To say Jin's mood was bad was an understatement. "A decade," his voice cracking as it echoed against the crumbling walls. "I spent a whole fucking decade!" His voice tore through the air like a storm.
His teeth sank into his lower lip, blood spilling over, but he didn't care—he barely noticed. His fists clenched so hard on the blue railing they began to get white. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, unbidden, burning with the rage. His forehead looked down the street as the world kept moving, a fury surged through his veins threatening to burn everything, before his eyes gained clarity.
Deku stood frozen beside him, sitting on the ground silence stretching painfully between them. He wanted to speak—say something, **anything**—but the words wouldn't come. His mind was numb, drowning in the weight of All Might's voice still echoing relentlessly in his head. "Sorry kid, but you can be something else." The memory stabbed at him over and over, relentless and unforgiving.
Tears streamed down his face, soaking into his shirt as he buried his face in his chest, shoulders shaking. Sobs wracked his body, but he stayed silent.
The bitter taste of regret filled his throat. He wished—God, he wished—he had never met All Might, never asked that question, never known the crushing weight of being ordinary in a world that demanded greatness.
He wished he was something more.
More than quirkless
"J-Jin, d-do yo-you thi-think . . . w-we can . . . be heroes?" each word cracking like glass. His throat felt raw, as if every word he forced out scraped against his insides.
Jin's arms quivered from the fury he barely contained as he clung to the metal railing, his knuckles white. he spun toward him, eyes wild, his chest heaving. "We will! WE FUCKING WILL!" he roared, the words wavered with the weight of tears.
Jin never cried—not the onehe knew—but now, his face was a mess of snot and tears, streaks of saltwater cutting through his cheeks. His mouth twisted into an ugly, broken grin, as if he was trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep from crumbling completely.
Deku's heart stuttered at the sight. He didn't know if it was hope or fear, but it made his chest ache.
Jin's horrible smile, full of pain and defiance, made him force one of his own "Th-then we . . . we'll be the first quirkless heroes," he whispered.
"YOU BET!" Jin's hand slammed down on the railing with a dull thud, the sound cutting through the air.
And then—everything shifted. Time seemed to lurch as if the world was dragging itself through thick, heavy syrup.
Jin's vision blurred, and suddenly, he wasn't sure what was real, hair fluttered as the wind rushed past him, faster now. 'The sky . . . why was he seeing the sky?' The thought was slow, fragmented, as his eyes trailed toward the railing—no longer beneath his hand. His mind scrambled to catch up with reality, but it was already slipping through his fingers.
"JINNNN!" Deku's scream tore through the thick air, raw and desperate. His feet moved before his brain could process it, his legs shaking, propelling him toward the edge. But it was too late. He watched in horror as Jin's hand slipped, his body tipping backwards, descending like a pebble.
"No! NOOO!" The word erupted from his throat, a violent, animalistic cry. His outstretched hand reached for nothing, grasping at the empty air as Jin fell. Time bent, stretching the moments, but it did nothing to close the gap between them.
An animalistic roar rang from the building as something hit the ground and the time stopped.
It stopped for Deku, who gripped the cold railing—the panicked shouts of people on the sidewalks, the screeching tyres of drivers who slammed on their brakes, wide-eyed in terror at the figure that had suddenly appeared in front of them.
It stopped for everyone but Jin. . . or what was left of him.
"Guess there is no 2nd time" The thought whispered through the void. He tried to move, to feel, but his limbs were weightless, his form flickering like smoke caught in a faint breeze. His hand—if it could still be called a hand—was ethereal, translucent, as though made of mist. "Is this my soul?"
His mind spun as he glanced around, but all he saw was a vast, empty space. The darkness stretched forever, dotted with stars—endless, unfeeling, some burning blue, others pulsing red.
He floated, adrift, without time or meaning. Seconds stretched into what could've been eons. His thoughts dulled. His sense of self began to dissolve, merging with the quiet, cold expanse.
And then, from the abyss, something stirred.
A deep crimson hand, reached out. Stars glittered within its form, shimmering as if entire galaxies twinkled in its flesh. It stretched toward him, slow, deliberate.
"Body. . . or soul" it questioned
Jin's form shuddered, instinct screaming at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. His fingers, ghostly and trembling, reached out. He grasped the hand.
SWOOSH!
Suddenly, he felt, he talked, moved, he listened to the being but at the same time he didn't. . . . It was like a fever dream—a disorienting, memory thrown into his mind or rather the shallow memories he tried to forget.
