Dying hurts.
That was Takeshi's last coherent thought as the truck's grill filled his vision. There was no time to scream, no time to think—just a split second of perfect clarity where he understood with absolute certainty that this was it. Twenty-three years of life, ending on a random Tuesday because he'd been too distracted looking at his phone to notice the light had changed.
The impact felt like the world exploding.
And then—nothing.
Except it wasn't nothing for long.
Sound came first. Muffled and distant, like he was underwater. Voices, but he couldn't make out words. Something was beeping steadily. *Beep. Beep. Beep.* It reminded him of hospital monitors, which seemed wrong because if he was dead, there shouldn't be any—
Oh.
*Oh no.*
The realization crept over him slowly, then all at once. He wasn't dead. Or maybe he was, but then he wasn't anymore, which somehow seemed worse. His body felt wrong—too small, too compressed, like someone had shrunk him down and wrapped him in layers of cloth he couldn't move.
He tried to open his eyes. Failed. Tried again. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, like they'd been glued shut.
"—such a beautiful baby boy!"
A woman's voice, thick with emotion. Close by. Really close by.
*Baby?*
No. No, that couldn't be right. That was—that was anime bullshit. Isekai nonsense. The kind of thing otakus dreamed about but never actually—
Light flooded his vision as his eyes finally cracked open. Everything was blurry, shapes swimming in and out of focus. Slowly, painfully slowly, the world sharpened. White ceiling tiles. Medical equipment. Two faces hovering above him, and both of them were crying.
The woman had dark hair pulled back messily, strands escaping around her face. Her eyes were brown and warm and wet with tears. Next to her stood a man with broad shoulders and a smile so wide it looked like it hurt.
"Hello, Haruto," the woman whispered. Her voice cracked on the name. "Hello, sweet boy. Welcome to the world."
Haruto. His name was Haruto now.
The woman—his mother, apparently—lifted him with trembling hands. He felt the warmth of her body, smelled something floral and clean, heard her heartbeat thundering in her chest. Everything was too loud, too bright, too *much*.
"He's perfect," the man said. His father. "Yuki, he's absolutely perfect."
"I know," she whispered back. "I know, Kenji. Look at him."
Takeshi—no, Haruto—wanted to scream. Wanted to demand answers. Wanted to know what the hell was happening and why he was apparently a goddamn baby.
Instead, he made a small mewling sound and immediately felt his face burn with embarrassment.
This was hell. This had to be hell.
His parents cooed over the noise like he'd just recited Shakespeare.
For the next few minutes—or hours, he couldn't tell—Haruto drifted in and out of consciousness while medical staff came and went. They poked him with things. Measured things. Made notes on clipboards. Through it all, his parents stayed close, holding his tiny hands and whispering encouragements.
It wasn't until a nurse walked past the door that Haruto's foggy brain caught on something that made his blood run cold.
The nurse had a tail.
Not a costume. Not a prop. An actual, honest-to-god, fluffy tail protruding from her lower back, swishing as she walked.
Haruto's infant eyes went wide. He stared at the doorway where she'd disappeared, then slowly looked around the room with new attention.
The doctor examining him had scales. Actual scales running up his forearms like he was part reptile. Another nurse walked by with hair that moved independently, floating around her head like she was underwater.
On the TV mounted in the corner, a news broadcast showed footage of someone flying through the air. No jetpack. No wires. Just a man soaring between buildings like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And then the news anchor appeared on screen.
The man had a rectangular head.
Not rectangular-shaped. Not rectangular-looking. Actually, literally rectangular. Like someone had photoshopped a box onto a human body and called it a day.
*No.*
*No, no, no.*
My Hero Academia.
He'd been reborn in the world of My Hero Academia.
The realization hit him like that truck all over again, and for a moment, Haruto couldn't breathe. This was a world of heroes and villains. Of quirks and superpowers. Of teenagers fighting literal monsters. Of wars and death and—
And All For One. Shigaraki. The Paranormal Liberation Front.
He knew how this story went. He'd watched all of it, read all of it, analyzed every arc and character development. This world looked bright and cheerful on the surface, but underneath...
Underneath, it was a powder keg waiting to explode.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" His mother's concerned voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "You tensed up. Does something hurt?"
Haruto forced his tiny body to relax. Made himself take slow breaths through his infant lungs. His mother was looking at him with such worry, such pure maternal concern, that something in his chest squeezed painfully.
She didn't know. She had no idea what kind of world she'd just brought a child into.
But Haruto knew.
And lying there in his mother's arms, warm and safe and terrifyingly vulnerable, another thought occurred to him.
He knew what was coming. Years before it would happen, he knew. The USJ attack. The training camp. Kamino. Every villain, every battle, every moment of the plot that would unfold.
He could change it.
The thought sent electricity down his spine. If he was really here, really reborn into this world with all his memories intact, then he had something no hero in this universe had.
Foreknowledge.
And if he had that, if he could prepare, if he could get strong enough...
He could fix it. All of it.
The heroes in this world were too soft. Too merciful. They captured villains and threw them in prisons they'd inevitably escape from. They followed rules and regulations while people died. They talked about saving everyone, but they couldn't even save themselves.
Haruto wouldn't make that mistake.
He'd seen how this story ended—or at least how it was supposed to end. He'd seen the casualties, the trauma, the permanent damage done by villains who should have been stopped the first time.
*Not this time,* he thought, his infant fists clenching weakly. *This time, things will be different.*
"Oh, look at his little hands," his mother cooed, completely misinterpreting his tension. "He's so strong already. Kenji, take a picture!"
His father fumbled for his phone, and Haruto heard the soft click of a camera shutter.
Great. His first picture in this world, and he probably looked like an angry potato.
But as his mother rocked him gently, humming something soft and wordless, Haruto felt some of his panic subside. He couldn't change anything yet. He was a baby. Literally helpless. He'd need time to grow, to develop, to manifest whatever quirk this body came with.
Years, probably.
But that was okay. He could be patient. He'd spent twenty-three years in his last life preparing for a future that never came—studying, working, trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his existence.
Now he had a purpose.
Now he had time.
"Haruto Senju," his mother murmured, and Haruto felt her press a kiss to his forehead. "My sweet boy. You're going to do amazing things. I just know it."
Senju.
Even reincarnation had a sense of humor.
As exhaustion finally pulled him under, his infant body too overwhelmed to stay conscious any longer, Haruto's last thought was almost like a prayer.
*I'll save this world. All the people who are supposed to die—I'll save them. Even if I have to become a monster to do it.*
*Even if they hate me for it.*
*It'll be worth it.*
It had to be.