Chapter 1
He knew something was wrong.
That gnawing feeling had been clawing at his mind since the moment their rematch began—an uneasy whisper in the back of his instincts.
Logic screamed at him to run. There was no payment waiting at the end of this fight. No reward. The smartest choice would have been to vanish, disappear into the shadows as he always did.
But he didn't.
Standing before him was the pinnacle of jujutsu—the one the Zenin family would have wanted as their own, the kind they would have welcomed with open arms. Not like him. To the Zenin, and to all of them, he was nothing but a talentless monkey.
That truth had defined his entire existence.
He killed sorcerer after sorcerer—not out of hatred, but out of desperation. Desperation to prove that even someone without gifts could stand tall against the so-called talented. A meaningless purpose, in the end. A life spent living to kill, killing to soothe his fractured pride. But no matter how many he took down, it was never enough to even convince himself that he was anything more.
So what was it all for then?
As Toji Fushiguro's gaze drifted down to the gaping hole tearing through his upper body, he felt…nothing.
Just emptiness.
What was it all for? He had given up on that petty, useless pride once before. Had chosen to leave it all behind—to start over, to build a family, to live a normal life like any other non-sorcerer.
And for a time, he was happy.
'I thought you abandoned that pride', he thought bitterly as he stared at his one remaining hand, stained with his own blood. 'I thought you chose to live without respecting yourself or anyone else.'
A voice drifted into his dying mind.
"Toji-kun…"
He grinned faintly, eyes clouded with a sad nostalgia.
It was her voice—his late wife, the only person who ever saw and treated him as something more than a monkey. She was the reason he dared to turn his back on the jujutsu world that raised him, the reason he stopped hating himself long enough to live.
But fate was never kind.
It hadn't been kind at his birth. It wasn't kind to love either, taking her away far too soon.
And soon after, he found himself swallowed back into the world he tried to leave behind.
And where had that gotten him?
Missing a limb.
Bleeding out.
Coughing blood.
Dying—and wondering what it was all for.
He had abandoned his son, even planning to sell him to the Zenin. He had returned to the meaningless, brutal existence he swore to escape. All for pride.
'What a pain,' he chuckled to himself.
He raised his head toward the man responsible for turning his insides to soup.
Satoru Gojo stood over him, white hair shining like a ghost in the sunlight. His face was calm—no hatred, no anger. Strange, considering all Toji had done to his friends.
"Any last words?" Gojo asked quietly.
The courtesy disgusted him.
"No," he replied flatly.
What was there to say? Sorry? Tell my son I love him? What difference could words make? It was his choice to leave him behind. He chose to leave behind the product of his and his wife's love. It was all for the best, anyway. His son was far better off without him.
At least, that's what he told himself.
He remembered the last time he saw his boy.
It wasn't a visit full of warmth, just a quiet check-in long after the abandonment. He expected to find the child laughing and playing with friends, but instead saw a small boy—alone, eyes cast down, swallowed by silence.
The same silence and isolation Toji had known as a child.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
His heart hammered weakly, clinging onto its final stretches of life. And he chose a lie as his final word.
No.
No…
With a dragging breath, he spoke softly, "In two or three years, my child will be sold to the Zenin family… Do as you wish."
He didn't know why—maybe death had softened him and made him naive. Maybe desperation clouded his mind. Yet, it was his last gamble. Maybe Gojo would do nothing, or worse. But maybe, just maybe, his son could be spared.
'Hope…'
That was all he had left. It was all he had left
And with his final breath, Toji Fushiguro passed.
Only one regret haunted him – not seeing his son one last time.
/ - /
Toji didn't think he'd find himself back in the world of jujutsu. In fact, he was sure he was dead.
Yet, here he was.
It felt like a fever dream. He could see, smell, feel, move. But he didn't feel complete, as if he wasn't fully in control of his body. Without conscious thought, his body fought opponent after opponent. He didn't recognize their faces—his limbs moved by pure instinct alone.
He had just taken down another one, rushing reflexively toward the next target. The target tried to fight back, but Toji dodged every blow with effortless precision.
The target fled again, and Toji's fury ignited as he gave chase. The pursuit led them into a narrow alleyway, where he finally trapped the target.
His assassin's senses surged back—the single-minded killing intent, the unstoppable force. He sprinted toward the target to finish the job.
Then, inches from the target's face, recognition struck him.
It was a kid.
His kid.
He was about to kill his own son.
The horrifying thought shattered his trance. Forcing control over his limbs, he leapt away from the boy—though the dark desire to kill still simmered beneath the surface.
He was in control now.
With clearer vision, Toji studied the boy before him. He had grown. Taller than before, no doubt. His own blood.
Questions flooded Toji's mind.
How many years had passed?
Was he happy?
Did he have friends?
He wanted to rush forward, to hug the boy, to apologize for every mistake—
Then pain gripped him.
His body rebelled—the muscle and bone fighting against his will.
'Whatever did that old hag do to me…' he gritted through clenched teeth. It was strong magic, and only a matter of time before it broke his control.
He wasn't going to hurt his son.
But there was one thing he needed to know.
"You... what's your name?" Toji asked quietly.
His son looked surprised, eyes wide – no doubt confused at the situation he found himself in.
"Uh... Fushiguro," the boy answered.
A faint smile cracked Toji's lips.
"Not Zenin, huh…"
Raising the sharpened staff in his hand, without hesitation, Toji drove it into his own skull.
There were countless things he wanted to say—things he wanted to do if he ever saw his son again. But none of it mattered now. For the boy, who had surely grown used to life without a father, knowing his dad stood before him would be nothing but a burden. Probably forgotten, or better off without the memory.
If removing even a single obstacle from his son's path meant sacrificing himself, Toji would do it without hesitation.
'You look like you're doing well…' he thought solemnly before whispering, "I'm glad."
Toji Fushiguro's last gamble had paid off.
He stole one final glance at his son—his blessing—a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips before his body went limp.
He had died once more.
But this time, he had seen his son.
He could finally rest.
/ - /
Everything went black.
He felt weightless—falling through an endless void without ground, air, or time.
'Is this heaven?'
Then, with a sudden jolt, his eyes snapped open.
