Purpose

Recovery girl's kiss exhausted the last of my energy and I fell asleep. Opening my eyes I wasn't in recovery girls office, neither was I in my body.

 I was Ryu again, small and scrawny, my knuckles bruised and my lip split. The old man was there, his face a mask of drunken rage, his breath sour with cheap sake.

 "Worthless," he slurred, his fist cocked back. "Can't even win a damn fight. What good are you?"

 I dodged the blow, but just barely. The wall shuddered as his knuckles grazed it, leaving a smear of blood on the peeling paint.

 "I tried," I said, hating the whine in my voice. "I did my best, I swear."

 He sneered, his eyes glassy and unfocused. "Your best? Your best is nothing. You're nothing, you hear me?"

 I blinked back tears, my nails digging into my palms.

"I'll get better," I whispered. "I'll train harder, I'll do better next time, I promise."

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Train? With what money? You think I got cash to waste on your pathetic hobby?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came. He was right. We were barely scraping by as it was, every yen from my underground fights gone as soon as it came, lost to booze and debts and god knows what else.

The old man's gaze turned calculating, a cold, appraising look that made my skin crawl. "There might be another way," he mused. "A way for you to be useful for once."

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I yelped, trying to pull away, but his grip was iron. 

"Come on," he growled, dragging me towards the door. "We're going for a little walk."

The streets were dark and empty, the only sound the scuff of our shoes on the pavement. I stumbled along beside him, my heart pounding, my mind racing with a thousand terrible possibilities.

Where was he taking me? What was he going to do?

We turned down an alley, the shadows swallowing us whole. At the end, a door, plain and unmarked. The old man knocked, a rhythmic pattern that seemed to echo in the stillness.

The door swung open, revealing a face I'd only seen in whispers and rumors. Oyabun. The boss. The king of the local yakuza. 

He looked me up and down, his gaze like a physical weight. "This the kid?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk. 

My father nodded, his hand tightening on my shoulder. "He's young, but he's got potential. Quick hands, strong legs. He'll make a good earner." 

I froze, the words sinking in like stones in my gut. Earner. He was selling me. Selling me to the yakuza, like some kind of - of product. 

"No," I whispered, my voice cracking. "No, Dad, please. Don't do this." 

He didn't even look at me. "How much?" he asked, his tone businesslike. 

Oyabun named a figure. A high one. Enough to pay off debts, to keep the old man in booze for months.

For a second, I thought I saw something flicker in my father's eyes. Regret? Doubt? But it was gone as soon as it came, replaced by a hard, greedy glint.

"Deal," he said.

Oyabun smiled. "Excellent. We'll take good care of him." 

He reached out, his hand clamping down on my other shoulder. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"No," I said again, louder this time. "No, I won't go, I won't- " 

The blow came out of nowhere, a hard, open-handed slap that snapped my head to the side. I tasted blood, felt it dribbling down my chin.

"You'll do as you're told," my father hissed. "For once in your miserable life, you're going to be useful." 

He shoved me forward, into Oyabun's waiting grip. I struggled, but it was like fighting against steel cables.

The door slammed shut, cutting off the old man's retreating footsteps. Cutting off the last glimpse of the only life I'd ever known.

"Welcome to the family, kid," Oyabun said, and his smile was the coldest thing I'd ever seen. "Time to earn your keep."

I woke with a gasp, my heart pounding, my skin clammy with sweat.

Then, slowly, reality reasserted itself. The soft mattress beneath me. The smell of antiseptic and clean linen. The steady beep of the heart monitor.

I wasn't Ryu. I wasn't in that alley, in that life. I was Izuku. I was safe.

"Izuku?" Momo's voice, soft and laced with concern. Her hand was cool on my forehead, her touch gentle. "Are you okay? You were thrashing in your sleep."

I managed a smile, but it felt stiff, forced. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad dream."

She frowned, her eyes searching mine. I could see the questions there, the worry. But she didn't push, and for that, I was grateful.

"Your match is in 10 minutes," Recovery Girl said briskly, bustling over to check my vitals. "How are you feeling? Any pain, dizziness?"

