A/N: Hey everyone, surprise surprise it's a newer, longer chapter of the original.
I know it's pretty sudden, but with everything that's happened, I wanted to start out fresh. Also, I couldn't pass the chance to post this chapter on the 21st of December which is the birthday of our boi, Kuzan. I've been keeping up with being safe (most of the time) and there had been a few scares in the family with the pandemic, and unfortunately a few people have been lost, but we're getting by as best we can. I hope a lot of you are staying safe and that you all doing your part to keep this from spreading.
God, 2020 has sure kicked all our asses, huh? I feel pretty beat, but here's to hoping the new year will start off better.
Anyway, I just wanted to give you guys an early Christmas treat. I hope you all will enjoy. And now, I need to write a bit of a warning to anyone not familiar with this story.
What this story contains: discussions of suicide, depression, anxiety, and PTSD (among other things like physical and mental abuse, severe bullying, and a whole lot of hurt/angst).
I had a lot of time while out at work, keeping out of public places, and just simply think. This past year, I developed almost a hundred side characters for this story, and I cannot wait to share it with the rest of you. I think you guys are gonna love what I have. I redesigned several old characters, added new stuff to the story to do a little more worldbuilding because I have a fondness for that, and save things for much later when its plot convenient.
Speaking of which, I need to address something important to any new readers looking to try something new because they obviously did not take the warnings seriously and therefore left me with a lot of flame reviews for making someone "edgy" and "emo" and a total "pussy".
Dear readers, to put it bluntly as possible so you guys won't get after me later on for making something so bleak, this is not a happy fanfic. This is a story about facing the consequences of your actions, intended or not. This is the aftermath of a flaw that ended up destroying lives in the process: this is Chaos Theory in effect. So, if you're in search of a story that has a badass OP who can wreck shit up without effort by the power of friendship and awesomeness, all the while picking up a harem of chicks to bang later to satisfy your sexual fantasies—this story is not for you.
Now onto the main event! An SI OC Insert story—but with a twist!
Disclaimer: My Hero Academia belongs to Kohei Horikoshi; my only claim is my own original character(s)!
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prologue
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Here's the thing.
Life never goes as planned.
It's impossible to keep everything on schedule, done in time, and finished in order. Doing so would be like provoking a challenge against the forces of the entire universe, demanding that it not trespass in your breathing space (when in reality you were lucky enough to be in its space). So you can go ahead and make the road map that is your life, mark those colorful pit stops to make the road go a lot more smoother, and read whatever Yelp review available so you don't end up in a shady place that screamed 80's slasher film scene—but here's the thing: nobody can predict what can happen along the way.
Whether it's the bumps and pot holes you often find on the long roads, a tire blowing out because maintenance hadn't been up to date, or the freak flash floods and horrendous tornadoes that give chase, there's always something inevitably prolonging the way.
And then there's the accidents.
The kind of accidents that could change a person's life in a single heartbeat; no warning, no mercy, no guarantee, just a whole lot of bad luck on your end of the stick.
Yet in spite of all the wrong twists and turns, the hiccups and delays, and the constant headache of dealing with faulty navigation devices which subsequently led to stumbling off the main path—the roads remained plentiful. Eventually, through trial and error, you were going to find your way towards the end of the road, regardless of how or what route you took to get there.
An old high school teacher of mine had a name for this thing, but I couldn't for the life of mine remember what it was called. It was something that happened when there was an extra or missing number in the equation, or if there was a different outcome from a repeated experiment. If there was a change in the routine, don't be surprised to find a divergence from the original path.
So, let me reiterate; life is never supposed to be straightforward.
Which is how and why I ended up dying.
As most stories went: it happened too quickly and too suddenly. One moment, everything was all hunky dory, then the next… I was flat on my back with a painful pulsing sensation coming from the back of my head. The pounding got stronger, causing shadows to surround my vision until it engulfed what little light there was left in my eyes.
Let me be honest here, I don't even know what killed me. My biggest theory was, since I had been standing near a field where a group of freshman baseball players were practicing, a baseball went rogue and took me out.
In my last moments, I was simply minding my own business, waiting for a friend to bring out the promised goods of greasy cheeseburgers while half-listening to the angry tirade of my college roommate who was fuming about some asshole teacher or another. One second, I was nodding along at every insult thrown at the faceless professor, the next blink, everything went dark. It took a while, but I was able to gain enough vision to see my once angry companion kneeling beside my supine form, eyes wide with shock as his hands frantically hovered over my face. He was yelling, voiceless to my ringing ears yet loud from what I could surmise by the exertion on his flushed features.
It's a sobering realization, discovering how one little mishap in the cogs of life could turn everything disastrous within a moment's notice. People could try to play it safe all they want, but life was going to come knocking on their doorsteps whether they were ready for it or not.
His horrified face, his helpless hands, his mute cries, they were the last things I saw before I died.
… except that it didn't end there.
