Gaining a Quirk completely divorced from the rest of your ancestry could be like trying to gain control of a limb you'd grown overnight. That had been the general consensus from all the forums I'd perused weeks ago while preparing for this eventuality.

Naturally, I'd looked them up in between broad searches about how to properly write characters and build words. When it came to looking up very random and possibly incriminating information, the best excuse in the world was that you were doing it for a book.

Even completely lacking in nuance, it was a solid interpretation to have. If you were going to be going to random people for advice like that, then you were probably getting it for your child or younger sibling. The number of people who were old enough to be looking for that information for themselves while also going through their initial Quirk awakening… Well, toddlers weren't very concise at the best of times.

If you sprouted a third arm, or a tail, or perhaps something even more adventurous, you would need to take some time to figure out how to work it properly. Eventually, through accumulated practice and muscle memory, making that Quirk work for you would be a process as automatic as any other organ in your body. It would take time and patience, but it was entirely possible.

Time wasn't really a factor for me. The U.A University application letter I'd left to burn in my house told me that there was still almost a year before shit really started to hit the fan. Assuming that timeframe could be trusted even with the changes to the curriculum, that left me with months on end to make sense of this legacy that I'd stolen.

Unfortunately for me, I wasn't very patient.

Fortunately, I didn't need to be.

I would put good money down on your average four year old not being very coordinated. Even a very intelligent four year old would struggle with a 'normal' quirk; something that could barely be considered a superpower. Something like Overhaul? Perhaps I wasn't giving Chisaki enough credit for living long enough to even see his fifth birthday.

Maybe it was the society everyone here subscribed to. Even with it being the reality I was experiencing, there was a certain cartoonish aspect to it. It was difficult to look into a crowd and not see who were the protagonists and who were the background characters. Even when no one person could perfectly resemble another, because they had a fucking pumpkin for a head or some shit, I had a bizarre understanding of why Bakugou had always called everyone around him an extra.

Because that's exactly what they were. An extra. A background character. Someone who never had been and never would be important.

Chisaki had been the same, except in a perfectly parallel direction. Even as a child, he'd been the villain. The Prince of the Underworld. It had been his accepted position in life, and with it came the expectations of the villain. The villain didn't train, they planned. They didn't waste time with introspection, they built up their empires.

In a world where good deeds were a full time career, he'd perfectly engineered his own downfall. In one life, his own mistreatment of his most valuable asset had led to his arrest and the loss of his arms. In this one, he'd been living on borrowed time the very moment those very actions had made my decisions for me.

And then he'd also lost his arms. He really should have taken better care of them.

A man like that, so sure of his own power, so secure behind his shield of sycophants and order, was the ultimate victim of irony.

Because even with all his power, he still had no idea how to use it.

Children on average needed four to six weeks to grasp the basics of their Quirk. That timeframe could change for any number of factors, such as how well that specific child could focus or what kind of Quirk they had developed. Sometimes Quirks came in a little later, sometimes there was an environmental trigger that needed to be met first.

Chisaki never seemed to have moved on that stage, because he'd always thought it would be enough. Maybe some of that had to do with his own choices or mental illnesses, but what it all came down to was that with the ultimate power handed to him, it hadn't been his own restraint that stopped him from using it.

It had been his ego. His contempt.

His villainous attributes.

True, I couldn't say that with certainty. But what I could say with certainty was now that I'd put myself in that exact same spot and felt all the things he likely had, I honestly wanted to figure out how to kill him again.

The first thing I'd done after getting a cup of tea and wandering out into the orchard of trees behind the house was untie my hair. The fishing wire that I'd been using to secure it in place probably wasn't the healthiest option to ensure I wouldn't be going bald before my time, but it was also the best I could find. Whoever stocked this house obviously had never dealt with hair that was past their shoulders. Which, to be fair, I also hadn't before now.

My hair fell from atop my head, cascading down my back and curling around my feet. The wind carried the faint scent of honey as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Being out here, away from the staleness of caged garage air that held within the slight tinge of spilled oil, was like breaking the surface of water after being held under. I tilted my head back and my hair went with it, moving of its own accord as it fanned out in a wave of displaced force.

They fell once more, and this time I allowed them to stretch further.

I didn't have a solid grasp on the biology of hair growth. Something to do with cells piling together and hardening within a part of the body?

Whatever I didn't know, Overhaul did. I pushed my hair to grow, and it obliged. My body hadn't required more energy to proceed. My cells didn't need to replenish. I pushed further, willing my hair to not only reach the ground but burrow within it, and it followed the command as it crossed my mind.

The orchard was an open book to my mind, information carried through my body as it anchored itself further down. For every strand that brushed against a bug in the soil, I could feel their instincts. For every root, the pulsing heartbeat of an interconnected forest itself sang along with my own. I fell backwards slowly, and one of those same roots emerged from the ground to carry me down, the wood concaving around my body as I sank to rest against the tree that had offered it.

