Chapter 1: A New Beginning
The first thing I noticed was the cold. Not the kind that tugs at your emotions, but the sharp, biting chill that wraps around your bones like a vice. It felt like I'd been dumped in icy water without warning. My senses flickered to life one by one, like faulty light switches in a storm. And then came the pain.
A deep, throbbing ache pounded through my skull like a drumbeat. My vision was just a swirling mess of colors and shadows, but even through the blur, I knew something was off. Way off.
This wasn't a hospital.
Hell, it didn't look like anywhere I knew.
I was lying in some alleyway.
The concrete was grimy. Trash cans overflowed nearby, and the air reeked of spoiled food, motor oil, and something sour. My gut twisted.
What the hell happened?
I tried to push myself up and immediately froze. My arms—they were too small. My legs felt short, awkward. My hands… they weren't mine. They were the tiny fingers of a child.
Panic gripped me harder than the cold ever could. My breath caught in my throat as the truth started to settle in.
This wasn't my body.
"Hey! Kid!" a voice called out. I turned slowly, vision still swimming. A woman in her thirties was jogging toward me, eyes wide with worry. "Are you alright? What happened? Did a villain do this to you?"
Villain?
Her words echoed weirdly in my head, like they didn't quite fit. She knelt down and pulled out her phone.
"We need to get you to a hospital."
Honestly? That didn't sound like a bad idea. Maybe they could explain why I felt like I was wearing someone else's skin.
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The next few days were a blur—sterile hospital rooms, concerned nurses, and detectives who asked the same questions over and over. No ID. No records. No clues.
When they asked for my name, only one came to mind. I didn't know where it came from—just that it felt right.
"Riku. Riku Akashi."
Saying it felt strange, like trying on a name that wasn't quite yours but somehow still fit.
They ended up placing me in a group home—small, a little run-down, but better than nothing. The kind of place where kids with nowhere else to go tried not to disappear into the background.
I didn't complain. It gave me time to think.
That's when I started noticing the weird stuff.
It wasn't just the bright hero billboards or the fact that the news casually mentioned villains and Pro Heroes like it was normal. No, it was deeper than that.
TV shows talked about "Quirk registrations" and the Hero Commission. Kids on the playground could shoot fire or stretch like rubber. And when I snuck into the older kids' manga stash, I got my confirmation.
All Might.
This world—this world—was My Hero Academia.
And I was living in it.
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Three years passed.
I kept my head down. Blended in. Learned how to act like I belonged.
They enrolled me in a small public school nearby. The kids were loud, curious, and obsessed with showing off their Quirks. Every lunch break turned into a mini battle arena.
Me? I didn't show anything. Not publicly, anyway.
But around age eight, things started to change.
At first, it was subtle. I'd get a strange buzz when someone approached—like I could feel their presence before they made a sound. Then I started picking up emotions—flashes of fear, pride, excitement—all pressing in around me like whispers under my skin.
I knew what it was.
Observation Haki.
Raw. Untrained. But real.
One day, during gym, a kid tried to sneak up and hit me. I moved before he even touched me. Not because I saw him—because I felt him. Deep in my core.
It shook me. And excited me.
That night, I sat cross-legged in my room, eyes shut, focusing on the world beyond the walls. I stretched my senses out—and felt the janitor walking down the hall. Tired. Bored. Barely alert.
I wasn't just sensing people.
I was reading them.
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By ten, I'd set up a little training zone—an abandoned storage room at school. I practiced breathing, awareness, stillness. Trying to refine what I had, inch by inch.
Progress was slow. But it was happening.
Then came the turning point.
Three older kids cornered me after school, looking to shake me down. Something inside me snapped.
A wave of pressure burst out from my body.
They froze.
One kid dropped to his knees, gasping. Another stumbled back in pure panic. The last one? Out cold.
Conqueror's Haki.
I didn't even realize what I'd done at first.
The school chalked it up to a late Quirk manifestation. The nurse said it was probably some kind of fear-based ability.
I played along.
"It's, uh… aura pressure? I can't really control it. Happens when I get scared."
It was enough to avoid further questions.
But I knew the truth. I couldn't let anyone find out what I really was using.
This world wasn't built to understand Haki. And if I wanted to survive—no, thrive—I had to play along.
Let them believe I had a rare sensory Quirk.
Fine by me.
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Now, at eleven, I'm standing at the edge of middle school.
U.A. is still a few years away.
But I've got a plan.
Train in secret. Sharpen what I have. Learn the rules—and how to bend them.
I'm not here to steal anyone's spotlight. Not Midoriya's. Not Bakugo's. I already know how the story's supposed to go.
But maybe I can change it—help it—keep it from falling apart.
And maybe, just maybe, I can carve out a place of my own in this world.
Not with a Quirk.
But with something older. Stronger.
The will to fight.
The will to rise.
The will to change everything.
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End of Chapter 1