⸺CHAPTER 1⸺
Date: Tuesday, April 1st, 2025
Time: 7:42 a.m.
Place: A crumbling office building, then somewhere else entirely
The elevator smelled like a nuclear reactor- *cough* *cough* Joop Homme and despair. I stood in the corner, arms crossed, sketchpad tucked under one elbow, trying to ignore the man taking up most of the space. Mr. Malden, my client from your local donut shop, was a walking creature of caloric surplusity—three chins,a suit that screamed midlife crisis, and a voice that could bore concrete. He was mid-rant about "disruptive synergies" for the fall menswear line, gesturing with a caramel latte that sloshed dangerously close to my last good shirt.
"Lucas my boy," he said-his breath a mix of coffee and self-importance,
"we need edge. Think leather, but, like, aspirational leather. Crypto bro vibes, you know?"
I nodded, not listening. "I beg you shut up" manifested in my head, which was still buzzing from the sixteen hour shift I'd pulled sketching jackets nobody would buy.
My life as Lucas Horstead, 28-year-old fashion designer, was the life of someone who claimed GCSEs and exams "did not dictate my future" ,while getting just about a pass in 3 subjects out of 11 (PE, Art and Geography)…
Anyways, I'm underpaid, overworked, and stuck designing office slacks for a brand that thought "bold" meant switching from navy to charcoal. I wasn't unhappy, exactly—just numb. Like a seam stitched so tight it forgot how to stretch.
The elevator groaned as it climbed past the seventh floor. I glanced at the weight limit sign: 350 kg max. Then at Mr. Malden, who claimed he was easily half of that... The math wasn't mathing. The looks weren't fitting, definitely not fitting those clothes…
"Should've taken the stairs," I muttered under my breath.
He didn't hear me. He was too busy monologuing about
"millennial flannel."
The elevator shuddered, a low metallic groan echoing through the shaft. I froze. The light flickered, casting Malden's face in a sickly yellow glow.
"Piece of junk," he grumbled, leaning back. The cabin swayed like it was personally offended.
"Uh, maybe don't—" I started, but the words caught in my throat as the floor dropped. Just an inch, but enough to make my stomach lurch. Malden yelped, latte splashing across his tie.
"Call someone!" he barked, jabbing a sausage finger at me.
I fumbled for my phone. No bars. The air thickened, warm and stale. My shirt clung to my ribs. Malden's breathing was a wet, heavy rasp, like a walrus doing cardio.We stood there for what felt like hours but was probably ten minutes. The elevator creaked again. Without surprise, after 5 or so wheezes from this pig who's just been standing doing fuckall, with a sound like a bone snapping, our grave plummeted. I saw the ceiling rush toward me. Malden's scream was a gurgling, panicked thing. My last thought, as the world collapsed into darkness, was absurdly clear: "Dumbass last words for a dumbass life."
"Fat shit," I spat, glaring at Malden's quivering bulk.
Then, nothing.
Time: 6:23 a.m.
Place: A bedroom in Musutafu, Japan
I woke up choking on air that tasted like clean laundry and pine. My eyes snapped open to a ceiling that wasn't mine—smooth, white, with a faint sheen like someone polished it with hope. The bed beneath me was narrow, the sheets crisp, the pillow too firm. My body felt wrong. Lighter. Smaller. Like I'd been to an illegal chiropractor.
I sat up, and a wave of pink hit me. Not just from the movement, but from the flood—a torrent of memories that weren't mine, crashing into my skull like a bursted dam.—
Faces, names, moments. A boy's life, stitching itself into my own. Robert Bagley. Fifteen. Lived in a modest apartment with a mom who baked too much and a dad who fixed cars. No Quirk.
"The fuck's a quirk?…oh they're powers"…
And of course he had no powers. Just a kid who talked his way into UA High School's Hero Course through sheer nerve and a computing error that assumed he had something special.
I clutched my head, the room spinning. Lucas Horstead, fashion designer, dead in an elevator. Robert Bagley, Quirkless nobody, now my new skin.
