I blinked. That's all I did. Just a single blink—and the world changed completely.
I remember the moment clearly. I was crossing the street after school, thinking about what to have for dinner. My backpack hung loosely over one shoulder, and the pedestrian light was still green. No cars in sight. Just the warm breeze of summer.
And then I blinked.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't there anymore.
The sky was a different color. The breeze smelled unfamiliar.The first thing I noticed was the angle—I was seeing the world from lower down, like everything had grown huge around me.Then I looked at my hands. Small. Round. Soft.
A mirror—or maybe just a glass door with a reflection. I stumbled toward it, legs shaky like I was learning to walk. I looked at myself. A child. Four years old, maybe. Big eyes, messy dark hair. It was me… but not me.
"Riku, what are you doing just standing there?"The voice came from behind. In Japanese.
My body froze. I understood it. Of course I did—but not like a native. It was basic Japanese, the kind I'd picked up from years of obsessing over anime. Enough to follow a show without subtitles… not enough to hold a real conversation.
I turned around slowly.A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing an office suit and her hair tied up. One hand held a grocery bag, the other her phone. She looked at me with a mix of exhaustion and gentle concern.
"Did you have another nightmare? Come on, get inside. Dinner's getting cold."
I went in. Almost on autopilot.The wooden floor creaked under my feet. The smell was familiar: rice, instant soup, and some kind of fish. I sat where she pointed, still too stunned to speak.
I didn't know where I was.But two things were clear: I was a Japanese child now.And someone thought I was her son.
The next few days were… strange.I tried to act natural. I nodded when people spoke to me, pretended to remember things I clearly didn't, and explored the house when no one was watching.It was obvious I wasn't going to wake up from this. I wasn't dreaming.
And my parents in this world...
Is there anything worth saying about them? I guess so.
They're not bad people. In their own way, I think they care about me.Sometimes they say "I love you," but it sounds more like habit than real affection.Day to day, though… I'm completely alone.
They leave meals ready for me, the TV turned on, and little notes with doodles or phrases like "eat it all" or "be good."They come home late from work, tired, too drained to ask how I'm doing.
Sometimes I wonder if they even sleep together. Seriously—no signs at all.It's a miracle I was even born.
To be completely honest… they lucked out that I came with memories and a stable childhood.Because if they'd raised me from scratch—alone, without warmth—I'd probably be pretty messed up by now.
But I couldn't dwell on that forever.
There were more important things to figure out.Like understanding what kind of world I'd ended up in.
And then… the TV.
I turned it on one afternoon.There were cartoons. Commercials. Everything seemed normal—until I saw a street interview.A female reporter was talking to a man whose entire face was covered in scales.Standing next to him was a woman… with a literal bird head.She smiled at the camera like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I nearly dropped the remote.
They weren't wearing costumes. They moved, blinked, talked like it was nothing out of the ordinary.
"What the hell…?" I muttered under my breath.
Changing the channel didn't help.There were more. On another show, a man with multiple arms was cooking live. In another, a group of kids with wings were playing in a park.
I was in a world full of mutants.Was this… X-Men? Marvel? Some new world entirely?
No… no, something wasn't quite right.Until I saw it.
On a news segment, a towering figure appeared.Blonde hair. Radiant smile. Muscles like something out of a comic book.
"Because I am… All Might!"
The voice. The pose. The background.It was him. It was All Might. The Symbol of Peace.
I dropped the remote. Sank into the couch.I could feel my blood pounding in my temples.
I'm in My Hero Academia.
It took me hours to accept it.In the days that followed, I confirmed it—through the news, names, events. Everything matched.I had been reincarnated into the MHA universe.
But… why?How?For what purpose?
In isekai stories, there's always a reason. The protagonist dies or is summoned. They arrive with an overpowered ability, a system, a mission.
But me?I didn't even remember dying.
Just a blink. Nothing more.
Since then, every night before going to sleep, I repeated the same words:
"System, activate.""Status, show.""Inventory, open."
Nothing. Silence.No floating holograms. No divine notifications. No XP bars.
A week passed. Then a month. Then two.I kept telling myself it was just a matter of time. In this world, kids developed their Quirks between the ages of four and five. Maybe the system would come with it.
I turned five. Nothing. Zero.
My parents—cold as they were—took me to the hospital for the standard exam.They were more tense than usual that day, even if they didn't say anything.
After several scans, X-rays, and routine questions, the doctor called us into his office. He held a folder with my results and spoke with that neutral tone people use when they don't want to cause alarm—but also don't want to give false hope.
"Well..." he said, flipping through the papers, "the tests are conclusive. No sign of bone structure mutation. The joint in the pinky toe is fully developed... and no abnormal activity was detected. I'm afraid your son won't be developing a Quirk."
Silence.
My mother lowered her gaze, hands folded in her lap.
"I see..." she whispered.
My father nodded, like he'd expected it. He slipped his phone into his pocket—for once, actually paying attention.
After a moment, my mother reached out and gently patted my head.
