2 A Month On, Progress And Meeting Someone New

(A/n - Just a heads-up before we get into the chapter. It seems I wasn't clear enough on certain things because a bunch of people we asking about his base form's appearance; and that's on me, so no hate to anyone who asked. His base form is just a smaller Tetramand/Four Arms. He was in his base form the entire last chapter. Even un-transformed, and in his weaker base form, he's ridiculously strong and durable. Keep in mind that unlike Tetramand's, he's got hair like a human because he's still Human. His Quirk just allows him to mimic Tetramand physical qualities.)

My eyes - all four of them - groggily opened and I lifted a hand to rub the sleep from my eyes as I pushed myself up off of the reinforced bed. Which, even as I was being careful with my strength, creaked as I pushed against it.

I sighed and flipped my feet off of it and onto the floor. It was odd to look down at my new feet but I still did. Unlike a normal human's, my feet didn't have arches - I had a serious case of flat feet. And yet it didn't impact my ability to walk or run. All it did was give me an incredible sense of stability and balance.

Standing up and giving the bed it's much needed reprieve from my weight, I caught myself in the mirror.

The cognitive dissonance caught me in full as I looked at myself. Four arms on a thick, barrel-chested torso and supported by strong and long legs. A messy mop of hair sat upon my red head, covering most of my forehead but still leaving all four of my solid yellow eyes to look back at me. I had the stark feeling this body wasn't mind--it was looking into the mirror and seeing a stranger, even after a month. This...this was the body of a fighter. A warrior. Not mine.

I closed my eyes and took deep breathes in through my mouth and then back out my mouth as I didn't have a traditional nose like most did. I could still smell things but only through the usage of something called a Jacobson's Organ but apparently dialled to eleven according to Dr. Miyamoto. It allowed me to smell things and pick up on scents most people couldn't - pretty sure snakes and dogs have this organ, so my sense of smell is on the same level as the latter's. But that was besides the point right now. I didn't want to be thinking about how different I was.

I only had to think about one thing.

This body is mine. It always has been and always will be. Regardless of my memory loss, this is my Quirk. My body.

Letting out one final exhale of air, I opened my eyes. The body dysmorphia wasn't just suddenly gone but it was repressed and crammed back into whatever cave in my brain it lived in. A month in and I was settling well in Japan with the help of the authorities and the therapist I'd been issued by the state as soon as it was apparent that I had issues with my body and my still burning hot frustration with my lack of memories.

Yep, even after a month I'm still basically a blank slate when it comes to who I was before I woke up in that crater but apparently that's normal. I wouldn't say I've given up on finding out who I am but I'm a hell of a lot less likely to start throwing chairs around...even if the chance is still there. Like everyone, I guess, I have good days and bad days.

The fact my feeling of being a stranger in a foreign body had receded even a little, told me this was one of the better days.

I focused back on my body and this time, like my therapist told me to do, I only concentrated on the good stuff. Which in my case would be the muscles. I was fucking ripped, man. Absolutely rippling with muscle. Eight-pack, defined pecs, strong quads and hamstrings and calves that showed I never missed leg day - at least I wasn't a top-heavy buffoon, right? Gotta look at the good things in life, even if the bad things are constantly gnawing at the back of my head.

Stopping my impromptu posing session, I turned back to my bed and kneeled down next to it before reaching under it with one of my lower arms. Grabbing the box I knew was there, I dragged it out, the heavy mahogany dragging across the laminated wood floor.

Once it was free from under the bed, I undid the latches and opened it up to show six pairs of weights you could wear on your limbs.

All Might had stopped by a quite a few times during the first two weeks I'd been here in the shelter for kids who either didn't have parents or were pawned off by them when they were kids. Who knew which category I fell into. Probably neither. Anyway, because he'd stopped by to talk to me about the citizenship and organising my Japanese Language classes, I'd asked him about working out. My therapist had said a lot of people needed an outlet for the emotions or for their frustrations or for both of those things and knowing he was a Pro-Hero and also had superhuman strength like myself, I'd asked him about it.