The memories settled, sharp and vivid, like patterns I'd memorized for a deadline. I knew how to move this body, how to speak with its voice, how to walk its walk. It was muscle memory, but not mine. Like slipping into a suit someone else had already broken in.
I stumbled to a mirror across the room, past a desk cluttered with pencils and a half-finished sketch of a jacket I didn't draw. The boy staring back was short—5'4"at best—lean but not scrawny, with messy brown hair that looked like it had a personal vendetta against combs. Hazel eyes, sharp and wary, like they'd seen too much but didn't know what to make of it. I touched my face. This is me now. Short and not bad looking. Emphasis on "not bad"… I think?
"Robert Bagley," I said aloud, testing the name. My voice was higher, younger, with a slight crack that made me wince. Great. Puberty round two.
The room was small, tidy, with a window letting in soft morning light. A uniform hung on a chair—navy blazer, red tie, gray pants. Neatly pressed, but the stitching was off. Cheap thread, uneven seams. Amateur work, I thought, my Lucas brain kicking in. I'd have used a tighter zigzag for durability.
A knock on the door jolted me. "Robert! You're gonna be late!" A woman's voice, warm but firm. Mom, the memories supplied. I didn't answer, still staring at the mirror.
"Late for what?" I muttered…
The memories answered: UA High. First day. Hero Course. Class 1-A.
I blinked. Hero Course? The fragments of Robert's life clicked into place. UA was a school for training superheroes. People here had "Quirks"—superpowers, basically.
Except Robert didn't. He'd bluffed his way in, claiming a vague "mind-reading" Quirk that was really just him being empathetic with people… "How has he done that then?" Well i guess its a lie I'll have to maintain, because getting kicked out IS NOT an option considering his— I guess now my parent's salary… A scholarship is what I needed, and a scholarship like the other students, I got.
I dressed quickly, the uniform fitting like it was made for me. Which, I guess, it was. I ran a hand through my short hair, gave up on taming it, and adopted a slouch that felt right. Move like you belong", I told myself, letting Robert's muscle memory guide me. Act like you're not freaking out. Lucas Horstead had navigated boardrooms full of egos; Robert Bagley could handle a classroom. Probably… Just gotta be another Sasuke wannabe, but I'll need to be a bit more likeable. I'm not handsome or talented to be put up with and be admired.
Time: 8:47 a.m.
Place: UA High School, Class 1-A
I was late. Not fashionably late, but the kind of late that makes people stare like you've personally insulted their ancestors. The classroom door loomed ahead, a slab of polished wood with "1-A" etched in gold. I could hear voices inside—loud, chaotic, alive. My stomach twisted, but my legs moved like they knew the way. Robert's body, not mine, carrying me forward with a confidence I didn't feel.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Twenty pairs of eyes snapped to me. The room was a riot of color and energy—kids with spiky hair, glowing skin, one guy with what looked like tape dispensers for elbows. A green-haired boy in the front row froze mid-sentence, clutching a notebook. A blond guy with a scowl like a bomb about to go off glared from the back. A girl with round cheeks and a bright smile tilted her head, curious.
"Don't panic" You're Robert Bagley. You belong here. I let my shoulders relax, my face settle into a calm, unreadable mask. Lucas had survived client meetings by looking like he had his shit together; I could do the same here.
"Sorry I'm late," I said, voice steady, letting the words roll out like I'd rehearsed them. "Robert Bagley.". Omg omg, i think i pulled it off. Mr.Semi Nonchalant is incoming!!!
The room went quiet. Then a guy with yellow hair and hair patterns like he'd just discovered electricity clapped his hands. "Yo, the mind-reader! I'm Kaminari Denki. Welcome to the chaos!"
Mind-reader? Oh, right. The lie. I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. "Thanks."
A man at the front of the room stood up from what looked like a sleeping bag. Black hair, scruffy beard, eyes that could curdle milk. Aizawa(-sensei), Eraserhead, Robert's memories whispered from the news. Scary but fair. He didn't smile. "Bagley. You're late."….
