The last thing I remember before everything went dark was the brain freeze.
It was like ice spreading through my skull like frost across a windshield, creeping and absolute. I'd been sitting cross-legged on my bed, the fifth pint of mint chocolate chip balanced on my knee, reading the first chapter of some new manga my friend had recommended. My Hero Academia. Something about a kid who wanted to be a hero even though he didn't have powers. Quirks, they called them.
I remember thinking it was kind of cool. The art was solid, the premise had potential. I'd just gotten to the part where this green-haired kid was writing in his notebook when the cold hit harder than it should have.
My vision blurred, the manga slipping from my fingers.
And then... nothing.
Consciousness returned slowly, like wading through molasses. But something was wrong.
I couldn't move.
Not paralyzed in the traditional sense. It was more like... I didn't have a body to move. I existed as pure awareness, suspended in a space that hurt to perceive. Not white, not black. Just... nothing. A liminal nowhere that made my non-existent skin crawl.
Then the memories started.
They played out before me, around me, through me. Every single moment of my life crystal clear and inescapable. My third birthday party where I'd cried because the chocolate cake had nuts in it. My first day of kindergarten. Learning to skateboard and eating pavement so many times I'd lost count. The sick feeling in my stomach the first time I realized my parents fought more than other kids' parents did.
My first kiss with Sarah Martinez behind the gym. God, I'd been so nervous I'd almost thrown up.
The time I'd stayed up until 3 AM drawing that comic book panel over and over until it looked right. Every party I'd snuck out to. Every song that had made me feel something real. That one perfect kickflip I'd landed in front of the skate shop, the one that made even the older kids nod with respect.
Reading my first X-Men comic at age seven and thinking Iceman was the coolest thing I'd ever seen.
I watched it all. Couldn't look away even if I'd had eyes to close. Fourteen years compressed into... I don't know. Time didn't work right here. It could have been seconds or centuries.
When the memories finally stopped, I hung in that awful nothing-space, trying to process what had just happened. Was this death? Some kind of purgatory? The part where your life flashes before your eyes, except someone had hit pause and walked away?
Then the light appeared.
It started as a pinprick in the void, expanding rapidly until it coalesced into... a shape. Humanoid, maybe? It was hard to tell. The figure seemed to shift and flicker like a bad hologram, never quite settling into something my consciousness could fully comprehend.
"Frost Mercer." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, gentle but absolute. "Welcome to the between."
I would have jumped if I'd had a body. Would have said something sarcastic if I'd had a mouth. Instead, I just... existed, staring at this impossible being.
"You're probably confused," the figure continued, and I swear I detected amusement in its tone. "Most souls are. You died, Frost. A Brain aneurysm triggered by rapid consumption of frozen dairy products and an undiagnosed vascular weakness. The irony is not lost on us."
Ice cream killed me, are you fucking kidding me right now?
"But here's the interesting part," the being said, moving closer. Or maybe the space moved, It was hard to tell. "You've won something. The lottery of the afterlife, we call it. The odds of winning are approximately one in a googolplex, and yet, here you are."
Lottery? What lottery? I don't remember buying a ticket to the cosmic raffle.
"Reincarnation," the figure said, answering my unspoken thought. "A second chance at life. In another world. Another reality. The destination is random, I'm afraid. We can't control where you'll end up. Could be a fantasy realm, could be a dystopian hellscape, could be something entirely mundane. That's part of the fun."
Fun. Right. Because dying at fourteen wasn't enough of an adventure.
But underneath my knee-jerk sarcasm, something else stirred. Curiosity. That deep, almost compulsive need to understand and experience that had gotten me into trouble my whole life. Another world? Another chance? Despite everything, despite the absolute insanity of this situation, I felt something like... excitement?
"I can sense your acceptance," the being said, and its form seemed to brighten. "Good. That makes this easier. One more thing, Frost. You won't remember this conversation. Won't remember your death or this space between. But your memories of your life? Those stay. Everything you were, everything you learned, everyone you loved. You'll carry it all forward."
