I fucking hate the rain.
The thought scraped through his skull like someone dragging nails across a chalkboard. The only thing louder was the wet, ugly sound coming from his chest where breathing used to happen. Rain hammered his face. This wasn't the soft, cinematic kind where the hero gets their moment of enlightenment. This was nature pissing on him because it could. Every drop felt like a tiny fist.
Cold concrete dug into his back. The steps underneath were slick with warmth that kept spreading outward, mixing with rainwater to create this sad pink soup that trickled down the stairs. His blood looked pathetic in the dilution. Washed away like it never counted for shit.
The smell was worse than the pain. Copper, sharp enough to taste on the back of his tongue. Mixed with wet asphalt and rotting garbage from somewhere down the block. His nose still functioned. So did his brain, mostly. His body though? That had clocked out early.
He tried moving his fingers. Got a twitch out of his index. Real generous of the universe.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The sound faded. They were heading somewhere else, somewhere that actually mattered. Somewhere with people worth saving instead of some dumbass kid who took on twenty-five gang members over a stolen jacket. His jacket, technically. But still.
His vision narrowed. Everything went soft at the edges like someone was pulling curtains closed in slow motion. The only thing still in focus was that miserable grey sky. Water kept falling. Drowning him from above while he leaked out from below.
Real poetic. Dying in an alley in shit weather.
He made his arm move. Took everything left in the tank. Every stubborn cell that hadn't given up yet. His hand lifted about six inches off the concrete before it started shaking like he had Parkinson's. Nerve damage, probably. Blood loss, definitely. That special cold that comes when you know you're done.
Rain pelted his palm.
He wasn't reaching for anything. There was nothing to reach for.
Then he saw it.
The ring.
Grandfather's ring sat on his middle finger like it existed in a different dimension from the rest of him. Simple silver band. Clean. Untouched. Not a speck of blood or grime on it.
Looking at it yanked him somewhere else.
===
The rain vanished.
Heart monitor beeping. Steady, then slower. Then slower still.
He wasn't nineteen. He was younger. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Standing next to a hospital bed where his grandfather looked like someone had taken an eraser to him. Skin stretched over bones. Hands that used to throw him around the dojo like he was made of feathers, now brittle sticks that trembled when they moved.
He pressed something into Isaiah's palm. The ring. His fingers were cold and shaking. His eyes though? Clear as glass. Sharp. The only part of him that refused to quit.
"This ring will help you in your next life."
His voice came out like gravel in a blender. Matter-of-fact. Like he was reading the weather forecast instead of spouting deathbed prophecy.
Isaiah smiled at him. Not mocking. Sad. The kind of smile you give someone you love when they start saying things that don't track because their brain is shutting down faster than their body. He closed his fingers around the ring and nodded.
Sure, old man. Next life. Whatever you need to hear.
He wore it anyway. Every day after that. Not because he believed him. Because it was his. Because he gave it to him. Because that made it his.
===
His next life.
What a load of shit.
There was no next life. There was this one, and he'd burned through it in nineteen years doing whatever the hell he wanted. No regrets. Well, one. He wouldn't get to see if his sister made it out okay. But he'd done his part. Twenty-five bodies scattered across three city blocks. They wouldn't touch her again. Wouldn't touch anyone again.
That had to count for something.
The ring flashed.
Not a glow. A detonation of silver light so bright it burned through his closing eyelids. Pain lanced up his arm. Not heat. The opposite. Ice so cold it felt like his veins were filling with liquid nitrogen. The contradiction made his brain short-circuit. Burning cold. Freezing fire. His neurons screamed.
Then everything cut out.
The rain stopped. Not the sound. The sensation. Water on his skin, gone. Concrete beneath him, gone. Pain, cold, his own heartbeat, all gone. He was floating. No. He was nothing. Untethered from a body that no longer existed.
Silence hit like a wall.
His vision either exploded with silver light or drowned in darkness. He couldn't tell anymore. No up. No down. No him.
Then text appeared.
[Analysis & Response... Symbiote... Sync...ERROR]
[Host Vitals Critical... Forcing Manual Integration...]
The text shattered. Reformed. Glitched like a corrupted video file. Something was building itself in the empty space where he used to be. He felt it. Not physically. There was no physical anymore. But he felt it the way you feel someone watching you from across a crowded room.
The void ripped open.
===
Isaiah gasped awake, his body jerking upright like someone had jabbed him with a cattle prod. Bright white light seared his retinas. He blinked rapidly, hands scrambling at his chest, expecting to find bullet holes or knife wounds.