"It's okay, Riku..." she said without much strength behind it—but at least she tried."I'm sure you'll find something you're good at."
My father added:
"Yeah. Not everyone is born with a Quirk, but that doesn't mean you don't have a future."
It wasn't much. But coming from them, it was practically overflowing with affection.
I just clenched my fists in silence.This can't be it. There has to be something more.That night, I screamed into the void again. Hoping for an answer that never came.
"Come on! I know you're there! Give me something, anything!"
The air didn't respond.
I started kindergarten, then elementary school.I wasn't dumb—I kept a low profile.But eventually, the word got out: Riku didn't have a Quirk.
And in a society built around superpowers… that was basically a curse.
Teachers treated me with forced kindness. They said things like, "You can contribute in other ways," or "Not everyone is born to be a hero, and that's okay."
The kids... were less subtle.
"Hey, Quirkless!" some would yell."Don't come near me! What if it's contagious?"
At first, it didn't bother me that much.I didn't have powers in my past life either. I was used to being ordinary.And deep down, I still believed I might awaken something one day.
But with every passing year, that hope crumbled.
Between the ages of six and nine, I threw myself into training.Like many isekai protagonists who unlock their system after a near-death experience, I thought maybe—just maybe—pushing my body to the limit would trigger something.
I woke up early. I ran. Did pushups.I learned basic karate moves from the internet.Watched videos. Downloaded books. Trained in secret.
I injured myself a lot. Sometimes I couldn't even lift my arms the next day.
But it was worth it—if it meant I could survive in this world.
Because as the years went by, I got more and more afraid.
Gigantomachia.Shigaraki.The League of Villains.
I knew what was coming.I knew the anime only showed the surface.Every battle brought destruction. Death. Chaos.
And me?Just a Quirkless civilian. No power. No protection.
What would happen if a villain destroyed my city?
What if I was just walking down the street, and Gigantomachia decided that block didn't deserve to exist?
I couldn't count on the heroes.I couldn't rely on the plot.
I needed… another way.
Then, one ordinary afternoon—when I was nine and had almost given up on powers—I found something.
I was watching TV absentmindedly, snacking, just letting the noise fill the silence.I flipped through the channels and landed on a live broadcast about technology used in civilian rescue.At first, I didn't pay much attention. Looked like one of those boring science segments for adults.But something made me pause.
On screen, a presenter was interviewing a man who wasn't a hero, or a cop, or a rescue worker.He was a civilian inventor. An engineer showing off his latest developments: mechanical arms for lifting debris, vertical stabilization jetpacks, lightweight exosuits for evacuation support, and small AI-assisted scout drones.
I was speechless.
And in that moment—I remembered.
The Support Course.
Something I'd completely forgotten in all my frustration.At U.A.—the most prestigious hero academy—there was a support course.An entire department dedicated to building tools, suits, gear, and devices for heroes.People without Quirks, or with "useless" ones, who contributed through engineering.
I don't have powers. But I have two hands.And more than anything… I'm afraid.
Afraid of dying like some nameless civilian.Afraid that Shigaraki will disintegrate a shopping mall.Afraid that a Nomu might attack my neighborhood.Afraid the League of Villains, with their twisted ideals, might decide my life has no value.
I couldn't wait for a hero to save me.I couldn't trust the story to follow the script.
I needed to become my own support team.
And there was precedent. Real examples.All Might, after losing One For All, used a special suit for one final battle against All For One.It wasn't enough for that monster, sure—but against other threats, it might've worked.Even Izuku, by the end of the manga, kept fighting without a Quirk—thanks to a high-tech suit funded by his classmates.
They did it.So why couldn't I?
That same night, I dug through the old birthday gifts my parents had given me over the years.They didn't know how to show affection—but they showered me with expensive toys.Consumer tech for a lonely kid.
Among the pile: a pair of half-disassembled battle bots, a beginner drone, glitchy AR goggles, and an old electronic tool kit.
And I got to work.
I wasn't a natural genius.In my past life, I barely knew how to change a lightbulb.But fear is a damn good teacher. And necessity? A stronger drive than pride.
The first time I tried modifying the drone, it crashed into a wall and broke a vase.The second time, I burned a circuit.The third time, I shorted an outlet and made the lights flicker.
But I didn't stop.
I studied manuals, watched videos, lurked in forums.I found old schematics, fan tutorials, interviews with support course engineers.I read until I fell asleep with my phone on my face.I sketched ideas in the margins of my notebooks.
I failed. A lot.But each failure taught me something.
Over time, I managed to build small things.But useful things.
I modified a flashlight to activate on sound and charge via solar panels.Turned an old pair of skates into a short-burst propulsion system using compressed air—only lasted three seconds, but enough to run.Built a knee pad with dual spring tension to absorb impact from moderate-height jumps.Even crafted a wristband that fired a flashing LED flare in case of emergency—meant to signal for help if trapped under rubble.
I wasn't a hero.I wasn't a prodigy.
But I was someone who wanted to live.
And for the first time since arriving in this world…
I had a plan.