Wait, what—
The void exploded into light.
The first thing I felt was weight. The crushing, overwhelming sensation of having a body again. A small body. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much.
I tried to move and found I could, but it was clumsy, uncoordinated. My limbs felt wrong, proportioned differently. I blinked, and the world came into blurry focus.
A woman's face hovered above me, beautiful in that exhausted new-mother kind of way. Dark hair plastered to her forehead, brown eyes shining with tears and joy. She said something in Japanese, soft and loving, and I understood it perfectly even though I'd never spoken the language in my life.
"He's beautiful, Hiroshi. Look at his eyes. And his hair..."
A man's face appeared next to hers. Tired but smiling, glasses slightly askew. He reached out with one finger and gently touched my cheek.
"Icy blue," he murmured. "Like frost on a winter morning. And that hair... have you ever seen anything like it?"
What are they talking about?
The woman, my mother, I realized with a jolt that went beyond my understanding, carefully turned me so I could see my reflection in a nearby mirror. Even through my blurry infant vision, I could make out the shock of white-blue hair on my head and the pale, almost luminescent quality of my skin.
Oh. Oh no.
The memories hit me then. All fourteen years of my previous life, crashing into the consciousness of this three-year-old body like a tidal wave. Two sets of memories, two different lives, trying to coexist in one small skull.
For a moment, I thought I might break. Might shatter into pieces under the weight of it all.
But I didn't.
Slowly, carefully, the pieces started to settle. I was Frost Mercer, a skater kid who'd died eating ice cream. And I was Kori Takeda, a three-year-old boy being held by his parents in what looked like a modest but comfortable apartment in... Musutafu, Japan.
The name triggered another memory, not mine, Kori's. Or... both of ours?
My Hero Academia.
The manga I'd been reading when I died. That world. I was in that world.
You've got to be kidding me.
"Kori?" My mother's voice cut through my internal crisis. "Are you alright, sweetie? You have the strangest look on your face."
I focused on her, Ayumi Takeda. My mother in this life. She ran a small ice cream shop as a hobby, something to keep her busy while my father worked long hours at a tech company. They were both quirkless in a world where 80% of the population had superpowers.
And I... I had memories of being three years old for the past few hours. Vague, simple memories of playing with blocks and watching cartoons. Normal kid stuff.
But now I was me again.
This is going to be complicated.
"I'm okay, Mama," I said, testing out my voice. It came out higher, younger than I was used to, but the Japanese flowed naturally. "Just thinking."
My father laughed. "Always thinking, this one. Even as a baby, you could see the wheels turning behind those eyes."
If only you knew.
My mother set me down gently, and I took a moment to test out my new body. Small hands, stubby legs, everything soft and uncoordinated in the way of toddlers.
I walked over to the mirror, needing to see myself properly. The reflection staring back at me was surreal. Pale skin, paler than any Japanese kid should be. Hair the color of fresh snow with an almost blue tint to it. And eyes... ice blue, bright and clear and completely unnatural.
I looked like a winter spirit had possessed a child.
Appropriate, I thought wryly, considering how I died.
"Kori, come eat your snack," my mother called from the kitchen. "I made your favorite."
I toddled over, still getting used to the shorter stride. The apartment was nice. Not huge, but comfortable. Clean lines, modern furniture, family photos on the walls. Through the window, I could see Musutafu stretching out below us.
My mother set a small bowl in front of me. Ice cream. Of course it was ice cream.
I stared at it, and something bubbled up from my chest. Laughter. I couldn't help it. Died from eating too much ice cream, reborn as a kid named Frost (well, Kori, which meant ice), in a world with superpowers. The universe had a seriously twisted sense of humor.
"What's so funny, little one?" my father asked, ruffling my weird hair.
"Nothing, Papa," I said, taking a small, careful bite of the ice cream. Vanilla. Safe, simple vanilla. "Just happy."