"What the fuck?" Was an apt response to his predicament as Toji found himself quickly descending from the sky.
A city rushed up to meet him—gleaming skyscrapers rose like glass and steel monoliths stretching into the fading heavens. This wasn't the Japan he knew. It was different.
Toji's hands shot out instinctively, clutching the cold edge of a building to break his fall. His feet landed lightly on a crowded sidewalk, slipping silently into the throng of strangers.
His sharp gaze scanned the streets.
Most of the faces appeared ordinary, except for some.
A man's skin cracked and shifted like drying cement, each step sending faint tremors through the ground.
Nearby, a child's limbs stretched and twisted in unnatural, rubber-like sweeps as they snatched a drifting leaf midair.
Every other passerby bore a trace of power, yet there was no sign of cursed energy anywhere.
'Weird.' Toji's eyes sharpened as his gaze caught flickering billboards high above, each depicting brightly costumed figures with exaggerated smiles—like they were some kind of superhero.
Without hesitation, Toji slipped away from the bustling crowd and into a shadowed alley, seeking solitude to gather his thoughts.
He watched, cautious and critical, absorbing the strange new world.
It felt both oddly familiar and utterly alien.
'Where the hell am I?'
Chapter 2
'Fuck my life.' Toji mentally grumbled to himself as he walked the bustling, neon-drenched streets of this new Japan. The air was thick with the faint scent of ozone and exhaust, punctuated by the odd sonic boom or distant explosion—daily occurrences that spoke volumes about the reality of Quirks. He knew this Earth was far from his own, yet unsettlingly similar in the one way that truly mattered.
It had almost been a month since he'd practically been dropped into this dimension. He'd spent that time doing two things.
The first was gathering as much information as he could about his new environment. For the most part, wherever he was resembled his original Japan: the language, the architecture, the deep-seated cultural norms. But the biggest difference was Quirks. Superhuman abilities that the people of this Earth could be born with—though "could" was the operative word. There were still individuals born with no powers at all, the Quirkless they were called. Despite the dimensional hop, Toji still saw familiar patterns emerging.
For one, even on this Earth, he would be classified as someone 'talentless' or without gift, slotting instantly into the marginalized Quirkless category. Some things never changed, proving the inherent pettiness of power systems, whether they were based on cursed energy or genetic mutations. Yet, unlike his old world, he noticed that the use of Quirks wasn't prohibited and could be used openly. Those with Quirks loved to flaunt them and be the center of attention—most especially the Heroes.
Toji quickly learned of the two main factions in perpetual, televised conflict. Heroes were akin to highly celebrated public servants, Quirk users who utilized their talents to protect the innocent and uphold the fragile peace. They reminded him disturbingly of the self-righteous sorcerers. A lot of them appeared vain and arrogant, which naturally brought his mind back to a certain insufferable, white-haired sorcerer—a perpetually irksome reminder of his greatest defeat. On the other side, there were villains, self-explanatory criminals who used their powers to commit crimes, much like the curse users he himself was acquainted with. Then there were the vigilantes, operating outside legal boundaries, a chaotic element Toji understood better than any other.
Hero, villain, or vigilante, one thing was certain: this world definitely had plenty of powerful individuals. He'd watched and seen the heroes fight with his own eyes. While doing so, his battle-trained mind had gone into hyper-analytical overdrive, a reflex honed by years of surviving against the supernatural. He analyzed each and every fight, every hero, every villain, every ability, putting himself into their shoes, imagining the scenarios if he were to fight them himself.
A blunt object, he'd think, watching a brute. Too slow. Needs to anticipate my movement. A ranged emitter, he'd muse, watching a beam hero. Anchor point is the hands; take those out first.
Though such lethal plans remained purely theoretical, lodged securely in his head, he had no actual reason to execute them. His first death had taught him there was no point in fighting just to prove a childish point of pride. If he were to be engulfed by his ego once more, he'd certainly find himself on a one-way ticket to hell or, worse, some high-security prison. The heroes of this world did not kill, but being locked in a cage, quirkless and notorious, was hardly his vision of a third chance. Toji had no plans of dying again or living his life in some cage; he'd had enough of cages.
That brought him to the second, more immediate priority: trying to live. For whatever reason he had been forced into this world, for whatever reason he had been given a third chance at life, Toji Zenin was not one to seek a cowardly death in a foreign land. However, to live, one needed shelter, food, and water. All of which were not free. In summary, Toji needed a job.
It sounded easy on paper. But it wasn't.
Truth be told, Toji had only gotten by so far by seducing women he'd found in bars and staying a few nights in their apartments—a temporary, but efficient, solution for his immediate problems. He left without a trace once the clock ran out, a pattern he knew wasn't sustainable, which was why he was now actively pursuing stable employment.
He'd applied to a handful of positions beforehand already—mostly construction, or anything physical—but with the advancement of technology and the dominance of quirks, he was simply discarded. Either individuals with quirks were heavily favored over his quirkless self, or the job simply had no use for human labor thanks to automation. Moreover, he didn't exactly have the pedigree or qualifications to take on more complicated jobs, thus he was truly grasping at straws. Toji found it bitterly laughable; even in another world, he could not escape the curse of being a man with no inherited gifts.
Such was how Toji now found himself staring up at a monument to wealth and quiet power, a stark contrast to the back alleys and humble streets he'd navigated since his abrupt arrival. This was the Yaoyorozu Corporation.
He'd made prior research on them. A wealthy family famously known across the nation, and even the globe, for their various lines of business. They dabbled in quite possibly all the major industries from the medical to the agricultural. Though, the bulk of their influence came from the fact that they funded many of the Hero agencies in Japan, and as such were highly valued by not just the heroic community, but also the government.
Their power was not something to scoff at, and its branch office did their reputation justice. The building before him was a gleaming titan of glass and steel, catching the midday sun in a thousand sharp glints that made his eyes ache. It wasn't the tallest structure he'd seen, but it exuded an understated elegance that spoke of old money and unshakeable influence. The lower levels flowed into a series of gently receding terraces, each one meticulously landscaped with vibrant green foliage, like carefully cultivated hanging gardens defying the concrete jungle. Above them, the building rose with an almost rhythmic precision, layer upon layer of horizontal panes of glass that seemed to ripple like water, reflecting the endless blue sky and the city's dizzying sprawl.
