God of Heroics: Comicman!

Day two started early.

Manga was dressed and downstairs by six-thirty in his costume. Bubble Girl was already at the front desk, finishing a cup of something that smelled like green tea and reviewing a stack of something on her tablet.

"Morning!" She looked up with that easy smile. "Sleep okay?"

"Like a rock."

"Good. You're with me today for morning patrol." She set the tablet down. "Sir and Lemillion are covering the east side of the city. We've got the west, which includes the commercial strip, the residential blocks near the river, and the park."

"How long are patrols normally?"

"Three hours, give or take. Depends on what we run into." She held the door open with a friendly smile. "Let's go."

The morning air in Minato was cool. The streets were already filling with commuters, the sidewalks crowded with businesspeople in dark suits and students in various school uniforms, all of them moving with the single-minded focus of people who had somewhere to be and wanted to get there without incident.

Bubble Girl walked at a steady pace, her light blue skin and visor drawing occasional glances from passersby. She waved to a few of them. Some waved back. Most just kept walking.

"So," she said as they turned onto the main commercial strip, "you know why we patrol, right?"

"Deterrence and reassurance," Manga said. "Heroes on the street discourage villains from acting and make civilians feel safe."

"That's the school answer. And it's correct." She glanced at him. "But there's a layer underneath it that most people don't talk about. Patrolling isn't just about being seen. It's about seeing."

She gestured at the street around them. Shops opening their shutters. A delivery truck backing into an alley. An old man watering plants on a second-floor balcony. Two women chatting outside a bakery with paper bags in their hands.

"When you patrol the same route every day, you start to notice patterns. Who's always here and who isn't. Which shops open on time and which ones don't. What the normal rhythm of a street looks like." She tapped her visor. "And when something breaks that rhythm, even something small, that's when you pay attention."

Manga's bubble displayed a small notebook and pen, the visual shorthand for "I'm taking notes."

"Sir Nighteye is incredible at this," Bubble Girl continued. "He can walk a block once and tell you which three people were acting unusual, which one was lying about something, and which storefront has been rearranged since yesterday. It's not his quirk. It's just observation. He trained himself to read people the way some people read books."

"And Lemillion?"

"Lemillion’s the opposite." She laughed. "He reads people by talking to them. He'll walk up to a stranger and start a conversation and within thirty seconds he knows their mood, their problem, and whether they need help. It's not a quirk thing. It's just... him."

They passed a convenience store. The clerk inside waved at Bubble Girl through the window. She waved back.

"What about you?" Manga asked.

"Me?" She thought about it. "I notice smells. My quirk makes bubbles with different scents, so I've trained my nose to pick up on things most people miss. I can tell when someone's been in a fight recently because adrenaline changes your sweat. I can tell when a building has a gas leak before the meters catch it. I can tell when someone’s scared. It's not the most exciting, but it's saved lives."

"That's really cool."

"Tell that to the guys who always pick the combat heroes for their posters." She gave a theatrical sigh. "Nobody makes a Bubble Girl action figure."

Manga's bubble drew a tiny figurine of Bubble Girl in a display case with a "SOLD OUT" sign on it.

She looked at it and burst out laughing. "You're sweet. Keep that up and I might actually start believing it."

They continued down the commercial strip. Bubble Girl explained the commission system as they walked: how agencies file reports after every incident, how a review board assesses the work and determines payment, how the Hero Billboard rankings factor in resolved cases and public approval alongside raw power.

"Heroes can't arrest anyone, by the way," she added. "That's police jurisdiction. We subdue. They arrest. If a hero catches a purse snatcher, we hold them until the police arrive. If a hero tries to play cop, it's a legal nightmare."

"What about quirk use?"

"Licensed pros can use their quirks in the field. Sidekicks too, under the agency's authorization. Interns..." She looked at him. "You can't. Not legally. You're here to observe, learn, and shadow. If something happens, you stay behind us and you do not engage."

"Yes, ma’am!"

"Good. Because Sir will have both our heads if you break that rule."

They turned a corner near the park and a kid spotted Manga first.

A boy, maybe seven years old, standing next to his mother at a crosswalk. His eyes went wide. He tugged at his mother's sleeve and pointed with enough force to nearly pull her off balance.

"MOM! MOM, THAT'S THE GUY! THE SPEECH BUBBLE GUY FROM THE SPORTS FESTIVAL!"

