"What is this?"
I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't. The last thing I remembered was the blinding, flickering glow of my monitor. I was right in the middle of watching the highly anticipated final clash between Luffy and Blackbeard—the episode that was supposed to define the One Piece era. I was seconds away from seeing the outcome of a decade-long journey.
And then… nothing. Just a strange, crushing pressure in my chest, a sudden inability to draw breath, and a plunge into absolute darkness.
I felt something pushing me. It wasn't gentle. It was a suffocating, squeezing vice that forced me forward through a tunnel of sensory overload.
Wait, I thought, my mind racing in the dark. I was just finishing the episode. Did my heart give out? Don't tell me I died before I could even see the ending? I haven't even finished the last season of My Hero Academia!
The unfairness of it all was the last spark of my old life before the void completely gave way.
'A few moments later'
A blinding, sterile light stung my eyes, searing my retinas as I forced them open. Once I adjusted to the harsh brightness, the blurry shapes above me slowly pulled into focus. I tried to look around, but my body refused to respond properly. My limbs didn't feel weak—they felt impossibly heavy, like lead weights strapped to my bones.
I saw figures in surgical scrubs moving frantically. The muffled sounds of a delivery room filled my ears.
Oh shit. Don't tell me I actually died and got reincarnated? A brief wave of sadness washed over me. I didn't get to say my goodbyes to my family and friends, and the petty nerd in me was still furious about missing those anime finales. But the panic attack brewing in my mind was cut short when the doctor nervously lifted me up.
"My god," the doctor gasped, his arms trembling under my weight. "He's… he's abnormally heavy for a newborn."
He handed me over to a woman resting in the hospital bed. She was breathtaking. Even after childbirth, she looked like royalty. She had flowing, raven-black hair, sharp, elegant features, and an aura that practically screamed wealth and authority.
So, this is my mother? I thought, my mind already calculating the situation. Interesting.
She looked down at me, her eyes a striking shade of molten gold. She reached out with a manicured hand, her thumb gently tracing a faint, jagged birthmark that crossed over my left eye—a scar I was apparently born with.
"You're going to be so handsome, my little Midas," she cooed, her voice smooth and rich. "Midas Gold."
[Timeskip: 2 Years Later]It has been two years since my "debut" in this world, and I quickly realized two very important things. First, I had been reborn into the world of My Hero Academia. Second, I was playing life on Easy Mode.
I wasn't born into some struggling family hoping to make it big. My mother, Cybele Gold, is the CEO of Aurum International, a massive conglomerate that practically funds the Hero Public Safety Commission. Her wealth comes directly from her Quirk: Gold Generation. She can manifest 24-karat gold from the lipid stores in her body. She is a titan of industry, a billionaire several times over, and a woman who accepts nothing less than perfection.
And it seemed I was destined to meet her standards, mostly because my physical development was entirely unnatural.
My mother likes to call me a genius. I walked within a month. I was speaking in full sentences five weeks after that. To her, it was a sign of a superior intellect. To me, walking and speaking were as natural as breathing—I had a whole previous life of experience, after all.
But my mind wasn't the only thing that was advanced. The reason I learned to walk so quickly was that my body demanded it. I possessed a freakish, abnormal physique. Even as a toddler, my muscle density and bone structure were terrifying. I was built like a miniature version of Monkey D. Garp. I didn't get tired. I didn't get sick.
In my first year alone, I accidentally ripped three heavy oak doors off their hinges just by trying to open them. I crushed expensive kitchenware in my grip like dry leaves. When I crawled, my knees left dents in the hardwood floors.
Cybele, concerned but fascinated, brought in a top-tier Quirk specialist to see if I was an early awakener. After running a battery of tests, the doctor was baffled.
"It's not a strength Quirk, Ms. Gold," the specialist had said, looking at my X-rays in disbelief. "His Quirk factor hasn't even begun to stir. This is just… his natural constitution. He is physically a monster. When his actual Quirk awakens, given this baseline... it will be cataclysmic."
