I was three Red Bulls deep into a My Hero Academia binge session when it happened. Episode 94. Endeavor's hellfire was flaring, the Nomu was regenerating, and I—I was thinking the same dumb thought every anime fan has at some point:
"Could I solo this world if I had the Eight Inner Gates from Naruto?"
I mean, it's a legitimate thought experiment. Eight Gates Lee obliterated Madara's clone—a being powerful enough to drop meteors like he's tossing snowballs. Now drop that kind of raw power into a world where quirks are limited by human biology and governmental restrictions? Game over.
"Imagine opening the Sixth Gate against Muscular…" I muttered.
Then, I blinked—and the TV flickered black. My skin tingled. Like my molecules were being rewritten. One more blink—
—and I was lying on a rooftop
No time to understand .
No time to scream.
My reflection in a cracked glass pane told me everything. I wasn't me anymore. I was someone else. Someone younger. Leaner. Built like Lee but dressed like I'd just been yanked from a Shaolin temple.
Walking down the stairs to the streets to realize
Something bubbled beneath my skin.
It wasn't heat, not quite. More like pressure—like a storm crouching behind my muscles, waiting. I flexed a fist and veins rose, unbidden. My breath caught for half a second, chest tightening like I was holding back a scream of motion.
It was like my body wanted to move. No—demanded it. Every heartbeat sent a pulse through my limbs, whispering that I could be more, that if I just pushed a little harder, I'd split the world open.
I didn't know what it was. Chakra? Ki? Adrenaline on god mode?
But it was there. Something coiled, restrained by instinct—or maybe fear.
BOOM!
And then something in the distance exploded.
Smoke. A flickering news ticker on the window of a convenience store:
"BREAKING: Musutafu under siege!villan spotted with a hostage. Pro Heroes en route. Students may be involved."
For a second, I just stood there.
Not frozen—thinking .
The street felt real underfoot. Too real. This wasn't a dream. The air smelled like engine oil and scorched metal. And the screen in front of me… it wasn't anime. It was live.
"Villain activity in Kamino! Pros and students en route!"
Pro heroes. Villains?
The words pricked at something deep in my brain—recognition battling disbelief. My mouth went dry. This wasn't just some random cosplay city or lucid dream fantasy. This was most likely My Hero.
But that was impossible.
…Wasn't it?
I stepped back into a shadowed alley, heart pounding like a drumbeat. Somewhere nearby, someone screamed. Not a movie scream. A real one—sharp, breaking, hopeless. I clenched my jaw.
My hands twitched. My muscles buzzed, like they were overheating from the inside. There was something inside me—pressure building in my core, coiling beneath my skin like it knew this world better than I did. Like it wanted to run headfirst into chaos.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
Because for all I knew, that scream could be bait. A trap. And whoever those "Pros" were—they sounded like the local law. The last thing I wanted was to charge in like a maniac and end up on their Most Wanted list by lunchtime.
Think.
You're in a world that runs on quirks, heroes, and public image. You don't know the laws, the players, or the stakes. You have power, but no credibility. One wrong move… and you're the villain.
I took a shaky breath and glanced down at my hands.
They weren't glowing. No flames, no lightning, no visual indicator of what I had. But under the surface, something stirred. It wasn't a quirk. I could feel that instinctively. This was deeper. Raw. Almost primal.
Still dormant… but ready.
I stepped toward the edge of the alley, eyes scanning rooftops, billboards, reflective glass. Kamino wasn't far. And I didn't plan on sitting back forever.
Just long enough to understand.
I followed the smoke.
Slow steps, careful. Every corner I turned, I expected the illusion to break—some film crew to yell "cut," or some kid to point and laugh at the lost cosplayer. But the further I went, the worse it smelled. Burnt plastic. Melted tar. Sweat and something sour—panic.
And then I saw it.
A crowd was forming, held back by police tape and sheer dread. Civilians pressed against the line, smartphones raised, mouths agape. I slipped into their midst, blending in, trying to keep my hood low. My eyes scanned the scene—
—and froze.
There was a kid.
Short, spiky, sandy blond hair.
Choppy bangs. Sharp, bright red eyes.
He wore a plain black student uniform, but there was nothing plain about the fury etched into his face as green slime engulfed him, writhing like a living oil slick. It was trying to drown him, to consume him. The boy thrashed and screamed, and the crowd… just watched.
I knew that face.
Bakugo.
My breath hitched.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a simulation.
This was real.
I had just walked into the very beginning of My Hero Academia.
Every instinct screamed to move—to charge in, to tear that slime thing apart with whatever was stirring in my bones.
But I didn't. Not yet.
The world was still moving. I scanned the rooftops, half-expecting a caped silhouette to appear. Was this before All Might jumped in? Or had that already happened, and Bakugo was just… dying here?
No. That couldn't be right. That wasn't how the story went.
But this wasn't the story, was it?
This was my life now.
My fists clenched at my sides. That pressure under my skin? It was worse now. Throbbing. A rising wave. I didn't know what it was, only that it was desperate to erupt.
Not chakra. Not ki. Something older. Hungrier.
But if I moved recklessly, with no license, no explanation… I might be seen as just another quirked vigilante. Or worse—a villain.