The mother looked over. Then looked again. Recognition hit.

Manga waved. A star emoji popped into his bubble.

The boy sprinted across the sidewalk the moment the light changed and skidded to a stop in front of Manga like he'd just met a character from his favorite show.

"YOU WON THE WHOLE THING! I SAW YOU FIGHT THE FIRE AND ICE GUY! AND THE EXPLOSION GUY! CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH?!"

Manga knelt down so his bubble was at eye level with the kid. "What's your name?"

"Takeshi!"

"Takeshi." The bubble shifted. Lines moved inside it, forming shapes, and within a few seconds, a hand-drawn portrait of Takeshi appeared in the speech bubble, the boy's face rendered in quick, clean strokes with a big grin and a hero cape added for flair. Underneath it, in bold manga lettering: To Takeshi, Future Hero.

The boy's jaw dropped.

"That's ME! Mom, look! He drew me! IN HIS HEAD!"

The mother bowed, laughing and thanking Manga. He signed the boy's notebook, took a photo, and sent them on their way. Takeshi looked back three times with bright shining eyes before his mother pulled him around the corner.

Bubble Girl watched the whole exchange with her arms crossed and a look on her face that was half amused and half something else.

"That was sweet." she said.

"Kids are the best fans."

"You won’t hear me arguing."

They made it another two blocks before it happened again. A group of high school girls, three of them, spotted Manga from across the street and came over. Photos. Compliments. One of them asked if he could "make a little explosion, just a tiny one." He declined, explaining he didn't have his license yet, but offered a drawing in his bubble instead. He sketched a quick cartoon of all three of them as a hero team, complete with capes and action poses. They screamed loud enough to turn heads.

Then an older man in a business suit stopped him. Then a pair of middle schoolers. Then a woman with a baby stroller who said her daughter fell asleep watching his final match and dreamed about having multiple quirks all night.

By the tenth interaction, Bubble Girl had stopped walking ahead and was standing to the side with her arms folded, her lower lip slightly pushed out.

"You know," she said as Manga finished signing a teenager's phone case, "I've been a working pro hero for years. Years of patrols, reports, villain takedowns, the whole thing. And I have never, not once, been stopped on the street ten times in a single morning."

Manga looked at her. His bubble displayed a sheepish smiley face.

"You're a first-year. You haven't even gotten your license yet. And you're drawing more fans and writing more autographs than me." She pointed at him with one blue finger. "I'm a real hero. With a real costume. Who has actually fought real villains."

"You're also really good at your job. I’ve learned a lot this morning." Manga tried to spin it positively.

"Don't you try to sweet-talk me, young man! I'm pouting at you!" Her cheeks puffed out. The pout was real, but the smile underneath it was fighting to break through. "When we get back, I'm telling Sir that my patrol partner is stealing all my potential fans."

"I can be your #1 fan." Manga offered.

"Tch. I don’t need your pity, bubble boy."

They both laughed. The patrol continued.

By the time they circled back toward the agency, three hours had passed without a single villain incident, which Bubble Girl said was normal for this city. Nighteye's presence, combined with his near-perfect case resolution rate, meant that most villains with any sense avoided operating anywhere near his territory.

"That's the real power of a top hero," she said as they approached the building. "It's not just the fights they win. It's the fights that never happen because villains know better."

They returned to the agency around ten. Lemillion and Nighteye were already back, Lemillion eating a protein bar in the meeting room and Nighteye reviewing something on his laptop in his office. The destroyed furniture from yesterday's seal test had been replaced. The All Might merchandise was untouched.

Manga had just finished a glass of water when the door to Nighteye's office opened and the tall, sharp figure appeared in the doorway.

"Comicman. My office."

Manga set the glass down and followed.

Nighteye sat behind his desk, glasses catching the light. He gestured for Manga to sit. Manga did.

"Yesterday," Nighteye began without preamble, "during your seal test, I activated my Foresight on you. I saw every move you would make for the following hour."

Manga nodded, thinking that was pretty cool. He started to imagine what it would be like to fight a villain who could see his every move. What would be necessary to take them down… Then he shook his head and focused because Sir was speaking to him.

"What I saw was a first-year student moving at speeds that should not be possible for someone his age, size, or training level." Nighteye's yellow eyes were level and unblinking. "Your reaction time was above average. Your strength was exceptional. And your speed exceeded what even a well-conditioned second-year would produce."

