The taxi crawled through streets that glowed with evening light, each turn bringing Isaiah deeper into a life that wasn't his. Buildings he'd never seen before loomed familiar in his borrowed memories—a convenience store where a small Izuku had dropped an ice cream cone, a park where he'd watched heroes battle a purse snatcher, a crosswalk where one of Bakugo's friends had pushed him into traffic as a "joke."
Isaiah gazed out the window while beside him Inko sat hunched and small. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes.
Without warning, a memory surfaced—not his own, but vivid enough to snatch his breath. This same woman, younger and brighter, singing something soft and tuneless while tiny fingers gripped her thumb.
His stomach twisted. These weren't his emotions. He hadn't felt this way since... no, he'd never felt this way. Not even with his own mother.
"You look tired. You should get some rest when we get home."
Inko's head snapped up, eyes widening. Tears gathered at the corners, threatening to spill over. Her lip quivered.
"Oh, Izuku," she whispered, voice cracking. "That sounds just like you. Always worrying about me instead of yourself." She reached across the seat, hand hovering uncertainly before gently covering his. "I'll rest better knowing you're home safe."
"Yeah, well," he mumbled, turning back to the window, "don't pass out or anything."
As buildings blurred past, Isaiah retreated inward, away from these unfamiliar emotions.
Hey, Arcan. The kid... what happened to his soul? Did I just hijack his body?
『Don't get a big head. The original's consciousness was already gone, a flickering lightbulb in a power surge. The sludge villain incident did him in. All I did was find a compatible soul to pilot a vessel that was about to crash and burn. 』
Good. No moral quandary there. Only...
A pilot? For this piece of junk? F-stats across the board and no Quirk. If you were going to save me, couldn't you have at least found a body with a trust fund? Give me the Batman starter pack: tragic backstory, immense wealth, no powers. I can work with that.
『Are you serious? The window for a compatible soul-sync was 0.007 seconds! I grabbed the only match before we both ceased to exist! Be grateful you're not currently a talking Pomeranian!
Besides, with me, you won't be powerless for long. And this world practically throws money at people who are strong enough to take it.
Stop whining.』
The taxi pulled up to a modest apartment building, five stories of unremarkable beige concrete.
Inko paid the driver and led the way inside, shoulders stooped with fatigue but steps quickening as they neared their unit. She fumbled with her keys at the door, hands still shaking.
"Home sweet home," she said with forced cheer as they entered. "Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat."
"I'm fine," Isaiah answered, taking in the small, tidy living space. Everything about it screamed ordinary. Framed family photos on the walls. A worn but clean couch. A television that was at least three years behind the current model.
Inko hesitated, then gestured down a short hall. "Why don't you rest while I fix us some dinner?"
She led him to a door and opened it with an almost reverential care. "Here we are."
Isaiah stepped past her and froze.
The room was an explosion of hero worship. Every inch of wall space covered in posters of a single, muscle-bound figure with a wide smile. All Might stared down from dozens of angles—arms raised triumphantly, punching villains, saving civilians, always with that same manic grin plastered across his face.
Beyond the posters, figurines lined every shelf. An All Might alarm clock. All Might bedspread. All Might slippers beside the bed. All Might notebooks stacked neatly on the desk.
Isaiah stared, vaguely aware his mouth had fallen open.
Jesus Christ, he thought. This kid wasn't just drinking the Kool-Aid, he was swimming in it.
The inherited memories confirmed his assessment. Izuku Midoriya had spent his entire life in slavish adoration of professional heroes, particularly All Might.
He'd filled notebooks with detailed analyses of their powers, techniques, and battles. He'd stayed up late watching hero fights online.
He'd risked his life running toward villain attacks just to catch a glimpse of heroes in action.
"It'll help your memory to be surrounded by your things," Inko said from the doorway. "Maybe look through some of your hero journals? They always meant so much to you."
Isaiah nodded vaguely, still taking in the horror show of fandom.
"I'll call you when dinner's ready," she said, closing the door softly behind her.
The moment she was gone, Isaiah strode to the bed and dropped onto it, springs groaning beneath him. He stared up at the ceiling, where, yes, there was an All Might poster taped directly above where the bed's occupant would sleep.
Obsessive. Single-minded. Fanboy to the point of mental illness, he thought.
And people say I have unhealthy fixations.
He turned his head to look at the desk, where a notebook lay open. Izuku's handwriting filled the page, meticulous notes about some hero named "Kamui Woods" complete with sketches of combat stances and applications of his power.
"No wonder this kid got bullied," Isaiah muttered under his breath. "He was begging for it."
Still, the detailed analysis showed intelligence.
Isaiah rolled onto his back again. The amnesia cover story was useful, but he needed a long-term plan. Izuku and Isaiah were nothing alike. How would he explain the inevitable personality shift?
The answer came to him in a flash of inspiration.
"Trauma," he whispered, lips curving into a smile. "Perfect."
Near-death experiences changed people. Everyone knew that. The shy, stammering Izuku had nearly died—suffocated by a villain, saved by his idol.
Of course he would emerge changed.
It was brilliant. It was foolproof. No one would question the transformation because trauma was the ultimate personality reset button.
"God, I'm a genius."
The world abruptly went dark. A massive text window materialized before his eyes, the letters burning silver against a void that seemed to swallow all light.
『Foolproof? You think you can just improvise your new life? How cute. The System requires a declaration of intent. A mission statement. You don't get to just 'find your path.' You have to choose one. And this choice... it's binding.』
[SYSTEM MANDATE: A Scumbag's Vow]
Description: The vessel is an empty shell filled with a new soul. The path ahead is a blank page. Before you proceed, you must declare your ambition. This choice is PERMANENT and will fundamentally alter your progression, available quests, and destiny.
Choose wisely.
There are no refunds.
[SELECT YOUR PATH]
► [PATH OF THE HERO]: Walk the sunlit road. Become a symbol. Uphold the law, protect the weak, and bask in the adoration of the masses. Just remember, the brighter the light, the longer the shadow.
Perks: +100% Reputation with Hero Factions, +50% Rewards from official Hero work, Unlocks "Charisma" sub-stat for inspiring allies.
Penalty:
Severe consequences for criminal/unethical actions.
Certain abilities are permanently locked.
► [PATH OF THE VILLAIN]: Why serve in heaven when you can rule in hell? Take what you want, burn what you don't, and build an empire on the ashes of your enemies. The world is your oyster; shuck it.
Perks: +100% AP from defeating Heroes, Unlocks "Intimidation" sub-stat for terrorizing foes, No restrictions on actions.
Penalty: Automatically hostile to all lawful factions. Certain "good" characters will be permanently unrecruitable.
► [PATH OF THE VIGILANTE]: The law is a cage, and heroes are its wardens. Operate in the gray twilight between them. Hunt the guilty on your own terms. Be beholden to no one and feared by everyone.
Perks: Unlocks unique stealth, espionage, and underworld quests. No allegiance penalties (work with anyone... for a price). +50% stat growth from "Night Phase" activities.
Penalty: You are a criminal to the heroes and a rogue element to the villains. You are utterly alone.