The sterile white of the hospital ceiling swam above his head with his fleeting memory of a little girl he push to avoid an incoming car in his way of getting back to his home alone. The rhythmic *beep… beep… beep* of the life monitor was the only sound cutting through the thick, cotton-wool silence of his final moments. His chest felt like a collapsed building, each breath a struggle against a crushing weight. He had lived for others, a dutiful son for a single parent whom work tireless days as a nurse and cherished him to the best of her ability , a diligent student that he promised himself so that he can get scholarship and to be able to get to a good university which can be a form of financial aid to his parent while simultaneously be a stepladder in furnishings a better job, a tireless employee who work days and night for the dream that he dedicated and cultivated since he was child. Every decision, every sacrifice, every ounce of his dwindling energy had gone into maintaining the delicate balance of his conviction to his dreams. A child that saw the face of his parent who works countless shift to sustain their needs and to have a better life. Upon seeing the reality of their status in this society, a child take an oath with conviction to help his parent to the best of his ability. His teachers, classmates, friends, boss and colleagues deemed him as an excellent person, a facade to his built in persona in which he created, a mask that will help him to accomplish his goals. A kind, intelligent, curious, hardworking and dedicated person. He had been a vessel, a conduit for his own desires, a blank canvas upon which they painted their needs and expectations. But what about his own? NO!!!! HE DIDN'T NEED IT. HE WANTS IT. ITS HIS CHOICE FOR THE SAKE OF THAT DREAM. As a child, he starts running. An endless marathon which is his only goal is to give back what his parent sacrifice for his sake. But life will give you a curve ball when you lease expecting it. He plans his school, emotions, projects, teachers and his life but he didn't expect a single fall will be his fall. He didn't expect that the person whom his dream is dedicated to will be lost. He can get money, job and things that he want. Anything if he put his mind and body to it. I know it will take time and it will be difficult but there will be always a solution to a problem. That's the life that he was living. But this time there is no solution and that all fire in his heart runs out.
A faint, sickly-sweet aroma, a mix of antiseptic and something vaguely floral, pricked at his nostrils. It wasn't a comforting smell. It was the scent of endings. He remembered his childhood dream, long buried under layers of obligation: soaring through an endless blue sky, wind whipping through his hair, untethered, free. He never pursued it. There was always an assignment, a curriculum he needs to finish, a project deadline. Always something more important than a fleeting, selfish wish.Ahhhhhh if I know that I will be dying, I enjoy the things that I want. I give more time to read the books manga, novels that I want and lessen the time to the books, journals, publications and readings that I thoroughly studied. I'll go out with my classmates and colleagues to make relationship not for the sake of my goals and for fitting in but for friendship that I longed. I eat the food that I want cakes, ice cream, candies, cookies and doughnuts and bought the games that I want to play than saving money for a better future that I wished. Tears in his eyes fall then a shiver, not of cold but of profound emptiness, rippled through him. He felt his consciousness fraying at the edges, like an old tapestry unraveling. The *beep… beep… beep* quickened, then faltered, stretching into a long, drawn-out *beeeeeeeeeeeeeep*. The white ceiling blurred, then darkened. The pressure in his chest eased, not with relief, but with an absolute, terrifying cessation. Then, nothing.
The first sensation was warmth. Not the artificial warmth of hospital blankets, but a deep, encompassing heat, like being swaddled in a sunbeam. Then came the sound, a muffled, rhythmic thumping, like a distant drum. He tried to open his eyes, but they refused to obey. His limbs felt heavy, yet strangely buoyant. He was… floating?
The thumping grew louder, closer, and with it, a new sensation: a gentle rocking. He felt a peculiar pressure, a faint squeeze, and then a sudden, overwhelming urge to push. A primal instinct, unfamiliar yet undeniable, seized him. He pushed. And pushed. The warmth intensified, the thumping became a roaring crescendo, and then, a blinding flash of light.
A sharp, stinging sensation on his skin, a gasp that wasn't his own, and then, a wail. A baby's cry. His cry.
He was in someone's arms. Soft fabric brushed his cheek. A voice, high-pitched and laced with exhaustion, yet overflowing with an emotion he hadn't felt directed at him in a lifetime, murmured.
"Oh, my little one. My Sora. You're finally here."
The words were Japanese, but not quite *his* Japanese he learned through reading too much manga and anime or through cellphone application. The accent was subtly different, the intonation slightly off. He focused, his newborn brain struggling to process. Sora. This was… new.
The following days, weeks, months, unfolded in a blur of milky feeds, soft blankets, and the overwhelming scent of a new mother. He quickly learned the rhythm of this new existence. The world was vibrant, colors brighter, sounds sharper. He was small, utterly helpless, but also… free. Free from the crushing weight of expectation, free from the endless cycle of giving and receiving nothing in return.
He observed. He listened. He learned. The woman who held him, who nursed him, was his new mother, Kazehaya Hana. Her hair, the color of dawn, framed a face etched with kindness. His new father, Kazehaya Ren, was a man of quiet strength, his hands calloused from what seemed like manual labor, yet his eyes held a gentle warmth. They lived in a small, cozy apartment, filled with the scent of simmering dashi and the quiet hum of domesticity.
One afternoon, when he was perhaps six months old, Hana held him close, bouncing him gently.
"Look, Sora-chan," she cooed, pointing a finger towards a television screen. A news report played, showing a towering figure, broad-shouldered and smiling, punching a massive, grotesque creature through a building. The creature disintegrated into dust. The crowd below cheered.
"All Might! He saved them again!" Hana exclaimed, her voice filled with admiration. "Isn't he amazing, Ren?"
Ren, stirring a pot on the stove, chuckled. "He certainly is. Another villain defeated, another day saved by the Symbol of Peace."
Sora's tiny heart gave a jolt. *All Might? Symbol of Peace? Villains?* He remembered the snippets of pop culture he'd absorbed in his past life, the fleeting glimpses of a world where superpowers were commonplace. He remembered a specific anime, a world of Quirks. *No way.*
He spent the next few years piecing together the puzzle. The subtle differences in technology, the prevalence of hero merchandise, the casual way people discussed their "Quirks" – it all clicked into place. This was *My Hero Academia*. He, Kazehaya Sora, had reincarnated.
The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. He was in a world of superhuman abilities, of heroes and villains, of grand battles and immense stakes. His past life had been ordinary, mundane. Now, he was thrust into a reality that defied imagination.