I took a deep breath, assessing. My body ached, but it was a dull, manageable throb. Nothing like the searing agony from before.

"I'm good," I said, sitting up. "Ready to go."

Recovery Girl's eyebrows rose. "Young man, 'good' is not the word I'd use."

I shrugged, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "I heal fast."

Momo's hand tightened on mine. "Izuku, are you sure? You don't have to do this. No one would think less of you if you took more time to recover."

I looked at her, really looked at her. Saw the fear in her eyes, the love, the fierce, protective determination.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to reassure her, to promise her that everything would be okay, that I'd be safe.

So I squeezed Momo's hand, hoping she could feel everything I couldn't say. "I have to do this," I said softly. "You know I do."

She held my gaze for a long moment, a thousand emotions playing across her face. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. But promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll come back to me."

I brought her hand to my lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "Always," I said. "I'll always come back to you."

Recovery Girl cleared her throat, her expression a mix of exasperation and grudging respect. "You heroes," she muttered. "Always so dramatic."

She waved a hand at me. "Go on then, get dressed. But if you end up back here, I'm strapping you to the bed, you hear me?"

I grinned, throwing her a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

As I changed into my PE uniform, I could feel Momo's eyes on me, could sense her fear, her worry, her boundless, unshakeable faith.

It steadied me, grounded me, chased away the last lingering shadows of the dream.

I wasn't Ryu anymore. I wasn't that scared, powerless kid.

I was Izuku Midoriya. I was a hero.

And I was going to win this tournament, not just for myself, but for everyone who believed in me. For Momo, for All Might, for every person who'd ever been told they weren't good enough, strong enough, worthy enough.

I was going to win. For all of us.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as I stepped out into the arena. The sun was bright, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Present Mic's voice boomed, somehow rising above the din. "ARE YOU READY FOR THE SEMI FINALS?"

The crowd screamed their assent, a tsunami of sound that made my bones vibrate.

"IN THE RED CORNER, WE HAVE THE SPEEDSTER OF CLASS 1-A, THE ENGINE-LEGGED HERO-IN-TRAINING... TENYA IIDA!"

Iida stepped forward, his posture perfect, his face set in lines of grim determination. The sunlight glinted off his glasses, his engines already thrumming with barely contained power.

"AND IN THE BLUE CORNER, THE RISING STAR, THE DANCER OF DESTRUCTION, THE ONE AND ONLY... IZUKU MIDORIYA!"

I raised my fist to the crowd, and they roared back, a primal, wordless cry that set my blood on fire.

But even as I basked in their adulation, I could feel the lingering touch of my dream, the memory of weakness, of helplessness. It clung to me like a second skin, a shroud I couldn't quite shake.

No. Not now. I couldn't afford distraction, couldn't afford doubt. Not with Iida standing across from me, his eyes filled with challenge and respect in equal measure.

I knew his style, had studied his moves. He was fast, incredibly so, but that speed came with a price. His turns were wide, his straight-line charges predictable. If I could get to his side, disrupt his rhythm...

"BEGIN!" Midnight's cry cut through my thoughts, and then there was no more time for planning, no more room for fear.

There was only the fight, the dance, the thrumming pulse of the Tandava in my veins.

Iida moved first, a blur of motion that nearly took my head off. I dodged on instinct, the Tandava guiding my steps, letting me flow around his attack like water around stone.

He was fast. Gods, he was fast. But I was fast too, and I had the Tandava, the dance that never ended, the battle song that had no final verse.

We clashed in the center of the arena. He was good, his form perfect, his attacks coming fast.

I slipped to the side, letting his charge carry him past. He tried to compensate, but his momentum was too great, his turn too wide.

I struck, a kick that caught him in the ribs, sent him stumbling. He recovered quickly, but I was already moving, pressing my advantage.

The Tandava sang in my bones, a pulsing, primal rhythm that guided my every move. I was the wind, the storm, the unstoppable force of nature.

And Iida, for all his speed, for all his skill, could not withstand my onslaught.

He fought back, his engines roaring, his legs blurring with inhuman speed. But it was a losing battle, a desperate rear-guard action against an overwhelming tide.

