Chapter Text
‘She’s just like candy ♫~ so sweet, just know it ain’t real cherry~ just know it ain’t real, cherry~ ♪♫ She’s just like…’
Your head was throbbing.
Your body felt heavy, like it had been dropped somewhere it didn’t belong. You kept your eyes closed, breathing slowly, focusing on the muffled music playing nearby.
A radio.
The mattress beneath you shifted as you moved—thin, uneven, painfully uncomfortable, springs pressed into your back .
Then you noticed the smell. Old fabric. Dust. Something metallic, faint but persistent, like rust clinging to the air.
‘And it’s such a typical thing ♫~ runnin’ over a billion men, ooh-ooh~ ♪♫’
Your eyes opened slowly. The ceiling above you was low, stained with yellowish watermarks spreading across cracked, peeling paint. A single lightbulb hung from a wire, lifeless and unlit.
“…Where the hell am I?” you groaned.
You pushed yourself upright, wincing as your head protested. The room was small, a crooked little table beneath a window, and a cramped kitchenette shoved into the corner. No decorations. No warmth.
“I feel like crap,” you muttered. “What even happened to me…?”
You forced yourself to stand, legs unsteady, and turned toward the source of the music. An old radio sat on the table. You reached out and pulled the plug. Silence.
You exhaled shakily and stepped closer to the window.
The glass was smudged, the frame chipped and worn, but you could still see outside. Night had settled over the city, illuminating rows of cramped apartment buildings pressed tightly together. Laundry lines stretched between balconies. Below, cracked streets buzzed with quiet movement—people walking with purpose, heads down.
It looked… real.
Too real.
Not like a dream. Not like a memory.
Your chest tightened. You turned away from the window, you looked around the room and then you froze.The mirror mounted beside the sink reflected someone who definitely wasn’t you.
Green eyes stared back, sharp and unfamiliar. Catlike ears poked through your hair, twitching slightly. They reminded you of tiger or cheetah ears. As you opened your mouth you noticed two small fangs. You sucked in a sharp breath and looked down—
A striped tail slipped out from beneath your shirt.
“What…?” Your voice barely worked. Being in another body is one thing but having the form of a mutant or hybrid… You stared at your reflection, mouth slightly open, disbelief written across your face. The body looking back at you was unfamiliar, yet unsettlingly close
You glanced down at what you were wearing: loose sweatpants with cartoon prints and a long-sleeved black shirt.
“…Pajamas?” you whispered.
You stepped closer to the mirror, lifting a hand. The reflection copied you perfectly.
“This isn’t my body,” you said quietly.
Then the thought hit you—clear, sharp, undeniable.
“I died.”
Your breath hitched.
You didn’t remember how. No details. Just the certainty of it, heavy and immovable.
“I shouldn’t be here,” you muttered. “I should be in heaven, or hell, or… somewhere. But not here. Not alive.”
The room suddenly felt suffocating.
“This can’t be real,” you whispered. “Where even am I…? What is this place? What is this body?”
You shoved your feet into the slippers by the door, put on a nearby hoodie to cover your ears, stuffed your tail hurriedly inside your pants and rushed out.
The hallway was narrow and dim, walls marked with cracks and peeling paint. The building groaned softly as you descended the stairs, each step echoing too loudly. With every floor you passed, something ugly began to coil tighter inside your chest.
Anger.
This couldn’t be happening.
Sure, maybe a second chance at life sounded great but not like this. Not trapped in someone else’s body. Not in some rundown building in the middle of nowhere.
Outside, the city swallowed you whole. Voices. Engines. Distant sirens. Even though it was the middle of the night the rundown neighborhood had an active nightlife.
You walked without direction, guided more by instinct than thought. Your feet almost seemed to know where to go. You kept your head down as to not alarm anyone with your unusual appearance. You passed storefronts with flickering screens, their news broadcasts flashing words you barely registered until one headline made you stop cold.
‘PRO HERO RESPONDS TO INCIDENT IN ATAMI DISTRICT’
Your stomach dropped.
“Hero…?” you murmured.
