That day was no different from any other.
The eventful yet rewarding summer vacation had ended, and Kirishima was back at school.
Life among his friends in uniform had resumed.
He had grown so rapidly that the custom-made clothes—crafted with a two‐meter frame in mind—were finally beginning to fit him perfectly.
After a tedious morning, it was time for lunch—the moment to savor the lovingly packed bento his mother had prepared.
After demolishing the hearty meal suited to his build, Kirishima excused himself from his friends and stepped outside for a while.
Although he and Mina usually did everything together, they now ate lunch with their own groups.
When they were in the same class until second year, it made no difference; but once they were split into different classes in third year, that was just how things naturally fell into place.
It wasn’t a big change, anyway—after school, they were always together.
Possessing a maturity that sometimes belied his age (and his previous life), Kirishima often strolled to the schoolyard at lunch to watch the younger students playing.
There was something heartening about seeing those fresh faces bask in their carefree peace.
As he made his way behind the school buildings toward the yard, he caught voices up ahead.
"You have a Quirk that can transform leaves? That’s amazing!"
"Turn some into ten-thousand-yen bills for me. I’m tight this month."
"Making banknotes is against the rules! Besides, your transformations wear off too quickly."
"Then just spend them before they fade!"
The bespectacled boy and the kid with the pug nose were badgering a small youngster whose features were hard to place—somewhere between a mouse and a raccoon dog.
The little one, caught between them, looked completely intimidated.
Kirishima watched them for a moment, clicked his tongue, and then strode over.
"Am I really the kind of guy who attracts trouble? Or should I say—I’m the kind who jumps headlong into it?"
"Hey, guys. Want to see something interesting?"
Casually draping a hand over each of their shoulders, he spoke, and the two boys slowly turned to face him.
Their awkward, stiff smiles made it seem as if their necks had been replaced by rusty, ungreased gears.
"K-Kirishima," one stuttered.
"W-We...," the other began, clearly at a loss for words.
Watching them stammer, Kirishima tightened his grip on their shoulders.
"Gah."
"It hurts..." one whimpered.
"You idiots. Is making money with your Quirk a crime or not?"
"I-It’s a crime..."
"Long ago, Baron John Maynard Keynes said that debasing currency was the most evil and surest way to destroy society’s established order. Do you understand what that means?"
"We get it—now let go already."
Seeing how much pain they were in, Kirishima eased up.
Only then did the two start rubbing their shoulders as if rescued from the brink of collapse, while Kirishima couldn’t hide how pathetic he found them.
"Tch. You don’t need some old sage’s words to know that counterfeiting or altering currency can land you in prison for life—or at least three years. I know you’re idiots, but learn to tell what you can and can’t get away with. Do you really think you can pull that crap with your Quirk and not get caught? And you weren’t even doing it yourselves—you dragged in a junior who didn’t want any part of it. How embarrassing!"
The two simply frowned at his lecture, saying nothing further.
Ever since he first entered middle school, Kirishima had been the undisputed strongest student.
There were rumors about his gigantic frame and even whispers that he honed his martial arts because of Ashido, but the incident that truly cemented his reputation was something else entirely.
In his first year, he had clashed with an ill-tempered senior, and the display of raw power he unleashed—as a stark warning—changed everything.
Ignoring the provocations of the senior, he casually struck a nearby tree.
The tree, thick as a human torso, split apart where his fist met it, collapsing in one blow.
From that day on, no one ever dared mess with Kirishima, and he was officially crowned the school’s number one.
Fortunately, his good-natured personality meant that his newfound reputation brought no misery.
In fact, the under-the-table bullying, extortion, and ostracism all dropped sharply.
That was because Kirishima openly despised such behavior.
He didn’t actively seek out trouble to stop it, but if he witnessed it firsthand, he would never stand by and do nothing—just as he had done today by stopping those two idiots from taking things too far.
"I’m not about to give you some sermon about honest living or hitting the books, so just don’t go around bullying others, you idiots. Now get lost."
With a dismissive wave, he sent the two boys scurrying away like frightened mice.
"You should get going too. Good job not falling for their nonsense. If anyone pulls that again, come find me in Class 3-A. You know my name, right?"
"Thank you. You’re the most famous person at our school, Kirishima. Of course we know you," one replied.
"Is that so? Then you should head out too—lunch break’s almost over."
Watching the junior bow and leave, Kirishima called out,
"So? Nothing to say, you guys watching?"
"Of course we do. You’re still such a brute."
"And still way too nosy."
"So you just stood there and watched?"
"Why would we, when you’d handle it anyway?"
