Morning sunlight slipped gently into the Kurogane household, warm and golden, glowing through elegant glass windows and settling over polished floors. The house—large, welcoming, and beautifully maintained—stood right beside the equally luxurious Yaoyorozu estate. Only a neat, short hedge separated the two properties.
Two-year-old Arlan Kurogane blinked awake in his crib.
He wasn't the sleepy, fuzzy-minded baby everyone assumed him to be.
He was a grown mind—reborn, intelligent, aware—wrapped in a tiny child's body.
Great. Another day of being adorable against my will.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes with chubby little hands. His quirk hummed faintly beneath his skin, a gentle pulse like a soft drumbeat, waiting for him to test it again.
Before he could even stretch, the door opened.
His mother walked in.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Hana Kurogane said with a warm, glowing smile. "Awake early again, hmm?"
Arlan smiled back.
Not a forced baby smile.
A genuine one.
Because she really was the kind of mother anyone would dream of.
She lifted him from the crib, hugging him close, and he melted into her hold—partially because she was soft and warm… and partially because fighting a mother's affection was futile.
As she carried him downstairs, he saw the garden through the window.
And there she was.
Momo Yaoyorozu.
Also two years old.
Also adorable.
Also terrifying.
The little girl sat under a parasol in her yard, hugging a picture book, tiny legs folded neatly under her. Her dark eyes scanned the Kurogane house with laser focus.
And the moment Arlan appeared in the window—
Momo froze.
Her grip on the book tightened.
Her expression sharpened.
Like she had found
her target.
His mother laughed.
"Momo-chan has been waiting for you since morning."
Of course she had.
This was… routine now.
Their families encouraged them to play together every day, and Momo took "every day" literally.
As they stepped into the garden, Momo shot up from her seat, dropped her book onto the grass, and marched toward them with tiny, determined steps.
"Good morning, Momo-chan!" Hana greeted warmly.
Momo didn't respond.
She simply extended her arms toward Arlan.
A silent demand.
Hana giggled. "Oh my, she wants to hold you."
Arlan sighed in his soul as he was gently placed into Momo's waiting arms.
She immediately hugged him.
Aggressively.
"M-Momo—air—" Arlan wheezed as she buried her face into his shoulder.
"My Arlan," she mumbled.
Not "Arlan."
"My Arlan."
This toddler was already laying foundation stones for lifelong ownership.
Hana pressed a hand to her cheek. "She really adores you."
Arlan mentally corrected:
She's two steps away from kidnapping me.
But he said nothing because his vocal cords were still baby-tier.
A Genius in a Toddler's Body
Despite his size and age, Arlan's brain moved like a high-speed processor:
✔ He fully understood Japanese
✔ He could read basic characters
✔ He could mentally solve engineering equations
✔ He could remember everything perfectly
✔ He could sense rhythms in the world around him
✔ He could even plan inventions he couldn't yet build
And his quirk?
Music Empowerment.
It responded to real singing, which was a problem because:
A 2-year-old's singing = chaos.
But even that tiny vocal ability was enough to trigger faint waves of power.
Today, he planned to experiment again.
But first—
Momo handed him her picture book.
With intense eye contact.
"Read," she ordered.
"You want me to read to you?" Arlan asked softly.
She nodded so hard her tiny ponytail bobbed.
Arlan opened the book. It was about kittens playing near a river.
But Momo wasn't looking at the book.
She was staring at him.
Eyes wide.
Unblinking.
Possessive.
"Um… Momo? You're staring."
She blinked once.
"Arlan."
That was apparently her explanation.
He sighed and continued reading in a clear, surprisingly articulate toddler voice.
Halfway through the story, Momo scooted closer.
This puzzled Arlan because she was already glued to him like a limpet.
Yet she somehow found a way to be even closer.
Her tiny fingers curled into his shirt.
Possessiveness level:
Steadily increasing.
A Quirk Awakening
When the story finished, Arlan looked around the garden.
No adults nearby.
No distractions.
Perfect place to test things.
"Momo," he whispered, "I want to try something with my quirk, okay?"
She stared blankly at him.
Then she nodded.
"Stay close," she added.
"You're already— never mind."
Arlan inhaled deeply.
Then he sang.
Just a single line of a soft lullaby.
His toddler voice was small and imperfect…
But powerful in a different way.
The air changed.
A faint melody shimmered around them—soft piano notes echoing out of nowhere, gentle like a music box floating in the wind.
The grass rustled, even though there was no breeze.
