They say time heals all wounds.
Well, time can also slap you in the face with a cold, hard reality check. A week had passed since I woke up as Izuku Midoriya and let me tell you—it's been a rollercoaster of emotions, existential crises, and the occasional urge to scream into the void.
But weirdly enough? I was okay.
The first few days were rough. My mind felt like a browser with too many tabs open, half of them crashing while the other half played unwanted pop-up ads. Memories of my past life clashed violently with the reality of my current one. I'd remember things that never happened here—old friends, old habits, even my go-to coffee order (RIP, overpriced lattes). At the same time, Izuku's past weighed on me like an overstuffed backpack, full of rejection, pain, and a dream that had been crushed before it even had a chance to fly.
But after a while, I concluded: There was no point fighting it.
I was Izuku Midoriya now. Nathan Carter? He was part of me, sure, but I wasn't him anymore. It was weird. Like getting an update to your personality with bonus DLC memories.
So, I stopped resisting and accepted it. Merged the two parts together like a scuffed fusion dance.
And honestly? I think it made me stronger.
For the first time in my new life, I was not just a kid hoping for something impossible. I wasn't just some guy stuck in the wrong body. I was someone with a goal and the knowledge to back it up.
I wasn't going to be Quirk-less and helpless. No way. I had an entire anime's worth of foresight and enough determination to make shonen protagonists jealous. If society was going to treat me like I was invisible, then fine—I'd use it to my advantage.
I also was not going to blindly follow the ideals of the world's number one hero. All Might was an icon, sure, but he had flaws—massive ones. His refusal to kill, his reliance on his image, his inability to handle threats efficiently. I admired his strength, but his ideology. That needed work. Sometimes, to protect the innocent, you had to be willing to eliminate a threat before it could escalate.
And I'd make sure I was ready to do just that.
It was time to grind.
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Mom definitely noticed the change in me.
I mean, how could she not? I was quieter, more focused. Less 'crying my eyes out about being Quirk-less' and more 'plotting my character development arc.'
At first, she was worried. I could see it in her eyes when she'd watch me. It wasn't the usual pity she had for Izuku in the anime—it was deeper than that. More confused. More cautious. Like she could tell something was different but couldn't put her finger on it.
One evening, she finally sat me down.
"Izuku, sweetheart," she began gently, placing a cup of tea in front of me. "You've been… different lately."
I tilted my head. "Different how?"
"You're not as… expressive as before. You used to wear your heart on your sleeve, but now… it's like you're thinking more, but saying less."
Well. She wasn't wrong.
"I guess I just have a lot on my mind," I admitted, sipping my tea. "I've been thinking about the future."
She blinked. "The future?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I know I don't have a Quirk, but I still want to be a hero. And I know that's not exactly… easy. So, I've been trying to figure out how to make it work."
Mom looked at me for a long moment before sighing softly. "You're so much like your father sometimes, it's scary."
I raised an eyebrow. "Dad?"
"Yeah," she chuckled, shaking her head. "He was always so stubborn. Once he set his mind on something, nothing could change it. You have that same look in your eyes."
I didn't really know what to say to that, so I just sipped my tea again.
She smiled fondly, then suddenly smirked. "Although, I have to say… your sense of humour has improved. You used to be such a serious little thing."
I blinked. "I—what?"
"You make jokes now! Real ones! And they're actually funny!" She gasped dramatically. "My son is developing comedic timing! What is this sorcery?"
I groaned, hiding my face behind my hands. "Mom, please."
She laughed, ruffling my hair, and for a moment, it was just… nice. Normal.
But I knew normal wouldn't last forever.
Because soon, I was about to face my greatest challenge yet.
Kindergarten.
Look. I knew school would be rough. I wasn't delusional enough to think that my past-life experience would give me an automatic edge in social situations.
But I did not expect the level of isolation I experienced.
It started off subtle. The kids didn't outright bully me (yet), but there was a clear divide between Quirk-less kids and Quirk users. The second a kid showed off even the tiniest ability—glowing fingers, floating objects, a tail—they were automatically part of the 'cool group.'
Meanwhile, Quirk-less kids like me? We were background characters in our own classroom.
And it wasn't just us.
Mutation-type Quirk users—the ones who looked visibly different—were also treated weirdly. A girl with rabbit ears? Kids avoided her like she had a disease. A boy with scales instead of skin? Barely anyone spoke to him. It was like the unspoken rule of the playground: if you weren't 'normal' looking or Quirked-up, you were an outcast.
And that pissed me off.
Because sure, I expected kids to be a little cruel—they were kids. But seeing how deep-rooted the discrimination was? That was something else entirely.
I wasn't the type to start a revolution in the sandbox, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let the kid with bunny ears cry alone.
So, I did what any logical person would do.
I sat next to her during recess and started talking about anime.
Turns out? She was a fellow weeb. We bonded over our mutual love for giant robots and magical girls.
