Chapter Text
Death has a tendency to sneak up on people when they least expect it.
In your case, it happens when you are only sixteen years old, riding the bus on the way back from school. You’re scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, earbuds pushed in so deep that they block out all the noise in the background. The music on your playlist is blasting at full-force, perhaps too loudly, but you prefer it this way. You prefer to be able to focus on your own thoughts.
Your eyes close, and you allow your mind to drift off. You pretend that you’re inside your room, protected by the four walls you’ve come to cherish and rely on. It’s easier to be alone. It’s what you’re used to, what comes naturally to you, and in all your years of living, you’ve never once thought to venture outside of your comfort zone.
When a car suddenly skids from the oncoming traffic lane and crashes into the bus, you are forced to rethink your life choices.
The bus lurches from the impact. You can feel your body being flung out of the seat, and you swear it doesn’t make sense, because everything is happening too fast. Your body doesn’t feel as if it’s your own. It’s as if it’s weightless, and there’s a pit in your stomach that wasn’t there just a moment ago.
You can’t really make sense of how everything unfolds. All you know is that you’re lying on the floor of the bus, and your earbuds have fallen out, despite your best efforts to bury them snug. Your eyes are wide, disbelieving, as you stare ahead at the countless other civilians that have been caught up in the crash. From what you can tell, some of them are gravely injured. Others are lucky enough to have gotten away with some bruising and a bump on their forehead.
That’s the most you can piece together, because your vision is slowly fading. The side of your head feels awfully slick for some reason. You don’t really understand why, not until one of the injured kids on the bus points to you and starts wailing.
Ah.
Your skull has been cracked open, and you’re about to die.
Someone rushes towards you. They look like they’ve sprained their wrist, but otherwise, they’re in relatively good shape. You can only watch, unable to move or muster up a sound, as they pull out a napkin and use it to try and put pressure on your wound.
Based on how quickly everything is turning dark, you can tell that it’s a futile effort.
I’m dying. I’m really dying.
You’re afraid. Of course you are. Is there anyone who doesn’t fear death? Not that it makes any difference. Once death has set its sights on someone, it’s impossible to escape.
There’s another emotion weighing you down though, and compared to fear, you would argue that it’s much more overwhelming.
Regret. More than anything else, you feel regret. What did you spend these last sixteen years doing? You don't have anyone you can call a friend, you put little effort into maintaining a good relationship with your family, and you’ve never accomplished or done anything that you can feel genuinely proud of.
You’ve wasted your entire life, and it’s too late to do a damn thing about it.
“It’s going to be okay,” the person tending to you mumbles. They press down on your head, trying to staunch the wound, but you know it’s a lost cause.
You are going to die here, and no matter how desperately you try to make peace with that fact, you just can't.
If only you could get another chance at life. You wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice. You promise yourself that you’ll appreciate every moment, reach out to others and share whatever emotions they’re feeling. Anger, joy, apprehension—it doesn’t matter. The point is that you’ll do better. You’ll be better. You won’t isolate yourself or waste away the precious moments of your life.
All you need is another opportunity. Please?
Right. As if that would happen.
Your breathing grows shallower, weaker, and you can just vaguely hear the nice civilian crying out to you in desperation. Eventually, even the sound fades. It’s getting terribly and unspeakably dark. Fuck. You’re afraid. You’re so afraid.
But even as you’re about to cross over to the other side, your belief holds firm.
Nothing is worse than having regrets.
The darkness, which you presumed to be vast and endless, eventually clears.
Suddenly, you can hear again, but the sound is so loud and ear-grating that you almost wish you couldn’t.
“What’s wrong with her?” a woman sighs tiredly. “She’s been crying nonstop.”
There are two people in the room. One of them is the woman, who just spoke up, and the other is a man, a doctor, by the looks of things.
Oh, actually, scratch that. There are three people in the room, because some baby is wailing out at the top of their lungs.
Is this a dream?
