Morals

Sixteen

A/n-unedited (for now)

The pretty extra and I are training today. I needed to improve on my quirk handling. Since Denai can control hers almost flawlessly, it would be in my best interest. We started by warming up our quirks. The extra told me to let off some normal explosions to start. Across the training yard, Denai manipulated a rock, changing its shape. Her control was effortless, frustratingly so. Mine? Well, let's just say last week's "incident" still haunted the scorch marks on Gym Gamma's ceiling. 

"Start small, Katsuki," she called, her voice cutting through the humid air. "Normal explosions. Don't try to blow a crater this time."

"Tch. Hurry up and let's start!" 

"Close your eyes and imagine yourself in battle," 

"How does that even help?" 

"Just do it." Reluctantly, I squeezed my eyelids shut. Instantly, the familiar battlefield chaos flooded my senses—explosions tearing through concrete and the acrid tang of smoke. My fists clenched involuntarily, sweat-dampened palms itching to unleash. 

"Now, picture a villain with a quirk that grants them the ability of superhuman endurance. They can use their power for an extended period of time without drawbacks."

A figure formed in front of me. This unknown villain has an unstoppable quirk. 

My hands instinctively crackled, sweat exploding in tiny bursts against my thighs. This villain didn't tire—they'd keep coming. Forever. The phantom explosions in my mind grew louder, more frantic. My breath hitched; sweat trickled down my temple. 

"Relax your body and your mind. Imagine the flow of water, its constant and unwavering, as your quirk should be."

Water? Water was weak. My explosions were raw power, defiance incarnate. But beneath the phantom villain's relentless advance, the need for endless stamina scraped against my nerves like sandpaper. My palms stung fiercely where sweat gathered, each droplet a potential grenade trembling on the edge of ignition. 

"There is nothing wrong with relying on your raw strength, but you have to think about your opponent. What if they last longer than you do?"

Her words pierced through my thoughts. My imagined villain kept advancing—relentless, tireless—while my own explosions grew ragged, the phantom blasts shrinking as exhaustion clawed at my limbs. I gritted my teeth. Water? Fucking water? But Denai's voice slithered into the panic: "Constant... Unwavering."

"Your muscles are the main source of your drawbacks. They become stressed and fatigued after using big blasts. If you train yourself by only focusing on big blasts, you may become less fatigued, but it won't solve the issue entirely." Muscle fatigue. The words echoed in my skull. My jaw clenched until my teeth ached. Training bigger blasts wasn't enough? What the hell else was there?

"Your breath control is your problem...that and your mind. You don't rest your mind, so your body doesn't rest either. You're always tense. That is why your muscles become fatigued from huge blasts."

My eyes snapped open at Denai's words. 

"What?" The word ripped out, sharper than intended. The phantom villain dissolved instantly, replaced by the glaring sun and Denai's calm, assessing gaze. My hands trembled, slick with sweat. Breath control? Resting my mind? It sounded like useless meditation crap Deku would spout. Yet, the exhaustion from the imagined fight lingered, a heavy phantom weight dragging at my shoulders. Every instinct screamed to blast something now, to prove her wrong. 

"When you fight, your breath is uneven, heavy. On top of that, you're mentally shaken. You must start taking a deep breath to calm yourself before battle. Clear your mind and center yourself." The absurdity of it scraped like nails on slate. 

"Deep breaths? Like some yoga crap?" My palms ignited with a sharp crack, scorching the air inches from her face. Denai didn't flinch, didn't even blink. 

 "You think humming and counting to ten fixes this?" Another involuntary burst singed the grass between us. 

"No, Katsuki. Your breathing before and during a battle can affect whether or not you come out alive." Denai's voice remained steady as my sparks spit at her feet. She gestured toward my chest. 

"Your lungs are the bellows of your quirk. When they gasp like a drowning man? Your explosions become desperate, uncontrolled." My knuckles whitened. Sweat dripped, hissing on the dirt.

The truth of it hit like a misfired blast recoiling into my ribs.

My palms pulsed with pent-up energy, sweat sizzling where it dripped. "I know how to fucking breathe!" The lie tasted bitter; my ribs still ached from yesterday's exertion, lungs burning phantom smoke.

"Come sit." She demanded as she patted a spot in the grass next to her. My feet stayed rooted, palms crackling. 

"The hell? You think I'm some damn dog to—"

"Sit." Her tone didn't rise.

"Or keep getting tired while villains cause chaos." The insult landed like a punch. Villains causing chaos? Because I couldn't last? My boots crushed the grass as I stalked toward her, every muscle coiled tight as a spring trap. I dropped onto the patch she'd indicated, legs crossed aggressively, palms splayed upward on my knees like open wounds. The damp earth chilled through my pants instantly. Humiliating. She sat in front of me in the same position. 

"Close your eyes again, Katsuki." The way she said my name sent shivers up my spine. Heat rose to my cheeks.

"Don't tell me what to—"

"Close them." Her command left no room for argument.

"Stop thinking completely. Relax your muscles and breathe."

How am I supposed to relax?

The thought screamed through my skull as I squeezed my eyes shut again, every tendon in my neck pulled taut as suspension cables.  Denai's presence beside me felt unnervingly solid, a warm counterpoint to the cool earth seeping through my pants. 

"Inhale slowly," she murmured, her voice low as gravel underfoot. "Through your nose. Fill your belly first, not your chest." She placed her hand on my chest so she could feel me breathe.

My ribs resisted like rusted hinges. Fill your belly? What kind of hippie bullshit—? I sucked air through clenched teeth—a shallow, jagged gasp. Denai's hand pressed gently. 

"Deeper. Like drawing a bowstring." I forced another breath. Slower. Deeper. The air hit the back of my throat, cool and startling.

"Like that. That's good." I opened my eyes, and they met hers. We held eye contact for a few seconds that felt like minutes. Her eyes were dark crimson, almost like blood, and unreadable. The heat in my cheeks flared hotter than my palms. My breath faltered. Her hand remained pressed against my sternum, a grounding weight I hadn't realized I needed until that moment. Sweat stopped sizzling on my skin as the tension bled from my shoulders.

"I'm sorry." She swiftly pulled her hand away, causing me to miss the feeling. My gaze snapped to the charred grass between us. 

"Don't be." The words rasped out, foreign and awkward. Silence thickened the humid air, punctuated only by distant cicadas and the faint sizzle of evaporating sweat on my forearms. Her crimson eyes lingered—heavy, unreadable. She tried avoiding my gaze until something moved me to lift her head by her chin. I felt her breath hitch against my fingertips, sharp and sudden. Our eyes locked again, closer now, her pupils wide as inkwells.

"Isn't this too close?" She asked nervously, looking meekly into my eyes. I leaned in slowly, pressing my lips softly into hers. Her lips were soft and warm. My hands moved to her waist instinctively, pulling her closer. The energy between us shifted in that moment. I didn't realize how I felt about her until now. I saw her as more than a rival in this moment.