Take that, playground hierarchy.
----------------------------------------------------------A week passed, and I got used to the routine of being ignored. It didn't bother me as much as it would have before. If anything, it just solidified my drive to prove everyone wrong.
But even heroes need a break sometimes.
So, when Mom came to pick me up that afternoon and asked, "Where do you want to go now, sweetie?" I had only one answer.
"The bookstore."
Her eyebrows rose. "The bookstore?"
I nodded. "I want to find books about being a hero. Strategies, training guides… stuff like that."
She looked surprised for a moment but then smiled. "Alright, bookstore it is."
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The bookstore smelled like old paper and ink - it was calm, quiet, nothing like the flashy, loud world outside. The bell jingled softly as Mom and I stepped in, and I immediately started scanning the shelves. No hero biographies, no comic books. I went straight to the practical section.
Fitness. Strategy. Psychology. Combat fundamentals.
I was five, but I wasn't stupid. I knew there was no magical shortcut to getting stronger. If I wanted to be a hero without a Quirk, I needed to work harder and smarter than anyone else.
Mom watched curiously as I pulled out books far beyond my age range. She didn't stop me, though. She thought it was a phase. She just didn't have the heart to tell me no.
"Quite the selection for a little guy."
I turned to see the bookstore owner—an older man, grey-haired, sharp-eyed. He looked at my books, then at me, as if trying to figure something out. "You sure you don't want a superhero comic instead?"
I shook my head. "I want to learn."
His expression shifted, interest sparking behind his tired eyes. "That so? What's got you so eager?"
I hesitated. I'd had this conversation before, and I already knew the reaction I'd get. Still, I answered honestly. "I want to be a hero."
He raised an eyebrow. "And your Quirk?"
I swallowed. "I don't have one."
No pity. No awkward apology. Just a slow nod. "Then you're gonna need to be smart. The world's not kind to guys like us."
Something about the way he said it made me pause. He was not just some guy running a bookstore—he understood. "You're Quirk-less too?" I asked.
"Born that way, stayed that way." He leaned against the counter. "You know, people love Quirks. But only the 'cool' ones. The moment someone is born looking different, or with a Quirk that isn't useful. People start whispering. You think it's just kids? It is their parents too."
I thought of the girl with bunny ears. The boy with scales. The way the world had already decided who mattered and who didn't.
"That's stupid," I muttered.
He smirked. "Welcome to reality, kid."
I clenched my fists. The world was not fair. I knew that. But unfair did not mean unchangeable. If people wanted to ignore the Quirk-less, if they wanted to treat the 'different' as less, then fine.
I would make them see us.
The old man watched me for a moment, then tapped one of the books in my pile. "This one has a good section on situational awareness. Most people focus too much on power and forget the basics."
I nodded, absorbing every word. "Thanks."
He grunted, handing it back. "Just don't waste your time trying to be someone you are not. Power is not everything. Strength without strategy is just reckless."
I thought about that all the way home.
----------------------------------------------------------That night, I lay in bed staring at my All Might posters. I still admired him. He was the pinnacle of heroism—the symbol of peace. But the more I thought about it, the more I saw the flaws in his ideology.
All Might never killed.
He always found another way. But in reality? Not every villain could be captured. Some threats didn't stop until they were put down.
Would I be willing to go that far?
I wasn't sure yet. But I knew this: if eliminating a threat meant saving more lives, then wasn't that the right choice?
I wasn't planning to become some ruthless executioner. But I wasn't going to be naive, either. Heroes were meant to protect people, not just defeat villains. If that meant making the hard calls… then I'd be the one to make them.
----------------------------------------------------------The next morning, my 'training' officially started.
Not strength training—I was too young for that. But I could work on flexibility, balance, reaction speed. I mimicked martial arts moves from videos, practiced dodging thrown pillows, and stretched until my muscles burned.
I tried a spinning kick.
I landed face-first into the couch.
Mom walked in at the worst possible moment. "Sweetie… are you fighting imaginary villains?"
I groaned into the cushion. "Yes. And I lost."
She barely held back a laugh. "Well, I'm sure you'll win next time."
I sat up, rubbing my face. "I need a real training plan."
Mom sighed, hands on her hips. "Izuku, you're five."
"And?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose, but I could see the small smile she was trying to hide. "Just… don't break anything, okay?"
I grinned. "No promises."
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Every night, I trained. Every day, I watched and learned. My body was weak, but my mind was sharp. And the more I trained, the clearer my goal became.
If the world said I couldn't be a hero, then I'd prove them wrong.
Not just for me.
For everyone the world left behind.
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
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Phew, it was hard to write.The structuring was difficult in this chapter but somehow, I wrote it. You can also tell me few need any refinement in this chapter and also if you need anything or anymore details and all in this story. Also, if you want to discuss about the stories you can just comment in the post and we will interact out there. Anyways peace out.