A/N: Hey, thanks for checking out my story! It starts off angsty as things get started, there might be a bit of a lull, but I promise she meets the characters very soon. There are notes of abuse, depression, and suicidal thoughts, so if you're sensitive to that, then this story isn't for you. This digs deep into the nitty and gritty of things.
Credit to the genius creators of MHA and all those involved in its creation.
That wasn't her name, this wasn't her body, and those weren't her parents. But the faces of her real parents were a vague memory, mere mist in the recesses of her mind. She couldn't remember anything past yesterday, when she fell asleep writing her thesis paper on music in the modern era. The next morning, she opened her eyes to the bars of a crib. It took a good minute to realize what was happening.
Over the next few days, she came to learn many new things. For one, that she wasn't just reborn, she was reborn into a whole new world, one she previously thought was fictional. The shonen world she had reincarnated into was no other than My Hero Academia, her favorite manga in her past life.
That she remembered — but not her real parents or how she died? She knew she was a college student, recalled her studies on music and sound, but not her name or where she was born. She gave a huff of indignation (as babies often do). Whether this was a miracle, some joke of god, or a vivid hallucination, she wasn't sure.
But whatever it was, it came with a Help System.
She stared at the blue text box hovering in her vision.
𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛!
She swiped a hand through it, distorting the screen. After a moment, it returned to normal, a new line of text appearing.
𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝙼𝚢 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚊 (𝙼𝙷𝙰). 𝙰𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜, 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔. 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎! 𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚄𝚕𝚝𝚛𝚊!
Huh. Cool.
She summoned the menu; it opened with a single thought. A second screen popped up in her vision, with five options: 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔, 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜, and 𝚂𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜.
𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔 contained the complete series of MHA, all 32 volumes. 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 was empty, even though supposed to have the profiles of all the story characters. She frowned at that, but continued to 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢. A notification appeared.
𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢! 𝚄𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.
Miniaturization, so... She picked up her toy rattle and dropped it in mid-air, watching much more carefully than a baby ought to. It disappeared. Then, a ping.
It worked.
Cool.
She opened 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜 next. The screen displayed her new name (Ichika Endo), age (1-month-old), quirk and abilities (Bard, Reader Omniscience, Fourth Wall), and current stage (Pre-Canon). She wasn't sure what 'Fourth Wall' was, but that was quickly forgotten as she stared at her current stage with a pout. If this was pre-canon, then she wouldn't get to meet Deku and Bakugo, and all the others. Her infant ego cried out at the injustice.
"Shuddap!"
Another thing she soon discovered, her 'mother' died from cardiomyopathy. It snuck up on them, the doctors couldn't do anything to save her. A tragic death by all rights, but she couldn't muster any grief for a woman she never met. Meanwhile, her 'father' was inconsolable over the passing of his wife. But he coped. He did things. His latest new hobby? Alcohol.
They didn't get along very well.
In just a few months, she was walking (she had to if she ever wanted to leave that crib) and enduring her father's grief (which almost made her get back into the crib). The garden was her only refuge from him. The lush garden outside was bursting with color, the flowers unfurling their petals in the sun. Birds and bees ambled from flower to flower in the quiet space, as did she. Most of her time was spent in the garden practicing her quirk.
Her quirk Bard seemed a little too D-&-D, but it turned out to be extraordinarily powerful. She had the power to control sound waves through music. She knew this because as she was humming Baby Shark, she accidentally killed a butterfly. So, self-control. That was a must.
She quickly learned that screaming could rupture a person's eardrums and humming any kind of song, even idly, created sound waves in the surrounding area. Depending on the volume, tempo, and intent of her voice, the resulting pressure varied from that of a light breeze to the force of a ten ton cinder block. She could hear the cursing from her father inside the house as she practiced each day. Once, he came out to stop her, but her panicked whimpers made his ears bleed, which meant the garden was off limits to everyone except her and her alone. Which was just as well. She wasn't about to let his drunk ass destroy these flowers.
Six years passed this way, but she couldn't hide in the garden forever. Once inside, she endured his shouts and drunk accusations, the broken bottles and enraged punches. She took the hits without complaint and when he was calm and sated, staring down at the bottom of a bottle, she snuck outside.
Though it was impossible to see the stars in the city, the night sky was lit up by all the tiny, golden lights from buildings. They were like fireflies, bright enough to replace the stars themselves. Cars honked, people laughed and cried, the wind pulled at her hair as she breathed in the open air. It smelled of bus diesel and a pungent, industrial odor, perhaps from nearby construction. But it wasn't beer.
The city never slept, it was a steel heart that beat to the sound of its own drum. Only difference was, she could now experience it herself.
As she thought that, a memory flashed before her eyes. A blank white wall. Buzzing fluorescent lights. A heart monitor, and a stuffed bear in the corner watching as she slowly woke up. Her body lay in a nest of pillows, attached to several wires, and hooked up to a machine. Her hooded gaze trailed up the needle in her arm to an IV drip, the steel pole a shackle confining her to this sterile prison.
Ah, that's right. She was sick.
She died sick.
The realization made her heart drop, chest squeezing. She forcibly swallowed the lump in her throat. Counted herself lucky that here, now, in this second life, she was no longer confined. As she walked, the breeze kissed her skin, its phantom hands running through her hair.
The memory seemed like a distant dream compared to the present, to the golden light illuminating her path.
Music would always hold a special place in her heart, no matter what might happen. In her past life, music was all she had. Her uncle taught her how to play guitar. He never forgot to visit her, even when her family and friends stopped coming. He traveled a lot for work, but she practiced constantly to impress him when he returned.
