The rain had not stopped. It drummed softly against the windows, a gentle rhythm that made the room feel cozy. Aoi sat at the small kitchen table, swinging his legs, still in his pajamas. The breakfast smells were familiar - toast, eggs, and something sweet that melted on his tongue. He gobbled the food, the taste and simplicity of the activity grounding his thoughts.
"You must have been hungry," his mother said, smiling warmly. She poured him juice and brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. His father sat opposite him, posture rigid as always, but there was a softness in his eyes Aoi had noticed the day before. He cut into his own toast methodically, then glanced at Aoi. "You've got to chew properly, Aoi. It's bad manners to rush."
Aoi nodded. He chewed slowly, then glanced around. The kitchen wasn't large, but there were small things everywhere: a pencil drawing of a hero on the fridge, magnets shaped like little badges, and on the counter, a small model of a building with a tiny helicopter on top.
He thought about the world he'd woken up in.
His eyes drifted toward his room door, remembering the place he woke up in. Posters lined the walls, some he didn't recognize at first. All Might, of course - larger than life, bright smile, confident stance. There was Mirko in her heroic pose, muscles coiled like springs, and Edgeshot, slicing through a rooftop in a red blur. Their eyes seemed to look right at him.
These are real heroes now. People live like this. People choose this.
It felt strange, but also… natural.
Aoi thought about the idea of a hero. To him, a hero wasn't just someone in a flashy costume with incredible powers. Anyone who saved someone mattered - police officers who rescued people, firefighters who ran toward fire instead of away from it, doctors who worked through exhaustion. Even someone who helped another person emotionally, listened when no one else did, that was heroic too.
And in this society… heroes were a profession. It made sense. Everyone had quirks, and quirks shaped society. If society relied on quirks, then having people whose job it was to protect and assist naturally evolved. He took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully.
Aoi looked at his parents while thinking. His father worked in the materials industry, a quirk user, but not a hero. His quirk could enhance materials just slightly - make a fan spin smoother, make wires conduct better. The improvement wasn't enough to fight villains, and using it drained him quickly. He had never wanted to be a hero.
His mother's quirk was gentler. She stored energy in her body passively and could release it in bursts. Nothing flashy, but useful in daily life.
Aoi took a sip of juice and watched the drops slide down the window.
So if quirks are inherited, maybe mine is…
He wondered.
He remembered bits of stories from this world - the story of Izuku Midoriya, a boy in Class 1-A who would go on and become the greatest hero. Initially he was weak, quirkless and had been constantly bullied by his classmates and most often by his childhood best friend Katsuki Bakugo. That was one person he didn't wish to meet before his character arc.
Useless… what does that even mean?
He thought about Midoriya's classmates. Stretchable eyes. Weird appendages. Quirks that didn't seem practical. But people still bullied him. Like that one kid with stretchy eyes. What are you gonna do with that? Actually… Mineta would have loved it. A small grin formed.
He sighed and looked at his hands.
I wonder what I'll get.
Quietly, he tried something simple. He closed his eyes, just thinking about his parents' quirks, as if he could feel them in himself. He imagined his father's touch: materials improving, just slightly, like smoothing edges of the table. Then his mother's energy, warmth pulsing, waiting to be released.
Nothing happened.
Aoi opened his eyes and stared at his hands. Not yet.
He chewed the last bite of toast slowly, savoring the warmth, the smell, the sound of rain. His mind wandered to the streets outside, to the heroes he had seen in pictures.
He thought of his sister, far away, in that memory.
I did it once. I can do it again, in this world, too.
The rain kept falling, gentle and steady. Aoi Kanzaki set down his cup.
It was a new world. A new life.