And weirdly, I kind of was. Yeah, I'd died. Yeah, I'd lost everything and everyone I'd known. But I'd also been given something impossible. A second chance. In a world I'd just started reading about.
A world with heroes and villains and quirks.
Speaking of which...
I didn't have one yet. Most kids manifested their quirks around age four or five. I was three now, which meant I had time. But I also had knowledge. I knew what quirks were, how they worked, what was coming.
And I had fourteen years of memories. Fourteen years of learning and growing and experiencing. Street smarts from skating culture. Pattern recognition from hours of analyzing comic book art. The emotional intelligence that came from navigating my parents' messy divorce and the social minefield of middle school.
I need a plan. Goals. Can't just coast through this life.
But what did I want? In my old life, I'd wanted to be an artist, maybe. Or a professional skater. Something creative and free. But this world... this world had heroes. Real, actual heroes who saved people and fought villains and became symbols of hope.
Iceman had been my favorite superhero. The idea of someone who could manipulate ice, create anything from frozen water, slide around on glaciers... it had always seemed impossibly cool to me.
What if I could actually do that here?
The thought sent a shiver through me.
"Kori? You've barely touched your ice cream." My mother looked concerned. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah, Mama. Just..." I looked down at the bowl, then back up at her. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, sweetie."
"When do quirks usually show up?"
My parents exchanged a glance. My father set down his newspaper.
"Usually around four or five years old," he said carefully. "Sometimes earlier, sometimes later. Why do you ask?"
I shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Just curious. Kids at the park talk about it sometimes."
My mother knelt down next to my chair, bringing her eyes level with mine. "Kori, you know that Papa and I don't have quirks, right? There's a chance you might not either. And that's okay. You don't need a superpower to be special."
Oh, I'm definitely getting a quirk, I thought. The hair and eyes kind of give it away.
But I just nodded and smiled. "I know, Mama. I was just wondering."
She kissed my forehead and stood up. "Finish your ice cream before it melts."
I ate slowly, mind racing. I had time. Time to prepare, to train, to figure out what I wanted from this life. The Frost Mercer part of me wanted adventure, wanted to understand everything about this new world. Wanted to see how far I could push whatever quirk I got.
But I was also Kori Takeda now. A three-year-old kid with loving parents and a comfortable life. I couldn't just ignore that. Couldn't treat them like NPCs in a game.
Complicated. This is so damn complicated.
Later that night, after my parents had tucked me into bed and turned off the lights, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. My small body was exhausted, practically vibrating with the need to sleep. But my mind wouldn't stop.
I was in the My Hero Academia world. I'd read exactly one chapter before dying. I knew the basic premise, heroes, quirks, a kid named Izuku who wanted to be a hero without powers but that was it. I had no idea what was coming, what major events to prepare for, who the villains were beyond the vague knowledge that they existed.
I was flying blind.
But that's kind of exciting, too. I rolled over, pressing my face into the pillow. Tomorrow, I decided, I'd start paying attention to the news, to the heroes I saw on TV, to everything about this world. I'd learn it inside and out.
And when my quirk manifested, if it manifested, I'd train it until I could do things that would make Iceman jealous.
Number one hero, I thought drowsily as sleep finally started to claim me. That's the goal, right? Isn't that what everyone wants here?
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't quite right. Being number one sounded good in theory, but it felt hollow. Empty. I'd never been the type to want glory just for glory's sake.
No, if I was going to do this hero thing, it had to be for the right reasons. To help people, yeah. To use whatever power I got to make a difference. But also... to understand. To figure out this world, these quirks, what made people tick. To see how far I could push myself, how much I could grow.
And maybe, just maybe, to find something worth dedicating this second life to.
One step at a time, I told myself. First, survive being a toddler again. Then worry about saving the world.
I closed my eyes, and for the first time since dying, I let myself relax.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Three months later, I was starting to get the hang of being a three-year-old again.
