Chapter 36

                                    

                                          
Nezu's idea of enough was, quite frankly, terrifying.
                          
"First, we need you in tip-top physical condition. Not only will that help you gain better control of your Quirk, it is a necessity for almost every Hero. If a villain ever has a Quirk similar to Eraserhead's, you will need to be prepared—you can't rely on your Quirk for everything, yes?"
                          
Nakano nodded as he led her to a massive indoor gym, sleek and polished like everything else in U.A. She hurried into the locker room, changing from her everyday uniform to the athletic uniform, pulling on her regular sneakers instead of the ones with the hard toes. It's just conditioning, she told herself. It can't be that bad.
                          
An hour into training, she realized her mistake. Two, in fact.
                          
One: She shouldn't have eaten that much stew before coming here.
                          
Two: Conditioning can, in fact, be that bad.
                          
Nezu had her running laps around the 400m track, presumably as a warm-up. Not even two laps in, she was already breathing hard. By lap three, her breathing pattern could be described as almost-wheezing. By lap four, she felt like she was going to puke her guts out.
                          
Luckily, he had her stop after four. She didn't really want to know what would've happened during lap five, but floppy unconsciousness was her best bet.
                          
She performed the various forms of torture Nezu had set out for her—squats with weight bars, lunges with weight bars, crunches with weight balls, storks with weight balls—basically anything that required her to put her body in an uncomfortable position while holding weights.
                          
She really did puke after the first round of crunches. Nezu calmly held the trash can and handed her a silk handkerchief afterward.
                          
"That's alright. You can eat more later. Now, twenty storks on each side—make sure to hold the ball in front of you—yes, like that—and lift your leg! Higher! Higher!"
                          
***
                          
"Nakano! Where were you?" Ochaco asked a very disheveled-looking Nakano as she walked—limped—through the door. She'd missed math class, taught by Ectoplasm, but that was okay. He freaked her out a little because she couldn't see his eyes, and she hated math anyway. But at that question, twenty pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction.
                          
"Umm...Recovery Girl's office," she mumbled, not looking Ochaco in the eye. It wasn't an outright lie—she did have to visit the kind, elderly nurse after her intense torture training session—but she felt the urge to keep her extra training a secret, though she didn't really understand why. It was more reflex than conscious thought, but now that she had spoken this half-truth, it seemed to want to twist her words and thoughts away from her control, and she didn't like that urge at all. It was rare that she felt like she could trust someone, and she hated that her memories were still haunting her, refusing to let her build her life as she wished it to be.
                          
"Are you okay?" Ochaco looked worried, and murmurs rose from the rest of the class, too. It stung her a little that they cared; it was another reminder that people could be wonderful, and she was resentful, still, that wonderful people hadn't been around earlier when she'd really needed them.
                          
She shook her head: now wasn't the time. "I'm fine. Just felt a little sick, but Recovery Girl gave me the all-clear." She plastered on a smile that she hoped was convincing.
                          
They bought it and didn't ask her any more questions. She took her seat in the corner, next to Momo, who handed her the classwork she'd missed and a brief copy of her notes. Nakano thanked her quietly and promptly fell asleep on her desk, much to the other girl's dismay.