Somehow, through some cosmic force beyond imagination, or through otherworldly means my monkey brain had no way of comprehending, my final destination wasn't at death's cool embrace. My story didn't end here because apparently... I had more to tell.
The change that had forced itself into my end went on to follow me to my new beginning, reverberating like an endless echo that expanded beyond the physical and material world to somewhere strange and unexpected…
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As most stories often began, there was a little accident; there was a bit of a stumble, followed by a rough collision between two bodies, and then finally the quiet breaking of a fragile champagne glass that once held expensive red wine.
There was a moment of stunned silence between the two guilty parties responsible for the mess before one of them finally deigned an appropriate response: a sharp curse that would've made a grandmother blush in indignation. At once, the two strangers moved to take care of the problem yet were started by the doors leading into the theater hall. An intermission, it seemed.
With people stepping out into the spacious lobby, the strangers exchanged a brief glance with one another, silently coming to an agreement that they needed to act quickly to avoid someone accidentally stepping on glass and hurting themselves. And with that, the older man hurried to gather all the glass while the young woman stepped around to provide some makeshift cover from the many men and women. In no time, with all the glass gathered and wine absorbed by a throwaway handkerchief, the man finally got back to his feet.
The woman couldn't help but stare as he went up and up.
"I'm sorry about that, miss." The man apologized as he glanced about to locate the nearest waste disposal. "I hope I didn't get any wine on your dress."
Shaking herself out of the blatant staring, she quickly responded, "No, no. I should be the one who's sorry. And no, you didn't get any wine of my dress."
Goodness, her mother had warned her countless times in the past not to fall into a drunken stupor at social gatherings, otherwise the leeches that her father insisted on keeping around in his social circles would start to get ridiculous with their ideas of what was going on with her private life. She personally got to witness several "scandals", watching the unfortunate victim suffer in the aftermath with their image and reputation tarnished because of a few wagging tongues. The last thing she needed was somehow ending up on the latest gossip magazine that accused her of being some alcoholic addict who squandered her fortune away for more booze (while also subtly implying she was a loose woman who was open to anyone willing to buy her a free drink in exchange).
Absolute cunts.
"That's a relief to hear," the tall man commented, piercing through her dark thoughts. "Your dress looks like it costs way more than my annual salary."
She didn't know why, maybe it was because he appeared so serious or perhaps his voice came off as deadpan, but his words made the young woman laugh out loud. The outburst made a couple of people nearby give her a queer look, but she ignored them. God, she must be really drunk to laugh over something so stupid... but honestly? it felt like the most honest reaction she had in what felt like forever.
Home nowadays felt like a prison. Tension was high and the suspense threatened to cut deep (if it hadn't already). There was so much anger and fear, all of them counting down the days before she was ripped away from her free will.
She wasn't stupid.
She noticed the lingering presence of that despicable man, Sven Lindholm; she would find him watching her from afar, eyes constantly tracking her movement as though she was a piece of meat and not some human being with a mind of her own. Whether it was a private affair or a company social gathering in honor of the Gunnarsen patriarch, the wretch would always be there to make her skin crawl. A lot of people heard only the worst about Sven Lindholm (drug allegations, involvement with underaged prostitutes, bribing officials to keep himself out of jail, etc.), and it was a shame that such a respectable corporation fell into the hands of an incompetent moron.
And it was probably for this reason why that things turned out the way they did.
One night during dinner, surrounded by her siblings and stepmother, her father hadn't waited for them to take a bite into their meal when he broke the news.
For a moment, everything felt... surreal. Her head fuzzy and her eyes seemingly gazing beyond the far reaches of the universe, it was fantastical and dreamy—then the galaxies and nebulas faded away whereas the words spoken at the dinner table remained with her like a hot brand to the skin.
Her father, her own flesh and blood, bade her to marry the filth that was Sven Lindholm. Not a suggestion, not a gentle nudge, not even asking her permission on the matter; it was a command of the highest order and it was within her best interest to comply.
Not only that, she would also be in charge of "redeeming" Sven Lindholm. Their so-called marriage needed to paint the man as mature and respectable (both things he most certainly was not).
Her accomplishments, her pursuits, her freedom—all of it traded away like it was nothing.
Like it was Aksel's right to do so.
"You alright there, miss?" the stranger asked.
"I'm fine," she willed herself to calm down. "I'm sorry."
Sorry, she remembered her younger half-sister Trine saying some time after the damning news. Looking at her, head bowed and eyes unable to meet her sister's, the elder could tell that the younger was just as afraid. She too was dreading the day someone would come along to cast their own shadow over her, desires and wishes be damned.
I'm sorry, her mother Agneta told her, voice full of anguish and grief that others would've mistaken it for a mother mourning for the loss of her child. The young woman's impending marriage to the awful excuse of a human being certainly made it seem that way.
I'm so sorry, her older half-brother Aleksi rasped from behind his oxygen mask. Even as his body grew weak (barely able to put on weight, bones beginning to protrude, the light in his otherworldly eyes slowly smothered), she felt the strength behind his clutching fingers that intertwined with hers.
