CHAPTER 1: You can't even go out for a drink anymore because any idiot on the street can isekai you

Location: Some Cheap Bar Somewhere in the World

Time: Very Late at Night

POV: Nicolas Brennan

"Glug-Glug-Glug-Glug….Ahh"

The sigh of satisfaction that escaped me after swallowing….whatever the bartender served me was long.

This cheap crap he poured was hitting all the right spots.

And I definitely needed a good drink after how rough this day had been.

My battered appearance with clothes slightly torn in several places and a split lip were proof of this.

So, where should I start?

Let's see….

Saying that only today was torture would be somewhat incorrect, actually everything had started yesterday.

The previous night I'd stayed up until the early hours of the morning because some imbecile— a nepo baby nephew of the manager, to be precise—didn't finish his part of the work on the last project we were assigned.

Leaving me—who somehow became the 'responsible' one for the work—to fix the mess.

Obviously I finished on time—it wasn't the first time I had to clean up the shit others left behind—.

I made sure to send all the data and documents to the appropriate people and then collapsed into a coffee-induced coma.

generated by "Markdown to PDF Fast Converter"

All to wake up today late, arrive with a huge delay to work and receive a reprimand from the very manager uncle of the imbecile who caused the damn problem to begin with….

….When I left my shift I keyed both bastards' cars in the parking lot—the security cameras hadn't been working since last week according to Ted from security—.

I wish I could have seen their faces when they noticed their incredibly expensive cars with new decorations.

….Or better not, it would be hard to hold back the laughter and they might point me out as the culprit.

I proceeded to set my glass down on the table and then looked around the bar where I was.

It certainly wasn't falling apart, but it wasn't a place I'd recommend for hanging out.

The bar was relatively large and miraculously quite full of people.

That didn't change the fact that it was….unfavorably aesthetic.

The walls were old and discolored, with that yellowish patina that only years of cigarette smoke and neglect can create.

The paintings and display cases decorating the place seemed full of dust—probably hadn't been properly cleaned in decades—.

And the only means of entertainment that existed in the place were an old television mounted high in one of the wall corners playing a sports channel with occasional static, and an old pool table away from the tables that looked like it would break if you leaned on it.

The clientele hanging around the place didn't look very pleasant either.

In one of the furthest corners I could see a small group of what I could only define as biker thugs—you'd think they'd gone extinct by now—.

Worn leather jackets. Visible tattoos. Generally threatening attitude.

And not far from them a group of teenagers who definitely shouldn't be in the place.

All of them drinking and being generally loud.

Besides, what they were smoking were not simple cigarettes….

It was marvelous. Underage kids getting high next to me while I was trying to distract myself from my misery with cheap alcohol.

Exactly how I imagined my day would end.

With my gaze I continued scanning the place, lazily running over the wide variety of subjects coexisting in the chaotic establishment.

Construction workers still with dust on their clothes. A couple of guys in cheap suits who were probably mediocre salesmen. Some tired-looking women who seemed to be temporarily escaping their own boring lives.

The complete type of clientele you'd expect to find in a dive bar on a Tuesday night.

I continued until by accident I noticed something—rather someone—who was out of tune for the area.

A supernaturally beautiful woman sitting at a table away from all the hustle and bustle.

A face that was in equal parts angelic and sensual.

Her lips were painted a crimson red and she had some light makeup touches around her eyes —not that she needed more with her appearance—that only highlighted the intensity of her gaze.

All this accompanied by long blonde hair that fell in perfect waves over her shoulders and a black cocktail dress that clung to her body very rigorously.

Too rigorously for a place like this.

What is someone like her doing in a place like this?

The question floated in my mind as I watched her.

She didn't fit in. At all.

It was like seeing a high fashion model sitting in a McDonald's.

Possible, but so improbable it automatically raised questions.

For some reason everyone seemed to be ignoring her existence and actively avoiding her.

There wasn't absolutely a soul sitting at the tables adjacent to her.

It was as if there existed an invisible 'stay away' bubble around her immediate perimeter.

The loud bikers consciously avoided looking in her direction and the drugged-up teenagers didn't even seem to notice her. This was more or less the same for everyone in the place, people widely circled the area where she was.

Strange.

The woman seemed to feel my gaze because she suddenly turned her head directly toward me.

Our eyes met.

..

….

……

….How awkward….

Almost as if the woman could sense my thoughts she gave me a mocking smile.

A smile that clearly said 'I caught you looking'.

I immediately looked away and focused on a part of the floor that was completely opposite to the direction where she was.

It wasn't cowardice….what if that woman wanted to mock me?

I wasn't one to receive blows to self-esteem for free.

No woman—however beautiful—in a dive bar would play a joke on me out of boredom.

….Besides, most likely she was accompanying someone in this place.

It would be bad for my health if suddenly a two-meter boyfriend appeared, saw me making eyes at the woman and decided it was a good idea to start a fight.

I'd already been through one today and didn't want a second round that would worsen my day even more.

Ugh

Continuing with my mental tirade about how the universe seemed to have it in for me today….My bad streak simply didn't end after I left work.

A few minutes after leaving the company where I was enslaved I received a call. It was Adam, my best—and only—friend.

Who was crying inconsolably after finding out that his girlfriend—Tiffany—had cheated on him with a gym rat from the gym where she liked to 'train'.

Clearly she was doing much more than training.

During the call I almost wanted to bang my head against my old car's steering wheel.

Adam had always been a very good friend and normally it would bother me a lot that something like this happened to him.

The problem is that the moment my dear friend started showing interest in Tiffany the first thing I did was drag him to a secluded spot and tell him:

"Bro, that girl is a Whore with a capital W, stay away from her."

No, it wasn't a joke or an attempt to keep my only friend single so we could continue being companions in misery together.

I'd already met her years ago.

That girl had gone through more than half of the back seats of cars belonging to the male population of the university—including my own—.

It hadn't been particularly difficult to achieve.

And it was a very short period of time that had taught me exactly what type of person Tiffany was.

That was the point I wanted Adam to understand. Adam's response when I warned him?

     "I can change her."

I almost had a stroke hearing such stupidity.

My only friend was falling into one of the worst self-deceptions someone could have regarding their new partner.

Adam genuinely believed that his love and dedication would magically transform a woman with the fidelity record of a rabbit in spring into a loyal and devoted girlfriend.

Obviously it didn't turn out that way.

But my friend was stubborn and most of the time could only learn things the hard way. In this case, metaphorical blows to his heart and ego.

His pitiful appearance when I arrived at his house after detouring from my path to see him only proved me right.

Red and swollen eyes. Wrinkled clothes. The apartment a disaster. And a clearly depressed general behavior.

The poor fool was completely shattered.

I did everything I could to console him—which wasn't much since I suck at these things—.

Constantly avoiding dropping an 'I told you so' in the process.

Because that would be a shitty move that even someone like me knew not to do. I was trying to be at least a semi-decent friend. In the end I only made things worse.

Because somehow all the talk I gave to convince him that he wasn't at fault for anything—a huge lie, honestly—.

Ended up transforming in his head into 'we should find the bastard and give him a beating'.

Toxic masculinity to the rescue.

The most sensible thing at that moment would have been to convince my friend to desist.

Explain that violence wouldn't solve anything. That Tiffany was the one who had made the decision to be an unfaithful slut. That the gym rat probably didn't even know she had a boyfriend.

All rational and mature things a good friend would say.

But as I'd already said, Adam was stubborn as a mule.

And I was too good a friend—or too stupid—to leave him hanging.

So we grabbed two baseball bats and went to find the guy—who lived near this bar I should mention—.

It seems Adam was already planning to do something with the guy because he had his home location ready at that moment.

….Adam sometimes scared me a little.

We found him outside his house, just as he was showing off to a friend of his about what he'd done.

We literally heard how he boasted about 'screwing that loser's girlfriend' while they laughed— yeah, there went my argument that the guy knew nothing—.

Then everything went to hell.

Turns out being a gym rat doesn't help you much when you face two guys carrying blunt objects and one of them is motivated by justified rage.

His friend—and what a good friend he turned out to be—ran off when he noticed trouble was starting.

So the guy didn't even have backup. He was alone against the two of us.

The gym rat tried to resist—obviously—, reason for my somewhat beaten appearance.

The guy had muscles and knew how to throw punches.

He connected a good right hook to my face that explained my split lip.

But in the end we accomplished our goal.

We left the bastard on the ground, bleeding and completely unconscious.

Nothing permanent—probably—but enough for him to remember not to mess with other guys' girlfriends.

Poetic justice and all that.

A shame that when we were leaving—with Adam feeling quite good about himself if his improved mood was any indication—, a police patrol arrived.

Turns out the general area wasn't very safe, and what my friend and I did wasn't very unusual by the neighborhood's standards.

For the area's residents this was routine.

So they called the police—because they heard screams and noise—and went on with their lives.

I was ready to spend the night at the station and receive another scolding the next day at work—those useless bastards wouldn't fire me, not when I was the one solving all their stupid problems—.

But Adam in a great show of brotherhood—or maybe he'd hit his head at some point in the fight—took all the blame and openly declared that he had beaten the gym rat.

That I had only tried to stop him and gotten hit in the process.

A blatant and obvious lie.

The cops clearly doubted such a statement since we were both beaten up and there were two bloodied bats on the ground.

But since that was relatively normal around there and one less idiot on their hands meant less tedious paperwork, they let me go and took Adam along with the semi-unconscious idiot.

They'd probably spend the night in a cell and leave tomorrow with a fine.

Nothing too serious—hopefully—.

After that instead of returning home I wandered around the neighborhood for a while until I found this bar and sat down to relax.

To process the absolutely shitty day I'd had.

A sleepless night, enduring idiots at work, going through my friend's romantic dramas, getting into fights and almost being arrested.

I definitely deserved a small reward after navigating so many problems—partially— successfully.

The worst part is I doubted all this would end here. Tiffany was a manipulative bitch and Adam a gullible fool.

It didn't take a genius to know I'd probably have to spend the next few months making sure the idiot didn't swallow that woman's lies when—inevitably—she came back and let himself be sweet-talked….again.

I lifted my empty glass, observing the remains of liquid at the bottom.

I needed another drink.

Or five.

Preferably five.

I was about to raise my hand to call the bartender when a too close female voice interrupted my thoughts.

"So, can you tell me exactly how you ended up like this, handsome?"

I quickly turned my head toward where I'd heard her and found myself looking directly at the face—still maintaining that amused expression—of the solitary woman I'd seen.

When did she get close? I hadn't heard her at all.

….And handsome?

Yeah, this is too suspicious now.

I stopped paying attention to the expectant woman and started observing the surroundings carefully.

There had to be someone with some damn phone recording this somewhere.

Probably hidden behind a table or mixed in with the bar's crowd.

I wouldn't become a prank video for some attention-hungry TikToker.

My gaze systematically scanned the bar. The bikers were still in their corner. The drugged teenagers were still smoking. The bartender was still cleaning glasses. And the drunk conversations still filled the establishment.

Nobody seemed to be paying us attention or pointing a phone in our direction.

"Rude, don't you know it's bad manners to ignore a lady when she speaks to you~?" Her melodious voice interrupted my search and made me return my attention to her again.

The wretch was even more beautiful up close.

I could see every detail perfectly. The exact shape of her crimson lips. The small golden flecks in her eyes. The soft curve of her jaw.

It was as if someone had used Photoshop on reality itself to create the perfect woman.

Too perfect.

This was a bit problematic. Having such a spectacular woman approach you suddenly and drop a compliment was as strange as a politician who wasn't corrupt.

Which meant she very surely had ulterior motives.

"I don't have the habit of starting conversations with strangers who hang around places like this." I finally told her, keeping my tone neutral and distant.

Hopefully she'd catch the hint and leave me alone.

"Is that so?" She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening. "Then why don't we get to know each other better so I stop being a 'stranger'?"

She completely ignored my message and settled into the seat next to mine without waiting for an invitation.

Her movements were fluid. Graceful. As if every gesture had been choreographed for maximum elegance.

Definitely suspicious.

"You see, I'm a bit bored," she continued, crossing her legs in a way that drew my involuntary attention. "So I went out for a walk to find something fun to do."

The way the woman expressed herself made me feel a bit uneasy.

There was something in her tone. In the way she emphasized certain words. As if 'fun' meant something completely different to her.

"That doesn't sound like my problem." I responded dryly. "I don't even know your name and I really don't feel like talking to anyone right now."

If the kinder way didn't work, telling her things directly might.

I hoped that would be enough for her to get the message.

But I could only watch as she settled better in the seat without being fazed or changing her smile in the slightest.

In fact, her smile widened slightly, as if my rejection was exactly what she expected.

Great.

"Come on, don't be like that." She said in an almost playful tone. "How about I introduce myself first? My name is Jane, I'm sure we'll get along well." The now-called Jane extended a hand to me in greeting.

A perfect hand with perfectly manicured nails painted the same crimson red as her lips.

Of course I didn't touch it at all.

These days they can accuse you of harassment for anything and mama didn't raise an idiot.

Besides, something in my instinct told me touching her would be a bad idea.

I couldn't explain why. Just a visceral feeling in my stomach screaming 'keep your hands to yourself'.

I simply averted my gaze to the empty glass and started actively ignoring her.

If I didn't give her attention, eventually she'd get bored and leave.

Basic introvert techniques 101.

That's the theory, at least.

"Are you really going to play hard to get eh~?"

….She didn't need to say it like I was some guy hitting on a random chick in a bar.

I'm the prey here, clearly.

Jane gestured with her hand to the bartender to get his attention.

The man—who had been studiously ignoring our interaction—immediately turned toward her.

"Hey old man, bring us the best you have, I'm paying."

The bartender nodded quickly and headed toward the most expensive bottles on the top shelf.

The ones that had probably been accumulating dust for years because nobody in this establishment could afford to pay for them.

Myself included.

And then once more she focused on me, her attention complete and intense—it made me uncomfortable—.

"As I already told you, I'm looking for some entertainment."

She gestured toward my body pointing out the beaten form I currently sported.

"And given your appearance it seems you at least have a good story to tell."

Her eyes ran over my figure with clinical interest, cataloging each visible injury, each dried bloodstain on my clothes.

"I mean, it's not every day you see someone who looks like they lost a fight with a blender." She added with clear amusement in her voice.

Thanks for the reminder.

I couldn't help but look at her directly at that comment, my expression probably showing my irritation.

Her smile widened even more at that, as if my reaction was exactly what she was looking for. "In my experience." She continued, her tone becoming slightly more serious—but only slightly —. "It's better not to keep stressful things to yourself." What was she, a psychologist?

Or maybe one of those scammers who pretend to be therapists to get money from desperate idiots?

"And what better way to get rid of them than with a complete stranger you'll probably never see again." She pointed to herself while running her hand over her body in a deliberately theatrical gesture.

My eyes followed her movements with involuntary attention—damn masculine instincts—, noticing every curve emphasized by that tight dress.

She winked at me coquettishly when she noticed where I'd been looking.

God, how insistent. I won't be able to get rid of her, will I?

The woman clearly wasn't going to take no for an answer.

And part of me was starting to consider that maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"I think it's a good deal." Jane said, her voice taking an almost negotiating tone. "I get my entertainment, and you get someone to vent to. I'll even pay for the drinks!"

She made a wide gesture with her hands as if presenting an irresistible offer on a television show.

Maybe she really was a real estate saleswoman.

She didn't stop talking even though I ignored her.

The bartender returned at that moment with a bottle that was definitely too expensive for this place—single malt whiskey from some brand I probably couldn't pronounce—and two clean glasses.

Clean glasses in this bar. Definitely magic.

Sigh

It's obvious I won't be able to get rid of her.

The woman was clearly determined and I was too tired to keep resisting.

Maybe if I gave her what she wanted she'd leave me alone eventually.

At least she'd pay for the drinks.

And that whiskey looked much better than the crap I'd been drinking.

"Alright woman, no need to keep pressuring." I finally said containing a sigh of resignation.

I lifted my empty glass in the direction of the bartender who was pouring the expensive whiskey.

"But don't back out later if it's not what you expected." She offered to pay and she'd better follow through.

I wasn't going to be stuck with the bill for a bottle that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"Trust me dear, I know I won't regret it." Her smile took on a different nuance. Almost… predatory?

"You're the most interesting thing around here." I really didn't like at all how she referred to me.

Like I was a new toy she'd found.

Or a fascinating experiment.

But a few free rounds of premium whiskey were something I wouldn't refuse.

At this point I don't think anything bad will happen.

Just a conversation with a strange but beautiful woman in a bar.

What could go wrong?

"To start with, my name is Nicolas, but you can call me…."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several Hours Later

"….and chapter 430 was so terrible that Hirokoyi….wait, wasn't it Horikoyi?"

I think I should stop drinking, it was getting harder and harder to string my words together.

"Whatever, the guy screwed up the ending so badly he had to put out another one just to halffix the disaster he created."

Jane, who at some point in the conversation had gotten much closer to me—almost pressed together at that moment—nodded solemnly.