He leaned back slightly.

"Tell me about your training regimen."

Manga didn't hesitate. There was nothing to hide really. Plus, he could just give his teacher a call and find out from him.

"I have a word called Zusshiri. It's an onomatopoeia that means 'the feeling of immense weight.' When I speak it, it creates an enhanced gravity field. I've been training under it since my first month at U.A."

Nighteye's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes sharpened.

"Currently I train at three times normal gravity. Everything I do, my body works three times harder to do it. Squats, push-ups, running, sparring, all under three G. My muscles, my bones, my cardiovascular system have all adapted to that load over the past several months." Manga paused. "And when the gravity comes off, the strength stays. My body thinks three G is normal now. So under regular gravity, I'm faster and stronger than my frame should allow."

"Isn’t that exhausting?"

"I have another word called Pin-pin. It means 'lively, energetic, in good health.' It restores my stamina. Doesn't heal injuries or damage. Just deals with fatigue. Lets me train longer before my body gives out."

Nighteye was silent for several seconds.

"You thought of this yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"When?"

"After my first week at U.A. I realized that my quirk's biggest weakness is my throat, and my body's biggest weakness was that I was small and not strong enough for close combat. The gravity training fixes the second problem. The vocal exercises I run twice a day fix the first."

Another silence. Longer this time.

"That type of thinking," Nighteye said, "is exactly what is needed from a hero. Identifying your weaknesses and building a system to eliminate them rather than hoping they won't matter." He adjusted his glasses. "I don't intend to change your training regime. What you've built is sound. What I intend to do is add what you're missing."

"Which is?"

"Combat experience against opponents who outclass you." Nighteye stood. "You've trained your body under gravity. You've trained your voice. You've trained your quirk. But you have not been broken by someone faster than you, smarter than you, and more experienced than you, and then been forced to adapt in real time." He looked at Manga. "That starts today."

He opened his office door. Tōgata was already standing in the hallway, posing. "POWER!!!"

Manga's head displayed three exclamation points.

"You heard the man," Tōgata said. "Let's go."

The gym on the third floor of the Nighteye Agency was smaller than U.A.'s training facilities but better equipped for what it was designed to do. Reinforced walls. Padded flooring. No windows. A space built for people to hit each other without worrying about property damage.

Manga stood in the center of the floor in a tank top and shorts.

Across from him, Tōgata stretched for a warm up. He'd changed into a white tank top and training shorts, and every muscle on his body was visible.

Nighteye stood by the wall with his arms crossed. Watching.

"Rules," Nighteye said. "No quirks from either of you for now. This is about your bodies and your instincts. Nothing else."

“Oh man, facing a third-year as a first year.” Manga bounced in excitement. He wondered how he compared to a third-year as a first-year.

"When I'm satisfied with your performance in this part," Nighteye continued, "we move to the next. Tōgata will use Permeation. You will still not use your quirk."

Oh, that sounded really tough. He wondered what Tōgata-kun’s quirk was. Manga didn’t even know what permeation meant.

"And for the duration of this training," Nighteye looked at Manga, "you will be under your own gravity enhancement."

Manga nodded. He took a breath and spoke.

"Zusshiri."

The word flowed out of his head, he pocketed it, and the effect settled over him like chains. Three times his own body weight, pressing down on every muscle, every joint, every organ. His feet sank half an inch into the padded floor. His shoulders dropped. His breathing deepened as his lungs fought the compression.

Tōgata watched this happen with open fascination. "Whoa. You just... made yourself heavier?"

"Three times heavier." Manga adjusted his stance, widening his base to accommodate the load. Fighting in it was new.

"That's awesome!" Tōgata’s beady blue eyes were shining. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Nighteye raised one hand. Held it. Dropped it.

"Begin."

Tōgata rushed in.

He covered the distance between them in two strides, his right fist already chambered, his weight shifting forward with the kind of commitment that said he wasn't going to pull this punch.

Manga accepted the punch wholeheartedly by ducking underneath and wrapping his arms around Tōgata's waist. But when he slipped behind and tried to lift, his own 3G mass combined with Tōgata’s weight made it impossible. Tōgata took full advantage of Manga's grounded momentum. With a bright smile, he shoved Manga off and brought his knee up. Manga cried out as the strike hit like a sledgehammer  and sent flying across the room. Ow being repeated in his bubble as he rolled around clutching his face.