It wasn't ostentatious; it was an edifice of polished efficiency, where every line was clean, every surface pristine. He could practically feel the hum of industry and impeccable order emanating from within. As people, dressed in crisp suits and designer clothes, glided in and out of the imposing, almost invisible glass entrance, Toji felt a familiar prickle of disdain, mixed with a grudging acknowledgment of its undeniable grandeur. This place was a world away from him, a beacon of everything he'd learned to distrust and yet, a potential key to the quiet life he now sought.
Not wanting to be late for his job application, Toji entered the building and was met with a very busy atmosphere, with people colliding from all directions.
He wasn't going to waste time scrambling around like a lost fool trying to find his way. With that thought in mind, he grabbed the arm of a nearby staff member. The man had clearly looked irritated by the abrupt grab, but any hint of retort or complaint must have died in his throat once his gaze had landed upon Toji's towering frame.
"Where do I go to apply for the bodyguard position?" Toji asked evenly, his grip iron-hard for a split second.
"Uh…" The man cleared his throat, trying to shake off his nervousness and intimidation. "You can find it on the 12th floor, once you get there just take a right and look for a room labelled the testing room."
Toji then let the man go, prompting an audible sigh of relief to exit the man's mouth as he hastily retreated.
"Got it." And with that, Toji made his way, swiftly navigating through the waves of people blocking his path to make his way to the elevators.
Not even a moment after entering the elevator, Toji had begun regretting his choices.
'Should I have just taken the stairs?' He mused internally with disdain beneath his cool expression as the elevator was filled to the brim—a crush of sweaty, anxious corporate bodies leaving him no arm or breathing room. Furthermore, it didn't help that quite literally every button had been pressed, thus making the trip to the 12th floor an excruciating series of short stops.
He was rightfully irritated, but he couldn't do anything about it. If he wanted this job, he had to make a good impression somehow. As such, he tried to distract himself by focusing on something else. His eyes then glanced at the man beside him who was watching a clip online of some hero.
"TEXAS SMAAAASHHHHHH!" The loud, booming voice of the No. 1 Hero echoed from the device, momentarily drowning out the metallic groans of the ascending box.
He barely peaked at the glowing screen, but the image seared itself into his memory anyway. Despite being a newcomer, there was no way for him to not know of that man. Of the many sights he'd come across in the time he'd spent here, the face of the Symbol of Peace had been one of the most unavoidable ones—plastered on billboards, interrupting television shows, and now, glowing from a cheap phone screen beside him.
All Might.
He was a cartoon come to life. The kind of towering figure that existed only on the covers of American comic books his late wife used to read. His sheer size was a joke; a muscle-bound titan with a ridiculously chiseled physique that strained the seams of his bright costume. The man looked less like a human and more like a slab of mountain rock carved into a pose; a Greek God statue made into flesh.
The face was no better. A strong, square jaw, those aggressive, bushy eyebrows, and short blond hair swept back like a ridiculous plume. It was all too much—too loud, too polished, too damn heroic. He was the picture of perfect, unearned talent.
In this world, they called him the greatest hero, the pinnacle of power, the one who always wins and always saves the day. They recited his accomplishments like scripture: stopping thousands of villains, saving countless lives, single-handedly maintaining the fragile peace.
Toji's lips narrowed into a thin line at the memory of an unwanted ghost in his mind. The man's overwhelming bravado and the way his presence shone brightly upon the world, the sheer, blinding power he radiated—it all reminded him, far too much, of Gojo Satoru.
All Might was just another kind of Six Eyes user. A talented monkey born with an absurd, world-breaking gift. He wasn't like Toji, who had to scrape and fight for every inch of power and instinct. All Might simply existed at the top, radiating an irritating confidence that screamed, "I'm the best, and I didn't even have to try."
It was a feeling Toji was desperately trying to leave behind, that corrosive hate for the gifted and powerful. But even here, in a new world, a new god stood at the apex, shining too brightly and reminding him of all the things he had been born without.
Toji sighed, the movement barely perceptible in the dense crowd. 'Not my problem. That's not my life. Not anymore.'
If he hadn't learned his lesson, he would have found some way to fight All Might. Surely, there would be those seeking his demise, making it easy to find a solid justification through a high-paying bounty. But, this wasn't his old world. There was no Zenin to spite. It wasn't the old him either. He had no reason to fight anybody or to fight for anybody. He was now simply a monkey just trying to survive.
Shaking off such useless emotions and thoughts, Toji refocused his gaze to the floor number being shown.
9th.
He was quite relieved to see it, as there were only three more floors left to stop by before he could finally get off.
...
...
'What..?'
An irritating, nauseating, putrid scent suddenly invaded his nostrils without the slightest bit of consent or warning. Just like a warlord laying waste to enemy kingdoms, ransacking buildings, and claiming everything he could set his gaze on, the stench ran rampant in his nostrils, violating it, harassing it, taking control of it—a disgusting sensation only amplified by Toji's heightened senses. For once, he was hating it.
But not as much as he hated the moron that dared to break wind right in front of his face.
'Should I just kill everybody here?' Toji wondered, clenching his jaw and knuckles tight as if he was holding back every urge to commit a righteous massacre; an act of vengeance upon the satanic individual who thought it was a good idea to ruin his already miserable trip.
His murderous thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the beep of the elevator as it had finally arrived at the 12th floor, consequently sparing the lives of every man and woman in that compressed steel box.
Toji was the first and fastest to exit, not wanting to give the repulsive smell any more access to his nose. He recalled the staff's earlier directions, leading him to a set of doors being guarded by two individuals dressed in simple security uniforms. They stopped to look at him, their eyes analyzing his figure.
"You here for the bodyguard position?" one of them asked, pulling out a clipboard.
"Yeah."
"Name?"
"Toji… Fushiguro." He offered the name he now used.
The man in front of him wrote it down, before then pushing open the doors.
"Go in, line up with the others. You'll take a standard physical test, where you can't use your Quirk. Then, a Quirk apprehension test where you can freely use your Quirk. After that, just stay in the waiting room, wait for your name to be called to get your results. Got it?"
