Image 1: Hanako, MC's mother
Image 2: Grown up MC.
+++++++
Five years is a long time.
In the grand scheme of the universe, it's a blink. In the life of a child, it's an eternity. For Akira Shuzenji, formerly known as Wade, it was a weird transitional period where he had to relearn how to use a spoon, master the art of walking without looking like a drunk penguin, and accept that, for a while, his biggest problem in life was whether the nap time was too short.
The neighborhood of Musutafu was peaceful. Birds chirped, and children played in the parks. It was a nice neighborhood. The kind where people actually mowed their lawns and waved to each other.
Inside the Shuzenji household, the morning routine was in full swing.
The kitchen smelled of miso, grilled fish, and steaming rice.
Honoka Shuzenji stood by the stove, humming a melody that sounded vaguely like an old J-Pop hit from the 90s. She was a beautiful woman.
She had rich, chestnut brown hair that fell in soft, natural waves past her shoulders, currently tied back loosely to keep it away from the flame. Her eyes were amber, usually crinkled at the corners from smiling. She wore a simple apron over her house clothes, looking every bit the domestic goddess. It was a sharp, disarming contrast to her day job, where she was known for shouting orders over the roar of collapsing buildings.
"Morning sun, shines on the street" she sang softly, swaying her body as she plated the food with precision.
She set the table for two. Two bowls of rice. Two servings of fish. Two cups of green tea.
She wiped her hands on her apron, took a deep breath, and shattered the peace.
"AKIRA SHUZENJI! WAKE UP AND GET OVER HERE FOR BREAKFAST!"
The shout traveled up the stairs, vibrating through the floorboards. It was a field commander's voice, honed by years of shouting over sirens and rubble.
Upstairs, a lump under a navy blue sheet groaned.
Akira jolted up, hair sticking out in seventeen different directions. He blinked, the sleep clinging to his eyelids like glue.
"Ugh," he muttered. "Wish I could sleep more. Being a kid is exhausting. Growing bones takes so much energy."
He dragged himself out of bed, his feet padding softly on the wooden floor. The room was typical for a five-year-old, if that five-year-old had the interior design taste of a minimalist accountant. There were a few toys — mostly gifts from his grandmother — but they were neatly organized on a shelf.
He walked into the bathroom, grabbed the step stool, and climbed up to reach the sink. He splashed cold water on his face, shivering as it woke him up, and then looked at the reflection in the mirror.
"Damn," he whispered, turning his head side to side to inspect his profile. "I gotta say, Golden did give me the best package."
The face staring back was undeniably cute, but with a sharp edge that hinted at the person he would become. He had messy, vibrant blood-red hair. His eyes were a shade of deep crimson that matched his hair. But the most striking feature was the birthmark on his forehead — a pigmentation shaped like a sweeping feather or a flame, resting right near his hairline.
He looked like a very expensive DLC character that you had to unlock after beating the game on Hard Mode.
"All I need is an okay quirk now," he mumbled to the mirror, baring his teeth to check for cavities. "Something good enough not to make Mom worry. Maybe telekinesis. Or just... really good luck. I'd settle for luck."
He paused, his hand hovering over the towel.
"Mom," he repeated, testing the word.
He smiled. A genuine, small smile that softened the cynical edge in his eyes.
Throughout these last five years, Akira had thought a lot about the dog's advice.
Treat them like humans.
It had seemed obvious at the time. Of course they were humans. But living it was different. When you are reborn into a world you know as fiction, there is a barrier. A glass wall. You expect catchphrases. You expect anime logic. You expect people to be one-dimensional caricatures of "The Hero" or "The Mother."
But Honoka Shuzenji wasn't a trope.
She was an angel. Well, mostly. She was an angel except for the times Akira did something stupid, like trying to fix the toaster with a fork because he was curious about the mechanics of this world's technology. At that point, she became a devil that rivaled All Might in sheer pressure, who, by the way, is the top dog of this world.
In his last life as Wade, parents were a concept he saw on TV. He watched sitcoms where dads made bad jokes and moms baked cookies. He watched dramas where families screamed and threw vases. He never knew which was real. He grew up in a system that provided food and shelter, but never affection. He was a number on a spreadsheet, a mouth to feed, a bed to fill.
Honoka changed that.
He realized what he had been missing. It wasn't the cookies or the jokes.
It was the safety.
It was the feeling of knowing that, no matter what happened, someone had his back. Someone would fight for him. Someone would kill for him.
Honoka worked long shifts, came home exhausted, smelling of smoke and antiseptic, and still had the energy to read him bedtime stories or bandage his scraped knees with a kiss and a smile.
He didn't have to fight for himself all the time. He could just... be.
And he was thankful for that. More than he could ever say. It was a debt he knew he could never repay, but one he was happy to owe.