It was harder than I'd expected. My body had limitations my mind constantly forgot about. I'd try to do something simple, pour a glass of water, reach something on a high shelf, and get smacked with the reality of being two feet tall with the motor control of a drunk octopus.
But I adapted. That was one thing both Frost and Kori had in common: adaptability.
I spent my days in a weird split existence. Part of the time, I let myself just be a kid. Play with blocks, watch cartoons, color in the sketchbook my mother had given me when she noticed I was always drawing. It was nice, actually. Relaxing in a way my previous life never had been.
The rest of the time, I observed.
My mother's ice cream shop was a goldmine of information. Heroes stopped by sometimes, tired after patrols and wanting something cold and sweet. I'd sit in the corner with my crayons and listen to them talk. About villain encounters, about quirk training, about the hero rankings and agency politics.
One hero in particular, a woman named Frost Wave with an ice-based quirk, became a regular. She'd always smile at me, comment on my unusual coloring. "You've got the look of a future ice user," she'd said once, winking. "Those eyes don't lie."
I'd just smiled and gone back to my drawing. But inside, I was burning with questions. How did her quirk work? What were its limits? How did she train it?
At home, I convinced my parents to let me watch Hero News instead of regular cartoons. They thought it was cute, their three-year-old son so interested in heroes. They didn't realize I was studying them like textbooks.
All Might was already the number one hero, a towering symbol of peace who seemed to win every fight with a smile. And everywhere, always, the underlying current of something darker. Villain attacks. Organized crime. Whispers of a growing threat that even the heroes seemed worried about.
I filed it all away, piece by piece, building a mental map of this world.
My father worked long hours, but when he was home, he was present and patient. He'd help me with puzzles, read me stories, and answer my endless questions about how things worked. I learned he was an engineer, designing support equipment for heroes and everyday people alike. Quirkless, but brilliant in his own way.
"Not having a quirk doesn't make you powerless," he told me one night, adjusting his glasses as he showed me a blueprint for a new mobility device. "Intelligence, creativity, determination, those are powers too. Remember that, Kori."
I would for sure, but I also couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. Some change, some shift. It itched at the back of my mind, familiar but unplaceable.
The answer came on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.
I was at the park with my mother, half-playing on the swings while mostly watching the other kids. There was a group of toddlers showing off their quirks to each other. One of them could make his fingers glow. Another could stick to surfaces. Small, manageable powers that their parents cooed over.
Soon, I thought. Mine should show up soon.
That's when I saw him.
A small kid, maybe my age, with a mess of green hair and freckles scattered across his face. He was standing apart from the quirk-showing group, watching them with an expression of such naked longing it hurt to see.
My breath caught.
I knew that face. Had seen it in exactly before dying.
Izuku Midoriya.
The main character. The quirkless kid who wanted to be a hero. He had to be, right? The appearance matched, and that expression...
Without thinking, I hopped off the swing and walked over to him. He didn't notice me at first, too focused on the other kids.
"Hi," I said.
He jumped, then looked down at me. "Oh. Um. Hi?"
"I'm Kori. What's your name?"
"Izuku," he said quietly. "Izuku Midoriya."
Bingo.
We stared at each other for a moment. Two three-year-olds, both watching the quirk demonstrations with the same kind of hungry interest. Though probably for different reasons.
"Do you have a quirk yet?" Izuku asked, and I could hear the hope in his voice. Like maybe if he could find someone else who didn't have one, he wouldn't feel so alone.
"Not yet," I said. "You?"
He shook his head, and something in his expression crumbled a little. "No. But I'm going to get one. I have to. I'm going to be a hero, like All Might!"
The conviction in his voice was startling.
"Yeah?" I said. "Me too."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really. I'm going to be the best hero I can be." The words came out before I could think about them, but they felt right. True in a way that settled something in my chest.