As if my drunk ramblings were wisdom beyond this world.

Her eyes shone with genuine interest as she listened to me prattle on about disappointing mangakas.

"I still remember all those fanarts that designed the little bean with a physique equivalent to Trunks from DBZ for when he left UA, only to finally receive a small green shrimp after the time skip."

I made a gesture with my hands trying to demonstrate the size difference between expectations and reality.

I almost fell off the stool in the process.

The truth is these hours drinking with her hadn't been as awful as I'd expected—although I was clearly drunk and she seemed fresh as a daisy—.

I hadn't even had to pay for the drinks as promised.

Every time I finished a glass, another full one magically appeared.

The service in this shitty bar improved dramatically when real money appeared.

"And let's not even talk about his love life, even the added chapter only hinted at a 'possible' relationship with sweet cheeks instead of something real." I leaned forward dramatically, almost spilling my drink.

"Eight years just to tell us they even drifted further apart."

At first I only planned to fulfill my part and tell her about my torturous day and nothing more.

Vent briefly, finish my free drink, and head home.

But as the alcoholic beverages kept coming and my constant complaints were attentively received by her—without judgment, without interruptions, just genuine attention—I simply couldn't stop.

It was….nice.

Having someone who really listened without trying to give unsolicited advice or change the subject to their own problems.

"The author certainly could have handled the ending of his story better."

We went from my stressful day—she found the reason why I looked beaten particularly funny, laughing openly when I described the gym rat's expression upon seeing the bats—to my possible contingency plans to keep Adam away from his ex—which may or may not include multiple visits to strip clubs on weekends—.

And at some point—I wasn't sure exactly when—we ended up talking about personal tastes where my drunkenness probably made me let slip too much.

Among them something that would normally instantly cut any guy's chances with any woman.

My taste for anime.

I expected mockery. Or a condescending smile that 'normal' people gave when they discovered you had cultured tastes like mine.

To my absolute bewilderment she showed a lot of interest in this—too much in fact—and we'd been on the topic for some time now.

Discussing seasons, story arcs, character development.

As if she really knew what she was talking about.

That's how we ended up talking about My Hero Academia.

"Well, at least he did something to try to improve the situation." That was her response, and I couldn't disagree. "Japanese mangakas don't usually back down when they decide something."

I took another drink—how many had I had already?—and nodded my head perhaps too vigorously.

"Exactly, even if it was little and late, he tried something."

Jane leaned closer, her presence completely invading my personal space.

Not that I was complaining at that moment.

"But tell me Nick." Her voice took an almost conspiratorial tone. "Don't you think the plot would have been much better with some small changes here and there?" She whispered that last part in my ear, her warm breath against my skin.

A shiver ran down my back that definitely wasn't just from the alcohol.

"Just a few small adjustments to make it more fun~."

I could feel every word vibrating against my ear, making me very aware of how close she was.

"Or even imagine if you were inside the story," she continued, her hand moving to rest on my shoulder. "The possibilities would be infinite."

She looked too excited telling me all this, her eyes shining with an intensity that should have alarmed me.

But the alcohol had softened my brain to almost mush.

"Maybe you could even do a better job as a hero than all the protagonists who came out….or maybe you'd prefer to be a villain, either way it would be easy to do better than them don't you think?"

Huhh

Seems the drinks were finally affecting her too. I guess she's just very good at hiding the signs.

Nobody sober would talk about being 'inside' a story as if it were a real possibility in a public place.

"Pff, I don't believe it at all actually." I told her, my words dragging slightly.

She seemed intrigued by my denial, tilting her head in that way she did when something captured her complete interest.

"You don't believe it?" Her smile widened. "Even if you had an absurdly powerful Quirk?" Where was she going with these questions?

"Even if I had the most powerful of all I probably wouldn't even become either of those things."

I raised a finger as if making a deeply philosophical point.

"To start with, everything would depend on the type of Quirk I developed." Hero? Only if I was really forced to would I follow a path like that.

Risking my life daily for strangers while society exploited you for media content and ratings.

No thanks.

"Oh~?" Jane got even closer, practically glued to my side now. "And how is that?"

Being a villain wasn't a good option either, it would quickly become a problem the more notorious I became.

The whole issue really wasn't very complicated when I thought about it.

I would always follow the options that would lead me to fulfill my desires in the most efficient way possible.

"Heroes are a business in that world." I explained, gesturing with my glass and almost spilling its contents. "Even after the defeat of All For One and the reduction in crime." After all, there's a reason the Pomeranian was the biggest contributor to creating Izuku's new mecha suit.

“So it’s an overly demanding job that depends far too much on how the world perceives you, offers very little reward, and comes with extremely high risks.” Heroes within the top 5 would always earn much more than the others.

It was pure celebrity economics.

"And if I were a villain I could fulfill my desires relatively faster…..at the cost of having to deal with groups of idiots in tights every day."

I nodded at my own words, satisfied with my impeccable logic.

"If I had the right Quirk I wouldn't hesitate to stay away from the nonsense of heroes and villains to go about my own business."

That would be ideal for me.

"Only if I possessed one too focused on combat would I become a hero….probably."

I doubted I'd become a villain, I'd always been more of an opportunist than someone genuinely malicious.

"Being a hero would be the simplest way to get what I wanted under that specific circumstance."

In the hypothetical case I could go to that world I'd prefer not to walk around disguised like an idiot helping a bunch of randoms I didn't know if I could avoid it.

There were much smarter ways to use superpowers.

Jane was looking at me with an intensity that penetrated through my alcoholic fog.

"And what is it you would want?"

There it was again that discomfort that appeared occasionally when talking to her.

That feeling that her questions meant more than they seemed on the surface.

It was getting annoying, but the alcohol helped me ignore it.

"Nothing exaggerated, I'm a simple man after all."

I raised three fingers in front of her face, concentrating so they'd stop duplicating in my vision.

"Enough money to be able to live a life full of luxuries." I lowered one finger.

Something any wage slave like me would take without hesitation.

No more worrying about bills. No more counting pennies. No more working for incompetent bastards.

"A calm and peaceful life so I can laze around all day." I lowered another finger.

After enduring years of idiots at work, who wouldn't choose to spend their days without stress?

Wake up when you want. Do what you want. No schedules. No responsibilities.

Paradise.

"And of course." I lowered the last finger with a silly smile, "all the women I could desire." The average otaku's dream.

Getting with all the waifus he could.

Living the harem dream that anime promised but reality cruelly denied.

Jane's smile disappeared completely.

Her expression became completely serious, her eyes studying me with an intensity that made me squirm in my seat.

Uh, maybe I shouldn't have said that last part.

Great Nick, you ruined the only pleasant conversation you've had in months with a beautiful woman.

She continued staring at me—almost making me squirm uncomfortably in my seat like a scolded child—before a small smile appeared on her face.

And then she started laughing openly.

"Ha ha ha~, you should see your face." She said between laughs, her voice full of genuine amusement.

"You really thought that bothered me~?" This bitch.

I almost had a stroke during that awkward silence she deliberately created.

My heart was still racing from the scare.

….Awkward silence?

I looked around us for the first time in a long while.

The bar was completely empty.

The tables that were previously full of loud customers were now deserted. The bikers were gone. The drugged teenagers were gone. The bartender….

Where did everyone g—?

"I suppose avoiding the hero or villain path is a good idea if you want a peaceful life." Jane commented casually, as if nothing was strange.

….Didn't she notice we're alone?

I looked at the television on the wall—now showing even more static—and tried to focus my blurry vision to see the time.

A completely useless effort.

The numbers refused to stay still long enough for me to read them.

"Although I must admit." Jane continued, her voice taking that playful tone again, "that your honesty is….refreshing."

She slid even closer, completely eliminating any remaining personal space between us.

Her hand moved to rest on my thigh.

"Most people lie about what they really want." She whispered, her face now inches from mine. "They disguise their selfishness with pretty words about honor and duty." I could feel her breath against my lips.

It smelled like….nothing. Not alcohol. Not perfume. Simply nothing.

Strange.

"But you." She got even closer, her lips almost brushing mine, "have no problem admitting you just want pleasure and comfort."

Her other hand moved to caress my cheek, her fingers tracing soft lines on my skin.

"It's almost….adorable."

My brain—slow and soaked in alcohol—finally processed what was happening.

Wait.

Is she about to kiss me?

Is the incredibly beautiful woman who's been buying me drinks all night about to kiss me?

….I'm definitely dreaming.

Or passed out in a ditch.

Probably the latter.

Maybe what the old bartender gave me knocked me out and they just threw me outside the bar.

I closed my eyes, waiting for contact.

And then I heard her voice.

Except it wasn't the melodious, feminine voice I'd been hearing all night.

It was deep. Profound. Masculine.

"But I should add, dear." The voice said with clear amusement, "that I don't bat for the other team."

My eyes snapped open.

Jane—or what had been Jane—had pulled back slightly, and now I could see….A man.

An abnormally handsome and well-dressed one.

But a damn man.

The shock sobered a significant part of my brain instantly.

"W-What….?"

The man pulled back completely and stood up.

He extended his arms dramatically, his smile widening.

"Ah, finally." He said in a theatrical voice, "the moment has arrived for my grand revelation where I'll explain to you—"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YOU'RE NOT A JANE, YOU'RE A JAMES!"

I screamed at the top of my lungs, pointing at him accusatorily while stumbling to my feet.

"I ALMOST KISSED A GUY!"

The silence that followed was absolute.

James—because that clearly was his name now—was looking at me with a completely flat expression.

His mouth slightly open. His arms still extended in dramatic pose. His eyes blinking slowly.

Processing.

"Did you….interrupt me?" he finally asked, his voice full of absolute incredulity.

"THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT!" I gestured wildly toward him. "YOU WERE FLIRTING WITH ME ALL NIGHT!"

"Well, technically—"

"YOU WERE GOING TO KISS ME!"

"Actually I wasn't going to—"

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE A WOMAN!"

"That was the point—"

"OUR LIPS ALMOST TOUCHED, AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN A CUTE TRAP, JUST A HANDSOME IDIOT!"

James dropped his arms with a deeply suffering sigh.

"Are you finished?"

"NO!" I grabbed the edge of the bar to maintain balance. "Who does that?! Who disguises themselves as a woman to trick straight guys in bars?!"

"Someone who was trying to create an appropriately dramatic narrative experience," he responded in a dignified tone, "before being rudely interrupted in the middle of his carefully prepared introduction."

He crossed his arms, looking genuinely offended.

"It was just a small joke."

Like a theater actor whose performance had been ruined by someone shouting from the audience.

"I had a whole speech prepared." He continued, his voice taking on a whiny tone.

"Explanations about alternate realities. Revelations about your destiny. An offer you couldn't refuse presented with appropriate style and class." He made a dramatic gesture with his hand.

"It was going to be perfect!"

"I don't care how perfect it was." I responded, still pointing at him accusatorily. "YOU ALMOST KISSED ME, BASTARD!"

"I told you I don't bat for the other team literally seconds before you started screaming like a little girl," he replied in an exasperated tone. "What part of that didn't you understand?"

"THE PART WHERE YOU SPENT ENTIRE HOURS FLIRTING WITH ME DISGUISED AS A WOMAN!"

James brought a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples as if he had a massive headache.

"For the love of….look, the flirting was part of the atmosphere, okay? I needed you relaxed and drunk enough to spill information about your true desires without filters."

"YOU COULD HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT ALMOST KISSING ME!"

"I wasn't going to kiss you! I revealed my true form right before! It was all part of the presentation!"

We stood staring at each other.

Me breathing heavily, still processing the absolute betrayal.

….Maybe I should focus more on the fact that a woman simply transformed into a man in front of me, right?

He looked like he was seconds away from strangling me.

Finally, James sighed deeply.

"You know what? Forget it." He said, his voice taking on a dangerously calm tone. "Clearly you don't appreciate the art of a proper presentation." He snapped his fingers.

A giant hammer appeared in his hand out of nowhere.

A cartoon hammer. Enormous. Absurd. With the word "BONK" written on the side.

"Wait." My eyes widened seeing the impossible weapon, "wait wait wait—"

"I should give you a whole elaborate explanation about your new life." James lifted the hammer over his head with both hands, "about your new powers, about the world I'll send you to, about the rules and expectations."

The hammer began to glow with supernatural light.

"WAIT!"

"But since you ruined my moment." He continued, completely ignoring my screams, "I'll simply tell you this."

His eyes gleamed with malicious amusement.

"My name isn't 'James', you can refer to me as ROB."

Uh-oh

I don't like where this is going.

"I'm going to give you something very good. Something that will make you completely broken if you use it correctly."

He smiled widely, showing teeth too white and perfect.

"Try not to screw it up too much!"

"NO WAIT GIVE ME A MOMEN—" The hammer descended.

BONK

Pain exploded in my skull.

The world turned white.

And then….nothing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Location: ???

Time: ???

POV: Nicolas Brennan(?)

Ugh

My head was killing me.

It was like someone had decided to use my skull as a drum in a heavy metal concert.

Each throb in my head sent waves of pulsating agony through my brain.

Thump-Pain Thump-Pain Thump-Pain.

A constant and torturous rhythm that made me want to rip my head off and throw it out the window.

What the hell happened yesterday?

I tried to remember but everything was wrapped in thick, confusing fog.

Loose fragments floated in my memory like pieces of a puzzle someone had thrown on the floor.

The bar. Definitely remembered a bar.

A pretty below-mediocre one, now that I thought about it.

Drinking? Yes, I'd definitely been drinking. A lot. Too much, probably.

Anything else?

…

I don't remember anything else.

A complete and frustrating void where the next hours should be.

Shit.

How much did I drink exactly?

"I went overboard this time." I muttered aloud. ….My voice sounding strange to my own ears.

Had I gone to a karaoke after getting drunk?

Could also be the effects of massive dehydration.

My tongue felt like sandpaper in my mouth, stuck to my palate.

I needed water. Liters of water. An ocean of water.

And maybe three aspirin. Or ten.

I tried to sit up—slowly, because I'd learned from experience that sudden movements with a hangover were a bad idea—but my body decided that was too much to ask.

My limbs weighed as if someone had replaced them with lead during the night.

Arms that refused to respond properly to my commands.

Legs that simply didn't want to react.

When I finally managed to move an arm a few inches, vicious cramps ran through the muscles.

Sharp. Painful. Making every fiber protest violently.

Great. Absolutely great.

My whole body felt completely wrong.

Like I'd spent the night sleeping in a horrible position that had left every muscle tense and sore.

My skin burned but at the same time I felt very cold.

Chills ran down my back in unpredictable waves.

The fabric of whatever I was wearing—pajamas? yesterday's clothes?—felt rough and abrasive against my hypersensitive skin.

Every fold, every wrinkle was a constant annoyance.

I definitely caught something in that shithole.

Had to be that.

The bar probably hadn't seen a deep cleaning since the eighties.

Stone Age germs thriving on every sticky surface.

Who knows what bacteria or virus was floating in that place's air while I drank my weight in cheap alcohol.

With no other options—moving seemed physically impossible at this moment—I let myself fall back against whatever I was using as a bed.

I'd wait. Rest. Let my body recover enough to at least drag myself to the bathroom for water and medicine.

But even staying still, something felt….wrong.

The bed, for example.

Why did my bed feel so strange?

I ran my hand—moving it was agony but curiosity won—over the mattress beneath me.

Thin. Incredibly thin.

I could almost feel the hard frame underneath pressing against my back through the inadequate material.

That doesn't make sense.

I'd changed my mattress just a few months ago.

I'd specifically bought a thick, expensive one because my back was complaining about the cheap one I had before.

It had been quite an investment—money I probably should have saved but my spine thanked me—.

This wasn't that mattress. This was like sleeping on a board with a sheet on top.

Where the hell am I?

The thought appeared suddenly, bringing with it a hint of panic that managed to penetrate the fog.

Because now that I thought about it….

How had I gotten home last night?

I didn't remember driving—and I hope I hadn't, didn't want to add traffic violations to my list of problems—.

Taxi maybe? Uber? Did I walk?

I'd have to check my bank account later to see what charges appeared. And shit, if I'd left my car in the bar parking lot I'd have to go back for it.

Another problem for future Nick.

Present Nick could barely breathe without his head exploding.

My alarm hadn't woken me either, which meant I was probably already late.

Again.

Two consecutive days.

The stupid manager would definitely try to crucify me for this.

I could already imagine his red face screaming at me about responsibility and professionalism.

Sorry idiot, I couldn't make it because I was literally dying.

Or so it felt at least.

Considering my current state, it would be best to call and notify I wouldn't be going to work today.

Illness. I had a legitimate excuse this time.

I could use a hoarse, pathetic voice—that would sell the story easily—while making excuses.

Maybe even mention something about food poisoning.

Nobody questioned food poisoning because nobody wanted the graphic details.

Alternatively I could say they tried to mug me, I had visible physical evidence I could easily show.

Yeah. That was a good plan.

I just had to find my phone first.

