[POV: MC]
'Sigh... Fuck this shit...'
The words slipped out before I could stop them—a whispered curse that dissolved into the stale air of the moving car.
I pressed my back against the worn leather of the backseat, feeling the vibrations of the engine thrumming through my small body. My hands were trembling slightly, fingers curled into tiny fists on my lap.
'Get a grip, man. You're supposed to be excited about this, remember?'
But excitement felt like a distant, foreign concept right now. Because the reality of my situation—the full reality—had finally, truly, undeniably sunk in.
I was born into this world five years ago.
Reborn... Transmigrated... Reincarnated... Isekai'd or whatever term you wanted to slap on it, the fundamental truth remained unchanged: I had died in one world and woken up in another.
And today, for the first time since my arrival, I remembered everything.
Five years.
That's how long I'd been living in this tiny body, hearing a different name when people called me, seeing a stranger's face in the mirror every morning. Five years of fragmented memories and vague impressions, like living in a dream where nothing quite made sense.
Until today.
Until my Quirk awakened and those missing pieces came crashing back into my skull like a freight train with no brakes.
'I used to dream about this,' I thought bitterly, watching the suburban streets of Saitama Prefecture blur past the car window. 'Read countless novels and fanfictions. Watched dozens of anime about guys like me getting a second chance in another world. Always thought it'd be cool. Always wondered what I'd do if it happened to me.'
Well, congratulations, past me. Dream achieved. But careful what you wish for.
See, in all those stories, the protagonist got the full package deal. They'd meet some Random Omnipotent Being—ROB for short, or maybe "Bob Uchiha" if the author had a sense of humor. Some cosmic entity would sit them down, explain the rules of their new reality, maybe even offer a few cheat abilities or a convenient system interface to make the journey easier.
A golden finger, as the web novel community liked to call it.
But me?
I got nothing. Nada. Zilch.
No glowing screens or stat sheets. No benevolent god offering me three wishes and a complimentary overpowered bloodline.
Either I never met such a being in the first place, or—and this was the theory that made my skin crawl—my conversation with them had been deliberately wiped from my memory. Because my recollections of my past life weren't complete. There were gaps. Missing pieces that I couldn't quite reach, like trying to remember a dream the moment after waking up.
'Maybe they thought it'd be funny,' I mused darkly. 'Drop me in a dangerous world with no prep time and watch me scramble. Real entertaining, mystery cosmic being. Thanks for that.'
What I did remember came in fragments.
Loving parents who'd worked themselves to exhaustion to give me a comfortable life. An elder sister who used to ruffle my hair and call me an idiot with the kind of affection only siblings could manage. Friends—annoying friends, sure, but friends nonetheless—who'd dragged me to parties and convinced me that "just one drink" wouldn't hurt.
'Spoiler alert: it hurt... A lot.'
I remembered graduating college, the pride shining in my parents' eyes during the ceremony. Landing a job quickly in a brutally competitive market—something that should've been the beginning of a successful, normal life.
And then I remembered that night.
The party. My so-called friends handing me a red solo cup and swearing up and down that it contained nothing but innocent orange juice.
"It's totally orange juice, bro! Trust us!"
'I really should've known better when I saw their shit-eating grins,' I thought with a mental grimace. 'Classic setup for disaster. Textbook, even.'
Turns out, I was a lightweight. A serious lightweight. The kind of person who gets buzzed off two drinks and needs to sit down before the room starts doing the Macarena.
So naturally, after three cups of "orange juice," I'd stumbled outside for some fresh air, staring up at the cloudy night sky and wondering why the stars were performing synchronized swimming routines.
And then the lightning bolt hit me.
CRACK.
One moment, I was a tipsy twenty-something with his whole life ahead of him.
The next, I was opening my eyes as a five-year-old kid in a world that shouldn't exist.
'Sigh… I missed Truck-kun, but got Pikachu-chan instead.'
The memories had come flooding back today—the very day my Quirk awakened. Like a dam breaking under pressure, everything crashed into my underdeveloped brain at once.
Past life and Present life. The sudden, horrifying realization of where I was and what that meant.
Because yes, I had powers now. Superpowers.
'Yay me.'
Before you get too excited, let me add some crucial context: approximately eighty percent of the global population in this world possessed superhuman abilities. They were called Quirks—unique powers that manifested during childhood, ranging from the mundane (slightly better eyesight) to the absolutely absurd (creating black holes from your fingertips).
Now, in case you haven't figured it out yet, yes. This was the world of My Hero Academia.