Toji simply nodded, the Quirk rules irrelevant to him, before entering the room.
The room he stepped into was a stark departure from the plush opulence of the main lobby. It was a massive, high-ceilinged indoor facility, clearly an annex designed for pure function. The air smelled of polished rubber and cool ventilation, devoid of any corporate warmth.
The space resembled a high-end, futuristic gymnasium or a military testing center. Fluorescent lights set into the steel rafters cast a cold, uniform glow over the entire floor. The surface underfoot was a smooth, dark athletic mat, clearly marked with white and yellow tape lines designating various testing stations: a small, precise rectangle for side-jump aptitude, a clearly defined lane for a short sprint, and a thick, circular mat for dynamic resistance checks, like a corporate version of a shot put area. Monitors and digital timers were mounted everywhere, ticking with impersonal efficiency.
Other candidates were milling about—a mix of muscular but average-looking applicants, a few with physical-enhancement Quirks recognizable by their slightly disproportionate limbs or bulk, and a few with mutation-type Quirks easily noticed by their inhuman-like features.
The moment Toji entered, the low hum of nervous chatter nearby momentarily died as the sources stopped to look at him.
He stood head and shoulders above most of them, his powerfully wide stature making the space feel instantly smaller. He wasn't just tall; he was impossibly dense, a figure carved from trauma and honed by pure, lethal instinct. His everyday black clothing hung on a physique that resembled a classic statue, radiating a dangerous stillness that made the corporate testing environment seem flimsy.
"Form two lines for registration! Each line is a single file, thank you!" Toji heard, prompting him to go to the back of the shorter line.
Candidates quickly averted their gazes when he met their eyes. The scrutiny wasn't judgment; it was immediate, primal threat assessment. They were spooked. Some instinctively stepped back, their shoulders tightening. Toji, utterly unfazed by the silent fear, merely scanned the room.
'A glorified obstacle course,' he thought, waiting his turn before he could go to the first station. He was familiar with these tests. He wasn't worried, though he was curious to see how the others with quirks would handle pure physical aptitude.
Everything was flowing smoothly and swiftly with his turn being up in no time.
"NEXT! Side to side jumps for 30 seconds!"
Toji stretched his arms—a loose, almost lazy motion—before stepping up with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
/ - /
It was sufficient to say that Toji had done extraordinarily well. His fitness and agility were at their absolute peak condition, having been meticulously maintained even in this new, foreign world. Thanks to his heavenly restriction, the physical aptitude test had been a breeze, a series of trivial motions performed with zero difficulty. In fact, his performance—shattering records for sprints, jumps, and sustained strength—had stunned so many present, including the professional examiners, that they actually had to pause the assessment to double-check if he had been using his quirk. Their utter shock at confirming it was all just him, a quirkless man performing at superhuman levels, was immensely satisfying. It gave the former sorcerer killer a deep, quiet dose of vindication at knowingly besting those born with the gifts he was denied.
Toji was now seated in a chair in the waiting room, a space that felt colder and more tense than before. He waited patiently for his turn in the next segment: the quirk apprehension test. He mused idly what the procedure would entail for him, a man with no quirk to show. As his eyes glided across the blank white walls, he safely assumed he was one of the very few quirkless applicants remaining. It was obvious who the others were; many flaunted their abilities through visible mutations or enhanced body parts, while others betrayed their gifts through a certain, often arrogant, ease of posture. The majority were conversing, socializing, and building nervous rapport.
He had no desire to join their chatter.
"Mr. Toji Fushiguro and Mr. Kento Miura?" Someone called out, the sound cutting through the low murmur of the room, shaking Toji out of his distant thoughts and prompting him to stand at the same time as an individual across the room.
As the man called out their names, Toji's head snapped up. He stood and walked immediately, his motion fluid and silent. Across the room, the other applicant, Kento Miura, moved with equal, if less imposing, speed.
"Please follow me."
The two men fell into step behind the agent, their forms offering a stark contrast. Toji took the opportunity to grasp the capabilities, or lack thereof, of the man walking beside him.
Kento was of average height and had a slim build that spoke only of speed, not raw power. Physically, he was nowhere near Toji's terrifying level, but he carried himself with an awkward stillness. His deep blue eyes, framed by long lashes, were the most notable feature—they looked young, naive, and visibly nervous. Toji recognized that look instantly: the look of somebody who had yet to be introduced to the harsh realities of the world that existed beyond their comfort zone and their gifted power.
Toji's professional assessment was swift: Kento was physically slight. His gait was fluid, his movements economical, but his focus was scattered. He walked like a fledgling bird that had just left its nest, lacking experience and true training, likely relying entirely on his talent rather than disciplined physicality. He was perhaps fit enough to get this far, but clearly not confident enough to project a genuine threat. The way he was dressed—like some urban skater with multiple piercings and ripped clothing revealing numerous tattoos—was just flash to mask inexperience.
'A brat with too much flash,' Toji concluded. He filed away the observation: the boy was not a danger to him in any way, but he was certainly not harmless to others. Toji was not a slave to appearances and thus, kept his guard up, a necessary defense. In his previous line of work, assumptions could get you killed.
'Well, in my case, it did actually get me killed.' The thought, rather than being grim, made a slight, bitter smirk tug at his lips.
"Okay, here's what's going to happen…" The agent who had called for them said, as they were led through another set of reinforced doors, opening into a space that dwarfed the earlier testing facility. This wasn't just a gym; it was an arena.
The room was vast, an immense space designed to contain chaos. The walls were constructed of heavy, matte grey composite paneling. There were no windows, only the unblinking gaze of countless recessed LED lights in the high ceiling, bathing the entire space in a uniformly bright, almost clinical illumination.
The floor was a thick, seamless expanse of the same dark athletic matting, covering every inch. In the center, a large, circular area was clearly demarcated by a wide, bright yellow line. Along one side of the room, elevated slightly on a simple dais, was a long, utilitarian table. Behind it sat a panel of three men in stiff suits, their faces neutral and unreadable—surely not there for show. Above them, a large digital display screen was mounted on the wall.
