Surpass your limits. A saying most people use casually, throwing it out like some kind of motivational lifeline. It's meant to inspire.
To push others forward. To become something better than they were an hour ago, a day ago, a year ago. You see it in sports, in school, in the dreams of those who refuse to stay ordinary.
But what happens when someone truly breaks past their limits? Not just as a phrase. Not metaphorically. What happens when their entire existence steps beyond it?
…
Aldera Junior High was like any ordinary middle school in Japan—on the outside. Beige walls, creaking floors, crowded hallways. The usual buzzing of teenage chatter echoing through the corridors.
Except there was nothing ordinary about the students.
Most of them were born with quirks—flames that flickered off fingertips, gusts of wind that stirred without touch, or objects levitating lazily in the corner of the classroom.
Some kids had eyes that glowed, others arms that morphed into weapons or machines. The unnatural had become normal here.
Except for one.
Izuku Midoriya sat at his desk with the same earnest expression he always wore. His uniform was neat, sleeves slightly folded, hair messily curled in every possible direction.
He scribbled furiously into his worn notebook—Hero Analysis for the Future, Volume 13. The newest Pro Hero's quirk breakdown covered half a page already.
But then… his pencil slipped from his fingers.
It didn't just fall. It dropped as if his body forgot how to hold it.
His pupils shrank sharply as something surged through him—a dizzying pulse that raced through his veins like electricity. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
' What's happening?' Izuku thought, breath catching.
His hands trembled uncontrollably. He stared at them. The familiar skin, the small callouses from years of note-taking—yet somehow they looked foreign. He felt foreign.
He turned to the window, trying to catch his reflection in the glass. The afternoon sun cut a sharp glare across the room, but eventually the image came into view.
His breath hitched.
"That face…" he whispered. His own voice sounded distant.
He ran a shaky hand across his cheek, jawline, messy hair. His fingers trembled as they traced features he recognized—but not as himself.
' I know this face… Izuku Midoriya? Am I dreaming? Am I… him?'
The thought jolted him upright. His chair screeched violently across the floor. Conversations halted. Heads turned.
"Oi, Midoriya! What's your problem?"
"Is he having a panic attack?"
"Maybe his quirk finally awakened."
He didn't answer. Their voices were just noise. The classroom felt small—too small—walls closing in as if the world had tilted on its axis.
He pushed through the desks and walked out the door, ignoring the calls behind him. The hallway was brighter than before, sounds sharper, colors more vivid.
As he wandered the hallways, Izuku's eyes roamed over the other students. The chatter, the clattering of shoes, and the occasional burst of sparks or smoke filled the air.
Some kids had heads shaped like everyday objects—a pencil, a clock—while others emitted strange lights or sounds. One boy laughed, and his voice echoed twice as if the air itself carried the sound.
A bathroom sign caught his attention. He stepped forward and, without thinking, pushed the door open—only to realize a second too late that it was the female bathroom.
"Oh—sorry!" he blurted, his voice coming out way louder than he intended as he immediately spun around.
Multiple shrieks erupted behind him.
"HENTAI!"
He winced as the word bounced painfully down the hall. Izuku froze mid-turn, his eyebrows raised—half shocked, half embarrassed.
' Wow… they really do that? ' he thought, shaking his head in disbelief before quickly stepping into the proper bathroom this time.
The room was quiet except for the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. He stood in front of the mirror, breathing slowly as he really saw himself for the first time.
A light-toned teen with messy green curls, freckles dusted across his cheeks, sharp green eyes filled with confusion and something else—a face both childish and soft.
And then it hit him.
Memories—fragmented and unwelcome—flooded his head. Moments of childhood. School days. Cramming for exams. Awkward conversations. Loneliness. Dreams of being a hero.
And then the strange, almost ridiculous way he had died. They played like scenes from someone else's life, slipping into place whether he accepted them or not.
He sighed, a long exhale as he braced a hand against the sink. The cool surface grounded him for a moment as reality sank in like a heavy weight on his chest.
' My Hero, huh? Damn…' he muttered under his breath, staring directly into his own unfamiliar reflection.
' Fuck why did I do that! ' he thought, covering his face briefly with his hand as the embarrassment from a minute ago finally hit him in full.
[Flashback]
His name was Tyler, an anime fan to the core, the kind who could quote entire arcs from memory and still argue passionately about the smallest plot inconsistencies.
On an otherwise ordinary Saturday, he and a few close friends had decided to attend a convention in their city. It was his first time at such an event, and the thrill of seeing cosplays, merch, and fellow fans filled him with quiet excitement.
At first, everything was perfect. Tyler wandered from booth to booth, snapping photos and discussing the latest arcs with strangers who shared his passion.
But then came the heated debate—a clash he hadn't anticipated. A group of One Punch Man fans, brimming with confidence, insisted that Saitama could beat Goku in a fight.
Tyler, never one to back down, calmly dismantled their arguments. He pointed out logical inconsistencies, power scaling flaws, and the sheer impossibility of their claims.
The debate escalated quickly; the fans' smirks turned into glares, their shoves almost playful at first—but Tyler could see the fury brewing beneath.
And then it happened.
A stinky, wild-eyed fan—who looked like he spent his life on obscure Reddit threads—lunged forward with a kitchen knife. Tyler barely had time to register it before a sharp pain tore through his torso.
He stumbled backward, clutching the wound, his friends screaming behind him. Blood pooled beneath him as his vision blurred.
The last coherent thought in his mind was painfully mundane:
'I didn't even get to witness Dragon Ball Super Season 2…'
Even in his final moments, Tyler couldn't help but cringe at how absurd his death was. Stupid, preventable, and utterly humiliating.
Then, silence. Darkness. And… nothing.
Just an empty void where thought and sensation should've ended. He assumed that had been the end of his story—until he opened his eyes and realized he was somewhere else entirely. A new body, a new life: Izuku Midoriya.
Izuku blinked at the unfamiliar fingers, turning his palms over slowly as if the lines on his skin might reveal some answer.
His reflection in the mirror looked back at him—green eyes, freckles, and wild hair that refused to sit still. Even the way his legs moved felt strange, like adjusting to clothes that didn't belong to him yet.
' Now that I'm here… what should I do? ' he wondered, shrugging weakly to himself as he headed deeper into the bathroom.
He relieved himself, washing his hands while stealing another glance at the mirror—still processing the impossible truth of waking up in someone else's life.
On his way back to class, a few girls passed by, whispering and pointing. One of them covered her mouth as she giggled.
Izuku sighed, scratching the back of his head with an awkward frown.
' I'm flipping a pervert now? Great. I just hope no one mentions this when I try to apply for U.A.'
He slipped back into the classroom and took his seat. His notebook lay open on the desk, pages filled with messy yet detailed notes about quirks, heroes, strategies—Midoriya's obsession in ink.
He slowly closed it and leaned back, letting the reality settle over him more fully.
' Well… I'm twelve right now. That gives me about three years before U.A. I need to lock in, get strong, and prepare so I don't end up breaking every bone when I take on One for All.'
His mind raced with everything he knew about the anime—the villains, the challenges, the timing of events. He needed to stay ahead. He needed a plan.
Izuku pulled his notebook open again and began writing. Not hero notes anymore, but strategies. Goals. Training. Possible futures. His pen scratched against the paper with purpose.
But the future had something else in store for the green-haired boy. Something that would push him further than he ever imagined.
TO BE CONTINUED