(One year later)
I lounged in the Soul Space, sprawled across the massive king-sized bed that could probably fit a small army if we ever decided to get weird about it.
The dimension was quiet tonight—peaceful in that artificial way only a pocket reality could manage. Soft golden light filtered through invisible windows, casting warm glows over the sleeping forms of my wives.
Hayley—my first, the tribrid powerhouse with dragon fire in her veins and no weaknesses to speak of—curled against my left side, her dark hair fanned out like a halo.
Even in sleep, she radiated that fierce, protective energy. Hope, my second wife, the original tribrid legend herself, lay on my right, one arm draped possessively over my chest.
Her breathing was slow, steady, the kind that came after a long day of training or... other activities. Jozie, our fused miracle of a third wife, nestled lower, head on my stomach, her blended Saltzman features soft and content.
They were all out cold. Good. They'd earned the rest after the chaos of the last few weeks. I'd been dipping in and out of the MHA world more frequently, keeping tabs without fully committing yet.
No registration, no hero name, no flashy debut. Just observation. And the mysterious blue screen that had dragged me here in the first place was my perfect voyeur tool.
Right now, it hovered in front of me like a personal cinema screen, replaying the day's events at the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, USJ, as everyone called it. I'd watched the whole thing unfold in real time from the safety of Soul Space.
Class 1-A had been scattered across the zones: Flood, Ruins, Conflagration, you name it. Villains poured out of Kurogiri's warp gates like ants from a kicked hill.
Shigaraki—hands all over his body, that creepy decayed aesthetic—was scratching at his neck, ranting about killing All Might. The Nomu, that brain-exposed abomination engineered to counter the Symbol of Peace, loomed like a walking apocalypse.
In canon, this was the arc where All Might pushed himself to the brink. Hundreds of punches, time limit ticking down, blood coughing everywhere. The kids barely survived, Aizawa got wrecked, Thirteen almost died holding the line.
Not today.
All Might arrived like a thunderclap. Doors exploded inward. "I AM HERE!" echoed through the facility. But this version of him? The one I'd healed back to prime a year ago? No injury clock. No gasping for air. Full muscle form, endless stamina, power at 100% without the decay eating him alive.
He blitzed straight to the central plaza. Nomu charged. All Might didn't dodge—he met it head-on. One Carolina Smash sent shockwaves rippling through the water features. Nomu regenerated, absorbed the impact. All Might grinned that unbreakable grin and unloaded.
Punch after punch. Faster than the eye could track. The Nomu tried to grab, to shock-absorb, to regenerate. All Might just hit harder. A Detroit Smash uppercut launched it skyward. Then another. And another. By the tenth, the thing was a ragdoll. By the twentieth, it was airborne and smoking.
Shigaraki screeched something incoherent. All Might pivoted, grabbed the League leader by the collar with one hand, and, without even looking, delivered a final haymaker that cratered the Nomu into the distant wall outside the USJ. The creature didn't get back up.
Shigaraki tried to decay him. All Might moved too fast. A single Texas Smash to the gut folded the villain in half. Kurogiri tried to warp in reinforcements.
All Might was already there, smashing through the mist with sheer force. The warp gate destabilized. Villains scattered or got pummeled into unconsciousness by backup pros who arrived minutes later.
The students? They handled themselves better than canon, mostly because the big bads were neutralized so quickly.
Izuku—my little Water Quirk project—had been in the Flood Zone with Tsuyu and Mineta. Instead of panicking or breaking bones, he used those water whips and shields like extensions of himself.
He pulled classmates out of collapsing structures, formed barriers against villain attacks, even channeled gentle streams to wash toxins off injured kids or cool burns. Healing? Yeah, I'd nudged his Water Quirk evolution over the past year during our secret training sessions.
Not full Recovery Girl level, but enough to stabilize wounds, flush out poisons, accelerate clotting. He was busy the entire fight, saving, supporting, never once going reckless like in the original timeline.
No One For All. No stockpiled power. Just pure, versatile water control. And he ranked top of the entrance exam for a reason.
By the time All Might wrapped things up, the League was in full retreat. Shigaraki got dragged through a backup warp gate, screaming about "the game changing." Nomu was a crumpled heap. Class 1-A gathered in the plaza, battered but alive. Aizawa, bandaged but conscious, gave them all a tired nod.
The hero names had been assigned earlier that day, during the pre-USJ briefing. I'd caught glimpses on the screen:
Izuku Midoriya: Deku (he'd kept it, proud now that it wasn't a insult anymore).
