Inside a completely white space — no floor, no ceiling, no horizon — a twenty-year-old young man stood still. There were no shadows. No wind. Not even the sensation of gravity. And yet, he was there.
And in front of him… something.
A humanoid figure with an equally white body, no defined features, no eyes, no mouth — but somehow, he knew it was smiling.
And that irritated him deeply.
He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and faced the entity.
"So… what's the excuse? Your mistake? A cosmic accident? A divine distraction?"
The figure tilted its head slightly.
"Nope. You're just unlucky."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"…Damn it."
The figure let out a soft chuckle.
"Hehehe."
The young man closed his eyes for a second, feeling the irritation rise in his chest. Being unlucky was already bad enough. Ever since he was a kid, things had gone wrong. Always a second too late. Always in the wrong place. Always the missing piece… or the piece that broke.
But dying because of it?
That elevated the concept of bad luck to an almost artistic level.
He opened his eyes again.
"I slipped… on a coin."
"Technically, on a coin that fell from an armored truck after a collision caused by a pigeon that swerved to avoid a delivery drone that lost signal due to a temporary solar flare."
"…"
"Statistically impressive."
"Shut up."
The figure laughed again, clearly amused.
After a few seconds, the young man let out a long sigh. There was no point arguing with the one responsible — or not responsible — for his own death.
He crossed his arms.
"So… what happens now?"
The entity snapped its fingers.
"Let's see!"
Out of absolutely nowhere, a sheet of paper appeared in its hand. A perfectly white sheet… with perfectly aligned black letters. The young man narrowed his eyes as he read:
'ReincarnationReincarnationReincarnationReincarnationReincarnation'
He blinked.
"Are you serious?"
"Hmm… So many options. Hard to decide."
"You're a terrible liar."
For half a second, the entity seemed offended. The space around them even trembled slightly, as if the white void itself had taken a breath.
But the sensation quickly faded.
And he knew — he knew very well — that the smile had returned.
"What would you prefer? Heaven? Hell? Eternal void? I could even try to find a lost form somewhere. Sometimes there are some interesting promotions."
"Don't get creative. Reincarnation is fine."
The entity leaned forward, as if genuinely interested.
"Oh?"
"But I have conditions."
Silence spread through the white space. This time, it wasn't heavy. It was curious.
"An unlucky man making demands? Not new… but still bold. Go on."
The young man uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. Even without a floor, it felt like he was advancing.
"If I'm starting over… I don't want to be just another guy waiting for the universe to run me over again. I want an edge. I want something that puts me above statistics."
"Hmm… Power? Talent? Luck?"
The young man hesitated for half a second.
Luck.
The word almost slipped out.
But no.
"Just thinking about that crap already exhausts me. I'm good without luck," he said, before looking at the white figure. "First, I need to know where I'm going."
The figure looked at him and smiled.
"Alright. I bet you're going to love where you're headed."
Slowly spreading its arms, the absolute white before them began to ripple, like the surface of a lake disturbed by an invisible stone. Reality there seemed malleable, obedient to the entity's will. Gradually, something began to take shape in front of them.
An image.
First came shadows, then outlines, then colors. Tall buildings. Giant screens. People running. Sirens. Explosions in the distance. A symbol plastered across billboards. Heroes posing for cameras. Villains smiling from the shadows.
"A world of heroes and villains, divided by ideals and methods. Humanity more divided than ever. Eighty percent have something the other twenty percent don't."
As the image sharpened, scenes shifted rapidly. People manifesting powers in the middle of the street. Small children making objects float. A man engulfed in flames raising his fist to a crowd. Another, masked, being led away in handcuffs by figures in hero uniforms.
A chill ran down the young man's spine.
The familiarity hit him like a punch.
'No. Wait a second…'
The image shifted again. A massive school gate. An imposing building. Colorful uniforms. Training fields reduced to rubble. Students using their abilities in simulated combat.
"The World of Heroes and its academy."
The silence lasted half a second.
His brain connected all the dots at once.
Pro heroes.
Quirks.
Academy.
Eighty percent of the population with powers.
He clenched his fists so hard his nails nearly pierced his palms.
