"Oh my Midas! Your quirk... I knew it would be like mine, but to this extent? It is wonderful!"
Cybele's voice pierced the sudden, heavy silence of the dining room. It was a sound that completely lacked the sharp, calculating edge of the CEO of Aurum International. Right now, she wasn't the billionaire titan of industry who rubbed shoulders with the Hero Public Safety Commission. She was just a mother, overwhelmed by a mix of profound relief and pure, unadulterated joy.
She rushed toward me. The rustle of her designer silk dress sounded impossibly loud in my ears as she closed the distance. The scent of her expensive perfume—a blend of jasmine and something that smelled faintly of ozone and wealth—washed over me. She dropped to her knees right there on the reinforced hardwood floor, reaching out and pulling me into a fierce, desperate hug. She pressed my small, unnaturally dense frame against her chest, burying her face in my slicked-back black hair.
I felt her warmth, but I went completely, rigidly stiff.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird beating its wings against a cage. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. Don't touch her, my mind screamed in a frantic loop. Don't touch her, don't touch her. I was a reincarnated soul with the tactical mind of an adult, but in this specific moment, I felt completely helpless. I had just awoken a power that overwrote the fundamental molecular structure of reality. King Midas, the tragic figure of Greek mythology whom I was named after, had turned his own beloved daughter into a lifeless golden statue with a single, accidental embrace. I didn't know the limits of this power yet. I didn't know if I had a "kill switch" for the molecular conversion, or if my skin was now a permanent, lethal weapon to anyone who made contact.
To steady myself and keep my hands far away from my mother's skin, I clamped my fingers onto the edge of the dining table. Just moments ago, it had been carved from heavy, polished obsidian. Now, it was a solid, gleaming slab of flawless 24-karat gold.
As my anxiety spiked, so did the monstrous, innate physical strength I had been born with. My Garp-like physiology reacted to my stress. My small, pale fingers dug into the edge of the table. The metal whined in protest, and I actually left deep, permanent indentations in the priceless gold, molding it like cheap clay under my grip. I just let her hold me, breathing through my nose, focusing every ounce of my willpower on keeping the golden energy locked deep inside my chest.
Finally, the surge of adrenaline began to recede, but it took something with it. Suddenly, a wave of profound, bone-deep exhaustion crashed over me. It felt as though someone had yanked a plug from the base of my spine, draining my stamina out onto the floor. My vision swam for a fraction of a second, the edges of the extravagant dining room blurring into indistinct shapes.
"Mom..." I mumbled, my voice lacking its usual composed edge. A massive, jaw-cracking yawn forced its way out of my mouth, interrupting my words. "I feel... a bit tired."
Cybele pulled back slightly, her hands resting gently on my shoulders. Her molten gold eyes scanned my pale face, immediately detecting the fatigue setting into my sharp features. Her expression softened into a gentle, teasing smile.
"Well, that's perfectly normal, my little king," she said softly, her thumb brushing near the jagged scar over my right eye. "Look at what you just did."
She gestured toward the room. The table, the silver utensils, the ceramic plates—all of it had been converted. "You didn't just turn the table and the utensils into gold. You completely overwrote their atomic structure, manipulated their state of matter, turned them into liquids, and solidified them again. For a two-year-old body, even one as remarkably strong as yours, the caloric and mental toll of that must be staggering."
She stood up, smoothing the front of her dress. In an instant, the doting mother vanished, and the CEO returned. Her posture straightened, and her eyes gained a sharp, authoritative glint.
"I'm going to bring you to a specialist immediately," she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now that we know your Quirk is finally here, my little golden boy, we need to document its baseline. Come along."
[30 Minutes Later]The drive to the clinic was a blur of neon city lights and the quiet hum of the limousine's engine. I stared out the tinted window at the sprawling metropolis of Musutafu. Somewhere out there in this timeline, Izuku Midoriya was likely just a quirkless kid dreaming of All Might. The League of Villains was years away from forming. Society felt stable, but I knew it was a house of cards. And now, I held the heaviest deck.
We arrived at the Musutafu Advanced Quirk Assessment Center. It was a monolithic structure of glass and reinforced steel, heavily guarded and completely private. It catered exclusively to the top one percent of society—Pro Heroes in the top ten rankings, politicians, and billionaires.
As soon as the limousine pulled up to the curb, the front doors slid open. A team of medical staff, dressed in pristine white coats, was already waiting on the pavement. They knew the Gold name. When Cybele Gold demanded an immediate appointment, you cleared the schedule.
"Everything is ready, Ms. Gold. We have cleared the primary testing wing entirely for your son," the head doctor said, bowing so deeply I could see the shine of the overhead streetlights reflecting off his thinning hair. He was sweating despite the cool evening air.