You died, and you know that for a fact, so you assume you must be watching some random scene play out. But even if that’s the case, something is... strange. You’re not quite sure how to explain it, but there’s this overwhelming sense of discomfort that’s tearing through your whole body.
“She is perfectly healthy,” the doctor reassures. He must be referring to the baby. He takes a moment to adjust his glasses, then frowns. “Have you reconsidered, by any chance?”
“No,” the woman replies. She says it bluntly; coldly, even. “I already told you this before. I’m not keeping her. I just wanted to make sure she was healthy, but that’s it. As soon as I’m feeling better, I’m going to leave. One of the nurses will take her away, right?”
“Yes, miss. Of course. We just wanted to give you one last chance to rethink your decision.”
“I’m not keeping her,” she says again, and she bites down on her lip to keep from trembling. You’re not sure why you’re seeing such a heavy scene play out, but you suppose it’s better than being trapped in a void for all eternity. You’re thankful to have retained your sentience.
Up until this moment, you are convinced that you’re dead.
But when the woman moves closer, and she reaches a hand out, it finally clicks.
“Bye-bye, baby,” she whispers. You can feel her hand squeezing down on yours. The sensation of being touched is painfully familiar, and you know you’re not imagining it.
This woman is your mother, and she’s in the process of giving you away.
Just like that, the crying stops. It stops because you realize you’re the baby, and it means that your dying wish has been answered.
One way or another, you’ve been reborn.
“Ah,” the doctor hums. He cracks a smile and gently pokes your chubby cheek. “Are you happy that your mommy touched you? You must be, since you’ve finally stopped crying. She has to leave, but don’t worry. We’ll find you a new family soon. I’m sure you’ll love them, whoever they are.”
You blink up at him, not making a sound. It’s hard to believe that you’re actually alive again, and while the body of an infant doesn’t allow for much freedom, in the grand scheme of things, it’s a trifling matter.
You just want to live.
“Get some rest, little one,” the doctor encourages. Of course, he can’t possibly know that you actually understand him, but since there’s not much else you can do in your present state, you close your eyes and try to drift off to sleep.
Some time passes, and unlike what the doctor promised, you have yet to find a loving home.
It turns out that adoption is a rather tricky process, and it takes a while just to find suitable parental candidates. You appreciate that there is a lot of planning and contemplation that goes into this, because children shouldn’t just be handed off without a second thought. They need to be diligently cared for, looked after and appreciated.
You realize just how true this line of reasoning holds when you are finally introduced to your ‘forever family’, as the doctor puts it.
“You’re going to love them,” he grins. “They’re so excited to have you!”
For a moment, you wonder if he means that, or if he’s the one who’s excited to finally get rid of you and free up a bed for another soon-to-be baby. There isn’t really any way to know for sure, and if your infantile body allowed for it, you would probably shrug as a show of your indifference.
Anyways, you finally have a home now, and you suppose that has to count for something.
It doesn’t take long for you wish you were back in the hospital.
“She keeps crying,” the mother whines, almost as if she’s the child, not you.
“Well, no shit,” the father cuts back impatiently. “It’s because you’re always forgetting to feed her on time. You told me you were ready for this. You told me you wanted a kid, so it’s too late to start pulling these stunts.”
“I’m just so tired. I really don’t know if I can do this...”
Fucking hell. What does a baby have to do around here to get a goddamn bottle of milk?
They aren’t good parents. That much is abundantly clear. You wish they would’ve sorted out these matters ahead of time, but some people find out the hard way that they just aren’t ready to take care of a child.
Nonetheless, they make an effort to improve. They try to rise to the occasion and shoulder this huge responsibility they’ve decided to take on.
During the time you spend living under their roof, you come face-to-face with a dizzying realization.
It happens so fast that, at first, you swear you’re just imagining things. Your adoptive mother is vacuuming around the house, when suddenly, a stray object falls under the couch. She lets out her usual trademark sigh, then adjusts her stance as if she’s about to crouch down and retrieve it.
As it turns out, she doesn’t need to crouch, because her arm extends—as if it’s elastic—and she picks up the object with ease.