He'd been slightly hesitant at first, saying anything he could get me would be stuff Pros would use and therefore not something you should give away to a civilian. But, after I'd taken him to my therapist and he'd finally picked his jaw up off the floor after seeing All Might, he told All Might how good it'd be for me to actually get some of it out of my system through something productive like exercise. All Might was still hesitant to get me the weights but acquiesced in the end before taking me out to some high-tech factory.

Long story short, I went through a punch of tests for a baseline physical to see my limits before signing a legitimate contract (who makes a fourteen-year-old do that? Isn't that unethical and illegal? Unethically illegal?) that said I wouldn't sell the weights off even if they became useless to me. I could only give them back to the place I got them from.

All Might was doing me a solid, so I would've done that even without the contract. Still, I signed away after reading the contract through a few times. It wasn't that I didn't trust All Might - the guy had really helped me out mentally with his visits and chats and I was immensely grateful - but I guess I'm just the cautious sort. Either way, I got my weights.

Picking them up out of the box, I fit two of them on each of me four wrists and then two to my ankles before standing up with a lot more effort than before. They weighed A LOT. I'm pretty sure each of them is around three tonnes which meant I was walking around with more weight than a few double decker buses exerting itself on me. Luckily they're pretty high-tech and only exert the weight on me. Something to do with gravity fields, I think? I don't know, I just overhead All Might speaking to the guy who made them. Be all and end all is this:

They're heavy weights.

And yet other than some serious effort, I was kinda fine. I mean, it still burned when I moved my muscles but I was far from being dragged to the floor by the combination of the weights and gravity trying to pull me down.

With the weights now on and the familiar burn in my muscles, I pulled on a shirt and then put on some shorts. I didn't bother with shoes - why would I? I didn't really need them and even the specially made ones I could get felt a little stuffy on them. My two toes seemingly weren't made to be pushed together and confined in tight spaces. It really messed with my walking as well. Sandles are fine though...just not exactly the type of footwear for running, really.

I made my way to the communal bathroom on the floor and upon seeing the door open, I entered and closed it, locking it behind me. Turning to the massive sink, I reached for one of the packaged tooth brushes and ripped open it's plastic covering before pulling it free and placing the packaging in the nearby recycling bin. Squirting a bunch of toothpaste onto the brush, I got to brushing my teeth and tongue. Thankfully, my teeth were pretty normal if you ignore the larger than average canines and the utter sharpness and durability of each individual tooth.

Still, normal enough for me. Familiar enough too, so I didn't spend too much time having to brush my teeth or learning how to brush two pairs of teeth or whatever else this body could have a second pair of.

Spitting out the minty froth, I used some mouthwash to swill out the rest of it and whatever bacteria was still in there after my persistent brushing and then I was done. I'd save the shower for after my workout.

I put the toothbrush in the jar labelled Kenji after watering it off of any froth left on it. Kenji. My new name. It was...weird to have a name be given to you when you're of an age where you understand some of the intricacies of having a name. It's a label, a way for people to attach actions to you, a way to stick in someone's memory after you did something. It was a way to connect your body to who you were as a person. Up until I had a name, I was just some big red dude with four arms. Now, I'm Kenji the big red dude with four arms.

It doesn't seem like much but it did a world of good for me. It let me make a decision for myself that actually effected my personal being. Allowed me to feel like I had some things under my own control even without my memories.

Kenji. I liked the name. Meant strong and vigorous. All Might helped me decide when he found me down in the dumps on one of my worse days. 'What's with the frown, young man?' he'd asked and I just shrugged in reply, not really feeling up for any conversation he could try and have me with. 'A strapping young lad like you shouldn't be so macabre, even with the memory loss! You're alive, young man! That's cause for celebration in and of itself!'