From that day on, Cybele started calling me her "Little Golden Boy." Because of my advanced physical and mental state, she bypassed preschool entirely, hiring elite private tutors to educate me at the estate. It gave me the freedom to train.
Which brings me to today.
I was in my bedroom, a massive suite that Cybele had recently reinforced with carbon-fiber flooring so I wouldn't accidentally fall through the ceiling into the drawing room below.
197… 198… 199… 200.
I exhaled sharply, pushing off the floor and completing my two-hundredth pushup. My two-year-old arms locked out perfectly. I wasn't even out of breath. I stood up, catching my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I was pale, with sharp features and slicked-back dark hair. Combined with the scar over my right eye, I looked exactly like the character Midas from Fortnite—just shrunk down to toddler size. It was a cool, calculated look. I liked it.
"Midas! Come down, your dinner is ready!" my mother's voice called out from the hallway intercom.
"I'll be down in a bit, Mother!" I shouted back.
I grabbed a towel, wiped the faint sheen of sweat from my forehead, and tossed it aside. I dropped into a sprinter's stance and launched myself forward.
The sheer force of my take-off created a vacuum of air. A sharp gust of wind exploded through the bedroom, violently flapping the heavy velvet window curtains and blowing loose papers off my desk. My feet pounded against the reinforced floorboards, creating a low, rhythmic thudding that echoed through the mansion as I sprinted downstairs.
I skidded into the grand dining room, sliding smoothly into my reinforced steel chair with a grin. "I'm here."
Cybele sat at the head of the long obsidian table, a warm smile on her elegant face. In front of me sat a steaming plate of food.
"Golden steak again?" I asked, eyeing the meat. It was perfectly seared and heavily dusted with edible gold leaf.
"Yeah, eat up. I made it just for you," she smiled, taking a sip from her wine glass.
I smiled back and dug in. I ate with a primal delight. Strangely enough, since I was born, anything involving gold had become my absolute favorite thing. I was obsessed with the color, the texture, and the taste. I felt a strange, magnetic pull toward the metal, an itch under my skin that grew stronger every day.
I think my Quirk is finally getting ready to show itself, I thought, chewing a piece of the rich meat.
"Thanks, Mom. I'm going to head back to my room," I said hurriedly, wiping my mouth with a napkin and standing up.
But as I placed my hand flat on the table to push myself up, I froze.
A sudden, rhythmic thrumming started in my chest—like a heartbeat made of liquid metal. The ambient noise of the mansion completely vanished. The world went dead silent. I looked down at my hand.
A ripple of pale, shimmering light cascaded from my fingertips, bleeding directly into the white ceramic plate. It didn't just paint the plate yellow; the fundamental molecular structure overwrote itself. With a heavy, metallic clink, the plate transformed into solid 24-karat gold.
But it didn't stop there. The liquid light raced across the surface of the table. The silver fork, the steel knife, and the heavy obsidian table itself were consumed by a cold, brilliant luster.
I stood there, staring at my glowing hands. I didn't just see the gold. I felt it. I could feel the vibrations of the metal, the way it yielded to my presence. It felt like an extension of my own incredibly dense muscles.
Ah, shit. I should've known, I said in my head, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. My name is Midas. King fucking Midas from Greek mythology. The one who turns everything to gold.
I focused my mind on the golden fork resting on the table. Without touching it, I willed it to move. The fork twitched, melted into a floating puddle of liquid gold, and then snapped into a sharp, floating needle that hovered inches from my face.
But it looks like it's completely controllable, my grin widened into something dangerous. And I can do a hell of a lot more than just touch things. This is the Gold-Gold Fruit.
I looked up, my reflection shining on the golden surface of the table. In a world full of heroes and villains, a world preparing for All Might's eventual decline, I wasn't just going to be another player on the board.
I was going to own the board