"Come on, brother Reiji."
The girl's sweet voice echoed softly in the room, filled with that pure, uncontrollable emotion that only small children can express without shame.
"I'm coming, Himiko-chan," Reiji said smoothly, following his sister as she ran across the room.
Himiko, barely three years old, moved with clumsy but determined steps across the soft carpet of the living room. Her light blonde hair, somewhat tousled and tied in a poorly made ponytail that hung to one side, bounced slightly with each movement. She wore a simple cotton dress with animal prints, stained on one edge by apple juice, and in her hands she held a doll that she dragged along without much concern.
"It's your turn to catch her, Reiji!" Himiko said, with a wide smile that revealed several teeth yet to grow and a crystal-clear laugh that seemed to infect the very air. Her hand touched the little boy, and she began to run playfully around the room, with Reiji trying to chase her with a gentle smile. He enjoyed the situation just like a child, even with a mind already formed after reincarnation.
The mother, sitting in a nearby armchair folding small clothes, looked up for a moment and watched the scene with silent tenderness. She appreciated the moment, making sure to store it in her memory with the same affection she felt now.
But in the middle of his run, one of Reiji's feet tripped over the edge of the rug. His body fell forward awkwardly, hitting his knee against the waxed floor peeking out from under the rug. The blow was slight, but a small reddish scratch quickly appeared on his skin.
"Reiji!" Himiko exclaimed, stopping short and turning quickly.
Reiji sat calmly on his heels, observing his own injury without drama. In fact, as the slight burning sensation faded, a subtle change began to take place. The scratch stopped bleeding almost instantly, and within seconds, the edges of the wound closed on their own, leaving only a pale mark on his knee.
"I'm still surprised that my Quirk in this world is the same extraordinary ability that took everything away from me in my original life."
Himiko noticed and her eyes widened in pure amazement, even though it wasn't the first time she had seen it.
"Look! Your wound is gone!" she said excitedly, pointing with her tiny finger and a smile that lit up her whole face.
His mother, still in her place, watched the scene calmly. It wasn't that she didn't care, but rather that she knew how everything would turn out. Reiji had unlocked his Quirk at birth, so she knew perfectly well that nothing serious had happened to him.
"Remember to be careful with the carpet," she said softly as she returned to her task.
"Yes, Mom," he replied, cleaning his wound with his hand.
"Let's keep playing!" said Himiko, taking him by the hand and pulling him along with her boundless energy.
Reiji followed her silently, with a slight smile. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment for what it was: a game, a happy sister, a different life... and a body that, even now, continued to cling to life with a strength he knew all too well.
***
"Gigantomachia! That's right, I have to write that down in my notebook," he thought as his little fingers clutched tightly onto the chewed pencil he always kept next to his notebook. He quickly opened it, flipping through pages full of scribbles, notes, and messy drawings until he found a blank page. He wrote the name in large, poorly formed letters, as if afraid of forgetting it again.
He knew perfectly well that this was not the world he had lived in during his first life, something obvious considering that the special ability he had in his past life was just one of many here. For doctors, it was just a passive Quirk, of the regenerative type. A moderately weak one, even.
After writing down everything he could remember in precise detail, he gently closed the notebook, looking at the title on the cover.
'Events of Boku no Hero'
The irrefutable proof that it was not his world was the presence of a symbol of peace, All Might. A legendary hero from a fictional story he read before all his torture began, the scientist who donated his own son to science, letting him enjoy his childhood before taking him to a life of suffering.
They were fragmented memories of great stories: Naruto, Dragon Ball, Fairy Tail, and many more... Among them, Boku no Hero. It wasn't his favorite, nor the one that excited him the most, but having a regenerative factor in his previous life, he couldn't help but feel reflected, albeit vaguely, in this world and its characters.
Now, all of that was real. The warmth of this house, the aroma of freshly cooked rice, his father's firm but kind voice when he came home from work, and his mother's clumsy but constant hugs when he thought he didn't need them. Himiko asleep in the bed next to him, illuminated by the faint light coming through the window, the same light that allowed him to write in the dark.
"How did all this break?" she thought, watching her sister. The girl who, in the books and on the screens of the past, was destined to cover her hands in blood, to live in the shadows, worshipping death and chaos.
But now, Himiko was just a little girl. A noisy, intense, and clumsy sister who laughed for no reason and cried over silly things. There was still no shadow in her gaze, no spark of darkness in her soul.
"Can I change that?" he wondered silently. He didn't know. He couldn't be so arrogant as to believe that, just by being here, he could save her from the fate he knew. But... he could try. At least that. He could be there for her. He could guide her with his actions.