The pacifier in your mouth instantly falls out.
What... the fuck?
You wonder if your tiny baby eyes are deceiving you, or if this is some sort of side effect of being reincarnated. How else would you explain what you’ve just seen? It’s freaking absurd. People’s arms don’t just do that.
Since you’re incapable of communicating normally, you just cry. Your adoptive mother seems to become increasingly irritable whenever you cry for long periods of time, but there’s not much you can do to help it, especially when you’re so confused.
“Hush now, [Name],” she demands, and to your horror, stretches her arm out again so that she can reach over to you and place the pacifier back in your mouth.
Then she carries on with her vacuuming, as if nothing ever happened.
To no one’s surprise, you keep crying, and it continues this way until you overhear a conversation between the two of them during dinner.
“She hates it whenever I use my Quirk,” your mother scowls. “I feel like she’s judging me every single time. Is it possible for babies to be so judgy?”
Hold up. What the hell did she just say?
“You must be imagining it,” your father sighs. Both of them sure like to sigh a lot. You hate to admit it, but they don’t seem particularly happy with their lives. “She’s just a baby. She doesn’t even know what’s going on around her, let alone how Quirks work.”
They keep on using that word, and your chest feels tight when you remember exactly where you’ve heard it before.
But that can’t be. My Hero Academia is a fictional world. Superheroes, Quirks... none of that is real.
Yet here you are, living and breathing, proof that all of this is actually happening to you.
Even so... it’s just too far-fetched. You can’t possibly have been reborn into a world that doesn’t really exist. No matter how much manga and anime you’ve consumed, it still doesn’t make this situation any more plausible.
You need evidence. Real, concrete evidence. Until then, you refuse to draw any conclusions.
A week later, you catch your parents watching an interview of All Might on TV.
...well, shit.
Shortly after your second birthday, your parents put you up for adoption again.
You wonder if something must be wrong with you, because no one seems to want to have you as their kid. It’s getting a bit hard not to take personally.
The worst part of it is that they didn’t even bother to put you up for adoption somewhere nice. You’re convinced that they chose the shittiest orphanage that ever existed, just as one last middle finger for all the stress and trouble you’ve caused them.
You are two years old now, you are almost certainly living in the world of My Hero Academia, and you’re an orphan. Admittedly, it's a lot to handle.
Even so, you manage. For obvious reasons, you’re a lot smarter than you look. Your body limits a lot of what you can do, so you choose to keep your brain engaged mostly by reading books and solving puzzles.
“That girl’s always going through those books,” one of the caregiver mumbles to her colleague. “Do you think she really understands what’s going on?”
“No way,” the other waves off. “She must just like looking at the pictures.”
“But that book doesn’t have any pictures.”
“She’s two years old. Of course she can’t read. Nothing that complicated, at least. Don’t be silly.”
They eventually shrug and decide that they must be overthinking things, and you carry on reading your book—yes, actually reading it.
It’s another normal, mundane day, until suddenly, everything changes.
“We have someone new staying with us starting from today,” the head caregiver proudly announces. He gestures beside him, where a boy is standing with his arms wrapped around his body. He is consciously keeping a good distance between him and the other kids, as well as the caregiver, and you swear you spot a grimace on his lips.
For some reason... he looks really familiar.
“Go on,” the caregiver encourages. “Introduce yourself to the others.”
You hear him mutter something under his breath, although you don’t quite catch it, and then he sighs before briefly glancing your way.
“Chisaki Kai,” he says, and in that moment, your heart stops. “But stay away from me,” he adds, grimacing yet again. “I don’t like it when people get too close.”
Chisaki Kai.
You know this kid. Well, he’s only a kid now, but you’re abundantly aware of what he’ll become, and the horrible things he’ll go on to do.
At this point, you can’t keep making excuses anymore. You’re living in the world of My Hero Academia, and it’s as simple as that.
