(Five Years Later)
The sun spilled golden warmth across the quiet countryside, painting the rippling fields with a soft glow. Cicadas droned lazily from the trees, and a cool breeze carried with it the earthy scent of freshly tilled soil. On a small, weather-worn wooden bench near the edge of the fields sat a boy. His short black hair stirred with the wind, and his bright, observant eyes followed the laughter of other children who were chasing each other along the dirt path.
That boy was Takeshi Moriyama.
He sat quietly, hands folded on his lap, his small legs dangling off the edge of the bench. There was a light in his eyes—not envy, but thoughtfulness. The other children's laughter echoed like bells, yet Takeshi seemed content simply to watch, as if their joy was something distant, something he couldn't quite reach.
"Hey, kid."
The sudden voice startled him. He turned his head to see an elderly man standing a few steps away. The man wore a faded yukata, its colors muted with age, but his posture was still straight and strong. Deep wrinkles carved lines of wisdom across his face, yet his smile was warm—gentle in a way that reminded Takeshi of a kind grandfather.
"why you are sitting here alone, and what is your name?" the old man asked, his tone curious.
Takeshi blinked, then shook his head politely. "Grandpa. my name is Takeshi Moriyama and I am just waiting for my father, he is still working in the fields."
Hearing Takeshi's reply, the old man's expression grew curious."You should be out there playing with children your age," he said gently but firmly. "Don't you like being with them… or are they bullying you?"
Takeshi lowered his gaze and shook his head. "No, Grandpa. My father told me not to play with other kids… he said I might hurt them."
The old man's expression softened, but then a flicker of seriousness crossed his face. His voice lowered slightly, almost like a warning. "Be careful, boy. Don't run around recklessly. Child traffickers have been causing trouble in this area lately. Kids who stray too far… sometimes they don't come back."
For a moment, silence fell between them. The distant laughter of the other children suddenly sounded fragile, like glass that could shatter.
But Takeshi only smiled, lips curling into a confident grin that didn't match his small frame. "Don't worry, Uncle. I've awakened a very powerful quirk. No one could ever catch me."
The old man chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he flexed his still-muscular arms. Despite his age, his physique suggested he was no ordinary man. "You're a confident one, aren't you? So, tell me… do you want to become a hero someday?"
The question lingered in the air. Takeshi tilted his head thoughtfully before answering.
"Yes. That's my dream," he said firmly, his young voice carrying surprising conviction.
The man's eyes gleamed, as though he had been hoping for that answer. "My name's Yami. If you're serious in becoming a future hero, you can come to visit me anytime. I live nearby. I wouldn't mind training you."
Takeshi's expression softened with gratitude. He rose slightly from the bench and bowed respectfully, his small hands at his sides. "Thank you for the offer, Grandpa Yami. But my father should be here soon."
"Alright then," Yami replied with a nod. "We'll meet again, kid."
And with that, the old man turned and walked slowly down the dirt path, his figure fading into the golden haze of the countryside evening.
_A Few Months Earlier_
It had been only a short time since Takeshi regained the memories of his previous life—a flood of images and emotions that struck him without warning. They were fragmented at first, blurred like old photographs, but soon the pieces came together.
And with them came to know a shocking truth.
He had been reincarnated.
Not just anywhere, but into a world he vaguely recognized—a world from an anime he had only watched a handful of episodes of in his past life. He had never touched the manga, never memorized the arcs, never cared for the details. Yet now, those fragments of half-remembered fiction had become his reality.
In his past life, Takeshi was just another boy with a fractured family. His parents' marriage had been nothing more than an arrangement. His mother, still young and restless, had grown distant, and eventually left with a wealthier, younger man. His father… well, his father did not fight it. Their love had never existed to begin with.
But what surprised Takeshi—what he only came to realize far too late—was that his father still gave him everything he could. Care. Stability. A quiet kind of love that asked for nothing in return.
And yet, Takeshi had been blind to it.
He had clung stubbornly to his mother, idolizing her despite her coldness. When his father tried to guide him, he mistook it for control. When his father tried to discipline him, he saw it as cruelty.
The breaking point came on a stormy night.
Rain lashed against the windows, thunder rumbling like an angry beast. Takeshi's father had scolded him for neglecting his studies again, his voice sharp with frustration. But the punishment cut deeper than any words.
He had taken away Takeshi's computer—the very PC his mother had once gifted him.
In that moment, the boy's heart twisted with rage. To him, it wasn't just about schoolwork or discipline. It felt like his father wanted to sever the last thread that tied him to his mother.
Blinded by misunderstanding, Takeshi bolted from the house. He dashed into the storm, rain drenching his clothes, his father's voice lost to the wind behind him. His destination was clear in his mind: her.
His mother.
When he finally found her, she opened the door with surprise written across her face. But her expression quickly hardened.
"Takeshi…" she sighed, her voice low and impatient. "What are you doing here?"
Soaked to the bone, shivering, his young voice cracked as he begged, "Mom, I can stay with you, right? Please… I don't want to go back."
Her eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with annoyance. Her new husband lingered in the background, watching silently.
"Don't disturb my life," she said coldly, each word slicing deeper than any blade. "Go live with your father. Don't ever come see me again without my permission."
Her hands pressed a few bills into his palm—money, as if to buy him off. She didn't hug him. She didn't comfort him.
Just a final, distant look.
And then the door shut.
The boy stood in the rain, the weight of her rejection heavier than the storm itself. The money in his hand felt like ashes. His heart shattered.
He wandered aimlessly through the downpour, tears lost in the rain. His feet moved without direction, his thoughts a spiral of despair. He didn't notice the headlights cutting through the storm until it was too late.
A blaring horn. A flash of pain. Darkness.
That was how his first life ended.
And how his second began.
End of chapter
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