Chapter 13: You're Tougher Than You Look

“Granddad!” Aiko called out, voice slightly winded.

Tetsurō was hunched over the workbench, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a low whirr coming from the grinder in his hand. Sparks flared briefly, casting tiny glints against the mess of metal, leather, and cloth strewn across the table. The soft scent of oiled tools and scorched leather lingered in the air.

“I brought some good stuff today,” she said, nudging the door closed with her foot.

Tetsurō didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “No rusty pipe, I hope. Nearly dulled my best blade last time.”

“Lesson learned.” She crossed the room and carefully laid the pieces onto the side table, brushing off a few lingering flecks of sand. “There’s some old paneling here—might be usable.”

He grunted in approval, switching off the grinder and setting it down. “We’ll see what we can make of it.”

She hesitated.

His eyes flicked to her—just briefly—but it was enough. “What is it?”

“Um… Where are the hand wraps?” she asked, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Not the reinforced ones. Just the fabric ones”

He turned, brow raised. “What for?”

Aiko shifted slightly. “There was a truck blocking the road on my way back, so I took the long way around… and I passed this alley with a bunch of kids sparring.” Her voice picked up a bit, just barely. “It looked like Muay Thai. Real form work. Elbows, clinch drills, the works.”

Tetsurō didn’t speak. He just watched her.

She met his gaze. “I was thinking… maybe I could train with them?”

He stayed still for a long moment. The low hum of the forge was the only sound between them.

Then, finally, he nodded—reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands. “I think it’s a good idea. You’ve wanted to learn Muay Thai for a while.”

“Really?” she said quickly. “You think… it’s safe?”

A pause.

Then he stood, slow and steady, moving toward the old shelf near the far wall. He rummaged behind a stack of folded gear before pulling something out.

The wrist wraps were dark grey, reinforced with sturdy layered fabric—strong, flexible, and built for sparring.

He held them out to her with a soft exhale. “No. It’s not safe,” he said plainly. “You shouldn’t be wandering off routes we agreed on. And I don’t like the idea of you hanging around strangers.”

Then, quieter: “But… it’s even less safe if you don’t know how to protect yourself.”

Aiko’s face lit up.

“Thank you,” she whispered, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him.

Tetsurō grunted softly, resting a calloused hand on her back. “…Just don’t break your nose the first week, alright?”

She laughed. “I won’t.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Aiko jogged back toward the alley, clutching her hand wraps. Her heart thudded—not from the walk, but the nerves simmering just under her ribs.

The narrow lane was still there, dappled in morning light. The clang of footwork and the muted slap of skin against fabric echoed softly against the concrete walls.

Four kids were training in the open space. Three boys, one girl. Street clothes, mostly—plain shirts, athletic shorts, scuffed sneakers. But their movements were sharp. Purposeful. Knees snapped up, elbows cut through the air, a battered punching bag hung crookedly from a rusted hook above.

Aiko hesitated just before the corner, half-hiding behind the chipped edge of a crumbling wall. She held her breath, watching.

The smallest of the boys—a kid with a spiky black mohawk and a bandage across his nose—pivoted mid-drill and caught sight of her.

He slowed. Then, wordlessly, started walking over.

Aiko straightened reflexively, bracing herself.

He stopped a few feet away, squinting slightly.

“You following us or something?” he asked. Not rude, but not quite friendly either.

“No,” Aiko said quickly, stepping forward. Her voice was calm, careful. “I just… I saw you guys earlier. And… I was curious.”

The boy glanced down at the straps in her hands.

She shifted them into view. “I was wondering if I could train with you. Just a little. If that’s alright.”

His eyes scanned her quickly—skinny legs, lean frame, no obvious bruises. She didn’t look like a threat. But she didn’t look useless either.

He jerked his head toward the others. “Come ask Rika.”

Aiko followed, keeping a respectful distance. The other kids had stopped now, watching her approach.

Rika, the girl, stepped forward. She was taller than Aiko by quite a few inches, strong-looking and barefoot. Her scarlet hair was tied back in a ponytail and sweat glistened on her forehead.

“You wanna spar?” she asked bluntly.

“Eventually,” Aiko replied. “But I’d like to learn first. I don’t wanna waste anyone’s time.”

Rika tilted her head. “You ever done Muay Thai before?”

“Um, no… But I’ve watched a lot. Studied it a little. I can take hits. I promise.”

One of the older boys snorted. “She’s serious. Look at her face.”

Rika gave a short nod. “Alright. Wrap up. You can run drills with Haruki.”

