When he was born as a human, the first thing he felt was despair. Fear clung to him like a shadow: what suffering would this life bring? What cruelty would the humans deliver this time? He was one of them now, and he knew how cruel they could be to their own, he watched their wars many times.
But as hours stretched into days, the raw panic faded, leaving behind a new curiosity. He wondered what it truly meant to be human. What drove them to despise life so much? Why did they kill, destroy, and hurt everything in their path?
In all his previous lives, he had accepted instinct and acted on it; he didn't think much of the world around him. Every time he knew what needed to be done: hunt, survive, reproduce, and spread the life of the kind he was born as. Every action had been taken with the intent to fulfill his instinct, his purpose.
But now he was not aware of his instinct anymore; it felt dull, almost absent. He didn't know what he had to do to survive or what he was supposed to do with this life. That left an uncomfortable emptiness inside him, an urge rose that he needed to fill that emptiness, but he didn't know how or with what.
And as a baby, all he could do was observe. He watched the humans around him and learned their rules. Food, water, comfort, these were needs he could no longer instinctively meet, but he could cry to demand them. He was careful to make his cries minimal, to avoid angering the larger humans who ensured his survival. He could sense that he was not theirs, not their child, yet they fed and cared for him. It was a mystery, one he could only silently accept.
As he grew older, learning to move and speak, he made a choice: he would remain still, silent, cautious. Other children around him explored and played freely, curiosity blazing from them like fire, much as he had seen Shiro do long ago. But he could not. Fear anchored him. He did not know what would provoke the humans' malice, and he chose the path he judged safest. He understood enough of their language to know that the humans regarded his quiet obedience as positive; they praised his calmness, his minimal movement, as if it made their lives easier.
Time passed, and he observed more carefully. Another difference became clear: in his previous lives, he could communicate with creatures of his own kind and often understand others as well. But now… he could feel them. He could perceive the joys, the hunger, the pain of every living creature around him, as if their experiences were his own. The only beings whose minds and feelings he could not touch were the humans.
Was this what humans experienced? If they could feel the suffering and delight of others, why would they kill so freely? Did they take pleasure in the fear and pain of those around them? His first real encounter with this question came when a group of children living alongside him brought magnifying lenses and began to focus sunlight on ants. He watched and listened, slowly understanding the principle: the concentrated light burned the ants alive.
As he observed, he could feel the tiny creatures' distress. He recoiled internally, a wave of pain and grief rolling through him. He had to cut himself off from their suffering to continue observing without becoming overwhelmed.
He could not believe that any creature would take joy in such suffering. Did that mean humans were unable to sense the suffering of other beings, or was he the only one who could?
With these questions and for the first time in his long existence, he wondered about himself: was rebirth a natural thing, or was he unique? Had other humans or creatures lived previous lives? Until now, he had never considered it.
He began sitting outside, where the other children played, listening intently to their voices and watching their interactions. It did not take long to confirm what he suspected: these humans could not feel the lives around them. They could not sense the hunger or fear or joy of even the smallest creatures. And unlike him, they had no memory of prior lives, they were already forgetting this one.
Through observation, he also learned about quirks. Humans had abilities, powers beyond the ordinary, some of these children in front of him already possessed quirks. He considered his own unusual perception: if he could sense the feelings of creatures around him, could that be his quirk? And if so, what of his rebirth? Was it not normal in this world? If humans were bound to one life, and he had lived countless, then what exactly was he?
And the more time passed, the more confusion settled over him. Once he understood what an orphan was, and that the two older humans had chosen to care for him and the other children out of what they called goodwill, he found himself unable to reconcile the idea. These were the same creatures who, in his experience, only knew how to kill. Since when did humans nurture life? Had they changed over time? Had they evolved into something less malevolent than what he remembered?
He watched the children crush insects and tear flowers from the ground, only to discard them. The older humans observed with indulgent smiles. This was enough for him. Humans were capable of goodwill, but only toward their own kind or perhaps toward those they deemed similar enough. Survival meant remaining unremarkable and avoiding their attention.
Then one day, a new human began appearing. She joined the little ones and kept smiling at them. He observed her carefully and decided she was no different from the rest. Until, one afternoon, she approached him.
Fear tightened inside him. He had done nothing to draw her attention, nothing at all. The woman introduced herself as Kimi and began speaking without pause. She spoke of herself, of dreams, of heroes. Some of her words were entirely foreign to him; others he recognized from fragments he had overheard during his observations.
She spoke of heroes who defeated villains. That, he understood: heroes were humans who killed other humans deemed bad or different. But then she spoke of heroes helping people, and even animals. Dogs. Cats. At that, he glanced at her. Did humans care for other creatures after all? Could there be humans like him, beings who remembered past lives, who felt the world as he did?
She said she wanted to be like those heroes, that she tried to live as they did. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe there might truly be different kinds of humans. Then, as she prepared to leave, her demeanor shifted. A spider crawled across his shoulder, and without hesitation, she struck it away, then crushed it beneath her foot.
He felt the stomp. He felt the spider's pain. The sensation rippled through him, numbing his senses as he stared at the broken body on the ground. The words escaped him before he could stop it: "It didn't do anything to deserve getting killed." He had felt the spider earlier, its hunger, its simple desire to survive. It had meant no harm. Why kill it?
She spoke of danger and fear, said she had done it for him. But he could not accept that. In his eyes, she was no different from the others. Humans were humans, hurtful, dangerous, and careless with life.
A few days later, the children gathered around him. They said he had wronged the woman. Their voices rose, calling for him to be beaten, to feel pain, even to be killed. Fear surged through him, he thought he would die again. They were going to kill him, just as others had before. And then the gaping emptiness inside him stirred. Memories of countless lives flooded his mind.
The humans showed hesitation at that moment and he didn't know why. Then the largest among them attacked. In that instant, a memory surfaced, of a life lived as a bear. Instinct took over. He raised his hand and caught the attacker's leg. Strength surged through him. Before he understood what he was doing, he heard the sound of breaking bones.
The moment he realized what he had done, he released the leg at once. He knew better than to do more. More violence would only invite more humans, more danger. As the attacker screamed in agony, the words slipped from him "Death hurts more." Perhaps that would make them think twice before they kill.
The caretakers arrived soon after, their voices full of panic. It was the first time he had seen them like that. Help was called for the injured attacker, and he was taken away to be examined. A man they called a doctor declared that he had no quirk and sent him back.
In the orphanage, the women ordered him to remain alone or apologize to the attacker. In his eyes, the choice was simple, avoiding the other humans meant less chance of being attacked.
That choice gave him time and the peace of mind to replay the attack moment again and again. He focused on the sensation he had felt, the surge, the connection. The emptiness within him was no longer hollow; it was filling, overflowing with memories of all his past lives. He felt them all at once, as a whole. He was part of them, and they were part of him, a single entity.
But what exactly was he?