Which required moving.

Which in turn required my body to cooperate.

Dammit

I ran my tongue over my dry lips unconsciously remembering their current state.

And I stopped abruptly as I did.

My lips should be swollen, sore, maybe with a scab starting to form.

I ran my tongue over it carefully again, expecting the stab of pain.

Nothing.

Completely smooth. No swelling. No tenderness.

As if it had never been injured.

What….?

That didn't make any sense.

The injuries I'd gotten were too recent, they shouldn't have disappeared so soon.

Especially when I'd been drinking—alcohol delayed healing, it didn't accelerate it—.

The panic that had been bubbling under the surface began to grow.

Something was very, very wrong here.

I didn't remember how I'd gotten home.

I was in a bed that wasn't mine. My body felt completely wrong.

I'm hallucinating.

It has to be that.

The fever is frying my brain and causing hallucinations.

That made sense. High fever could cause delirium, right?

I'd heard stories of people seeing weird things when their temperature rose too high.

I was probably at home, in my own bed, and my overheated brain was inventing all this weird shit.

Yeah. That's it.

I just need to….rest. Sleep more. When I wake up again everything will be normal.

I sank deeper into whatever I was using as a pillow—also felt weird, too flat, full of lumps— and tried to find a position that didn't make every nerve in my body scream.

It turned out to be an impossible task.

The headache continued its constant pounding.

Thump-THUMP, Thump-THUMP

Each beat stronger than the last.

My stomach decided to join the party, twisting unpleasantly. Nausea rising up my throat in waves.

Please don't throw up. Please don't throw up. Please don't—

Screeeech

The sound of a door opening pierced through my skull like a red-hot knife.

Sharp. Piercing. Bouncing inside my head like a metallic ping-pong ball.

I groaned involuntarily, my whole body tensing at the auditory assault.

Who the hell….?

Someone was here.

Someone had entered.

My….wherever I was?

I never brought people to my apartment. Never.

It was my space. My sanctuary from annoying humanity.

Even drunk—especially drunk—I maintained that sacred rule.

Did Adam still have an emergency key?

No, I'd taken it back after the food theft incident.

Then who….?

Panic shot through the fever, making my heart race.

Thief. Intruder. Someone who shouldn't be here.

And I can't move. Can't defend myself. I'm completely vulnerable.

Footsteps approached.

Measured. Careful.

The sound rumbled in my head like thunder.

Each step an explosion of noise that made me want to bury myself under the sheets and disappear.

"Nikio-chan, the other children told me you didn't get up when they spoke to you, are you okay?"

A female voice.

Soft. Concerned. Almost maternal.

And completely, absolutely incomprehensible as to why I could understand her perfectly.

Because she was speaking in Japanese.

Clear, fluent Japanese.

And I—Nick Brennan, whose only contact with Japanese was watching subtitled anime—was understanding it as if it were my native language.

What the hell?

Nikio? Who's Nikio?

My brain was desperately trying to process the information—I wasn't doing well, my dizziness only increased—.

The pieces didn't fit.

None of this made sense.

Hallucination. It's a hallucination.

The fever. The second-hand drugs from those teenagers at the bar.

It has to be.

The footsteps continued approaching.

Closer.

Closer.

Rumbling in my head like church bells.

"Come on little one, I'll remove those sheets from on top and we'll see what you have…." Little one?

Is this woman—whoever she is—calling me little?

I stand one meter and eighty-five centimeters tall. I'm not an NBA player, but I'm definitely not

'little' either.

The footsteps stopped.

Right next to me.

The mattress—if you could call this pathetic thing that—sank with additional weight.

Someone had sat on the edge of the bed.

Too close. Really too close.

Personal space invasion. Danger. Threat.

I wanted to move, get away. But my body flatly refused to cooperate.

Paralyzed by fever, confusion and absolute discomfort. Completely at the mercy of whoever was here.

Hands touched the sheet covering me. They were large. Enormous, even.

Fingers wrapping around the fabric with ease.

Why are her hands so big?

And then she pulled. Gently, but firmly.

The fabric sliding over my hypersensitive skin like rough sandpaper. Every inch of movement was minor agony.

The sheet came off completely, leaving me exposed.

Vulnerable.

The light—even through my closed eyelids—intensified without the protective barrier.

Against my better judgment, I forced my eyes to open.

Slowly. Painfully.

The light exploded in my vision.

White. Blinding. Agonizing.

I blinked repeatedly, tears forming automatically at the assault.

My vision was a blur of colors and undefined shapes.

Gradually, very gradually, things began to focus.

And when they finally could….

"Oh my god, you're completely pale and sweaty Nikio-chan!" I was completely petrified.

Frozen in a moment of absolute shock that cut through even the fever fog.

Because what I was seeing couldn't be real.

It simply couldn't.

Leaning over me, with an expression of clear maternal concern on her features, was a woman.

A very, very large woman.

Easily over two meters tall—maybe closer to two and a half—with a proportionally massive body.

Broad shoulders. Long arms. Enormous hands that now I understood why they'd seemed so disproportionate to me.

She wore what appeared to be a caregiver's or nurse's uniform.

Practical white blouse. Comfortable pants. All very normal and professional.

Except.

Except for her head.

Which wasn't a human head.

It was a damn giraffe head.

Bright yellow fur covered with distinctive brown spots in irregular pattern.

A long neck—impossibly long, at least three feet in length—extending from her human shoulders to connect with a completely animal head.

Elongated snout. Pointed ears that moved independently, like parabolic antennas adjusting their reception.

Large brown eyes located on the sides of her head, giving her that wide field of vision real giraffes had.

Long eyelashes. Small horns covered in fur—ossicones, my brain uselessly supplied— protruding from her head.

And somehow, somehow impossibly, those animal features showed clear human expression.

Concern wrinkling her forehead. Anxiety in her large eyes.

Her lips—snout, whatever—pressed in a tense line.

An anthropomorphic giraffe leaning over me.

Looking at me.

Talking to me.

Real.

Or at least, real enough for my senses to register her as tangible.

I could see every detail with painful clarity. The exact pattern of her spots. The texture of her fur.

The way her neck moved as she adjusted her position. The genuine concern in her impossible eyes.

My brain completely short-circuited.

It tried to process the information and failed spectacularly.

It tried to find a rational explanation and found none.

It tried to maintain sanity, and that also went out the window.

"You surely have a fever." The giraffe-woman continued, her voice arriving distorted as if underwater. "Give me a moment and I'll go get something to make you better." Her words mixed in my head.

Japanese I understood perfectly but sounded increasingly distant.

As if someone was gradually turning down the volume.

The room began to move.

Slowly at first.

The walls tilting barely perceptibly. The ceiling sinking and rising as if breathing. The floor undulating like water.

And then faster.

Everything spinning.

Centrifuging.

A crappy merry-go-round accelerating out of control.

My stomach rebelled violently, nausea exploding with renewed force.

The pressure in my head—which had been steadily growing like an inflating balloon—reached its critical point.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP

My heart accelerating dangerously. Beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.

In my ears. In every limb.

The headache transformed from throbbing to sharp. As if someone was driving ice picks into my skull from the inside.

The room spun faster. Colors smearing together.

Yellow of the giraffe's fur. White of her uniform. Brown of her spots.

All mixing in a nauseating whirlpool.

Black spots appeared in my vision.

Small at first. Then larger. Expanding like ink in water.

Consuming everything.

This is bad. This is very bad.

I need….I need….

The giraffe-woman was saying something.

Her snout moving. But I couldn't hear her. Only white noise and static.

The growing buzz of my own pulse drowning everything else out.

Her hands grabbed me. Holding me. Stabilizing me.

Or trying to.

But it was too late.

The black spots had merged into one.

A complete void consuming every inch of my vision.

"NIKIO-CHAN!"

A distant scream.

Bouncing through tunnels of growing darkness.

And then even that faded.

Consciousness slipped between my fingers like sand.

No matter how much I tried to hold on to consciousness.

Disappearing into the void.

Letting me fall.

And fall

I knew nothing more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Musutafu Orphanage, Japan

Several Days Later

"This is surreal."

There simply was no other way to describe my current situation.

I found myself standing on a plastic stool inside a bathroom—necessary because I was now so short I couldn't even reach the sink without help—in what I now knew was an orphanage.

The Musutafu Municipal Orphanage, to be specific.

An old but well-maintained building where children without parents or family waited to be adopted or simply age out until they could fend for themselves.

And I was observing in a mirror the appearance of the small child—a poor innocent victim— whom apparently the crossdressing ROB had decided to screw over and remove his soul to shove mine in its place.

No matter how I tried to rationalize it. That was exactly what had happened.

I had been forcibly placed in a child's body.

And now that child was no longer here.

Replaced by me.

The reflection staring back at me from the mirror was… well.

Definitely not at all similar to my original self.

Where before there had been a man in his early twenties with slightly above-average features and a perpetually life-tired expression, now there was a small child.

Very small.

Maybe three feet tall if I stretched. Probably less.

Everything about me was tiny now—short arms, chubby legs, hands that seemed incapable of holding anything heavier than a toy—.

My face was round and childish—duh—nothing out of the ordinary.

Chubby cheeks that people would probably find adorable.

Small, upturned nose.

Thin, pink lips.

But what really dominated my new face were the freckles.

Lots and lots of them.

These covered most of my face.

From my forehead to my chin, passing over my cheeks, nose, even a bit on my ears.

It was….distinctive.

Definitely memorable.

The type of face people would easily remember.

My hair was dark brown, almost the same tone as the freckles.

And completely rebellious.

Curly in a chaotic way—not in cute defined curls but in that type of unruly frizz that refused to cooperate no matter how much you combed it—.

It stuck out at odd angles, forming a kind of fluffy cloud around my head.

I'd tried to comb it this morning.

The comb practically gave up halfway through.

My eyes were probably the most normal thing about my entire appearance.

Brown. A warm, dark brown shade.

Large—as children's eyes in anime tended to be—.

With surprisingly long eyelashes that made it look like I was wearing mascara even when obviously that wasn't the case.

My complexion was thin.

Not scrawny or malnourished—the orphanage fed its residents well—but definitely not robust.

Skinny arms. Skinny legs. A torso that showed my ribs if I breathed deeply.

I'd have to work hard if I wanted to change that in the future.

My stock with the ladies is definitely going to suffer until this body grows up.

"Huff"

The high-pitched, adorable sound that came from my throat almost made me want to hit myself.

But I decided to ignore it and returned my attention to the name that was now technically mine.

Nikio Arata—or Arata Nikio for the locals—.

That was….is the name of the original owner of this body.

Son of Arata Kenji and Arata Yuki—names I only knew because they were in the file they showed me when I asked about 'my' family—.

Both dead during a villain attack when their son was barely a few months old.

The exact details were vague but apparently a villain with an elemental-type Quirk had caused massive collateral damage in a shopping district.

Collapsing buildings. Fire. General panic.

Nikio's parents had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They hadn't survived.

The baby—Nikio—had been found in the rubble, miraculously physically unharmed.

Handed over to social services. Processed through the system. Ended up here.

No known relatives willing or able to take care of him.

No grandparents. No uncles. No distant cousins.

Completely alone in the world at a few months old.

And apparently the only thing he had to his name was his parents' life insurance money—at least they were prudent about that—managed by the government until he came of age.

A decent sum. Enough to pay for college eventually, or to get established when he turned eighteen.

But for now, inaccessible.

The little one had just turned three years old two months ago.

And now his body belonged to me by the whims of an omnipotent being who apparently didn't know what to do with his free time and had decided that ruining mortal lives was appropriate entertainment.

Crossdressing bastard son of a bitch.

This was practically all the information I could get out of Naoko—the giraffe-woman I gave a good scare when I 'arrived' at this place—.

And by 'get out of her', I mean I asked many questions with a confused child face and adorable voice until she told me everything she knew.

According to her, my condition had gotten so critical for a moment they thought I was dying.

Well, she didn't actually say that directly—she softened her words a lot because she was talking to what she thought was a traumatized three-year-old child—but the implications were obvious.

A fever that had climbed past forty degrees Celsius.

Convulsions. Loss of consciousness. Erratic pulse.

All very alarming for the orphanage staff who had no idea what was happening to the previously healthy child.

I was quickly taken to a nearby public hospital where I spent hours being stabilized by confused medical personnel.

Because technically there was nothing medically wrong with me.

No infection. No virus. No bacteria. No identifiable cause for my condition.

Just a small child whose body decided to enter total crisis for no apparent reason.

All of that probably as a side effect of my forced takeover of this body.

Adjustments. Temporary rejections while the body and new soul tried to synchronize.

Or something like that.

It's not like it came with an instruction manual for this.

When I finally woke up—really woke up, with my mind clear and functional—it was with my head already completely cleared of the feverish fog.

And with the memories of the previous night completely intact.

The bar. Jane. The revelation that Jane was James. The conversation about MHA and what I would do if I were there.

The giant cartoon hammer.

The blow.

Everything.

I could only assume that the blow the crossdressing bastard sent me to this world with was what caused my temporary memory loss when I woke up the first time.

Some kind of dimensional stunning effect or crap like that.

Once my brain rebooted properly—after almost cooking from the inside—everything came back with perfect clarity.

With my memories back and the wide variety of people I could see after waking up in the hospital, it wasn't very difficult to recognize where I'd landed.

People with animal features—and more— walking casually through the hallways.

A nurse with bright blue skin.

A doctor with compound insect eyes.

A patient whose hands glowed with bioluminescent light.

And, of course, the fact that the place where I was called 'MUSUTAFU GENERAL HOSPITAL'.

Subtle. Very subtle, universe.

My Hero Academia.

Boku no Hero Academia for the purists.

A world where eighty percent of the population had superpowers called Kosei—Quirks in the dubbed version—.

Where professional heroes were celebrities.

Where villains regularly caused havoc.

Where a green-haired boy without powers inherited the power of the number one hero and eventually became the world's best hero.

A world I knew.

That I'd watched. Read. Discussed on internet forums at three in the morning when I should have been sleeping.

And now I'm living in it.

The first thing I did upon being fully conscious—and having mentally processed the fact I wasn't in my world or in my body—was question Naoko about my living situation.

Who I was. Where I lived. What had happened to my parents. If I had family.

This, of course, raised alarms in everyone.

The child who'd had an inexplicable medical crisis now also didn't remember basic information about himself.

A big problem.

They called specialists. Neurologists. Child psychologists.

They did tests on me. Brain scans. Cognitive evaluations adapted for young children.

And they found….something.

Minor anomalies in my brain activity that shouldn't be there.

Patterns suggesting trauma or severe stress in specific areas.

Finally they reached the consensus that the shock I'd suffered had somehow impacted my prefrontal cortex, as well as the neocortex and basal ganglia.

….Yeah, I didn't understand a bit of the technical explanation they gave us either.

I was a wage slave in an office, not a doctor.

The important thing is that right now everyone thinks I lost my memory due to medical complications.

Retrograde amnesia induced by neurological trauma.

Or something like that. The specific terms were lost on me.

Very convenient actually.

Almost as if the universe—or a certain bastard ROB—had arranged things so I'd have a built-in excuse.

As a result of my 'condition', they moved me from the room I was in—which apparently I shared with three other children of similar ages—to a smaller but private one.

An individual room. Close to the orphanage's nursing station.

To be able to watch me more safely, they told me.

Monitor my recovery. Make sure there were no relapses or additional complications.

Naoko was really very worried and stressed about the whole situation.

I could see it in how her giraffe ears tilted back when she talked to me.

In how her voice softened even more than normal.

In how she compulsively checked my temperature every few hours as if expecting the fever to return.

She genuinely cared.

So here I was, days after my initial existential crisis, checking out my new body in a bathroom mirror.

Taking inventory of what I had to work with.

And honestly, I wasn't very happy with the result.

If they'd let me keep my original body—just transported to this world—I wouldn't have had many complaints.

Well, beyond the crossdressing ROB's harassment attempt and his final shipping method that probably gave me a concussion.

But overall, my adult body would have been perfect.

Familiar. Known. With all its strengths and weaknesses already catalogued.

Instead, I was now stuck as a three-year-old child.

Small. Weak. Dependent on adults for practically everything.

It was annoying, but not my main problem with this 'arrangement'.

There was a small part of me that felt something more than simple frustration about the situation.

Guilt.

Not paralyzing or overwhelming.

But present and somewhat persistent.

Like a splinter under the skin I couldn't completely remove.

Because somewhere in this body—in some corner of this brain—there had existed a real child.

Nikio Arata.

A potential future that had been cut short when I appeared and took his place.

What happened to him? Did he simply….cease to exist when I arrived?

Was his soul pushed out to make room for mine? Is he somewhere, conscious, trapped in a void?

Or did he simply turn off like a light?

I had no answers.

And probably never would.

But the guilt was there anyway.

Small and manageable.

But real.

I placed a hand on the reflection in the glass, my small fingers pressing against the cold surface.

Observing the freckled childish face that was now mine.

"I can't do anything to give you back your life." I said in a low voice, still not used to my highpitched child voice.

