Today officially marked the beginning of the two crucial weeks of preparation for the U.A. Sports Festival. Last night, I had a lengthy, productive conversation with the girls, meticulously organizing our training schedule and devising strategies. I also quickly drew up a mini-schedule for myself for these two weeks, outlining precisely what aspects of my abilities and physical condition I needed to work on to be fully ready for the intense competition ahead.
According to my carefully prioritized list of importance, these were the key areas I needed to focus on:
Experimenting with my Energy: After contemplating the terrifying implications of the USJ incident for a solid hour, I concluded that this was, without a doubt, the single most important point I needed to focus on. During the battle at the USJ, I chillingly realized that a sufficiently hard hit, one capable of bending thick metal, could potentially destroy my Slipstream device. This would effectively take me out of the fight, or worse, leave me stranded in a temporal void, with just one well-aimed move from an opponent. This is a critical, glaring weakness for me, and therefore, I absolutely must find a way to reduce or, ideally, eliminate it entirely. Fortunately, the strange "Bonus" bestowed upon me by Kairos, the temporal being, had given me a rough, yet tantalizing, idea: how to effectively seal the troublesome 'leaks' of my energy that constantly destabilized my Quirk. After successfully sealing these leaks, the next daunting challenge would be to find a consistent method to stabilize my overall condition, preventing any involuntary temporal shifts. That last part, however, presented a significant problem, as Dad was scheduled to depart for I-Island today, and I couldn't possibly ask him to supervise me during such a delicate and potentially dangerous process.
Trying to form a distinct fighting style: During my intense, recent fights against Shoji at U.A. and, more critically, against Reaper at the USJ, I realized with stark clarity that my current fighting style, which heavily focused on powerful kicks, was simply not sufficient to quickly and decisively finish a fight. This was particularly evident in the case of Reaper, who could effortlessly counter my every move as if I were a mere amateur. I couldn't rely on my meager Taekwondo talent forever; it was too predictable, too limited. I desperately needed to create my own unique, adaptable fighting style, one that would make me less vulnerable. And, if possible, I truly wanted to combine my kicks with powerful, precise fist strikes to give my combat approach more consistency and unpredictability, transforming myself into a more well-rounded fighter.
Training my physique: I don't really have to give extensive explanations for this, do I? It's a fundamental truth for any aspiring hero. A lady, especially one destined for the spotlight, must absolutely maintain her figure! But beyond aesthetics, a strong body is essential for a strong Quirk, and to withstand the rigors of combat.
"What are you thinking about so intently, Lena?" Dad's voice, soft and probing, pulled me abruptly out of my deep thoughts. He had settled comfortably on the living room couch, briefly checking his phone, his presence a comforting anchor. "You seem particularly lost in thought, more than usual."
"Uh, nothing important, Papa," I replied evasively, hoping he wouldn't press the issue.
Dad rolled his eyes playfully before adjusting his glasses, a familiar gesture. "If you say so, my dear. As you know, I'm heading to I-Island for an important project today. You know the rules, don't you? Don't touch any of my scientific equipment, call me every three days to check in, and for the love of all that is scientific, please don't mess up the house beyond recognition."
I looked at him with a blank, feigned innocent stare. "I'm not that messy, Papa."
"No, but even if you weren't, I'd still add it to the list, just to be safe," Dad replied with a warm, amused smile, clearly enjoying our playful banter.
"I can take care of myself, thank you very much for your concern," I retorted, sticking my tongue out at him childishly, a playful act of defiance.
"We'll see about that, Lena," Dad chuckled lightly, his eyes twinkling, before the doorbell suddenly rang, a clear, insistent chime. "Ah, that must be my ride arriving."
We both rose from the couch and walked to the door. There, waiting for them, were two imposing figures in impeccably tailored black suits, complete with dark sunglasses that obscured their eyes. Behind them, several sleek, black colored cars were parked, and more black-clad agents stood guard, meticulously surveying the surroundings, their postures stiff and alert.
"It's a genuine pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Oxton," one of the agents said, making a quick, precise bow. His tone was professional, serious, and so devoid of any personal inflection that I almost didn't realize he was speaking English, his diction so perfect and detached. "We will transport you directly to Shizuoka Airport, where a private jet, thoughtfully provided by the esteemed Director of I-Island, is awaiting us. We should arrive at I-Island in less than an hour after the flight commences."
Dad made a slightly uncomfortable grimace, clearly not accustomed to such formal, almost military, escort, but he quickly composed himself, greeting the two agents with a respectful nod. "Nice to meet you gentlemen. I hope the journey goes smoothly, without any hitches."
'It feels like he's being escorted by the President's secret service or something...' I thought, my eyes wide with a mixture of awe and slight unease as I watched the other men swiftly carry Dad's luggage to the car without uttering a single word, their movements efficient and silent. 'It's a little scary, honestly, how stiff and perfectly synchronized their movements are...'
Watching as the last of his suitcases was picked up and stowed, Dad turned and looked at me with a warm, half-smile.
"Well, I guess I'll be going now, Lena—" Before he could even finish the sentence, I spontaneously enveloped him in a tight, desperate hug that made him let out a surprised snort. Then, I felt his massive arms wrap around me affectionately, returning my embrace with equal fervor. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone, yeah? No getting into too much trouble."
"I know how to wash some dishes, Papa," I joked, my voice muffled, before sinking a little deeper into our embrace, savoring the warmth. "I'm going to miss you terribly."
"Me too, love you darling," Dad replied, his voice thick with emotion, before gently breaking the hug with a soft smile. "I'll see you in two weeks, when I return for the Sports Festival."
