Chapter Six — New City, Old Pressure
Musutafu was quieter than Takeshi expected.
Not silent — the city had its usual hum of traffic, chatter, and distant construction — but there was a steadiness to it. A rhythm. A kind of calm that felt like the moment before a fight, when the world held its breath.
He stepped out of the taxi and looked up at the building that would be his home.
A six‑story apartment complex with clean lines, pale stone walls, and balconies framed with dark metal railings. Not flashy. Not tall. Not trying to impress anyone.
Exactly the kind of place his mother would choose.
He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and headed inside.
The unit was on the fourth floor — high enough for a view, low enough for quick exits. The hallway smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and old wood. Takeshi unlocked the door and stepped in.
The apartment was simple, but not sparse.
Warm wooden floors. A wide window overlooking the street. Afternoon light spilling across a sturdy couch, a low table, and a compact dining set. The kitchenette was modern and clean, with enough counter space for someone who actually cooked.
He didn't cook.
But he appreciated the option.
He opened the fridge out of habit — and blinked.
It was fully stocked.
Neatly arranged rows of microwaveable meals from a high‑end meal delivery service, each labeled with macros, calories, and protein content. Chicken and rice variations, lean beef bowls, salmon with vegetables, high‑protein pastas — all designed to keep him fueled and building muscle.
On the top shelf sat a small organizer filled with supplement bottles:
a multivitamin
omega‑3 capsules
vitamin D
magnesium
a greens powder mix
All portioned out in a weekly pill case.
His mother's doing.
Of course.
He could almost hear her voice:
"Macros build muscle. Micros keep you alive long enough to use it."
He closed the fridge with a small exhale — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. He knew she was right. After all, it was a lifestyle; he had seen her live it his entire life. His mother was a top ten hero for a reason, and that was despite her now being at the age most heroes started slowing down. Though he knew far better than to try and vocalize that. He felt phantom pain on the back of his skull — a firm reminder of the last time he'd thought to tell her that…
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
For a moment — just a flicker — the weight of it hit him.
This was the first time he'd ever lived anywhere without her.
No familiar footsteps in the hallway. No soft hum of her morning routine. No dry comments from the kitchen while she reviewed hero reports.
Just him.
The silence pressed in for a heartbeat… then he straightened, letting the feeling pass. He'd chosen this. He was ready for this.
The bedroom was modest: a bed, a desk, a dresser. The window faced the direction of U.A., its distant silhouette visible between buildings.
He set his bag down and walked to the window.
From here, U.A. looked almost peaceful.
But he knew better. The life of a hero was not peaceful. At least never for long.
The Gym
The Tetsutetsu Pro Training Facility was only two blocks away — a short walk through a quiet neighborhood lined with small shops and cafés that he supposed he'd get around to sampling now that he was a resident. The building itself was unassuming, save for the reinforced doors and the stylized steel logo above them.
A hero gym.
A real one.
The kind of place pros used when they wanted to train without cameras or fans.
His mother had used a few connections — old favors, old friendships — to get him access. He didn't ask who she called. He didn't need to.
He pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
The air smelled faintly of metal, chalk, and effort. The space was wide and open, filled with reinforced equipment designed to withstand quirks. Weighted dummies. Impact‑resistant walls. Adjustable gravity platforms. Rows of free weights and machines.
A few heroes trained quietly, each focused on their own routine. They glanced at him — assessing, not judging — then went back to their workouts. They were aware of their surroundings even off duty, an instinct demanded by the job.
Takeshi nodded once and headed to the locker room.
He changed into workout clothes and stepped onto the main floor.
Warm‑Up
He started with a dynamic warm‑up:
Arm circles
Hip mobility drills
Light jogging on a reinforced treadmill
Controlled breathing to center himself
His density quirk made warming up essential — shifting mass too quickly without preparation could strain joints or tendons. A lesson he'd learned early when first learning to control his quirk.
Strength Training
He moved to the free weights.
Today was a full‑body routine — nothing flashy, just fundamentals done with precision.
Squats
Cleans
Bench press
Weighted carries
Controlled density‑shift punches into a reinforced striking pad
Each movement was deliberate. Efficient. No wasted energy.
A few heroes paused to watch him work — not because he was loud or showy, but because he moved with the kind of discipline that only came from years of training. There was definitely a resemblance to their own training despite the differences in age.
As he racked the final set of weights, a thought settled in his mind — steady, unyielding:
Being at the top of the entrance exam didn't mean anything if he didn't stay there. Strength wasn't a trophy. It was upkeep. Maintenance. Work. And if he wanted to stay ahead, he couldn't afford to coast. Not now. Not ever.
Cooldown
When he finished, he didn't rush out.
He dropped to the mat and began a stretching routine:
Hamstring stretches
Hip flexor holds
Shoulder mobility work
Slow breathing to bring his heart rate down
Cooling down mattered. His mother had drilled that into him early.
"A hero who can't move tomorrow isn't much use."
After stretching, he headed to the small nutrition station near the lockers.
The fridge was stocked with protein shakes — high‑quality brands, the kind pros used. Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, matcha.
He grabbed a vanilla bottle, cracked it open, and took a long drink.
Cold. Smooth. Exactly what he needed.
He leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the quiet settle around him.
This gym would be good for him.
Musutafu would be good for him.
U.A.… that remained to be seen.
Back at the Apartment
The sun was setting by the time he returned. He heated one of the pre‑made meals — chicken, rice, and vegetables — and sat at the small dining table.
Before eating, he opened the pill organizer and took the day's supplements with a glass of water. A simple routine, but one that kept his micronutrients balanced and his body functioning at its peak.
Fuel. Nothing more, nothing less.
After cleaning up, he sat on the edge of his bed and pulled out his headphones. He scrolled through his playlist — mostly American music he'd grown up with. Songs that reminded him of long drives with his mother, early‑morning training sessions, and the quiet hum of home.
He pressed play.
A steady beat filled his ears — familiar, grounding, a piece of the life he'd left behind.
As he lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, another thought surfaced — calm, resolute:
Top of the exam was a start. Nothing more. If he wanted to stay there, he'd have to earn it every day. No resting on laurels. No coasting. No shortcuts.
Tomorrow, he'd explore the city. The next day, he'd refine his training plan. And soon after that, he'd walk through the gates of U.A. as a student.
A new city. A new school. A new chapter.
But he wasn't walking into it empty‑handed.
He carried everything his mother had taught him — discipline, clarity, purpose — and the quiet, steady drive that was unmistakably his father's.
For the first time, the future didn't feel like weight.
It felt like momentum.