"What are you sorry for?" the man's chortling once again dispersed the darkness threatening to encroach her mind. Facing her nameless companion, she was rewarded a smile so charming she felt her lungs lock up. "Making any pretty lady laugh after an accident is considered an accomplishment in my book."
Recovering the air she lost, she gave the man a skeptical retort. "I bet you tell that to all the pretty ladies you came across tonight."
It wouldn't be the first time coming across someone who so happened to "stumble" upon her. They'd then try to worm their way into her good graces before clinging onto the next victim in order to elevate themselves in the right circles to get the recognition they so desperately desired.
"Maybe," he shrugged nonchalantly, but his gaze remained steadily on her.
She felt a wave of pleasant tingles climb up her spine as the tall foreigner took in her flattering navy blue dress that glittered under the light of the chandeliers hanging overhead. There was polite appreciation rather than the sickening display of possessiveness and want when Lindholm kept her company, causing her to take hot showers afterwards if only to wipe away the disgust she felt in her skin from where he'd grope her. When their eyes met again, a handsome smile blossomed upon his faintly scarred lips.
"But you're the only woman here who's ever made me fall over myself."
Without meaning to, she felt her jaw drop. Standing in the middle of a crowded lobby where there was bound to be people looking her way, she couldn't find the strength to care about what would happen later. Instead, she was too lost in the familiar feeling of giddiness, as if remembering what it was like when she had been with close family and friends. The jokes, the teasing, and the banters they exchanged… she missed that.
She had to physically stop herself from reaching over to slug the man on the shoulder for his playful insinuation that she was some sort of clumsy drunk—underneath his flirty remark, of course.
"You…!" she started to say, laughter behind her words.
"Me?" his charming smile morphed into a flirtatious grin.
She found herself drawn to his eyes which reminded her of her father's favorite scotch brand, all warm depths yet shining like gold from where the light reflected on its surface. He also appeared to be a decade or so older than her, yet his advanced age and gruff image did nothing to diminish how incredibly handsome he was. If anything, the white scars and faint wrinkles adorning his sharp features made him all the more alluring.
For the second time tonight, she felt her world tilt off axis.
As though a new world had been discovered between him and her; a promise of something more waiting just beyond the horizon if they dared. Like two hearts beating as one, they both took the first step.
"Sengoku Enzō."
The man offered his name.
"… Sigrid Gunnarsen."
She offered her own.
An echo. A collision. A shattered glass.
Two people who should've never crossed paths, never exchanged words, and never left together that night resulted in something unintended. And from the heavy reverberation, ripples came and tidal waves crashed on the far side of the world. There was no fixing the mess, there was no undoing what had been done, there was only bracing for the impacts yet to come.
Because whether they had meant to or not, whether it was the universe trying to correct itself into order, me dying and being reborn as their son was the answer to that.
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Sigrid won't lie.
Anyone in her position would've balked at the ultimatum they were left with. However, the pressure that came from being her father's daughter, the demand that she'd do more than what she could handle, the expectation to succeed where her older brother had failed, it all threatened to cave in and crush her. And the worst part? The whole community who watched her as though she were an exotic spectacle to keep them entertained.
Whatever her actions may be, they would reflect upon her father's prestigious image (something he reminded his daughter daily whenever he perceived her to be stepping out of turn). As much as she tried to deviate from the path set before her, the Gunnarsen patriarch was always there to direct her back.
Her life was shackled to the whims of Aksel.
But.
The man standing at the altar, the one who would become her husband-to-be should she buckle down under the pressure of her father's demands—she saw nothing more than a giant gilded cage which promised to never let her go once she entered the threshold. Sigrid knew the moment she gave into them, she would be condemning herself into a lifetime of misery and hurt.
She refused to give up her freedom for another man, she refused to let go of her job as a doctor to help others in need, she refused to stop seeing the few friends she had left even after they've been driven away by her father, she refused to forget the existence of her other half of the family that always welcomed her with open arms and love, and she angrily refused to play any more of her father's power-grabbing schemes.
And so, mustering enough courage and strength, she willed herself to finally take the first step in walking away. No more shackles to keep her in check, she thought as she turned her back on her father and fiancé, and no more cages to keep her trapped.
Yet, as freeing and admirable as it was to finally put her foot down and say no, she did not think her actions would've resulted in something so drastic.
Everyone expected anger, but the lengths a furious man on a warpath would go… she had no idea.
She wouldn't until much later.
The day she turned her back on her father, Aksel Gunnarsen responded with unforgiving fire and venomous brimstones.
Sigrid was no longer welcome at the family residence; she was told that even trying to collect her belongings would end with the authorities throwing her behind bars for trespassing. What privilege she had was revoked the moment she confirmed her refusal to cooperate. Her personal belongings locked away, her access to the family bank accounts frozen, and warned away from entering any related establishments belonging under her family name—it was awful.
There was hurt, the young doctor won't deny that, being told she could no longer come home to visit her siblings, but she soldiered on because at least there was no one trying to tie her down.
