Chapter 1: Back to Square One
I woke up in my own bed, but something felt… off. The sunlight streaming through the window looked bigger somehow, and the toys scattered across the floor were massive. My fingers, tiny and stubby, barely wrapped around my favorite training dummy.
"Ugh…" I groaned, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. Something about my reflection in the mirror made me freeze. The face staring back wasn't my usual teenage self—it was four years old. Four. FOUR.
No. No way. This has to be a dream.
I tried jumping onto my chair like I usually do in the dorms. Nope. Legs too short. Hands too small. Everything too… small. My world had shrunk overnight—or maybe I had.
But here's the thing: even though I was tiny, I remembered everything. Every fight, every move, every strategy, every face. Every explosion. And the best part? I still had my Quirk. Not just that—I could control it better than ever.
I clenched my little fists, feeling the familiar surge in my palms. Sparks popped off like fireworks, and the training dummy shook. "Heh… still got it," I muttered. Even as a toddler, I wasn't losing to anyone.
I peeked out the window. Kids my age were playing tag, laughing like idiots. Pathetic. I scoffed. I'll be stronger than all of them… faster than anyone.
Then I remembered the real reason this sucked: if I'm four now, that means everything I've been through hasn't happened yet. No UA. No internships. No fight with Deku… yet. And maybe, just maybe… I could get stronger before any of that even started.
That thought made my chest tighten with excitement. I can be unbeatable. I can get my ultimate moves out before anyone even expects it. No waiting, no holding back.
Mom called me for breakfast. Her voice sounded way too loud—like a giant yelling through the clouds. I stomped over, grumbling.
"Good morning, Kacchan!" she said cheerily, handing me a plate of pancakes.
I stared at the food like it was beneath me. "I don't need food. I need training." Sparks danced along my tiny fists. Mom blinked, confused.
"You're… serious?"
"Of course I'm serious!" I shouted, smacking the plate. A small explosion singed the edge of the table. Pancakes went flying. Mom screamed, but I didn't care. "I'm going to get stronger. And no one—no one—is going to stop me."
After breakfast, I dragged myself outside to the yard. Even four-year-old me knew training mattered more than toys. I planted my little feet, clenched my fists, and imagined the blast radius of my ultimate move. In my head, I ran through the steps: gather ki, compress, ignite, release.
I let out a roar—and a tiny explosion blew a hole in the sandbox. Dirt flew everywhere, but I didn't care. I grinned like a maniac. I can do this. I will do this.
It wasn't just fun anymore. It was strategy. I tested angles, blast strength, trajectory. Every trial was logged in my brain. I was learning faster than I ever had as a teenager because nothing—nothing—was holding me back.
By the time the neighborhood kids noticed me, I was already too fast. A small explosion sent their ball flying into the sky. They screamed and ran. Typical. Weaklings.
I smirked. Good. No distractions.
Hours passed. I barely noticed. Mom brought me snacks, which I ignored. I barely even noticed when the sun dipped low. My little body was exhausted, but my brain was buzzing with calculations. I ran through scenarios:
If I start learning restraint now, I can control my explosions perfectly.
If I train movement and reaction time early, no one can outmaneuver me.
If I push myself harder than ever… I can reach my ultimate before middle school.
The thought made my chest pound. This isn't just being strong. This is being unstoppable.I looked up at the sky, sparks flickering in my hands. "This is just the beginning," I whispered. "Everyone's going to see. Kacchan… will be the strongest hero there's ever been. And I'm starting now. Four years old, and nothing's going to stop me."
By the time I finally went inside, my tiny fists were sore, my body trembling—but my mind was already planning tomorrow. Early morning training, obstacle courses, precise explosion drills… I wasn't going to waste a single second.Because even at four years old, I knew one thing for sure: this time, I wouldn't just catch up. I'd leave everyone in the dust.