Manga slammed his fist on the mat as he forced himself back to his feet. His quads burned. His calves burned. Everything was screaming at him that this was painful and he needed to stop. 

He didn’t stop.

Tōgata came again. Straight punch, cross, hook, the combinations flowing perfectly, each strike set up by the one before it. Manga blocked the first, slipped the second, and caught the hook on his shoulder. The impact sent him sliding.

Wrestling wasn’t working which meant he had to work outside his usual fighting style. If Tōgata wouldn’t let him grapple him, he’s going to have to learn how to strike. Manga began mimicking Tōgata’s punches.

"Good!" Tōgata said, grinning. "Those are what I call my Million Punches!"

Tōgata weaved. He leaned under a hook that would dropped most people and popped up with an uppercut that Manga barely pulled his chin back from. The knuckles passed close enough that he felt the air displacement against his chin, a drop of blood dripped afterward.

Manga planted his right foot and caught Tōgata's arm and his hip turned.

Tōgata's eyes widened. His feet left the ground for a fraction of a second.

Then he tucked his chin, rotated his shoulder, and broke the throw mid-air. His hand found Manga's wrist, his weight shifted, and instead of being thrown, he redirected the momentum and landed on his feet beside Manga.

And punched him in the gut.

The stomach blow folded Manga in half. Under normal gravity, it would have been bad. Under three G, the impact plus the downward pressure drove all the air out of his lungs in a single involuntary gasp. His vision greyed at the edges. His diaphragm locked.

He hit the mat on his knees.

"That's one of my favorites," Tōgata said, extending a hand to help him up. "Knocked a few baddies out with that one."

Manga took the hand. Got up. His stomach throbbed. His legs shook. Three G pressed down on everything and his body was begging him to stop.

"Pin-pin," he whispered.

The stamina restoration washed through him. Not healing. His gut still hurt, his ribs still ached from the earlier graze, and his muscles still carried the micro-damage of every rep they'd been forced through. But the fatigue, the exhaustion that was creeping into his limbs and clouding his reactions, that receded. His breathing steadied. His legs stopped shaking. His vision cleared.

He raised his guard.

"Whew… Let’s get this party started again! Bari-bari!" An onomatopoeia was pocketed by Manga.

“Before you go again, what is that bari-bari?” Nighteye asked.

“Oh that? It allows me to fight at full maximum power!”

Tōgata's grin widened. "Now we're talking. POWER!"

“I see. You may begin.” Nighteye adjusted his glasses.

Round two.

Tōgata led with a feint this time, his right hand twitching forward without committing. Manga didn't bite. He'd seen Tōgata's patterns in the first exchange and his brain was already adapting. Right hand feints high, follows with left body shot. Steps left after combinations. Resets with a half-step back before coming in again.

Tōgata feinted high and threw the left body shot. Manga was already turning, his elbow dropping to cover his ribs, and the punch glanced off his guard instead of sinking in. He countered with a right hook that Tōgata ducked, then a knee that caught Tōgata's thigh as the older boy tried to step inside.

It was the first clean hit Manga had landed.

Tōgata's grin widened "You’re getting better!"

“I’m a man who’s destined to surpass God! How could I not?!” 

He was already moving, closing the distance before Tōgata could reset. Under three G, his speed was a third of what it would be normally, but his normal was already unreasonable. A third of absurd was still fast enough to kind of work.

He threw a left jab, right cross, left hook. The combination was simple but the hooks came from a low angle, using his height against Tōgata's taller frame, targeting the body instead of the head. Tōgata blocked the jab, parried the cross, and took the hook on his side. The impact made him step back.

Under three G, Manga's body was a compacted engine. Every muscle fiber that had been trained under this weight was putting out force disproportionate to his size. His punches didn't look like something a kid his size should be throwing.

They traded. Tōgata came back with a straight right that Manga slipped, then a spinning elbow that Manga hadn't seen coming. It caught his shoulder and spun him away. Before he could recover, Tōgata's foot swept his lead leg.

Under one G, Manga could have caught himself. Under three, gravity grabbed him and yanked him down. He hit the mat hard, the air driving out of his lungs for the second time in two minutes.

Tōgata backed off. Gave him space to get up.

Manga got up.

"Pin-pin."

The fatigue cleared. The pain stayed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and raised his guard.

Round three.

