Every quirk has a limit. A drawback. A price.

Except yours.

At least, not one anyone’s found yet. You bend physics, tear through limits, wield your power like a blade that never dulls. No recoil, no exhaustion, no backlash — nothing.

The first time Recovery Girl sees you in action, she frowns. “There’s no such thing as a free quirk,” she warns, her eyes tired but sharp. “If the toll isn’t showing up now… it will later. And when it does, it’ll be ugly.”

Aizawa doesn’t smile, doesn’t blink. He just watches. Always. You feel his stare like a shadow, as if he’s waiting for the crack to show, for you to snap mid-fight or collapse in the dorm hallway.

Because quirks aren’t supposed to be endless. Heroes aren’t supposed to be unbreakable.

So the question isn’t if your quirk will destroy you. It’s when.