The Quirk Registry Office in Yokohama was a sterile, bureaucratic place that reminded Arthur uncomfortably of the administrative buildings he'd been forced to navigate as king. Grey walls, fluorescent lighting, rows of uncomfortable chairs filled with families waiting their turn, it was the sort of place designed to process people efficiently rather than make them feel welcome.
Arthur sat on his mother's lap, his four-year-old body still small enough to fit comfortably there, though his mind chafed at the infantilizing position. Across from them, behind a desk cluttered with papers and a glowing computer screen, sat a tired-looking woman in a government uniform. Her name tag read 'Sasaki Yuki,' and she had the distinctly bored expression of someone who had processed thousands of quirk registrations and expected nothing interesting from this one.
She was about to be disappointed, Arthur knew. Or perhaps surprised. He hadn't yet decided how much to reveal about his abilities.
"Name of the child?" Sasaki asked, fingers poised over her keyboard.
"Himura Arthur," Takeshi answered, his hand resting protectively on Arthur's shoulder. "Family name Himura, given name Arthur."
Sasaki's typing paused. She glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "Arthur? That's... unusual. Foreign name?"
"British," Akari said with a slight edge of defensiveness. "After the legendary King Arthur."
"Hmm." The registrar made a note, her expression suggesting she'd seen stranger naming choices. "Date of birth?"
As his parents rattled off the administrative details, Arthur let his mind wander. The past week since his quirk manifestation had been illuminating. He'd spent hours in quiet contemplation, exploring the boundaries of his new power, testing its limits in ways a four-year-old could without drawing too much attention.
What he'd discovered both excited and frustrated him. His quirk—he'd taken to calling it 'Caliburn' in his own mind, though he hadn't shared that with anyone—seemed to be a complex ability that encompassed multiple facets. At its core was that wellspring of golden energy he'd first felt on his birthday, a power source that felt limitless yet currently inaccessible. His body was too young, too underdeveloped to channel more than a trickle.
It was like being a master swordsman trapped in the body of someone who'd never held a blade. He knew what he should be capable of—enhanced strength, supernatural speed, combat instincts honed over hundreds of battles—but his four-year-old muscles and bones
couldn't support those abilities. Not yet. He would need years of growth and training before his body could handle even a fraction of what he'd once commanded.
The realization had been humbling. In his first life, Arthur had pulled Caliburn from the stone and immediately possessed the power to wield it. His body had been artificially enhanced by Merlin's magecraft, given supernatural capabilities from the start. This time, he would have to earn his strength the hard way. Through training. Through growth. Through patience.
Perhaps that's for the best, Arthur had concluded. I was given too much power too quickly before. It made me forget my limitations, forget my humanity. This time, I'll have to work for it. Maybe that will help me stay grounded.
"and the quirk manifested six days ago, on his fourth birthday," Takeshi was explaining. "Golden light emanating from his body. It lasted about thirty seconds before fading."
"Light emission," Sasaki noted, typing rapidly. "Fairly common quirk category. Any other observed effects? Heat generation? Physical changes? Emotional triggers?"
"He seemed stronger afterward," Akari said, squeezing Arthur slightly. "Not much, but I noticed he could lift things he couldn't before. His toy box, for example. And he seems more... aware? More focused?"
Arthur suppressed a smile. His mother was perceptive. The quirk had indeed enhanced his physical capabilities slightly nothing dramatic, just enough that his adult mind could better control his child body. It was like the difference between piloting a ship through thick fog versus clear skies. The vessel was the same, but the control was vastly improved.
"Enhancement type, then," Sasaki said, her interest marginally piqued. "Light emission with mild physical enhancement. We'll need to run some tests to get the specifics. If you'll follow me?"
The testing room was larger than the office, filled with equipment Arthur didn't recognize. Padded mats covered the floor. Strange devices with blinking lights lined the walls. In the center stood what looked like a sophisticated scale connected to multiple screens.
A man in a white coat waited for them Doctor Hayashi, according to his name tag. He had the friendly, patient demeanor of someone used to working with nervous children and anxious parents. Arthur immediately disliked him, not for any personal failing, but because the man reminded him uncomfortably of Merlin. That same knowing look, that air of seeing more than he let on.
"Himura Arthur-kun," the doctor said, crouching down to Arthur's eye level. "I hear you developed a very interesting quirk! Would you like to show me?"
