I’ve wanted to be a superhero since I was a kid.

Back then, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I didn’t care that idiots in spandex in the real, three-dimensional, gray world were just idiots in spandex.

I did everything I considered superhero-like—pentathlon, running, swinging a sword-like stick, forgive me, parkour, and even sewing. For the latter, I blame Raimi’s "Spider-Man", which led me to secretly ruin several tablecloths and curtains trying to sew a cool costume, never figuring out what I did wrong.

I was just a kid, after all.

As I grew older, that impossible dream matured with me. I tried to take the maximum from the “three-dimensional and gray” world. I worked out seriously, maintained my physical shape, ran marathons, went to survival (and role-playing) camps, skydived and wingsuited, visited shooting ranges, and learned to shoot decently. I even served in the army.

I led a healthy lifestyle.

Sometimes, though, I felt crappy for no apparent reason. Weakness in the mornings. Other more ominous signs appeared too, like sudden pigment spots, though I wasn’t even thirty yet, not some old man.

But… so what? I ignored it. After all, I was young. It couldn’t be serious, right?

I pondered for a long time which martial art to pursue, since movies that were my initial motivators were poor guides. I chose purely pragmatically—Krav Maga. Sure, I couldn’t do a flashy kung-fu spin kick, but who needs that in a dark alley in winter?

I dare hope I achieved some success in this field.

One would think that if a zombie apocalypse, alien invasion, or even a bizarre activation of hidden genes like in "X-Men" happened, I’d be at least somewhat prepared.

I wanted to be ready for something extraordinary. Deep down, I felt there was some destiny for me, some crucial goal I needed to be prepared for.

Something had to happen.

Perhaps that's why I tried to acquire as many useful skills for extreme situations as possible. Not knowing what to be ready for, I prepared for everything: driving, self-defense, high jumps, swimming, first aid, running, shooting...

Perhaps that’s why I didn’t think about career growth, switching over ten jobs in different fields by the time I was thirty.

Perhaps that’s why I barely had any social ties even by the end of my life. And left this world completely alone.

Or maybe not.

In any case, I believed I did almost everything to meet this unknown challenge with dignity—whatever it might be.

And yes, there was a hidden gene, but...

Alas, what I wasn’t prepared for at all was colon cancer.

***

Skipping the prolonged and painful illness... first, I lost my physical shape, then became disabled, and eventually... well, it was clear where it was heading.

And it arrived.

By the end of my life, I was just a half-dead body on a couch. Fortunately or unfortunately—I couldn’t tell anymore—due to the advanced, inoperable stage, I was quickly categorized as a patient with survival chances below the floor. Those who, if they had relatives, were sent home to die.

So I wouldn’t die in a hospital.

Thus, I had access to the internet and a screen. Tired of questions like "Why did I live?" and "What’s the point of all this?", I watched everything I could when I was conscious.

Action movies, disaster films, blockbusters, Marvel, anime... superhero stuff.

I coped with crappy reality by binging unattainable fantasies, like most people do. Like, perhaps, I should have done all along.

The last thing I remember is watching the fifth season of “My Hero Academia.” I liked the first three; the other two were so-so. Or maybe I just couldn’t see clearly because my health worsened, my vision failed, and I kept falling into some sort of abyss...

And then - nothing.

I was in the long-awaited, clichéd... endless darkness.

I realized almost immediately that I had finally died. Nothing hurt. Absolutely nothing. My mind was clear, free from narcotic fog, and I felt light all over—after months of being a bundle of agony and exposed nerves. Even in sleep, the pain never ceased, gnawing at me.

Initially, it wasn’t like that—I just weakened, my body malfunctioned, but there was no pain, and I hoped it would pass. Later, I learned that the intestines have no pain receptors, and when pain arrives, it means invasion, metastases... too late.

In the darkness where I found myself, it was cozy. Warm, quiet, and calm.

"Well," I thought, "if this is the famed 'nothingness,' it’s not the worst option. Especially considering I came here straight from my personal hell."