A world where society had fundamentally restructured itself around these superhuman abilities. Where "Pro Heroes" became a legitimate career path—celebrities who fought against villains and saved civilians for fame, fortune, and glory. Where children grew up dreaming of attending prestigious hero schools, getting licensed, and making names for themselves.
Where the words "Plus Ultra" weren't just a motto, but a way of life.
I could tell from the moment I heard the word "Quirk" where I'd landed. A world I'd once watched from the safety of my computer screen, munching on snacks while a green-haired crybaby protagonist worked his way up from powerless nobody to Symbol of Hope. A world with a blonde explosion boy who had the personality of an angry Pomeranian and enough tsundere energy to power a small city.
'Don't get me wrong,' I thought while staring down at my small, five-year-old hands. 'I loved the anime. Watched it all the way through. Read the manga seriously. Even participated in those stupid online debates about power scaling and whether Bakugo deserved his character development.'
But loving a story and living in it? Completely different experiences.
Because I remembered how it ended. I remembered the casualties. The deaths. All Might nearly getting killed during the Kamino incident, saved only by Stain's intervention and Bakugo's uncanny resemblance to the second user of One For All—plot armor so thick you could see it from space.
Midnight's sacrifice during the war. Star and Stripe's final stand against Shigaraki. Sir Nighteye bleeding out in a hospital bed. So many characters I'd cared about, reduced to tragic plot points and emotional gut-punches.
And now I was here, Living in this world and breathing its air.
Not as some background extra who could quietly live out their days in safety, maybe run a convenience store in a peaceful neighborhood far from the plot.
No, the universe—or whatever cosmic entity had dumped me here—had a sense of humor.
I'd been reincarnated as Denki Kaminari.
The walking Pikachu of Class 1-A. Future comic relief. The guy whose greatest achievement in canon was proving that you could simultaneously be cool and completely useless at the same time.
'Could've been worse,' I told myself while trying to find a silver lining in this thundercloud of a situation. 'Could've been reincarnated as a random civilian with no combat potential. Or a villain's disposable henchman. Or—God forbid—a background student in the General Education course who never gets screentime.'
At least Denki made it into U.A.'s hero course. That was something.
But to be honest, I'd expected—no, hoped—that reincarnation would come with some bonuses. A system interface floating in my vision. A cheat ability that would let me stand out in a world of superhuman powers. Some convenient plot device that screamed "protagonist" instead of "supporting character destined to job in every major fight."
But no. I got the standard package.
The exact same Quirk that the original Denki Kaminari possessed in canon.
Electrification.
The ability to generate, store, and discharge electrical energy directly from my body. No batteries required. No external power source needed. I was essentially a walking, talking Tesla coil capable of producing enough voltage to incapacitate multiple opponents or charge electronic devices.
Sounds impressive, right?
It was—to a point but the catch?
'There's always a catch.'
Overuse caused my brain to short-circuit... Literally.
Generate too much electricity at once, push past my body's limits, and my neurons would fry themselves into temporary stupidity. The infamous "Whey Mode" that made Denki the butt of every joke in the series, reduced to a drooling idiot giving thumbs-ups while his classmates did the actual heavy lifting.
At first glance, Electrification seemed like a mid-tier Quirk at best. Flashy, sure, but with embarrassing drawbacks and limited practical applications beyond "human taser."
But I had something the original Denki didn't.
Meta-knowledge. An understanding of the source material. Memories of countless fanfictions I'd read that explored the untapped potential of this exact power. A scientific education from my previous life that let me see possibilities the original Denki—a teenager with mediocre grades—never considered.
'Electricity isn't just about blasting people with lightning bolts,' I thought, feeling a small smile tug at my lips despite the situation. 'It's so much more than that.'
Neural signals that controlled human movement? Electrical impulses.
Muscle contractions that generated force and speed? Triggered by electrical signals from the brain.
Electromagnetic fields that could manipulate metal objects or create defensive barriers? All possible with sufficient control and understanding of physics.
The Flash—one of my favorite superheroes from DC Comics—based his entire power set on this principle. Atleast I think so. Before the Speed Force involvement.
He didn't just run fast. He thought fast, reacted fast, vibrated through solid matter, and could even accelerate his healing by speeding up his metabolism.
All through manipulation of electrical signals in his body.
'I might not be able to punch through buildings like All Might,' I mused, watching yellow sparks dance across my fingertips. 'I might not be able to manipulate biological beings like Overhaul or erase Quirks like Aizawa. But if I train smart, if I study hard, if I push this power to its absolute limits...'
I could become something else entirely. Something faster.
'If I can't overpower them, I'll outspeed them. If I can't outlast them, I'll outthink them. And if I can't save everyone...'
