People often mistake speed and power for what makes a true powerhouse.
Speed and power are, of course, important.
Generally speaking, the faster and stronger you are, the better.
But there is something just as essential—if not more so.
Insight.
No matter how fast or powerful you may be, without insight, you can never be truly complete.
Conversely, even someone who is comparatively slow and weak can exploit the tiniest opening and strike decisively if they possess insight.
This is especially true in martial arts—where a single blow can decide a match and combatants, despite wearing plain clothes, wield weapons—but it applies just as much in any fighting arena.
Kirishima, who had already reached a high level of mastery, maintained the upper hand in almost every close-quarters confrontation.
The Villain before him was no exception.
"Boring. His strength is mediocre, his speed about the same, and he lacks even basic technique. No, should I say he’s lost all sense?"
The fight unfolded with overwhelming one-sidedness.
Even though less than a minute had passed since Chipmunk granted him a provisional combat permit, Kirishima calmly marked his target.
The fading, dripping tattoo on the Villain had already dissolved to more than half its former self.
Watching the vibrant stains spread across the floor, Kirishima mused that the guy might as well try his hand at modern art.
That was how ineffective his assault had been—characterized by huge, overblown windups that practically shouted, "I’m attacking now," sluggish speed and power, and a complete absence of calculated intent.
It almost made Kirishima miss Takeru, the burly, foul-mouthed man he had clashed with not long ago.
Finding it remarkable that this failure made him long for Takeru’s raw, unrefined energy, Kirishima felt a rare kinship and reached out to take the man’s hand.
The Villain roared and thrashed, but he couldn’t break free from Kirishima’s grip.
Then Chipmunk sprang over the struggling foe’s head.
He looped his tail around the man’s neck and spun gracefully in midair.
Landing with his weight driving downward, he flipped the Villain onto his back and held him down while methodically choking him.
"Isn’t that a bit dangerous?"
Kirishima thought the move looked oddly familiar—like something he’d seen a few times in pro wrestling during his previous life.
Was it called a hurricanrana?
Though he hadn’t been particularly interested in pro wrestling, the flashy technique had left its mark on him.
Watching the display, Kirishima couldn’t help but think it wielded far too much killing power.
It was so acrobatic that it almost seemed impossible to pull off, but once executed, the impact was undeniable—the Villain, who had been flailing helplessly, soon lost consciousness and slumped limp.
Chipmunk quickly restrained him and turned back to Kirishima.
"It’s over. I can’t believe I struggled with someone like this—it’s a bit embarrassing. Thanks for your help, kid. Had you not intervened, the civilians might have been hurt."
"Ah, yes. I hope I didn’t cause any unnecessary trouble."
Chipmunk smiled broadly and extended his hand for a shake.
Though his expression betrayed a hint of embarrassment over not handling it entirely on his own, there was no trace of jealousy or resentment toward Kirishima.
Looking down at Chipmunk, who was just a head shorter than him, Kirishima accepted the offered hand.
He appreciated how Chipmunk hadn’t backed down even when the situation looked grim, and admired his effort to protect the civilians. But it was his fairness after the fight that truly won him over.
"Honestly, it’s not a good situation. You know, even if it was unavoidable, getting entangled with Villains before you’re fully qualified isn’t exactly ideal."
"Yes. I’d rather not get involved until I have my Hero license, but it never seems to work out that way."
"This time, it was my mistake. I let my guard down and got caught, which dragged you into the fray. For that, I owe you an apology."
In a voice that belied his cute appearance, Chipmunk bowed respectfully to Kirishima.
Startled, Kirishima quickly helped him to his feet, waving off any further apologies.
"Not at all. You would have handled it just fine on your own. I just happened to help you corner him a little faster."
"Ha ha. No need to praise me. Anyone can see it was a dangerous situation."