Incidentally, I couldn’t see myself. Just some vague shadows where my arms and legs should be.

Hmm... I never saw my life flash before my eyes! That’s sad. There were a few moments I’d love to relive. Especially that one with one cute blonde, yeah... so... maybe there’s a way to play those clips here in the darkness? Like a highlight reel?

Maybe a few minutes passed, or maybe an eternity, but at some point, I realized that some flickers were distracting me from thoughts of hacking the biblical system of the universe.

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Not far from “me,” whatever I was in this void, a round source of light began to glow in the darkness, like a ghostly ball of fire.

Green fire.

And then this fireball spoke to me!

I didn’t understand anything. Firstly, the “connection” was breaking up, and his words came from afar, and secondly, this guest, who needed my help, spoke Japanese, which I didn’t know!

Wait.

Seems I know now… moreover, I can somewhat speak it myself!

“Who are you?” I asked, with a non-existent mouth and in pure anime-style.

An alien, perhaps?..

“…and I... You… not yet… but you’ll meet… in the future...” came the reply.

Didn’t make things clearer.

I tried again:

“Did you… summon me here?”

The green fireball seemed agitated, began to expand, and replied sharply, in a raised voice:

“…we… time! We need… help! We can’t… manage… not enough power! And he’s… not a fighter. We… you… Help us!”

The fireball fully grew, becoming more like a blindingly glowing human figure. This spirit extended a hand to me...

“Uh… okay?”

Then there was a blinding white flash.

***

For a brief moment in the flash, I saw the silhouette of my interlocutor, covered in lightning, and even, somehow, my own figure, not black as I thought, but entirely covered in some purple shreds, either fog or fire...

And I was rapidly carried forward by some beam of unknown energy.

Then—darkness and comfort. Again.

One would think that now I could expect a minute or two of rest and peace, maybe even a private lecture from a bearded elder explaining the madness happening.

As you might have guessed, my expectations rarely matched reality.

So I wasn’t too surprised when I was dragged somewhere, followed by excruciating pain. Again.

Only...

Despite the nightmare I lived through before death, that pain was nowhere near This one. It had no specific source, yet it seemed everything hurt—every part of my body, every finger, every hair, every cell. It felt like my head was being crushed, squeezed in a vise, and simultaneously, my body was being twisted and literally torn apart.

Then the darkness turned into blinding light, I jerked, tried to escape the clutches of pain—but to my horror, I realized I couldn’t move. I wanted to at least see my tormentor, show him, even with a glance, how much I hated him—but I saw only blurry spots. I tried to inhale air to scream—but choked on it, and unbearable pain pierced my chest, something gurgled, as if it began to open, unfold...

Yet screaming was still within my power. There was enough air.

So I did.

In retrospect, I don’t know how I endured it. Maybe it was the extensive experience of fighting hellish pain, maybe the underdeveloped, infant nervous system, or maybe the stubbornness with which I faced every gate on my path in my past life.

Anyway... I was born.

Again.

***

Almost a whole year—the first year of the new life—all I could do was think. Well, maybe less than a year, after all, learning to sit and walk is easier if you’ve done it before.

There were many questions. What next? Whom should I help? Is this new world the same as my old one, or different? Who am I? In which family was I born? Was I lucky or not?

Considering that I am now gradually learning the Japanese language (from scratch, since my mystical understanding of it disappeared as suddenly as it appeared), and that the people around me, including my… parents… are all speaking Japanese, and that I have clearly been reincarnated in another body…

No way. Did I end up in an isekai?

But it didn’t seem like a fantasy world, more like familiar modern realities.

And no truck hit me.

I didn’t notice anything magical or superheroic around, which even made me a bit sad.

Except maybe the technologies seemed more advanced than in my previous world: a big robot vacuum, a voice assistant, and holograms in the house—I often saw my mother summoning them on the walls, setting something like a timer.

