The last thing I remember is the blaring horn, the screech of tires, and then... nothing. Wait, no, that's not quite right. There was a flash of headlights, the kind that blind you right before impact, and my pathetic attempt at a dodge that probably looked like a drunk salaryman flailing at a mosquito. Twenty-six years old, slaving away in a cubicle for a boss who couldn't remember my name, and bam—truck-kun decides to isekai me out of existence. Or at least, that's what it felt like in that split second before everything went black.
But death isn't supposed to feel like this. It's not supposed to feel warm and squishy, with muffled voices echoing around like I'm underwater in a heated pool. My eyes—do I even have eyes?—flutter open, but everything's a blurry mess. Colors swirl in pastels, soft pinks and whites, and there's this overwhelming scent of milk and something floral, like baby powder mixed with lavender. Wait, baby powder? My body feels wrong. Tiny. Helpless. Arms and legs that won't obey, flailing weakly like they're made of jelly. I try to scream, but all that comes out is a pathetic wail, high-pitched and gurgling.
"Oh, my precious little one! You're awake already?" A woman's voice, soft and cooing, filters through the haze. She's speaking Japanese, but the words feel distant, like I'm hearing them through a thick fog. Hands—gentle, enormous hands—lift me up, cradling me against a warm chest. I blink furiously, trying to focus. Her face comes into view: kind eyes, dark hair tied back, a smile that's all love and exhaustion. Mom? No, not my mom from before. This is different. This is... new.
Panic surges in my chest, but my tiny heart just races faster, making me cry harder. What the hell is going on? Reincarnation? That's the stuff of light novels, not real life. But here I am, apparently a newborn, staring up at a stranger who's looking at me like I'm the center of the universe. She rocks me gently, humming a lullaby that I vaguely recognize from my old life. "Shh, Satoru, my sweet boy. Mama's here."
Satoru? That's my name now? It rings a bell—Gojo Satoru, that overpowered dude from Jujutsu Kaisen. But why would—hold up. My vision clears a bit more, and I catch a glimpse of my own hair in the reflection of a nearby window. Snow-white strands, fluffy and fine, sticking up like I've been electrocuted. And my eyes... even in this blurry state, they're piercing blue, almost glowing. No way. This can't be a coincidence.
The woman—my new mother, I guess—coos again, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Your eyes are so beautiful, just like the sky. And that hair! You're going to be special, I can tell." Special? Lady, you have no idea. If this is what I think it is, I've hit the jackpot. Or the curse. Depends on how you look at it.
But thinking is exhausting in this body. My eyelids droop, and sleep pulls me under before I can process more. Dreams flicker—memories of my old life, the grind of endless overtime, the loneliness of a tiny apartment filled with manga and instant ramen. And then, strangely, flashes of something else: heroes in capes, villains with quirks, a green-haired kid punching through buildings. My Hero Academia? Why is that popping up now? It's like my brain's trying to tell me something, but it's all jumbled.
When I wake again, it's to the sound of deeper voices. A man enters the room, his footsteps heavy but careful. "Aiko, how's our little miracle?" He leans over, and I get a look at him: broad shoulders, a kind face with a neatly trimmed beard, wearing what looks like casual clothes but with a hint of something heroic—maybe a badge or emblem on his shirt? He scoops me up carefully, his hands calloused but gentle. "Hey there, Satoru. I'm your dad, Hiroshi. Welcome to the world, kiddo."
Hiroshi Gojo. Aiko Gojo. Gojo? Okay, universe, you're not subtle. If I'm Satoru Gojo in a world that might be My Hero Academia—wait, is it? I strain to listen, but their conversation is still muffled, like I'm hearing it through cotton. They're talking about quirks, I think. Something about "manifesting early" and "family traits." Quirks. Oh shit, this is MHA. The realization hits like a second truck. I've been isekai'd into the world of heroes and villains, with the looks and—maybe?—powers of the strongest sorcerer from another series.
Excitement bubbles up, but so does fear. I'm a baby. Helpless. If this is really MHA, then All Might's out there, Deku will be born soon-ish, and the whole hero society is a powder keg waiting to explode. And me? With meta-knowledge of the entire manga? I could change everything. But first, I need to survive infancy. No rushing into power fantasies yet; I've got to play the long game.
Days blur into weeks. Or at least, I think so—time's weird when all you do is eat, sleep, and poop. My parents dote on me endlessly. Aiko sings to me, feeds me with infinite patience, her weak telekinesis quirk sometimes floating a rattle over to entertain me. It's cute, watching toys bob in the air like lazy balloons. Hiroshi comes home from "patrols," smelling of sweat and ozone, regaling Aiko with stories of stopping petty crimes with his barrier quirk. "Absolute Wall," he calls himself—a pro hero in the top 50, able to create golden force fields that nothing can break. Sounds useful. I file it away in my mental notes.
