"Who the fuck are you?"
The mountain of a man actually blinked, his impossibly wide smile faltering for a split second. His massive hand remained suspended in mid-air, the gesture of help I'd pointedly ignored now frozen in surprised limbo.
I watched him recalibrate in real-time.
"You don't... recognize me, young man?" He sounded genuinely puzzled, like a celebrity who'd forgotten they could walk down a street without being mobbed.
My mind raced through possibilities. Either I'd landed in some parallel reality where steroid abuse was mandatory for public servants, or this cartoon character was someone I was supposed to know. The second option seemed more likely, which meant this body - my body now - had pre-existing connections.
"Should I?" I asked, buying time while cataloging details. The carefully maintained physique, the practiced smile, the theatrical tone - this wasn't just a person. This was a brand walking around in human form.
The giant's concern visibly deepened. He glanced down at something near my feet - a backpack with... was that a plastic figurine dangling from it? A miniature version of himself? Christ.
"My boy, are you quite alright?" He pointed to a charred notebook lying on the ground. "You should know me. Especially given..."
He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the notebook. I followed his massive finger to see the cover, which bore both a signature and what appeared to be a crude drawing of the man himself.
Oh.
Excellent. I'd hijacked the body of a fanboy.
"Temporary, I'm sure. Just a bit... disoriented."
"Well, that's concerning, but nothing to fear!" His volume increased by at least twenty decibels as he struck a pose so ridiculous I nearly laughed. Chest puffed out, fists on hips, chin tilted heroically upward. "Because I AM HERE! And I've captured the villain who attacked you!"
He produced a two-liter soda bottle from his pocket with a flourish. Inside was what appeared to be living sewage - a greenish, viscous sludge that swirled and churned against the plastic walls of its prison. A single, bulbous yellow eye floated in the murk, darting around frantically.
I stared.
This... thing had nearly killed me. This pathetic puddle of animated toxic waste, now contained in what appeared to be a recycled Coca-Cola bottle.
"You're telling me," I said slowly, "that I was almost murdered by something you could trap in a convenience store beverage container?"
The mountain man laughed, a booming sound that should have shattered windows.
"Quick thinking on my part! This villain has been causing trouble across the city. Slippery fellow! But even he is no match for the Symbol of Peace!"
Symbol of Peace.
"Let me see it," I said, extending my hand. Not a request. A command.
The man - the "Symbol of Peace," whatever that meant - hesitated. His ridiculous smile remained fixed, but his eyes showed surprise at my tone. Good. I needed to establish myself as something other than a starstruck child.
"I suppose there's no harm," he said finally, handing me the bottle. "He's secure in there. I'll be taking him to the police station shortly."
The weight of the bottle surprised me. Heavier than it looked. I turned it slowly, examining the creature inside. The sludge shifted, clearly trying to press itself away from my gaze. The yellow eye blinked rapidly.
I gave the bottle a gentle shake.
The sludge villain sloshed pathetically, the eye rolling in panic. I watched with cold fascination as it tried desperately to stabilize itself.
"Heh," I murmured, more to myself than anyone. "I almost got taken out by sentient jello. Pathetic."
"Thank you," I said, handing the bottle back. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, I wouldn't be here."
The words came out flat, a statement of fact rather than gratitude. The same tone you'd use acknowledging that water is wet.
"All in a day's work for a hero!" he boomed, recovering his theatrical persona. He tucked the bottle securely into his cargo pants pocket. "I must get this villain to the authorities now! Stay safe, young citizen!"
He bent his knees, clearly preparing to... what? Jump? Fly? The physics of how a man his size could move through urban areas without destroying infrastructure was a problem for another time.
"Wait," I called sharply.
He paused, looking back with curiosity.
I reached into my pocket and found a coin. Five hundred yen, according to the markings. I held it out to him.
"For the soda."
The giant blinked, then burst into genuine laughter.
"No, no, my boy! A hero's duty is its own reward! Keep your money!"
"I hate owing people," I said, my voice dropping to a level that made his smile twitch. "Take the coin. Buy a coffee. Give it to a beggar. I don't give a damn what you do with it. But our business is concluded."
After a moment, he reached down and plucked the coin from my palm, his massive fingers delicate.
"You're an unusual young man," he said, his voice quieter, more genuine than before.
"So I've been told."
He tucked the coin away, his expression unreadable.
"Stay safe, young man!"
He launched himself into the sky with a force that kicked up dust and debris. The sonic boom of his departure rattled my teeth. I watched him shrink to a distant speck against the blue.
Name. Right. What was my name in this reality?
I turned to the scattered belongings on the ground. The backpack with the ridiculous keychain. The charred notebook. Methodically, I began to search through the pockets, looking for ID, for anything that would tell me who I was supposed to be.
The backpack yielded only school supplies and an embarrassing collection of action figures, all depicting the same grinning giant I'd just met. But the notebook - that held more promise. I picked it up, brushing off dirt and scorch marks to read the cover.
"Hero Analysis for the Future - Vol. 20," it read in neat lettering.
And below that, in smaller characters: "Property of Izuku Midoriya."
"Izuku Midoriya," I said aloud, tasting the foreign syllables.
So this was who I'd become. This was my cover identity, my mask, my role to play.
I flipped through the notebook, assessing its contents. Page after page of meticulously drawn heroes, their abilities cataloged in obsessive detail. The handwriting was small, neat, precise. The diagrams showed genuine analytical talent. Notes on fighting styles, power limitations, strategic weaknesses.
I stopped at a two-page spread devoted to the mountain man. "All Might," according to the header.
"All Might," I repeated. "The Symbol of Peace."
The pages contained dozens of notes on his fighting style, his public appearances, his catchphrases. The author - Izuku - had highlighted certain moves, adding questions about the physics involved, the toll on the body, the tactical applications.
It was the work of someone smart. Someone observant. Someone desperately trying to understand power.
Maybe this Izuku and I had more in common than I'd initially thought.
I closed the notebook and tucked it into the backpack, gathering the rest of the scattered belongings. A student ID confirmed my identity - Izuku Midoriya, age 17, student at Aldera High. The photograph showed a mop of green hair and a shy smile. The face I now wore.
Standing alone under the bridge, I took inventory of my situation.
I was alive. I had a body. I was in a world where men could turn to sludge and other men could punch hard enough to create sonic booms. I had an identity, complete with a documented history and social connections I knew nothing about.
It wasn't ideal, but it was something.
"Izuku Midoriya," I said again, committing the name to memory. "Student. Hero enthusiast." I allowed myself a small, cold smile.
"And now, me."