Darkness.
Not the gentle darkness of closed eyes before sleep, but an endless void swallowing every sensation. No sound. No weight. No breath. Just awareness, floating in nothingness.
The last thing he remembered was the truck.
The screech of tires. The blinding headlights. The sudden certainty that he wouldn't survive.
And then—
Silence.
So… I died, he thought.
A faint glow appeared ahead, growing brighter until it shaped itself into a seated figure. Its form shimmered like heat over asphalt, edges unstable, impossible to define. Two eyes shone like distant stars, filled with amusement and ancient curiosity.
"So," the figure said lightly, "you've arrived."
His thoughts felt clear. Calm. Surprisingly calm for someone who had just died.
"Am I dead?" he asked.
"Completely," the figure replied cheerfully. "Welcome to the space between endings and beginnings. You may call me ROB."
He didn't question the name. It felt pointless.
"If I'm here," he said, "then I assume reincarnation is next."
ROB tilted their head. "Straightforward. I like that. Very well — you may reincarnate. But first, you get to choose."
"Choose what?"
"Your next world," ROB said. "And a gift to carry into it."
His mind immediately latched onto a single thought.
"The world of My Hero Academia."
The void rippled as if acknowledging the request. ROB's smile widened.
"A world of heroes and villains. A society built on power. An excellent stage."
He didn't hesitate.
"I want power too," he said. "But not a quirk."
ROB's eyes gleamed. "Interesting. Go on."
"I want cursed energy," he said firmly. "The ability to generate and manipulate it fully. And I want an innate cursed technique."
Silence followed. Then ROB laughed softly.
"Ambitious soul. Very well. Choose your technique."
He closed his eyes and imagined the sky bending like cloth. Horizons folding. Attacks curving away. Space itself obeying his will.
"Sky Manipulation," he said. "The ability to treat open space as a tangible surface and distort it."
ROB raised a hand. Symbols flickered through the air like unseen equations.
"A refined and dangerous technique," ROB said. "Granted."
His chest tightened with excitement. But ROB lifted a finger.
"However—no power without growth."
The voice turned absolute.
"You will have high cursed energy reserves from birth. You may train cursed energy manipulation immediately. But your innate technique will awaken only when your body matures enough to manifest it — at age four."
He listened carefully.
"You will receive no teachers. No clan. No secret manuals. You will be born into an ordinary orphanage. If you wish to grow stronger, you must discover everything yourself."
He thought about it.
No instant mastery. No shortcuts. Real effort. Real progression.
A protagonist's path.
"…I accept," he said.
ROB snapped their fingers.
Light devoured the void.
He awoke screaming.
Lungs burned. Tiny hands flailed. A blanket wrapped around his small body. Voices murmured around him as gentle arms lifted him from a crib.
"A healthy one," a woman said softly. "Welcome to the world, little one."
He couldn't speak. Could barely focus his eyes. But his mind remained sharp, memories intact.
A ceiling. Plain white paint. A humming fluorescent lamp. Rows of cribs. A modest building.
An orphanage.
He had arrived.
Hours passed. Feeding. Crying. Rocking. Night eventually came, and moonlight filtered through thin curtains. The world outside was quiet.
He lay awake, staring upward.
No quirk, he thought. Cursed energy instead.
He tried to sense it. Focus inward. Recall the feeling described in Jujutsu texts he'd once read for fun in his old life.
Nothing yet.
Of course. This body was newborn. Weak. Fragile. But cursed energy came from negative emotion, from instinct, from life itself. Once his brain and body developed enough, he would begin.
And at age four…
Sky Manipulation would awaken.
He clenched his tiny fist.
I will train. I will learn. I will master it.
No mentor would guide him. No system would explain itself. He would have to experiment. Observe. Fail. Adapt.
The world of My Hero Academia awaited him — a world where power defined destiny. Heroes rose and fell. Villains reshaped society. Monsters hid in the shadows.
And now, something new had entered it.
A sorcerer without a clan.
A cursed energy user in a quirk-dominated world.
A child with a sky waiting to be folded.
A caretaker peeked into the room, checking on the sleeping infants. She smiled when she saw him quietly staring at the ceiling.
"What a calm baby," she whispered. "Maybe you'll grow into a fine hero one day."
He almost laughed.
Hero? Villain? Neither.
He would walk a different path entirely.
As moonlight painted silver across the orphanage floor, a newborn closed his eyes — not in sleep, but in resolve.
The game had begun.