I couldn't do anything to get mine back either. I was stuck here with no apparent option to return.

"But at least I can promise you I won't misuse your body."

It was the least I could do for him. A promise to a child who no longer existed. Who probably couldn't hear me.

But who deserved at least that acknowledgment. "In this life… I won't settle for mediocrity."

No. If I was going to be trapped here—if I was going to live using someone else's body—then I'd do it right.

I wouldn't waste this opportunity being the same mediocre wage slave I'd been.

I wouldn't spend this life crawling from one day to the next, existing but not really living.

"I'll make sure to have the best life I can and fulfill all my dreams using this body that was unjustly taken from you."

Money. Comfort. Freedom.

And yes, eventually, all the beautiful women I could handle.

Because that had been my desire expressed to the ROB, hadn't it?

A life of luxury. Peace. And a harem.

Simple. Direct. Honest about my selfish priorities.

And the bastard had told me he'd give me 'something very good' to achieve that.

Now I just had to figure out what crap that 'something' was.

Because so far, I hadn't noticed any special powers. I hadn't had any revelations about hidden abilities.

No floating system windows appearing in my vision like in those web novels I used to read.

Nothing.

Just a three-year-old child in a world of superheroes, with no obvious superpower.

Unless….

Quirks typically manifested around age four.

This body—my body—had turned three recently.

I was within the range where some precocious children developed their powers early.

But most waited until four or five.

Could it be that my 'gift' is simply an extremely powerful Quirk?

Something All For One or All Might level? Or maybe something more versatile? More broken?

Impossible to know without more information.

And the ROB certainly hadn't left any useful clues beyond 'something very good' and 'try not to screw it up'.

Now I could only wait and see. Wait for my Quirk to manifest—if it was going to manifest. Wait for the 'gift' to reveal itself.

Wait to understand what tools I had available to work with.

Maybe a few more months. A couple of years at most. I could be patient until then.

Probably.

…

…..

………

An unsettling question appeared in my mind as I looked at my reflection.

Could it be that bastard is watching me?

The question floated in my head, uncomfortable.

….Who was I kidding.

It was almost a given that yes.

Entities like ROB don't simply send people to other worlds and then completely disconnect.

Where's the fun in that?

No, most likely he was watching.

Probably eating interdimensional popcorn while watching my struggle to adapt.

Laughing at every awkward moment. At every time I stumbled with my short child legs.

At every time my voice came out high and adorable when I tried to sound authoritative.

Voyeuristic bastard.

And not just him probably.

In my past life I was an atheist—I saw no reason to believe in gods without evidence.

Now I knew that at least multiversal entities existed.

Which meant the odds that there were others too were non-zero. Maybe even many others.

All potentially watching different dimensions like they were TV channels.

All potentially tuned into 'Nick's New Life' like it was their favorite reality show.

Not only did I steal a child's body, I'm also entertainment for bored omnipotent beings.

I lifted my gaze toward the bathroom ceiling.

White. Stained with mold in the corners. Completely ordinary.

But somewhere beyond that ceiling—beyond this world, this dimension—there were probably eyes watching.

And without any regard, I raised my small, chubby hand.

And extended my middle finger.

Holding it firm. Proud.

Directed at any omnipotent being who might be watching.

Especially at the crossdressing bastard ROB who got me into this mess.

"This is for you, crossdresser." I said with the most serious voice I could muster in this infantile body. "I hope the drinks you paid for give you diarrhea." Explosive and prolonged.

It was a small and petty curse. But it made me feel better.

Knock-knock-knock

Sudden knocks on the door made me quickly lower my hand.

Crap.

How long had I been here?

"Nikio-chan, are you okay? You've been in the bathroom for quite a while." Naoko's voice sounded muffled through the wooden door.

Worried, as always.

Probably thinking I'd had some medical problem. Or that I'd fallen. Or that I was having another crisis.

"I'm fine Naoko-san, I'm coming out." I responded quickly, using the most reassuring tone I could.

I was slowly getting used to using the appropriate honorifics.

It still felt strange on my tongue—my Western brain protested against the typical Eastern formality—but Naoko had gently scolded me the first few times I forgot to use them.

Apparently even for three-year-olds with amnesia proper manners were expected in Japan.

Culture. So different and so strict.

I got down from the plastic stool carefully—falling from this height probably wouldn't kill me but would definitely hurt—and headed toward the door.

Time to go back to acting like an adorable and confused small child.

My new life awaited me.

However crazy and messed up it was.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time Skip: Eight months since Nick's arrival

Municipal Park - Musutafu

"Huff-Huff-Huff"

That was it, I didn't think I was capable of continuing.

Thud-Thump.

The dull thud I made falling completely exhausted resonated loudly while I panted like a thirsty dog.

"Can't….anymore…."

Luckily the grass in the park where I was training had cushioned my fall.

My small body protested at every minimal movement I made. And if I tried to get back up it was almost certain I'd pull off a good Bambi impression at birth.

So I wouldn't bother trying.

I preferred to avoid becoming the center of laughter for the people hanging around the place.

A woman with a lizard tail pushing a baby stroller.

A man whose skin glowed with a metallic blue tone talking on the phone.

A teenager with small horns on a skateboard.

And the occasional classic Japanese salaryman—who were surely having it worse than me in my past life—.

Yeah, there weren't many but that wasn't the point.

They all passed without even looking twice at the panting child lying on the ground.

It wasn't that they were a bunch of unsympathetic jerks ignoring a small child lying down and potentially in danger.

It's just that they were already used to the sight and knew I was fine.

My state of total exhaustion was an image most here had been constantly exposed to in recent months.

The 'freckled kid who kills himself training' had become a regular fixture in the area.

And one could only approach the small child lying on the floor so many times to ask if he was okay—only to receive a shaky thumbs up and a gasp of 'I'm….fine….thanks….'—before getting the idea that this weird brat simply did this regularly.

They probably think I'm training to be a hero.

They're not completely wrong, I suppose.

Several months had already passed and I still couldn't know which path I'd take because my stupid Quirk still hadn't awakened.

I inhaled a deep breath feeling how my lungs burned in pure protest and then exhaled slowly and in a controlled manner.

It was a basic way to stabilize breathing after intense exercise.

Four seconds inhaling. Hold two seconds. Six seconds exhaling.

Then repeat until your heart stopped trying to escape from your chest.

I lifted my torso slowly and leaned on my elbows to have a better view of the place.

Musutafu Municipal Park, that's what the area I'd chosen to carry out the improvement of my new body was called—or at least that's what I'd heard people refer to this place as, I hadn't seen any sign indicating otherwise—, it was located in the heart of this city and was a fairly quiet and safe place.

It was also very large, full of green spaces conducive to training.

Areas of flat grass perfect for running. Gentle hills for resistance exercises and much more.

Like the children's play areas for small kids—swings, slides, climbing bars, the whole standard package—which I'd used as an excuse to want to come constantly.

"I want to go play, Naoko-san. Please~"

Insert big eyes, adorable voice and kicked puppy face.

It worked every time.

The place even had a huge wooded area with some discreet spots that almost everyone avoided for some reason I didn't know—perfect for when I wanted more privacy for training that might look weird if I did it in public—.

The entire park was crossed by a large stream that meandered through the terrain.

It wasn't particularly deep—maybe three feet at its deepest point—but flowed constantly with clear water.

There were small bridges crossing it at various points—though some of them were just old fallen trees that fulfilled that function—, and areas where children played on the banks.

It felt vaguely familiar for some reason I couldn't identify exactly.

It probably appeared in the anime at some point.

The orphanage was relatively close—about two or three kilometers away more or less—so I hadn't had many problems convincing Naoko to let me come here to 'play'.

Irresponsible?

Not in the slightest.

This was a futuristic Japan where the crime rate was extremely low—largely thanks to a certain muscular blond—.

And that would continue being the case until AFO decided to come out to play.

But I was sure I had several years before that happened.

The constant conversations I heard about All Might running left and right saving the day were a good sign that he still hadn't had his mortal fight with AFO—I needed to get a good cell phone, it was hard to keep up with the news without one—.

Knowing the current year wasn't much help in that regard since the series was never very specific about exactly which years the main events occurred.

Hopefully I'd have enough time to prepare before everything exploded.

I'd just have to be very attentive to a sudden disappearance or extended period of inactivity from Toshinori.

When that happened the countdown would begin.

There'd be between six and eight years at my disposal to be ready or pull a Mei Mei and run to Malaysia—curse you Gege, Nanami deserved his beach house!—.

AHEM

Continuing with my authorized outings.

While it was easy to convince Naoko to let me go out without supervision, I had to make a few concessions.

The giraffe-woman had been quite overly attentive since my hospital discharge and my apparent amnesia.

Understandable, considering I'd had a severe medical crisis that almost killed me right in front of her.

But also extremely annoying for someone like me.

Unfortunately for her, I was an introvert with clear antisocial tendencies.

A high-functioning one with relatively high tolerance developed from years of working in an office with other people.

But an introvert nonetheless.

And having someone constantly hovering over you—asking how you are, what you need, if you feel okay, if you remember anything—was exhausting.

It didn't take long for me to start showing discontent with the woman's constant attentions and her obsessive closeness to constantly control me.

Especially after I started getting a bit anxious and decided to start training.

She'd been a great opponent to that.

"Nikio-chan, you just got out of the hospital, you can't do such intense exercise!"

"You're going to hurt yourself!"

"What if you have another attack!"

Etcetera. Etcetera.

Luckily we'd reached a kind of….deal.

One that benefited me mostly.

For starters, I'd have to stop hiding in the orphanage—yes, my response to the woman's suffocating constant care was literally hiding in places where she couldn't easily find me—.

The attic was particularly good. Also the supply closet on the third floor.

And spend at least a couple of hours with her daily without doing strenuous activities. Quality time. Conversation. Maybe board games or story reading.

In exchange for that, she'd allow me to go out to 'play' at the park without her constant supervision.

I was pretty sure she already knew my outings weren't really for playing.

The sweaty clothes and visible exhaustion when I returned were probably pretty obvious clues.

But apparently she'd decided to turn a blind eye as long as I didn't hurt myself.

Obviously I ended up seeing this as a perfect opportunity.

Because I'd discovered something a bit annoying while recovering in the hospital.

When I took possession of this body, I immediately had a pretty decent understanding of the local language.

The Japanese I spoke flowed naturally. I could understand conversations. Respond appropriately. Use correct grammar.

Originally I thought the ROB had included an automatic translation package with this body— something basic for any isekai protagonist, just ask Lord Kazuma—.

But when I managed to get my hands on a book during my hospital stay, I realized this wasn't the case.

I couldn't understand a bit of what was written.

The Hiragana and Katakana characters were completely incomprehensible.

And don't even talk about Kanji—those complex symbols might as well have been abstract art to me—.

This made me discard the idea of a universal automatic translator.

And at the same time I reached another more logical conclusion.

Most likely I'd inherited the original Nikio's abilities.

His memories—experiences, personality, everything that made him him—were completely erased when I arrived.

But I retained the physical and mental abilities his brain and body had developed.

Spoken language, basic motor coordination, etc.

There weren't many abilities—the kid was only three years old—but they were useful.

Naoko, in her attempts to help me 'recover' my memory, had been telling me things about Nikio during our time together.

Apparently the little one was a precocious child, quite intelligent and independent for his age.

He spoke with unusual clarity for a three-year-old. Could follow complex instructions. Showed curiosity about how things worked.

So according to her, I hadn't changed too much after 'losing' my memories.

My basic personality remained intact.

….Though she told me with some concern that now I was much more antisocial than before.

The original Nikio played with other children occasionally.

I….don't.

Meh.

Don't blame me for not wanting to play with three-year-olds when mentally I'm a man past twenty.

Their games are boring and their conversations are painfully simple.

I have a slight suspicion this is also one of the reasons Naoko lets me go out—the poor woman has hopes I'll make some friend outside the orphanage—.

Anyway, it was a shame that reading ability wasn't included among the child's inherited capabilities.

But that wouldn't be a problem for much longer.

Because my proposal to Naoko—in exchange for unsupervised time—was reading lessons.

I wasn't asking for anything crazy, kids around here usually start their learning between four and five years old, something that became mandatory at six when they entered elementary school.

I was just advancing the timeline a bit.

She could have me watched for a good time without me hiding in the ceiling and teach me age-appropriate things.

While I'd get to learn to read and write in Japanese. Plus finally have time to train quietly without someone constantly breathing down my neck.

Win-win situation.

I was good at manipulating situations in my favor. Years of dealing with office politics had taught me well.

My training was something necessary that couldn't be postponed just because Naoko believed I was a fragile child who needed continuous care.

Why was this so?

The answer was obvious if you thought about it.

Pure precaution.

After spending a full month in this world without my Quirk activating, I started getting a bit anxious.

Most children manifested their powers around age four.

I was three when I arrived. Now I was three years and ten months.

And still nothing.

No powers. No special abilities. No floating system windows.

Nothing except the body of a freckled child with rebellious hair—I'm not complaining, your sacrifice will never be forgotten Nikio—.

I couldn't confidently assume what kind of power I'd receive from the crossdressing ROB.

It could be something incredibly broken that would make me unstoppable.

Or it could be something completely useless that would basically leave me as a normal civilian in a world of superheroes.

There was no way to know until it manifested.

If it manifested.

So I decided it would be best to start preparing beforehand for any scenario.

It wouldn't hurt to make sure I had a good physical body in case I got something that demanded good physical condition to be used appropriately.

Midoriya had already shown us exactly what could happen if you inherited an extremely powerful power without adequate preparation.

Broken bones. Shattered muscles. Total incapacitation.

No, thanks.

I'd prefer to be able to use my power without self-destructing in the process.

Besides, this was an anime environment.

I wasn't in real danger of stunting my development or permanently damaging my body by starting to train from so young.

And no, this wasn't me making another assumption, I'd specifically consulted with medical staff before being released from the hospital.

Because I wasn't stupid and wasn't going to ruin this body through ignorance.

You just had to say 'I want to become a great hero when I grow up' with shining eyes and excited voice, and everyone would give you all the information you were looking for without questioning you.

Adults in this world were that simple.

The doctor who treated me at the hospital—a man with an enhanced vision Quirk that basically let him do x-rays without x-rays—actually took the time to give me a pretty detailed explanation.

After the first Quirk user appeared in the world—the glowing baby in Qing Qing, China— humanity as a whole began suffering gradual changes at the genetic level.

An accelerated evolution in response to the enormous changes we were going through as a species.

As a standard result the current genetic baseline was far superior to pre-Quirk times.

Even people who didn't have Quirks possessed much stronger and more resistant bodies than their past counterparts.

Denser bones. More efficient muscles. More robust cardiovascular systems.

The growth limit was also very different.

Olympic athletes from the past—world records from two hundred years ago—would barely pass as normal, healthy people under current physical standards.

What used to be elite performance was now simply….average.

This of course included the amount of stress infant bodies could withstand without showing aftereffects.

In summary: until I knew what power I got, I could go crazy with this body and push it to its limits without worrying too much about permanent damage.

That's why since then I'd been rigorously following—and spectacularly failing—Saitama's legendary routine.

One hundred push-ups, one hundred squats, one hundred sit-ups.

And a ten-kilometer run.

Every day. No rest.

No air conditioning in summer or heating in winter—the latter was false, Naoko wouldn't let me play with the AC control—.

Well, that was the goal at least.

Reality was….less impressive.

Currently I managed about twenty push-ups before my arms trembled uncontrollably.

Thirty squats if I had a good day.

Forty sit-ups if I pushed myself.

And I'd managed to consistently run about three kilometers—I think, it was hard to measure without the necessary tools—before collapsing.

Not exactly Saitama level.

I still hadn't managed to complete the full routine even once.

But it was a matter of time and perseverance.

Eventually I'd get there.

Or kill myself trying.

Fifty-fifty odds really.

"Ghh—!"

With a grunt of effort I got up from the ground, using my arms to push myself to a sitting position and then stumbling until I was standing.

Enough rest, it was time to return to the orphanage.

The sun was already reaching its highest point in the sky so we were close to noon.

I had to get back for lunch—or Naoko would worry and then wouldn't let me go out in peace—.

And next would come my reading lessons.

The writing system the Japanese use was absolute torture.

I started my return with a slow jog passing through the play area.

I wonder what they'll serve for lun— "K-Kacchan stop, o-or I'll have to do it!" The nervous scream—and clearly scared—made me stop mid-step.

A high-pitched and shrill voice. With a noticeable tone of fear but trying to sound brave.

….This isn't what I'm thinking, is it?

I remained completely still, processing what I'd just heard.

How many possibilities were there that I'd just run into—?

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING DEKU?! YOU'RE JUST A USELESS PERSON WITHOUT A QUIRK!"

Another voice. Also high-pitched but with a completely different tone.

Aggressive and arrogant.

Oh crap.

It's exactly what I'm thinking.

Seems I no longer had to worry about knowing exactly when I'd been placed in the timeline.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY BEFORE I GIVE YOU A BEATING!"

