Prologue: Lost Boys in a Cruel World

Playground, Shizuoka, Japan

"You're making him cry, Kacchan!" cried out a four-year-old Izuku Midoriya, a little boy with messy, curly forest green hair, standing defensively in front of a sobbing child. "I-If you keep hurting him, I-I'll stop you myself!" Izuku's voice trembled with fear, but he raised his fists in a feeble attempt at a fighting stance.

Katsuki Bakugou, or Kacchan, stood before him—a sandy blonde with a wild, spiky hairdo and bored red eyes. His expression shifted as an evil smirk crept across his face. Behind him, his lackeys activated their Quirks—one boy's fingers elongated while another boy hovered in the air with bat-like wings.

"You wanna be a hero?" Katsuki sneered, clenching his fist and slamming it into his palm, releasing a small explosion that crackled menacingly. "You're useless without a Quirk… Deku."

Katsuki's smirk twisted into a malicious grin, and Izuku's heart pounded in terror as the trio closed in on him.

Moments later, Izuku lay sprawled on the ground, battered and slightly burnt from Katsuki's explosions. The boy he had tried to defend didn't even look back to check on him—he had run off the moment the bullying began, leaving Izuku to face the beating alone.

It was that day that Izuku learned the harsh truth: not all men were created equal. Some had more power than others. Maybe Kacchan was right. Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a hero.

No! He couldn't give up. Not yet. Not ever. Deep down, in some part of his soul, he knew—a hero was waiting to burst forth from the powerless little boy. A hero who would save the people who needed to be saved.

After all, a wolf could never be contained forever.

Downtown, Naruhuta, Japan

"Get back here, you damn monkey!" the fruit seller bellowed, his face red with fury as a boy with wild, spiky black hair dashed through the crowded streets, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. The boy clutched his haul of fruit tightly, glancing back just long enough to stick out his tongue. "Can't catch me, old man!" he shouted, his laughter echoing down the road as his feet carried him like the wind.

This was Hyro—just Hyro. He had no family, no home to call his own, and he drifted wherever the streets of Naruhuta led him. In a city where big-time heroes rarely showed their faces, and the local ones were too slow to catch him, Hyro had become something of a legend. One look at his monkey-like tail, swinging behind him as he sprinted, revealed both his Quirk and impish personality.

Banking hard to the right, Hyro darted into a narrow alleyway, vanishing from sight. The fruit seller skidded to a halt, panting heavily. He scanned the empty alley with narrowed eyes, his face twisted in frustration. "Come out, you little brat! You're in so much trouble!" he shouted, his voice bouncing off the grimy walls. After a few more minutes of cursing and shouting into the void alleyway, he stomped off, muttering angrily as he disappeared back into the bustling streets.

Silence returned to the alley. A few moments passed before a trash can twitched. A brown tail flicked into view, followed by a soft POOF. Hyro emerged from his hiding spot with a triumphant smirk, brushing off his clothes. He dropped into a nearby manhole, descending into the city's underbelly where he could finally relax.

Sitting cross-legged in his hidden nook beneath the streets, Hyro set down his prize—five peaches, ripe and sweet, just waiting to be devoured. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he licked his lips, ready to savor the first bite. But before sinking his teeth in, he paused, his gaze lingering on the small pile of fruit.

Five peaches. More than enough to fill his belly, but... maybe he could share them. With someone. If he had anyone to share them with.

"Yeah, right," he muttered, his voice hollow as he took a bite. The juicy sweetness of the peach did little to soften the bitterness in his heart. "Who'd be friends with a street rat?"

He chewed slowly, his mind wandering. It wasn't the first time he'd felt this way, and it wouldn't be the last. He didn't need anyone. He'd never needed anyone. He was Hyro, the king of his own destiny, and kings didn't need friends.

But as he finished the first peach, the thought nagged at him. Even kings could use a brother in arms.

Abandoned Buddhist Temple, Hosu, Japan

"With folded hands, I turn to you, supreme unchanging friend. I request from the depths of my heart…" murmured a little boy with short ash-blonde hair and golden eyes.

