glimpse—he was foaming at the mouth, with his eyes rolled back."
"Serves him right," Kirishima muttered.
"Exactly. In that split second, a desperate hope stirred in me—even as I feared that if another villain had caused this, they wouldn't leave a witness behind. Then, kicking the broken door apart, in strode Sri Muang," the driver said.
"What a dramatic entrance. Incredible," Kirishima exclaimed.
"It was indeed remarkable. The moment he arrived, he knocked out the thug who had been harassing me. That guy's Quirk turned his fingers into scalpels, yet Sri Muang showed not even a flicker of concern. Then he untied me," the driver continued.
"You really came close to death. You must be deeply grateful to him," Kirishima commented.
"Grateful? Absolutely. And it didn’t end there. Once he heard my story, Sri Muang took me to his home. Though he couldn’t help with my tuition due to his own financial struggles, he promised to help me find a job—and he did. Thanks to him, I managed to get by, earning enough to resume school within half a year. I eventually graduated safely," the driver explained.
Kirishima found himself in awe of such extraordinary deeds.
It wasn’t just about saving someone—it was the care in understanding their circumstances and lending a hand that truly epitomized heroism.
In modern times, even Heroes rarely extend their help to that degree. Their roles have become so defined—dealing with villains, rescuing citizens, and protecting lives—that investigating each victim’s story has largely been left to other agencies. That, perhaps, is why the legend of Sri Muang felt all the more impressive.
"Wow. He really wasn't just a common criminal, was he? It must have been challenging to take such care in every situation," Kirishima remarked.
"Exactly. He's a remarkable man. Thanks to him, a young man who was once helplessly at the mercy of villains went on to graduate from college, secure a job, get married, and even have children—and now grandchildren. Honestly, I do this work nowadays simply because retired life was getting too dull. And because of that, I get to meet solid young men like you and reminisce about my younger days. It's all thanks to Sri Muang," the driver said with a warm laugh.
"I only came across his name online, and he rarely speaks about himself. But thanks to you, I have a much clearer picture of who he is," Kirishima admitted.
"Haha. You know, my house is on the same street as his mansion. In a way, the road we're on now is pretty much the same route home for me," the driver added.
"Ah, I see. No wonder it feels so familiar. I initially thought it was just because you've spent years in Kyoto, but it turns out it really is your homecoming route," Kirishima observed.
"It's a mix of experience and homecoming, I suppose. Haha. Look at us—already arrived and chatting away. Now, get out," the driver said, signaling the end of their conversation.
Responding to the driver's cue, Kirishima pulled out his wallet.
As always, Japanese taxi fares were steep, but after hearing such a captivating story, he felt no hesitation in paying.
"Keep the fare. Just pass my regards to Sri Muang if you see him," he said.
"No, sir, that won't do. I was the one privileged to hear such an amazing story. How can I not pay?" the driver protested.
After a brief tug-of-war over the fare, their little dispute ended with Kirishima's victory as he left the money in the taxi and practically dashed off with his bag.
Stepping out of the taxi, Kirishima bowed politely to the old man.
"Thanks to you, I arrived safely. If we ever meet again, I'll be looking forward to another one of your stories," he said.
"Even if I say it's fine, next time I'll spin another tale—and I won't take your money either. Whatever business brings you to Sri Muang's place, I hope it turns out well. You're a solid young man; I'm sure he’ll appreciate you," the driver replied.
"Haha. Even if he doesn't like me at first, I'll make sure he comes around eventually. Take care," Kirishima said with a smile.
"Alright then. This old man is on his way," the driver added.
After bidding the old man a warm farewell, Kirishima turned and looked ahead.
A grand Japanese mansion loomed before him.
The weight of one man's legacy seemed to press upon him, yet he could only smile.
Inside, a man who had taken down villains without a Quirk was waiting for him.
His heart pounded fiercely.
It was shaping up to be a good day indeed.
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