Arthur considered the request. He could refuse, play the shy child, but that would only delay
the inevitable. Better to cooperate and control the narrative of what they discovered. He glanced at his mother, who nodded encouragingly, then back at the doctor.
"Okay," Arthur said in his carefully practiced four-year-old voice high-pitched, slightly uncertain, with just enough childish enthusiasm to seem natural. "What do I do?"
"Just try to activate your quirk like you did before," Doctor Hayashi said. "Don't strain yourself. Nice and easy."
Arthur closed his eyes and reached inward, toward that core of golden warmth that pulsed in his chest. It responded immediately, eager, like a loyal hound recognizing its master's call. He coaxed it upward, through pathways that were still forming, still developing, and pushed it to the surface of his skin.
Golden light bloomed across his body, soft and warm. Arthur could hear his mother's soft gasp of delight, his father's proud murmur. But he focused on maintaining control, keeping the power steady rather than letting it surge. In his previous life, he'd learned that controlling power was infinitely more important than possessing it. Any fool could unleash destruction. Only a master could hold back.
"Fascinating," Doctor Hayashi breathed, and Arthur opened his eyes to see the man studying various readouts on a tablet. "The light is registering as having a slight electromagnetic signature, but it's primarily... this is odd. It's reading as almost pure kinetic energy being converted to photons. I've never seen anything quite like this."
"Is that bad?" Akari asked, worry creeping into her voice.
"Not at all!" The doctor looked up, smiling reassuringly. "Just unusual. Every quirk is unique, after all. Now, Arthur-kun, can you try to make the light brighter?"
Arthur complied, pushing more energy to the surface. The golden glow intensified, and he felt the familiar strain in his muscles as his body worked to channel power it wasn't quite ready for. Like trying to pour an ocean through a keyhole. After about ten seconds, he let the light fade, breathing slightly harder than before.
"Good, very good," Doctor Hayashi said. "Now, your mother mentioned you seemed stronger after your quirk manifested. Let's test that. Can you step on this platform?"
The platform turned out to be a sophisticated measuring device. As Arthur stood on it, screens flickered to life around him, displaying numbers and graphs that meant little to his current vocabulary but likely provided detailed analysis of his physical capabilities.
"Baseline readings look normal for a four-year-old boy," the doctor noted. "Now, activate your quirk again and let's see what changes."
Arthur did as instructed. The golden light returned, and immediately he felt the difference.
His muscles didn't grow larger, but they felt denser, more responsive. It was as if his body remembered what it should be capable of and was trying to match that memory, even if only partially.
"Remarkable," Doctor Hayashi murmured, eyes darting between screens. "Muscle density increased by approximately fifteen percent. Nerve response time improved by twenty percent. Bone density... also showing enhancement. This is a very comprehensive physical boost for someone so young."
The doctor had Arthur perform several more tests lifting small weights, running on a child-sized treadmill, reacting to visual stimuli all while monitoring how his quirk affected his capabilities. Through it all, Arthur maintained his careful balance: showing enough to satisfy their curiosity, but not so much that they'd realize just how much control he actually possessed.
A four-year-old with perfect physical control and tactical awareness would raise uncomfortable questions. Better to seem talented but age-appropriate. Let them think his quirk was a straightforward enhancement type with a flashy light show. They didn't need to know about the combat instincts, the tactical genius, the centuries of experience locked behind his child's face.
After nearly an hour of testing, Doctor Hayashi finally called a halt. Arthur was genuinely tired by then—his young body's stamina wasn't nearly what his mind expected—and grateful when Akari scooped him up into her arms.
"So, what's the official designation?" Takeshi asked as they returned to the registration office.
Sasaki consulted the data Doctor Hayashi had transmitted. "Based on the test results, we're classifying Arthur-kun's quirk as an Enhancement-Emitter hybrid type. The official name..." She paused, looking at Arthur with an expression that might have been amusement. "Given the unusual nature and the child's name, I'm going to register it as 'Royal Core.' It accurately describes the central power source and enhancement aspects while being memorable."
Royal Core, Arthur thought, suppressing a wry smile. How apt. My dragon core reborn as a quirk, still connected to my royalty. Fate really does have a sense of humor.
"I like it," Akari said, beaming. "It suits him, doesn't it? Our little king with his Royal Core."
The paperwork was finalized, documents signed, and Arthur was officially registered in the national quirk database. As they left the building, stepping out into the warm afternoon sunlight, Arthur felt an odd sense of finality. This was real now. Documented. Official. He wasn't just Arthur Pendragon reborn—he was Himura Arthur, quirk user, citizen of Japan in the age of heroes.
