Adaptation
Chapter 1: The Wheel Turns
Ten Years Ago
Muta Katoki had died at seventeen.
He remembered it vaguely—a truck, a crosswalk, the screech of brakes that came too late. Then nothing. Then... everything.
Waking up as a crying infant had been disorienting enough. Realizing he was in My Hero Academia had been something else entirely. But this time, things were different. This life came with privileges his previous one never had.
The Katoki family was wealthy—old money, the kind that came from successful business ventures spanning generations before quirks even existed. His father, Katoki Hiroshi, was a quirkless businessman who ran a major import company. His mother, Katoki Yuna, was equally quirkless, a gentle woman who dedicated herself to charity work and raising Muta.
In a world obsessed with quirks, his parents were anomalies. Successful. Respected. Quirkless.
And they never once made Muta feel less for being the same.
"It doesn't matter if you have a quirk or not," his father would tell him, ruffling his hair. "What matters is the kind of person you choose to be."
By age thirteen, Muta had lived a comfortable life. Private tutors, a large home in one of Musutafu's upscale districts, everything he could want. He'd kept his memories of his past life and knowledge of MHA's future close to his chest, watching events unfold from a distance, waiting.
Waiting for what, he wasn't sure. A quirk that would never come? A sign of what he should do?
He never expected it to come the way it did.
Present Day - Age 13
The car ride had been peaceful.
Muta sat in the back seat, watching the city lights blur past as his father drove. They were heading home from a charity gala his mother had organized—a successful night, from the way his parents were chatting happily in the front seats.
"Muta, did you see how much we raised?" his mother turned to smile at him, her eyes bright. "We'll be able to fund three new clinics in the quirkless communities—"
The impact came without warning.
The car lurched violently as something—someone—slammed into the hood. Muta's seatbelt locked, stopping him from flying forward. His father swore, hands gripping the wheel as he brought the vehicle to a stop.
"Everyone okay?" Hiroshi asked, breathing hard.
"I'm fine," Yuna said quickly, then looked back. "Muta?"
"I'm okay," Muta managed, heart pounding.
Through the windshield, a man lay crumpled on the hood. Blood smeared the glass.
"Oh god," Hiroshi breathed. "I didn't—we have to help him!"
"Hiroshi, wait—" Yuna reached for him, but Muta's father was already unbuckling, reaching for the door.
Muta's stomach twisted. Something felt wrong. This wasn't right. They'd been driving carefully, hadn't been speeding—
His father opened the door and stepped out. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me? I'm calling an ambulance—"
The "injured" man moved.
Fast. Too fast.
Muta saw it through the window—saw his father's eyes widen in shock as a blade materialized in the man's hand, dark and dripping with something viscous. Saw it pierce through his father's chest.
"HIROSHI!" His mother's scream tore through the car.
Time slowed. Muta watched his father stumble back, blood blooming across his white shirt. The man—the villain—stood up, grinning, the injury on his body flickering away like it had never existed.
Illusion quirk.
"Rich bastards in their fancy cars," the villain spat. "Let's see how much that money helps you now."
Yuna's hands scrambled for the locks. Click. Click. Click.
Muta couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. His father collapsed on the pavement, not moving, eyes staring at nothing—
A shadow fell over the car.
Muta looked up through the sunroof and saw him—a massive man, easily three meters tall, muscles bulging grotesquely. He was grinning down at them like they were insects.
"Oi, Sako! You got the dad?" the giant called.
"Dead as dead!" the first villain—Sako—laughed.
"Good! Let me handle the rest!"
Hands—impossibly large hands—gripped the sides of the car. The metal groaned.
"Muta, get down!" Yuna threw herself over him as the car suddenly lifted.
Muta's stomach lurched as they left the ground. Through the windows, he saw the street falling away, saw the bridge railing, saw the dark water below—
"NO!" his mother's scream.
The giant laughed and threw.