I remember smirking at what he'd said, the eccentricity of his behaviour having grown on me after earlier visits. Then I realised he was right. I WAS alive. And I was indeed strapping; I fit big and strong to a tee. Strong and vigorous. At that point my name was pretty much set in stone and when I saw a name that held the Kanji for those two things, I picked it.

As I thought about that, I remembered also looking to him and asking how he always kept a smile on his face.

'No matter the occasion, a smile will always ease the fear of people. Even your own fear. My teacher used to say...' he'd stopped at that moment and whether it was my enhanced vision or just general emotional intelligence, he'd looked so devastatingly sad. The saddest I'd ever seen him and after first meeting him and getting access to a computer I'd look up all sorts about him. Yet right here, talking about his teacher he looked sad, his smile hollow. And just like that he was back again, the hollow smile having been returned it's splendour, 'They used to say that, the ones who smile are the strongest of all. And if I didn't smile, I'd be proving those words wrong, wouldn't I?' he'd finished and we both laughed at the conspiratorial way he'd finished.

But what he'd said stuck me with. The ones who smile are the strongest of all. It resonated with me, for some reason, and at that point I was pretty set. I was gonna give being a Pro-Hero a go. By all accounts, I had a strong Quirk that was well-suited for the perils and pitfalls of Herodom. Would I be able to do it? Physically, sure. If there was one thing I had confidence in, it was the body my Quirk had given me.

No, what I was thinking is - could I hold up the principals and morals that people like All Might do? I have no idea. But I was willing to try--no, not willing. That makes it sound like I'm reluctant. Not willing but instead wholly determined to do my best.

You see, when you don't have any memories, you find what you can to hold onto like a float in the middle of the sea. And for me, it was trying to be a Hero.

And that was when I asked for the weights. Because some of the stuff I've seen All Might pull off in some of those videos...goddamn. I might be strong but I'm not THAT strong. Yet, anyway. I made my way down the stairs and saw a few of the other kids from the lower levels as they milled about on the weekend morning. I said some greetings in what little Japanese I did know and a month of classes had really helped me out.

I wasn't fluent. Far from it. I could just barely hold a conversation if the opposing person didn't speak too fast but it was a massive leap forward when compared to before where I had to rely on English-speakers for conversation.

Give me another month or two and I should be able to speak the language properly and without much trouble. I don't see myself getting rid of my accent though which instantly gives away my non-native-ness when a native hears me speak. But at the end of the day, it didn't really matter, did it? As long as I can speak and understand the language, that's good enough for me.

With the greetings over and done with, I exited the shelter and got out onto the street. I did a few stretches and got my blood flowing a bit before I shot off in a sprint.

My feet slapping against the ground and my arms swaying with my stride, I tuned out everything else and just ran. I switched between sprinting, jogging and walking for my interval training but I put every bit of effort I could into doing everything. Why? Because cardio is important. But more importantly, my cardio was just too damn strong. My stamina was immense as well. So to even wind myself I needed to put everything into my run and with the weights, that came pretty easy.

But to wear myself out and actually get some meaningful exercise? I had to put 120% into everything.

And so I did.

I ran and ran and ran, going through the morning streets at a breakneck pace even when I was jogging. Even my walking was a speed-walk. I felt the strain in my muscles after a few miles but it wasn't enough so I doubled the time I'd spend sprinting. Finally, I came to my destination - a beach. It was nice and clear and most importantly, empty. Not bothering with taking my shirt off, I bounded over to the cold, cold morning sea and jumped up and into it. I landed in it with a massive splash, water droplets splashing against my skin with a frosty sting.

Shivering, I waded into the water further until it was covering me from the neck down. Then I took a massive breath and waded in further. I must've been about twenty meters deep under water when I finally stopped.

Luckily I didn't really need to worry about oxygen because I could hold off on a single breath for about a few hours. A single hour if I was doing strenuous exercise. I'd gone to Dr. Miyamoto about it and he'd explained I had a pair of secondary lungs right below my main pair - they were smaller but packed densely with everything you need for healthy lungs and insanely high efficiency for each breath you take. Apparently I also have air-sacs attached to my skeleton all throughout it which help store air as well. All meaning I can do this sort of inhuman workout.

