It's been six years.
Six years since I was reincarnated into this world.
My mom and I live in the rural countryside, with a total population of barely 500. It's such a small town that I know every nook and cranny by heart.
Most of the people here are my relatives. My mom's family has lived here for generations, tucked away in the outer agricultural zones of Shizuoka Prefecture, far from hero schools and metropolitan chaos.
But today is also the day my mother and I move to a new home.
"Denji, have you packed all your belongings?"
"I did. I even labeled them."
My mother, Mika Hayakawa, used to work as a municipal disaster-response hero. Basically, she worked with the government—helping during earthquakes, landslides, and quirk-related emergencies that didn't require front-line combat.
She married my father and had me. My father died during a construction mishap; he was a field operator overseeing quirk-assisted infrastructure projects. After his death, my mother moved back to the countryside, returning to my grandparents' home.
"Denji, can you put the small boxes inside the trunk? I'll finish packing the rest of our stuff."
"Okay!"
I really will miss the countryside—especially my grandparents. But then again, this is a good opportunity for my mom and me.
My mom recently got a job as a Quirk Safety Instructor, more or less a cleanup specialist trained to handle unstable or hazardous quirk users after incidents. The job is based closer to Musutafu, the city where U.A. High is located, though still in a quieter residential district on the outskirts.
In my opinion, it would've been better to stay here rather than move to the city. After all, our small town was relatively safer.
But after my quirk manifested—and after my serious health problems—we had to reluctantly leave our serene life behind.
My quirk is… terrifying.
Chainsaw Man was really popular when it first aired. I never read the manga—only watched the anime.
And my quirk aligns disturbingly close to that.
When my quirk first manifested, my mother almost cried herself to death.
There was only a small clinic in these parts. She had to rush me to a city hospital, and it took quite a while to get there. I almost died.
After that, she began reconsidering life in the city—but she struggled with the idea. After all, my quirk was dangerous. Especially if I was around other children.
I could accidentally kill someone.
And I could accidentally kill myself.
It took her two years to decide.
Two years to buy a house, secure a job, and arrange everything necessary to ensure my safety—and the safety of others.
My quirk allows me to manifest chainsaws from both my arms and my head.
In my normal state, I look completely human. No blades. No exposed machinery. My heart beats like any other—just reinforced in ways most people can't see.
Activation only happens when I consciously trigger it.
When I do, my heart shifts from simple circulation into controlled output. Energy is redirected through specialized pathways, and the blade-forming tissue responds instantly. The chainsaws emerge, tearing through the surface of my arms and head as my body reshapes itself around them.
When I deactivate my quirk, the process reverses.
The blades retract. The engine slows. My body seals itself back into a human form, leaving behind exhaustion, heat, and the faint metallic taste of blood.
I eventually understood how my quirk worked, mainly thanks to my mother's consultations with doctors who specialized in quirk physiology and mutation theory.
My mother's quirk is called Living Blade.
It's a mutant-type quirk that allows her body to reshape and reinforce itself, forming hardened, blade-like structures from her bones and surrounding tissue. Her body doesn't endlessly generate new material—it redistributes and strengthens what already exists, allowing her to activate and retract the blades without permanent harm.
Because her quirk is controlled and reversible, she was able to live a stable life and work in disaster response without her body breaking down.
My father's quirk was called Blood Engine.
It was an emitter-type quirk that allowed his body to convert blood into short bursts of physical energy. His circulatory system was adapted to recover after use, replenishing itself as long as he didn't push beyond his limits.
Still, the quirk demanded restraint. Overuse caused severe strain and long-term damage, which eventually forced him out of high-risk work.
My parents' quirks were never meant to mix.
My mother's quirk instructed the body to endure, reshape, and reinforce itself.
My father's quirk instructed the body to convert internal resources into power.
During early development, my body couldn't reject either instruction without failing completely. So instead, my quirk factor adapted.
Rather than letting the blades drain my body directly, my anatomy formed a regulator.
A heart that acts as an engine—one that controls when and how blood is converted into power, supplying energy only when the blade-forming tissue activates.
That adaptation is the reason I survived birth.
It's also why my quirk is a single, unified system instead of two conflicting ones.
And that's how my quirk manifested.
Living Chainsaw.
"All set, Denji?"
"Yep."
"Denji, visit me and your grandma sometimes. And don't forget to text us."
"I will."
I hugged them goodbye and bid farewell.
"You know," my mom said, "your grandparents are really getting the hang of their phones."
"Well, I wanted them to know how to use them so we could easily talk to each other."
"That's sweet of you, Denji."