Next to the headline was a picture of a blond hero with red wings. Someone uncomfortably familiar. You tried not to jump to conclusions yet but it was awfully hard not to.
As if summoned by the word, a sudden gust of wind tore through the street. People shouted. Someone screamed.
You looked up.
A figure shot across the sky above the buildings fast, powerful, unmistakably real. The ground shook as something crashed several streets away, followed by the distant sound of destruction.
Your ears rang. Your heart slammed painfully against your ribs.
“This isn’t possible,” you whispered.
But deep down, you already knew.
This wasn’t your world anymore.
You turned and ran, heading in the opposite direction until the noise faded and the streets grew quieter. This wasn’t the time to get involved. You needed answers.
The neighborhood was rougher here—dimmer lights, fewer people. Still, when a middle-aged woman passed by, you took a chance.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
She slowed, turning her head just enough to look at you, still walking. You opened your mouth to ask where you were and what year it was but instead you froze.
Her skin was pale blue. Her eyes glowed faintly pink.
“…Why is your skin blue?” you blurted out.
Her expression hardened instantly. “What a rude brat,” she snapped, quickening her pace and walking away.
“Wait—I didn’t mean it like that, I just—” She was already gone. You sighed heavily. Great. Just great.
You kept walking, irritation simmering beneath your skin. Okay, sure, that was rude but still. Everything about this felt wrong.
The anger returned. Stronger this time.
“This isn’t fair,” you muttered.
You stopped and forced yourself to think.
“Okay,” you said under your breath, listing it out. “Firstly, I woke up in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar body. Secondly, I’m pretty sure I died, but I’m alive again. Thirdly, I have no memories of who I was or how I died. And lastly—”
You laughed weakly, pointing at nothing.
“I’m in a different world. One where heroes exist. Where people have mutations and superpowers.”
You smiled, tears streaming down your face.
“Conclusion,” you choked out, “I’m in the anime My Hero Academia. And apparently a poor, orphaned teenager.”
You laughed again, hysterical. “I’m so screwed.”
People passing by stared, some with concern, others with disgust. As you stood there crying and laughing in pajamas in the middle of the night. You must look like some maniac to them.
You wiped your face. The logical thing to do would be to go back. Figure out who this body belonged to. Confirm where you were.
But the more you thought, the angrier you became.Why was life so unfair?Why couldn’t you at least have some memories? A family? Something?
That familiar feeling surged again—hot, violent, uncontrollable. You clenched your fists.
“I don’t deserve this,” you whispered.Your head throbbed. Your mouth went dry.
“I don’t deserve this,” you said louder.Your vision blurred, tinged red. Something hot rushed through your veins, painful and overwhelming. Your hands burned. You felt your fangs dig into your lip and your nails growing and piercing your palms but you didn’t care.
You punched the brick wall beside you. It didn’t crack. It literally collapsed.
Bricks shattered, exploding outward as if the wall had been hollow. You stared for half a second then screamed.
“I don’t deserve this! I don’t deserve this!”
You ripped a bench from the ground and hurled it across the street. Glass shattered. People screamed and fled.
“Get a hero!” someone yelled.
You didn’t stop. “I don’t deserve this! I don’t deserve this!” you screamed, over and over, destroying everything within reach.
Through the haze of rage, a thought pierced through. ‘Why am I acting like this? This isn’t me.’
Footsteps approached. A figure dressed in black stepped into your vision, calm amid the chaos.
“So” he said evenly “you’re the girl who is having a rampage in the middle of the neighborhood .”
You made eye contact with him. Then you lunged at him, claws slashing but he stepped aside effortlessly.
“Listen, kid,” he continued, dodging another strike, “I don’t want to use force. You need to calm down—”
You screamed, attacking again. “I don’t deserve this! I don’t—”
Suddenly, everything went quiet. The anger vanished like it had been ripped out of you by force.
Your body went limp. Your vision cleared just long enough to see long, messy black hair… tired eyes… and a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.
And as consciousness slipped away, you realized who he was.
Eraserhead.