The car spun through the air. Muta's world became a kaleidoscope of lights and motion and terror. His mother's arms wrapped around him, holding him tight against her chest.
"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much—"
The impact shattered everything.
Glass exploded. Metal screamed. Water rushed in, freezing and dark. Muta felt his mother's grip loosen, felt her body go limp, felt warmth that wasn't water spreading across his face.
Blood.
The car sank. Water filled his lungs. Everything was dark and cold and wrong—
Then light.
Muta gasped as hands pulled him from the wreckage, dragged him to the shore. He coughed up water, his vision swimming. Above him, the two villains stood laughing.
"Kid survived!" the giant—the one who'd killed his mother—grinned. "Tough little bastard!"
Sako crouched down, grabbing Muta's hair and yanking his head up. "No quirk registration on any of them. Whole family of quirkless trash." He spat in Muta's face. "What's it feel like, kid? Knowing you're gonna die just as worthless as your parents?"
Something cracked inside Muta's chest.
Not his ribs. Something deeper.
Blood leaked from his eyes—not tears, blood—as rage unlike anything he'd ever felt consumed him. His parents. His kind, gentle parents who'd never hurt anyone. Dead. Murdered for nothing. For being successful while quirkless. For being in the wrong place.
For being weak.
"Oooh, he's crying blood!" the giant laughed, reaching down. "That's new! Oi, Sako, you seeing this?"
They passed him between them like a toy. Each impact broke something new. Ribs. Arm. Maybe his jaw. Muta couldn't tell anymore. Couldn't feel anything but the rage and the pain and the wrongness of it all.
"Boring," Sako finally sighed, dropping Muta in a heap. "Kid's barely conscious. Finish him off so we can loot the car."
The giant raised his foot over Muta's head.
And something inside Muta awakened.
It wasn't gradual. Wasn't gentle. It was like a dam breaking, like a door that had been locked his entire life suddenly exploding open. Power flooded through him—foreign and ancient and hungry.
The giant's foot came down.
It never reached him.
Muta's body erupted in light. His bones cracked and reformed, elongating, changing. His skin split and regenerated as white, marked with black patterns. Four wings burst from his back. His face shifted, became something other, something divine.
And above his head, a wheel manifested, eight handles rotating slowly.
The transformation took seconds.
Where a broken thirteen-year-old boy had lain, now stood something else entirely.
Mahoraga.
The Divine General of Adaptation.
"What the FUCK—" the giant stumbled back.
Sako's eyes widened. "His quirk—it just manifested—!"
Mahoraga moved.
No technique. No skill. Pure instinct and rage.
One massive hand caught the giant's head. The villain screamed, activating his strength quirk, muscles bulging even larger—
The wheel above Mahoraga's head turned once.
CLANK.
Mahoraga's grip tightened. The giant's skull crumpled like paper, strength quirk meaningless. The body dropped.
"Shit! SHIT!" Sako's hands glowed, illusions flickering to life—copies of himself, monsters, walls of flame—
The wheel turned again.
CLANK.
Mahoraga saw through all of it. His hand shot out, grabbed the real Sako by the throat. The villain stabbed with his blade, the weapon sinking into Mahoraga's chest—
The wheel turned.
CLANK.
The wound closed instantly. Adapted. Piercing damage from blades—nullified.
Sako's eyes went wide with terror. "Wait—wait, please—!"
Mahoraga felt nothing. No mercy. No hesitation. Just the memory of his mother's body going limp. His father's blood on the pavement.
He ripped Sako apart.
When it was done, when both villains lay dead and broken, Mahoraga stood in the blood-soaked street, the wheel above his head still turning slowly.
Then the power left him all at once.
Muta collapsed back into his human form, naked and shivering and covered in blood that wasn't his. His body was whole—the transformation had healed everything—but his mind...
He stared at his hands. At the bodies. At the bridge where his parents' car had gone over.
He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer.
Muta curled into himself on the cold ground and finally, finally, the tears came.
Not blood this time.
Just tears.
And they didn't stop.