The snow was the first thing his eyes ever met. Not the sterile white of a hospital room, but the wild, endless snow stretching beyond the horizon. He was born in a crumbling wooden house, worn by time and weather, in a town so small it might as well have been forgotten—just a few hundred souls, living in the isolation of that frozen wasteland.
Even though their family was poor but they were happy until things began to change from loud arguments to fights, he never had the luxury of school for the addiction of his father was a costly one, the evil reaches far and beyond even in this desolate snowfall.
Then came the day when was sold, sold away for the man had nothing to pay.
The memories blurred into a haze of faces and places—one town after another, across cities and seas, never staying long enough to leave an imprint. His mother's face became a distant dream, her voice drowned in the howling winds of his endless journey. He never saw her again.
The boy screamed hoping for someone to save him, someone to end his pain, the heroes of manga and comic never arrived, the pain subdued, the skin patched leaving scars in their wake, the poison mixed well in his blood, and Jin became. . .grey.
The hands of fate were never kind to him—his own rough as steel.
The weight of a knife, the cold metal of a gun—they fit into his hands as naturally as breathing. His world was one of blood and steel.
Hands of steel, guns knives they wields, they stole they kill. . . until one day they were to abduct one like him. . . sold for his father didn't have anything more to lose.
The man behind mocked him mocked for he knew they trained their dogs well, to obey and to die, their minds bend to their wimps.
The man taunted him again, but Jin didn't hear it. Something inside him cracked, deeper than he had ever let himself feel.
"It's fine... for I am here," Jin whispered, echoing the words of a hero he'd long forgotten. His smile was gentle as he looked at the boy, the hands of steel broke. . .the cracks only to be filled by blood.
And then the man behind him began to choke on his blood.
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He came. . . he saw, he killed.
River of blood flew under his boots, lake formed in his hands yet the cracks only healed when he lay bloodied and dead.
Grey crimson - Confirmed victims - 9 thousand 9 hundred Ninety-nine.
Schemes can only go for so long—a fragile game against fate, unravelling with each passing moment. In the end, a human isn't faster than a bullet, nor stronger than steel. No plan, no cunning, could escape that truth.
The screen flickered, casting a pale glow across his face, displaying moments from his new life—where speed outpaced bullets and impossibilities bent to human will. Yet, his power remained elusive, slipping further from his grasp with each passing day.
Anxiety gnawed at him, though a fragile sense of comfort lingered—family. But even that sanctuary began to crumble when his father walked away, leaving nothing but their debt behind.
Desperation set in. He wrote stories, painted canvases, anything to keep the darkness of his past at bay. The scar of that old life still ached, a constant reminder of the chains he once wore.
He remembered someone telling him: "What's there to worry about the future, when you can plan for what's to come. . .or savour it, for it has yet to come."
That thought sparked something. A small plan. A gathering of like-minded souls who dreamed of a world. . . a new world, for society, whether ruled by bullets or quirks, never changed. Pain, he realized, is universal.
The bias was always there, now it has taken another form, isolated shunned and beaten by society and its norms.
Pillars of power always crumble, but what if he built something unshakable? That idea flickered before his eyes—an ambition hidden in kindness. What began as a helping hand soon transformed. Children's fight turned into something deeper, the helping hand more benevolent than any other, hands rose in support. Before anyone could know, a weed far more potent began to grow.
A faint, imaginary smile tugged at his astral face. These weren't just memories anymore; they were echoes of the world he had shaped, his influence stretching far and wide, sprouting where other hardly cared to look, like wings casting a shadow over all. Birds of a feather flocked to him, their silent loyalty unwavering.
But it wasn't all, a message. . from a distant world. . . a warning for what's about to come, flashing thousands of images of different him in different worlds striving, dying thriving in different world stories and something new.
"I do not have much time but know that there can only be 2 in the situation you are in, the one who wasted the highest potential and the one who claimed it, all other are variant. . .only 1 will survive, I know this doesn't make sense but the only way to survive is to change fate and not die trying, we have already created the highest chances for you. . . you want to save children right? there are children facing far worse fate than yours. . .millions. . . so live for them, if you can't for yourself." the voice faded away.
He looked toward the giant crimson beings with millions of stars and few galaxies inside him, their difference akin to a child adult, the hand transferred him a yellow star.