My jaw clenched. 'Then I'll save as many as I can.'
After few minutes of internal debate—and maybe one or two minor existential crises—I'd made my decision.
I was going to be a hero.
Not because I had some grand sense of justice burning in my chest like Deku. Not because I wanted to be the number one hero like Bakugo. Not even because I particularly wanted to risk my life fighting supervillains and psychotic murderers.
No, my reasons were far more practical and far more logical.
'Let's break down the options, shall we?'
Option One: Live a normal civilian life.
Keep my head down. Avoid trouble. Don't use my Quirk in public because of Japan's restrictive Quirk usage laws. Work a normal job, pay taxes, and hope that villains never attacked my neighborhood. Hope that I never got caught in the crossfire of a hero-villain battle that leveled city blocks. Hope that the apocalyptic events I knew were coming—Kamino, the war, Shigaraki's awakening—somehow missed me and everyone I cared about.
'Yeah, that's just waiting for death with extra steps,' I thought grimly. 'Hard pass.'
Option Two: Become a villain.
Use my Quirk however I wanted. Break whatever laws I felt like breaking. Live free from society's restrictions and government oversight.
Sounded great in theory—until you remembered that the entire hero society, including top-ranked heroes with absurdly overpowered abilities, would hunt you down like a rabid dog.
Without an S-tier Quirk, convenient cheat abilities, or protagonist-level plot armor, that option was essentially suicide with a side of property damage charges.
'Thanks, but I prefer to keep my internal organs on the inside of my body. Call me old-fashioned.'
Option Three: Become a hero.
Attend U.A. High School's hero course. Train under professional heroes who actually knew what they were doing. Learn proper combat techniques, support equipment usage, and crisis management. Gain legal permission to use my Quirk in public and during emergencies.
Get access to cutting-edge support gear, professional internships, government resources, and a legitimate career path that didn't end with me in Tartarus Prison or a shallow grave.
Oh, and maybe—just maybe—use my future knowledge to prevent some of the tragedies I knew were coming.
Midnight, Star and Stripe, Sir Nighteye and few others.
So many deaths that could potentially be avoided if I played my cards right.
'Besides,' I reasoned, 'my very existence here is already a change to the timeline. Butterfly effect and all that jazz. Who knows what else might shift just from me being more competent than the original Denki?'
I paused mid-thought, feeling a sudden chill run down my spine. 'Wait. I didn't just jinx myself, did I? That wasn't a death flag, was it?'
I shook my head quickly, as if physically dispelling the thought.
'Nope. Not thinking about it. Future problem for future me. Present me has enough to worry about.'
.
.
.
The sound of a car door slamming shut snapped me back to the present.
I blinked, realizing we'd arrived.
Through the window, I watched as the garage door of my house—my new house, I supposed—rolled open with a mechanical groan. My father guided the car inside with practiced ease, the engine's rumble echoing off concrete walls before cutting off entirely.
We'd just returned from the Quirk registration center in Saitama Prefecture. Today had been the day—the day my Quirk officially awakened, was documented, and logged into the government's national database.
A mandatory process for all children who developed abilities, both for public safety and legal purposes.
My father, Kenji Kaminari, had been present when it happened.
A quiet, unremarkable man in his late thirties with tired eyes and perpetually neat hair, he worked for an insurance agency that dealt with Quirk-related incidents. Property damage, Medical claim and Death benefits. In a world where people could accidentally sneeze and level a building, his job was never-ending.
He'd watched with quiet pride as yellow sparks danced across my fingertips for the first time in the registration office. He'd smiled—a small, genuine smile—patted my head, and told me he was proud.
"You're going to do great things, Denki."
Then his phone had rung.
He'd stepped away to take the call, voice shifting into that professional tone he used with clients, and I'd been left standing there with a government official who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
'Typical,' I'd thought even then, before my memories had fully returned.
Now, sitting in the car as my father unbuckled his seatbelt and checked his phone again, I felt that familiar pang of something I couldn't quite name.
Loneliness? Resentment? Acceptance?
Maybe all three.
"Alright, Denki," my father said, glancing back at me with an apologetic smile. "Let's head inside. Your babysitter should be here soon—"
His phone buzzed... Again.
He glanced at the screen, and I watched his expression shift. Slowly his jaw tightened and eyes hardened. The smile vanishing like it had never existed.
"I... I'm sorry, son. I have to take this. It's urgent."
'Of course it is,' I thought but didn't say.
Instead, I nodded like the obedient five-year-old I was supposed to be. "Okay, Dad."
He ruffled my hair—brief, perfunctory—before climbing out of the car and pressing the phone to his ear, already walking toward the street as he spoke in rapid Japanese.
