Chapter 1: The Last Thread of the Argument
The blue light of my smartphone screen was the only thing illuminating my face as I trudged down the sidewalk of my unremarkable neighborhood. It was 6:30 PM, the air was cooling, and I was currently losing my mind over a Reddit thread.
"User678, you're delusional," I muttered, my thumbs flying across the glass. "A Tetramand's skin density is literally designed to withstand small-scale orbital re-entry. All Might is fast, sure, but Four Arms is a genetic tank. If they're in a locked room, the pure grappling advantage of four limbs—"
I stepped off the curb, my eyes never leaving the screen. I was a twenty-four-year-old office clerk with a boring job and a cramped apartment, but in the world of online forums, I was a scholar of the fictional and the fantastic. Today's obsession: Ben 10 vs. My Hero Academia.
The sound of screeching tires broke my concentration.
I looked up, squinting against a pair of sudden, blinding headlights. A massive delivery truck was swerving wildly, its horn blaring a desperate, rhythmic warning. The driver's face was a mask of panic as he fought the wheel, but the vehicle was sliding sideways on a patch of spilled oil.
Then I saw him.
A kid. Maybe five or six years old, standing frozen in the middle of the crosswalk. He was clutching a small All Might action figure, his eyes wide with a terror that hadn't even processed into a scream yet.
I didn't think. My brain, usually cluttered with spreadsheets and power-scaling stats, went completely silent.
I sprinted. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I reached the boy just as the shadow of the truck loomed over us. I didn't have time to pull him back, so I did the only thing I could—I shoved him. I put every ounce of my weight into a desperate, two-handed push that sent him tumbling safely onto the far sidewalk.
Then, the world turned into a deafening roar of grinding metal.
The impact didn't feel like pain at first. It felt like being hit by a tidal wave of solid ice. I was tossed like a ragdoll, the asphalt rushing up to meet me with a bone-shattering finality.
I lay there, staring up at the darkening sky. The sound of the truck crashing into a nearby pole echoed in the distance. People were shouting. Someone was crying. I tried to move my hand, but I couldn't even feel my fingers.
The edges of my vision began to fray, turning into a grainy, static black. So this is it, I thought. Dying for a kid. Not a bad way to go. Better than dying over a Reddit comment.
Suddenly, a flicker of light appeared in the center of my failing vision. It wasn't the "white light" people talked about. It was a translucent, emerald-green window.
[CRITICAL DAMAGE DETECTED.]
[USER SOUL STATUS: DEPARTING.]
I blinked, or tried to. Am I... hallucinating?
[ANALYTIC LOG: FINAL COGNITIVE THREADS RECORDED.]
[SUBJECT: CROSS-UNIVERSAL GENETIC COMPARISON (TETRAMAND VS. QUIRK FACTOR).]
[RESULT: COMPATIBILITY FOUND.]
The screen flickered, the green text glowing brighter as the world around me faded into a cold, silent vacuum.
[REINCARNATION PROTOCOL: INITIALIZED.]
[DESTINATION: EARTH-MHA.]
[GIFT GRANTED: THE OMNIMATRIX VERSION 1.0.]
[REASON: DATA-SYNCED TO FINAL INTERESTS.]
The Omnitrix? My mind gripped that word with the last of its strength. You're giving me the watch?
[UPDATING HARDWARE... PREPARING BIOLOGICAL VESSEL...]
[GOODBYE, SUBJECT. ENJOY THE HERO WORLD.]
The green screen shattered into a million sparks, and for the first time in my life, I felt the sensation of being completely, utterly erased.
The next sensation was light.
It wasn't the digital green of the screen; it was the harsh, sterile white of a hospital room. I tried to groan, but my mouth was full of something thick and warm. I took a breath, and my lungs felt like they were expanding for the very first time.
Instead of words, a piercing, high-pitched wail erupted from my throat.
"It's a boy! A healthy, beautiful boy!"
I was being lifted. My vision was a blurry, watery mess. I saw a woman with messy teal hair reaching out for me, her face wet with tears. Her skin was glowing—literally emitting a soft, golden radiance that made my eyes sting.
"Look at him, Hiroshi," she whispered, her voice trembling with love. "Our little Kenji."
A man with thick glasses leaned over her shoulder, his face a blur of joy. "He's perfect."
I stopped crying for a second, my tiny, infant heart thumping. I looked down at my left wrist. It was small, wrinkled, and pink. There was no watch. No metal. Just the soft skin of a newborn.
The screen, I thought, the memories of the truck and the green text feeling like a fading dream. It said the Omnitrix. Where is it?
I tried to reach out, to touch my wrist, but my arms were useless. I was a prisoner in a body that couldn't even hold its own head up.
I'm back, I realized as the woman—my mother—held me against her warm, glowing skin. I'm in the world of heroes. But I'm a baby. I'm just a baby.
I spent the next several months in a state of high-functioning frustration. My "Mother," Emiko, was a human nightlight. My "Father," Hiroshi, was a dork who could "Flash-Step" three inches and usually ended up knocking over a vase. They were kind, they were loving, and they had no idea their son was an adult man waiting for a cosmic weapon to appear on his arm.
By the time I was one year old, the frustration had turned into a tactical game. I learned to crawl early—not the floppy, cute way, but a silent, purposeful prowl.
"Where's Kenji?" my dad would ask, looking around the living room.
I was usually in the kitchen, having used my "toddler invisibility" to conduct a raid on the lower cabinets. I couldn't use the watch yet, so I practiced my logic. I spent an hour one afternoon arranging all of the canned goods in the pantry into a perfect pyramid, sorted by the color of the labels.
When my mom found me, she didn't know whether to be proud or terrified. "Hiroshi! He's doing the 'Genius Thing' again! He's only fourteen months old and he's... he's understanding color theory!"
I just sat there, sucking on my thumb and looking at my bare left wrist.
Two years down, I thought. Two years until the Quirk manifestation deadline. If that screen wasn't a lie... I'm just waiting for the clock to start.