Izuku's whole face lit up. "We could be hero partners! Like a team! Do you watch hero news too? All Might is so cool, did you see his fight last week where he—"
He launched into an excited ramble about hero statistics and fight techniques, and I found myself grinning. This kid. This passionate, brilliant, lonely little kid who would apparently grow up to be someone important.
And I'd just met him by accident in a park.
Not an accident, I thought. We're the same age, in the same city. We were always going to cross paths.
"—and that's why I think his quirk has to be some kind of strength enhancement, but Kacchan thinks it's something else, he says—"
"Who's Kacchan?" I interrupted.
"Oh! He's my friend. Well, kind of. He's really cool and strong and his quirk is explosions! Do you want to meet him?"
Before I could answer, a loud bang echoed across the park. The group of toddlers demonstrating their quirks scattered, and in the center stood a blonde kid with red eyes and a manic grin, smoke rising from his palms.
Bakugo Katsuki. Has to be.
"That's him!" Izuku said, waving. "Kacchan! Come meet Kori!"
The blonde kid looked over, his expression shifting from excitement to something more appraising. He strutted over and looked me up and down.
"Your hair is weird," he announced.
"Your attitude is weird," I shot back before I could stop myself.
Izuku gasped. Bakugo's eyes widened, then narrowed.
Then he grinned. "Ha! You're not a total wimp. What's your quirk?"
"Don't have one yet."
"Me neither," Izuku added quietly.
Bakugo scoffed. "You're not getting one, Deku. You're too weak. But you-" he pointed at me, "-you look like you might get something cool. That hair and those eyes aren't normal."
I shrugged. "Maybe. We'll see."
"When you get it, we should fight," Bakugo declared. "I'm going to be the number one hero, so I need strong people to beat."
There it is. That familiar ambition.
But looking at him, I didn't feel annoyed or competitive. Just curious, this kid would grow up to be someone important, too. Someone complicated and talented and probably incredibly frustrating.
"Sure," I said. "When we get our quirks, we'll fight."
Bakugo nodded, satisfied, then ran off to show the other kids his explosions again.
Izuku looked at me with something like awe. "You're really brave. Nobody talks back to Kacchan."
"He's just a kid," I said. "Same as us."
"But he's so strong and confident..."
"So? That doesn't mean you have to let him push you around." I paused, then added, "You want to be a hero, right? Heroes stand up for themselves and others. Even when it's scary."
Izuku blinked, processing that. Then he nodded slowly. "You're right. I... I need to be braver."
We spent the rest of the afternoon playing together. Just simple kid stuff, tag, climbing on the playground equipment, and making up stories about heroes and villains. But it felt significant somehow. Like I was standing at a crossroads, paths branching out in front of me.
When my mother called me to leave, I waved goodbye to Izuku.
"I'll see you around," I said.
"Yeah! Maybe we'll go to the same school!" He smiled, bright and hopeful.
Oh, we definitely will, I thought.
Walking home with my mother, her hand warm around mine, I felt something shift inside me emotionally. I'm starting to feel something for her now, of course, not as nearly as my past mom, but it's still progress.
"Kori?" My mother's voice broke through my thoughts. "You're very quiet. Everything okay?"
I looked up at her and smiled. "Yeah, Mama. Everything's okay. I'm just thinking about the future."
She laughed and squeezed my hand. "You and your big thoughts. Come on, let's get home. Papa is making your favorite for dinner."
As we walked through the streets of Musutafu, the sun was setting and painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and I felt something I hadn't felt since waking up in this world.
Peace.
I had a second chance to live, to grow, to become something more than I'd been.
And I was going to make it count.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
A/N: Just finished the last episode of mha and then I randomly got this idea of writing this fanfic as I've never read a fanfic about an ice user surprisingly enough, but I don't really know how to feel about the ending like yes i understand what Horikoshi was tryna show, but I'm still disappointed that Deku didn't become the number one hero, guess I've gotten spoiled of mc actually completing there goals they set out at the start.