His grey, spectral form began to solidify, muscles and skin knitting together taking a much human form than before, the golden star flickered to life in his chest, burning brightly.
he looked toward what he would assume the being's eye. "The soul seems a fools choice so. . .how many alongside me chose it"
The being's grin widened, a sickening stretch that tore across its face. It began to laugh, a soundless, racking motion that shook its body as it clutched its stomach.
"Only 17,000"
"Soul it is then."
The yellow star dimmed merging with him, making his figure glow a little yellowish, his body flying through a new world.
The monster hunter world.
All the monster that were or ever to exist flying through his mind, their smell, their hunger, their habits their. . .soul flowing right through him, melting into his own.
"Good luck kid. . . for the fate will be cruel to you."
his vision goes blank before his eyes shows 2 palicoes looking at him but that was the story of another time But that wasn't what Alfred saw. to him time itself seemed to freeze, holding everything in the screen at it's place.
He watched Jin fall, but the moment fractured—shattering and rewinding before his eyes. Time snapped backward.
"What the hell. . . what kind of quirk is this?" His composed expression cracked, all elegance vanishing from his face.
''HAHAHAH' deep, mocking laughter echoed in his mind.
"You don't understand, human. this isn't a quirk, it's power far beyond that. . .power of chosen one."
Alfred's face hardened, unreadable, as countless theories fought for dominance in his mind. Was this real? An illusion? Something beyond Quirks? None of it fit. His voice was low, almost to himself.
"For all i know this can be illusion. . .but this is different than the taste of bogeyman
'FAIR POINT, HUMAN.'
Jin's body flung backwards, the splattered blood and brain matter reforming in his head, lifted as if by invisible hands. The city rewound around him in an eerie dance—cars reversing in the streets, people moving backwards like film played in reverse. Even his own words with Deku distorted, their conversation unravelling in strange reverse tones.
All Might had retreated back to the rooftop, showing his wounds as he walked backwards in time. The world kept winding further and further back, racing through their encounter with the slime monster until everything snapped to a stop. They were back on the beach, just before they were about to return the car.
Jin's breath hitched. His gaze flicked to Deku, scribbling eagerly in his notebook, oblivious to the storm jin was caught in.
A small smile curled on his lips.
The entity had given him a choice, limited as it was. He could rewind time. . . but only by 24 hours.
A choice, but not a free one.
He looked out over the waves, feeling the weight of his past pressing in. Deep down, the memory of his previous life gnawed at him. The misery, the isolation. . . A path he was destined to walk again, no matter how much he wished otherwise. A chuckle escaped him.
'But this time. . . I have allies.' His gaze softened, watching Deku furiously jotting notes with an intensity that made his heart lighten. 'And power to go beyond'
He clenched his fist, feeling the raw energy ripple through him, the fate as said was cruel to him.
Had he chosen the body, capable of becoming any monster, any form he desired, but the cost? He could easily be one of the 10s of thousands—dying from the overwhelming agony, losing his sense of self. . and not to forget it's easier to race with 17000 variant rather than 23 billion.
'I do not know what makes me different if we are the variants of same person. . .all I can do is try
He shook the thought away, eyes narrowing. Not this time. 'Trying isn't enough. . .i have to do it.'
"The soul's a mysterious thing, kid... 'specially yours. That entity... I don't know what it wants with ya, but. . . somethin' ain't right. Somethin's _wrong_. This. . . this ain't how the soul of a fated human's supposed to work."
"Not the way you bond with these beasts without losin' yourself... but worse... the way you transfer... that's what chills my bones." He leans in, his eyes narrowing. _"Far more terrifyin' than yer imaginin'."_
"Yer path. . .it's shatterin' every fate I've ever known. . .every thread I've seen. . .Who _are_ you, child?" he still is doesn't understand what the crimson being did to him or whatever the fate is but he has a feeling if he can change the destiny without getting himself killed he might find out.
Yes, it was a fool's errand, but what can you even do when destiny starts to break?
"Deku, remember what I said about being heroes. . .I truly believe you will be great. . .with or without a quirk" Jin called out softly, voice weighed down by the inevitability of the moment.
"Hmm?" Deku hummed in reply, not looking up, his messy green hair swaying as he scribbled furiously in his notebook, engrossed in analyzing the battle he'd just witnessed. Each note, each observation was a small attempt to control the chaos of the world around him.