"Both applicants will enter the yellow circle. When given the signal, you shall fight each other. Usage of Quirks is allowed. The fight ends when one forfeits, is rendered unconscious, or is forced outside of the yellow border. Inflicting lethal injuries or any permanent damage are just causes for disqualification. Understood?"
'So as long as I don't kill him then, got it,' Toji thought, a primal tension coiling in his muscles, screaming for battle. It had been far too long since he'd last gotten into a fight. His body, the very essence of his being, had missed it.
"Yeah," Toji and Kento replied in unison.
"Okay then, applicants! Get into position!"
Toji stepped into the yellow line, moving to the designated start point opposite his shorter opponent. Their eyes locked, staring each other down as they waited for the signal. Kento appeared to cower slightly, his shoulders shrinking when meeting Toji's unflinchingly scrutinizing gaze—a genuine display of nervousness Toji suspected was not a mere feint. He wasn't going to rely on that assumption, though.
The agent's voice crackled, sharp and demanding. "Begin!"
Kento Miura immediately broke contact, springing backward twenty feet in a single bound. The movement was a blur, having an unnatural snap to it. Before Toji could even move a hand, the air around Kento began to visibly distort, shimmering and buckling.
'He's an emitter,' Toji thought instantly, his brain cataloging the signature. 'Avoids contact. Ranged attack, probably kinetic.'
Kento didn't wait. He thrust his pale, tattooed arm forward, and the air around his hand solidified, buckling inward before bursting out as a concentrated force field. It wasn't raw, fiery energy, but a sudden, localized ripple in space, designed to pulverize.
WHOOM.
The invisible wave struck the exact center of the mat where Toji had been standing moments before. The impact was silent but devastating; the shock-absorbing matting groaned under the sudden stress, and a visible crater formed in the floor, sending a fine cloud of pulverized dust into the air.
Toji, having casually sidestepped the blast with zero wasted movement, now crouched low, his eyes fixed on Kento's form. The boy's breathing was already sharp and shallow. He was inexperienced—already over-relying on his Quirk's destructive power and instantly burning through his limited stamina.
Kento, panicked by the speed of the miss, fired again. This time, he widened the blast area, a desperate, clumsy attempt to catch the man in the periphery of the explosion.
WHOOM. Another miss.
Toji moved not by anticipating the Quirk's path, but by anticipating the user's flawed intention. He stayed just outside the blast radius, circling Kento at a casual, taunting jog, drawing the boy out. He was testing the limits: how fast could he shoot? How big was the area? Was there a cooldown lag?
Kento, seeing his expensive, powerful attacks land nowhere near the target, started to sweat profusely. In a panicked response to his obvious disadvantage, he fired a rapid succession of blasts, trying to create an insurmountable defensive perimeter of shockwaves.
'Rapid fire capability, no clear cooldown,' Toji noted. 'But the stamina strain is great.'
Now, Toji moved.
Instead of dodging wide, Toji exploded forward—a terrifying, short burst of speed—not in a predictable straight line, but in a series of lightning-fast, zig-zagging micro-bursts that weaved effortlessly through the residual shockwaves and dust. The move was too fast for Kento to track; his inexperienced brain was incapable of plotting an accurate shot against a target that shifted direction after every three feet.
In under a second, the distance vanished. Kento, too panicked to aim a tight shot, tried to throw up an immediate, massive protective field—a desperate, all-encompassing defensive bubble that was his last, highest-cost option.
But it was too slow.
Toji's powerful right arm shot out, not toward Kento's body, but toward his wrist—the source of the Quirk's projection. He clamped down with an iron grip, applying just enough precise pressure to overload the joint and stop the Quirk's formation cold.
Kento gasped, his eyes widening in pure shock and fear. He was trapped, his immense power neutralized by pure, terrifying physical speed and strength.
With a final, unforgiving movement, Toji released the wrist and drove a quick, precise blow—not a destructive haymaker, but a textbook pressure point strike—into the side of Kento's neck. It was hard enough to switch off the lights, but gentle enough to ensure no lasting damage or disqualification.
Kento Miura's legs buckled mid-stride, his eyes rolled back, and his slim body collapsed onto the dark mat with a soft, anticlimactic thud.
Toji stood over him, utterly unmarked, his breathing deep and even, as if he had just finished a brisk walk. He then turned, his gaze falling upon the stunned expressions of the judges and the agent—no doubt still processing the five-second massacre that had just transpired.
"Ahem," The agent cleared his throat, snapping out of his stupor. "Applicant: Toji Fushiguro wins! Applicants please return to the waiting room wherein you shall later receive the results after careful consideration."
/ - /
After all the staged duels and quantified assessments were administered, a heavy silence settled over the corporate arena. The three judges had retired to the small, soundproofed room behind the dais, where their long, utilitarian table was now covered in tablets displaying cold, hard data.
It took a while to weed out the mediocre talent and to fill out most of the spots, but eventually, the pile of rejected files left only two viable options for the last remaining bodyguard slot.
"So what do you guys think?" The judge in the middle, a middle-aged man, initiated the final debate. "I'd say that Fushiguro guy definitely deserves it. His numbers are completely off the charts in the physical tests and you all saw how quickly he ended the other applicant. Come on, is there really a need for discussion?"
The other two looked profoundly apprehensive. The man on the far left leaned forward, addressing the elephant in the room with an even, decisive tone.
"He is Quirkless," he stated, the word hanging in the air like an accusation.
"But—" The man in the middle started, ready to argue Fushiguro's sheer efficiency.
"The world is changing," his fellow judge cut him off, his voice hardening with corporate conviction. "More and more powerful individuals are emerging, bordering on god-like capabilities. As the Yaoyorozu brand is a name known all throughout the nation, there are many unpredictable threats from both outside and within. We are hiring for futureprotection, not just today's safety."
He sighed, picking up Fushiguro's spotless physical profile. "Yes. Mr. Fushiguro is unquestionably skilled; no one can deny that terrifying level of proficiency. But that, right there, is his absolute limit. Such is the reality for the average human, regardless of how strong. This company does not settle for average potential. What we need are individuals like Mr. Miura. While, yes, he does lack experience and training, the very presence of his Quirk ensures a potential for growth that infinitely surpasses Mr. Fushiguro's. Thus, it would benefit the company in the long run to foster such talent."