Aiko smiled, relieved, and began wrapping the dark grey fabric around her hands. The boy with the mohawk, Haruki, moved into position and gestured for her to mirror him.

“We start light. Knees and footwork. No fancy crap.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

And just like that, she was in.

The drills were simple, repetitive. Knees up, pivot, elbow forward, reset. Again. Again. Her legs ached within minutes, and her core began to burn. But she didn’t stop. Didn’t ask for water. Didn’t falter.

Haruki side-eyed her as they moved through another round. He was fast—snapping his elbows with precision that spoke of long practice—but he kept glancing at her, as if testing her resolve.

“You blink when you pivot,” he said, flat but observant. “Makes you slow. People’ll see it coming.”

Aiko blinked again, cheeks heating. “Oh. I… didn’t realize.”

He smirked faintly—quick, like it wasn’t meant to be seen. “That’s why I hit cleaner. Don’t copy me, though. Figure out your own rhythm.”

She gave a small laugh despite the sting in her lungs. “That’s why I’m here.”

He rolled his shoulders, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “Just don’t fold. Most people do.”

They drilled until sweat slicked down their temples. After twenty minutes, Rika called a break. The kids flopped down, breathing hard. Aiko stood, still catching her breath, and peeled the wraps from her wrists. A small red mark bloomed near her thumb joint.

“You’re tougher than you look,” one of the boys muttered. His voice was soft, almost disinterested, but his blue eyes flicked toward her with the quiet weight of someone who noticed more than he said.

Rika sipped from her water bottle and tilted her head. “You sure you never trained before?”

Aiko shook her head. “No, not hand-to-hand. I just… watch a lot, and make notes.”

“You learn fast,” Rika said, not unkindly.

The third boy, taller than the others and with sharper features, eyed her from beneath sweat-damp bangs. His white hair was tousled and slightly spiked. “Fast doesn’t mean good,” he said with a short, rough scoff. “Half the kids who wander in here quit by the third day.” His tone was clipped, but his eyes never left her, like he was measuring whether she’d be one of them.

Before Aiko could answer, Haruki spoke up from where he was sprawled on the ground. “She’s not quitting.” He didn’t even look at her as he said it, just tossed it out there like a fact.

The taller boy shifted slightly, still watching Aiko, his scarred forearms flexing. “You run with anyone?” he asked, tone rough around the edges.

She blinked. “What?”

“You part of a group? Crew? Anything?”

Aiko paused—just a beat too long. “Oh—No. Just me.”

He gave a slow nod, like he was tucking that answer away somewhere.

The quiet boy half-hidden behind his hair looked over. “You got a quirk?”

“Not one I can use in a fight,” she said simply.

He shrugged. “Same.”

Haruki sat up. “Mine too. Just makes my fingertips heat up. Not enough to burn anything.”

Rika wiped sweat from her jaw with the back of her wrist. “I can make surfaces sticky. Like glue. Mostly just means I get stuck to the floor if I’m not careful.”

She gave a small grin and nudged her foot against the quiet dark haired one. “Naoto here can hold his breath for a really long time.”

Aiko’s brows lifted slightly. “Oooh, that’s cool.”

Rika gestured to the taller boy beside her. “And that’s Souta, Haruki brother. He can chill any drink he holds—like, instantly. So if you ever need a cold soda, he’s your guy.”

Aiko blinked, glancing between them. One had dark hair, the other stark white—but now that she looked, the resemblance was clear. They had the same eyes.

Souta gave a sharp nod, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly how cool that sounded.

Rika turned back to Aiko. “None of us have heavy-duty quirks. That’s why we train. Real form, real defense. If someone hits you, you hit back harder.”

Aiko’s eyes lingered on her for a second. Then she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Makes sense.”

Rika gave Aiko a brief, almost approving nod before tossing her a water bottle. “You’re not bad.”

Aiko caught it clumsily.

“Come back tomorrow,” Rika said. “You’ll be sore. Come anyway.”

“I will,” Aiko smiled.

And she did come back.

The next day, and the one after. The drills were brutal—bruises bloomed across her ribs and shoulders, her core ached like it had never been used before, and her balance wavered with every pivot. But she never missed a day. She learned to strike cleaner, clinch tighter, breathe through the pain. Her stance sharpened. Her reactions quickened.

The others went easy on her—no hits to the face, no harsh leg sweeps. She was new, small, and clearly not trying to prove anything. That earned her a quiet kind of respect. They worked her hard, but they never gave her bruises she couldn’t hide.

By the end of the week, she was no longer just following. She was keeping up. And every time she peeled off her wraps, wrists sore and knuckles red, she felt it.