However, Aksel was far from done.
For such a blatant display of disrespect towards him, he sought to burn past the crops and instead set the entire land aflame.
Everywhere she went, Sigrid found herself being slandered.
All that work in presenting herself as a lady from an esteemed family? thrown down the drain. Not even a week after being coldly booted out the door, she caught a picture of her face in the local newspaper headlines.
It appeared her ex-fiancé wasn't taking the news of their broken engagement well, so to nurse his fragile pride he turned their private affair into a public presentation to one of the many gossip magazines she so hated. And like hungry scavengers, the people feasted their eyes on the false stories Lindholm fed them with gusto.
Like any curious bunch, a lot of people had wondered what happened to cause the breaking of hers and Lindholm's engagement, why she never went back home after work, or why she was recently stingy with her money when it had never been an issue for her in the past; now, when people looked at her, it was with apprehension and judgement.
A seductive tease who was able to lure in the head of the Lindholm family.
A convincing slut who made men dance upon on the palm of her hands, unaware of her plans.
A lying whore who got what she wanted and thus threw away whatever toys to move on.
Each vicious, vulgar word was like a hit from a speeding freight train, slamming itself into her heart until her entire being was scorched with shame and utter humiliation. The fact that her father kept silent on the matter, no longer shielding his daughter from despicable rumors or hiring people to set the record straight, only made people come to the wrong conclusions.
With the pointed stares given to her by strangers and acquaintances alike, the obvious whispers spoken when she walked along the streets and hallways of the hospital, and the endless distribution of her privacy displayed inside a trash magazine, she was forced to finally concede the battle.
Less than a month later, she was transferred to Denmark.
The further away she was, the better.
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It had been three weeks since Enzō last saw Sigrid; such was the life of a bodyguard.
He started out small (protection programs or victims hiding from their abusers), gradually climbing the ladder until he was babysitting heirs from reputable families, CEO's heading to their next meeting halfway across the globe, and key political figures who needed someone to watch their backs. Whoever he was with, it was constantly on the move—until Sigrid.
Since their little run in at the opera house, they both found themselves seeking the other out. When his charge didn't have any need for him, Enzō would go out for drinks, check out the sights, and just simply stayed still long enough to enjoy the moment rather than watch it go by quickly. It was nice.
Really nice.
Unfortunately, their good time together was cut short. Because somebody spied on them (his money was on that little shit, Lindholm), it reached the ears of the Gunnarsen patriarch which then resulted in Enzō no longer being employed by the security company he dutifully served for the past ten years.
It was a difficult pill to swallow. Being dismissed out of nowhere without so much as a warning from his superiors, but he learned long ago during his time in the special forces that money could buy loyalty from anyone.
Not to be deterred so easily, the battle-scarred man simply found his schedule completely open to do whatever he pleased: spending a lot of time with the sweet doctor.
Of course, his overconfidence blinded him of the hell storm that approached until he was already set aflame.
It was an emergency, or so the nameless scientist claimed. The man needed to be escorted back to I-Island, and the only reason he approached the tall man was because of the company card still had his number listed (just goes to show how out of nowhere his termination was). Enzō tried to explain, but the scientist was stubborn and persistent, even going so far as to promise him a shit ton of money. Tired as heck, and kind of needing money since his last paycheck hadn't reached his bank account, the battle-scarred man finally agreed to the job.
Once given the promise of his return, Sigrid sent him off with a daring kiss on the lips. He hadn't realized that he was smiling like an idiot until the scientist commented how creepy he looked.
Seven hours later, they landed on the moving island and the tall man was eager to stretch his legs. However, the moment he stepped off the private jet plane, the atmosphere changed. He didn't take notice until he grabbing their luggage.
The way people at the airport were looking at him, their expressions anxious and bordering on fearful, it made the tall man pause. He only forced himself to move forward when the scientist beckoned him to follow.
On the way to the condo, several crowds of people who saw him approach shied away. Like a skittish herd of deer, frozen one moment then bolting towards the opposite direction in the next. In a short span of time, Enzō felt his confidence slip away and dread overtake him as he watched people avoid him like the plague.
Internally, he wondered if this was because of the scientist he was escorting, but security at the airport cleared him (although, the TSA did take forty-something minutes when they went over his passport and luggage).
Reaching the condo, the scientist barely flipped on the television screen when everything finally clicked into place.
The glaring bold headline, the frightening image flashing back at him, the shock in the news anchor's voice.
His name.
His name.
HIS NAME.
Once, a long time ago, young Enzō was told the story about his great grandfather.
Normally, when children were told stories about family members who passed long after the youngsters got the chance to know them, it was moment of pride, joy, sorrow, and somberness. Stories of where and how their elders grew up, how they met people and fell in love, the ridiculous and troublesome things they did to get a few good laughs, of the horrors they'd seen that forever changed them, of the hardships they faced before overcoming them—this was not their story.
