MHA Paragon: Version 2.0

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"I'm so proud of you, Kenji!" my mom shouted, even though she was sitting across the table, "I know it's been a month since you were accepted, but I still can't believe it!" 

"Well, don't be too excited. I still have to win the Sports Festival before I can fully commit to being a hero," I muttered with a mouthful of food. 

My mother crossed her arms and scowled, "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't care about our wager?!" 

"It's the principle that matters," I replied, still chewing. 

"Fuck principle! You're not dropping out because of some stupid bet you made just to console me after getting a full ride and breaking the school record!" My mother exclaimed, pounding her fist against the table and glaring at me. 

"It's not that big a deal," I muttered while taking another mouthful of rice. 

My mother ground her teeth together in frustration. "You made national headlines after the school released an official announcement! Our landlord almost kicked us out because the press wouldn't stop camping outside our apartment building waiting to get a picture of you!" 

"Yeah, that was annoying, I guess," I agreed, remembering the few times I had stepped outside to run an errand only to be greeted by a barrage of flashing cameras. Fortunately, the buzz only lasted about a week before people moved on. Still, my paranoia about being in the public eye had brought about a rather stark change in the importance I placed on my appearance. Which wasn't to say that I had gone out to get plastic surgery, but I certainly hadn't stopped at just getting a new haircut and wardrobe. 

'The only good thing about my short-lived fame was that my tattoo artist recognized me and said I didn't have to pay because one day he could brag about tattooing a famous hero.' Considering my naturally pale skin and long black hair, I embraced the alt look with piercings, a wolf cut ponytail combo and tattoos galore, which I had always wanted to do in my past life. 

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My arms and back were almost completely covered in ink, a process made considerably easier by my artist's quirk, which allowed him to directly infuse the ink into my sink without the help of a tattooing needle. Instead of animals, plants, or a Bible verse, my tattoos were more abstract, repeating geometric shapes, patterns, and mathematical formulas. My favorites were the three-dimensional hexagonal lattices covering my forearms and the golden spiral centered on my back. 

They were captivating in a way I couldn't explain, but when I looked at them, a great serenity embraced my mind, and I swear that I could hear them whisper their secrets to me. I wanted to chalk it up to a coincidence, but something in the back of my mind told me otherwise. The fact that I had only started to experience the anomalies after awakening my quirk wasn't helping either.

Speaking of my quirk, the doctor's assumption that my capacity would increase over time had proven correct. I could currently create 1.5 gallons at a time, a suspicious number considering that, on average, a man my age and weight had roughly 1.5 gallons of blood. 

While it could have been a coincidence, there was already more than enough evidence to prove that the performance of my quirk was in some shape or form linked to my physical attributes. The most substantial piece being the intense muscle fatigue when overusing my flux. 

For a moment, I worried that my capacity was directly dependent on my blood volume, but a few days after the exam, I noticed a change in my appetite and body. I started working out again and eating foods with heart benefits, hoping that I could strengthen my cardiovascular system and, thus, my quirk over time. But while my quirk didn't seem to improve, the same couldn't be said of my physical strength and appetite.

Before the exam, I had plateaued, slowed by a lifetime of insufficient eating and a lethargic lifestyle. But the moment my quirk increased in capacity, I started seeing daily improvements in my strength, forcing me to bump up the weight of my vest and braces to get the same amount of resistance. 

It made me reflect on how my endurance and stamina had also improved by leaps and bounds leading up to the exam. I went from barely being able to run a mile without throwing up to completing a half marathon within three months. 

'It's possible that mutating for my quirk also increased my blood cell's ability to carry oxygen? Could the same thing be happening with my muscle cells right now?' It was a question I had asked myself repeatedly; it was a new possibility to explore, but only time would tell if my efforts would bear results. 

I broke out of my train of thought as my chopsticks grazed against the bottom of my bowl, which was larger than my head, though I still felt like I could eat some more. My gaze drifted towards the rice cooker, only for my mom to snap her chopsticks in front of my eyes, "No, you're not even dressed yet, and your train is in thirty minutes." 

"Fine," I grumbled with a click of my tongue as I stood up and carried my bowl over to the sink, "I should save room for lunch anyway. I heard they hired Lunch Rush as the University's chef this year." 

"Lunch Rush? Isn't he the hero who fed over ten thousand people who were displaced by a typhoon a couple of years back?" My mom asked as I walked towards my room. 

"Yep, and his cooking is supposedly the best there is!" 

---

"Damnit, I knew I should have sent this back to get tailored; it's so tight now!" I muttered to myself as I fussed with the collar of my uniform; it had made the train ride over to the University unpleasant, and now it was downright annoying, "Shit, I need to contact the support department to get my suit adjusted."

'Fuck it,' I thought as I loosened my tie, undid the first button of my shirt, and pulled off my jacket before undoing the cuff buttons of my dress shirt and rolling up the sleeves, exposing my tattoos, 'Luckily, the school doesn't have that strict of an appearance code, I just hope my homeroom teacher isn't a stickler for rules.' 

I finished my sudden wardrobe adjustments just as I arrived in front of a massive sliding wooden door easily over ten feet in height with the label 1-A written in red block lettering.

'Subtle,' I thought before opening the door and entering the class. 

Standing in the doorway, I waited to feel the collective weight of everyone's gaze, only to find that everyone's attention was solely fixed on two people in the front of the class. 

"Tell me how you did it, Deku! How the hell did you get in without a Quirk? Did you cheat?!" 

"I didn't cheat, and I don't owe you an answer, so let me go, Katsumi!" 

'So that's her name,' I thought as I started at Firecracker, confronting a green-haired boy who she had grabbed by the collar only for him to stare her down. 

Seemingly surprised by his unwavering gaze, the fire in Katsumi's eyes wavered, only for it to reignite with a blazing fury as her eye locked on to me, "YOU!!" 

All at once, every pair of eyes in the room turned and stared at me.

"Yo, what's going on Firecracker?" A cocky grin stretched across my lips as I flashed a peace sign at Kastumi, who went bright red in the face either from embarrassment, rage, or most likely a mixture of both. 

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!" Katsumi roared as she let go of the green-haired boy and took a threatening step towards me. But before she could reach me, someone else cleared their throat and stepped in front of me, "Did you not read the dress code before accepting your admission to this prestigious institution?" 

"Huh?" I asked, completely dumbfounded, as I stared down at the guy who had stepped before me. Everything about him screamed, stick in the mud, with his neat hair, ramrod posture, cleanly pressed uniform, and square glasses that he pushed up onto the bridge of his nose. 

"The dress code did you-" 

"Yeah, I read it," I interrupted him with a shrug, "But I outgrew my uniform, so forgive me if I make a few adjustments until I get it tailored." 

In the face of my excuse, the guy scanned me up and down before he froze on my forearms, proudly displaying my tattoos, "At least cover your tattoos in a public space. Did your parents not raise you, right?" 

With the flip of a switch, my slight annoyance turned into a simmering rage as I tilted my head and looked down my nose, "Hey. You got a death wish or something?"