Except in this life, she had no instruments, nor could she afford one. Her hands felt empty without something to hold. Music was her sole companion throughout those sixteen years, and now she had no way of making music.
There was a music store by her house. It had all kinds of special deals, but the instruments were still far out of the price range of a six-year-old. Still, she liked to go in and play the pretty polished guitars. Once, the cashier tried to stop her, but she gave him a baleful look and proceeded with Pride and Joy. It wasn't the greatest rendition of Stevie Ray's top hit, her fingertips were soft, but by the end of it the cashier was staring at her with an awe-struck expression.
Again, she was playing the guitar when a woman approached her.
"Hah, you know how to use that?"
A tall, voluptuous woman stood over her, smiling. For a moment, she just stared. Even in her past life, she had never seen anyone so effortlessly beautiful. Her glossy hair was dark as a raven's feathers, narrowed eyes accentuating her sharp features. A small mole dotted her chin, adding a touch of sophistication.
Finally, she answered, "What does it look like I'm doing?"
The woman laughed, crouching to her level. "Let's see you play something, then."
By the look on her face, it was clear she was not expecting a five-year-old to play a near-perfect rendition of Billy Joel's She's Right on Time.
"Old world music, huh?" The woman rubbed her chin, staring at her. She wasn't sure what 'old world' music meant, but it was a relief to know that Joel's legacy hadn't died yet. "Hey, what's that on your neck?"
A hand reached forward, but she flinched away. It was too hot to wear a scarf, but that meant her bruises were out in the open. She'd hoped nobody would notice, but...
"Just a scratch," she said, looking off to the side. "Bad habit."
The weight of her gaze made her squirm. Tensing, she prepared to run, but then the woman broke into a smile. "Habits are tough little buggers, eh?"
"Mn."
The woman nodded to the guitar. "You're good."
"Thanks."
"You want to keep that?"
She blinked. "I can't afford it."
"It'll be my gift to you for Christmas. Someone your age, playing guitar like that, you were born to play! C'mon."
Grabbing her hand, the woman dragged her over to the counter, ignoring her protests. Heat crept up her face, but it seemed there was no stopping her. She looked up at the laughing beauty with a puzzled frown.
Even if she'd seen her bruise, there was no reason to buy her the guitar. She expected to be taken to the police as a victim of abuse and thrown into foster care if anyone ever saw them. Which was why she hid them. It all seemed so exhausting, and besides, she heard the horrid stories of what happened to children in foster care. She was under no illusion that it was normal to hit your kids, but she'd rather take the beatings, thanks.
The woman kneeled down, pressing the guitar into her empty hands. Voice tender, she said to her, "You play this guitar and don't stop, no matter what anybody says. And remember to smile."
Her hands reached forward to pull her lips up into a smile. For her sake, she tried.
It must have been convincing, because the woman beamed and said, "That's it! Much prettier!"
"Okay."
She clapped on the back, nearly knocking her over. "I'm looking forward to your first concert!"
It wasn't until she got outside that she noticed the blue screen floating at the edge of her vision.
𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛!
𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚊
𝙰𝚐𝚎: 𝟺𝟸
𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚔: 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚝 (𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝚕𝚕)
𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠
Huh. Cool.
Memories of her past life were slowly coming back. She could remember fragments of her life at the hospital, her uncle, how to play guitar... and now, death.
There was no light, nor darkness. She wasn't sure whether she was completely there herself. She couldn't see anything. Her hands stretched out to either side, but there was nothing to hold onto. She tried to wiggle her toes, but there was a complete lack of sensation. The void space reminded her of the vast watery abyss, those underwater chasms that seemed to swallow everything whole. Her mouth opened to cry for help, but she choked on ash, ash that rose in her throat and smothered the oxygen in her lungs, cutting off all air supply, her fingers rotting black and decaying like everything else around her–
She woke up, heart pounding. It took a minute to regain any sense of touch, any sight or sound. She swallowed deep breaths. It was a dream. Just a dream.
It felt like hours had passed before she could do anything. The hardwood floor was cold beneath her feet as she slipped out of bed. She reached for her guitar, only to realize she left it out in the garden. Sighing, she tip-toed downstairs, wrapping her arms around herself to combat the cold. A shudder wracked her frame.
Turning into the living room, she was stopped dead in her tracks by a chilling sight.
A tall, dark figure stood over her guitar in the garden, a broken bottle clenched in one hand, the other fisted tight, poised over his head. Her heart sped up, frantic as she dove forward to stop him. By the time she'd reached the back door, it was too late. In the blink of an eye, her precious instrument was reduced to splintered wood and rusted strings. It was as good as a heap of firewood. By the look in her father's eyes, that was exactly what he planned on using it for.
A choked sob left her lips. She staggered out into the garden, dropping to her knees and cradling the broken guitar to her chest. Tried to piece it back together. Her efforts were in vain. There was no hope of regaining what she had lost.
A calloused hand yanked her up by the collar, shaking her madly. The ground swung in her vision, the guitar a blur. He was shouting something, but it didn't register. Her blood pounded in her ears as she stared down at the guitar, at the first gift anyone gave her since she entered this damned world, at the polished wood that shattered so easily—
"You and your stupid fucking music, how did you afford this, huh?! Answer me–"
"Shut up! Let go of me!"
She kicked back, delivering a solid blow to his knee. His grip loosened, dropping her to the floor. She scrambled away as fast as she could.
A thud.
Her body went cold. She didn't dare move. The garden was suddenly quiet, the humming motors from cars and scurry of insects dead silent. The only sound was her thumping heart as she craned her head over her shoulder, to her father. He laid unconscious in a pool of red.
That night, seven years old, she left home for the first time.