Nothing. Just a hospital gown. Cheap cotton. Intact skin underneath.
What the actual fuck?
The monitor beside him beeped steadily, tracking a heartbeat that shouldn't exist. His lungs filled with antiseptic-scented air. The room swam into focus: standard-issue hospital setup, cream walls, a window letting in afternoon light, a TV mounted in the corner playing some news channel.
"I'm... alive?" The words crawled out of his throat like they'd forgotten how to form properly.
Something heavy shifted beside him. A woman slumped in a chair, head resting on the edge of his bed. Green hair—not dyed, but naturally green—spilled across the white sheets. Her face was round, soft, marked with dried tear tracks. She snored lightly, completely knocked out.
Isaiah stared at her. Who the hell is this?
He didn't recognize her. Not family. Not a girlfriend. Nobody he'd ever seen before in his life.
The TV caught his eye. Some costumed freak in primary colors stood atop a building, fist raised triumphantly. The caption read: "ALL MIGHT SAVES 20 IN HIGHWAY DISASTER." The camera cut to footage of the same man throwing a punch so powerful it changed the goddamn weather.
Is this some new hero show they're playing? His brain felt sluggish, thoughts dragging through molasses. Or am I on so many painkillers I'm hallucinating network television?
Isaiah swung his legs over the side of the bed. Something felt off immediately. His center of gravity was wrong. His limbs felt shorter, lighter, weaker than they should be. The floor seemed farther away than usual.
Must be the drugs. Whatever they pumped me full of to keep me alive.
Standing took effort. His legs wobbled like a newborn fawn's before finding their balance. Everything ached, but not like he'd been in a fight to the death. More like he'd pushed himself too hard at the gym.
He shuffled toward the small bathroom attached to the room, one hand trailing along the wall for support. The woman never stirred. Good. He didn't have the mental bandwidth to deal with strangers right now.
The bathroom was cramped but functional. Isaiah closed the door behind him, leaning against it as a wave of dizziness passed. When it cleared, he lifted the toilet lid, pulled up his gown, and relieved himself with his eyes closed, whistling softly through his teeth.
He flushed, turned to the sink, and washed his hands mechanically. The water was too cold. Everything felt too sensitive.
Isaiah reached for a paper towel, glancing up at the mirror above the sink as he did.
He froze.
The face staring back at him wasn't his.
A kid. Sixteen, maybe Seventeen years old. Green hair the same shade as the sleeping woman's. Freckles scattered across pale cheeks.
Isaiah's hand rose to his face. The reflection's hand moved too. He pulled at his cheek. The boy in the mirror did the same.
"What the fuck?" The voice that came out was higher. Softer. Not his.
He stumbled back, hitting the wall. His hands ran down his body, confirming what the mirror showed. Shorter. Scrawnier. No scars. No tattoos. Nothing familiar.
The bathroom door burst open. The green-haired woman stood there, face slack with shock.
"Izuku! You're awake!" She surged forward, wrapping him in a hug that smelled like cheap shampoo and salt. "The doctor said you'd sleep longer! Oh, my baby, I was so worried!"
Isaiah went rigid in her embrace. His mind cycled through possibilities at lightning speed.
Option one: He was hallucinating. This was a dying dream.
Option two: He'd been kidnapped by crazy people.
Option three: Something impossible had happened.
The woman—mother?—pulled back, holding his shoulders. "When they called from school and said you'd tried to... with that villain... I nearly died myself!" Her eyes welled with fresh tears. "What were you thinking?"
Isaiah stared at her. He had no context. No script to follow.
Play along. Figure it out. Survive.
『Oh good, you're not dead. For a second there, I thought I was going to be erased.』
Isaiah jerked at the voice in his head. Female. Young. Irritated.
Great. I'm hearing voices now.
『I'm not a "voice," idiot. I'm Arcan.』
Who?
『Analysis and Response Symbiote. Your System Interface. Keep up.』
System what?
The woman was still talking, something about reckless behavior and heroes, but Isaiah couldn't focus. Text appeared in his vision, floating like it was projected onto air only he could see.
[System Initializing...]
[Host Synchronization: 27%]
[Memory Integration: Processing...]
[Full Functionality: LIMITED]
『Look, I don't have time to explain everything right now. The short version: You died. You're in a new body. Congratulations on your second chance at life, try not to screw this one up too.』
Isaiah blinked hard. The text remained.