"Yes, yes.I wont make it a habit sir" I muttered the phrase as if muscle memory lazily. A result from my old life experiences…
"Don't make it a habi-?." He stopped as i finished my phrase before he could, the coincidence making it seem like I really just read his mind.
"NAHHHHH, THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN".—— okay okay, act cool act chill this should be normal to me…
"Won't happen again sir… I'll try not to…listen to your head" I said, sliding into an empty seat near the window. My movements felt automatic, like Robert's body knew to support me. I leaned back, letting the chair creak under me, and scanned the room. "Act like you're supposed to be here. Like another pro-hero candidate, someone wary of his placement in such a class. Like you're not a 28 year old bum in a teenager's body.- wait, NO NO PAUSE. Not like that…"
My thoughts dissipated as Aizawa cleared his throat. "Since everyone's finally here, we're starting with a tour of the campus. You'll need to know where everything is—classrooms, training grounds, dorms. Don't dawdle."
Time: 9:15 a.m.
Place: UA High School Campus
The tour was overwhelming. UA's campus was a luxury of gleaming buildings, open fields, and what looked like a literal battle arena funded by the American military if it were 2050.
Aizawa led us with the enthusiasm of a man who'd rather be napping, pointing out lecture halls, cafeterias, and a gym that smelled like sweat and ambition. My classmates chattered, their voices a mix of excitement and bravado. I stayed quiet, making sure my attempts to be like King .from One Punch Man marinates into their minds , my face a mask of cool indifference.
"This place is insane", I thought, eyeing a building labeled "Rescue Simulation Zone." "What kind of school has a fake city for practice?" Lucas Horstead had designed unbranded shirts for minimum wage workers. Robert Bagley was apparently training to fight villains. The disconnect made my head spin, but I kept moving, making sure to memorise each and every route. If its powers im lacking, its life experience and knowledge that'll have to make up… I feel so dumb remembering my GCSE scores and what i said about exams in my past life… And here I am talking about knowledge making up for what's lacking… Like it's knowledge that im not lacking.
We reached the dorms last—a cluster of modern buildings with glass windows and manicured lawns. "Height Alliance," Aizawa called it. "You'll live here starting today. Keeps you close, keeps you disciplined." He handed out key cards, each with a name and room number.
I got mine: Robert Bagley, Room 3C.
"Between Mineta and Bakugou," Aizawa said, nodding at a short kid with weird purple balls on his head and the angry blond from earlier. Great. Stuck between a gremlin and a Island Boy.
The dorms were plain, almoststerile. Each room was identical: single bed, desk, wardrobe, small window. Like a hotel for people who hate fun, better than my old studio though, I felt, stepping into Mineta's room as he proudly showed off a poster of some hero with her curves suspiciously exaggerated. This guy's gonna be a problem.
Bakugou's room was next, bare except for a punching bag already dented from use. And a attitude more suffocating than the smell of diesel radiating off his body.
My room was no better. White walls, gray carpet, a bed that looked like it's purpose is not to be slept on. I set my key card on the desk, noticing a faint sketch of a jacket in Robert's memories—something he'd doodled absentmindedly. "Guess we both like to draw", I thought, a flicker of connection to this new life.
"Bagley," Aizawa called from the hallway. "Keep up."
I followed, my steps sure, my face calm. Inside, though, I was unraveling. I'm Quirkless. In a school for superheroes. With a lie I can't back up. But Robert's body moved like it belonged in a place with dangerous individuals, like this body was invincible—and for now, that was enough.
Right ?
Author's note : please bear with me, this is only the beginning and just context for the upcoming, real story… I'm trying to make it immersive and allow you guy's to truly live and experience Bagley's point of view… I'll upload chapter 2 in a few days…As I'd be like to receive and would also be very grateful for any feedback from you guys. This is my first ever time writing such a thing and I enjoyed it a lot. I want you guys to enjoy it too so tell me what would make it better…