The first thing I'm aware of is pain.
Not the dramatic, anime kind where lightning cracks in the background and someone screams "MY POWER IS AWAKENING!"
Nope. This is the boring, day-after-leg-day kind. Just a deep, grumpy ache in my back like I fell asleep on concrete.
I groan and roll over.
The second thing I'm aware of is that the bed I'm in is too small. Way too small. My legs are dangling off the end like I'm some kind of cat whose owner bought the wrong-sized bed.
I blink up at the ceiling.
"…The hell?"
The ceiling is unfamiliar. The fan spinning lazily above me is unfamiliar. The air smells faintly like laundry detergent and wood polish — also unfamiliar.
And I'm pretty damn sure I did not fall asleep somewhere this neat. My room back home looked like a dragon hoard made entirely of laundry and unfiled taxes.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my face.
My hand hits something.
Something… hard.
Something strapped to my wrist.
I freeze.
Then, very calmly, I look down.
Then, very un-calmly, I scream.
"NO WAY. NO SHOT. NO RNG BLESSING LIKE THIS. IS THIS A SPONSORED DROP? DID I WIN A GIVEAWAY?!"
Because there, on my wrist — glowing, green, circular — is the Omnitrix.
THE Omnitrix.
The god-tier alien smartwatch of childhood dreams.
The thing that could turn me into a ten-story lava monster or a being who breaks physics just by existing.
I stare at it.
It stares back.
I poke it with one finger. "Is this… real? Did Cartoon Network finally answer my emails? Did they feel bad for canceling shows too early again?"
The watch beeps softly.
I pull my finger back like it's a live grenade. "Nah, nah, nah — that's illegal. That's emotionally illegal. There's no way this is happening."
The room is still dim, early-morning sunlight creeping through the curtains like it's trying not to get caught being nosy. I look around, heart hammering.
Small bed. Wooden desk. A schoolbag in the corner. Posters of heroes on the wall — muscular figures, dynamic poses, the usual propaganda style stuff.
And all of it looks… new. Clean. Kid-sized.
"Okay…" I mutter. "Either I'm dreaming, I got kidnapped by a very organized villain who likes dusting, or—"
I look down at myself.
Tiny hands.
Small legs.
Baggy pajamas.
"…or I've been DLC-patched into a child."
I flop backward onto the pillow again. "Fantastic. Amazing. Peak. Just what I always wanted. Therapy speedrun any%."
The Omnitrix gives a soft, eager little beep like it wants attention.
"Don't start with me," I warn it. "I haven't even had coffee yet. I cannot make universe-altering decisions before caffeine."
I rub my temples. "Okay, okay. Think. Step one: figure out where I am. Step two: figure out whose child I am. Step three: cry. Step four: profit."
I sit up again more seriously and scan the room.
The desk has notebooks stacked neatly. There's a little pencil cup. A calendar with tiny stickers marking school days.
A kid's room. Like, an actual kid's room. Not one of those showrooms where Ikea tries to gaslight you into believing your life could be this tidy if you just bought more Scandinavian furniture.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and almost fall—
My center of gravity is off. Because I'm tiny.
Walking feels like trying to pilot a mecha without an instruction manual.
I waddle toward the mirror on the wall like a drunk penguin.
Stare.
Blink.
A little boy stares back. Messy black hair, bright eyes, maybe five? Six? Kid me looks confused as hell.
I wiggle my fingers. He wiggles his.
I stick out my tongue. He judges me silently.
"…Damn," I whisper. "I'm kinda cute. Hidden buff? No. But potential main-character energy? Slightly above average."
Then I look at the Omnitrix again and grin. "Okay. Maybe I can work with this. New life, new game. We speedrun greatness. World record pace."
The enthused beep the watch gives almost feels encouraging.
I tap it lightly. No transformation attempt — just testing the button.
It hums faintly, the green glow brightening.
"Oh my god, it actually works."
I press the dial—
—and instantly yank my hand away when the hologram pops up.
"NOPE. Not turning into an alien in a carpeted room with a low ceiling. That's how you remodel this place into modern art."
I take two deep breaths.
But the hysteria is fading, replaced by a bubbling excitement.
"This is insane," I mutter. "This is… legendary. I have the Omnitrix. I am tiny. I probably have parents who aren't emotionally distant. Maybe. Hopefully. Jury's out."
I glance around again.
Something about the posters catches my eye this time.
The art style.
The designs.
The hero costumes.
Then it clicks.
"…Bro."
I step closer. "No way. That's… that's All Might. That's straight up All Might. Like the 'I AM HERE' tooth-sparkle menace himself."
I turn slowly, scanning the rest of the room.
The uniform hanging on the wall.
The notebooks with faint doodles of stylized heroes.
The accessories.
Everything screams My Hero Academia aesthetic.
"Oh. My. God."
I run both hands through my hair. "I'm in MHA? I reincarnated into the land of quirks and side character death rates?!"
I clutch the Omnitrix protectively.
"Okay, at least I came with DLC. God looked at me and said, 'You won't survive with mid quirk potential, take the good stuff.'"
My heart is beating fast now — not scared, more like the moment right before opening a mystery box in a video game.
"Alright, gameplay trailer vibes. Let's check the inventory."
I start searching the room.
Drawer? Full of clothes that are now my clothes.
Bookshelf? Kid-friendly manga and textbooks.
Desk? Stationery perfectly lined up like whoever this kid is, he has his life together more than I ever did.
"And the award for 'Most Organized Six-Year-Old' goes to…"
I sweep my hand theatrically across the room.
"…me! Apparently. Great. Amazing. Character development from birth."
I pause.
Something feels odd.
Not bad. Just… nostalgic?
The room has this warm, lived-in atmosphere. The kind that tells you someone really wanted their kid to have a nice space.
Soft blanket.
Night-light shaped like a little star.
Stuffed toys neatly tucked along the shelf.
A weird warmth swells in my chest.
"I hope my new parents aren't villains," I murmur. "Please let them be normal. Or at least chill. Or rich. I'd settle for rich."
I march back to the bed, climb up, and sit cross-legged like a tiny little sage.
"Okay. Let's summarize. I am small. I am in MHA. I have the Omnitrix. I have zero training, zero information, and zero idea what year it is. But—"
I slap my knee dramatically.
"—I have memes and optimism. That's enough to survive, right?"
The watch gives a soft chime.
"See? Even the cosmic superdevice believes in me."
I flop backward onto the mattress again and stare at the ceiling.
"Damn. New life, though. That's crazy. I didn't even get a tutorial cutscene. No god showed up like 'hey champ, good luck, don't die lol.' I woke up like someone pressed the respawn button on accident."
I lift my tiny hand.
"Imagine if I go Four Arms in the middle of kindergarten. Instant world domination. Or expulsion. One of those two."
For a moment I let myself enjoy it — the surreal rush, the absurdity, the crazy hope that maybe this life won't be as messy as the last.
I turn my wrist and admire the Omnitrix again.
"Man… I can't believe this is real. I swear if this is a dream I'm swinging on whoever wakes me up."
Right on cue, something outside the door thuds.
A footstep.
Then another.
I jolt upright.
"Okay… okay… maybe that's my new mom? Or dad? Or morally ambiguous guardian? Or a supervillain who likes breakfast routines?"
The footsteps stop right outside.
I hold my breath.
Then—
"Yujiro Hamada! Come here, this instant!"
My stomach drops.
"…Yujiro WHAT?"