Tōgata came in at a different angle. Lower. His stance shifted, knees bent, hands dropped to waist level. A brawler's stance instead of the upright boxing guard he'd been using.

He threw a hooking punch to the body, then immediately changed levels and shot in for a takedown. Manga sprawled, his hips dropping, his hands pushing down on Tōgata's shoulders, but under three G, the sprawl was sluggish. Tōgata drove through it and took him down.

On the ground, the gravity was worst. Every movement cost triple. Rolling took triple the core strength. Bridging to escape a pin took triple the hip power. Manga fought from his back, Tōgata's weight plus three G pressing him into the mat like a hydraulic press, his arms and legs struggling to create space that the physics of his own training were actively trying to deny him.

Tōgata transitioned to side control. His forearm found Manga's neck.

Manga bridged. His hips barely came off the mat. He tried again, harder, putting everything into the motion, and this time he created enough space to get a knee inside. He pushed, squirmed, and Tōgata let him work for another five seconds before driving him flat again with a heavy cross-face.

"You're thinking about it," Tōgata said from above him, not even breathing hard. "That's good. But you're thinking one move at a time. On the ground, you need to be two moves ahead. The first move is to create space. The second move is what you do with it."

Manga listened and bridged again, and this time, instead of trying to escape immediately, he used the space to reposition his hips. One move to create the gap. Second move to get his guard back. His legs wrapped around Tōgata's waist and he had a closed guard.

"Better!" Tōgata said. "Now what?"

Now what. Under three G, with Lemillion in his guard, his stamina being eaten alive by the gravity, his ribs aching and his stomach still throbbing from the earlier gut shot.

Manga grabbed Tōgata's collar with both hands, pulled him down, and threw an elbow at his temple. Tōgata tucked his chin and the elbow glanced off the top of his head. Manga followed with a hip escape, spinning to the side, getting one leg free, and scrambling to his feet.

Tōgata let him up.

They reset. Standing. Three G. Manga's outfit was soaked with sweat. The tip of his speech bubble was matted down from sweating. His breathing was heavy but steady, the diaphragmatic training keeping his airway open even under the compression.

"Pin-pin."

Third restoration. The fatigue peeled away. The damage accumulated.

Nighteye spoke from the wall. "Enough."

Both boys stopped.

"Fukidashi." Nighteye pushed off the wall and walked toward them. "Your adjustment speed is above average. In three rounds, you identified Tōgata's primary patterns and adapted accordingly. Your wrestling skills are foundational but need to be further honed for real fighting." He paused. "Your striking needs some more work. Mirio, your assessment?"

Tōgata rubbed the spot on his side where Manga's hook had landed. "He hits way harder than I thought he would. And he’s a quick learner. The first round, I could do whatever I wanted. By the third, he was catching things before they landed." He looked at Manga with that shining grin. "He's gonna be scary before I know it."

"Indeed." Nighteye's gaze returned to Manga. "Rest for five minutes. Then you spar me."

Manga looked at him with an exclamation point showing.

"Yes, sir!" 

Five minutes.

Manga sat on the mat with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, the three G pressing down on his lap and chest like an invisible blanket of iron. His body hurt in places he hadn't known could hurt. His ribs. His stomach. The muscles along his spine that he'd used to bridge under Tōgata's weight. His forearms from blocking.

He whispered "Pin-pin" and the fatigue evaporated. The pain remained.

Tōgata sat beside him, drinking water from a bottle that looked tiny in his huge hand. "You're doing awesome, by the way."

"I don’t feel very great." An image of a beaten up Manga was in his bubble. Bruises, slightly bloody, like the ko screen of a fighter in a video game.

He burst out laughing. “I didn’t feel great either when Sir trained me! It was hell. I thought I was going to die every time. You’re probably going to go through the same thing as me! We’ll be death-defying buddies!”

"The man who will surpass God isn’t afraid of anything!"

Tōgata laughed loud enough that it filled the room. "That’s the spirit every hero needs!" He flexed one arm. "Seriously though, your gravity training is insane. I've never seen anything like it. If Sir had a machine capable of something like that, what I went through would’ve been like a hundred times worse."

"Am I crazy for looking forward to it?"

Tōgata looked at him seriously. "Yes." 

Manga burst out laughing as a figure of himself standing on top of the word God appeared in his head.

