The last thing I remembered was the screech of tires and the blinding headlights rushing toward me. Then darkness. But instead of the expected void, I found myself in what could only be described as a cosmic library—endless shelves of books stretching into infinity, each one glowing with an otherworldly light.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" A voice spoke from behind me, cultured and amused. I turned to see a figure that seemed to shift between definitions—sometimes appearing as an elderly man in robes, other times as a young woman with starlight in her hair, and occasionally as something entirely inhuman. "Each book represents a different reality, a different story that could be told."
"Am I dead?" I asked, surprised by how calm I sounded.
"In one sense, yes. But death is merely a transition, not an ending." The being—Rob, I somehow knew—gestured to the vast library around us. "You've lived a rather unremarkable life by most standards. Twenty-three years of mundane existence, working a job you hated, no close relationships, few accomplishments of note. But you had something many lack—imagination. Dreams of being more than you were."
I thought of all the anime I'd watched, the manga I'd read, the stories that had been my escape from reality. "My Hero Academia was always my favorite," I admitted. "The idea that anyone could be a hero if they just tried hard enough."
Rob smiled, and I felt reality shift around us. "Then perhaps it's time you experienced it firsthand. But power without cost is meaningless, so let me offer you a choice. I can grant you abilities that blend the illusory arts with reality manipulation itself—powers that echo both Doctor Strange's mastery of illusions and Scarlet Witch's ability to alter reality. But these powers will come with challenges you cannot yet comprehend."
Before I could respond, the library began to fade. "Your new life begins now, Akira Yamamoto. Use your second chance wisely."
The first sensation was warmth. Not the clinical sterility of a hospital, but the gentle warmth of being held. I tried to open my eyes but found them heavy, unfocused. Slowly, awareness crept in—I was a baby. Actually a baby, not just in a baby's body with adult memories struggling to reconcile themselves.
"He's beautiful, Hiroshi," a woman's voice said softly. My mother, I realized. The knowledge came naturally, as if it had always been there.
"He has your eyes, Yuki," my father replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Welcome to the world, little Akira."
The months that followed were a strange blend of infant helplessness and adult awareness. My parents, Hiroshi and Yuki Yamamoto, were both low-level heroes who had retired after injuries ended their careers early. Dad could manipulate small amounts of electromagnetic energy—enough to power electronics or create minor disruptions. Mom had enhanced senses that bordered on precognition, able to detect danger moments before it struck.
They ran a small electronics repair shop now, living a quiet life in Musutafu. As I grew, I began to understand why Rob had chosen this family for me. They understood the hero world but weren't part of its upper echelons. They had experience with quirks but weren't overwhelmed by ambition or expectation.
My fourth birthday approached with typical excitement from my parents and unusual anxiety from me. In this world, quirks manifested around age four, and I had no idea what to expect. Would Rob's promised powers appear naturally, or would I need to do something to trigger them?
The answer came during my birthday party. We were in our small backyard, just the three of us and a few family friends. Mrs. Tanaka from next door had brought her grandson, a boy named Kenji who was a year younger than me but already showing signs of a strength-enhancement quirk.
"Akira-kun should get his quirk soon!" Kenji announced loudly, accidentally crushing the plastic cup in his hand. "Then we can play hero together!"
That's when it happened. The air around me seemed to shimmer, and suddenly there were three of me standing in the yard. Not perfect copies—these were clearly illusions, translucent and shifting like mirages. But they moved independently, waving at the confused adults and children.
"Akira!" Mom gasped, her enhanced senses probably picking up something the others couldn't. "How are you doing that?"
I focused, and the illusions faded. But I could feel something else stirring—a deeper power that made the air itself feel heavy around me. Instinctively, I reached out with this new sense and felt... reality itself. The fabric of what was real and what wasn't, all laid out before me like a tapestry I could touch and reshape.
Carefully, so carefully, I reached out and changed one small thing. The wilted flowers in Mom's garden straightened and bloomed, their colors vibrant and alive again.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"I think," Dad said slowly, "we need to call the quirk assessment office."
Dr. Watanabe was a specialist in unusual quirk manifestations, brought in when the local assessment office couldn't classify what they were seeing. She was a middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair and the kind of patient demeanor that came from dealing with extraordinary children daily.
"Can you show me the illusions again, Akira-kun?" she asked gently.
We were in a specialized testing room at the local hero office, walls lined with sensors and cameras. I nodded and focused, creating a single illusion of myself. This time, I tried to make it more solid, more real.
The illusion walked around the room, picked up a pen from Dr. Watanabe's desk, and handed it to her. Her eyes widened as she took it—clearly, she could feel its weight, its reality.
"That's not just an illusion," she murmured, making notes. "Can you do the other thing? The flowers?"
This was harder. The reality-warping aspect of my power felt deeper, more dangerous. But I reached out carefully and made the pen in her hand transform into a small flower—the same kind I'd restored in our garden.
"Remarkable," Dr. Watanabe said, her professional composure cracking slightly. "I've never seen anything quite like this. It appears to be a dual-aspect quirk combining advanced illusion generation with limited reality manipulation. The illusions can be given temporary physical properties, and you can alter existing matter on a small scale."
She looked at my parents seriously. "This is an extraordinarily powerful quirk, even in its early stages. With proper training, Akira could become one of the most capable heroes of his generation. But without control..." She didn't need to finish the sentence.
"What do you recommend?" Mom asked, her hand finding mine instinctively.
"Specialized training, starting immediately. There's a program for children with high-potential quirks that provides early education and control training. It's run by some of the best hero schools in the country." Dr. Watanabe handed them a card. "I'm recommending Akira for the U.A. preparatory program."