"Is that so. Tch."
Kirishima’s voice rang out in the suddenly quiet space, and two more friends emerged from behind the bushes.
They answered in a carefree tone. Though they weren’t as foolish as the ones he’d just rebuked, their chatter still made Kirishima click his tongue in disapproval.
These guys acted as if he were some sort of cartoon hero—a modern-day Doraemon, no less.
"They’ll only learn when they’ve faced something they can’t handle on their own. Tch. If I can’t fix it, then it must be a huge disaster—something I’d never want to see happen."
Sighing inwardly, Kirishima gave up on watching the hopeless antics of youth and decided to spend the remainder of the break watching videos instead.
He pulled up a video featuring the hero Crimson Riot—a figure from a book of great heroes his mother had bought him as a child.
Honestly, when he was younger he had no interest in reading old-world biographies, so he’d ignored it at first.
But one day, he accidentally dropped the book, triggering the hologram tucked inside, and he found himself watching an interview with Crimson Riot.
The interview was surprisingly relatable, but what caught his attention even more was how similar the hero’s Quirk seemed to his own.
Before long, Kirishima was searching for more Crimson Riot videos.
The footage was old and grainy, yet his distinctive style shone through.
Crimson Riot was a world apart from Kirishima. While Kirishima favored a straightforward, hit-and-don’t-get-hit approach, Crimson Riot employed his defensive Quirk to absorb attacks and charge forward relentlessly.
"He’s from the previous generation, so I wasn’t expecting much—but this really opened my eyes," Kirishima thought.
He’d been mulling over ways to use his own Quirk more effectively. At present, despite it being called Hardening, Kirishima was employing his ability much like an enhancement—maximizing his explosive speed, raw strength, and the evasive edge granted by his sharpened senses and aerial control. Yet in doing so, he wasn’t fully capitalizing on his hardening potential.
In contrast, Crimson Riot made full use of his formidable defense—drawing in enemy attacks, shielding his allies, and then surging forward to subdue his foes. It was an impressive display.
Kirishima knew his way of using his Quirk wasn’t wrong, but if he was to truly live as a hero, there would come a time when he had to protect others. And when that moment arrived, he couldn’t afford to freeze up.
The battle footage of Crimson Riot became the perfect lesson, and whenever he had a spare moment, Kirishima watched the videos intently to learn a new fighting style.
"Oh, isn’t that Ashido?"
"Yeah."
Their brief exchange pulled him out of his reverie. Looking ahead, he spotted Ashido in the distance, accompanied by the two boys he’d just reprimanded—and the junior he’d helped was with them too.
Ashido said something to the awkward group, and then, without warning, all four burst into a breakdance routine.
Kirishima let out a dry laugh. He had no idea what was going on—how does a casual conversation suddenly turn into a dance-off?
After a few energetic moves, the group eventually dispersed on friendly terms.
One of his friends called out,
"You’re impressive too, Kirishima, but isn’t Ashido the real standout?"
"Yeah. Ashido is amazing—flashy, brilliant in both academics and sports, and with a great personality. Not to mention, her Quirk and her knack for persuasion. She’s even applied to U.A., so she truly embodies the new generation of heroes."
"What, do I come off as old-school?"
"Not exactly. But isn’t it strange? You’re handsome, excel in every field—academics, sports, and combat—and you’re the strongest in our school. Yet you seem so different from Ashido. She seems capable of anything, while you’re all about fighting."
"Yeah. I don’t quite fit the mold of either the old or the new generation. If anything, Kirishima, you just feel like... well, you. A bit detached and aloof, though if you look closer, you’re not really cold at all—you’re just a bit odd."
"Is that a compliment or an insult? Pick one, you idiots."
And so lunch break came to an end.
As always, Kirishima went home with Ashido.
Watching Ashido chatter away beside him, he spoke carefully,
"Mina, can I ask you something?"
"Huh? What is it? If it’s about Eijiro, I can answer almost anything."
"No, nothing that grand. I just noticed those three kids were talking during lunch—and then suddenly, they started dancing."
"Oh, those guys?"
"Yeah. How did that happen?"
Mina replied without missing a beat, "Masanori—the short junior."
"Oh, him. What about him?"
"He told Nagahisa and Takezo never to ask him for that kind of favor again."
"Nagahisa and Takezo? You mean the guy with the glasses and the pug nose?"
"Yeah. Anyway, after hearing that, they all got so red-faced that I stepped in—I figured a fight was about to break out."
"Ah, so their little chat ended with a dance-off, huh?"