The third judge, the least vocal of the three, who had spent the deliberation silently studying the data, had no words to offer against the logic of future-proofing. The judge in the middle turned to the third, asking, "And you? What is your final opinion?"
The man paused, running a finger over Miura's profile, which showed immense promise but poor control. "I agree," he said after a short, calculated moment. "We invest in potential. The risk of the quirkless ceiling is too great."
With two out of the three agreeing, the results were clear. Toji Fushiguro was rejected.
Sometime later, after the final paperwork had been signed, the serious judges rose to leave, shaking hands on the decision. However, unbeknownst to the other two, the least vocal of them, remained seated.
He pulled out a cell phone and brought it to his ear as he spoke faintly, his eyes drifting over the discarded printouts displaying Fushiguro's impossible physical metrics.
"Giran," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the silent, empty room. "I may have found an interesting prospect."
/ - /
In the waiting room, Toji had waited patiently, leaning back against the hard plastic chair. Unlike the nervous chatter around him, his patience was born of long experience; the results of a hunt rarely arrived quickly. Eventually, Kento Miura rejoined the other applicants after he had been nursed back to health. The young boy had met his eyes and shot him a friendly, slightly sheepish smile as he approached to take the unoccupied seat beside him.
"Hi," Kento greeted sheepishly as he turned to face him. "That was a... good match. I have to say you're very strong, Fushiguro-san."
Toji simply stared back, unsure of what to make of the compliment. It was not the usual reaction one would have in interacting with the very person that had handled them with such unforgiving ease, and perhaps even humiliated them in front of corporate judges.
Unyielding against Toji's silence, Kento continued fondly. "You know, I actually want to be a hero, but I don't have much training so I figured that I could gain some experience by working here. Fushiguro-san further showed me that there is much for me to learn. If you don't mind my asking, what do you think I should improve upon?"
Kento's eyes sparkled, awaiting a response.
Toji's lips parted slightly, as if to pause in thought before he spoke.
"You're slow," Toji stated, his voice a low, flat rasp that carried no inflection of praise or pity. "Not in speed, but in processing. You wasted three attempts trying to hit my shadow instead of anticipating my movement. A villain wouldn't give you time for target practice."
He shifted slightly on the bench, his gaze boring into Kento. "Your defense was reactive, not predictive. You relied on the destructive power of your Quirk to solve spatial problems. When I closed the distance, you threw up a large, slow field—a desperate, high-cost move that drained your stamina, instead of a precise, low-cost counter-shot to create distance."
Toji continued on without pause as if to iron each point out swiftly, delivering them like daggers to the heart. "You exposed your anchor point. Your power runs through your wrist. You let me close on it. Rookie mistake. In a real fight, I don't neutralize your Quirk, I break the bone. You're done, and you wasted your best weapon."
He leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "You want to be a hero? Your problem isn't just training; it's over-reliance. You treat your Quirk like a shield and a hammer, and you forget that you are the weapon. Your form is sloppy, your footwork is heavy, and you telegraph your intentions with your breathing. You burn too much energy too quickly. Against a real killer, you would have been dead before your third shot."
With his last word, Toji then watched as everything he had said sank into the mind of Kento, who, moments later, hung his head low.
'Shit, is he crying?' Toji thought, but was quickly proven wrong, as well as taken by surprise as Kento raised his head while placing both his hands on Toji's shoulders.
"Thank you, I've never received such helpful advice ever," Kento's eyes sparked in wonder and gratitude as they bore into his eyes; it was blindingly sincere. "I'll take your words to heart, Fushiguro-san, I promise. I will get stronger." The younger man remarked with powerful resolve.
"Do as you please," Toji replied off-handedly. A default response when he didn't know what to say to this absurd display of idealism.
It was then at that moment that the corporate agent had re-entered the waiting room with a clipboard in hand. "Alright, everybody listen up and settle down!" The various conversations that had been transpiring in the room slowly died down. "The deliberations are over. If your name is called then stand up and form a single file line to my right."
Toji hadn't expected to be chosen, but the sheer domination he had displayed in the testing facility had fostered a small, reluctant spark of hope. He was curious, genuinely curious. Unknowingly, he hung onto each and every name that had been called with bated breath.
...
...
"And lastly, Kento Miura!" The man finished reading the names off the list, tucking the clipboard.
Said individual was the most shocked in the room, whose eyes were as wide as saucers. Kento approached the agent with confusion. "I—I don't understand, but I lost? Fushiguro-san beat me in five seconds."
"I'm just reading out the names I was given, kid," the agent sighed, clearly having dealt with this before. "If you've got a problem, take it up with the higher-ups."
Kento gulped. "Alright, then I will," He argued, turning around, his newly ignited resolve overriding his social fear. "Because, Fushiguro-san… he, he deserves that position more than me. Right—?"
The young boy's following words had died in his throat before they could be communicated. When he had turned around to face his companion, all that was left was an empty seat. Toji had disappeared.
'Fushiguro-san…'
/ - /
All his life Toji had honed his skills to the point that he could make his presence unnoticeable to anybody. As a result, he had no problems exiting the building in a swift, silent manner. When he'd left though, he was slightly surprised that it was already evening. His gaze momentarily rested at the darkening sky before he began walking away.
To where?
He did not know. Toji just began walking aimlessly, gathering his thoughts as he processed the recent events. It was late, but he had no place to call home. At this moment, he was no better than a drifter on the sidewalk, which did nothing but accentuate the shitty feeling he had swelling up within him.
He'd been denied once again. Wherever he went, such was the running theme. Regardless of location, or dimension, Toji Fushiguro was rejected in any world. In his old home, he'd been rejected by his family, by sorcerers, by people. It was no different here, whether it was heroes or sorcerers, villains or cursed users, it did not matter. For in the end, he was alone, like he'd always been, like he was meant to be, an existence that should not be yet still persists. To have gone through it so many times prior, he would have figured that he'd be numb to it, to be used to having nobody or nowhere to truly belong. Yet, it still stung.
Toji chuckled to himself.
Why had he even bothered? Why had he bothered to apply to such jobs in the first place. He knew better. He knew that deep down, no matter where he went, everyone saw him as a worthless monkey. So why had he even bothered to try and get a job? To see if he could have some value in this world, if it was possible that he could escape his status and live differently?
