Then—screaming. Not mine, though. Calvin's. Of course.
"WHY AM I SCREAMING?!" his voice echoed in my brain. "You're a baby, dumbass!" I shot back mentally.
Our new lives began exactly how you'd expect: loud, messy, and slightly traumatic. One second, we were chilling in some cosmic waiting room with God, and the next—we were crying infants in a hospital delivery room in Musutafu, Japan.
I couldn't see much, but I could hear everything. Nurses panicking. Doctors barking orders. Someone yelling, "Twins! We've got twins!" Yeah, no kidding.
I tried to open my eyes, but everything was blurry. I couldn't move right. Couldn't even scream on purpose. My vocal cords were on autopilot, belting out random cries like a busted alarm clock. Calvin wasn't doing much better.
In fact, if baby grunting could form full sentences, I'm pretty sure he was trying to swear.
[Time Skip – Few Days Later]
My mom's name is Miyako, and my dad's name is Taiga. I'm Hinari, and my brother's name is Arata. Our family name? Kanezawa. A few days after we were born, we were brought home from the hospital.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. Warm, yeah—but in that new baby, new life kind of way. Everything felt like it had just… shifted. Like the whole world had paused to make room for us.
Mom—Miyako—held me like I was the most fragile thing on Earth. Her arms trembled a little, probably from exhaustion, but her face? Soft. Calm. Kind. Full of that weird, intense love you only ever see in movies.
Across the room, Dad—Taiga—was cradling Calvin. Or well, Arata now. Like he was made of glass. The guy looked like he'd seen a ghost. Honestly? Same.
They both looked drained, but in their eyes was something wild. Something raw. Love, wonder, fear—all tangled together in a stare that screamed: Holy crap, we made humans.
And just like that… this was the beginning of everything.
[Time Skip – 18 Months Later]
It had been a year and a half since we were dropped into this world, kicking, screaming, and babbling like actual babies. Now, at eighteen months old, we were barely allowed to wander around the house—well, waddle, really. To everyone else, we were just two energetic toddlers learning how to talk and point at things.
But behind the giggles and diaper changes? We were planning.
Dad, Taiga, had a basic bird-type transformation Quirk—he could sprout wings, hollow his bones, and fly short distances. Mom, Miyako, had minor pyrokinesis—just enough to heat tea or light a candle with her finger.
I caught Calvin—Arata—trying to burn the corner of a picture book the other day with a flick of his finger. Just a twitch. Just to see if he could do it yet.
I smacked it out of his hand before Mom walked in. He wasn't even four yet—was he trying to get us caught? We both knew the deal.
"Rule one," I whispered from my crib that night. "No flashy powers." Arata nodded across the room, thumb still in his mouth like a true undercover agent. "Rule two," he muttered, "Cry if someone sees anything." "Cry a lot," I corrected.
We were working with limited vocab, but we understood the stakes. The Tori Tori no Mi and Mera Mera no Mi might be flashy, but if we showed too much of what we could really do, we'd be poked, prodded, and have our Quirks snatched by All For One before we even got to U.A. If All For One had quirks as powerful as those 2 the verse might be over.
For now, the plan was simple: blend in. No flying. No fireballs. No being awesome.
When we manifest our Quirks, we'll show only the bare minimum. I'll reveal my talons. He'll conjure small flames. Nothing more. Nothing to raise suspicion.
Calvin raised his hand like we were in a classroom. "Why are you raising your hand, you idiot?" I snapped.
He lowered it slowly. "Okay, forget that," he muttered. "What are we gonna do about the villains? Some of them we can save— before anything bad happens, like Toga for example. But people like Shigaraki... might already be too far gone."**
He didn't finish the sentence. I didn't need to. The silence between us said enough—we knew there were villains out there who were too far gone for second chances. The real question was... were we ready to be the ones to decide which was which?
We had time. We just had to survive until we could use it.