Inheritance of Giants

Break on Through

She'd been here since she was three. Four years. And still counting.

Down the hall, the names marched forward: Daigoro Banjo, Student Four. Others followed — some remembered, some not.

But finally, she stopped.

Student One.

The door at the very end. The only one her father never joked about — or rather, the only one he always joked about, like a riddle he couldn't solve.

The only man she'd ever known who made her father afraid without even trying.

She stared at the placard and whispered:

"Saitama."

Yapool had told her the story of the man and his five years here. The first three years had been grueling for Saitama, but when the three years came to be, Saitama had destroyed Yapool in training. Not just once or twice, but consistently, every single day.

Yapool had tried to test his limits.

Even built an orbital drop gauntlet once—just to see if reentry heat would slow him down.

It hadn't.

"Everything's too easy," Saitama had said.

And then he left. Just walked out. Like he had never been caught at all.

Yapool never tells that part of the story. Toga had only found out by the notebook logs Yapool keeps. She hadn't done anything really, just left another student to die. Plus, the notebooks were out in the open, free to use, as Yapool said.

Five years to the day, she remembered. Door opened. Door closed. Sure, the alarms went off, but Yapool only watched. Then, Yapool never heard nor saw him again.

Well, that was to be expected, really. For the most part, Yapool let his students leave if they got to the door. It was rare, but to the few that got there, like Toga had previously, Yapool only watched with a shrug.

"You do decide when the contract ends," she had remembered him saying. "Just had to make sure you wanted it to."

Yes, he had to make sure by putting the door inside a labyrinth. It wouldn't kill you — unless you gave up before it gave out.

Then, a thought hit Toga. One that choked her.

"He only said Izuku's alive," Toga breathed out. "That's all he said. Shit—he never said safe." Her fingers twitched. "I need to find him. Now."

Opening the door to her room, she looked to the top of the small dresser, and smiled when she saw three vials of blood.

"Yes! Dad hasn't found them," she whispered.

She grabbed the vial on the left, then opened the drawer for the bottle — a jet-black liquid she'd brewed over years in Yapool's shadow. Next, she pulled out a glass from the drawer, and poured said mixture inside.

It was some kind of genome-reactive metal Yapool once called "Plutonium-Iron Alloy," diluted in water. She didn't care what it was — just that it worked.

Grabbing a small pipette, Toga grabbed the smallest drop she could from the vial and set it back in its place. The only reason she didn't bring out of Yapool with her is that these three Quirks were useless outside of Yapool.

The first and second vial's Quirks didn't matter at the moment, but the third's, "Insta-Step," did. It allowed the user to teleport five times in a second, but each teleport's range was only a foot, twelve inches away.

Here, however, in Yapool's pocket dimension body? That didn't matter. Distance was relative here, she's tested it dozens of times. In here, the rules of space bent around intent — five feet, five miles, five thoughts — it didn't matter. Just know your destination, and move.