A glow formed around Arlan's tiny body.
Momo froze.
Not in fear.
In awe.
"Arlan…" she whispered.
He continued for a few more seconds.
His strength increased.
His senses sharpened.
He felt lighter. Brighter. Warmer.
Then he stopped.
Everything vanished instantly.
The air quieted.
The wind died.
The melody faded.
Momo grabbed his shoulders.
"Again," she demanded.
Arlan laughed softly. "Later. It takes a lot of energy."
Momo visibly pouted.
Her first pout ever.
Then she pulled him into another hug—her version of both affection and emotional blackmail.
Arlan let out a tiny sigh.
This was his new life.
A quirk awakening.
A genius's mind.
A possessive childhood friend fused to his side.
And he wouldn't change any of it.
Not for the world.
The breeze in the garden shifted gently, carrying with it the faintest traces of the musical aura Arlan had produced. Even though the effect had faded, the memory of it lingered vibrantly in the air—like aftershocks of a beautiful melody.
Momo had not moved an inch since the music stopped.
She still held onto Arlan's shoulders, staring at him with large, unblinking eyes. There was no fear in them. Only awe. Curiosity. And an intensity that no two-year-old should realistically be able to produce.
But Momo Yaoyorozu, even at two years old, was not a normal child.
Arlan, now fully aware of her growing fixation, offered her a soft smile.
"…Momo? You okay?"
She slowly nodded.
Then, very calmly—
She pulled him into her lap.
"Momo, what are you—oof—"
Her tiny arms wrapped around his waist, locking him there like he was her personal treasure chest.
"My Ren," she whispered into his shoulder.
Oh boy.
The possessiveness… evolved.
⸻
The Yaoyorozu Matriarch Appears
Footsteps approached from the paved walkway of the garden.
Momo's mother, Yaoyorozu Michi, emerged wearing a flowing, elegant kimono. She smiled gently upon seeing the children.
"Good morning, Hana-san. Good morning, Arlan-chan." Her voice was refined, warm. "And Momo, darling, are you taking good care of him?"
Momo nodded fiercely.
Arlan could almost hear her inner monologue:
He is mine. MY Ren. I protect. I hold.
Michi clasped her hands with a soft laugh. "She's become even more attached to him lately."
"No kidding…" Arlan thought.
Hana, Arlan's mother, smiled happily. "It's adorable, isn't it? They're inseparable already."
Michi nodded. "Almost like fate."
Arlan froze for half a second.
Lady, you have no idea.
⸻
Breakfast Time — Except Momo Has Other Plans
"Arlan-chan, would you like some breakfast?" Hana asked, brushing his hair with her fingers.
He nodded.
But the problem was…
He couldn't move.
Momo was gripping him with the determination of a bodyguard refusing to let go of her VIP.
"Momo, sweetie," her mother tried gently, "you need to let Arlan go so he can eat."
Momo's arms only tightened.
"No," she said, very confidently for someone who had just learned how to speak.
Arlan sighed. "…This is my life."
Hana giggled. "Don't worry, darling. Let me help."
She leaned down and tickled Momo's cheeks.
Momo froze.
Shivered.
Squeaked.
And immediately loosened her grip.
Arlan took a tiny breath of freedom and was carried to the breakfast table.
Momo followed—like a puppy trailing after its owner.
⸻
The Breakfast Table — and Arlan's First Genius Moment
The table was filled with:
• small fruit pieces
• rice porridge
• soft eggs
• mini toast
Arlan sat on his booster seat, Momo placed beside him because she refused any other seat.
He grabbed a tiny spoon, examining it.
Tony Stark's genius clicked in his mind.
The handle shape is inefficient… the curvature angle is off… the design could be optimized…
Momo watched him closely.
"What?" Arlan asked.
Momo pointed at the spoon. "Ren thinking?"
"…Yes," he admitted.
She nodded as if that was perfectly normal.
But then she leaned her face close to his and whispered softly:
"Ren… smart."
Arlan felt heat rise to his cheeks.
"Uhh. Thanks?"
Momo puffed her cheeks. "Only Ren is smart."
Momo, this is how monopolies form— he mentally groaned.
They resumed eating.
Hana was chatting with Michi; the atmosphere was calm, peaceful.
Arlan's brain, meanwhile, was analyzing everything:
The shape of the bowls.
The conductivity of the spoon.
The materials.
The structural potential for future inventions.
His enhanced mind thrived even in mundane scenes.
