This was gonna be a lot more difficult than he imagined.

It had only been a few days into his new training schedule and he was very much struggling. Izuku couldn't move so much as a washing machine before his weedy legs buckled. The 10km runs around the eastern Mustafau had helped somewhat in the stamina department, but not by much. Thankfully, the beach sat on the boundary between the district and greater Tokyo, so it was unlikely for him to be mugged and/or outright murdered during said exercises, an all-too-common occurrence nowadays. No-one ever took the time to dispute that notion; Money is money at the end of the day.

School wasn't much of an issue either fortunately. Aldera Junior High, being located in the adjacent, definitively higher class district, was a prime example of how society had degenerated in the post-Quirk era; if you had a strong quirk then you would be praised as some deity that could do no wrong, on the other side of the spectrum, no quirk meant no-one, not even the teachers gave a damn, so long as it didn't affect their paycheck. Utilising this, Midoriya would often skip school to entirely focus on training, much to Bakugou's annoyance since his favourite punching bag was avoiding him. It had gotten to such a point of regularity that the blonde boy would start actively pursuing Midoriya outside school, each time giving up and begrudgingly walking home with an aggravated huff. 

The months droned on in a similar manner but it seemed the fruits of Izuku's labour were beginning to reveal themselves. His meek physique was starting to bulk up into something more befitting of someone attempting to become a hero. The rubbish-coated beach was steadily being cleared out to where there was actually enough space to start phase two of his training: support gear. 

He had looked into U.A's guidelines regarding external tools, and determined that in order for said gear to be allowed, he must design and build it himself.
'Fun,' he grimaced internally. It was going to be a challenge for sure, but he got this far off his own willpower, so this shouldn't be too hard for him.

Hard was a severe understatement.

Despite being practically surrounded by various scraps and useful parts begging to be used, Midoriya had very little experience in physically putting a contraption together, which is why it came as a surprise when he had managed to make not one but two fully functional grappling-hooks. Both were simply decorated in a crimson red with black details serving to only further accentuate the already striking colour scheme. Izuku then conducted a brief test of the inventions to confirm they worked, involving latching onto various walls in an attempt to scale them and more easily maneuver the brick maze that was the slums that entombed the core of the district.

Finally, it was time for phase three of the program: combat. Oddly enough, it appeared a simpler task than the previous phase, converting discarded fridges and other kitchen appliances into punching bags for the young teen. These would especially come in handy, seeing as word on the street was that the practical exam would be centred around disabling similarly-structured robots. At first, his technique was dreadful, unsuccessful in even denting the metal. That was, until he stumbled upon the slums' local 'Library' (if one could call it that given its disheveled appearance) which contained various books packed with numerous tips and guidance on fighting. Borrowing them for the time being, Midoriya used the ideas presented as best he could whilst also implementing his own flare into it. The general thought process was that he needed to be as unpredictable as possible to best defeat opponents, and to him this was the best way of going about it.

It was during the last few months that he began to notice something peculiar. Someone seemed to be watching him. It wasn't the kind he was used to either for it lacked the usual gloating or disgust that often plagued that feeling. Instead, it was almost akin to encouragement for Midoriya, convincing him to continue training further beyond.

As it turned out, the observer was a certain brunette known as Ochaco Uraraka. She never frequented this district often, as a matter of fact she was on her way back from a shopping trip (since Mustafau was the go-to place for discounts apparently) when she noticed a green haired kid her age on the nearly cleared beach assaulting what looked like broken fridge as if his life depended on it. His obvious drive is what fascinated her most of all however. Just by gazing at him, his contagious determination had already spread to the deepest recesses of her mind. U.A's infamous entrance exams were only in a few days and Uraraka was absolutely sure she would see him there. Maybe then she could finally get to know this mysterious boy.