I followed the screams to a slightly secluded section of the park.

An area near the stream where the trees created some shade and visibility from the main paths was limited.

I approached with careful steps, using those same trees as cover to avoid drawing attention.

My curiosity was at its highest point.

I peeked out carefully from behind a large tree.

And there they were.

A small group of five children.

A redhead—which meant he had no soul—huddled on the ground holding his stomach with an expression of pain.

Tears in his eyes and dirty clothes. He'd clearly just received a few blows.

In front of him, a small child with dark green hair that fell in wild curls around his face.

Visibly trembling. Arms extended protectively despite it being obvious he was terrified.

Huge green eyes, freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks—not as dense as mine but definitely present—.

Midoriya Izuku.

And opposing him—giving me his back but perfectly visible in profile—the three remaining children.

On the left side, a fat kid with small wings sprouting from his back—a good pair if they could really support his weight—.

On the right, a skinny kid whose only distinctive visible feature was wearing a cap—that must be the one with extending fingers—.

Both Bakugo's lackeys whose names I didn't remember.

And in the middle of these two….

A child with spiky ash-blond hair and intense red eyes that shone with confidence and arrogance.

A cruel smile on his face as he looked down at the green-haired kid.

Bakugo Katsuki.

The wild Pomeranian in all his infantile glory.

Seems I had a front-row seat to watch Izuku's 'rebellion' against his childhood 'friend'.

I vaguely remembered this moment from the anime.

One of the small flashbacks that showed the dynamic between the main duo during their childhood.

Bakugo bullying someone weaker. Izuku trying to defend them despite having no power. Getting hit for his effort.

If I remembered correctly, after this event Bakugo began actively bullying Izuku constantly with his groupies.

The start of years of bullying that somehow weren't enough for this world's protagonist to realize the blond was not a friend.

Charming.

I tilted my head with confusion as I observed them more closely.

Bakugo looked a bit weird from this angle.

His hair was definitely longer than I remembered from the anime scenes—falling to his shoulders instead of the short, spiky cut I'd seen in the series. And his face… was softer. More rounded.

"T-this is wrong Kacchan!" Izuku's trembling voice interrupted my thoughts. "H-heroes d-don't hit w-weaker people!"

Solid defense little bean. Morally correct and everything.

I wish you could say it without stuttering every other word. Or at least without looking like a gust of air would knock you down.

"Hero?" The chubby kid with wings practically spat the word. "What would a useless person without a Quirk like you know about being a hero? You're just a Deku."

The words hit Izuku's emotional HP directly if his visible flinch was any indicator.

His eyes filled with tears he was clearly trying to hold back.

Ouch. Straight to the heart.

These kids were cruel.

"Yeah, what do you think you can do anyway?" The kid with the cap added in a mocking tone.

"You'd better get out of the way before you get hurt." Wise words, cap kid.

Very wise.

Because as he is now, the poor thing was more likely to hit himself if he tried to throw a punch.

Motor coordination didn't seem to be his forte under pressure.

"I-I'll fight y-you." Izuku declared with trembling but determined voice. "I w-won't let y-you keep h-hitting him."

And just at that moment—just when Izuku had made his brave declaration to protect the weak—the redhead kid who was being so valiantly defended abruptly got up from the ground.

With a surprisingly quick movement for someone who was supposedly hurt.

….And ran off at full speed in the opposite direction.

"I-I'M SORRRRYYY!"

That was the high-pitched scream heard in the distance as the redhead kid ran at the maximum his small legs allowed.

Disappearing among the trees without looking back even once.

Completely abandoning his 'savior' without a second of doubt.

"Pfff—"

I covered my mouth with my hand, desperately trying to contain the laughter that threatened to escape.

Hahahaha

I know it's wrong to laugh.

That I should feel empathy for the poor kid who'd just been abandoned by the person he was trying to protect.

But this was too funny.

I couldn't see his face perfectly from where I was hidden.

But I easily noticed from his body language—the way his shoulders sank, how his arms slowly fell to his sides, the small staggering step back he took—that Izuku's expression was a living poem to absolute betrayal.

I'd definitely be going to hell when I died.

This was the shortest rescue arc in history. It lasted exactly three seconds before the coward fled.

Eric had a point about these types, none were trustworthy.

Crack-Pop

A small explosion made me focus my attention on Bakugo again.

Sparks and smoke coming from his right palm.

It wasn't anything impressive—barely stronger than a firecracker you sell at street stands—.

But for four-year-old children, it probably seemed incredibly terrifying.

"See what you did, Deku?" Bakugo punched his fist against his other hand, generating another small explosion that made Izuku retreat scared. "Because of you he got away." The other two kids assumed more aggressive positions at their leader's words.

Closing in. Surrounding. Preparing for attack.

And the broccoli kid was clearly entering panic mode.

"Since this is your fault." Bakugo continued with a cruel smile, "you'll have to take responsibility."

His two lackeys moved to flank him.

The chubby one on the left. The skinny one on the right.

Blocking any obvious escape route.

Izuku looked around frantically, searching for help that obviously wouldn't come.

They were too far from the main paths. Too hidden among the trees.

No adult would come save him.

…

…..

……..

You know what?

I never liked Bakugo.

The thought appeared in my mind as I watched the scene unfold.

Not in the anime, not in the manga and not in the movies either.

The little jerk was extremely irritating and got away with way too much of his nonsense throughout the entire series.

He bullied Izuku for years. Told him to kill himself. Never really apologized appropriately.

And the audience treated him like he was just a 'tsundere with anger issues' instead of a genuine bully.

Absolute nonsense.

So….how about I take advantage of the occasion?

The opportunity was literally in front of me.

However much of a prodigy Bakugo was, right now the explosions coming from his hands couldn't even be classified as decent firecrackers.

He probably couldn't generate more than a few sparks before his sweat glands got tired.

And don't even talk about knowing how to throw a punch or maintain proper fighting stance.

In a few years he might kick my rear, but right now he was nothing more than a defenseless puppy in front of me.

These were small children who'd probably never been in a real fight.

Just intimidation against victims who didn't defend themselves.

Wouldn't it be good to give them an insignificant correction?

An early lesson that having a Quirk didn't make you invincible. That eventually you'd find someone who wouldn't be intimidated.

Surely the other fans of the series wouldn't judge me for this, right?

It'd just be a small lesson. An educational intervention. I'm doing a public service here.

….Yeah, I know I'm technically an adult.

But I have a child's body, that has to count for something, right?

This is totally legal. It'd just be a small fight between kids.

I'm sure more than one would agree with me that this was something necessary.

That Bakugo needed someone to bring him down a peg before he became the arrogant monster he was in canon.

Early prevention. Behavior correction. Teaching consequences.

Yeah. That sounds good.

Very heroic and justified, I'm just saving him from himself.

…

…..

……..

Well, screw everyone anyway.

I'm doing this because I want to.

And because I have the opportunity to put him in his place without real consequences.

Honestly, that was the main reason.

And I wasn't ashamed to admit it.

At least to myself.

Though I should at least warn them of my arrival.

Simply attacking them from behind without warning would be too unfair.

Even for me, who clearly didn't have many moral scruples about hitting small children.

I started moving—very cheerfully and as if I'd recovered all my energy, I should add—toward where the trio was cornering the green-haired kid who at some point had tripped over his own feet from fear and was now sitting on his butt on the ground.

Arms raised defensively. Eyes closed. Preparing for the inevitable impact.

Even I complained he was a crybaby.

But seeing him like this I can't help but feel pity.

My steps were deliberately loud walking over dry leaves and twigs.

Crunch-Crunch-Crunch

"Hey." I called out in a clear, loud voice, projecting confidence that could only come with the absolute certainty that I'd beat up some small children and get away with it. "What are you doing?"

The three kids froze.

Bakugo abruptly turned his head toward me, his red eyes finding mine.

Initial surprise quickly replaced by irritation at being interrupted.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded in an arrogant tone—he'd barely spoken and was already getting on my nerves—.

"That's not something you need to know blondie." I responded calmly, getting closer with measured steps. "What really matters is that from here it looks like three stupid kids are bullying someone."

I stopped a few meters away, crossing my arms over my chest.

"This is none of your business, freckles." the chubby kid with wings growled, trying to sound threatening.

He failed spectacularly.

His voice was too high-pitched. His posture too tense. These kids had probably never been really challenged.

They always got what they wanted through intimidation.

Time to change that.

"None of my business? I'm the only one who decides that." I responded with a casual tone. Bakugo turned completely toward me now, temporarily ignoring Izuku.

"And what are you going to do about it?" He challenged, raising his hand with small sparks crackling in his palm. "Get out of here or I'll blow you up."

I'd seen paperwork piles more intimidating than him in my past life.

"With those little sparks? How cute~." I said in a mocking tone, starting to walk closer. "You're like a little puppy barking."

That clearly hit a nerve as Bakugo's face reddened with anger.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" He screamed, his explosions intensifying slightly—still pathetic, but stronger than before.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

And then he launched himself at me.

No technique. No strategy. No thought.

Just pure impulsive aggression from a kid who'd never had to fight someone who really defended themselves.

This was going to be cathartic~.

I waited until the last second—when his fist charged with explosive sweat was inches from my face—and simply moved to the side.

Minimal effort. Maximum result.

Whoosh

His fist passed where my head had been, the momentum of his uncontrolled charge carrying him forward.

Directly past me.

And as he passed, I extended my foot.

Right in his path.

Trip

"WAH—!"

Bakugo crashed face-first into the ground with a satisfying thud.

Raising dust. Bouncing slightly from impact.

A pained groan came from him.

Oops.

That's gotta hurt.

"KACCHAN!" The two lackeys screamed simultaneously, clearly alarmed to see their leader on the ground.

The chubby one launched himself at me from the left, his wings carrying him as fast as they could—which meant slowly, the kid needed to diet—.

The skinny one attacked from the right, his long fingers extended as if they were going to do….something.

Honestly I wasn't sure what they expected to accomplish.

Pinch me hard?

Scratch me with their uncut nails?

The brat with the extending fingers arrived first, but his efforts only earned him a kick to the stomach that sent him rolling from where he came running.

The fat one arrived right after.

I simply stepped back, letting his attempt at a punch pass harmlessly by my face—he missed by a lot, I think even if I hadn't moved he would've missed anyway—.

I grabbed his arm and using his own momentum—and a decent amount of my strength— managed to spin him in the air and throw him over his unfortunate companion who was just getting up.

The kid flew in a perfect parabolic trajectory and finally crashed into the cap kid.

Crash

Both fell in a heap of tangled limbs.

Pained groans and confusion coming from the pile of children.

"Ow! Get off me!"

"You fell on me!" Adorable.

They really are like fighting puppies.

Very stupid puppies.

Bakugo had gotten up by this point, wiping dirt from his face with an expression of absolute fury.

"YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT!" He roared, clearly having learned nothing from his first failed attempt.

He launched again.

This time with both hands extended, explosions crackling in both palms.

Doubling down on the bet.

Unfortunately for you…

I ducked under his attack, his hands passing over my head.

And while he was overshooting me, I extended my fist.

Straight to his stomach.

…Even if you use both hands it's useless if you can't hit me.

Thump

It wasn't a hard blow—I wasn't trying to seriously hurt a child.

But it was enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

"Ghk—!"

Bakugo doubled over himself, gasping.

Falling to his knees. Grabbing his stomach.

Wide eyes in shock that someone had really hit him back.

Probably the first time that happens.

Important lesson: when you attack someone, there's a possibility they'll attack you back.

The two lackeys finally managed to untangle themselves and got to their feet.

Looking at me. Then looking at their leader on the ground.

Clearly processing that maybe this wasn't an opponent they could beat.

"What's wrong? Are you scared? By now you should know what comes next, right?"

I gave them the most terrifying smile I could—one I used to reserve for my subordinates when they messed up and I had to solve the problem—while raising my fist threateningly.

I got the expected results. Both kids ran off without looking back—leaving their leader completely abandoned—.

What cowards.

With the two minions' flight, only one problem remained in the immediate area.

I turned slowly to see the one who'd started all the trouble. Still on the ground on his knees, but at least he didn't look like he was running out of air anymore.

Bakugo looked at me with a mix of anger, confusion and something that could have been….respect? Fear?

Hard to tell.

I didn't approach him, it wasn't necessary really, frankly this had been a bit disappointing—not the fight, since I wasn't expecting much to begin with—.

I only felt good for a few seconds before the fun of beating them up evaporated.

Maybe I wasn't made for bullying small children with violence after all.

I held the child's gaze for a while more—why wasn't he leaving?—before simply raising one of my eyebrows delicately in a show of interrogation.

The kid—who'd apparently already recovered from the blows—moved restlessly but didn’t get up from his position.

"What are you waiting for blondie? Want a second round? I warn you I won't be so nice this time~."

I tried to give him the same intimidating smile as his little lackeys, I wanted to see him run at least once before he became a combat powerhouse and came back to kick my ass.

But Bakugo didn't run, didn't yell at me or insult me.

He stayed staring at me directly without looking away.

Suddenly his face started getting progressively redder and redder.

What the heck was wrong with him now?

"I-I won't forget this dang it, d-don't think you've won, next time I'll be the one to take y-you down."

After saying those words he quickly got up from the floor and ran off from the place.

…

…..

……..

….What the hell just happened here?

I hadn't humiliated him enough to justify that kind of reaction.

….Well, it's not my problem, I think it's best to ignore it for now.

Besides, I had another fish to fry—then I could worry about the Pomeranian's strange reaction —.

Finally, I turned my attention to Izuku.

Who'd been watching the entire scene with huge eyes and mouth slightly open.

I walked to where he was sitting and extended my hand.

An offer of help to get up.

Now that I could look at him properly….like Bakugo he looked strange.

https://imgbox.com/iXa4YrSX

Maybe it's simply the difference between seeing them animated and them now being flesh and blood beings.

Izuku looked at my hand. Then my face. Then my hand again.

"Are you going to stay sitting there all day?" I asked in a light tone, trying to sound friendly. "The ground isn't particularly comfortable."

Slowly—very slowly—he extended his hand and grabbed mine.

His fingers trembling slightly.

I pulled him up. He was incredibly light—much more than I expected—.

Does this kid eat properly?

Once he was standing, we stayed looking at each other.

"So….nice day to fight with other kids huh?" I wasn't the best at starting conversations. "I must say your little attempt to help that redhead was quite….heroic." That seemed to snap him out of his stupor.

"I-I didn't do anything, and thank you for h-helping me." He managed to say, while stepping back and making a deep bow. "Y-you didn't have to r-risk getting hurt for someone like m-me."

That last part came out with more than a bit of self-deprecation. Did Izuku already have selfesteem issues at this point?

Or maybe it was the kind words his 'friends' told him before they were about to give him a beating.

"Yeah, well." I shrugged, trying to sound casual, "I don't like seeing bullies get away with it."

The little bean didn't need to know that I actually found his dear Kacchan annoying enough to use any excuse I could find to hit him—at least for now while I could beat him—.

"Why did you decide to get between three bullies and their target?" Anyone with two neurons could know the answer, but I preferred any conversation topic to dealing with an awkward silence in the company of a depressed child.

"I-It's what All Might would do! I couldn't let Kacchan and the others do that." Izuku started justifying himself with surprising enthusiasm.

"B-But in the end it was useless, Kacchan is r-right, I'm just a u-useless person without a Quirk." All the little bean's enthusiasm left as soon as it arrived.

What should I do now? The most intuitive thing would be a pep talk, but I'm not good at those things, last time I tried I ended up in a bar after a fight and got sexually harassed by a crossdressing multiversal being.

"So what? I don't have one either." People usually feel better when they know others are having it just as bad as them right?

Misery loves company and all that nonsense.

"Y-you…" Izuku began tentatively, his fingers twisting nervously. "Really don't have a Quirk?"

"Not that I know of," I responded honestly. "It still hasn't manifested. If I have one." His eyes lit up like he'd been given what he wanted for Christmas and not socks.

"H-how did you beat Kacchan? I thought you h-had a Quirk that i-improved your reflexes." He asked, now clearly curious besides admiring.

Honest answer: YouTube videos in my past life and eight months of training Saitama's routine in this body.

Answer I can give: something vague and non-specific.

"Training." I said simply. "A lot of training, every day without rest."

If I really didn't awaken a good Quirk I'd bet on getting whatever gave Saitama his powers, going bald was a fair trade for absolute power.

"A-and anyone can do it?" His huge eyes looked at me with an almost uncomfortable intensity.

He's looking for validation that he can also be strong.

I looked at his chubby expectant face.

….Dang it that's not fair!

"Physical training always helps." I said carefully, choosing my words. "It makes you stronger, faster, more resistant. Even without a Quirk, you can be stronger than the average person." While I was avoiding the direct answer it wasn't a lie.

Akaguro was a great example, his Quirk didn't give him any kind of body enhancement but the guy moved like a beast when he fought.