"Leave first. . .I have some things to do"
Deku paused, lifting his head with a confused expression. His wide eyes reflected a mix of innocence and naivety, as though the plan they had shared only moments ago had shifted without his understanding.
"Aren't we supposed to go together?"
Jin waved a hand, almost dismissive but not without a lingering reluctance. "Work. Food doesn't walk to the table itself."
"Which way are you taking though?" The question slipped out, hesitantly, a fragile thread crumbling faster than Jin could grasp.
"The regular? You know, below the tunnel," Deku said, now changing back into his regular clothes. His hair, once slicked for disguise, sprang free, back to its unruly state.
"Ah-should I leave these here?" Deku held up the clothes—the ones that belonged to Jin, an awkward yet poignant reminder of the strange partnership they shared.
Jin glanced at his watch. 3:47 PM. Time felt like it was slipping faster with every passing second.
"Sure, hurry up. Make sure no one sees you either, aunt Inko will kill me for sure" his gaze flicked toward Deku, lingering for a beat longer memorizing the moment as though it might be the last.
"Heheh she sure will" Deku chirped lightly as he folded the clothes properly before leaving.
Deku stumbled out of the car, the clumsy energy that defined him so well making Jin's chest tighten. The kid was too pure for the dirt they waded through, too bright for the shadows that clung to their steps. Deku looked back, his smile wide and genuine, a beacon against the dull, gray afternoon.
"T-THANKS JIN! LET'S DO IT AGAIN SOMETIME!" His voice carried through the quiet street, loud and hopeful, as though the world hadn't already tried to break him.
Jin forced a smile, his hand lifting in a half-hearted wave. "DON'T GET YOUR HOPES HIGH, KID!" The words echoed more like a plea than a warning. His eyes followed Deku, watching him vanish into the maze of buildings, swallowed by the city's shadows.
'Even if the chances are small, I can't give up. Maybe, just maybe, he will inherit it solving most of my troubles.'
But the warning that had haunted him since the beginning weighed heavy on his mind. "The fate will be cruel to you.
The car felt colder, and emptier. The street, a quiet expanse of concrete, became an ocean of uncertainty as Jin rested his hands on the wheel. His breath hitched for a moment before he exhaled sharply. "It would be bad if a hero student is found with a criminal, would it not our dear fate master?" he tried to fake a smile.
A familiar gruff voice rumbled in his mind. "Hmph! As if takin' the soul route wasn't bad enough... now ya gotta throw this madness on top of it? Bah! spare me a kid!" The old palico's tone was as cynical as ever, a dark echo of Jin's own fears.
His daughter ever opposite of him "Meow-ster Father, give the kitten a break, nya! He's doing the best he can, Neow!" Her sweet encouragement brought a sad smile to his face.
Jin's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the leather creaking under the pressure. "
Jin started the car, the engine growling to life, but his thoughts remained tangled in the uncertainty of what lay ahead. He drove forward, but the road stretched endlessly, as though no matter how far he went, the shadows would follow.
The reply comes instantly as if waiting eagerly "WHAT! DIDN'T YOU SAID THERE WAS STILL A MONTH OR SO? WHAT ABOUT OUR PROJECT THEN!" jin could already hear the angry shouts of his friend.
Before he stopped at a desolate street devoid of any activity, he pulled out the two phones wrapped in transparent film. The sunlight glinted off the plastic, casting small reflections.
He glanced at the screens, the wallpapers showcasing the bright smiles of kid their phones mile apart from their actual owners.
His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the messages, revealing the profile of a white-haired kid with striking teal eyes—eyes that sparkled determination. There had been multiple exchanges between the phones each one a revealing the mundane teenage talks.
Taking a deep breath, he began to type, acutely aware of the weight of his words. He knew exactly how the recipient would react.
"Yoo the test is coming up, my peps have me grounded, so don't expect me for a month or two tell the other folks in my stead."
The reply came instantly as if the other side had been holding their breath, waiting for this very moment. "WHAT! DIDN'T YOU SAID THERE WAS STILL A MONTH OR SO? WHAT ABOUT OUR PROJECT THEN!"
He could almost hear the frustrated shouts leap off the screen, vibrant and full of life, resonating in his mind as he pictured his friend smashing the library desk, hands thrown in the air.
A small smile tugged at his lips despite the heaviness in his heart, a fleeting reminder of the bond they shared—a bond that felt both close and painfully distant.
"Until then Todoroki."