Tōgata's grin softened into something quieter. "You know, when I was a first-year, I was dead last in everything. My quirk was a mess. I couldn't control it. I fell through the floor during my first combat exercise and ended up naked in front of the class." He laughed again, but quieter. "Sir Nighteye took me in and showed me that the quirk wasn't the problem. I was the problem. I didn't understand what I had. Once I did, everything changed." He stood up and offered Manga a hand. "Sir's waiting. And trust me, he's a different kind of fight."

Manga took the hand and stood.

Across the room, Nighteye had removed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves to the elbows. Underneath the tailored white shirt was a physique that no one would expect from a man who dressed like a salaryman, he was fit as hell! Six pack abs! Not an inch of fat could be seen on him.

In each hand, he held one of his Hyper-Density Seals.

"Same rules," Nighteye said. "No Comic. Three times gravity remains active. I will not use my quirk."

"I will, however, use these." He raised the seals slightly. "Dodge or block as you see fit. Begin when ready."

Manga raised his guard.

"Begin."

Nighteye threw the first seal.

It crossed the gym in a blur. Heavy metal spinning through the air at a speed that made the air hiss. Manga threw himself sideways and the seal cratered the wall behind him, embedding itself in the reinforced padding with a thud that vibrated through the floor.

The second seal was already in the air.

Manga ducked it. The displacement ruffled his uniform as it passed over his head. Nighteye had already retrieved the first seal, pulling it from the wall with one hand, and tossing it again.

Under three G, Manga's dodge was a lurch. His body wanted to move faster than the gravity allowed. The gap between his instincts and his execution was the gap Nighteye was exploiting, throwing at the speed Manga's brain could track but his weighted body couldn't always avoid.

A seal came at his midsection. He caught it on his crossed forearms and the weight dropped him to his back. He grunted as he forced it off of him and got back to his feet.

Nighteye closed in. His strikes were different from Tōgata's. Where Tōgata fought like a force of nature, overwhelming and direct, Nighteye fought like a problem. Every attack came from an angle that required a specific response, and if Manga chose the wrong response, the follow-up punished him for it.

A jab to draw his guard high. The moment his arms rose, a low kick swept his lead leg. Under three G, the sweep worked perfectly. Manga's heavy body had too much downward force to maintain balance on one leg and he went down.

Nighteye didn't let him get up. A seal pressed against his chest, pinning him to the mat, and Nighteye's foot rested lightly on his stomach.

"You guarded high because you expected a follow-up punch. I kicked low because I knew you would." Nighteye removed his foot. "Read the full picture, not just the first threat."

Manga got up. "Pin-pin."

The fatigue cleared. The lesson stayed.

They went again.

Nighteye threw. Manga dodged. Nighteye struck. Manga blocked. Nighteye feinted high and Manga remembered, checking low this time, catching the incoming sweep on his shin and countering with a right hand that Nighteye swayed back from with the minimum possible movement.

Every exchange was a lesson. Each attack carried information: about timing, about positioning, about the difference between reacting and reading. Every time Manga fell for a feint, Nighteye showed him why. Every time Manga adapted, Nighteye adapted faster, staying one step ahead, forcing him to keep climbing.

By the sixth exchange, Manga stopped falling for the obvious feints. By the eighth, he started reading attacks early enough to sidestep instead of blocking, saving his arms. By the tenth, he landed a grab on Nighteye's shoulder that the pro hero hadn't fully anticipated. With all of his force he didn’t let the opportunity go, as he twisted and lifted, aiming to slam Nighteye directly on his back.

Nighteye caught himself with his legs alone, handling both Manga’s strength and the increased gravity increasing that strength even more. A punch to that chin that staggered Manga backward, forcing him to release his grip.

"Enough." He picked up his seals and set them on the bench by the wall. "That's sufficient for the first day of training."

Manga broke the Zusshiri. The gravity fell away and his body felt like it was made of helium. His arms floated. His legs tingled. The world felt impossibly light, impossibly fast, impossibly easy.

He bounced on his toes and the height of the bounce startled him. His muscles, compressed and conditioned under three G for the entire session, were now operating under one third of the resistance they'd been fighting. Everything was faster. Everything was lighter. Everything was more.

Tōgata whistled from the corner. "Dude. You just jumped like six inches off the ground without trying."

Nighteye observed this.

"Tomorrow," Nighteye said, "we do it again. Tōgata will use Permeation."

Manga's bubble displayed a single drawn image: a small, determined fist.

"Looking forward to it."

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