Sengoku Mikio wasn't a great father, plain and simple. He liked drinking more than he liked breathing, and when there wasn't a drink in his hand, there was always a fist in young Enzō's face. His quirk, extension, staved off most of his father's physical attacks, but it didn't keep the old man from getting creative in way to hurt his own son. Awful as the experience was, it taught the child how to keep on his toes and to sleep with one eye open. Good times.
One night, after finding his father nursing a half-empty bottle while watching a documentary regarding the leaps and bounds society made in the superhuman era, Mikio snorted at the narrator who listed only a handful of infamous villains.
"'Course they don' wanna talk 'bout him," his father said aloud, probably thinking that he was alone in their crumbling apartment. "Who'd wanna talk abou' that monster?"
Mikio wasn't always known as Sengoku Mikio. Years ago, his name was Naegi Mikio, and he was raised by his paranoid mother to always look over his shoulder.
Mikio's mother, Junko, despite her intimidating size, acted as though she were a field mouse on the lookout for a dangerous predator. Always changing homes and apartments, always urging her son to move, always leaving behind important things and people just when her son was trying to settle down and make connections… it was one of the reasons why Mikio wasn't good with people.
And why Junko eventually lost her sanity.
One day, a commotion from outside drew young Mikio out of his room. Reaching the door, he found his mother wielding a bloodied kitchen knife towards a wounded man (a mailman), screaming and accusing him of following her and her child in revenge against her father.
"We've done nothing wrong!" Junko shrieked at the stunned onlookers, her hysterical mind mistaking them for an angry mob out to get her. "I'm not my father! I'M NOT MY FATHER! I'M NOT A MONSTER!"
Junko wasn't always known as Naegi Junko, either. Many years ago, her name was Ashurama Junko, the daughter of an infamous mass-murdering villain who once brought destruction and terror all across Japan, Korea, and Hong Kong.
Decades of hiding away the shame in their blood, of sacrificing their mind, their freedom, and their faith, completely and utterly destroyed by a single vindictive man who sought to put the battle-scarred man in his rightful place: underneath his expensive shoes.
The nightmarish image of Ashurama Basara—his ancestor, his great grandfather, his family—was branded into his brain like a bloodstain, leaving Enzō pale and shaking as he watched his life fall apart from the screen of a television.
Some time after he managed to hitch a ride back to Norway (after bribing the pilots who flew him and the scientist to I-Island), Sigrid was nowhere to be found. Three weeks later, he tracked her down to her new home: Tranum, Denmark.
Enzō won't sugarcoat it: everything at this point was kind of fucked up.
Upon arriving at the Jäger estate which belonged to Sigrid's mother's side of the family, he was looked upon with deep suspicion and mistrust. Well, who could blame them? After all, what did some old, scarred bastard like him, whom everyone now knew was related to the biggest mass murderer in the last century, want with their hurting and vulnerable family member who was just recently chased out of her home in Norway? As far as they were concerned, nothing screamed shady than some lunatic's great grandchild asking an audience with the shamed daughter of a multi-billionaire.
Halfway of being turned out into the snow-blanketed country roads, the gruff and burly bunch escorting him out paused. In the distance, he could almost see Sigrid standing at the entrance of the large log cabin mansion. The men surrounding him seemed to be listening for something only they could hear, and whatever was said made them reluctantly lead him to their home where the young doctor was waiting.
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It was a hard couple of months.
Sigrid still got the occasional stare, heard her name under a few whispers behind her back, but they were growing few and far in between. It helped that the COM kept her busy, looking after patients, assisting in several surgeries, helping grieving families, and bringing treats to the frightened children.
Enzō, meanwhile, was getting used to being a lumberjack.
Not to anyone's surprise, a lot of people had been wary of him, especially after the breaking news coverage that revealed his ancestry to a deranged villain from nearly a century ago. Yes, it was quite the shock for Sigrid herself, but after experiencing the scorn and negative spotlight herself? She and Enzō were pretty much on the same boat, so there was no room to judge from either side.
If anything, this ugly situation only brought them closer than ever.
When their relationship began to grow, several family members expressed concern due to the large age difference between them, but Sigrid was sure that Enzō was the right partner for her. Instinct told her that he was incredibly loyal and was strong despite his old age.
With enough reassurance, her family eased up and opened themselves to the battle-scarred man. It didn't take long for the older man to feel like he was one of the guys (he even started growing a dashing beard, no thanks to the men).
But again, their happiness was abruptly extinguished when news from Norway reached their ears: Trine was engaged.
It was cruel.
Bright and wonderful Trine, so sweet and gentle to those closest to her, was being paraded around like a prize won by her fiancé: Sven Lindholm. Her life and potential future instantly ruined by the diamond ring wrapped around her finger, and there was nothing Sigrid could do to help her younger sister. Feeling powerless, all she could do was watch the television screen as Lindholm continued to hold up Trine like a trophy to the paparazzi.
The young silver-haired woman merely stared back at the cameras with a hollowness in her eyes.
