Hi, I'm Jack—and I'm about to die.
No, seriously. Heart attack. Game over. Blame the grind. I worked myself into the dirt, barely slept, barely ate, just powered through life like it was a video game with no pause button. Spoiler alert: real life doesn't have continues.
But that's not where the story ends.
See, before my heart called it quits, I was on a binge-watching spree, trying to find something new. That's when I stumbled on My Hero Academia. Yeah, I know, kind of late to the party—but I'm a sucker for a good villain, and that show had plenty.
Then I saw him—Overhaul. Kai Chisaki. Cold. Calculated. Dripping with menace and OCD. The guy was brutal, brilliant, and just stylish enough to pull off that plague doctor look without being a walking meme.
Now, yeah, I know what people say. "But he tortured a kid!" Look, I'm not endorsing it—he's a villain. That's literally his job. If he wasn't doing messed-up things, would he even qualify?
Anyway, I die. Blackness. End of line.
And then… I wake up.
My lungs are burning. My skin itches. The light overhead is too bright and too cold, flickering like it's one power surge away from giving up. I'm lying in a stiff, scratchy bed, staring at a cracked ceiling and trying to remember why everything feels so wrong.
That's when I notice my hands. Small. Pale. Unscarred. Definitely not adult-sized.
Panic starts creeping in. I sit up and nearly fall out of the bed. My feet barely touch the floor. There's a dusty mirror across the room, and when I catch my reflection, my stomach flips.
It's me—but not me. A kid. Maybe eight or nine. Black hair. Gold eyes. A face I know all too well from the anime.
Kai Chisaki. I sat up slowly, the stiff sheets rustling beneath me. The scent of antiseptic was sharp, sterile—too clean. My head throbbed with every movement, each heartbeat sending a dull pulse of pain through the bandages.
I looked around. White walls. A curtain half-drawn around the bed. A metal tray with unused medical tools. This was definitely a hospital. But where? And more importantly—when?
Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I stared at my hands. Smaller. Younger. Not the hands of a grown man. I flexed my fingers, watched the joints move in sync. Overhaul's hands were always steady. Calculated. Mine were shaking.
"Okay… this is real," I muttered. My voice was higher—just barely—but enough to feel wrong. I wasn't just in Overhaul's body… I was in a younger version of him.
But that didn't make sense. Overhaul didn't have any memories of waking up in a hospital like this. No flashbacks. No trauma linked to this place. And yet, here I was.
Just then, the door clicked.
Footsteps. Slow. Cautious.
I didn't know whether to play dead or demand answers.
Heh writer here I used Chat gpt to try and clean up my writing a bit let me now if you like this better and I'll start doing that.