"Ice cream?" Takeshi suggested, ruffling Arthur's hair. "I think our son deserves a treat after
all that testing."
"Ice cream!" Arthur exclaimed with appropriate childish enthusiasm, and was rewarded with his parents' laughter.
As they walked to a nearby parlor, Arthur reflected on how strange his life had become. Once, he had commanded armies and ruled a kingdom. Now, he was being promised ice cream for good behavior. The contrast was absurd, yet somehow... pleasant. His first life had been consumed by duty and responsibility from such a young age. This time, he was being allowed to be a child, at least for a little while.
Perhaps I should enjoy it while it lasts, Arthur thought, accepting a cone of strawberry ice cream from his father. Childhood is something I never really had before. And it won't last forever.
That evening, after dinner and a bath and the usual bedtime rituals, Arthur lay in his small bed staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars his mother had stuck to his ceiling. The apartment was quiet except for the distant sounds of the city, cars passing, the murmur of neighbors, the occasional siren. Urban sounds that would have been alien to the King of Knights but were becoming familiar to young Arthur Himura.
He raised one small hand, palm up, and concentrated. The golden light of his quirk flickered to life, casting gentle shadows across his room. Arthur watched it pulse in time with his heartbeat, this new power that was somehow both strange and intimately familiar.
Royal Core, he mused. A power born from kingship, from determination, from the conviction to stand and fight regardless of the odds. It's appropriate. But it's also... limiting. If I want to become a hero, I can't rely solely on raw power. I need to train. To develop skills. To become more than just a quirk user.
The problem was his age. At four years old, his options for training were severely limited. He couldn't exactly join a dojo or gym, they wouldn't accept someone so young. His parents, while loving, had no combat experience that he could learn from. Akari worked as a librarian, Takeshi as an accountant. They were normal people living normal lives, unequipped to train a would-be hero.
Which meant Arthur would have to train himself.
The thought didn't intimidate him. In his first life, much of his training had been self-directed, guided by Merlin's cryptic advice but ultimately dependent on his own discipline and dedication. He knew how to push himself, how to identify weaknesses and address them, how to turn raw potential into refined skill.
But his four-year-old body presented unique challenges. He couldn't lift heavy weights or
run for miles without injuring himself. His bones were still developing, his muscles still forming. Pushing too hard too fast would result in permanent damage, stunting his growth and limiting his future potential.
I need to be smart about this, Arthur decided, letting the golden light fade from his palm. Start small. Build a foundation. Focus on flexibility, coordination, basic conditioning. Things that will help my body develop properly while giving me the groundwork I'll need later.
He would also need to study this world more thoroughly. The television provided some information, but it was filtered through entertainment and news narratives. Arthur needed deeper understanding—of hero society, of villain tactics, of the political and social structures that governed this new world. Knowledge had always been as important as strength in his previous life. That wouldn't change now.
Fortunately, his mother worked in a library. Access to books wouldn't be a problem. And while a four-year-old reading advanced texts might raise eyebrows, precocious children weren't unheard of in a world where some quirks enhanced intelligence or granted knowledge. He could work with that.
A plan began to form in Arthur's mind. Small, incremental steps that would build toward his ultimate goal. Morning exercises—nothing strenuous, just stretching and basic movements to improve coordination. Reading during the day, absorbing everything he could about this world. Evening practice with his quirk, learning to control it with increasing precision. And throughout it all, maintaining the facade of a normal child, hiding the calculating mind of a warrior-king behind innocent smiles and childish behavior.
It would be years before he could train in earnest. Years before his body could handle the kind of conditioning he needed. But Arthur had learned patience in his first life, learned that some victories required time and preparation. He could wait. He would wait. And when the time came, when his body was ready and his skills honed, he would step onto the stage of heroism not as a novice, but as someone who had spent years preparing for that exact moment.
Outside his window, a shooting star streaked across the night sky. Arthur watched it arc and fade, a brief flash of light in the darkness. In his first life, he might have seen it as an omen, a sign from the heavens. Now, with the perspective of two lifetimes, he recognized it for what it was, a random cosmic event, beautiful but meaningless.
Fate and destiny were concepts Arthur had learned to distrust. His first life had been shaped by prophecy and predetermined roles, and look how that had ended. This time, he would forge his own path. He would make his own choices. And if fate objected, well, Arthur had fought destiny before and won. He could do it again.