But he would not yield. Not Tenya Iida, the proud scion of a hero family, the man who embodied the very spirit of determination.

He came at me one last time, a final, desperate charge. I met him head-on, the Tandava swelling within me.

We collided with a shockwave that shook the arena, a clash of unstoppable force and immovable object. For a moment, we were locked together, straining, struggling, each trying to overpower the other.

Then, with a roar that came from the depths of my soul, I broke through. My fist slammed into his chest, a perfect, Tandava-empowered strike that sent him flying back, his engines sputtering, his body limp.

He hit the ground hard, skidding, rolling, finally coming to a stop at the edge of the arena. For a moment, he lay there, unmoving.

Then, slowly, he tried to rise. His arms shook, his legs trembled, but he would not stay down, would not accept defeat.

But this fight was over. We both knew it.

Midnight's call was almost lost in the uproar, the thunderous acclaim of the crowd. But I heard it, a final, decisive punctuation to the battle.

"Tenya Iida is unable to continue! Izuku Midoriya wins!"

I walked over to Iida, my hand outstretched and he looked up at me.

"You fought well," I said, meaning it. "That was a battle I won't soon forget."

He hesitated for a moment, then grasped my hand, allowing me to pull him to his feet. "As did you, Midoriya. Your strength is truly remarkable."

We stood there for a moment, the roar of the crowd washing over us. Then, with a final nod of acknowledgment, Iida turned and limped off the field, his head held high despite his defeat.

I made my way back to the waiting room, my body aching with every step. The adrenaline was starting to fade, the toll of the battle making itself known.

But I couldn't afford to rest. Not yet. Not with Momo's match coming up, not with so much still at stake.

She was there when I entered, her eyes widening as she took in my battered appearance. "Izuku! Are you alright?"

I managed a grin, hoping it didn't look as pained as it felt. "Never better. You should see the other guy."

Momo shook her head, a mix of exasperation and fondness in her expression. "You're impossible. You know that, right?"

I shrugged, then winced as the motion pulled at my bruises. "Part of my charm."

Her expression softened, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. "You were amazing out there. I've never seen anything like it."

I leaned into her touch, savoring the warmth, the comfort of her presence. "I had a good reason to fight. The best reason."

She smiled, a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. "Flatterer."

"Always."

We stayed like that for a moment, just basking in each other's presence. But the sound of the crowd, the distant rumble of Present Mic's introductions, reminded us that time was short.

"Momo," I said, my voice serious. "Your match... it's against Bakugo, isn't it?"

She nodded, her expression turning grim. "Yes. And he won't be an easy opponent."

I knew she was right. He wouldn't hold back, wouldn't show mercy.

But Momo was smart, resourceful, with a quirk that was as versatile as it was strong. If anyone could find a way to beat Kacchan, it was her.

"You can do this," I said, putting every ounce of conviction, of belief, into my words. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Momo. Not just in quirk, but in heart, in spirit. You've got this."

She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, a fire kindling in her gaze.

"You're right," she said, her voice filled with a newfound determination. "I can do this. I will do this."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against mine in a soft, fleeting kiss.

Then she was gone, striding out of the waiting room with her head held high, her shoulders squared. Ready to face her toughest battle yet, ready to prove herself to the world.

I sat down on the bench, my body suddenly heavy with exhaustion. The adrenaline of the fight was fading, leaving behind a deep, bone-weary fatigue.

I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back against the wall. And unbidden, the dream rose up once more, the memories I had tried so hard to suppress.

The old man's face, twisted with greed and desperation. Oyabun's cold, calculating smile. The feel of rough hands on my shoulders, pushing me forward, into a world of violence and pain.

I had been so helpless then, so powerless against the forces that sought to control me, to use me.

But I wasn't that scared little boy anymore. I wasn't Ryu Kenji, the yakuza's fighting dog.

I had the power now, the strength to stand up for what I believed in, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

And I would use that power, not for petty vengeance, but for the greater good. To build a world where no child would ever have to suffer as I had suffered, where no one would ever be bought and sold like cattle.

That was my dream now. My purpose, my driving force.

And I would see it through to the end.