The air was cool, though too quiet for my taste. I sat under a tree, crossing my legs as if that could anchor me to reality. I looked at my small hands, still unable to fully manage my explosions, and a dry sigh escaped my lips. Great. Here I am. Like a damn brat again, I thought with sarcasm.
Trapped in this sort of cycle the universe decided to call a "second chance." The word "chance" sent a shiver down my spine, and I almost let out an ironic laugh. Sure, chance: stealing the body of a three-year-old kid and ruining his life with the consciousness of someone who never asked to be here. I wish I could say I didn't feel guilty, but the truth was that feeling stuck to me like mud.
My mind replayed memories, half sharp, the other half blurred, jumping between what I knew from MHA and what I remembered of this body as if it were my own. Some parts were useful; others just reminded me how ridiculous it was to live in this body. I could remember how little Izuku always seemed to try to imitate All Might in front of me, how All Might inspired everyone, how the "original" Katsuki mistreated and humiliated everyone around him because he thought he was superior.
The worst part was that I now had that temperament, that Bakugō's irritability was part of me, and no matter how hard I tried to stay calm, certain things irritated me faster than before.
"Fantastic," I muttered to myself, letting my shoulders slump. Another morning in the life of an explosive kid who had no idea how to deal with his own quirk. Before, in my past life, I was calmer. I could think, analyze, meditate. Now, my patience was like a fine thread that snapped easily. Every little noise, every spark of frustration that reminded me I had powers—and had no idea how to fully control them—made me more irritable. And the worst part: I was starting to enjoy, on a minimal but real level, that anger, as if my mind were trying to adapt to the body. What the hell.
I leaned back against the trunk and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reflected on something that had been bothering me since I'd spent the first full day in this body: quirks.
Yes, quirks. It would be naive to think they were just fun tricks. Each one was a weapon of mass construction and destruction, depending on who possessed it and how they used it. Bakugō's power was devastating in the hands of anyone, even if they didn't fully understand it. The worst part was that the decision of whether to make the world a better or worse place now depended on me. It was fascinating, but terrifying. My thoughts revolved around that idea: how quirks could come to shape a person's personality.
"Yeah, because nothing says 'adapting to change' like sitting alone and philosophizing about the powers of a kid who still needs help going to the bathroom," I whispered sarcastically, and I couldn't help but laugh, a dry sound that got lost among the park leaves.
I looked into the distance and saw Izuku playing with the other brats, small, with his infectious smile and that look that always radiated determination. It reminded me that, even if I was the new "Bakugō," I couldn't live life alone. The kid needed to grow, make mistakes, learn from them... and, somehow, I had to guide him, even if I couldn't always be there to save him. Be his shadow, his extra conscience, but not his constant protector. The idea made me feel strange, somewhere between guilty and useful.
"You'd be manipulating him," my treacherous mind whispered. I frowned. "I wouldn't be manipulating him. I'd be preparing him," I thought with spite.
Shigaraki, the Liberation Army, All for One, and other imbeciles we would surely run into later.
"Good job, Fran," I whispered to myself, quietly, with no need for anyone to hear. "Yeah, you're helping the future symbol of peace. Not weird at all," I thought sarcastically.
I thought about the irony. Me, the calm and introverted person from before, trapped in a body that was a combination of fury and impulsivity, watching my own character mix with the child's. Every explosion, every shout, every exaggerated reaction of Bakugō's that I unconsciously reproduced was a reminder of what could happen if I didn't control my emotions. It was a fragile balance between using the power for good and not destroying everything around me... literally.
The guilt mixed with my frustration. It wasn't just my body now. It was my moral responsibility to manage it, to not ruin Katsuki's life while trying to maintain a minimum of order in the lives of everyone involved. Even the irony of being forced to repeat childhood felt heavy: every attempt to learn to read, use my quirk, or react to childish frustration was a reminder that my previous life was completely out of reach. Every little gesture felt like a rehearsal for a script I had never written.
"Come on, Fran," I said, wiggling my fingers, trying to feign indifference. "You just have to survive another week in this body without blowing up the house or accidentally murdering someone with your explosions. Easy."
My mind wandered through possible scenarios. If I got careless, I could hurt Izuku, Mitsuki, even myself. Every movement had to be carefully calculated. Every emotion contained, every word measured, every look... a delicate dance I had never had to perform before. And, of course, the humor of the situation never fully disappeared: living in Bakugō's body was absurd, a cosmic joke I hadn't asked for.
And as I was there, sitting under the tree, reflecting on quirks, morality, and my own existence in a body that didn't belong to me, I heard footsteps approaching. Small, hurried, determined... the familiar sound of Izuku Midoriya. His presence made me press my lips into a dry grimace. The irony of the situation hit me: I could guide him, teach him a few things about the world and quirks, but I couldn't protect him from everything. He had to learn, make mistakes, grow. And I had to accept that this duality—my adult self and my now-child self—would coexist, even if it sometimes burned up my patience.
Little Izuku finally reached my side, his eyes bright and a smile that seemed capable of lighting up the whole yard. I tried to return a neutral expression, somewhere halfway between disinterest and forced patience, but my dry, tired brain couldn't stop a small tinge of internal sarcasm from forming: "Yeah, hi, Midoriya. Excuse me, could you leave me alone? Your future rival is having an existential crisis."
"Kacchan!" he exclaimed, so full of energy he seemed to defy gravity. "What are we doing today?!"
I sighed, resigned and amused at the same time, and thought that maybe, just maybe, I could survive another day in this body... while guiding Izuku, dealing with my guilt, and learning to tolerate everything strange that was now my life.
Because, at the end of the day, if I couldn't handle the dry sarcasm, the irritability, and the combined guilt, at least I could try. And maybe, just maybe, I could do something good with this chance, with this body, and not just repeat the same mistakes that would have happened otherwise.