You see, heavy weights plus the pressure of the surrounding water and how much harder it is to move in water opposed to air...and you get one hell of a workout. Really, it's the only way for me to workout for any actual effect on my biology.

With the thinking over, I got to moving around. Really just punching and the like. Moving under the pressure and pushing my muscles in all manner of ways. I'd tried to get into a martial arts dojo but, uh, a lot of those are dying or dead because of Quirks. They're still around, sure, but not really thriving. After all, what's the point of learning how to hit someone if you can summon a tornado of fire? Even then, it'd been pretty hard to find one that could do something for my particular situation.

After all, not many martial arts incorporate ways to use four arms. But I still hold hope I'll find one - I can't be the only guy with multiple arms in the world. I'd be willing to bet on that, in fact. There are two types of dojos. Traditional ones and Quirk-related ones. Traditional just teach normal martial arts while Quirk-related ones teach people how to combine normal martial arts with their specific Quirk.

Only problem with the latter of those is that they're kinda insular. As in certain Quirk dojos only accept people with certain Quirks. I'd booked a try out with a Strength-Enhancement Quirk dojo but got turned away after I turned up because their style didn't mesh well with unusual humanoid body-types. They weren't dicks about it or anything - they'd actually been very apologetic about it - but it had pissed me off a little. Well, a lot but nevermind that.

I'm sure there's a dojo out there for me either way.

I continued my workout of punching and underwater calisthenics for about an hour before I felt the burn in my chest that signalled I needed air, so I pushed against the soft sand below and jumped toward the surface. I couldn't quite get there but a few swimming motions with my arms and some kicks with my legs were enough to push me above the surface.

Breathing heavily for a few seconds, I felt the burn in my chest subsided and so did the burn in my muscles. Realising I'd be here for another few hours yet, I decided to do some swimming about. And boy, let me tell you, learning to swim with four arms hadn't been easy.

I knew I could swim. Whoever I was before could swim. But with four arms? Hell no they couldn't. Aside from the questions that brought up, it also meant the first time I'd tried I'd nearly tangled my arms up while trying. My control over my arms was very instinctive, like it was meant to be. I hardly ever messed up with them in my day-to-day life...but in swimming? I don't think that swimming is considered day-to-day life by this body.

I'd gotten a hang of it eventually but goddamn it was annoying.

But it did let me know that four arms is definitely better than two after you get the hang of it. I practically shot through the water when I wanted to and I wanted it, so I did. I applied the same interval training of my running to my swimming and switched between an outright water-sprint to a more casual water-jog as I went through the water and the hour just flew by as I glided across the surface of the water or swam underwater and looked at some of the more fearless fish who'd hazard a swim near me.

It was nice.

And then someone else shot toward me.

It was a short girl of a relatively slender build and large hands that looked a little big on her petite frame. But through the body suit she was wearing, it wasn't hard to see she was actually pretty toned and athletic looking. Her hair...well, it was dark sea-green in colour and very long, reaching all the way to her waist with the ends tied together at the bottom in a large bow of hair. It framed her face on either side with two shoulder-length clumps and shorter bangs between her eyes, some of them partially swept to each side.

Honestly...she kinda looked like a frog. Not that she wasn't pretty it's just that it's the first thing that came to mind. Especially with the big eyes and wide mouth. It made her look exotic...yeah, she looked exotic. Though I guess I'm one to talk, huh? Mr. Red-Skin-And-Four-Arms talking about appearances. Jeez, man.

Unaware of my internal admonishment of myself, the girl shot over to me and stopped just...staring.

...Maybe she wasn't unaware of my thoughts.

For the sake of not being anti-social, I gave her a wave. One she hesitantly gave. Well, this won't do - I pointed up to the surface and she looked at my hand and where it was pointed before nodding. Okay, Kenji, game face on. Time to speak Japanese and not fuck up an encounter.