The night was quiet.
In the cellar of an old mansion, the dull thud of fists striking concrete echoed again and again. Shirtless, Arata Yaoyorozu drove his knuckles into the wall with cold precision. Over and over. Fist after fist. Three-point rhythm. Always the same.
The walls were already marred with indentations—layers of impact marks stacked atop each other. But more shocking were his hands: red, swollen, blood dripping from broken skin.
Still, he didn't stop.
Then came the sound of cracking joints—sharp, rapid, like firecrackers going off.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The noise bounced off the walls, deafening in the enclosed space. If the cellar weren't soundproofed, half the neighborhood would've woken up by now.
Eventually, Arata collapsed.
His legs gave out beneath him. He slumped against the floor, chest heaving, sweat matting his hair to his forehead.
But something strange was happening.
Like the faint aroma of aged red wine, a subtle scent began to drift from his skin—rich, mellow, almost intoxicating. And as that scent deepened, the damage on his body began to vanish.
His bruised legs? Healing.
The cuts on his hands? Closing up.
All at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Arata narrowed his eyes.
Every Quirk had rules—conditions, limitations, activation types. His sister Momo's "Creation" required fat reserves and in-depth material knowledge. So what did this new synthesized Quirk—this "Super Heal"—need?
He sat there, breathing slowly, letting the Quirk do its work.
"…Not stamina," he murmured. He wasn't winded enough. Even with the physical punishment, he hadn't come close to collapsing from exhaustion.
"…Not food either." He rubbed his stomach—no hunger pangs.
Which left a problem. If it wasn't powered by anything obvious, what fueled it? And worse—what did it cost?
He'd heard of some Quirks that caused weird side effects. Random nerve spasms. Temporary blindness. Even incontinence, if you used them too hard. That kind of breakdown mid-fight could be lethal.
As he pondered, the scent grew thicker.
Not foul. Not bitter. Just strong. Like perfume mixed with alcohol. Almost pleasant.
Then he noticed something else: a heat rising in his face.
He blinked. Skin flushed. Breathing shallow.
"…I'm drunk?"
It hit him like a bucket of cold water. He staggered, tried to sit up—and swayed immediately, vision tilting.
Not from exhaustion.
From intoxication.
The healing Quirk… produced alcohol.
More precisely, it seemed to secrete an alcohol-like compound as a byproduct. The harder it worked, the drunker he got.
"The hell…" Arata muttered, falling back to the floor. "So that's the side effect…"
The world spun lazily around him.
Darkness closed in.
BANG BANG BANG
The knocking came sharp and relentless, just after sunrise. Arata jolted awake, barely registering the noise through the haze in his skull.
Groaning, he rolled off the mattress and dragged himself to his feet.
His whole body still felt heavy. His head pounded. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck.
Hangover.
Apparently, "Super Heal" didn't come with a detox mode.
He stumbled toward the mirror, splashed water on his face, and straightened his wrinkled shirt before heading to the door.
"…You're early," he mumbled, opening it.
Standing outside was Yaoyorozu Momo.
Black tactical wear. Hair in a loose tail. Arms crossed, expression sharp.
But the moment the door opened, her nose twitched. She leaned in.
"…Did you drink?"
She didn't wait for an answer. Her brow furrowed, scanning him from head to toe.
To most parents, he still looked like a sickly prodigy. But Momo knew better. She'd seen Arata fight. Seen him wield a wooden blade against professionals half a dozen times.
And now he smelled like wine.
Arata kept his expression flat but allowed a flicker of excitement to show in his eyes.
"I figured it out," he said.
"…Your Quirk?" Momo asked, instantly alert.
"Yeah."
The transformation on her face was instant. Worry faded. Curiosity surged.
"What kind is it? Abnormal-type? Emission? Transformation?"
Arata leaned against the wall and let out a small breath.
"Still figuring that out."
But in the back of his mind, the Smart Chip was already running simulations.
And somewhere deep in his cells, the alcohol-laced regeneration kept humming quietly.
He didn't say it out loud.
But the rules were clear now:
Super Heal activates on damage.
Its side effect? Intoxication.
The stronger he got, the more he'd need to balance strength with clarity. It wouldn't be long before he'd need a workaround.
One that didn't leave him waking up hungover in the basement.