Laughing heartily as he candidly acknowledged the risk, Chipmunk’s frankness was truly impressive—after all, admitting one’s own mistakes or admitting to a crisis in front of a crowd isn’t easy.
"Your name was... Kirishima, right? I think I read about you in the news."
"Yes. I’m Kirishima Eijiro."
"I understand why you got the go-ahead to fight, and I agree it was the smartest move in that moment. Still, if you can, try to let another Hero handle these situations next time."
"Of course. I don't plan on diving into every little thing and causing a scene."
"Good. In the end, you still ended up entangled in the incident. I’m sorry once again. I’ll make sure the police hear my side of the story, so don’t worry. Ah, look—the police are here. Please wait a moment."
"Yes."
After reassuring Kirishima, Chipmunk walked over to the arriving officers.
Kirishima watched him go, a mix of admiration and unease stirring in his chest.
He wasn’t tall, and his build was rather slight.
His torn, battered face told the story of a hard-fought battle.
His costume, drenched in sweat and blood, was all he had left to show for his efforts.
And yet, the back he showed as he walked away wasn't shabby at all.
No one could ever say otherwise.
Silently saluting the heroism in his heart, Kirishima turned back to the spot where he’d been standing.
There, by the familiar duffel bag he’d left during his travels, a group of girls waited, holding his bag.
As he approached, they burst into excited chatter.
"Wow! That was seriously amazing!"
"Yeah. But why did you only block?"
Seeing that they meant no harm, Kirishima sighed inwardly.
They weren’t malicious.
It was simply a cultural clash—a misunderstanding of how to properly honor Heroes and warriors who had become celebrity figures, reducing a fierce battle to mere entertainment.
He had no desire to blame them now.
Still, unable to remain silent, Kirishima picked up his bag and said,
"Uh, ladies? No, that sounds too formal—let’s just say friends. Friends."
"Friends? Does that mean we get to be friends with you?"
"There’s nothing wrong with being friends—as long as you do me one favor."
"What kind of favor? Just tell us!"
"From now on, if a Hero is battling a Villain, please keep your distance. If possible, leave the area entirely. A Hero might try to protect you, but that isn’t always possible."
"Okay. We’ll do that!"
"And even if the Hero starts to falter, please cheer them on. Those who stand on the frontlines deserve respect. No one ever pushed Heroes into fighting Villains—these are people who risk their lives. Not everyone can be as strong as All Might, but even the weaker Heroes bleed for you."
Watching the girls grow solemn at his words, Kirishima realized they weren’t bad at all—they just came from a different culture.
In his previous life in America, people understood that all too well.
Even in America, some World War I veterans received smaller benefits than those who fought in the War of Independence nearly 140 years earlier.
And when the Great Depression set in, there was even an incident where veterans gathered to demand their bonuses, only to be crushed under tanks.
Such events gradually taught people that those who shed blood for the nation, society, and civilians deserved respect and honor.
In the era Kirishima lived in, when someone in uniform passed by, people would salute in their own way.
Here, Heroes were seen more as celebrities or high earners—entirely different from his past life.
After all, the notion of Heroes as fighters or warriors had long since faded.
Everyone agreed that combat skills were necessary to be a Hero, but since battles with Villains had become a kind of show, the basic rule of staying out of the fray was often ignored.
No one really knew how long it would take or how many incidents would be needed to change that perception.
Thinking this through, Kirishima clapped his hands to capture the girls’ attention as the conversation grew heavy.
"Alright, enough of the gloomy talk. As promised—let’s be friends. I still don’t know your names, so why not introduce yourselves? You might have already heard mine—I’m Kirishima Eijiro."
At that, the girls’ faces lit up and they crowded around him one by one.
After a while of introductions and even exchanging phone numbers, Kirishima was finally free—though only because the police had come to request statements from everyone involved.
Shortly after parting with his new friends—albeit abruptly—Kirishima met with the officer in charge.