Izuku absorbed my words like a sponge. I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

"I-I'm going to train too!" Izuku suddenly declared, his hands turning into tight fists. "L-like you!

And I'll become strong!"

Ummm, this wasn't a bad thing.

Actually….scratch that, this was very good! Wouldn't it be much better for me if Izuku got stronger early?

While this wouldn't prevent AFO from going crazy when he came out of hiding, it would help enormously to greatly soften many of the conflicts that only got uphill because Izuku couldn't freely use OFA.

A stronger protagonist meant fewer problems for me.

If I managed to get this little broccoli buff before the sludge villain made his play, Izuku would only have to worry about mastering the Quirk instead of constantly hurting himself.

"That's the spirit buddy, anyone can be a hero, you just have to work hard at it!" Batman said it so it has to be true.

"S-So can you t-teach me? Help me become s-strong?" The little one's enthusiasm dimmed slightly when asking me this.

Probably fear of rejection.

But I wouldn't do it, now that the idea had been presented to me I wouldn't back down.

I'd turn this little one into someone who could chew rocks and crap bricks, whatever it took!

I approached Izuku with—what I believed was—my best smile and put my hands on his skinny shoulders.

"E-Ep—!" Obviously he was startled by the abrupt contact.

"Of course I can! I'd never say no to someone who wants to improve." A blatant lie, I'd only do it because it was specifically him. "You just have to follow my example and you'll become very strong!"

I felt like one of those scammers who robbed old people of their money through phone calls.

"I-I….yes, please, take care of me." Izuku tried to make another bow, but mid-attempt remembered how close we were so he had to stop.

"Very well, then let's start with the basics, what's your name? I don't think you want me to call you little bean the rest of your life."

I could see how he blushed at the nickname, but he didn't seem upset—though anything was better than 'Deku' to begin with—.

"M-My name is Midoriya I-Izumi, it's a pleasure to meet you."

…

…..

……..

Huh?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time Skip: 3 years and 10 months since Nick's arrival

Musutafu Elementary School - Classroom 2-A

Ding-Ding-Dong, Ding-Ding-Ding-Dong

The Westminster melody in the form of a bell announcing lunch time was heard throughout the classroom—and probably throughout the entire school with the volume they set it at—.

And despite the place being packed with small children, not a single one of them got up wildly from their seat to run out of the classroom.

There was no stampede. No excited screams. No chaos.

Instead, they all waited patiently—hands folded on their desks, backs straight, eyes looking attentively forward—for the teacher to finish giving her last instructions and give them formal permission to leave.

The teacher in question—a cute woman who must already be reaching her thirties—was

standing in front of the blackboard with a serene expression.

"….And don't be late from playing." She warned in a firm but not severe tone. "As soon as you hear the bell to return, come back immediately to class, understood?"

"YES, SENSEI!"

An almost perfectly synchronized chorus was what the teacher received as a response—me included of course—.

From that moment on the children received their longed-for freedom and began quickly leaving the classroom in small groups.

Chatting among themselves. Laughing. Making plans for where they'd eat.

The flow was orderly. Efficient. No pushing or fighting to be first out.

The Japanese education system never ceased to amaze me despite already being in my second year experiencing it.

The efficiency with which they indoctrinated children to be obedient and productive members of society was simply sublime.

Nothing—absolutely nothing—like my previous experience with educational establishments. Where chaos reigned, discipline was a suggestion and teachers could barely control their students.

These Japanese schools were perfectly calibrated factories of obedient cogs destined to contribute to society in pre-established ways.

It goes without saying what usually happened to those who didn't adapt to the expected mold.

I waited patiently until most of the children left before taking my bentō from my backpack— carefully provided by Naoko this morning—.

The woman had calmed down considerably over time regarding her overprotective attitude toward me.

But she still liked to do these little details.

I stood up, put away my pencil case, and started heading toward my lunch area.

As was to be expected, the hallways I had to go through to reach my destination were saturated with children of different ages.

First and second year mainly, but occasionally some third-graders who'd decided to eat inside the building instead of outside.

All heading—either alone or with their friend groups—toward the school cafeteria or toward the outdoor areas where eating was allowed.

It wasn't a problem for me.

The moment they detected me in the hallway, they all immediately moved out of my way.

Like I was Moses parting the Red Sea, my march was perfect and completely uninterrupted.

A clear path formed in front of me automatically.

Kids pressing against the walls. Others backing into classroom doorways. Some even completely detouring their route to avoid crossing my path.

All while carefully avoiding making direct eye contact. No child would risk getting in my way as I passed. All these years of training had served me extremely well.

I was much larger and stronger than any child my age—almost seven years old now—had a right to be.

My build was noticeably more developed.

Broader shoulders. Defined muscles visible even through my school uniform. Posture that projected physical confidence.

Just as the doctors had informed me years ago, children in this world didn't suffer under excessive physical stress.

They only hardened and grew faster to compensate.

Anime biology at its peak.

But my intimidating physique wasn't the main reason all the brats almost ran off when they encountered me.

No.

That had more to do with my….reputation.

It's possible that maybe—completely by accident, I swear—I carved myself a kind of image as the school's dangerous bully.

…

…..

……..

I swear it's not what it looks like!

My first encounter with Bakugo and his lackeys did not awaken something dark in me that made me start bullying other kids for their lunch money and sadistic laughs.

I'm not a villain from an eighties high school movie.

I had completely legitimate and justifiable reasons for why I ended up in this social situation.

So don't judge me without first letting me properly explain my case!

First of all—and to give everything necessary context—I must emphasize an extremely important point that had been consuming my peace of mind during all this time:

My Quirk still hadn't awakened.

Almost four years had already passed since I ended up in this world.

And there wasn't a miserable sign that my supposed super hack—the 'something very good' the bastard ROB had promised me—would magically appear to solve the rest of my life.

Nothing. Zero. Zilch.

Most other kids had already manifested their Quirks around age four—some even earlier, like a certain explosive Pomeranian—I remained completely normal.

I was starting to seriously suspect the ROB had lied to me.

So, what did my lack of Quirk have to do with my reputation as a supposed school bully?

Absolutely everything.

Because it turns out not having a Quirk became public knowledge almost immediately after I entered elementary school.

The weird freckled kid without a Quirk.

Easy target.

Or so they thought.

The first kids who wanted to 'teach me my place' in the school social hierarchy arrived quickly during my first week.

A group of three second-year kids.

They cornered me after class. Surrounded me. Started with verbal insults that quickly escalated to physical pushing.

They expected me to cry. To beg. To run to a teacher.

And as you can probably guess….

They ended up completely beaten and crying on the floor of the back courtyard.

Turns out three years of daily intense training gives you considerable advantage over normal kids.

Who would have thought?

This, predictably, started a chain of events that escalated rapidly out of control.

The original kids had older siblings. Those older siblings had friends. Those friends had wounded pride that younger kids were being beaten.

The revenge cycle began.

Somehow—I'm honestly still not completely sure how it happened exactly—I ended up standing victorious over a metaphorical mountain of defeated kids.

Not just from my year. Not just from second year.

There were kids about to enter middle school in that pile.

All received my kind physical care.

Of course, this by itself wouldn't have been enough to give me a truly fearsome reputation at school.

Kids fight. It's what they do. Especially boys with too much energy and ego.

Some fights. Some impressive victories. Eventually everything calms down and life goes on.

No.

The real problem—the one that cemented my reputation permanently—came afterward.

When those kids and their indignant parents went to formally complain to the teacher who was in charge of my class at the time.

That old fool chose the wrong person to mess with.

And I made sure he—and a few more—paid appropriately for that error in judgment.

With that last thought, I finally reached my little personal kingdom within the school grounds. A secluded area away from the school's main building.

It was a small semi-enclosed space surrounded by dense trees and bushes that significantly hindered external observation of the area.

It had some old concrete seats worn by years of use and weather—probably installed decades ago and never replaced—where one could sit comfortably to eat or chat quietly without being bothered by the school's general noise.

The trees took care of projecting constant shade that avoided the annoying direct sun rays when I wanted to take a short nap after eating.

The school's kids had started actively avoiding approaching this area since I took it over more than a year ago.

So it had become the favorite and exclusive lunch spot for Izumi and for—

"Good morning Ni-kun!"

The enthusiastic greeting came from behind me.

High-pitched voice. Feminine. Full of excessive energy for this time of day.

Speaking of the devil.

I quickly turned around—years of training had considerably improved my reflexes—and prepared for the inevitable impact.

Thump

A smaller body crashed at full speed into me like a guided missile.

I managed to catch her appropriately—practice makes perfect—but had to take a full step back to cushion the considerable force with which she'd launched herself.

Izumi had more than a few problems with her strength control.

"Good morning little bean." I responded to the small threat I'd created. "How was your morning? Any brat who needs me to visit them personally?" It was half-joke, half-serious question.

Though Izumi had grown exponentially in skill, strength and confidence, she flatly refused to defend herself—physically—from others.

The girl had grown quite a bit in more than one sense since our first encounter almost four years ago.

She'd gone from being a small, fragile girl to having a clearly visible athletic build.

Toned muscles in arms and legs. Straight and confident posture. Movements that showed coordination and control—until she forgot about the latter and broke something on you—.

Her dark green hair had grown to her shoulders, usually tied in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her face during training.

https://imgbox.com/00g4W6wS

https://imgbox.com/MCeA1D0D

https://imgbox.com/o02TOb5k

https://imgbox.com/P7ifdFxf

Her occasional stuttering had been reduced to almost nonexistence—when talking with someone known at least—.

In this world, she was never a direct target of systematic bullying like in canon.

But she did experience almost total social isolation until I entered her same elementary school.

It had all started after our first meeting in the park years ago.

In canon Bakugo was supposed to start a sustained bullying campaign against Izuku after their little disagreement.

This would be witnessed by the other neighborhood kids and kindergarteners, who would follow Bakugo's example and also start bullying Izuku.

All of which would eventually lead to the massive low self-esteem we saw in the series.

But Bakugo didn't do any of that.

Actually blondie did the complete opposite.

The Pomeranian started avoiding Izumi like she had some contagious disease.

Though only temporarily, their relationship had had some changes recently, some annoying ones.

And if Bakugo avoided something, the rest followed suit.

Which led to me being her only constant positive social interaction—apart from her mother— during our daily training in the park.

"You know very well everyone's afraid to approach me." Izumi said in an exasperated but not really upset tone. "And it's completely your fault, Ni-kun."

My reputation had extended to anyone associated with me.

But before I could offer any verbal defense she hugged me more tightly.

Too tight.

I could literally feel my ribs protesting under the pressure.

Strength control, Izumi. Strength control.

One day you're going to accidentally break something important on me.

And then, to my growing discomfort, she buried her face directly in my chest and started breathing deeply.

Inhaling. Exhaling. Repeating the process several times.

Like she was….smelling.

….Don't call the police please.

I didn't do anything to cause this behavior.

She developed these strange tendencies completely on her own without any input from my part.

Honestly it worried me a bit. Should I talk to Inko about it?

….Probably not.

Knowing this world's mood, she'd probably find it adorable.

We remained in that somewhat uncomfortable position for a few minutes—me trying not to think too much about the implications of Izumi's behavior—before she finally decided it was enough and let me go.

Only to immediately grab my arm and start dragging me toward our usual sitting spot—this time under one of the trees instead of on the concrete benches—.

As I was saying before being physically kidnapped….

She spent a couple of years being completely socially ignored by everyone except me.

No neighborhood kids played with her. At kindergarten she ate alone. Teachers treated her with professional indifference.

It wasn't active bullying. Just….total absence of social interaction.

Which naturally made her extremely clingy with me.

Her only consistent source of attention, validation and company.

I was aware of the dynamic.

And probably should have established clearer boundaries from the start.

But….I didn't.

Because I'm weak to sad puppy faces apparently.

Something that wasn't a particular problem at the beginning of our friendship.

She used to be quite shy and constantly got nervous with any small mistake she made during training.

Tripping during a run. Failing a push-up. Not being able to keep up the pace.

Each minor failure made her apologize profusely as if she'd committed some terrible crime.

So her constant attempts to stay close to me all the time possible and start enthusiastic conversations about the heroes she obsessively followed on the internet were considered simply cute gestures on my part.

A small girl seeking approval and company.

Completely innocent and manageable.

That changed gradually—and then very quickly—when her paralyzing shyness started disappearing as she got used to my constant presence.

And especially when her physical condition reached the point of equaling mine.

Dang protagonists and their absurd accelerated growth capabilities.

Her shy attempts to spend time with me at some point became increasingly less subtle demands.

And I—like the complete soft idiot I clearly was—indulged her by giving her all the attention she wanted.

What?

Do you think I was letting myself be easily manipulated by a small girl?

….You're probably right.

But it wasn't completely my fault.

Try saying no to her and staying firm when she deploys her abandoned dog in the rain face.

It was impossible to resist.

And she knew it perfectly well.

Besides, objectively speaking, it wasn't that bad really.

Izumi was very obedient most of the time—she followed instructions during training without complaining, studied diligently, helped without being asked—.

And only caused me minor problems when she felt I was ignoring her too much or paying attention to other things.

Or people.

She had surprisingly strong fingers and her pinches were deadly.

"What about you, Ni-kun?" Izumi asked as we sat under the tree, interrupting my thoughts. "Has your teacher caused any problems?"

A threatening gleam—very concerning from my point of view—appeared in her green eyes when she mentioned the teacher.

Protective.

Very protective.

I deliberately ignored it—nothing to see here, Izumi was a sweetheart and definitely wasn't showing red flags—.

"None." I responded casually while opening my bentō. "Seems the other teachers warned her appropriately not to cause unnecessary problems." We sat comfortably and started eating in silence.

Remember I mentioned problems with the brats I'd 'schooled', their indignant parents, and a particularly stupid teacher?

That needed additional contextual explanation.

The problem itself had quite a bit to do with this world and the modifications I'd been gradually finding in it.

They were subtle things in some cases and blatantly obvious in others—like with Izumi being a girl instead of a boy—.

And this particular case had been an especially annoying one to discover.

Everyone who watched the original series knows perfectly well that the teachers and professors Izuku had before entering UA were absolute jerks as educators and as human beings.

They consistently ignored Bakugo's abusive behaviors simply because he had a Quirk with great perceived potential for professional heroism.

They allowed—and in some cases actively encouraged—Bakugo's and practically the entire student body's constant bullying of Izuku.

Which, by the way, Deku was also a dang idiot in canon for not formally reporting the situation.

He just continued passively enduring it because he was pathologically obsessed with maintaining his completely one-sided 'friendship' with Bakugo.

That was more or less what was happening to me at this school.

Only considerably worse in several key aspects.

Anyone who'd read enough MHA fanfictions could immediately remember all those where the teachers went far beyond being simply permissive or indifferent to Bakugo's actions.

Where they actively participated in marginalizing Izuku.

False reports. Unfairly low grades. Disproportionate punishments for minor or imaginary infractions.

That was exactly the type of problem I was facing.

The teachers were jerks who actively wanted to mess with me simply because I didn't have a manifested Quirk.

And I resolved it with my little green-haired minion in the most efficient and publicly humiliating way possible for them.

After a full week of unjust suspension—where I was also punished by Naoko without being able to leave the orphanage—I returned to school with pure thirst for revenge.

That had also been the longest period I went without communicating directly with Izumi.

A whole week without training together. No after-class chats. Nothing.

She hadn't been happy at all with that situation.

In fact, when we finally saw each other again, she'd practically tackle-hugged me with so much force that I couldn't even stay standing and we ended up on the floor.

And then she'd cried.

It was….awkward as you can't imagine.

So with her total and enthusiastic support—she'd started showing strong tendencies to forget her heroic values when I was involved—we prepared an elaborate trap that would permanently ensure they wouldn't mess with me again.

Or with any other Quirkless student in the future if everything went well.

The plan was quick to execute and even quicker to show devastating results.

I simply let the little jerks I'd previously beaten for trying to get smart with me take out their accumulated frustrations and 'get revenge' on me.

They didn't take long to try.

They were very emboldened by the explicit support they'd received from the teachers during my suspension.

"That Arata needs to learn respect."

"Someone has to put him in his place."

"Without a Quirk, he should be more humble."

The little trick—the crucial part of the plan—was making sure their bullying attempts always happened near or directly in front of teachers.

And that Izumi was strategically hidden in the area with her cell phone ready to record everything with clear angles.

Evidence.

Beautiful incriminating evidence in high-definition video.

With some light editing touches afterward—nothing dishonest, just making sure the context was clear—we ended up with a list of more than a dozen videos, all with carefully designed titles.

And without further delay they were immediately uploaded to the internet.

"Orphan child without Quirk bullied at elementary school - Teachers watch without intervening"

"Discrimination for lack of Quirk - School staff allows violence"

"Is this what they teach in schools? - Systematic bullying ignored"

All of them conveniently included the full names of those involved—teachers, bullying kids, and their parents—.

It took the internet exactly one week to do its job—no matter what era it was, you could always count on the rabid packs of the web—.