"United through dance? What do you mean—'united through dance' sounds so cheesy."
"It’s not about style; it’s about the meaning behind it."
Having satisfied his curiosity, Kirishima turned away and frowned.
There, standing before a man easily estimated to be over three meters tall, were two girls in school uniforms, their eyes wide with terror.
Ashido, just catching sight of them, flinched too.
The enormous man appeared to be asking the girls something.
As Kirishima tapped into his enhanced senses, an electric chill ran down his spine.
He couldn’t tell exactly how strong the man was, but there was no doubt—this guy was powerful.
Even by Kirishima’s high standards (he’d always claimed fewer than twenty heroes were stronger than him), the newcomer’s strength defied immediate judgment.
Typically, such uncertainty only arose when someone was absurdly weak or absurdly strong—and a man over three meters tall was hardly weak. Kirishima assumed it was the latter.
No sooner had he quietly activated his Hardening than he sensed Ashido stirring.
Her heart pounded, her shoulders trembled, and her calves tightened as if she were about to bolt.
Realizing she might rush into danger, Kirishima immediately gripped her shoulder.
If that man turned out to be a Villain, Ashido wouldn’t stand a chance—she’d be finished before she could even react.
If anyone was going to step in, it had to be him.
Locking eyes with Ashido, who looked up at him pleadingly, Kirishima sprang into action.
He spotted the man reaching for the outer wall above the girls at the very moment he made his move.
Moving with a speed far beyond what ordinary eyes could catch, Kirishima darted between the man and the girls and seized the attacker’s massive wrist.
The wrist was so enormous that even Kirishima’s long fingers could barely close around it.
Though the man didn’t seem to be exerting full force, his hand, suspended in midair and trembling under their mutual grip, told all—Kirishima could feel the difference immediately.
"He’s stronger than me. No, of course he is."
Kirishima himself was nearly two meters tall, but this man towered over him by more than a full meter.
Even with his Hardening Quirk bolstering him, Kirishima could tell that his opponent was equally supported by some similar power, for not an inch was lost in raw strength.
Neither fighter had gone all out, nor had either employed their recently refined techniques, yet the balance of power was unmistakable.
Studying the man, who showed no sign of strain—only a flicker of surprise—Kirishima allowed his eyes to settle.
"I can’t be sure I’d win. Physically, I’m at a clear disadvantage. If things go south, I might have to block him with my body—even risk my life."
"Sir, you can’t do this. Why are you frightening these young girls?"
"I have not frightened them. I was merely asking for directions."
For someone of his imposing appearance, his tone was disarmingly polite, and Kirishima sensed that perhaps there was room for negotiation.
At that moment, he detected no overt hostility from the man.
Could it be that his shabby clothes and massive frame were deceiving? No—that was impossible. Even if he weren’t a Villain, one thing was clear: he wasn’t a good man.
The predatory aura radiating from him made Kirishima feel utterly overpowered—a heavy, beastly presence.
Suppressing the surge of fighting spirit rising in his chest, Kirishima knew he couldn’t face a man of this caliber in a crowded city street—the damage would be unimaginable.
Peering out from the shadow of the low-hanging hood, he said calmly, "If you need directions, I can help. I’ve lived here all my life. Where are you trying to go?"
"I’m trying to get to Springer’s hero office, but I don’t know the way. Do you happen to know it?"
"Hmm. It’s a bit complicated to explain."
Kirishima pulled up a map on his phone and walked the man through the route, carefully pointing out their current location.
The man thanked him in a voice that echoed as if from deep inside a cavern, saying, "Thank you. All things are for the master…"
After that brief remark, he turned and walked away.
Watching him disappear, Kirishima turned around. At that moment, Ashido rushed over and threw herself at him—and the girls clung to him as well.
"Eijiro! Are you okay?"
"Waaah, that was so scary!"
"If Kirishima hadn’t been here, we’d have been finished."
"I’m not even sure it was that serious, but with him gone, you can all relax now."
Seeing the girls burst into tears, Kirishima clenched his fist. For the first time in his life, someone’s overwhelming presence had forced him to reckon with his own limitations.
As the wide world revealed itself—with countless strong individuals roaming it—he realized that this wouldn’t be their last encounter.
Grinding his teeth, he vowed that next time he would never simply let it pass.
He would grow stronger. Stronger still—until he could one day overwhelm any man he might face on his path to becoming the strongest.
That day, Kirishima’s pride took a heavy blow.
The indifferent evening sun, summoning its last rays, bathed him in a fading light as the chance collision with the giant drew to a close.
Gigantomachia?