Chisaki walks away before the caregiver can say anything else. He sits down in the corner of the room, all by himself, keeping his golden eyes narrowed so that nobody thinks of getting too close to him. He’s several years older than you, so that puts him at about maybe eight or nine? The details don’t really matter, though.
What matters is that for the first time, you’ve met a character that plays a hand in how the story will unfold.
You remember your dying wish. You wanted to have a second chance at life, to prove that you could make something of it, rather than letting each day pass you by. You decided long ago that regardless of when you die, or how you die, you want to be able to say that you’ve lived a full life. You want to know that your actions have impacted others, impacted the world.
And now you’ve just realized that your actions carry a lot more weight than you first thought.
You know how this story goes. Well, not all of it, because you died before it came to an end, but you have knowledge in spades, and who’s to say that you can’t use that knowledge to create a permanent, positive shift?
Chisaki is still gritting his teeth, staying far away from everyone else. Seeing him like this, knowing that he’s just an orphan like you, makes it difficult to fear or resent him. He’s frail and vulnerable, and even if he won’t admit it, he needs to be protected, just like any other kid would.
You are going to live. You are going to live boldly and vibrantly, knowing that the choices you make can shape others’ lives. You’re done spending your days as a recluse and wasting away. You don’t want things to end like they did in your last life, where even in death, nobody knew who you were or what you’d done.
Here, your potential is limitless, and you’ll be damned if you take it for granted.
And so, you stand up. On shaky toddler legs, but you stand up nonetheless. Your steps are slow, deliberate, and even though it takes a while, you eventually stop in front of Chisaki.
He glares at you. “What do you want?”
You know exactly what you want, and it’s to leave your mark on this world, so that you’ll never be forgotten. You want to be someone who can move and inspire others. You want to become the kind of person you can take pride in.
You’ve been given a new chance at life, and it’s in a world you’re familiar with, of all things. This is the best deal you’ll ever get.
It takes you a while to form your words, so you return Chisaki’s stare with one of your own. He’s still so young, but he already resents the world. He feels like an outsider, like someone who doesn’t belong. Because of that, he will eventually spin out of control. He will resort to drastic means to manipulate the world around him—to make it make sense.
If left unchecked, he will certainly become a villain. But what if, all these years, he had someone by his side to steer him on the right path? What if he found solace some other way, instead of twisting society in the palm of his hand?
You don’t know the answer to that question, but you think you’d like to find out.
"I'm here for you."
Those are the words you decide on, and despite how childish your two-year-old voice sounds, there’s a maturity to it that Chisaki can’t seem to comprehend.
He looks at you in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. I just wanted to tell that you that, no matter what happens... it’s going to be okay. Because I’ll be here to help.”
You grin widely, unintentionally revealing several missing teeth. Chisaki looks disgusted at first, and he even shrinks away, but against all odds, he still hasn’t told you to get lost.
The two of you just stare at each in silence for a while. He must think you’re a bit strange, especially for a two-year-old, but you can’t help but be mesmerized by the fact that he’s actually in front of you right now.
Eventually, his patience runs thin.
“Go away,” he mutters, then outright shoos you. “Dirty little kid. Mind your own business.”
You don’t take any offense at his words. You realize it’ll take a while to get closer to him, and knowing what you do about his character, there are a lot of obstacles standing in your way.
But it’s fine. If maybe, just maybe, you can prevent him from becoming a villain... if your actions help someone, in some way...
You’ll be happier than you can put into words.
“Okie-dokie,” you smile, then turn to leave, mindful of giving him space.
You must have forgotten, because mentally, your brain is still your own, but your body has become that of a child.
Needless to say, you fall over while trying to walk away.
“Ouch!” you whine, rubbing at your tender toddler body. Everything hurts. Little kids are so goddamn fragile. You suppose you’ll have to be more careful from now on.
It takes a few seconds, but you manage to pick yourself up, smile proudly at the feat, then retreat back to your side of the room and carry on reading your book.
The whole time, Chisaki stares at you, unblinking. He already thinks you’re incredibly strange.
It’s a clumsy start, but it’s a start nonetheless.