The final results were exactly what I expected.

Teachers fired—and very possibly without possibility of getting another job as educational staff—without ceremony after an accelerated investigation.

The principal put under severe public scrutiny—his career was probably finished regardless of whether he survived this specific school—.

And the group of bullying brats ended up completely in my hands once again.

Did any of you really think I would just let this slide like that?

I made sure to show them what a true bully could do.

This time without absolutely anyone—not parents, not teachers, not administration—willing to intervene in their defense.

Because doing so would end with anyone receiving the same treatment as the fired teachers.

Their parents—publicly shamed and probably facing their own work consequences—quickly transferred them to other schools.

Away from me and the scandal.

And since finally no one had tried to protectively intervene, and all the school's students had been able to directly or indirectly witness my methodical and complete revenge….

….I ended up permanently consolidating my position as the Elementary School's dangerous delinquent.

Despite it clearly being an isolated case of justified revenge.

And that I never bothered another student without provocation since then.

You see? Completely unfair.

I didn't do anything that deserved that title.

I just defended myself appropriately and made sure those responsible paid.

Justice, not delinquency. There's a difference.

"Okā-san wants you to come for dinner tonight." Izumi abruptly cut off my self-justifying mental complaints with that casual statement.

"Again?" I responded with genuine surprise. "I already went this week literally two days ago." Not that I was complaining exactly.

Inko's food was excellent.

And the company was… pleasant.

Very pleasant.

Inko had also been indirectly—but significantly—affected by my early intervention in her daughter's life.

Since Izumi hadn't entered a perpetual state of self-loathing based on her low self-esteem from lacking a Quirk…

She never showed visible signs of regret or guilt about her condition.

Because in her mind, there was nothing to regret.

Lacking a Quirk was simply an obstacle to overcome with appropriate training.

Not a sentence of inevitable failure.

At this moment she firmly believed—with unshakeable conviction—that she was on track to become a professional hero no matter what.

And with adequate physical and mental preparation, she could achieve it even without One For All.

Though I'd be extremely grateful if All Might eventually gave it to her.

Having Izumi not receive OFA would be a massive inconvenience for future plans.

Because many of my future plans depended on having access to an Izumi with OFA.

Which meant that Inko—unlike canon—hadn't blamed herself for her daughter's situation.

She hadn't developed destructive eating habits as an emotional coping mechanism.

She hadn't gained massive weight from compulsively eating to deal with guilt and stress.

Inko in this world was essentially a charming MILF.

Curvaceous but healthy figure. Kind face that showed her age but in an attractive way.

Warm and maternal personality that naturally extended to me as her daughter's constant friend.

Always very happy to see me around Izumi keeping her cheerful and motivated.

And I had no problem letting myself be occasionally pampered by her during visits.

Though then I had to endure Izumi's painful 'discreet' pinches when she caught me spending more time looking at her mother's perky ass than paying appropriate attention to what she was telling me.

I had my priorities clearly established.

And appreciating mature female aesthetics was high on that list.

Sue me.

"It's that this time you didn't stay to sleep." Izumi pointed out with a slightly accusatory tone. "You went back to the orphanage before Okā-san could propose it." Because I didn't want to die in my sleep.

I was placed in a separate futon whenever I stayed over.

But Izumi invariably moved to mine while I slept deeply.

Inko found it adorable when she discovered it in the mornings.

           "Look how cute! Izumi-chan thinks you're her teddy bear!"

But nowadays that was genuinely risky for my physical health.

And it wasn't a dang exaggeration.

Last week I'd woken up in sudden agony when Izumi decided—completely unconscious, acting in her sleep—to hug me tightly while sleeping.

Her arms wrapping around my torso like steel bands.

Squeezing and compressing mercilessly. She almost broke three of my ribs before I managed to wake her up.

And she didn't even remember doing it.

     "Eh? I did that? I'm so sorry Ni-kun!"

I decidedly preferred not to repeat that particular experience.

So that week I'd 'escaped' before Inko could extend the usual invitation to stay the night.

"I… uh, can't go tonight either." I said tentatively. "Naoko-san asked me for….help, yeah….I have to help her with some important things at the orphanage." Lie.

Blatant lie.

Izumi looked at me with clear visible suspicion, her green eyes narrowed evaluating me. She clearly didn't believe me one bit.

She's getting too good at reading my lies.

She finally sighed in resignation.

"Fine." She conceded slowly. "I'll tell Okā-san you can't go today because you have important responsibilities."

Saved!

"BUT." she continued in a tone that admitted no negotiation, "you have to promise me you'll stay this entire weekend."

She pressed closer physically—completely invading my personal space—and gave me a pleading look.

Huge, shiny eyes. Lower lip protruding slightly. Expression of desperate hope.

"The new All Might documentary is coming out." she explained with her voice sounding exaggeratedly childish. "And I want us to watch it together, Ni-kun."

Dang it.

I knew I shouldn't have taught her to abuse her powers.

With great power comes great responsibility Izumi, you can't use it all the time when things don't go your way.

"….Fine." I inevitably gave in because resistance was futile. "But this time you have to stay in your bed. I don't want what happened last week to happen again." Or I'll have to sleep with one eye open all night to watch her.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ni-kun," Izumi said this with a completely false expression of innocence. Without hesitating for a moment.

Blatant liar.

She knows exactly what she did.

And she'll probably do it again if I give her the chance.

Sometimes I genuinely missed when she was so shy she'd almost faint when I simply approached to correct her posture doing a squat.

Red as a tomato. Stuttering incomprehensibly. Trembling slightly from pure embarrassment at minor physical contact.

Seeing her growth and development filled me with genuine pride.

But sometimes she could become a genuinely problematic child when she decided to be.

Aizawa is going to go through absolute hell when he has to deal with her at UA eventually.

I should probably feel sympathy from teacher to teacher.

…Nah.

He signed up for it.

"By the way." I deliberately changed the subject before we could continue discussing sleeping arrangements, "how did it go convincing Inko-san about the other day thing?" It was time to talk important business.

"….Not very well," Izumi admitted in a defeated tone, averting her gaze from me.

Something she always did when she thought she'd disappointed me with some result.

"Okā-san doesn't think it's necessary yet." she continued explaining. "She says we're very young still and that we can keep training on our own without problems."

"Ummm, I didn't do very well trying to convince Naoko-san either." I admitted equally.

We were talking about our plan to join a proper Dōjō and learn formal martial arts.

Instead of just punching air and doing increasingly extreme exercises.

We needed real martial education.

"Though in my case it has more to do with all the bureaucratic procedures she'll have to do to move money from my inheritance."

Nikio's parents' life insurance money was there.

Accumulating interest. Waiting to be used.

But accessing it before coming of age required appropriate justification and extensive paperwork.

If I wanted to join a dojo—which charged considerable monthly tuition—I'd have to use that money specifically.

And to achieve that, Naoko would have to navigate a bureaucratic hell of applications and approvals.

She wasn't enthusiastic about that prospect. Understandably.

"Why don't you ask Okā-san when you come this weekend?" Izumi suggested with a hopeful tone. "She always listens to you. If you're the one asking, maybe you'll manage to convince her."

The art of delegating responsibilities.

I taught her too well and now she uses my own tactics against me.

I brought my hands to her chubby cheeks—she still retained some infantile facial fat despite her physical condition—and started stretching them playfully.

"Little shameless." I scolded her without real anger. "What did I tell you about trying to give me more work than necessary?"

I had to teach her an appropriate lesson.

The only one avoiding responsibilities around here was me.

"Owwwch-Ouch, I'm sorry, I won't do it again." she complained with words distorted from having her cheeks stretched. "Please stop already~." But her eyes said something completely different.

She was enjoying it.

The little masochist wasn't sorry in the slightest.

In fact she probably did it deliberately knowing I'd react this way.

Terrifying.

I finally let her go, allowing her cheeks to return to normal form.

She immediately started rubbing them with an exaggerated expression of pain.

"But you know I'm right." She remarked her original point once she finished her act. "We have better chances if you're the one who asks Okā-san directly. Then we can work together on convincing Naoko-san."

She wasn't wrong in her analysis.

Inko tended to seriously consider my suggestions when I presented them appropriately.

Like when I convinced her to take Izumi to a professional sports nutritionist when she was just starting to adapt to our intense training routine and clearly needed a significant change in her diet to support it appropriately.

Inko had followed my words without much resistance.

And the results had been obvious—Izumi had started developing physically much faster once her nutrition matched her training demands—.

So yes, I had influence with Inko.

More than I probably should as a seven-year-old friend of her daughter.

"I'll see what I can do." I finally conceded. "If we manage to convince Inko-san, maybe we can pressure Naoko-san with her as support."

Otherwise I'd have to pull out my saved nuclear card.

The 'you didn't believe me when I told you they were bullying me at school and I had to solve it myself with extreme methods' one.

I didn't want to do it—Naoko was a very good woman, responsible and exemplary caretaker who genuinely cared about my wellbeing and the other orphanage children's—.

But if we reached that point where nothing else worked, I'd have no real choice.

Izumi and I—but mainly Izumi if I was honest—desperately needed to start better controlling our growing physical capabilities and learn appropriate combat techniques.

It was something very important for our future development.

I didn't want Izumi to eventually get One For All….and the only thing she knew how to do was scream names of Uncle Sam's states with terrible English pronunciation and throw air punches.

She needed to be able to do more than that.

"Yaaaawn"

A sudden yawn came from me without warning.

All the talk and food under the tree had made me sleepy.

Izumi reacted almost instantly—as if she'd been waiting for exactly this signal—.

She pushed aside her own already empty bentō with quick, efficient movements.

Then pointed to her legs with visible enthusiasm and hopeful smile.

"If you're sleepy you can sleep here." She offered in a sweet voice. "I'll wake you when we have to go back to class. I promise!"

Hizamakura.

She's offering Hizamakura in the middle of the school courtyard.

Izumi-sama was too kind to this simple mortal.

I looked at her for only a few moments. Then mentally shrugged and accepted her offer.

Normally when I got sleepy after eating I simply threw myself directly under a tree and asked Izumi to wake me when it was time to return.

But this was better.

I lay down slowly and carefully, positioning my head on her thighs.

"If your legs start hurting you wake me immediately." I warned her before closing my eyes.

"Don't be stubborn."

She was too considerate for her own good sometimes.

She'd rather let me keep sleeping comfortably even if her legs were completely cramped and numb.

"He-he, leave it to me and sleep peacefully~." She responded in a cheerful tone.

I felt her fingers begin to pass gently through my rebellious hair.

Gentle movements. Relaxing.

….This is nice.

I just sincerely hoped she'd listen to me about the legs thing.

Consciousness began to slip as fatigue dragged me toward light sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time Skip: After classes

Musutafu Municipal Park

"Come on Ni-kun, just think about it for a second!"

Izumi's voice—slightly panting but still persistent—practically pleaded as she completed her hundredth squat.

Her form was absolutely perfect, as always.

Years of meticulous and constant corrections on my part had permanently engraved correct technique in her muscle memory.

https://imgbox.com/ZPKioNef

"I already told you no." I responded firmly while executing my own squat number one hundred fifteen beside her. Though carrying a huge, heavy rock on my back.

Who needed a gym? The caveman method worked just as well.

"It's not going to happen and that's final." We were in our usual Park session.

The sun was already beginning its visible descent toward the western horizon, tinting the sky with early orange and pink tones.

So we'd have to end our routine soon.

I'd managed to complete Saitama's routine before, but I still had my hair and hadn't transformed into a destroyer of physical laws.

If only Naoko had let him turn off the air conditioning.

Classes had ended several hours ago and we'd been training intensely since then. Practically without rest beyond brief periods for hydration.

Just another day of the week, nothing out of the ordinary.

Well, except for Izumi's persistent—and increasingly desperate—campaign to convince me of something that was completely, totally, absolutely unacceptable.

"But it would be really good for everyone involved!" She continued arguing, her voice showing physical effort but without losing persuasive enthusiasm. "Kacchan is incredibly strong! If she trained with us regularly we could improve much more and—!"

"Nope." I interrupted with a tone that deliberately admitted no further discussion possible. "Absolutely not under any circumstance. She'll cause problems the whole time she's present."

Katsumi Bakugo.

The explosive Pomeranian transformed into a blond explosive tomboy girl.

And a constant painful thorn in my metaphorical rear for years.

After discovering that Izuku was now Izumi I hadn't been that surprised to eventually discover Bakugo had suffered exactly the same fate.

Probably others had been affected too, though I could only know when I saw them in person….I hope Gigantomachia isn't one of them.

And while Katsumi hadn't bullied Izumi like her canonical male counterpart had done. That definitely did not mean she'd stayed quietly peaceful accepting the situation.

Oh no.

Nothing so convenient.

She'd simply changed her aggressive focus completely redirecting all that hostile energy.

Toward me.

Fortunately for Izumi.

Unfortunately for my future quest for a peaceful life.

From time to time—with increasing and increasingly annoying frequency as months passed— she appeared while Izumi and I trained in our usual spots.

Materializing seemingly from nowhere like some kind of blond battle-thirsty demon born only to challenge me to fight.

Over and over and over again.

"Fight me, freckled jerk!"

"This time I'll definitely beat you!"

"Stop running coward and face me like a man!"

A charming little lady.

And I—an authentic mature adult….mentally speaking—had done the sensible thing.

Run like they were asking me for child support for a kid I didn't even know existed.

It worked most of the time. But like taxes, it was simply impossible to escape from her every time.

Don't worry gentlemen—and ladies?—, I didn't get my rear kicked.

Katsumi—just as I predicted—started seriously training after her humiliating defeat.

And unlike us two she did it with specialists and professional hero trainers.

Classified information obtained from agent Izumi, who heard it from Inko, who in turn found out from Katsumi's mom.

Something my aching body could attest to a few months after our first encounter, when the unruly blond managed to corner me.

It was a legendary battle whose only witness was Izumi—the traitor left me in the little demon's hands having blind faith I could handle her—.

Katsumi with her elegant movements learned during her lessons.

And me being a cockroach that refused to lose to a brat.

In the end my superior physique and my total lack of scruples overcame the small violent beast.

Who ended up surrendered on the floor—with dirt in her eyes, bites on multiple parts of her body, and a few good handfuls of hair missing—completely defenseless.

I tickled her until she literally begged and Izumi herself asked me to stop.

The cycle had maintained itself to the present day, where the quantity of those encounters had only increased exponentially since we all started attending the same elementary school.

She definitely wasn't deliberately stalking me like some kind of obsessive stalker.

…

Okay, she totally was stalking me. She probably had my schedule memorized and maps of my usual routes.

All of that would already be more than enough reason to flatly reject Izumi's ridiculous proposal to invite Katsumi to our private training sessions.

Even if it was true we'd improve much more if someone who really knew how to fight joined us.

But recently there'd been a significant and problematic change generated in the social mechanics of the relationship between Izumi and Katsumi.

Generally speaking Izumi behaved like a considerably calmer and more relaxed version of her canonical counterpart when other people were around observing.

Exaggeratedly kind, always willing to help and a bit shy when expressing her thoughts.

That was consistent even with Inko nearby.

Something that only changed dramatically and notably when we were completely alone without any potential witness present.

Or—crucially—when Katsumi was hanging around the general area.

Then Izumi's carefully maintained public personality did a complete one-hundred-eightydegree change.

Total transformation.

She got even more clingy than her already problematic baseline level of need for physical contact.

Basically like a particularly tenacious koala that had decided I was her personal tree.

And for some reason I genuinely didn't completely understand that behavior drove Katsumi completely out of her mind.

The only interactions I had with her were my fist in her face, or her fist in mine, so this surely wasn't what I was thinking, right?

It was like pressing some deeply buried rage button that activated instant berserker mode.

The blond tomboy immediately started verbal fights that quickly escalated to complete physical confrontations.

All with the apparent goal of physically separating Izumi from me.

Being the center of a fight between two members of the opposite sex, Adam would be proud.

Or call the police seeing the ages of those involved….

Two girls—both with physical capabilities very significantly above their age demographic— hitting each other with notable enthusiasm.

Katsumi deploying her explosions—which were still very far from what she demonstrated at the series start—with increasing power and control.

Izumi counterattacking with pure hand-to-hand combat technique—which she herself had been developing, supposedly from what she observed in the hero action videos she liked so much—combined with the considerable brute strength she'd developed.

Calculated blows. Appropriate blocks. Opportune counters.

It was entertaining to watch honestly, as long as you kept your distance.

I never—under any circumstance—got directly in the middle of those fights when they started.

First and most important, because Izumi seemed to genuinely enjoy those confrontations.

Her eyes shone with pure excitement during exchanges. She smiled widely when she connected solid blows. She laughed openly when she dodged attacks by narrow margins.

I didn't know if it was because she enjoyed fighting or because she could measure her own progress with the one who was once her idol.

And secondly….

….Only a truly foolish—or suicidal—man would voluntarily get in the middle of an active fight between women.

This was universal wisdom transcending cultures, languages and apparently dimensions.

