Chapter 1: Singularity
The world was loud and chaotic no matter what age nor era. It always had been like this and would continue to be so, as "changes" were just another prelude to an era without shedding the core philosophy of previous ages.
The brilliant moon shined upon Mustafu, but its grace—or the night's dark—was not as deep or powerful as the abyss behind the city's shadow.
Sirens echoed through broken and clean streets alike, carrying both hope and despair, while explosions painted the sunless sky—something people had learned to ignore. News screens spoke of destruction and fights between heroes and villains in different tones, the same type used for Naaptol morning sales.
For people, catastrophes had become routine, and tragedy—just background noise in daily life.
This age—this society—had normalized this.
Fear and hope became habitual. Violence and protection—familiar. This kind of environment nurtured children to grow up and continue the messed-up legacy of this society—in the air they breathed, on the earth they lived—without realizing any of it. Like a dying moth drawn toward a burning fire.
Pathetic!
All this lie.Pathetic!
This world itself.Pathetic!
Behind all of this, two names—unknown to the burning masses—who once ignited this fire, continued to shape this age like divine shadows, whose forms became the pillars of Hero Society.
All For One.
One For All.
It was an eternal war between brothers and their clashing ideals. And for humankind—their history. Eight generations of torch bearers carried the legacy, while one immortal villain refused to die, weaving his influence and cementing himself in the center, in the foundation of the nation.
How many people will it take to end their melody?
One? Or the two voices?
***
Mustafu Private Hospital
Hospitals are places where light and dark—even the abyss—exist. On a night no different from any other, a child was born.
He entered the world quietly like a normal child. There were no ceremonies or spectacles to present or watch.
No hidden master arrived in light of prophecy.
No sigh of heaven like in xianxia novels.
No villains targeted the young master or divine child—which he was not—in the direction of heaven-defying thunder or secret cultivation techniques to get rid of him, sparking a long face-slapping revenge tale of heaven's favored.
No random omnipotent being decreed him, his purpose, or a grand mission carrying greatness.
The hospital glowed under the moonlit night. The air carried the smells of blood, sweat, and disinfectant. Machines hummed with despair in overwork, mimicking the life of a middle-aged single-salary man. Nurses and doctors rustled through the corridors quickly, but with a calm born from experience.
Everything was controlled. Clean. Order existed here more strictly than in schools.
Moreover,
The Business Was Booming.
Masaru Bakugo, another salaryman among the crowd, was now pacing through the corridors of the pregnancy ward. He walked fast and slow, hands shaking while clenched, breathing uneven, heavy with tension.
It was his first time. He was going to be a father—a dutiful and beautiful responsibility—but before happiness bloomed, he was full of tension.
There were no parents standing nearby to calm him with quiet words and steady voices.
They were both alone.
But not for long.
"It's okay, Masaru," he said to himself, reassuringly. "Everything will be okay."
He wanted to go in and support his wife, but she had refused him.
"Before me, you will lose consciousness, dear. Or do you think if you push me from behind I can't handle pain?
Are you messing with me, bastard?"
***
Inside the delivery room
Mitsuki was roaring in pain.
"Ahhhhh!"
"Push, Mrs. Bakugo, push!"
She slapped the doctor.
"Aren't I trying, you bastard?!
Can't you see?"
Pain tore through her body in waves she could barely endure—crushing and overwhelming—stripping thought away until only sensation remained.
She was just a normal woman with a hard head—just a housewife with a loving partner—now becoming a mother. In this fragile state, fear and agony blurred together as life forced its way into the world through violence and suffering.
"Wahhh!Wahhh!"
The first child had come out.
His cry was loud and raw. His lungs roared as if the world had already offended him. A perfect copy of his violent dear mother.
He kicked and thrashed in the nurses' hands, fists clenched, body fighting against every attempt to hold him still. He screamed as if trying to conquer the world from the moment he entered it—hot-blooded shonen character, future combat maniac. Nurses struggled to calm him while the rest stayed with the patient.
It was a delivery of twins.
Moments later, the second child was delivered successfully—ten minutes later.
The room felt the same, because this baby was calm, unlike his unruly brother.
There was no scream. No panic. No violent struggle.