Sleep was beginning to tug at his consciousness, pulling him down into dreams. Arthur let it come, knowing his young body needed rest to grow strong. Tomorrow would bring new
challenges, new opportunities to learn and improve. There was no rush. He had time.
For the first time in either of his lives, Arthur Pendragon had the luxury of time.
The next morning arrived with golden sunlight streaming through Arthur's window. He woke naturally, without the jarring urgency that had characterized his previous life's mornings. No servants rushing to dress him, no urgent reports of enemy movements, no weight of the crown pressing down before his eyes had fully opened. Just soft light, warm blankets, and the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.
Arthur stretched, testing his small limbs. The quirk testing yesterday had left him surprisingly sore, another reminder that his current body's limitations were real and needed to be respected. Still, soreness was familiar. Muscles protesting from exertion was a feeling Arthur knew intimately from years of training and combat. In a strange way, it was almost comforting.
He climbed out of bed, padding across the cool floor to his window. From his second-story vantage point, Arthur could see the neighborhood coming to life. People heading to work, children being walked to daycare, the ordinary bustle of a city morning. It was so different from the Britain he remembered—more people, more noise, more everything—yet there was something fundamentally similar about it. People going about their lives, pursuing their purposes, connected by invisible threads of community and shared experience.
This is what I fought for, Arthur realized. Not just Britain or Camelot, but this. Ordinary people living ordinary lives in peace. I couldn't see it then, couldn't understand it because I was never allowed to be one of them. But now I am. Now I can.
"Arthur-kun! Breakfast!" His mother's voice called from the kitchen.
"Coming!" Arthur called back, then paused. Before leaving his room, he centered himself, reaching for that core of golden energy. It responded immediately, and Arthur felt it cycle through his body once—not activating fully, just... flowing. Like stretching a muscle.
The soreness faded slightly. Interesting. So his quirk could aid recovery as well as enhance performance. That would be useful to know.
Arthur made his way to the kitchen where Akari was plating rice, miso soup, and grilled fish—a traditional Japanese breakfast that had taken him some time to adjust to, but which he now genuinely enjoyed. His father sat at the small table, already dressed for work, reading something on his phone while sipping tea.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Akari said, lifting him into his chair and placing a plate before him. "How do you feel after yesterday? Not too tired?"
"I'm okay," Arthur assured her. "A little sore, but okay."
"That's normal after quirk manifestation," Takeshi said, glancing up from his phone. "Your body needs time to adjust. Don't push yourself too hard with your quirk for a while, okay?"
Arthur nodded obediently, though privately he intended to push himself exactly as much as was safe. His father meant well, but he was thinking of a normal four-year-old, not someone with the discipline and self-awareness of a centuries-old warrior. Arthur would know his limits better than anyone.
As they ate, Akari mentioned that she had the day off and planned to take Arthur to the library with her to return some books. Arthur's interest immediately piqued. The library. Access to information, to knowledge, to understanding of this world. Perfect.
"Can I get a library card?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "To check out books for myself?"
Akari blinked in surprise, then smiled. "You want your own library card? That's very grown-up of you, Arthur-kun. But you can't read yet, sweetie. You're only four."
Actually, I can read perfectly well in three languages, Arthur thought but didn't say. Instead, he adopted his best pleading expression—an expression that had never worked on his knights but seemed devastatingly effective on his mother.
"But I want to learn! You can help me with the hard words. Please?"
Akari wavered visibly. Takeshi chuckled. "He has you there, love. And it's not a bad thing, encouraging him to read. Even if he just looks at picture books for now."
"Well... I suppose it can't hurt," Akari relented. "Alright, Arthur-kun. We'll get you a library card. But you have to promise to take good care of any books you borrow."
"I promise!" Arthur said with genuine enthusiasm. Books had been rare and precious in his first life, available only to nobility and clergy. The idea that he could simply borrow them freely was still somewhat miraculous to him.
After breakfast, Takeshi left for work with a kiss for his wife and a hair ruffle for Arthur. Once they'd cleaned up, Akari helped Arthur dress in comfortable clothes, and they set out for the library.
The walk through Yokohama gave Arthur more opportunities to observe his new world. He'd seen it through windows and on television, but experiencing it directly was different. The sheer density of people was staggering—more humans in a single city block than had lived in most of Britain's villages. And the diversity of quirks on display was fascinating.