I sat there for a moment longer, alone in the car, staring at the empty garage.
'Welcome home, I guess.'
I climbed out of the car on my own—my legs were short, but I managed—and made my way into the house through the connecting door from the garage.
The interior was exactly as I remembered from my fragmented childhood memories, but seeing it now with adult awareness was... different.
It was nice, spacious and clean. Well-furnished in that generic, modern Japanese style you'd see in home catalogs. Hardwood floors and Minimalist décor.
A living room with a flatscreen TV that was probably top-of-the-line for this era. A kitchen with gleaming appliances that looked barely used.
Upper-middle-class, if I had to estimate. Not wealthy enough for vacation homes and luxury cars, but comfortable enough that money wasn't a constant source of stress.
It was also empty.
Not physically—there was plenty of furniture—but the kind of empty that comes from absence. No family photos on the walls. No personal touches that screamed "a family lives here." Just... space. Clean, organized, lifeless space.
'I don't know if this is canon,' I mused while walking through the hallway and running my small hand along the wall, 'or if this is just some author's lazy excuse to give their protagonist a tragic backstory. Either way, this is my reality now.'
Absent parents and empty house. A childhood that would probably involve a lot of babysitters and microwaved dinners.
My mother, Narihana Kaminari, hadn't even been at the registration today. She was a Pro Hero—not a famous one, not someone you'd see on magazine covers or TV interviews, but successful enough to stay perpetually busy.
Her Quirk, Lightning Generation, allowed her to create and manipulate lightning bolts, though unlike me, she couldn't store or absorb electrical energy. She had to generate it from scratch every time, which apparently took a toll on her stamina.
She was always working. Always chasing that next rank, that next big rescue, that next step toward making a name for herself.
'Guess saving strangers is more important than watching your kid's Quirk awaken,' I thought with more bitterness than I'd expected to feel.
I heard my father's voice outside—still on the phone, still dealing with work—and sighed.
'Both of them are like this. Married to their jobs more than each other. More than me.'
I was halfway to the living room when I heard the front door open behind me.
"Denki-kun!"
I turned to see a young woman stepping inside, her face bright with genuine enthusiasm despite the late afternoon heat.
Megumi Kato.
My babysitter—and judging by my inherited memories, one of the few people in this world who actually seemed to care about the kid she was watching.
Megumi was in her early twenties, a college student working part-time jobs to pay for her education. She had shoulder-length black hair, warm brown eyes, and the kind of smile that made you instinctively trust her.
She was also, I noted with mild amusement, really pretty in that girl-next-door way.
'Not relevant right now, brain. I'm five. Get your priorities straight.'
"Megumi-san!" I said while forcing my voice into that high-pitched, excited tone that five-year-olds were supposed to have. "You're here!"
"Of course I am!" She laughed before closing the door behind her and slipping off her shoes in the entryway. "I wouldn't miss hearing about your Quirk awakening for anything! Come on, let's sit down and you can tell me everything!"
She grabbed my hand—her palm was warm and soft—and led me toward the living room.
We settled onto the sofa together, Megumi sitting cross-legged with her full attention on me, like I was the most interesting thing in the world.
'Okay,' I thought, taking a mental breath. 'Time to act. Don't be weird, don't slip up. You're a five-year-old kid who just got superpowers. Be excited. Be innocent. Be normal.'
"So?" Megumi leaned forward with eyes sparkling. "Tell me everything! What's your Quirk like? Does it hurt? Can you control it?"
I let a wide grin spread across my face—not entirely fake, because part of me was genuinely excited about having powers, tragic circumstances aside.
"It's electricity!" I announced proudly, holding up my hand. "Watch!"
I focused on that new sensation humming beneath my skin—like a current running through wires, waiting to be released.
Yellow sparks crackled to life across my fingertips, dancing between my fingers in small, controlled arcs. They cast flickering shadows on the walls, bright and mesmerizing.
Megumi's eyes widened, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise. "Wow! That's amazing, Denki-kun! You must have inherited it from your mom!"
"Uh-huh!" I nodded enthusiastically, maintaining the act while internally noting something important.
'I have surprisingly good control for a first-day awakening. The sparks aren't wild or unpredictable. I can start them, stop them, and maintain them without effort. That's... actually pretty advanced, according to what I know about Quirk development.'
"Does it hurt?" Megumi asked, reaching out like she wanted to touch the electricity but thinking better of it at the last second.
I shook my head. "Nope! It feels kinda tingly, like when your foot falls asleep but not bad. Just... buzzy."
