You ever feel like the universe owes you something? No? Then you're probably one of the sheep. Me? I built my empire with blood, sweat, and calculated ruthlessness. Quantum Dynamics—my brainchild, my legacy—stood at the pinnacle of the tech world. Billions in market cap. Governments begging for our prototypes. And me? Gabriel Rykker—CEO, visionary, kingmaker.
So when the gunfire shattered my floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows, I didn't panic. I sneered.
"Really?" I called out, crouching behind my overturned mahogany desk, its polished surface now gouged by high-velocity rounds. "Is that the best you can do? Did you idiots Google 'how to assassinate a billionaire' and go with step one?"
Rounds punched into the walls. Glass crunched beneath boots. My custom-designed body armor—woven from carbon-polymer threads and lined with shock-dampening gel—soaked up the brunt of three hits. Stung like hell, but pain was familiar. Pain was a friend.
I tapped the biometric panel beneath the desk and pulled out my insurance policy: a handheld electromagnetic pulse device. Sleek, chrome, and devastating.
With a flick of my wrist and a smirk, I activated it. A sharp whine. Then—pop. Their comms blinked out. HUD visors short-circuited. Guns jammed.
"Oops," I said, rising. "Forgot to tell you. I invented that."
Three of them rushed in, slicing through smoke like wolves on a kill. Tactical gear. Advanced optics. Probably ex-military, if not current. I didn't flinch. I lifted my compact railgun—my own prototype, designed for field operatives—and squeezed the trigger twice. The weapon hissed, magnetically accelerated slugs tearing through two of them like paper.
The third managed to fire, grazing my shoulder. Pain flared—but I've had worse hangovers.
"Amateur," I muttered, slapping on a med-patch. It hissed as it sealed the wound.
Then I saw him.
Marcus Chen.
He stood in the doorway, tailored suit immaculate, expression unreadable.
"Having trouble, Gabriel?" he said, voice calm like a man sipping wine in a burning house.
I should've known.
Marcus—my COO. My right hand. My confidant for nearly a decade. We'd reshaped global economics together. Or so I thought.
"You?" I growled, lowering the railgun slightly. "You son of a bitch."
"I'm flattered," he said, stepping in casually as laser sights converged on me. Dozens. Red dots swimming across my chest.
"All those closed-door meetings. The increased server latency. That leak in Tokyo…" I shook my head. "You played me. You played me like a damn piano."
"No," Marcus said, stepping closer. "You played yourself. Your ego did. You think you're a god, Gabriel. But even gods bleed."
The world exploded into agony.
They opened fire. Not to kill—at least not right away. No, this was personal. High-caliber rounds chewed through the armor. I felt ribs crack, a lung collapse. My railgun fell from my fingers as I reached for the emergency escape hatch—my last lifeline.
Marcus crushed my hand beneath his loafer.
"Did you really think you were untouchable?" he whispered.
I spat blood at his polished shoe. "I am untouchable. I'll come back from this. You hear me?"
He leaned in close, his smile a dagger. "Not this time."
The last thing I saw was his smug face. The last thing I heard was his laugh—cold and triumphant.
Then... darkness.
But not silence.
I felt warmth. Cradling warmth. Like silk and fire mixed into one.
Soft murmurs, unintelligible. A lullaby in a strange tongue. A hand on my cheek.
I opened my eyes.
Everything was... huge.
Towering walls. Giant faces. I blinked. A woman hovered above me—young, beautiful, with pale hair and watery eyes.
"He's perfect," she whispered, smiling. "My little Doffy."
Doffy?
I tried to speak, but my throat let out a pathetic gurgle. My arms—tiny, stubby. My body... infantile.
No.
No. No no no.
I've read enough sci-fi and Eastern novels to know what this is.
Reincarnation.
But that wasn't possible. My brain was top-of-the-line. I had nanotech in my bloodstream, cryo-backups, and neural syncs stored in black vaults.
And yet... here I was. A baby.
But not just any baby.
Donquixote Doflamingo.
I'd seen his face once on a pirated manga page back when my techies were obsessed with Japanese pop culture. Feathered coat. Sunglasses. A demon in human skin.
The name had stuck with me—unapologetically arrogant. Ruthless. Sounded like someone I could've hired.
But this world… this wasn't the One Piece universe. No pirate flags. No oceans outside the window.
Instead, skyscrapers. Holographic billboards. Flying drones. People walking around with fire in their hands. One guy floated past the window. Floated.
A nurse came in. Floated through the door.
Quirks.
No. No damn way.
This was My Hero Academia.
I let out a baby laugh. Genuinely. It was too ridiculous. A cutthroat CEO gunned down by betrayal, reborn as Doflamingo, in a superhero society where gods wore spandex and teenagers blew up buildings during training exercises.
This was either divine punishment… or the greatest opportunity I've ever been handed.
I looked at my tiny fingers. Soft. Innocent. But within them? Potential. Power. Legacy.
I could feel it already—my old memories weren't fading. My personality hadn't dulled. My genius remained.
And somewhere inside me… that spark. The thrill of control. The hunger to build again.
This time, I wouldn't build a tech empire. I'd build a kingdom. From the ground up.
One string at a time.