They say childhood is the happiest time of your life, a blank canvas full of innocence and dreams. Whoever came up with that cheap greeting card slogan clearly never had to go through it twice.
"Look! Look what I can do!"
I sighed, resting my head on my crossed arms atop the small wooden table. The varnish smelled of cheap disinfectant and the sticky hands of thirty children.
A few meters away, a snot-nosed kid was making wooden blocks float a few centimeters off the ground. Around him, the Orudera kindergarten class erupted into a cacophony of exclamations that drilled right into my brain.
"That's amazing, Hiro-kun!" someone shouted.
I rolled my eyes, hiding the gesture behind my elbow. It's basic telekinesis. He can barely lift a hundred grams. You have to focus on the lift vector, brat, not just on pushing.
The technical critique surfaced automatically in my mind, followed immediately by a wave of exhaustion.
I had been here for months. Months trapped in the body of a four-year-old, forced to learn colors (again), sing animal songs (again), and take mandatory naps. To any exhausted adult, naps would sound like paradise, but when your mind is racing a mile a minute thinking about future wars, immortal villains, and societal collapse, lying on a mat staring at the ceiling while a bunch of kids snore is a special kind of torture.
I raised my right hand and looked at it. It was small, soft, without the calluses of my previous life. Almost by instinct, I let a small spark dance in my palm. Pop, pop! Small explosions, tiny and controlled. The smell of burnt sugar—nitroglycerin—hit my nose.
Everyone said I was a prodigy. The teachers praised me, the other kids looked at me with a mix of fear and adoration, and my parents (Mitsuki and Masaru, two people too good for the ticking time bomb they were raising) were bursting with pride.
It's not my achievement, I thought, closing my fist and snuffing out the sparks. It's the body. It's Katsuki's genetics. I'm just the pilot who hijacked the plane.
Guilt was a constant background noise, like the hum of an old refrigerator. Every time someone praised my "natural talent," I felt the weight of being an imposter. Where was the real Katsuki? Did that primitive consciousness fade away? Did it merge with me? Or did I just kill him the moment I opened my eyes?
"Kacchan!" A high-pitched voice interrupted my spiral of self-loathing.
I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The only kid who could sound so stupidly happy about something so trivial.
Izuku Midoriya appeared in my field of vision, his green eyes shining like two beacons of inexhaustible hope.
"Kacchan, did you see that?" he pointed enthusiastically at the kid with the floating blocks. "Hiro-kun awakened his Quirk! It's amazing!"
I gave him a blank look. "It's telekinesis, Izuku. Half the population has some variant. It's not that big a deal."
Izuku wasn't discouraged by my brusque tone. On the contrary, he pulled out a notebook and a crayon (a prehistoric version of his future hero analysis notebooks).
"But it means everyone is awakening their powers!" he said, vibrating with excitement. "My turn will be soon! And then we can be a hero team, just like All Might and his sidekicks!"
I felt a pang in my stomach. A cold, unpleasant pang. I knew the date. I knew what was coming. The doctor's appointment was only a few weeks away. The diagnosis that would shatter the sparkle in his eyes.
I looked at the green-haired boy, so fragile, so naive. In canon, the original Katsuki would have used this moment to inflate his ego and trample on Izuku's. I'm the best, you're nobody.
But I wasn't him. Or at least, I was trying not to be.
"Yeah, sure," I muttered, resting my chin on the table, suddenly feeling much older than my alleged four years. "A team."
The irony was so thick I could almost chew it. There I was, with the power of a god in the hands of a child, surrounded by future heroes and villains, playing with crayons while the clock of destiny ticked above our heads.
"Hey, Kacchan." Izuku leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice as if telling me a state secret. "Do you think my Quirk will be as cool as your explosions?"
I snorted, a mix of laughter and resignation. "Nothing is cooler than my explosions, nerd."
At least that part of Katsuki was fun to roleplay.
Author's Note: Honestly, the first chapter was crap, so I decided to delete it and start from scratch. Between using an AI to help me and my lack of English (I'm still learning), it was a total failure.
Note about the note: Apparently, I messed up the translation and left it in Spanish.
My apologies, everyone.