The wind was cold. Not the kind that simply brushed your skin, but the kind that seeped into your bones and made you question whether warmth had ever existed at all. It was the wind of a city's forgotten corner, a back alley cluttered with rusted trash bins, flickering neon lights, and the silent, eternal scent of rotting leftovers and engine oil. The moon above was bright, a distant witness to the broken world below.
He sat under a fire escape stairwell, knees drawn to his chest, his thin frame barely clothed in a stolen hoodie two sizes too big. His bare feet were dirty, bruised, and numb. The transformation earlier had burned through whatever energy he had, both physically and mentally. Now, only fatigue and a gnawing hunger accompanied him.
He stared ahead, not really looking at anything. Just... existing. His mind was quiet now, too exhausted to analyze, to strategize. But the memories lingered, like smoldering embers under ash.
'I killed them. I kill a human being.'
That thought came again, drifting slowly into the forefront of his consciousness. He didn't flinch. He didn't deny it.
'They deserved it.'
That thought followed immediately after.
He pulled the hoodie tighter around him. The warehouse was far behind now. He'd stumbled through alleys, collapsed behind dumpsters, and limped across cracked pavement until his legs gave out.
This was where he stumble.
"So this is my new life... huh," he muttered, voice hoarse and dry. It felt strange. Surreal. Just a day ago—no, he wasn't even sure how long ago it was anymore—he had died. Then he was reborn. Then he killed. And now, he sat like a ghost under a broken stairwell.
He looked at his hand. The same one that crushed a man throat without hesitation. It trembled, not out of guilt, but from exhaustion. The power he used—it wasn't his own. Not originally. It had been given to him. A system. A suit. A purpose, perhaps. But it came at a cost.
"System," he whispered.
A soft chime echoed in his head, and a translucent screen flickered to life in the air before his eyes.
[Kamen Rider Access: Online]
[Suit Available: Kamen Rider Vail – Default Protocol | Kamen Rider Delta – Execution Protocol]
[Mission Status: Undefined. Awaiting Directive.]
He blinked slowly.
"Undefined..." he repeated. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
There was no mission. No guidance. No divine voice telling him what to do. He had power, but no destination.
'Then I'll make my own purpose,' he thought. Unable to form word to preserve what energy he had.
This world might be the world of My Hero Academia, he realized from the people able to manifest their power and this world was not a kind one. The streets weren't guarded by smiling heroes on every corner. There were cracks. Shadows. Places where law never reached. Places like the one he had escaped from.
And there were others—many others—trapped like he had been. Children, adults, Quirkless, mutated. Discarded by society. Sacrificed to the machinery of greed.
His eyes narrowed.
If no one else would stop it, then he would.
But first...
His stomach growled violently.
"...I need food."
He dragged himself to his feet, the ache in his muscles making his every movement sluggish. He could barely keep his eyes open, but his instincts forced him forward. He didn't have the luxury of waiting. Hunger was a sharp motivator.
He scouted the alleyways, sniffing for anything edible. It didn't take long to find a garbage bin with half-eaten buns and discarded food from a convenience store nearby. He hesitated, pride twitching faintly, but survival won out.
He reached in.
"Don't move."
A low voice rang out. Jetsling froze, his hand inches from a crumpled bread roll.
From behind a stack of crates, a boy emerged. Ragged clothes, sharp eyes, probably no older than thirteen. A makeshift knife—a broken piece of metal—was in his hand.
"This is our territory," the boy said. "You take our food, we gut you. That's the rule."
He slowly turned to face him. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just... hungry."
The boy narrowed his eyes. Another shape appeared from the shadows—a girl, smaller, eyes wide and cautious. Her arms were wrapped in cloth, and she looked like she hadn't eaten in days.
"He's not from around here," she whispered.
The boy grip tightened. "That not meant that he doesn't know the rules."
He then exhaled slowly. He could take them both. Even in his condition, if he called the suit, the fight would be over in seconds.
But they weren't enemies.
Just survivors, like him.
He raised both hands slowly, showing no threat. "I'll leave. Keep your food. I'm not here to steal from people worse off than me."
The boy hesitated.
The girl tugged on his sleeve. "Let him have a bite. He looks worse than us."
He lowered his arms and looked away. "I'll find something else."
"Wait."
The girl stepped forward and placed a half-eaten rice ball into his hand. Cold. Hard. But food.
"You'll die out here if you don't eat," she said.
He took it with both hands, nodding deeply. "Thank you."
The boy still looked suspicious but didn't stop her.
He sat by a wall and bit into the rice ball. It was dry and nearly tasteless, but it was the most precious thing he'd received since arriving in this world.
The girl sat beside him. "What's your name?"
He looked up, blinking slowly.
"Jetsling. Jetsling Beroba." The last thing that he able to recall from this body memory. He want to use his own previous name but he do not have registry for this world.
She tilted her head. "Weird name."
He smirked faintly. "Weird world."
She smiled. "I'm Nina. That's my brother, Kazu. We live around here."
Jetsling looked at the boy again. Still glaring, but slightly less hostile.
"Thanks for not gutting me," he said.
Kazu snorted. "Don't thank me. Just don't steal from us again."
Jetsling nodded. "Fair."
Nina leaned closer. "You've got a Quirk?"
He paused. "Something like that."
Kazu stepped forward, crouching now. "You came from the south warehouse district, didn't you? We heard explosions last night."
Jetsling nodded slowly. "I escape from there, manage to save my life by inch when the chaos occur."
"You did that? Alone?" Kazu asked, disbelief in his voice.
Jetsling didn't answer.
Silence fell between them, heavy and uncertain.
But slowly, Kazu sat too.
"...You can stay," he said at last. "For tonight. We move a lot. Cops don't like street kids setting up nests."
Jetsling closed his eyes briefly.
"Thank you."
The night grew colder, but for the first time since waking up in this broken world, he wasn't completely alone.
Somewhere deep inside him, the embers of something ancient and powerful stirred.
He wasn't just surviving.
He was beginning.