'Laughable.'
He was no good for any of them. He was but a talentless monkey whose only use lied in killing people, and that was never going to change. Why had he chosen not to kill anymore anyway? Guilt?
He should have just taken up killing again, find some way to earn through killing for that was all he was good for anyway. Or better yet, why couldn't he have just remained dead?
Why was he even trying to continue on living in this foreign world? He had no reason to live, no reason to kill. There was no Zenin, no higher-ups to spite and to prove wrong by killing. He had no wife, no family to call his own– not that either would want to be with him anyway. He was just…a vagrant, a hobo, a wandering ghost of a man.
Why?
Toji's expression grew dark, but was betrayed by the corners of his mouth dropping to a frown.
'Why am I here?' He thought bitterly. A thought that had swirled in his mind all throughout his life. When he'd endured the mental and physical abuse of his family, when he'd been rejected by the world of Jujutsu, when he'd lost the love of his life, and even when he had died, he asked that same question. His life had been marked with nothing but degradation, as he was constantly reminded of his uselessness, of everything that he'd lacked. Rejected by everybody (but her) he genuinely wondered to himself, what purpose was there for his birth? What purpose was he born into the world?
His life was spent seeking validation and reassurance of the worth he wanted to believe he had, but it only ended with rejection at every turn. If he was such a worthless being, an existence that had no purpose, then why had he been born? Why had he been created only to be told he meant nothing?
Perhaps, he would never know. Perhaps he was just meant to be a worthless sack of bones and flesh, a punching bag, an existence that existed to be pushed around and beaten down, and left behind, forgotten.
"STOP!" A shriek broke Toji from his nihilistic spiral, causing him to stop in his tracks as he observed the scene unfolding in front of him. A short, elderly woman was confronting a pair of robbers. From what he saw, he could more or less piece together what was happening, and immediately registered it as a problem to avoid. He was tired, broke, and had no intention of getting involved in unnecessary trouble.
He simply walked forward, angling his body to pass the altercation wide, intending to slip past the predicament and continue down the street as if the mugging were just background noise.
The robbers were too absorbed, but the woman's weary blue eyes, darting desperately for any sign of help, caught the silhouette of the massive man moving past the entrance. Her breath hitched as her hopeful gaze stuck to him, prompting the criminals to follow suit.
The effect was instantaneous.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing, buddy?" the robber with the bat yelled, taking a challenging step away from the woman and toward him. "Trying to be a hero?"
Toji stopped. He let out a slow, barely perceptible exhale, the sound a low hiss of utter frustration. He wanted no part in the conflict, it wasn't even his to begin with.
"N–"
"Alright, don't blame us for this, you should have just kept walking!" the robber shrieked, swinging the metal baseball bat in a wide arc aimed at Toji's head.
He literally was doing just that. They were the ones instigating the confrontation toward him.
Much to the robbers', the old woman's, and even his own deep-seated frustration, the intervention was now unavoidable. Toji intercepted the bat not by stepping in, but simply by advancing into its path. The air cracked as the metal stopped dead just inches from his skull.
"What the fuck," The criminal sputtered, his voice cracking with genuine confusion and shock as he could not pull the bat away from Toji's iron grip. He stared at him, his dark, dead eyes conveying a menace that spooked the man more than anything.
As this moment of paralysis stretched, the accomplice attempted a punch—a frantic, clumsy blow aimed at Toji's massive side. The criminal howled in pain as his knuckles collided with the impossibly dense flesh and bone of Toji's body, the impact feeling less like punching a person and more like striking a concrete bollard.
The robber stumbled back, cradling his wrist, which was already swelling rapidly. But he did not have time to recover. Toji, finally moving with intent, exerted a single, brutal sideways pull on the bat. The first criminal lost his grip entirely, spinning off balance before Toji delivered a single, silent, devastating elbow strike to the man's temple.
The bat-wielder's limp body rocketed sideways and slammed into his recovering partner. Effectively, both men found themselves lying on the ground, unconscious in a matter of seconds, scattered amidst the ground.
Toji let out a second, silent sigh. 'What a pain.'
He retrieved the satchel, which had slid off one of the robbers' shoulders, and opened it to confirm the contents: wads of cash inside. Perhaps, it wasn't a complete wast—
His thoughts were cut off as the elderly woman who had initially watched him in awe came into view, now looking at him with a blinding aura of gratitude.
"Thank you so much, young man," she smiled up at him, her voice filled with a profound sincerity that made the cynical man slightly recoil.
"Don't mind it," Toji replied, whilst contemplating his next action, his eyes darting between the satchel of money and the woman. The woman with a sickeningly kind smile. "Tch."
Not allowing himself the moment of hesitation or contemplation to dwell on the reason behind his decision, Toji set the satchel atop the woman's hands. After which, he turned away from her, ready to disappear. He had no intentions of sticking around and getting involved with the police as well.
"W-wait!" She called out to him pleadingly, making him pause. "I really..I am indebted to you for what you did. I can't offer much in terms of reward but please allow me to pay you back in some way. Would you like some coffee?"
Normally, he would have passed, but considering he had no other place to go, Toji supposed that it was better than nothing. "Okay," he sighed, turning to find the elder's face light up.
"Please, come in," she gestured to the now open door that led into her establishment. His eyes trailed upwards to see the simple, hand-painted name: Aiko's Cafe
"Alright," Toji said, resigning himself to having to entertain an old woman's whims. It could have been worse. "Go ahead, I'll follow."
"Okay, dear," she beamed as she went inside. Toji followed suit soon after he had simply tied up the robbers to ensure that they weren't going anywhere.
Toji stepped off the loud, indifferent sidewalk and pushed open the simple wooden door. The sound of a small bell above him announced his arrival, instantly cutting through the noise of the city.
The change in atmosphere was immediate and complete. The cold, abrasive air of the outside was replaced by the warm, thick scent of dark-roast coffee and roasted sugar. The lighting wasn't the harsh, white glare of streetlights, but a soft, deep amber glow cast by several low-hanging lamps and the single, exposed fixture near the entry.