Yet how could I stand still and let a kid around my age be killed?
I closed my eyes.
There was no reason for it. No logic. Just instinct.
That pressure inside me—it wasn't muscle memory. It was something else. A blueprint printed into my nerves. Buried not in my chest, but higher.
I focused on the left side of my skull—past the bone, past the buzzing static of panic. There it was. A node. A lock. A boundary I was never meant to cross.
But I pushed anyway.
And the moment I did, something snapped.
Crack.
It wasn't a sound I heard—it was a feeling in my soul. Like a levee giving way. My thoughts sharpened into razors. The fear didn't vanish—it just got quieter. My blood burned. Heat rippled outward from my core in a slow, pulsing wave. My skin steamed, every pore bleeding light that no one else could see—but everyone felt.
The crowd gasped. Took a step back.
The temperature around me jumped five degrees. People started whispering. One girl near me stumbled and said, "Is it… a quirk?"
I opened my eyes. The world looked different—too slow, too soft. I flexed my fingers. My knuckles popped like gunshots.
I didn't know what I'd just done.
But I knew it had a name.
Gate of Opening.
First Gate: mental limiters removed. Inhibitions gone. Movement speed and strength enhanced.
I intended to move. To launch. To act.
But then—
"BAKUGO!!"
A shout broke through the chaos.
I turned just in time to see a kid barrel past the line. Small, scrawny. Mop of dark green hair curling around his head like it had a mind of its own. His eyes were wide, trailing tears. Not because he wanted attention. Not even out of fear.
It was conviction.
He moved past Death Arms—who tried and failed to grab him—and hurled his backpack straight at the sludge monster.
Everything froze for a moment. The crowd went silent.
Even the slime hesitated.
He's insane, I thought.
But the moment passed—and something snapped back inside me.
The kid—Izuku. He's doing what I'm not.
He's not thinking about the rules. Or survival. Or optics.
He's just moving.
So I did too.
Faster than thought, I tore past him. Just a blur of heat and momentum.
The ground cracked behind me. The air boomed as I pushed through it like it was water. I didn't know what I was doing—I just aimed at the monster, heart pounding like war drums, and moved.
My hand plunged into the sludge.
It fought me, writhing like it had a will of its own. Bakugo was in there, eyes bloodshot, still trying to blast his way out despite the lack of oxygen. His glare found me.
"Who the hell are you?!" he coughed, voice raspy and venomous. "Get the f—k—off—!"
I ignored him. My fingers locked around his collar. The sludge roared in my ears like crashing surf—but it couldn't hold me.
With one full-bodied heave, I yanked him free like pulling a sword from stone.
SSHHHRRRIPPP—!
Green sludge exploded outward in wet chunks as we flew back. Bakugo was coughing, spitting, swearing, his fists still sparking despite his state.
"You idiot—who the hell are you?! What kind of quirk was that?!"
But I wasn't listening.
Because the heat was still there. That gate… it wasn't closed. And I didn't know how long I could hold it.
Or if I even could.
The moment I pulled Bakugo free, the sludge creature let out a guttural, gargling screech—like sewage being force-fed through a trumpet. It thrashed violently, lashing its mass in all directions, its eyes bulging in mindless fury.
Then it lunged.
A tendril the size of a streetlamp whipped upward from its body, thick and glistening with slime, arcing high over our heads before snapping down toward us like a wrecking ball made of filth.
I spun, still holding Bakugo, and reached out to shield the green-haired kid—Midoriya, I realized—but my brain was running too slow. My body, too taxed from whatever I'd unlocked. I couldn't dodge. Couldn't tank it. Not with them both in range.
Think. Think—
But I never got the chance.
Because before the tendril landed, the sky boomed.
"I AM HERE!!"
A blur of gold and red split the air.
Then came the fist.
BOOOOOOM.
The tendril didn't just explode. It vaporized.
Slime mist burst in every direction like a popped water balloon. What was left of the limb hit the ground in chunks, hissing and twitching like it had been flash-boiled.
And then—an enormous hand wrapped around all three of us.
It was like being grabbed by a steam engine wearing a glove.
I barely had time to gasp before the fist pulled back again—and launched forward with an impact that shook the sky.
The sludge monster didn't scream. It couldn't. It ceased to be anything coherent. The punch was so absurdly powerful that the entire air pressure in the area shifted.
Clouds above us split. Thunder cracked without lightning.
And then—*
it rained.*
A fine mist drifted down from the ruptured sky, soft at first, then building into a gentle, steady rainfall. Cool drops pattered onto our skin, steam rising off me where they touched.
The crowd gasped. Phones flashed. Somewhere, someone muttered:
"He just punched it into the weather…"
"It's raining because of a punch—"
"That's… All Might."
He turned to the crowd, his smile beaming even under the weight of the rain.
"Worry not, citizens," he said with a gleam in his eye, "for these brave young men are safe!"
Midoriya was speechless, clutching his backpack like it was his soul.
Bakugo was still coughing, spitting, but said nothing—though he glared daggers into All Might's hand.
And me?
I was just staring.
Because no amount of anime episodes prepares you for being in the palm of a number one hero.
I'd felt the Gate open. I'd tasted power.
But this?
This was myth.