They didn’t let me watch the news much; my parents rarely watched TV. I briefly saw a newscaster with a dog’s head but decided it was a mask or a cartoon.

I only saw the man—father—two days a week, as I understood, on weekends. The man worked hard, I guess. The woman, mother, took care of me. Really took care: clay, crayons, puzzles, all sorts of constructors, and books I didn’t understand… but for some reason, she wasn’t a fan of going out. And didn’t watch TV, either. Yep.

Of course, she took me out in a stroller, but only within the small courtyard of our house, beyond whose walls the outside world was not visible. Or we drove to almost deserted parks—but the child seat, the damned thing, faced backward, and I saw nothing out the window.

The first months, I only saw colorful spots instead of the surrounding world! And I couldn’t even consciously turn my head, sigh...

Even the books gave no clues—typical children’s books with strange characters, anthropomorphic forces of nature, and humanoid animals, nothing special. I noticed comics with a cool muscular figure on the cover, but my little hands couldn’t get a hold of them.

Hmm… something to read when I grow up.

Of course, I had suspicions, but nothing concrete.

There was enough to think about without that. The amazing fact that my adult, formed consciousness somehow fully recorded onto the “hard drive” of an infant, whose cerebral cortex wasn’t even developed. How was that even possible? Is my consciousness partially in some "astral" plane? Or is this the proverbial soul at work? Magic, Harry? Am I Batman?..

I checked, and yes, it was fully recorded—along with all my memories! I checked simply: for a long time, I literally couldn’t do anything.

It was terrible, really.

And to keep from going insane from boredom, I replayed all sorts of memories in my mind, tried to systematize the knowledge and skills that could help me survive, wondered where fate had thrown me, and thought, thought, thought...

When my anatomy and parents finally allowed me to walk, the first thing I did was get to the window facing the street, clamber onto the windowsill, look out the window… and instantly understood everything.

You see, among the variety of fantastic worlds I got to know in my short past life, there was only one where people with heads resembling, for instance, rectangular blocks of concrete or some creepy version of a glue tube could walk down the sidewalk in broad daylight... creepy...

Quirks. They were real!

I TOTALLY lucked out! Yahoo!

"My Hero Academia"! I remember now!..

Then the joy gradually subsided.

First... it’s just weird. Does reincarnation work on the "last thing you watched" principle? Hard to believe.

Secondly, if I remember correctly, one in five in this world doesn’t have a quirk. So, luck is not guaranteed. Losing the dream a second time, especially in a world where it’s possible and even normal… would be painful.

Although... I carefully examined my body (for signs of a Quirk), particularly the toes, and cheered up again (mood swings, even to the diametrically opposite, in a child’s body are simply monstrous in their speed, outmatching superheroes). My little toes indeed had only two phalanges! I hadn’t even noticed.

However... this rule isn’t absolute, there are exceptions—otherwise, the anime series’ protagonist wouldn’t have made it into the hero school at all. Or it would have raised many questions. Logically, it’s not a reliable sign.

So, I’ll have to wait until the Quirk manifests itself or I get examined by a doctor-diagnostician, like they told Midoriya he had none… Oh… another All Might is unlikely to appear for me…

But what am I saying? The most important thing is that I’m alive!

Even so... if I am lucky... what will I be capable of? Did I reincarnate in this world as "me," as an independent new character? Or did I get inserted into the original story in someone’s place? Or is this not even the "Academia" anime world, but something completely different, unfamiliar to me? Or a parallel universe relative to that series? At this point, everything seems possible…

Well... in any case, to get answers, it’s time to start talking and asking questions to my parents.

Soon I did. Not hiding much, so my parents initially assumed my Quirk was something like high intellect.

Nah, I doubt that’s the case; I’m not a genius like Sasuke, more like a hardworking idiot like Naruto.

But at the same time, I saw little point in hiding my brains. An eloquent toddler probably wouldn’t impress anyone in this world. This insane world, where a bipedal orca superhero or that kid from the Academy who cosplays Darkwing Duck is considered normal.

So...