She was getting stronger.

✧ ✧ ✧

One night, Tetsurō stepped into the back room quietly, wiping soot from his hands with an old cloth. The room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of the standing lamp.

Aiko stood barefoot on the tatami, sweat dotting her brow, arms up in a loose guard. She pivoted, reset, pivoted again—her form clean, her stance sharp.

Tetsurō didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

Finally, “You’re really taking it seriously.”

Aiko nodded, breathing a little hard. “I like it. It feels good to move with purpose.”

He crossed to the table, dropping the cloth into a bin. “Have you told Midoriya?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s got a lot on his plate,” she said. “His training… it’s brutal. He doesn’t need to worry about me getting hurt too.”

Tetsurō gave a quiet grunt. “Still… he worries because he cares about you. You should tell him.”

Aiko gave a small smile. “I will. Eventually.”

“Fair enough.”

She stepped off the mat and washed her hands before settling onto the low cushion beside the table. Dinner was simple—rice, miso soup, and pickled radish.

They ate in silence for a while—just the soft clink of chopsticks, the quiet steam from their soup bowls.

Aiko set her bowl down, fingers fidgeting slightly against the rim.

“…Granddad?”

Tetsurō glanced up, brow lifting.

She hesitated. “Can you… do you know how to make a sword?”

His brows furrowed. He set his chopsticks aside, gaze narrowing slightly—not out of suspicion, but curiosity. “A sword?”

Aiko nodded, gaze dropping briefly before meeting his eyes again. “I used to train with a katana. Not just form—real practice. Enough to hold my own.” Her voice was quieter now. “It’s been a while… I miss it.”

Tetsurō leaned back a little, exhaling through his nose. He was quiet for a long moment.

Then finally, “Blacksmithing and swordsmithing aren’t the same.” His tone wasn’t dismissive—just honest.

“There’s some overlap—tempering, forging, shaping—but making a traditional Japanese sword is… art and science, both. You need tamahagane steel. You need months of layering, folding, quenching, differential hardening. Proper tools. A clay mixture for the hamon line. A special forge for precise heat control. And a polisher to finish the blade once it’s forged. Not to mention the fittings.”

Aiko stayed quiet, absorbing all of it.

Tetsurō gave a faint sigh, scratching his chin. “Truth is… I’m not a swordsmith. I’m a blacksmith. I make hinges. Tools. Reinforcements. Brackets for hospital beds.”

Another pause. His gaze drifted toward her again—then settled, warm but steady.

“…But,” he said finally, “if you really want one… I could try.”

He gave a slight shrug. “Might not be perfect. But it’ll be yours.”

Aiko smiled—soft and wide, a quiet glow behind her eyes. “Then that’s more than perfect.”

She paused, then glanced toward the workshop curtain. “What kind of metal would you use?”

Tetsurō leaned back slightly, the edge of a thoughtful breath slipping from his nose. “Depends what I can get my hands on. Could use carbon steel for structure—spring stock, maybe. Good for flexibility.”

He hesitated a beat. Then, almost offhandedly, “I might be able to get my hands on some tamahagane. Just a little.”

Aiko blinked. “Really?”

He nodded once, slow and vague. “Someone owes me a favor.”

There was something in the way he said it, as if the favor itself carried weight. Aiko didn’t press.

Instead, she asked quietly, “Would it be strong enough?”

He met her eyes. “That depends. How much training do you actually have?”

Aiko lowered her gaze to her empty bowl, fingertips brushing the rim. She exhaled through her nose, a faint sound that almost passed for a laugh.

“I started when I was four,” she said. “Just basics—kata, control, breathing. Mostly just trying to keep up with the older kids. By the time I was six I was in a formal dojo. Competing by seven—nothing fancy, mostly kata, a few light matches. ”

Tetsurō gave a small nod, listening.

A small, crooked smile tugged at her lips. “I got in trouble a lot though. I messed around more than I should’ve—Sensei used to keep me after class all the time. But… I loved it, and… I think he really believed in me.”

Her smile shifted, remembering. “He let me start sparring early. By nine, I was in full-contact. It wasn’t easy. I got knocked around a lot, but… I learned how to stand back up.”

Her eyes glimmered faintly as she went on. “And once I stopped messing around and really focused, things changed. I started winning—big tournaments, nationals.” She gave a modest shrug. “People in the circuit started to recognize me.”

Tetsurō’s mouth curved faintly. “If you loved it enough to get back up that many times… then I suppose I’d better give you something worth standing up with.”

Aiko smiled. “I’ll earn it,” she said. “I promise.”