"Buzzy," she repeated, giggling. "That's a good way to describe it. And you can turn it on and off whenever you want?"
"Yep!" I demonstrated, making the sparks vanish and reappear several times. "See? On, off, on, off!"
'This is actually kind of fun,' I admitted to myself. 'Playing the excited kid isn't so bad when you've got a genuinely impressed audience.'
Megumi asked more questions—what the doctor at the registration center had said, whether I'd accidentally shocked anything, if I wanted to be a hero like my mom—and I answered each one with appropriate childish enthusiasm.
All the while, I was mentally cataloging everything I could about my new power.
The way it felt when I activated it. The slight drain on my stamina when I maintained it. The way I could instinctively sense the electrical currents in nearby devices—the TV, the lights, Megumi's phone in her pocket.
'This is going to be very interesting to explore,' I thought with growing anticipation.
After about twenty minutes of conversation and demonstrations, I let out an exaggerated yawn, rubbing my eyes with my small fists.
"Tired, Denki-kun?" Megumi asked gently, her motherly instincts kicking in immediately.
"A little..." I mumbled while leaning against her side. "I guess using my Quirk makes me sleepy..."
'Total lie, but she doesn't know that.'
"That's normal for new Quirk users," she said, standing up and offering me her hand. "Come on, let's get you to bed. A nap will help your body adjust."
I let her lead me upstairs to my bedroom—a small space decorated exactly how you'd expect a five-year-old's room in this world to look.
Action figures of pro heroes lined the shelves. Posters of All Might in his prime covered the walls. A poster of Midnight in her hero costume was tucked in one corner, which... yeah, the original five years old Denki had taste, apparently.
'Not going to comment on that right now.'
I climbed into bed, and Megumi pulled the covers up to my chin with practiced ease.
"Sweet dreams, little hero," she said softly, ruffling my blonde hair with genuine affection.
I closed my eyes, evening out my breathing to mimic sleep.
I heard her footsteps retreat toward the door. The soft click of it closing. Her footsteps fading down the hallway.
The distant sound of the TV turning on downstairs as she settled in for her babysitting shift.
I counted to sixty in my head.
Then slowly, carefully, I opened my eyes.
'Now the Real Work Begins.'
A smile spread across my face—not the innocent grin of a five-year-old, but something sharper. More focused and determined.
I sat up in bed, throwing off the covers and holding out my hand.
Yellow electricity crackled to life across my palm, brighter now that I wasn't holding back. The sparks danced and writhed like living things, casting shadows that jumped across the walls of my childhood bedroom.
'Alright then,' I thought, feeling excitement replace the earlier anxiety and fear. 'Let's see what this Quirk can really do.'
This was it. The beginning of everything.
I wasn't going to be Denki Kaminari, the comic relief of Class 1-A who peaked in the Joint Training Arc.
I wasn't going to be the guy who short-circuited his brain in every major fight.
I wasn't going to be a footnote in someone else's story.
I was going to be something more... Something better... Something faster.
'But for now, let's take it slow,' I told myself, watching the electricity intensify around my clenched fist. 'First, master the basics. Understand the limits. Then push past them. Train smarter than the original Denki ever did. Study the science and learn the applications.'
I thought of the future. Of U.A. High School and the entrance exam, Of the League of Villains and All For One, Of the tragedies waiting years down the line—tragedies I might be able to prevent if I was strong enough, fast enough and smart enough.
'I might not be able to save everyone,' I acknowledged, feeling the weight of that truth settle in my chest. 'But I'll save as many as I can. I'll change what I can change. And I'll become strong enough that when the time comes...'
The electricity crackled brighter, yellow lightning dancing up my entire body.
'I'll be ready.'
I stood up on my bed, balancing on the mattress like it was a stage, and held both hands out.
Sparks flew between my palms, growing stronger with each passing second.
"Now then," I whispered to the empty room, my smile widening into something almost manic. "Let's get very familiar with my Quirk, shall we?"
The lightning responded, as if it could sense my determination.
And in that moment, standing on my bed in an empty house with electricity crackling around me like a living thing, I made a silent promise to myself.
To the original Denki Kaminari, whose body I'd inherited.
To the people I wanted to save... To the future I was going to change.
'I won't waste this second chance, I won't let fear hold me back. I won't stand still while the world burns around me.'
The electricity surged brighter.
'I'll run toward the danger. I'll move faster than fate itself. And one day...'
Yellow lightning illuminated my entire room, casting everything in sharp relief.
'One day, I'll be fast enough to save them all.'
I heard thunder rumbled in the distance—a storm approaching.
That's perfect, because a storm was exactly what I intended to become.