Motivation - SPORADIC UPDATES

Twenty-Four

Kazue let out a sigh of exhaustion as he tipped back his head and downed the last of his water, sitting down heavily on a rock protruding from the ground of the training field. He cracked his neck, the relief of the session finally being over settling in like a cup of hot chocolate in the dead of winter. So much so that his consciousness felt the need to make an obnoxious metaphor. "This was a pain in the ass," the brunet drawled as his father's sidekick plopped down next to him.

"I mean, you are sitting on a rock," Iwata replied with a small laugh, knowing fully well that the teen meant the training, not his choice of a seat. The man let out a small groan as he stretched out his muscled arms, then proceeded to slam a foot into the stone beneath their feet. A sheet of rock shot up from behind him, smoothed out with a gentle curve, while a smaller rock made itself known under his feet. The hero leaned back in his newly-created chair, somehow finding the fact that he was sitting on hard objects comfortable.

The green-eyed boy deadpanned at the sad attempt of a joke–not that he'd do any better to begin with–wishing for the thousandth time that afternoon that his arm would just heal faster. Training with a broken limb was annoying, even if it was targeted at his Quirk rather than physical ability. "Or crushed bones. Fueki-san did mention something about the fights occasionally getting rather violent," he commented, experimentally poking at his seat as if to test the theory.

Iwata shot him a queasy look, quickly pulling his feet off of the footrest and sitting up straight. "Maybe... that was a different arena. She had a couple before getting caught, right?" he queried, referring to the woman's previous self-employment as the leader of several underground fighting rings. Since she'd been forcefully removed from being the unofficial owner, they'd more or less come under Katashi's name as training locations for heroes in the big cities. Minus this one, seeing as it was outside the city proper and out in what was referred to as the 'dregs'.

Kazue shrugged while he pretended he didn't know the answer (he did), looking around where the old arena used to be set up. It was the basement to a warehouse in the not-so-friendly area of Hosu, with several exits to accommodate for large crowds. For the most part, the giant room had been cleaned out completely. Whether by the police or not, the brunet had no idea, but it provided a nice training space for Iwata's Quirk considering the floor was made out of the right material. "Maybe, maybe not."

"That's cold," the hero replied in mock hurt, placing a gauntlet-clad hand over his chest. Kazue snorted under his breath as he sensed Iwata use his Quirk, noting that the weak vibrations shooting through the earth were searching for anything not supposed to be there. "And I'm definitely not checking to make sure."

"Sure," Kazue drawled with a touch of dry sarcasm, cracking his back both ways before standing back up with an exhaled groan. He had no time to take a break for anything if he wanted to stay on schedule—ahead of schedule, whatever, same thing. Ignoring the annoying throbbing pulsing through his broken limb and the fatigue from constant use of his Quirk dimming his vision, the teen mentally ran over a checklist. School, training with Midoriya, and his own training were completed so far. Next in line... a pain in his ass.

Also known as paperwork.

He sighed, shouldering his gym bag and heading towards the iron-wrought doors. "I'm heading out," Kazue called back flatly, knowing that whoever really knew him was used to him leaving abruptly.

"See ya, kid!" Iwata replied, the sound of rocks shifting echoing through the space as the previous stone bench shifted into a singular chair. Like he always did after training, the hero would likely stick around for a few more minutes to relax, then smooth out the place before heading out for his patrol shift.

Kazue spared a single glance back as he slipped out the door, confirming the regular pattern before it slammed shut with a bang. "Bye," he mumbled, shifting his grip on the bag and making his way up the steps. Walking back to the agency was a bit annoying, and taking the train was even more so, but Fueki was otherwise occupied. Doing what, the brunet had no idea, but it meant that the car was unavailable.