Katsuki Bakugo: Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight (still extra as hell).
Shoto Todoroki: Shoto.
Ochaco Uraraka: Uravity.
Tenya Iida: Ingenium.
Tsuyu Asui: Froppy.
Eijiro Kirishima: Red Riot.
Momo Yaoyorozu: Creati.
And so on—Chargebolt, Pinky, Tentacole, Can't Stop Twinkling, the whole roster.
They'd earned them the hard way today.
I let the screen fade as the broadcast looped highlights. My wives stirred slightly but didn't wake. I kissed each of their foreheads, Hayley's warm skin tasting faintly of smoke, Hope's cool and electric, Jozie's soft and sweet—then slipped out of the bed.
Time to stretch my legs in the real world.
I stepped through the exit portal, materializing in a quiet alley on the outskirts of Musutafu. Night had fallen. Neon signs buzzed overhead. The city hummed with post-USJ news: "All Might Crushes League Attack at U.A. Training Site!" "No Casualties Among Students!" "Symbol of Peace Stronger Than Ever!"
I smirked. Yeah, thanks to me.
I wandered, hands in pockets, enjoying the anonymity. No Quirk registration meant I was a ghost. Perfect for people-watching. The streets were alive—couples laughing, salarymen heading home, kids in hero merch reenacting All Might's punches.
Then I heard it.
A muffled cry. Scuffling. From a darker side street.
I turned the corner.
A girl, maybe nineteen, plain clothes, no visible Quirk glow—backed against a brick wall. Tears streaked her face. Above her loomed a guy, twenty-two-ish, smirking like he'd won the lottery.
His hand hovered near her throat, not touching, but she froze rigid. Paralyzed. His Quirk, obviously. Some kind of touch-range or line-of-sight paralysis. Long as he wanted, within range.
He was unzipping his pants.
Rage hit me like a freight train.
I didn't think. I acted.
A fireball coalesced in my palm—limited fire manipulation, but hot enough. I hurled it straight at his face.
He flinched, barely dodging. The fireball scorched the wall behind him, leaving a smoking crater. The girl—suddenly free as his focus broke—screamed and bolted, disappearing around the corner.
The guy whirled on me, eyes wild. "You... you just cost me my fun, asshole."
He charged.
I stood my ground. Let him close the distance.
When he entered range, maybe ten feet, he grinned. "Got you."
My body locked. Muscles seized. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe properly.
He laughed, cracking his knuckles. "Gonna make this slow. You ruined my night. I'll ruin yours."
Panic flickered—briefly. Then the screen appeared.
Blue holographic glow right in front of my face.
[Emergency Intervention Protocol Activated]
A portal ripped open beside me—swirling blue vortex.
Out stepped the Gray Gargoyle.
Seven feet of stone muscle, red eyes glowing, massive sword already drawn. It towered over us both.
The guy froze. "What the—?!"
He extended his hand. "Paralyze!"
Nothing.
The gargoyle didn't twitch. Didn't slow. Its stone form—supernatural, Malivore-spawned, not biology-based—ignored the Quirk entirely. No nervous system to shut down. No muscles to lock. Just animated rock and malice.
The villain's eyes widened. "No way—"
The gargoyle moved.
One swing—legs severed at the knees. The guy screamed, collapsing.
Another—arms hacked off at the shoulders. Blood sprayed.
Final strike—sword through the neck. Head rolled.
The body hit the ground in pieces.
The gargoyle turned to me, red eyes meeting mine for a split second. Then it stepped back through the portal. Gone. Back to inventory.
The paralysis faded instantly. The source was dead.
I exhaled, shaky.
The corpse lay there... then started to disintegrate. Flesh to ash, bones to dust. In seconds—poof. Nothing left. Not even bloodstains.
The screen reappeared, bigger this time, floating smugly.
[Thank me for saving your life and dealing with the dead body, you idiot 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣]
I stared at it.
Then laughed. A short, bitter bark.
"Yeah... thanks, screen."
I rubbed my face. What the hell was I doing?
A year in this world, and I'd almost gotten myself killed over a random alley assault. Me—King James, conqueror of Malivore, slayer of gods, husband to tribrids, paralyzed like a chump because I didn't check range or think about countermeasures.
Idiot.
Absolute idiot.
I glanced around. Empty street. No witnesses. Girl long gone—hopefully safe, calling cops or something.
I sighed, opened a small portal back to Soul Space, and stepped through.
The wives were still asleep. Peaceful.
I slid back into bed, careful not to wake them.