The battlefield was dead quiet.
Ash drifted like snow. Buildings broken into silhouettes. Heroes scattered like corpses.
And in the center—Eri.
Shaking. Crying. Her horn glowing uncontrollably, pulses of golden light leaking from her trembling form.
"I didn't mean to—!"
Izuku Midoriya collapsed in front of her. His arms, shattered. His blood, pooling. But he still smiled.
"It's okay, Eri," he whispered.
A soft glow wrapped around him.
Eraserhead's shout came too late.
Bakugo reached forward—but too slow.
Light engulfed everything.
And then—
Silence.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain.
Izuku's eyes opened.
He lay on wet concrete. A rusted gutter clanged nearby. The sky above was cracked and gray.
He sat up.
His limbs were… small.
Hands—tiny. No scars.
No gloves. No gauntlets. No costume.
Just—
A school uniform. The middle-school kind. Too loose. Too clean.
A small yellow backpack lay beside him. A crayon sketch of All Might taped to the flap.
His breath caught.
He ran to a broken mirror leaning behind a dumpster.
A child stared back.
Six years old. Wide green eyes. Freckles untouched by battle. A baby face.
But behind the eyes—
Memories.
Pain.
Explosions.
Death.
"What the hell…"
He stumbled back.
His heart thudded—too fast, too loud. He pressed his hand to his chest. Still there. Still beating. Not the pain of being crushed. Not the searing burn.
This wasn't the afterlife.
This was…
"Eri," he whispered.
His voice—small. Soft.
"What did you do?"
The alley opened onto a familiar street. Shops. Neon signs. Schoolchildren walking past with snacks.
He knew this street. Near his old house. His old school.
He hadn't walked it in years.
He ducked under a streetlight and crept to a newspaper stand.
Date: April 12th, 20XX
Ten years ago.
Ten.
He dropped the paper.
He was shaking. Eyes wide.
He walked aimlessly for hours.
Nobody recognized him. Not the shopkeeper. Not the kids. Not even his mother—when he stared through the window of his childhood apartment.
She looked younger. Smiled more.
She was cooking.
She turned toward the window.
He vanished into the shadow before she could see.
Night fell.
He sat on a rooftop, knees hugged to his chest.
Below, the city buzzed. A peaceful world unaware of the bloodbath it was racing toward.
No Shigaraki. No Nomu. No Paranormal Liberation War.
Not yet.
He breathed in the city air.
This wasn't a second chance.
This was a curse.
He had seen too much. Lost too much.
He was six years old again… but his mind wasn't.
A voice cut through the quiet.
"Hey, kid! That's not a place to play."
A pro-hero in a neon jacket climbed up the fire escape.
Izuku turned, face blank.
The hero paused. "Are you alright? You look… pale."
Izuku didn't answer.
Just smiled—softly. Tired.
"I'm fine," he said.
Voice calm. Empty.
"I'm just trying to remember how to be a child again."
End of Chapter 1