"Shiiit!"
That world.
That damn world.
To him, the ending was worse than Akame ga Kill!. At least in the anime — and even in the manga — there was coherence in the tragedy. There was weight. There was consequence. But there… no. There was frustration.
For him, what made the ending bad wasn't just the deaths, nor the destruction, nor the chaos.
It was the choice.
The protagonist had given up on his own dream. Given up on his own power. Given up on his own duty to stop Shigaraki. All to try and save someone who didn't want to be saved.
Is saving someone by force still saving them?
In the end, all of it only served for Shigaraki to be subjugated by AFO. A puppet until the very last moment. And then, as if fate itself were laughing, the two brothers who started it all met their definitive end.
Yoichi and Zen Shigaraki.
OFA and AFO.
Destroyed forever.
No legacy.
No continuation.
No real victory.
The young man breathed deeply, but the irritation was visible.
It didn't make sense.
Tomura himself had said he didn't want to be saved.
Tenko didn't want it either.
If he had wanted salvation, he would have taken Izuku's hand the first time it was offered. He would have grabbed that chance. He would have hesitated.
But he didn't hesitate.
He rejected it.
So why insist?
Why sacrifice everything for someone who chose his own path?
The young man clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Alright, alright. Now let me make my second demand."
The white figure seemed more amused by the second.
"Another one? You're quite greedy, aren't you?"
A vein throbbed on the young man's forehead.
"Are you going to grant it or not?"
For a brief instant, the white space fell into absolute silence. The entity faced him. It had no eyes, yet he felt the weight of its gaze.
Then, slowly, the figure extended a hand toward him, granting him permission to speak.
"Let me choose what my power will be like. That's all I'm asking. The rest is in your hands," the young man argued.
The entity tilted its head slightly, as if genuinely considering the proposal.
"Hmm… Not entirely bad. But I have a small condition."
The young man closed his eyes for a second and exhaled through his nose.
"Fine. What's the condition?"
"Let your luck decide…"
The white figure opened its arms.
The space around them tore open, like a night sky being revealed behind the absolute white. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands of black cards appeared in the air, slowly spinning around the two of them. All identical. All with stars carved into their backs, glowing like constellations trapped on paper.
"How does it work?!"
The cards began moving in chaotic orbits, some passing within inches of the young man's face. His eyes widened for a moment as he followed the absurd spectacle.
Then he clenched his teeth.
And his fists.
"You bastard…"
"Oh, come on, just accept it. It'll be funny, hahaha!"
The laughter echoed through the infinite space as the cards accelerated, forming a dark vortex speckled with starlike lights.
The young man felt an almost irresistible urge to step forward and punch that entity in the face until it turned purple. Even though he wasn't sure it could even turn purple.
Considering all the factors…
Considering his unbelievably terrible luck…
This had the potential to go very wrong.
Ridiculously wrong.
But it was also the only way to gain something beyond an average life in a world where eighty percent of the population was born special.
If he refused, he would lose the only advantage he might ever have.
He took a deep breath.
Once.
Twice.
Then he lifted his gaze to the swirling storm of cards.
"Alright. Let's do this."
"Yay!" The entity literally jumped in excitement, clapping like an overjoyed child. The cards vibrated along with the movement. "Ah, I forgot to mention—you won't know what you got until you reincarnate."
The young man froze.
His face darkened.
"You son of a bi—"
"Begin!"
At that exact moment, all the cards shot toward him. But instead of striking him at once, they began spinning around him, forming a closed vortex—a hurricane of black stars.
The nonexistent wind of that place began to exist.
The cards sliced through the air with a dry, repetitive, hypnotic sound.
The entity watched, clearly enjoying the growing tension.
"Three cards. They're what define your power and how it works. Go on."
The young man swallowed.
Three.
Only three.
Out of thousands.
His luck had always been a cruel joke.
He closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm the heart that was beating far too fast for someone who was already dead. When he opened them again, the vortex seemed slower. Or maybe it was just his perception adjusting to the inevitable.
"If this is going to go wrong…" he muttered, almost to himself, "at least let it go wrong in an interesting way."
He took a deep breath.
And extended his hand—