We were quickly ushered through the opulent lobby and down a series of secure, biometric-locked corridors until we reached a high-tech diagnostic room. It looked less like a doctor's office and more like the inside of a spaceship. The room was dominated by massive, glowing monitors, thick bundles of fiber-optic cables, and a specialized, heavy-duty examination chair in the center, designed specifically to withstand violent Quirk outbursts from early awakeners.
"If you will just have a seat right here, Young Master Midas," the doctor prompted, gesturing to the chair with a nervous, trembling hand.
I climbed onto the chair, my dense boots making a heavy thud against the steel footrest. The nurses approached cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal. They attached a series of sleek, silver electrodes to my temples, my chest, and my wrists. These were connected to a massive Quirk Factor Scanner—a state-of-the-art machine that supposedly measured the depth, potential, and raw energy output of a newly awakened Quirk.
"Alright, initiating the scan," the head doctor said, stepping behind a reinforced glass partition to operate the main terminal.
He pressed a glowing blue button. A low, vibrating hum filled the room, vibrating in my teeth.
On the massive monitor above, a digital graph appeared. The baseline needle hovered near the bottom. Then, the machine attempted to read the energy coiled inside me.
The needle didn't just jump; it violently violently slammed against the maximum threshold of the digital gauge. The green line instantly turned a blaring, angry red. The low hum of the machine escalated into a high-pitched, agonizing whine that made the nurses cover their ears.
CRACK.
A shower of blue and yellow sparks exploded from the back of the processor unit. The massive monitor flickered violently before shattering inward, a thick trail of acrid gray smoke billowing from the fried circuits. The entire room plunged into a shocked, dead silence, save for the sizzling of the ruined hardware.
The head doctor slowly stood up from behind the console, his jaw practically unhinged. He looked at the smoking machine, then slowly turned his gaze to me.
"Your son... he has an incredibly powerful Quirk, Ms. Gold," the head doctor stated, his voice trembling uncontrollably. He was practically hyperventilating with a mix of professional terror and scientific excitement. "He didn't just cap the reading. The sheer passive energy of his Quirk factor just broke our most advanced hardware."
"Oh, is that so?" Cybele replied, her voice smooth as silk. She looked down at me, her eyes shimmering with absolute pride. "Well, isn't that amazing, my little Midas?"
I didn't say a word. I didn't smile. I just sat on the stool, crossing my arms over my chest. I looked at the doctors calmly, holding their gaze with the cold, calculating eyes of a man trapped in a toddler's body. I let my presence fill the room. I didn't try to hide the monstrous, heavy aura of my physical strength.
One of the nurses visibly shivered, taking a step backward. They could feel it. They were getting the distinct, terrifying feeling that they were locked in a cage with an apex predator.
"W-well, Midas-san," the head doctor stammered, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. He was clearly unsettled by the flat, emotionless expression on my face. "Since the scanner is... out of commission. Can you show me what your Quirk is? Just a small demonstration?"
I considered it for a moment. There was no point in hiding the nature of my ability; my mother already knew, and she would protect me. I gave a single, short nod.
I uncrossed my arms and reached out, placing my small, pale hand directly onto the metal armrest of the chair I was sitting on.
I didn't force the energy. I just let the dam break.
It took exactly ten seconds.
A wave of brilliant, liquid light poured from my skin, sinking into the dull steel of the chair. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. The atomic structure of the metal groaned, shifting violently under my will. The gray steel was consumed, replaced instantly by a brilliant, polished, radiant yellow.
When the light faded, I was sitting on a throne of pure, solid 24-karat gold.
The doctors gasped in unison. The room shifted. The atmosphere instantly morphed from one of clinical, scientific curiosity to something much darker, much older, and much uglier.
I watched the head doctor's eyes. I saw the exact moment his Hippocratic oath shattered. His pupils dilated. The reflection of the golden chair danced in his irises, quickly replaced by the universal symbol of greed. He wasn't looking at a two-year-old child anymore. He was looking at a printing press. He was looking at a limitless, endless fountain of unimaginable wealth.
"Good... good! That's very good!" the doctor whispered. His voice was thick, almost wet with avarice. He took a step forward, his hands twitching at his sides as if he physically ached to touch the gold. "Now... can you keep doing that? Can you do it with the other chairs? We need to, ah, test your limits!"
He pointed a shaking finger toward a row of five standard steel office chairs lined up against the far wall. The greed rolling off him was pathetic.