My own body is a mystery. I feel... something inside me. A faint hum, like static electricity under my skin. Is that cursed energy? The Six Eyes? It's microscopic, barely there, but when I focus—really focus during those long, boring hours in the crib—I can sense it. Like a tiny spark waiting to ignite. My eyes tingle sometimes, picking up on flows of energy around me that no one else seems to notice. Quirks give off a vibe, but this is different. Deeper. Invisible to them, I bet.
Language is the real barrier. At first, it's all gibberish, but slowly, patterns emerge. Words repeat: "Satoru," "mama," "papa," "quirk." By what I guess is a few months old, I start mimicking sounds, babbling back. Aiko claps delightedly when I manage a garbled "ma." Inside, I'm smirking. Yeah, that's right, I'm a genius baby. But keep it cool, self. No need to freak them out by reciting pi or something.
Internal monologues become my entertainment. *Okay, if this is MHA, timeline-wise, I'm probably born around the same time as the main cast. Deku's what, 15 at UA start? So I've got years to prepare. First priority: build up this energy. If it's cursed energy, I need to train it without anyone knowing. But how? I'm stuck in diapers.* The frustration builds, making me fuss more than necessary. Hiroshi laughs it off as "colic," but Aiko worries, hovering with her telekinesis to rock the crib.
One night, as moonlight filters through the nursery window, I experiment. Lying there, staring at the ceiling mobile of floating heroes—ironic—I try to push that inner spark. Focus on my hand, willing something, anything. A faint blue glow flickers at my fingertips, invisible to normal eyes, but with my Six Eyes? It's like seeing Wi-Fi signals. Infinity? Limitless? Too early to tell, but it's there. My heart races. *Holy crap, this is real. I'm not just a pretty face with white hair; I've got the goods.*
But exhaustion hits hard. Training as a baby is no joke—my reserves are pitiful, draining after seconds. I pass out, dreaming of domains and dismantles, though I don't know why those words feel so right yet.
Months pass. I hit milestones: rolling over, sitting up. Each one a victory, each one a chance to test limits. When no one's looking, I try levitating a toy with my mind. Nothing. But that hum grows, ever so slightly. Six Eyes help, optimizing every bit of energy. It's like having a built-in efficiency hack.
Aiko notices my eyes first. "His gaze is so intense sometimes, Hiroshi. Like he's seeing things we can't." They chuckle, attributing it to "potential quirk manifestation." If only they knew. My cover will have to be careful—maybe pass off bits of Limitless as "energy manipulation." But for now, silence is golden.
Then, the turning point. I'm maybe a year old, crawling around the living room while Hiroshi watches the news. Heroes battling villains, quirks flashing on screen. I freeze, staring. All Might's there, smashing through a building with that iconic smile. *That's him. The Symbol of Peace. And I know how it all ends—his fall, the war, everything.* The knowledge floods back, crystal clear: the entire MHA story, from Deku's quirkless days to the final battles. It's all there, locked in my head like a downloaded wiki.
Excitement surges, and with it, that inner energy spikes. For the first time, I feel a barrier—Infinity?—flicker on instinctively, making a toy I reach for bounce away harmlessly. *Whoa. Okay, that's progress.* But inside, the cocky voice I've always had in my head pipes up: *Heh, look at me, baby steps to godhood. Just wait till I can walk; then the real fun begins.*
Family life settles into a rhythm. Hiroshi's absences for hero work make Aiko anxious, but she hides it behind smiles. I "play" by practicing control, hiding my experiments behind innocent coos. Language clicks more—simple words now make sense fully. "Hungry," "play," "love." By age two, I'll be chatting, but for now, I listen, absorb.
One evening, Aiko announces she's pregnant. "A little brother or sister for you, Satoru!" Hiroshi beams, lifting me high. Joy floods me—family, something I never had much of before. Gonna protect you, lil' bro. This world's messed up, but I'll fix it.
But beneath the warmth, a shadow stirs. That energy inside isn't just blue and calm; sometimes, it twists, red and violent, like a second presence waiting. I push it down, unaware. For now.
The chapter builds slowly, my world expanding inch by inch. No heroes yet, no villains—just a baby with big plans, trapped in a tiny body. *Patience, self. You've got meta-knowledge and OP powers brewing. Dismantle the system? Oh, yeah. But first, learn to toddle without face-planting.*
As sleep claims me again, the funny inner voice chuckles: *Truck-kun, you legend. Best plot twist ever.*