If this was Aksel's design to broadcast the news in an effort to mock and taunt his wayward daughter, then he was most certainly succeeding.
But it seemed he wasn't done with the couple. Not by a long shot.
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"Denied."
Enzō and Sigrid stared at the clerk in disbelief. There was a long pause before Sigrid opened her mouth to argue against the discrimination that was happening before her very eyes, to rage against the system denying her and her partner, to let loose on the stoic woman sitting behind her stupid desk, but she was already being carried out by the battle-scarred man.
This was the fourth agency to deny them their marriage certification.
They both had their papers and documents in order, the visa and residence permit, and the identification cards, yet it wasn't enough to grant them the certificate they needed to get married. However, it didn't take detective work to figure out what was going on; if one cared enough to notice that agencies within their vicinities were getting funded by a "mysterious" benefactor, the answer was all too clear.
"Unbelievable." Sigrid hissed under her breath as she pulled her coat closer to stave off the cold. "That asshole really doesn't know when to quit!"
Enzō remained silent on the matter, only pulling her closer to his side as they trudged along the snow where a bus at a nearby station would take them home. On the way back, Sigrid called her mother to discuss other options but as the weeks went by without a certificate in their hands, their situation was quickly becoming another lost cause.
Two hours later, they both walked their way home from the town until they finally reached the door of the estate. The moment the door opened, the warmth from inside the large home immediately swept away the chill they carried.
Shedding the heavy coat from her shoulders, Sigrid let out a deep exhale to rid herself the exhaustion of the miles she walked from town. Upon inhaling, she was met with the mouth-watering scent of her aunt's famous chicken soup. She felt her stomach gurgle in anticipation of the warm meal.
Or perhaps, she though with a smile as she slid her fingers across the growing bump on her midsection, it was the baby crying out for food.
"You alright?" Enzō asked as he approached his wife from behind to embrace her while also laying hands on her pregnant belly.
"Yes, I'm just," she rubbed at her belly some more. "I just wanted things to go right."
"You're doing nothing wrong, Sig." the older man sighed as he stared at the burning fireplace where several Jäger's gathered their children to pass along hot chocolate. "It's everything else that's not going right."
The young doctor stayed silent; her eyes trained on her belly where she felt the child squirm from within the confines of her flesh. It was the baby knew that there was trouble lying in wait.
"He's going to shame us," she murmured quietly. "He's going to make sure that once they're born, they would be seen as a bastard."
Their baby wasn't even born, and already the little one was going to suffer under her father's abuse by becoming a child born out of wedlock. Another shame game for Aksel to hang over their heads, another battle lost in this one-sided war.
It wouldn't have mattered if the baby had been born from an average background, but an illegitimate child between the disgraced Gunnarsen daughter and the descendant of the notorious Ashurama Basara? She could already feel the migraine of dealing with overeager paparazzi flooding outside the property and the small town.
"C'mon you two," a cousin called the couple from the dining room. "Better come eat before the kids want second servings of Aunt Edda's broth!"
"Coming, coming!" Sigrid broke out of her partner's embrace, hurrying into the kitchen to get her own bowl.
Enzō shook his headas he trailed after the sweet doctor. Their worried could take a backseat, for right now was all about sating their empty stomachs and counting down the weeks left before the little one arrived.
They were also still trying to find a name for the kid. Well, the battle-scarred man thought as he ruffled a few of the children's heads as he walked past the fireplace, here's to hoping someone having good suggestions for naming his and Sigrid's baby.
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In the early hours of December, where the night was darkest the winter was coldest, with snow blowing and winds howling, a baby was born.
All around Agneta Jäger, relatives cheered for the birth of the baby, excited to meet a new member of their clan, yet the matriarch could not find it in herself to be happy and merry as everyone else was. While listening to the wails of the newborn babe, her eyes were glued to the calendar pinned on a wall near the nurse's station.
December 21st
Wednesday
People often stated that Agneta was believer in old superstitions. Everyone in the family had an odd habit or two, but most would say that she was the one who really took the cake of being the strange relative. While a successful businesswoman and recognizable figure in her own community, a part of Agneta felt something huge was playing right around her family's head. It was like an itch in the back of her head that was easy to ignore in the beginning before its persistence turned into a throbbing sensation that was beginning to be scratched.
She really couldn't explain what she felt, and she had no desire to invoke some sort of gossip between her sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews, so she remained silent on the matter. Until it was written plainly like a sign from an exasperated being of higher power.
A year earlier, they've learned through the grapevine that Trine had given birth to her own children: twin girls.
Congratulations were offered to the young woman, but from the lack of replies and calls, Agneta wasn't so sure if they would reach her. It was easy to assume that Lindholm and Aksel were behind it all, but no one was brave enough to voice the possibility that perhaps Trine was ignoring them all on her own accord.
Across from where the matriarch sat, Bridgette Gunnarsen, Aleksi's wife, kept her three daughters occupied as they dozed away, oblivious to the world around them from the safe confines of their dreams. Keeping contact with her stepson's family had been difficult, but they all stubbornly remained in touch with another. The orange-haired Englishwoman was not going to be deterred by a vengeful old coot who was dead set on keeping his other children away from his rebellious daughter.