He was two, but designing concepts was already natural.
⸻
Momo's First Jealous Moment
Halfway through breakfast—
A maid approached with a tray of apple slices.
"Arlan-sama, would you like a slice?"
Arlan nodded politely.
The maid smiled warmly and bent down—
And Momo snapped her chopsticks in half.
Everyone turned.
"Momo-chan?" Hana asked gently.
Momo hugged Arlan's arm. Hard.
"No," she said firmly. "My Ren."
The maid blinked. "Ah… oh. I'm sorry, young lady."
Momo glared at her with shocking intensity for a toddler.
Even Arlan was speechless.
He leaned toward Momo, whispering, "Momo, she's just giving me food."
Momo paused.
Then reluctantly nodded.
But the maid wisely decided to place the apple slice on Arlan's plate… and then retreat.
Hana giggled. "She's so protective of you, Arlan."
Arlan pressed his lips together.
"You don't say."
⸻
Playtime — But Momo Isn't Letting Go
After breakfast, the children were allowed to play in the garden again.
There were toys everywhere:
• building blocks
• soft balls
• picture books
• plush toys
• mini puzzles
Arlan reached for a plush bear.
Momo grabbed it first.
Arlan reached for a rubber ball.
Momo grabbed it first.
Arlan tried to crawl two steps away.
Momo slid in front of him like a ninja.
Arlan stared at her.
Momo stared back.
He tried a decoy move.
Left—then right—
Momo mirrored him instantly.
"…You'd make a terrifying hero," he muttered.
She interpreted that as a compliment and beamed.
⸻
Arlan's Quirk Sparks Again
He noticed a butterfly land on a nearby flower.
An idea came.
Let's try the quirk again… but softer.
He hummed lightly.
The melody was simple, like a tiny music box tune.
The air shimmered faintly.
A faint violin note whispered through the garden.
Momo gasped.
"Ren… pretty."
Arlan smiled. "You think so?"
Momo nodded, eyes shining.
She slowly reached out and placed her tiny hand on his chest—where the music seemed to flow from.
Warmth spread between them.
For a moment, the world felt peaceful.
But then—
The music suddenly cut off.
Arlan exhaled, drained.
Momo immediately cupped his cheeks with both hands.
"Ren tired?"
"Just a little."
She hugged him again.
Of course she did.
⸻
The Momo Declaration
As Arlan rested against her shoulder, Momo whispered something with surprising clarity:
"Ren… with me."
He blinked.
"What do you mean?"
She hugged him tighter, cheeks pink.
"Always."
Arlan's brain short-circuited.
She's TWO. How does she already declare things like that?!
But her voice was soft, innocent, pure.
Not possessive in a dark way—
Rather, in a deeply affectionate, instinctive way.
She wasn't demanding he belonged to her.
She was proclaiming—
She belonged to him.
Arlan gently patted her head.
"…Okay. I'll stay with you."
Momo melted into him like warm pudding.
Arlan Kurogane's Early Spark
Momo's tiny fingers were still curled around the edge of my sleeve when my mother lifted me into her arms. I didn't fuss—mostly because her hair smelled like warm jasmine and safety—but also because Momo was staring at me with those wide, dark eyes that looked a lot older than two years old. There was something incredibly serious in her expression… like she was silently telling me:
"Don't go too far."
For a two-year-old, that intensity was terrifying.
And flattering.
My mother laughed softly. "Momo-chan really likes you, Arlan. Isn't that cute?"
Likes me, huh?
If only she knew just how possessive Momo already was.
As if reading my thoughts, Momo toddled forward and clung to my leg—even as my mother held me. She wasn't even fully steady on her feet yet, but instinct alone propelled her. Mrs. Yaoyorozu gasped.
"Momo! Sweetheart, you can't hold him like that while he's being carried—"
"No!" Momo declared, hugging tighter. "Ar-an stay!"
My father chuckled. "Arlan, you've made a friend for life."
Yeah, or a future yandere goddess, I thought with both fear and amusement.
A Small Genius in the Making
Back home that evening, my mother placed toy blocks in front of me—the big colorful kind that toddlers usually stack or chew on.
But I… I saw possibilities.
I began arranging the blocks in a curved structure, balancing them from wide base to a narrow end. A little arch. A stable support. A crude but functional shape of a cantilever.
My dad froze mid-sip of tea.
"…Honey, our son is… building?"
My mother leaned forward. "Arlan, sweetie, what are you making?"
I tapped the structure proudly.
