…
The sunlight came through the blinds like a physical force, pressing against my eyelids until they opened. I stared at the ceiling—hospital white, textured, utterly uninteresting—and waited for the usual morning complaints.
None came.
No soreness in the muscles I'd shredded yesterday. No stiffness in the joints that had been dislocated, broken, rebuilt. No dragging heaviness that came from Quirk overuse and energy depletion. I lay still, cataloging my body the way I'd learned to after every major fight, and found nothing wrong.
The strength from last night was still there. Not fading, not temporary—settled, like it had found permanent residence in my cells.
"…Huh."
I flexed my fingers, watching them move. Smooth. Too smooth, honestly. The slight tremor that usually accompanied Quirk activation, the barely perceptible lag between thought and manifestation—that wildness that had defined my power since awakening—was gone. The gold responded like it was part of me now, not a tool I was learning to use.
Just there. Right where I wanted it.
I let out a slow breath, sank back into the pillow. "So it wasn't a fluke."
That was good. Better than good. The near-death experience, the healing, whatever my body had done while unconscious—it had integrated the power, made it efficient.
"…Mom?"
The chair scraped immediately. Cybele was at my side before I'd finished sitting up, her hand finding my arm with the desperate grip of someone who'd been waiting too long.
"Midas—you're awake." Relief softened her face for exactly one second before tightening into fear. "We have to go. Hydra's here."
I swung my legs over the bed, testing. The movement felt normal—too normal, considering the damage I'd taken. No lag, no pain, no sense of wrongness in the rebuilt tissues.
"They're early," I muttered. Or I'd underestimated their response time. Either way, the calculation had been wrong.
I clenched my hand deliberately this time, feeling the power gather. Not exploding outward, not spilling into the environment. Just… tightening. Coiling. Ready on demand rather than leaking constantly.
A smile slipped through before I could stop it. "Alright… yeah. That's real."
"Midas…" Cybele's grip tightened, her fingers pressing into my forearm. "Just—don't get hurt like last time, okay?"
I looked at her. She was trying for calm, failing—the tension in her hand gave her away, the way her eyes kept flicking to the window.
"…I'll try."
Not a promise. Promises were liabilities in combat. But it was the best I could give her.
"Morning, metalhead."
Tony leaned in the doorway, posture deceptively casual. But his eyes were locked on me, calculating, cataloging differences. He'd noticed something.
"Heard Hydra's trying to kill you," he said.
"Yeah." I stood, rolled my shoulders. "That sounds about right."
He frowned slightly. "…You look different."
"Different how?"
Tony shrugged, but his gaze didn't waver. "Like you're not surprised."
I didn't answer. Instead, I finished testing my body—weight on each leg, rotation in the torso, the subtle readiness in my hands. Everything felt right. Too right, like the universe had adjusted its settings while I slept.
"…You've got something in mind," Tony said. Not a question.
"Always."
"Please tell me it's not something insane."
"It's not insane." I paused, considering how to frame it. "…It makes sense."
He didn't look convinced. I couldn't blame him—my definitions of "sense" had always been flexible.
"You remember that gravity chamber idea I mentioned to your dad?"
Tony's expression shifted, recognition clicking into place. His eyes widened slightly. "The high-gravity training thing? You weren't joking about that?"
"No."
Cybele looked between us, lost. "Gravity chamber?"
"Forcing adaptation," I explained, keeping it simple. "More gravity means more strain on every system—muscular, skeletal, cardiovascular, Quirk. The body compensates. Gets stronger faster than normal training allows."
I flexed my hand again, feeling the new control, the efficiency.
"…I get stronger faster. Everything improves."
Tony stared at me a second longer than usual. "You're serious."
"Yeah."
"…You're actually serious."
"I can handle it."
He shook his head, but I saw the acceptance settling in. "Yeah. That tracks. I'll talk to him."
Cybele still didn't look okay with it. Her hand had found mine, lacing through fingers that felt too small for the power they contained.
"I'll be careful," I added.
She didn't say anything. The silence was worse than argument.
Then the rumble came. Low, distant, but unmistakable—the harmonic signature of multiple engines synchronized for military operation. Shadows moved across the window, black shapes blocking morning light.
"…They're already here," I said.
Cybele went pale. Tony straightened, hand moving toward his pocket where the repulsor disc waited.
I stepped to the bedside table. Placed my palm against the laminate surface.
Gold spread instantly—not the wild, consuming wave from before, but targeted, precise. The table transmuted completely in two seconds, became liquid at my thought, surged toward the window as a stream of molten metal. I felt the agents outside through it, their heat signatures, their heartbeats, their sudden panic as the gold engulfed them.
Then I hardened it. Dense, crystalline, unbreakable. They were sealed in golden cocoons before they could fire a shot, before they could radio for backup, before they could do anything except wait for extraction.
I let out a small breath. The effort was… nothing. No drain, no hunger, no tremor in my hands. I'd never changed states that fast, that smoothly, with so little cost.
"…Alright." The surprise was audible in my own voice. "That's new."
Tony blinked once. "Okay. That's definitely new."
"Let's go." Howard's voice came from the hallway, urgent but controlled. "Ground transport's compromised. Alternative extraction on the roof."
We moved. No discussion, no hesitation—training and trust compressing decision-making into pure action. The stairwell was clear, the roof access unlocked, and then we were above the city, wind tearing at clothes as a private jet rose from a concealed hangar below, energy fields shimmering along its hull.
No one argued. We entered, Howard sealed the hatch, and the engines screamed us into the sky before I'd found my seat.
Cybele grabbed my hand as we climbed, and didn't let go. Her grip was tight, trembling slightly, even as Manhattan shrank below us into a geometry of buildings and streets.
"…We're good," I told her quietly.
She nodded. Didn't look convinced.
Up front, Tony leaned back against his seat, exhaling slowly. "Not bad."
"…Could've been worse."
He snorted. "That's your takeaway?"
I didn't answer. Just leaned back, let myself settle into the seat, felt the jet's vibration through the frame.
The Quirk pulsed once in the background, acknowledgment rather than demand. Calm. Controlled.
Hydra wasn't done. They were never done. But that wasn't what occupied my thoughts anymore.
Japan. Different place, different heroes, different rules.
U.A.
To be continued…
Im planning on doing another time skip soon when he full assimilate into Japan.