And what shame, the older woman scowled, because Sigrid was quite a remarkable woman to have lasted so long against the onslaught of ruin her father kept throwing at her.
Aksel had never been satisfied with his daughters; ever since Aleksi was diagnosed with a terminal illness, the fool had turned his back on his one and only son and demanded that he give him a grandson to succeed him. It burned Agneta with such anger, the way her ex-husband dismissed his sick son as a failure for a cause that was no one's fault. Despite his efforts, however, all he received in return were granddaughters.
and after Aleksi fell terminally ill, the bastard demanded a grandson to succeed him. It burned Agneta, the way the man dismissed his own son as a failure for a cause that was no one's fault. Despite his efforts, however, all he received in return were granddaughters.
And like his dying son, he too disregarded them.
Agneta liked to think that maybe the old gods were punishing Aksel for the way he treated his own flesh and blood, his wives, and the people around him, but the gods were funny as they were cruelly ironic. The date and week on the calendar made her stomach fall, and her mind played with the information of all the granddaughters born within the Gunnarsen family.
If the newborn grandchild turned out to be what she feared, then there was no doubt a retaliation of the worst kind was soon to follow. Aksel had enough hate and bitterness in his heart to actually follow through with whatever heinous actions he had planned.
"Please," she whispered quietly from beneath the cheer and song of her happy family. "Please don't let it be. Don't let it be."
A nurse stepped out of the room, cutting off the chatter. Agneta rose from her seat, her heart racing and drumming against her ribcage.
The nurse smiled.
"It's a boy!"
The matriarch felt her heart sink to the bottom of her soles.
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Inside the room, both Enzō and Sigrid looked at the little face squirming and mewling softly in his mother's arms. It was one thing to watch from the other side how people reacted when meeting their newborn infant for the first time… but it was a whole different ballgame when experiencing why people lost themselves looking at the tiny creature swaddled in soft blue blankets.
A child.
A boy.
A son.
"He's beautiful." Sigrid whispered to her partner with awe in her eyes and voice. "He's so beautiful."
The battle-scarred man couldn't take his eyes off the infant—his son. His son.
"My son." Enzō said out loud, the words slowly registering to the image in front of him. "My son."
"Ours," the new mother corrected him, finger lightly tracing the babe's red cheeks. "Our son."
The baby was a total stranger to them yet never had they felt so much love and connection as they did in that moment for the small life they helped bring into the world. Proof of their love was sitting innocently in the young doctor's arms, oblivious to the overwhelming emotions he was inducing for merely existing.
There were still shadows of doubt, hurt and some misery, and a great fear of the unknown, but the longer they stared, the more love swelled within their hearts which strengthened their resolve to do everything they could in order to protect their little boy from whatever harm may come their way.
How could they not?
Their son gave a soft mewl as he weakly tugged his little precious pink hands once he managed to catch one of his parents' fingers.
He was breathtakingly beautiful.
"Name?" a nurse asked, producing a clipboard and pen from their pockets.
Both Sigrid and Enzō shared a look over their sleeping son's head. Not long ago, they've tried finding an appropriate name for their unborn son as they waited for his arrival… until their search ended with an offered gift. It wasn't anything grand or fancy, but the gesture meant something and the new parents graciously accepted it.
The one and only act of love everyone inside the room would forever cherish.
"Kuzan," Sigrid told the nurse, brushing a finger over the baby's soft dark hair which was beginning to flick up in an odd one-sided direction. "His name is Kuzan Grímnir Sengoku."
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The birth of the boy sent Aksel Gunnarsen into a blind rage.
All his work to slowly break down his daughter's spirit, his team of investigator's meticulous effort in bringing to light the nightmare of the past to superhero community's feet, the denial of his daughter's marriage with that foreigner, that was all fun and games to soothe his damaged pride.
But the boy… Oh no, that was big slap in the face if he ever saw one.
Aksel Gunnarsen had wanted a son, but when that failed, he wanted a grandson!
Bridgette and Aleksi failed him, and Trine's birth with the twins was so stressful that doctors advised from Trine from ever trying again. His son-in-law pitched a fit, but there was nothing they could do.
Sigrid had given birth and Aksel expected another failure.
But that wasn't what happened.
His three marriages resulted in three failures, and of those two failures, they produced even more failures to his family. Yet the one daughter he threw out of his home in her failure to comply to his wishes… Gods, had he never felt this livid in all his life.
Disappointed? Plenty. Angry? Sometimes. Enraged? Only when someone wronged him. But furious beyond everything that he couldn't even get the words out of his mouth? That was new.
That little spoiled girl who liked to play glorified nurse knew what he had wanted from her. She knew that he only wanted an heir to continue his company… but to turn him away and then shove her son's birth so blatantly to his face?
With lips curling back in an angry snarl, Aksel turned his wrathful eyes towards a new target.