"Bridge!"
I knew exactly what I was doing. My Tony Stark intelligence helped, yes—but my wish also ensured my memories harmonized with my infant development, not overwhelming me.
So instead of trying to design a nuclear reactor in diapers, I instinctively built something reasonable.
A toddler's bridge.
A tiny engineering achievement.
My dad whispered, "He's two…"
My mother whispered back, "We need more books."
The First Signs of Music Empowerment
That night, while my parents discussed future tutoring plans, I sat in my crib humming. Not singing—just humming. A simple, soft, childish little tune.
But something woke.
A faint shimmer of sound surrounded me. A warm echo, a gentle vibration in the air. My lullaby hummed out… and the room responded.
The nightlight flickered in rhythm.
The air trembled softly.
Not enough to be noticed by my parents, but enough for me to fully realize:
My quirk was waking up.
The Music Empowerment Quirk.
My heartbeat quickened. Even as a toddler, I could feel energy buzzing around my throat, like something was stretching inside my voice.
"So this is… mine," I whispered in my unsteady toddler voice.
It wasn't strong yet—quirks rarely fully activate at age two. But a hint was enough to confirm everything:
My journey in this world had begun.
And I felt excited.
And terrified.
And thrilled.
A Visit From Momo (Again)
Three days later, the Yaoyorozu family visited our home.
I didn't even get the chance to wave politely.
Momo spotted me from the hallway, her eyes brightening like she hadn't seen me in a decade. She waddled forward with surprising speed and immediately wrapped both arms around me in a full-body toddler hug.
"Ar-an!!"
My mom giggled. Mrs. Yaoyorozu sighed with fond resignation. "Momo, sweetheart, you're smothering him again."
"No."
Momo squeezed tighter.
"Mine."
I choked on air.
My father whispered, half-laughing, half-concerned, "Is this… safe?"
"No idea," my mother replied.
Baby Genius vs. Rich Baby Genius
We played with building blocks together.
Well… I built.
Momo watched.
For two minutes.
Then she scooted closer and attempted to copy me, but instead created a lump of colorful chaos that somehow leaned entirely to the left.
I stared at it.
She stared at me.
Then she smiled proudly.
I applauded because I valued my life.
Momo beamed.
Mrs. Yaoyorozu clasped her hands. "Look! They're building together."
No, I thought gently.
I am building. She is building… feelings.
Still, I didn't mind. Her presence was warm, comforting, familiar in a strange world where I was starting over from scratch. She leaned against me as I constructed another tiny bridge.
"Ar-an smart…" she muttered in admiration.
"Make… more."
Her voice was softer, shy.
Possessive, but sweet. And she only ever looked like that at me.
The First "Jealousy" Incident
Everything was peaceful… until the Yaoyorozu maids entered carrying snacks.
One maid, a cheerful young woman, knelt down and ruffled my hair.
"Aren't you the cutest little boy—"
Momo did not like that.
Her eyes sharpened.
Her tiny hands latched onto my shirt.
Her expression: Stay. Away. From. My. Boy.
The maid blinked. "Momo-sama…?"
Momo pulled me to her side like she was shielding me from kidnappers.
Then she glared. A toddler. Glaring like a tiny CEO ready to fire everyone.
Mrs. Yaoyorozu groaned. "Momo, stop scaring the staff."
"No."
The maid retreated.
My father whispered, "This girl is going to marry our son, isn't she?"
My mother nodded. "Probably."
I sighed internally.
An Unexpected Sound
Later that afternoon, the adults chatted while Momo and I played with a toy piano.
She pressed keys randomly, giggling at the noise.
I pressed keys deliberately, testing frequencies, pitch, resonance.
Then I did something unintentional.
I hummed.
And the room… vibrated again.
A soft glow shimmered around the toy piano.
Momo froze.
Her little head tilted.
Then she scooted closer, placing her forehead against mine.
"Ar-an… music!"
She looked amazed.
Like she could sense something special.
I was startled—not because she noticed, but because her reaction wasn't possessive this time.
It was… supportive.
Admiring.
Like she already believed in me.
Even at age two.
Little Dreams
Before the Yaoyorozus left, Momo grabbed my hand again and whispered, "Ar-an… hero?"
I blinked.
She pointed at me.
Then herself.
"Together."
Her declaration made my parents smile warmly.
But inside me, something sparked.
Yes.
A hero.
A performer.
An inventor.
A genius.
And maybe someday…
Someone worthy of the girl holding onto my hand.