A woman walked past with flowers blooming from her hair, leaving a trail of sweet scent. A construction worker used some kind of adhesive quirk to stick materials together without
tools. A street performer juggled balls of flame that didn't burn. Everywhere Arthur looked, people were casually using powers that would have been considered miracles in his first life.
This is normal here, Arthur realized. Powers aren't rare or special. They're just... part of life. Which means being powerful isn't enough to stand out. I'll need to be exceptional, not just strong.
The library was a modern building of glass and steel, three stories tall and bustling with activity. Inside, Arthur was immediately struck by the sheer volume of books. Thousands upon thousands of them, organized on endless shelves, free for anyone to access. It was overwhelming in the best possible way.
"Impressed?" Akari asked, smiling at his wide-eyed expression.
"There's so many," Arthur breathed, and for once his reaction was entirely genuine.
"Come on," Akari said, taking his hand. "Let's get you that library card, and then you can explore the children's section."
The card was issued quickly—a small plastic rectangle with his name and photo that felt like a key to infinite knowledge. Arthur clutched it carefully, already planning which sections he wanted to investigate first.
The children's section was colorful and inviting, designed to appeal to young minds. But Arthur's attention kept drifting to the other sections visible beyond it. History. Science. Politics. Philosophy. And most importantly, a section dedicated to Hero Studies—books about quirk theory, heroics, famous heroes throughout history, legal frameworks governing hero work.
That's where I need to be, Arthur thought. But he couldn't just wander over there without raising questions. A four-year-old reading advanced texts on hero theory would definitely attract attention.
He would have to be patient. Start with simpler books, gradually work his way up to more complex material as his "reading improved." It would take time, but Arthur had already committed to playing the long game.
For now, he selected several picture books about heroes—simple stories aimed at children, but which would at least give him basic information about prominent heroes and their quirks. He also grabbed a book about Yokohama's history and one about basic science, figuring those would be easier to justify as "learning materials."
"Good choices," Akari approved, helping him check them out. "You're really interested in heroes, aren't you?"
"They help people," Arthur said simply. "I want to help people too."
Something in his mother's expression softened, became almost wistful. She knelt down, bringing herself to his eye level, and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "That's a wonderful dream, Arthur-kun. And I think... I think you'll make a great hero someday."
The conviction in her voice surprised him. She wasn't just placating a child's fantasy—she genuinely believed it. Arthur felt something warm bloom in his chest, something that had nothing to do with his quirk. Pride. Hope. And beneath it all, determination.
I won't let you down, Mother, Arthur promised silently. This time, I'll become the hero I should have been before. Not for glory or duty, but because it's the right thing to do. Because there are people worth protecting. Because you and Father showed me what I was fighting for all along.
They returned home with Arthur's arms full of books, and he spent the rest of the day absorbed in reading. The picture books were simple, but they provided useful baseline information about this world's heroic landscape. All Might, the Symbol of Peace, who apparently had maintained the position of Number One Hero for years through sheer overwhelming power and unwavering dedication to justice. Endeavor, the Number Two Hero, whose flame-based quirk made him a formidable force. Best Jeanist, Edgeshot, Hawks—names and faces and quirks that Arthur committed to memory.
Each hero had their specialty, their niche, their particular way of contributing to society's safety. Some focused on rescue work. Others on villain capture. Some were investigators, others frontline fighters. The variety was instructive. There wasn't just one way to be a hero. There were countless paths, countless approaches, countless ways to protect people.
Which path is mine? Arthur wondered, staring at a picture of All Might standing victorious over a defeated villain, his smile bright and reassuring. I was a warrior-king, a military commander, someone who led from the front. But I also failed to understand the people I was protecting. Maybe this time, I need to find a balance. Power tempered with empathy. Strength guided by understanding.
It was a question he couldn't answer yet. But he had time to figure it out. Years to develop not just his quirk, but his philosophy, his approach, his understanding of what it meant to be a hero in this new world.
As the sun set and his parents called him for dinner, Arthur carefully bookmarked his page and set his books aside. Tomorrow would bring new opportunities to learn and grow. And the day after that, and the day after that.
He was four years old. He had at least eleven years before he could attend U.A. High School, the premier hero academy. Eleven years to prepare, to train, to become someone worthy of the second chance he'd been given.
It seemed like a long time. But Arthur had learned patience. And more importantly, he'd
learned that the journey itself mattered as much as the destination.
This time, he would do it right. This time, Arthur Pendragon—no, Himura Arthur—would become not just a powerful hero, but a good one.
One day at a time.
To be continued...
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