I looked at him, feeling a surge of disgust, but I nodded again. I hopped down from my golden throne and walked over to the first chair. Clink. It turned to gold. I moved to the next. Clink. Then the next. Clink. Clink. Clink. In less than a minute, I had easily converted the entire row. The room was now glowing with the radiant, heavy light of hundreds of pounds of pure gold.
The doctor was practically salivating. He had completely lost his mind to the gold fever. "Excellent! Excellent! Keep going, don't stop! We have more equipment in the hall, steel tables, medical carts—"
"Stop."
The word was spoken softly, but it hit the room like a physical shockwave.
My mother stepped forward. The temperature in the room seemed to drop drastically. She glared at the doctor, her golden eyes narrowing into dangerous, predatory slits.
"Stop trying to use my son as a money generator and do your damn job," Cybele said coldly.
As she spoke, she raised her right hand. She didn't need to touch anything to convert it. Her Quirk was generation. A blinding flash of yellow light sparked in the empty air above her palm, and in less than a second, she pulled a beautifully ornate, razor-sharp sword of pure gold out of thin air. She leveled the blade, the lethal tip hovering mere inches from the head doctor's chest.
The man froze entirely. The gold fever broke, instantly replaced by the terrifying, cold reality of who he was dealing with. Cybele Gold was not just rich; she was ruthless.
He stumbled backward, his face draining of all color until he looked like a corpse. He let out a pathetic, high-pitched noise. He was trembling so violently his knees knocked together. I could smell the sharp tang of urine; the man was literally pissing his pants in terror.
"I-I... Yes! Yes, I apologize! I am so profoundly sorry, Ms. Gold!" he stammered hurriedly, bowing so fast he nearly hit his head on the floor. He snapped back up, desperately trying to salvage the situation and his life. He looked at me, his eyes wide with fear. "N-now, little Midas... the conversion is flawless. But... can you manipulate it? Does your Quirk have kinetic properties?"
I looked at the terrified man, then at my mother, who kept the sword drawn but lowered it slightly.
"Yes," I said coolly.
I didn't touch the chairs this time. I just reached out with my mind. Because of the Gold-Gold Fruit mechanics integrated into my soul, I could feel the gold. It felt like an extension of my own nervous system.
I commanded it to change.
All five of the solid golden chairs began to shudder violently. Then, the rigid metal melted. It collapsed into puddles of swirling, viscous liquid gold on the floor. I raised my hands slightly, and the liquid defied gravity. It floated up into the air, swirling around me like a golden hurricane. I shaped it effortlessly—turning the blobs into floating spheres, then into a massive, rippling ribbon that danced around the room.
It was absolute mastery.
But it was also a trap. After exactly thirty seconds of holding the gold in the air, the backlash hit me.
A sharp, blinding pain spiked directly behind my eyes, as if someone had driven a nail into my skull. My vision doubled. A sudden, violent wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. My toddler brain, no matter how advanced, simply did not have the neural pathways developed enough to sustain this massive level of telekinetic output.
I lost my grip.
The floating liquid gold instantly crashed to the floor with a deafening, heavy SPLAT, immediately reverting back to its solid state. It formed into lumpy, warped approximations of the chairs.
My Garp-like legs finally gave out. I collapsed onto my ass, hitting the floor hard, gasping for air as my head throbbed relentlessly.
"Midas!!"
Cybele dropped her sword. It dissolved into harmless golden dust before it even hit the floor. She sprinted to my side and picked me up, hugging me tightly against her. The icy CEO was gone again, replaced by the panicked mother.
"Are you okay? Look at me. You should stop for now. That's enough," she said worriedly, checking my face.
"Mom, I'm fine," I said tiredly, resting my pounding head against her shoulder.
The head doctor, still shaking in his soiled pants, slowly pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked at the warped golden chairs, then at my exhausted face. The greed was completely eradicated, replaced by a deep, reverent shock.
"Ms. Gold..." the doctor exclaimed, his voice hushed and breathless. "Your son... his physical durability, his conversion, his kinetic manipulation... If he uses his Quirk right, he has the potential to be the strongest hero in history. Your son will possibly be the strongest hero to ever live."
Even through my blinding headache, a small, tired smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
The strongest hero? I thought. We'll see what I decide to be.
"Oh really," I said tiredly.
Cybele smiled, but as she looked at the doctor, her expression remained guarded and devoid of any warmth.
"Well, we have what we came for. We'll be leaving now. Take care," she said coldly.
We walked out of the facility, leaving the staff standing in stunned silence amid a fortune in gold. We got into the back of the limousine, the heavy doors sealing us off from the outside world. As the car drove away, taking us back to the estate, I let the darkness of sleep pull me under. The world was about to change, and I was going to be the one to change it.