I smiled, a genuine, heartfelt expression, as I wiped away a single, stray tear that had escaped. "See you in two weeks, Papa."
After that final exchange and another quick, brief hug, Dad got into the lead car, which immediately and silently pulled away, speeding towards the airport.
"Well... time to get ready—" I stopped abruptly, my gaze falling upon a sleek, silver box that had been left on the floor near the doorway. "Did Dad accidentally leave a suitcase behind?"
I picked it up curiously, its metallic surface cool beneath my fingers, before noticing a small, handwritten note taped neatly to the front of the box.
—Congratulations on getting into U.A.! It's a little late, I know, but here's my special gift for your admission. I truly wanted to come and see you in person, but I'm incredibly busy right now. Apparently, even after graduating from college, I still have to remain on I-Island for quite a while longer, as the annual I-Expo is nearby, and they desperately need my help with various technical things. Anyway, use them to kick the Villains' asses, and perhaps your future partner's ass too, if they give you any trouble! Signature – Your favorite cousin!—
As I read the note, a wide, excited smile spread across my face, my mood having taken a dramatic 180-degree turn from tired boredom to eager anticipation. Melissa! She was the best.
I quickly entered the house, my steps light, and sat down at the kitchen table. Carefully, almost reverently, I began to open the luxurious box; it was quite obvious from its weight and intricate design that whatever was inside was incredibly expensive, a testament to Melissa's generosity.
Immediately, my brain short-circuited, a surge of pure astonishment, as I looked at the contents of the box.
Two sleek, futuristic dual pistols and a small, intricate device, perfectly designed to fit one of the pistols, nestled securely within the padded interior.
"What the actual fuck, Melissa?" I exclaimed out loud, my voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and genuine concern, as I carefully pulled out the firearms, weighing them in my hands. They certainly didn't appear to be normal pistols, and that mere fact only added to my growing apprehension. "She knows I'm supposed to save people instead of killing them, right? These look incredibly lethal!"
At the very bottom of the box was another note, folded neatly, with some additional words written on it and a charmingly childish drawing of Melissa sticking out her tongue, a playful taunt.
I pulled the note out, my curiosity piqued, and began to read it intently.
—I know precisely what you are thinking, Lena! "I'm supposed to save people, not kill them!" Guess, right?
My left eye twitched slightly in exasperation, recognizing her uncanny ability to predict my thoughts, before I let out an annoyed sigh and continued reading the note.
For starters, yes, they are indeed guns, but rest assured, they are not primarily made to kill. Instead, their core design is to effectively paralyze and, at worst, quickly hurt Villains without fatal consequences. I know you'll face complicated situations if there are villains attacking you from a distance, or if your Quirk's close-range combat isn't enough, that's why I thought of these babies for you.
To avoid making the explanation too long and technical, the guns are officially called: Pulse Guns. These innovative weapons, instead of firing conventional bullets, shoot small, concentrated amounts of plasma. This plasma is specifically designed to paralyze the nervous system of people it hits. You can also manually adjust the output of the plasma to increase its effect, making it more potent, but as a consequence, the weapon will become more unstable and draw more power. You can easily switch between Automatic and Semiautomatic firing modes, depending on the situation.
It also has a hidden Emergency Mode, Lena, where the internal mechanism subtly changes to drastically adjust the plasma output, basically turning it into raw energy bullets that can hurt as much, or even more, than a regular bullet, perfect for extreme situations. The only minor problem I haven't quite solved yet is a way to self-sustain the bullets, so I'm sending you a specialized plasma loader, custom-made for these guns (be warned, the energy expense won't be pretty if you overuse them!).
If you need more information, or if you have any questions, just send me a message!—
I simply gawked at the letter, my gaze shifting between the detailed explanation and the sleek pistols resting on the table.
The top part of each pistol was a pristine titanium white color, adorned with a few small, intricate grooves that cleverly revealed a glimpse of its complex internal mechanism, hinting at the advanced technology within. The entire grip was painted a sleek, metallic gray, providing a firm, ergonomic hold. For some unknown reason, the grip seemed to subtly expand and connect directly to the nozzle of the pistol, possibly an integral part of the plasma firing mechanism.
Most notably, in the very center of the weapon's body, was a small, perfectly circular silver-colored element that slowly, rhythmically rotated, emitting a soft, pulsating blue glow. This ethereal light, I instantly deduced, was most likely the concentrated plasma itself, ready to be unleashed.
Carefully turning the weapon over in my hands, I noticed that its overall design appeared to be subtly based on the iconic Desert Eagle pistol, a sleek and powerful aesthetic. Upon closer inspection, I saw some delicately engraved lettering on the side:
-M.S-
I smiled, a genuine, heartfelt expression, when I saw the initials of Melissa's name. 'Huh, I feel like Christmas came early this year!' The unexpected gift was truly wonderful.
The memory of Dad, transformed into a furry gorilla and dressed hilariously as Santa Claus during a past Christmas, was a cherished memory I knew I would hold forever. It brought a fresh wave of warmth and amusement.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated insistently on the table, pulling me out of my nostalgic reverie.
Carefully setting the invaluable Pulse Guns down on the table, I pulled out my phone and quickly checked the time.
"Shit, it's late!" I exclaimed, realizing I was running behind schedule for training.
In less than a second, I instinctively used my Quirk, 'Acceleration,' a blur of motion, to carefully stow my new Pulse Guns back into their box and place the box securely on top of the table. Then, with another burst of speed, I shot out the door, ready to meet the girls for training.