The interior was small and intimate, giving off a distinct homey, slightly cluttered feel. The walls were a mix of rough stucco and warm wood paneling. Along the back, a built-in wooden bench was piled high with patterned pillows, suggesting long, casual stays. Everywhere Toji looked, there was life. Lush green plants hung from the ceiling in repurposed wire baskets, their leaves draping down and softening the edges of the room. Small, rustic tables—a round one near the window, squared ones tucked into the corners—were scattered across the rough, unpolished concrete floor.
It wasn't elegant or modern. Rather, the atmosphere was one of unintentional comfort, the kind of place that didn't demand perfection but offered a genuine, palpable refuge. It had been a while since he's felt such a warm, welcoming atmosphere before. The faint memory of his old home when it was filled with a similar warmth as he and his wife had lived there together came into view as he walked toward one of the tables.
He caught sight of the woman, who was already eagerly behind the counter. "Oh dear, please, take a seat, this will only take a quick minute!"
Toji abided with the request and sat down, quietly watching as the woman prepared him a cup of coffee. When she had finished, she set it down in front of him before she, too, took a seat from across the table.
He stared at the steaming cup of coffee, his eyes darting between it and the woman, and soon noticed that she was waiting on him to try it. Sighing, he took the mug, its heat radiating through the ceramic was the first thing that registered—a genuine, sustained warmth that his hands hadn't felt in weeks. He brought the rim to his lips, blowing on it before he took a long, slow sip.
It was strong, almost overwhelmingly so, hitting the back of his throat with a clean, deep bitterness. This wasn't the watered-down, sugary sludge he occasionally choked down for fuel; this was dark, honest coffee, tasting faintly of the wood fire he hadn't realized was burning somewhere in the back.
It was a drink made without artifice or agenda, offered with simple kindness. For Toji Fushiguro, receiving things out of good-will was something he wasn't used to, so he had no idea what to say when he looked back up at the bright expression of the woman across the table, staring back at him expectantly.
"Well?"
"It's..not bad," Toji said softly, and immediately he saw her own expression soften further, if such a feat was even possible.
"I'm glad…oh!" she suddenly turned sheepish. "How rude of me, I've yet to introduce myself. You can call me Aiko!"
"Fushiguro Toji."
"Fushiguro-san…what a nice name," she commented. "Where are you from?"
"Around."
"What were you doing out this late at night?" Aiko then asked, curiously pushing on, unfazed by Toji's stoicism.
"Looking for work," Toji said simply, still trying to keep up and understand why this old lady was being so nice to her. He had nothing to offer.
"Ohh, how'd that go?"
"Bad," he snorted, the memory of the rejection fueling his internal heat as it returned to haunt him.
"Oh no."
Toji didn't like her facade at trying to look like she cared. In fact, he was starting to miss the cold streets outside now, wondering how he got himself pulled into this establishment.
"That means you're still looking then?"
"I guess."
An idea seemed to have dawned on Aiko as she smiled. "Well…I have actually been looking for a new barista, someone to help me out as the last one had parted ways recently. The pay isn't much, but it can be enough. If that interests you?"
Toji's laugh was harsh and incredulous. "You're offering such a position to somebody you'd just met?"
"Yes, I am," Aiko affirmed, not shrinking at his challenging gaze. "I believe I can trust you."
"Trust?" Toji scoffed, leaning forward, trying to make his presence as intimidating as he could. "Oi, what makes you think I'm any better than the punks outside? I could be worse."
Unflinchingly, she replied, "I don't believe that you are," smiling at Toji's reaction, she continued. "I don't believe someone that could have walked past or simply ignored me, yet chose to help is a bad person. I choose to trust that very man in front of me, my hero."
Toji's expression was unreadable, unable to comprehend or form a reply. He wasn't used to such kindness or warmth being directed at him. Hell, only one other person in the world had ever done so, and she was dead.
"I'm no hero," he said evenly. He literally wanted to walk past her, and he would have, if she hadn't directed those thugs' attention toward him.
"You are to me."
"For what? Beating up a pair of thugs?"
"No," she insisted, stubbornly trying to make him see her way. "For saving me. At that moment, you were..amazing. Honestly, I don't see many youths like you nowadays, most wouldn't even do anything remotely good unless there was a camera focused on them."
'Youth?' His eyebrows scrunched. He wasn't that young.
"I'd imagine your parents must be proud to have a kind son like you."
"They aren't."
"Well, then they're blind then, if I were them, I would be."
'This old lady is crazy.' She must be.
"So? Have you thought about my proposition?"
"I don't know how," Toji let out weakly, a way to avoid accepting the gift that was being offered to him. All his life he'd been rejected, so he was going to reject this form of goodness.
"I'll teach you."
At that moment, Toji wondered if there was a way to get her off his back, thus he realized there was.
"I'm quirkless."
It did not have the intended effect though as Aiko merely cocked her head to the side. "So what? If anything that makes you even more extraordinary, Fushiguro-san."
Taken completely aback by such a profound, casual response, Toji countered, his voice sounding hollow, "You won't want me here."
"But, I do."
Toji's lips parted and returned to their original state, unable to process the warm sensation that had wormed itself into his chest, uncoiling the tight knot of resentment he carried. 'Why're you being so difficult,' he thought, his lips slightly trembling in a barely contained emotional reaction.
When did he get so weak that he'd be getting reduced to an emotional mess by just mere words?
"You're too trusting, old lady," Toji managed to get out, his words tasting like grit.
As much as he questioned her effect on him, deep down, some small part of him had already known why.
"Maybe so, but that is my choice," Aiko said with burning resolve in both her words and eyes. "I trust in the good that I see in you."
She was saying the words he'd wanted to hear all his life. The desire to be seen, to be appreciated, to be valued, to feel like he was worth something. And, she was hitting all the damn notes.
"So?"
'This damn hag really won't give up,' Toji thought, feeling both utterly defeated and irritated.
"..."
"Fine." Toji let out, the word escaping on a long, frustrated exhale. It was official. He'd gone soft. He should have never even got himself involved. He should have left her alone. He should have never gone here. He should have never ended up here. He should have stayed dead.
'But,' As he saw Aiko's face light up like fireworks, he thought to himself. 'Maybe…'
Staying couldn't be that bad.