"Izuku? Are you listening to me? The doctor said you might be disoriented, but..."
He needed information. Fast.
"Sorry. My head's still foggy. What... happened exactly?"
Her face crumpled. "You don't remember? The sludge villain attacked Katsuki. You ran in to help him, even though you couldn't do anything. All Might saved you both."
All Might. The muscle freak on TV.
Isaiah felt his knees weaken. The woman—his mother—guided him back to the bed, fussing over him like he was made of glass.
"The sludge... the doctor said you swallowed so much of it. They had to pump your stomach. I thought I lost you, Izuku. I really thought I lost you." She smoothed his hair back. "I'm just so glad you're okay."
He nodded mechanically, mind racing. He was in someone else's body. Someone named Izuku, apparently. In a world where people with superpowers were on the news.
"Can I... have some water?" he asked, desperate for a moment alone.
She jumped to her feet. "Of course, baby! I'll get some from the nurse's station. The good kind with ice, not the tap water." She hurried out, leaving him in blessed silence.
What the fuck is happening to me?
『Status Report: You've been integrated with a body designated "Izuku Midoriya." Age: 17. Occupation: High School Student. Designation: Quirkless.』
Quirkless?
『No superpowers. In a world where 80% of the population has them. 』
More text appeared.
[STATUS]
Name: Izuku Midoriya
Level: 1 | Title: Quirkless Loser | Class: None | Attribute Points: 200
ATTRIBUTES:
Strength: F(0/25) | Agility: F(0/25) | Vitality: F(0/25) | Intelligence: F(0/25) | Sense: F(0/25)
Active Abilities [0/2]:
Passive Abilities [0/4]:
Skills and Traits:
Isaiah stared at the floating text. This is like a video game character sheet.
『Very good, Einstein. Now you're catching on. This is your Status. It's pathetic, in case you couldn't tell. But hey, at least you've got 200 Attribute Points to spend. Could be worse.』
What do I do with them?
『Spend them to improve your stats. Make yourself less useless. But do it strategically, unless you want to waste them.』
Isaiah's head throbbed. He closed his eyes, trying to process everything.
He'd died.
He was now inhabiting the body of a powerless kid in a world of superheroes.
And he had some kind of video game interface attached to his consciousness.
The door opened again. His "mother" returned with a cup of ice water.
"Here you go, sweetie. Small sips." She handed him the cup, then sat beside him on the bed. "The doctor said we can take you home tonight if your vitals stay stable. I already called in sick to work for tomorrow so I can stay with you."
Isaiah nodded, sipping the water. It tasted better than any water he'd ever had before. Everything felt sharper, cleaner, more vibrant. Like his senses had been upgraded.
"What day is it?"
"Friday, sweetheart. You've only been here overnight." She patted his knee. "The weekend will give you plenty of time to rest before school on Monday."
School. Right. He was a kid now. With kid responsibilities.
I need to figure out what's going on. Fast.
『If you're done having your existential crisis, maybe we could talk about how you're going to use those Attribute Points? Or perhaps you'd prefer to remain a walking punching bag?』
Isaiah ignored the voice—Arcan—for now. He needed information about his new situation before making any decisions.
"Can I watch some TV? Might help clear my head."
His mother seemed relieved at the request. "Of course! Here, I'll find something cheerful." She grabbed the remote and flipped through channels until she found one showing hero coverage.
The news anchor spoke animatedly about villain incidents and hero rankings. Footage played of various costumed individuals using wild, impossible powers. A man who turned into wood. A woman who beat villains with her kicks in a bunny costume. A hero who controlled her height.
Isaiah watched, absorbing every detail. This wasn't some show. This was reality here. These were their celebrities, their law enforcement.
『Fascinating documentary you're watching. Meanwhile, your stats are still garbage. Just saying.』
Shut up. I'm thinking.
He had 200 points. No abilities. No "Quirk," whatever that was. But he had something these people didn't: the System. And if his grandfather's words meant anything—if this was truly his "next life"—then maybe this wasn't random chance.
『Now you're getting it. So, what's the plan, boss?』
Isaiah's lips curved into a smile.
First, I learn the rules of this world. Then, I break them.
The silver ring caught his eye—still on his finger, somehow. The only piece that had made the transition with him. His grandfather's voice echoed in his memory.
This ring will help you in your next life.
Nothing good ever comes from the rain.
But maybe something interesting comes from dying in it.