Ancient knowledge passed from generation to generation.

Never get between fighting women.

It didn't matter if they were seven-year-old girls, thirty-year-old adults or eighty-year-old elderly women.

So I simply sat comfortably at a safe distance. Watched with academic interest. Occasionally shouted specific technical advice to Izumi about posture, timing or taking advantage of openings.

"Keep your guard up or she'll knock some teeth out Izumi!"

"That hook was technically fine but you telegraphed too much, if you keep that up you won't land a single hit!"

"Take advantage of her overextension, the little demon commits too much when she attacks!"

Izumi's genius had nothing to envy Katsumi's, the little girl corrected all her faults in real time and usually without repeating them.

I on the other hand was simply average and could only keep up through a stronger physique and pure tenacity.

Eventually—usually after ten to fifteen minutes of intense exchange—they got tired enough to stop.

The count of their fights was pretty even, sometimes Katsumi reached her limit before Izumi —the training was really giving the little bean results—.

And the blond retreated while muttering increasingly elaborate threats about 'next time definitely'.

In others her better combat capabilities ended up overwhelming Izumi. But after finishing the fight she was incapable of starting a second round against me after being exhausted.

"Two hun—dred." Izumi panted upon finally completing her last required squat, interrupting my rambling monologues.

"Well done." I nodded approvingly while finishing my own series. "Rest a moment. Then we'll start with sit-ups."

"Hai~" she responded in a cheerful tone despite obvious fatigue.

She let herself fall on the slightly damp grass, breathing heavily but regulating the way she did it.

Chest rising and falling. Sweat visible on forehead and neck. But smiling.

Genuinely enjoying this physical torture….maybe all those things fans said about Izuku breaking his bones without hesitation because he was a masochist weren't as wrong as I thought.

I completed my own final squats—letting the heavy rock fall to the ground with a dull thud— and stretched appropriately.

"But seriously Ni-kun," Izumi started again after barely a few seconds of recovery—she didn't even wait a minute—, "why exactly can't we invite Kacchan to train with us?" She needed to learn when to accept defeat.

"I already gave you my reasons multiple times." I responded in a tired tone at having to continue with the topic.

"She's extremely problematic. She constantly challenges me to fight without provocation. And you two end up arguing and fighting when I look away for a single second."

Besides, I had a healthy fear that blondie would benefit too much from the training and my tricks would stop working on her.

"But that's exactly why it would be beneficial!" She began her new argument. "Kacchan has real combat training, wouldn't she be a good temporary substitute until we can enter a Dōjō?"

Yeah she would be, but I refused to have to deal with the fiery blond and a more capricious Izumi at the same time.

"If she trains regularly with us, maybe she'll finally stop challenging you constantly!" That was the little green-haired girl's feeble final attempt to convince me.

A very bad attempt, because we both knew that wouldn't happen, blondie might get distracted with Izumi, but at the end of the day it was me she came looking for all the time.

Keeping her close would only encourage her more.

"Tsk-Tsk, you're smarter than this Izumi, we both know that won't happen, couldn't you come up with something better?" I responded while shaking my head disapprovingly.

Izumi just puffed out her cheeks in protest. But this time she wouldn't manage to convince me to change my mind.

No pleading would convince me otherwise on this specific matter.

"Now." I deliberately changed the subject before she could restart her campaign from a different angle, "I suppose if you already have enough energy to argue, you also have it to train, ready for sit-ups?"

"Hai!" She responded with surprising renewed energy, her pro-Katsumi campaign apparently abandoned.

For now at least. She'd probably try again tomorrow.

Her stubbornness wouldn't allow less. But that was part of her charm I suppose.

We completed our sit-up series then quickly went through the rest of the exercises—we were running out of time—.

By the time we finally finished the complete circuit, the sun was noticeably lower on the western horizon.

"Well, I think we should stop for today," I announced while getting up with a small grunt of effort and shook off adhered grass from my sweaty clothes. "Final jog back to our respective homes. Ready?"

"Completely ready!" Izumi jumped to her feet with energetic enthusiasm she absolutely shouldn't possess after hours of continuous intense physical training.

We started our cooling jog back through the park toward the residential area.

The route we usually took led us through the park's most densely wooded section.

We just had to pass through the stream that crossed the path using an old fallen tree that acted as a natural bridge.

It saved us having to follow the stream to a stone bridge built in the busiest area of the place.

I reached the tree crossing first and crossed without any problem or difficulty.

I jumped cleanly to the other side of the stream and automatically turned around to make sure Izumi followed appropriately without problem.

She reached the tree crossing point barely seconds after me, confidently stepping on the wood like she'd literally done hundreds of times previously.

And then.

CRACK

The sharp sound of rotting wood giving way resonated violently in the relatively silent wooded area.

Time seemed to perceptibly slow down as I watched everything happen in slow motion.

The specific section of the tree directly under Izumi's feet disintegrated. Large fragments of wood flying in multiple directions. Fine dust of completely rotten wood spreading like a cloud.

And Izumi falling.

Arms flailing instinctively but uselessly. Eyes widening with surprise and growing panic.

SPLASH

She impacted the water at an awkward and painful angle.

"Crap!" I cursed aloud while immediately jumping without hesitation into the stream.

The cold water instantly soaked my shoes and pants up to my knees, but it wasn't an impediment to reaching her quickly.

She was sitting in the stream, completely soaked, with her hair stuck to her face and clothes clinging to her body.

She was holding her right ankle with both hands with a clear expression of pain on her normally cheerful face.

Her lips pressed firmly and eyes slightly teary—not crying but close—.

"Are you okay?" I asked urgently while immediately kneeling beside her.

"What exactly hurts? Can you move your foot? Do you feel anything broken?"

"M-my ankle." she responded in a tense voice controlling pain. "It twisted in the wrong direction when I fell. It hurts….it hurts quite a bit Ni-kun."

Inspecting it by sight I noticed how the area was starting to turn purple.

Sprain almost certainly, hopefully just grade two.

"Let me see." I said while carefully extending my hands.

She obediently released her ankle, allowing me complete access.

Trusting me completely to help.

This wasn't the first time we had an accident during training, though it was more normal for it to happen to me, I was the one who tested stupid things I'd seen in other anime to improve my physical condition.

Izumi under my orders could only do such things after I tested them and nothing bad happened.

Just as I was preparing to potentially have to physically carry her all the way to Inko's house for appropriate treatment….

My fingers made direct contact with the exposed skin of her ankle.

And the complete world exploded.

My entire mind was completely bombarded suddenly by pure information.

Massive, overwhelming, completely instantaneous.

Like someone had connected my brain directly to a supercomputer and downloaded a complete medical encyclopedia in a single impossible nanosecond.

My vision doubled strangely.

With my physical eyes I still saw Izumi sitting in front of me in the stream's shallow water. But simultaneously—superimposed over that normal image—another layer of perception activated.

Cells.

I can see every individual cell.

Billions of them. Each one glowing softly with life of its own.

It was as if my vision had done an impossible zoom—traversing skin, penetrating muscles, revealing the internal workings of a complete human body with perfect microscopic clarity—.

Muscle tissue contracting and relaxing rhythmically with each breath she took.

Blood flowing constantly through arteries, veins, capillaries—a complete circulatory system mapped in real time—.

Electrical impulses firing through nerves like miniature lightning under the skin.

Her heart pumping strongly—seventy-two beats per minute, slightly elevated from the fall's scare—.

Everything visible. Everything comprehensible.

The ankle specifically called my attention—standing out as a bright point of damage on the perfect biological map—.

Anterior lateral ligament with micro-tears distributed irregularly through the connective tissue.

Inflammation beginning its natural process—immune cells mobilizing toward the affected area—.

Hematoma forming under the skin—blood accumulating where capillaries had broken from impact—.

Sprain confirmed.

Estimated natural recovery time: two to three weeks with appropriate medical treatment.

But it wasn't just the injured ankle I could perceive with this unnatural clarity.

Her entire body was open before me like a book I could read perfectly.

The ribs showed a minor bruise on the left side.

From the fight with Katsumi a few days ago.

The right knee had a superficial scratch that was already closing.

Four days old.

Mild dehydration present and accumulated muscle fatigue evenly distributed—product of today's continuous intense training—.

Minor Vitamin D deficiency detected—blood levels slightly below ideal range—.

Everything.

Absolutely everything about her current physical condition.

And the most incredibly exciting thing—was that I instinctively knew this wasn't just passive observation—.

I could change it.

Each cell felt like an individual switch I could turn on or off according to my will.

Each tissue like computer code I could rewrite with appropriate commands.

Repair damage. Modify structure. Rebuild from scratch.

Absolute biological control.

"Ni-kun?" Izumi's voice penetrated the information fog, sounding distant and concerned. "Are you okay? You froze completely like a statue…." I barely registered her initial words.

Too overwhelmed processing the tsunami of data still constantly flowing.

Her hand moved, gently touching my shoulder to capture my attention.

I shook my head abruptly, forcing myself out of the informational shock state.

I blinked several times rapidly, reorienting myself to immediate physical reality.

Izumi was staring at me fixedly with those huge green eyes completely full of genuine concern.

Lower lip trembling slightly—not from cold despite the water, but from anxiety about my state —.

"I'm….I'm fine." I finally managed to articulate, though my own voice sounded strange even to my own ears.

Hoarse. Tense. Like I hadn't used it in hours.

How long was I frozen?

Seconds? Minutes?

The information processing felt like eternity but was probably less than a minute.

I shook my head once more—clearing the last fragments of disorientation—and returned my focused attention to her injured ankle.

To all that information still constantly flowing in my expanded perception.

And almost without deliberate conscious thought—pure instinct directing my actions—I mentally sought out the identified damage.

There it is.

Fix it.

Heal it.

Make it perfect again.

I felt something….move inside Izumi's body. Her body's cells responded to my will.

The ligaments began regenerating rapidly—individual collagen fibers realigning with perfect precision, reconnecting in optimal patterns, strengthening beyond their original state—.

The inflammation immediately stopped and began reducing—immune response being gently calmed, inflammatory chemicals being metabolized, excessive fluids draining appropriately back into the lymphatic system—.

And the hematoma instantly faded—accumulated blood being efficiently reabsorbed into the circulatory system, and broken capillaries being completely repaired—.

The entire complete process took seconds.

As if the injury had never existed in the first place.

Why fix just the ankle?

Why not take care of everything while I have access?

My will expanded, systematically encompassing her entire body.

And like her ankle, the small problems in her biology disappeared one by one until leaving her immaculate.

This is perfect, this is—.

I abruptly released her ankle—almost as if it had burned me—my mind spinning at maximum speed.

What the heck was that? What the heck did I just do?

….Was this my Quirk? After four dang years waiting. And it was a healing one.

No, it was much more than that.

Complete biological manipulation.

This is….this is absolutely ridiculous.

Izumi moved tentatively, interrupting my accelerated thoughts.

She stood up with extreme caution in the shallow water, clearly expecting the sharp pain in the ankle she'd been holding with both hands barely moments before.

She put full weight on the supposedly injured foot.

Nothing.

She flexed the ankle experimentally. Pressed her toes against the stream's rocky bed.

Did small test jumps.

Absolutely nothing.

Perfectly normal function as if she'd never been hurt.

Her expression progressively transformed—passing from cautiously hopeful to genuinely confused to completely amazed—.

"Ni-kun." she whispered in a voice full of reverent awe, looking at me with those huge eyes. "My ankle….doesn't hurt at all. Not even a bit. It's like I was never hurt." She crouched down, touching the area that had been visibly swelling before.

Pressing where there should be a dark bruise forming.

Nothing.

Perfectly normal skin. No discoloration. No swelling. No tenderness.

We looked directly into each other's eyes.

Her standing in the middle of the stream, completely soaked from head to toe but apparently completely unharmed.

Me still kneeling in the cold water I'd stopped noticing, processing the massive implications of what I'd just accomplished.

Instant healing, precise biological manipulation, control over bodies at fundamental cellular level and complete perception of biological systems.

This is exactly what I needed.

Exactly what I wanted.

"Your Quirk!" Izumi practically screamed, the realization finally hitting her with the force of revelation. "Ni-kun, it finally awakened! You finally have your Quirk after all this time!" Her voice rose several decibels with pure uncontained emotion.

Probably alerting anyone within a hundred meters of our location.

I didn't care at all.

Euphoria hit me like an emotional tsunami.

Yes.

YES.

FREAKING FINALLY.

The 'something very good' the crossdressing ROB promised.

Four complete years waiting patiently—or not so patiently—.

Absolute biological control in a world where your position is predetermined by what your body can do.

I jumped from the stream in a single explosive movement, water splashing dramatically in all directions.

I didn't even care about getting even more soaked.

I grabbed Izumi firmly by the waist—she screamed surprised—and threw her directly into the air with all my strength.

She ascended easily two meters before gravity claimed its right.

I caught her gently on the descent, laughing like a maniac.

"FINALLY!" I roared toward the darkening sky, not caring remotely who might hear my celebration.

Dang crossdressing ROB son of a gun, you finally delivered something genuinely useful!

Izumi was laughing openly now too, clearly fed and infected by my explosive enthusiasm.

Her own eyes shining with genuine joy for my success.

When I carefully lowered her—making sure not to accidentally hurt her in my euphoria—she immediately hugged me with considerable force.

Though this time, notably, she controlled her strength appropriately not to break my ribs.

Progress.

Finally learning control.

"I'm so incredibly happy for you Ni-kun!" Her voice was slightly muffled against my completely soaked shoulder. "You finally have your own Quirk! And such an absolutely incredible one!" The applications are infinite.

The possibilities are unlimited.

The economic potential is astronomical.

My brain—still operating in overload mode—was already calculating at maximum computational speed.

Projecting future scenarios. Planning monetization strategies. Outlining multiple possibilities.

"Do you know what this means?" I asked while still hugging her firmly.

I could feel her wide smile pressing against my wet shoulder.

"Yes!" She responded with absolute enthusiasm that practically vibrated in her voice. "Of course I know!"

We separated slightly—enough to look directly into each other's eyes—.

Her smiling with pure and uncontainable joy. Me smiling with anticipation of possible futures.

And we spoke, exactly at the same time.

With perfect and involuntary synchronization.

"With this you can be a great hero."

"With this I'll become filthy rich."

The silence that immediately followed was so absolute you could have heard a pin drop.

The birds in nearby trees went quiet.

The stream's water seemed to flow more quietly.

The wind itself stopped.

Izumi blinked once.

Then twice.

Her wide, cheerful smile gradually fading as her brain processed the massive and fundamental discrepancy between our simultaneous declarations.

"…What?" She finally asked in a small, confused voice, her head tilting slightly to one side.

Ah, right, I think I never told the little bean what my objectives were.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO IDIOTS DOING IN THE WATER?"

The high-pitched, aggressive and unmistakably irritated voice cut through the moment like a sharp knife slicing through butter.

Oh, for the love of everything sacred— Seriously? Right now at this specific moment?

Is the universe joking with me?

I slowly turned my head—almost painfully—toward the source of the absolutely inopportune interruption.

Standing casually on the stream's bank as if it belonged to her, hands planted firmly on hips, expression of absolute annoyance and irritation engraved on her face.

Ash-blond hair practically bristling with barely contained aggressive energy.

Intense red eyes narrowed with deep, genuine suspicion.

A wild Katsumi has appeared.

"Well?" She demanded when neither of us immediately responded to her initial question. "Are you going to explain what the heck you're doing or are you just going to stand there like a couple of completely soaked idiots?"

At least she didn't appear while I was healing Izumi.

Something is something, right?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[END OF CHAPTER 1]

Author’s note:

Alright, for those who don’t know—since I mentioned this in the comments and not in an author’s note—I uploaded this new story on QQ because I’m currently on vacation with my family and don’t have my PC with me.

Patreon deletes any edits I make to a chapter if I copy and paste it from a mobile device, and since I don’t have that issue on QQ, I decided to upload the chapter there instead. Most people here on Patreon come from QQ anyway, so they can still read the chapter without problems.

I’ve now managed to get a borrowed laptop at the hotel I’m staying at, and I’m using it to upload this—if you notice any watermarks, please let me know. I’m doing this quickly because I have to return it.

Hopefully, I’ll be back home before I finish Chapter 8 of the other story. As soon as I upload it, I’ll open a poll so you can vote on which of the two stories will be updated next month.

And here are the images of their possible older designs. I still need to upload the ones I made for Katsumi for this chapter, but unlike Izumi’s, I don’t have them on hand, so you’ll have to wait until I get back—yes, I’ve also already made progress on the images for the other story, but I don’t have those with me either.

https://imgbox.com/1Wmzp23Z

https://imgbox.com/BDO88VBS

https://imgbox.com/ok6CCdxL

https://imgbox.com/fFCHePLd

https://imgbox.com/wMCzgjfv

https://imgbox.com/zo6RvAK5

https://imgbox.com/BwYixWAx

Edit: I replaced the images with links—Patreon was having issues with them even though they’re the older versions.