He had been working on separating his daughter from that wretched scum, expiring his visa and bribing officials into "accidentally" losing track of the man's documents—but now he was going to go further than that. He would lose a bit of stock, and the media would breathe down his neck, but he had enough money and influence to pull it off.
If a single man thought he could ruin Aksel's plans to expand his territory, then that very same man could serve as the downfall of a certain country who still bore the scars of enemies long dead.
Oh, the irony of it all did put a smile right back on the older man's face.
And thus began Japan's great economic and trading fallout with the rest of the world.
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A few years earlier...
"Hey man," my roommate called out.
"What's up?" I automatically replied, eyes focused on the laptop as I typed out my report.
"If you had to choose a superpower, what would it be?"
Barely hearing the question over the sound of explosions from the flat screen mounted on the wall of our shared dorm, I wasn't unable to form an answer, too busy tweaking out the sentences in my report because I was an absolute grammar freak. An anime show, most likely, and probably that show he was forcing me to watch with him because episodes of One Piece were once a week and they left me crying for more.
"Hey," he called out again when I didn't answer.
I looked up from my desk, watching the colorful characters dancing around on the screen. It looked like another one of those tournament arcs.
"I don't really keep up with that show." I confessed to my roommate who was now giving me the stink eye.
"But you have read and watched it, right?"
"A little, yeah." I turned back to my laptop. "You and the other guys at school would recommend stuff and I'd just, ya know, skim through it."
"How dare you...?"
"How dare me." I deadpanned, still typing away with my back turned to him.
Due to all my work, both from classroom assignments and my job at the local electronic store, I didn't have free time to really check out the updated mangas. Sure, it helped take my mind off one One Piece, but slow days were exhausting and my brain felt fried by the end of class from taking so many notes and doing a bunch of assignments. It kind of left me in the dark sometimes when the guys and I would meet up to discuss the plot points of the stories.
"You didn't answer my question, you ass."
"What did you pick?" I asked instead. I was way too busy writing scary yet important things like listening devices implanted in smart televisions. Later on, someone was going to call me a crazy conspiracy theorist, but the paranoia would stay with them whenever they walked around their flat screens.
"I like the explosion quirk this one dude uses. Like, he's an asshole but he's pretty much a badass at the same time." I snorted at his description.
"You still mad that you're banned from chemistry class?"
A pillow hit the back of my head in reply.
I typed away in my laptop, content with the silence that followed (besides the TV of course).
"Hey, you still didn't answer my question." I felt a hand nudge my shoulder.
He wasn't going to leave me alone until I answered him. He was an asshole like that.
Pausing for a moment, I shrugged and said. "I'd probably have powers like Luffy, I guess."
"Wrong fandom, dude."
"It's still a superpower, isn't it?" I shot back. "Now shut up, I really got get this finished by tomorrow noon. My professor's been riding my ass because he didn't like my other thesis."
"What was wrong with the first one?"
"That college and universities shouldn't be thrown students into heavy debt."
"Not all heroes were capes, champ," my roommate clapped my shoulder. "Don't stop fightin' the good fight!"
In the end, I didn't get to follow through with turning in my thesis since the following day resulted in my sudden and abrupt death. Yet, even as I died, something about that moment changed everything. A disruption from one space which then reverberated in another caused a stranger from another time and place to lose her balance and slam into another body, resulting in the woman to dropping her glass of red wine and facing her victim.
Had the circumstances not occurred, the woman would've passed on by without a backwards glance to the tall security guard, hiding herself in an open space until she was cornered by her intrusive fiancé. She would've been dragged out of the building like an unruly child, driven back home where upon the doors closing behind them to grant them privacy, he would show his sadistic side to the bride-to-be. With their marriage comes the successful merge, displaying a proud husband and a broken shell of a woman who saw herself withdrawing from everyone and everything she held dear. With no one to protect her, she was left in the unmerciful hands of her abusive husband—and if her father saw the bruises and marks on her skin beneath her sleeves and collared shirt, he simply looked the other way.
Had the circumstances not occurred, the security guard would've passed on by without a backwards glance to the retreating lady, serving his client to the last day until he and his entourage of bodyguards returned to the company waiting for their next assignment. After a couple more successful assignments, a client would approach the security company to escort the charge across sea on a cruise ship. However, their escort would take a turn for the worst as the cruise ship was littered with explosions to eliminate the target on board. With no survivors, grieving families mourning for the loss of friends and loved ones, and dozens of employees dead, the security company would close down after distributing funds to support every relative of the lives lost.
An echo, a collision, a shattered glass. Two people who should have never crossed paths, exchanged words, and left together resulted in something unintended that the motion of the world scrambled to correct itself.
An unpredictable equation that either added or subtracted the answer; would there be more butterflies or less in the world?
Would Sigrid Gunnarsen and Sengoku Enzō have met or not?
Whatever the outcome was supposed to be, somehow me dying and then being reborn as Sengoku Kuzan was the answer to that.