The officer explained that, although he’d heard the full story from Chipmunk, Kirishima needed to accompany him to the station to give a statement. Kirishima agreed, having been prepared for this moment from the start.
Judging by the officer’s kind look—thanks to Chipmunk’s glowing account—everything was unfolding in the most ideal way.
Just as Kirishima was about to follow the officer, Chipmunk approached him and said,
"Thanks for today. Kirishima, you’re aiming to become a Hero too, right?"
"Yes. For now, I'm targeting U.A.," Kirishima replied.
"I see. With your skill, you’ll no doubt pass the practical exam—you only need to get through the written test. U.A. even offers work-study programs with Pro Heroes. Did you know that?"
"I looked into the curriculum before, so I did."
"Good. You’re so impressive that I wouldn’t be surprised if every Hero with half an eye ended up trying to recruit you. But if fate allows, let’s meet again someday. And don’t worry—I’m not pressuring you or anything."
With that, Chipmunk patted Kirishima on the shoulder and departed with a laugh.
Kirishima bowed respectfully toward the small figure disappearing into the distance, his tail swaying gently behind him.
Chipmunk was a warrior who never backed down and a guardian who refused to yield—a man who, although not as strong as Kirishima, was unquestionably worthy of respect.
With that thought in mind, Kirishima followed the officer with a determined smile.
After finishing his statement at the police station, he emerged into an already late afternoon.
The scorching sun had softened somewhat, yet it still greeted Kirishima warmly.
Reflecting on the day’s events, he found himself pondering anew the true value of a Hero.
Boxers in his previous life weren’t simply made overnight.
A boxer was forged through grueling effort—by shedding blood and grinding away at their very being.
No matter how ordinary a boxer might appear, behind every display in the ring lay years, sometimes decades, of relentless hardship.
They sacrificed roughly 80,640 minutes—or even more—for the mere 36 minutes spent fighting in the ring.
Through that vicious cycle of pain, intensity, and gradual transformation, a boxer was ultimately completed.
"And yet, even then, they can vanish in an instant."
Even a fighter who had endured such a grueling process could lose everything in a moment.
Kirishima was living proof of that harsh truth.
In that sense, Heroes were not so different.
From a societal perspective, Heroes weren’t born free of charge.
Almost every teenager aspired to be a Hero, so talented individuals were rarely overlooked—but merely having talent didn’t guarantee a Hero’s future.
The competition was brutal, and sometimes the quirks of an individual just didn’t mesh well with the demands of the exam.
Even those who passed and entered Hero training often stumbled on the road to becoming a true Hero; even once they did, they were only at the starting line.
They had yet to overcome countless obstacles on the journey ahead.
Ultimately, becoming a Hero meant revealing your Quirk to the world.
In battles where one Quirk clashed against another, having your ability exposed was a serious liability.
Living as a Hero meant accepting every penalty and becoming strong enough to both combat Villains and survive.
To truly succeed, one had to endure all of that while still internalizing the essence of being a Hero.
Of course, it was understood that individual sacrifice—of sweat and passion—was expected, and that society would invest heavily in these efforts.
That was why Heroes were regarded as precious resources, nurtured at enormous social cost and yet always at risk of being lost.
They were fighters by trade, yet even the mightiest could vanish in an instant.
"Hmm. Come to think of it, isn’t it odd that true Heroes rarely cross the line? Real Heroes seldom cause chaos. Now, that reminds me—Takeru really did create a huge mess. Tsk."
As Kirishima made his way home, marveling once again at the resilience of a true warrior, he sidestepped a flying object coming straight at him.
Reaching out, he caught the small bag he’d been carrying and looked ahead.
There, with her signature pink hair and striking black eyes, stood a girl, her face flushed with anger.
"Eiji-chan! You traitor!"
Her furious outburst made Kirishima find her both adorable and exasperating, and he scratched his chin in mild bemusement.
It was a reunion far more troublesome than encountering a Villain in battle.
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