His eyes were closed, but his tiny, fragile fingers—filled with quiet curiosity rather than fear or rage—reached out to his mother. Small fingers stretched toward the light, moving with calm, deliberate slowness, as if he were exploring. A faint smile formed on his face, soft and unforced.
"What an ugly little thing you are, my dear…"
Then Mitsuki lost consciousness.
Both mother and children were okay.
Masaru entered as fast as he could.
Twins.
Same face. Same hair. Same blood.
Different presence.
Mitsuki lifted her head weakly, exhaustion weighing down her eyelids as she looked at Masaru, who was holding the loud one.
She smiled. "Name?"
"Katsuki, Bakugo Katsuki" he whispered, not disturbing the youngest.
Then her gaze shifted to the quiet one sleeping beside her.
"And you will be …"
"Itsuki."
When Masaru heard it, he laughed softly, looking at his children, tears blurring his vision.
Happiness.
Family.
Smile.
Is there anything in this world more precious and divine than this moment? A new life in the cradle of his parents.
*Click.*
Photo captured.
Katsuki kicked and screamed.
Itsuki smiled in sleep.
Neither parent felt the strange stillness in the air. Neither noticed the subtle weight settling into the room. Neither sensed the quiet imbalance forming beneath the ordinary moment.
They didn't know.
This was the last moment of true peace they would ever experience.
***
Time passed. The beautiful moment passed away—not forgotten. They still had the photo. The love.
Children grow up fast, and in time something new was born in that house more than others—chaos. It was the norm in the Bakugo household.
Noise filled every corner of the home—shouting, laughter, explosions, disorder, and life tangled together into something loud, warm, and overwhelming. The house felt alive, as if it also breathed with the family—mostly with the little troublemakers living inside it.
"YOU LITTLE GREMLIN—WHERE ARE MY SNACKS?!"
Katsuki's voice shook the walls in the early morning.
From the kitchen, Itsuki replied calmly to his enraged older brother:
"Heroes don't eat snacks, Tsu-chan."
Cabinet doors stood open. Most drawers were pulled out. Not a single crumb of snacks remained—except on Itsuki's face… and in his stomach.
Even the secret stashes were gone.
Brilliantly stolen.
All according to plan, kekekeke.
—Kaitou Kid Itsuki
"So I ate them," Itsuki added helpfully. "To help you."
Clenching fist. Drumming heart.
"As your dear little brother, it's my responsibility."
And… he ran.
"See you—"
Katsuki exploded. "YOU LITTLE—"
"MOM! KATSUKI'S SWEARING AGAIN!"
Watching all of it, Masaru just laughed from the living room, already numb to the chaos. And Mitsuki—if Masaru had numbness, she had immunity.
The twins were identical in appearance.
Same build. Same face. Same intensity.
But everything ended there.
Katsuki was fire itself—full of anger, ambition, little violence, and a lot of noise.
He burned against the world, colliding with everything around him as if life itself were a battlefield to be conquered.
Itsuki was something else entirely.
As for his initial first impression—fake.
He was not calm. Not quiet. Gentleness didn't even reach his threshold.
He was unhinged.
Unrestricted.
He laughed when he wanted, disappeared when he wanted, ignored rules when they bored him, and played with the world instead of fighting it.
A child full of energy and the same intense chaos.
The family suffered him together.
Masaru and Mitsuki could now certainly act as caretakers for other children—none would be as intense as their own creations.
Because if Itsuki decided to run after his daily chaos missions, no one could catch him.
Even before any quirk awakened, his body was wrong—too strong, too fast, too resilient for a child.
Not monstrous.
Not unnatural.
No one understood it.
No heroes.
No villains.
No scientists.
Not even his family.
Not even Itsuki himself.
They did not realize that the axis of the world had already shifted.
Because one day, Itsuki Bakugo would decide the path he would walk upon.
Not good.
Not evil.
Not justice or destruction.
Just his interest.
Only that mattered.
And when someone powerful stops asking whether something should be done, and only wonders whether it can, the world never survives unchanged.
Some people are born to save the world.
Some are born to rule it.
Itsuki Bakugo was born to break it—or to remake it.
And no one had realized it yet.
The time had not come.
***
First time writing something with such focus and intensity. Don't forget to help this poor dude