And yet, there was no pain, or discomfort. There was no ceiling to smash my head against, no desire to see a desperate wish be granted. There was just myself, surrounded by the world that spoke to me with no words, a picture painted through the history of worms crawling through the dirt and seeds that had long since sprouted into their country's most well known flora.

Perhaps it was all subjective, much like the art that bloomed behind my eyes. Perhaps Chisaki's interpretation of his own abilities was just as valid as my own. For all he'd destroyed, he had also built. For all the regression of his tactics, there was also progress. For all his evil, there had been his ideals.

I opened my eyes, letting out a deep sigh as much of my hair retracted back towards me. All but one strand, which I'd kept buried deep within the ground, curled amongst an interception of tree roots that was keeping me in connection with the grove as a whole. I couldn't help but wonder, what stories would they tell? Were these perhaps the sorts of trees that could live for centuries? Or would their lives be shorter than mine?

Eventually, they would die and rot. Much like the people whose stories they could tell.

From my forearm, resting atop my knee, came a slight twinge. I watched as the skin split, my last strand of hair coming up from the ground to join the rest as a green stem emerged from my body. It grew steadily, swaying in time with the light breeze as leaves unfurled and a pale pink blossom opened at the top. Its roots spread, finding no purchase for a moment, and before it could fall away as my skin resealed itself, I caught it with my other hand.

It didn't match the blossoms in the trees above my head. The stem was too long, the leaves the wrong colour. Even so, it carried their scent; honey with the slightly cloying undertone of sap. I spun it between my fingers for a moment, watching as the pollen within drifted away with the wind, before sighing and pushing myself off the tree trunk and back to my feet. With the flower tucked behind one ear, partially hidden behind a purple mane, I set an ambling pace back towards the house.

There was merit in building, in working for the benefit of only yourself. I could understand that; but that couldn't be my vision. The destruction that came with those ideals was mindless. Maybe Chisaki really had still been that child, blessed with the means of rebuilding the world. Children made mistakes, children were yet to learn the consequences of their actions. But with Overhaul, what consequences could there be, if only the ones that were acceptable enough to not be overruled by shifting reality?

I couldn't be a builder. That wasn't an option for me, not until I found some foundation to start from. To build was to work towards a goal that in mind, already existed. A luxury that I, trapped in this strange world with nowhere to begin, was sorely lacking.

Was there a Quirk responsible? Was there a Quirk that could reverse it in existence? Was it something to do with technology? Was it a bizarre combination? Had I been targeted, or was this all by chance?

My blueprints were blank. My foundations were upon sand. I had no materials, and no clue where to start looking for them.

There was every chance that my goal simply didn't exist. And really, that only left me with one option.

I would need to get some help. A difficult process, seeing as I was now technically dead, though not strictly impossible. There were people smarter than I in this world; it would only take some leverage to make sure they didn't throw me in prison for being a murderer, plus whatever other laws I'd left shattered in my wake.

And fortunately, for nobody else in the world aside from myself…

I had a plan.


"Giran, it's Vitaceae."

La Brava had gone upstairs to make sure Eri would be ready for the day ahead, which left Gentle alone in the kitchen to witness as Mineta came back inside, his hair unfurled and his phone against his ear.

"Yeah, the voice is new. No, I'm not calling about taking your daughter's hand in marriage." Distractedly, the teenager offered him a wave, which Gentle returned. Not too unusual, but certainly not to be expected from a Japanese native. "Listen, I need you to find a guy for me."

Gentle stilled, his cup against his lips. He could only pray that Mineta either missed or mistook the fear in his expression.

The last time the young man had wanted to 'find a guy', he'd ended up with an adopted daughter. Not that he would ever regret that decision, but it still felt far too soon for it to happen again.

"...No, that isn't why I'm not interested in meeting your daughter. I just need him for his Quirk."

Gentle couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but he could see as Mineta's face curled up. Whether from embarrassment or rage, someone else would likely be dying today, and if the dapper criminal did his best to hide behind his teacup… There was nobody around to witness it.

"Fuck do you mean, 'I see how it is'? You don't see shit!"

Mineta pulled the phone away from his ear, an incredulous look on his face. He didn't seem to notice as the movement caused something to fall, but Gentle had, instinctively catching the pale flower on a patch of elasticated air. Before anything could be said, Mineta had already left the room, his voice fading as he disappeared further into the house. Likely in an attempt to not disturb anyone with his argument.

Oddly considerate for the man who'd murdered a yakuza boss in cold blood and then dismembered the body, in a bid that even he himself hadn't been sure would work. Not that he could talk, really, having been complicit and absolutely willing to assist.

Gentle twirled the flower he'd caught between his fingers, studying it idly. Its strange shape and colour, indicative of the one who'd brought it to his attention. If he had to guess, he would have assumed it wasn't from the area; yet another thing it had in common with Mineta.

Draining his cup, Gentle pushed himself to his feet, shooting one last glance at the cherry blossom before moving away. Elsewhere in the house, something crashed to the floor, an occurrence so common since they'd started staying here that he barely took notice as he washed both his cup and the pot.

"Curious indeed…"