His mother was a Field Doctor — a specialized hero role. She wasn't a combatant, but she was usually the first one on the scene after the disaster. Her quirk, Verdant Flame, allowed her to generate green fire that could heal wounds. It was powerful, but it burned through her own stamina rapidly. She came home some days looking like a ghost, barely able to stand, because she had poured her own life force into saving civilians.
Then there was his grandmother.
Chiyo Shuzenji, AKA Recovery Girl.
Akira had only visited her workplace once. It was a massive, fortress-like campus made of glass and steel in the shape of an 'H'. U.A. High School.
He remembered standing at the gates, clutching Honoka's hand, looking up at the towering structure. He remembered this building. Which meant that was where the story would take place. It was surreal, standing at the epicenter of a story he was about to watch.
But to him, Chiyo wasn't a plot device or a legendary healer. She was just 'Obaa-chan' who always candies in her white coat. Her quirk was the opposite of Honoka's; instead of using her own stamina, she accelerated the patient's healing by using their energy. And she activated it by kissing them.
Which is hella weird, Akira thought, scrubbing his face with the towel. I really hope genetics skips a generation on that specific activation requirement. I do not want to go around kissing people to fix their broken bones. That's a lawsuit waiting to happen. Not to mention incredibly awkward.
He stepped down from the stool.
I just want a self-healing quirk, he decided. Imagine the money I'd save. No hospital bills. I could trip down the stairs and just walk it off. Efficiency is the key to a happy life.
"AKIRA! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW OR DO YOU WANT ME TO COME UP THERE?!"
The second warning. The tone had shifted from 'Annoyed Mother' to 'Tactical Threat'.
Akira's daydream was shattered.
"COMING, MOM!" he yelled back, his voice cracking slightly.
He threw the towel on the rack (Missing it completely) and bolted out of the bathroom. He sprinted to the stairs, socks sliding on the polished wood. He grabbed the bar, swinging around the corner with the reckless momentum only a five-year-old possesses.
He took the first step.
He missed the second.
Gravity, once again, proved to be his oldest enemy.
His foot slipped on the polished wood.
Not again, was the only thought that went through his mind as the world tilted.
He tumbled forward. His knee smashed hard against the edge of a step, a sharp, white-hot bolt of pain shooting up his leg. He tumbled the rest of the way, landing in a heap at the bottom of the landing.
For a second, there was silence.
Then, the pain registered. He felt blood on his knee.
"Ouch..." he hissed, scrunching his eyes shut. "Stupid stairs. Stupid gravity."
And then, his mind went blank.
It wasn't like fainting. It was a switch. A sudden, violent shifting of gears deep inside his chest. It felt like a spark igniting in a room full of gas.
What?
Heat.
Not the burning heat of a stove, but a rushing, flowing warmth that flooded his veins. It surged from his core, racing towards the injury.
Across the room, in the kitchen, the thud reached Honoka.
She dropped the spatula. "Akira?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She sprinted out of the kitchen, her heart hammering in her throat. "Akira!"
She rounded the corner into the hallway and froze.
She was shell-shocked.
Akira was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring at his knee with wide, terrified eyes.
But he wasn't crying.
He was burning.
Soft, ethereal blue flames were dancing over his skin. They weren't erratic or consuming; they flowed like water, wrapping around his small body in a gentle embrace. The tips of the blue flames were licked with gold, glowing with a divine, calming light. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Honoka watched, her breath caught in her throat, as the flames concentrated on his scraped, bleeding knee.
The skin knit itself together. The blood evaporated into blue mist. The bruise faded before it could even form. In seconds, the knee was okay, as if he had never fallen.
Akira looked up. His eyes met hers.
They were wide, trembling, and glowing with a faint blue luminescence. He looked confused.
Honoka's shock broke. A mixture of relief and awe washed over her. She knew exactly what this was.
"BABY!" she yelled, stepping forward, her hands reaching out. "YOU AWAKENED YOUR QU — "
The adrenaline crash hit Akira like a freight train.
The blue flames flickered and vanished instantly. His eyes rolled back into his head. The energy required to heal even a small cut, for a first-time awakening, was massive. The toll on his small body was immediate.
He fell forward, limp as a ragdoll.
"Akira!"
Honoka screamed, catching him before he hit the floor. She pulled him into her arms, checking his pulse. It was steady, but fast. He was burning up with fever.
She didn't hesitate. She scooped him up, ignoring the breakfast on the table, ignoring the open front door.
She rushed out of the house, sprinting toward the car, her mind racing faster than her feet.
She started the engine and rushed towards the hospital, while healing him carefully with her green flames.
"Hang on, baby. Mommy's got you."
--<<>>--
What do you think? Was the timeskip valid? Let me know your thoughts.
And if like the fanfic, add this to your library, and powerstones and comments are greatly appreciated!