A memory surfaced from the depths of his consciousness. The last moment with his previous father, just before closing his eyes forever.
"Even if the world doesn't know it, you are a hero to all of humanity..."
His fingers tightened slightly on the cover of the notebook. He didn't know why he had remembered that particular memory. Perhaps because it still hurt. Or maybe because part of him needed to give it new meaning.
A hero—he still wondered if that was really true. Here, in this new world, the meaning of that was completely different. It didn't mean forcing yourself to sacrifice for the good of everyone else. It didn't mean stealing a little boy's innocence just because you had a great quality. It didn't mean that your father, the same man who had given you life, decided for you what you should do with it.
"Maybe I'm not a real hero to my other world. But I can be yours... Right, Himiko-chan?"
It was strange. In his other life, he had never been afraid of dying. Now, he was afraid that she would end up getting lost. That the sparkle in her eyes would fade. That this quiet night would be just another memory, like so many others that slipped through his fingers in his memory.
He clutched the notebook tighter to his chest. He still had no answers. He didn't know what steps to take next, or even if he had the right to decide anything. But that night... that night he swore something silently, without the need for grand words or loud oaths.
As long as she slept peacefully. As long as she continued to smile without staining her hands. As long as she could laugh, scream, cry over meaningless things. He would be there.
Not as a hero to the world.
But as the brother she needed.
To be the same figure he had so desired in his previous life. One who would protect him from the atrocities committed against him every day, without caring if what they did to him was for his own good, without caring if every event that happened to his body was for a greater purpose. That his only mission had been his own well-being... A support that would watch over him for his own good and nothing else.
That is what Reiji swore to be for Himiko, a true hero for the little figure sleeping peacefully beside him.
***
Reiji ate calmly, sitting between his mother and father at the dining room table, while next to him Himiko stirred her rice with the clumsiness of a girl more interested in the voices on the television than in the food in front of her.
"A new attack in the Musutafu area occurred this morning, leaving three civilians injured. Authorities report that the perpetrator was a 16-year-old boy whose Quirk generated uncontrollable sonic waves when he was anxious. According to preliminary reports, the boy was subdued by local heroes and is now in custody for psychiatric evaluation."
The images showed a cordoned-off area, broken glass, ambulances, and a group of minor heroes giving statements to the press. The young man's face was blurred, but Reiji could see the Quirk restraint handcuffs tightening around his arms.
"Another villain..." his father muttered wearily before taking a bite of rice. His mother, on the other side of the table, sighed heavily and nodded slightly.
Reiji slowly swallowed what was in his mouth, his eyes fixed on the screen.
Villain.
A term used as a sentence. He was no longer a troubled young man. He was not a victim of chaos, fear, or his environment. He was a villain.
"Heroes and villains. Black or white. There are no shades of gray, right?" he thought, pressing his fingers against the base of the bowl.
Next to him, Himiko dropped her spoon on the floor with a small metallic clang. She stared at the television with wide eyes. Reiji didn't need to look to know what she was thinking. At that age, things are absorbed like sponges. Labels stick easily.
"Is that boy bad?" the little girl asked in an uncertain voice. Her gaze fixed on the older woman beside her, expectant for her inner doubt to be resolved.
Her mother leaned over and stroked her hair with a forced smile. "We don't know, sweetie. Only that he did something dangerous."
"We don't know. Dangerous. Not bad."
The words resonated with Reiji, knowing what they could provoke in the little girl beside him, who nodded as if she had just understood something new about the world.
He himself could have been influenced by those words, after all, he was only a little over a year old. Even so, his mentality was clearly not on par.
"Himiko-chan," he whispered, turning to her. "Do you think someone who hurts others without meaning to... can become good?"
The girl looked at him confused, not quite understanding.
"If you give them a hug, yes," she replied, and bent down again to retrieve her spoon from the floor.
The innocence of her answer struck him with piercing clarity. That boy... had made a mistake, yes. But that mistake would probably mark him forever. They would isolate him, point fingers at him, and condemn him to live as a monster, not for who he was, but for a moment of weakness.
If only some things could be forgiven with a child's logic, everything would be simpler. But adults tended to dismiss such thoughts as naive, when perhaps it was they who needed to think more carefully before judging.
He did not deny that there were people who were irretrievably lost. Souls corroded by hatred or pain. But... what about those who were condemned for a single mistake? That fall was not entirely their fault. It was also the failure of those who, instead of lending them a hand, turned their backs on them when they needed support the most.
'Small actions are the most important. Ironically, they are also the ones that are most often forgotten.'