Trip knelt once more at his usual spot in the deserted temple. It had once been a place of life, filled with devoted Buddhists and their disciples. He had been one of the youngest, taken in as a baby and raised among the monks. But that all changed when a villain attack swept through the temple, leaving everyone dead. His master had saved him, hiding him away in a cabinet. By the time Trip emerged, the villain was gone, and the fallen monks lay scattered around him.

The first thing Trip did was thank Buddha for sparing his life. Then, he mourned. He prayed for his fellow Buddhists to find better lives in their next reincarnations, then sobbed for the loss of his friends and the only family he had known.

He chose not to leave the temple, for it was the only home he had known. Instead, he stayed, surviving off begging for food and the occasional offering of money. Trip used what little he had only for necessities, having learned to desire nothing more. It had been two months now, and the boy wondered if he would even make it to the next day.

Now, as the cold night settled over the abandoned temple, Trip prayed to Buddha, seeking solace in his unwavering faith. "Please give me the light of your wisdom to dispel the darkness of my mind and to heal my mental continuum," he whispered, his voice steady but filled with quiet desperation.

Deep down, Trip wished for someone to save him. Someone who would protect and care for him, someone he could trust to bring him peace.

"May all suffering quickly cease, and may all happiness and joy be fulfilled. And may holy Dharma flourish forevermore." He finished his prayer with a sigh.

Stretching out on his threadbare cot, Trip closed his eyes, trying to find sleep. But it was hard. Hard to sleep when there was no one watching over him, no one to fend off the demons that lingered in the darkness, waiting to consume him.

Downtown, Deika, Japan

"Get out of here, you demon!" a Creature Rejection Clan member shouted. A mob of cultists pursued a boy with turquoise skin, orange hair, elvish ears, and a surprisingly solid build for someone only five years old. This was Jing.

His life had been a nightmare since the CRC killed his parents a year ago. He had been running ever since, hoping to find safety, but the CRC had eyes everywhere. Deika was no longer safe. His impatience had given him away, and now he was fleeing again, barely ahead of his pursuers.

Jing's Quirk changed him from the moment he was born, marking him as an outcast. His parents had defended him fiercely, but the CRC had found them first. He had been powerless to save them, too young and too scared to make a difference. The guilt weighed heavily on him.

He dove into a thick patch of bushes, holding his breath as the cultists spread out to search. His heart pounded in his chest. If they found him, this would be the end. The ringleader barked orders, "That freak is here somewhere! Find him!" The others scattered, leaving one cultist standing nearby.

Jing's eyes widened as the cultist locked eyes with him. He froze, panic gripping him. The man was getting closer. This was it.

The cultist reached out, and Jing squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for what was to come. But instead of a violent hand, a calm voice cut through his fear. "Come on," the man said softly, "I know a way out of the city."

Jing's eyes shot open in disbelief. The cultist wasn't attacking him—he was offering help. Hesitant but desperate, Jing took the hand offered to him. The man led him through back alleys and hidden paths, smuggling him out of Deika and far away to a city three towns over.

When they finally parted ways, Jing couldn't help but ask, "Why did you help me?" The cultist took off his mask and smiled, revealing he was a man seemingly in his late 20s. "I was taught to help others because someone helped me once," he said. "Remember that, kid. Always be there for others. You got it?"

Jing nodded, the words sinking deep into his heart. From that day forward, he vowed to live by those words. He would never let anyone suffer alone again. He would be the one to help, no matter what.

Jaku City Hospital, Jaku, Japan

"What do you think you're doing!?" Dr. Kyudai Garaki's voice rang out, filled with shock and fury. The elderly, portly man, with his bald head gleaming under the flickering lights and his large, bushy mustache trembling, stared in disbelief at the boy before him. The lab around them was engulfed in flames, the result of the boy's defiance.

Lai stood tall, his silver hair catching the light of the fire, his brown antlers framing his sharp, pointy ears. His silver reptilian tail, ending in a white tuft, swayed with quiet determination as he glared at Garaki, the man he had once thought of as his creator and his caretaker.

All Lai could recall of his short life was this lab. The sterile walls, the endless experiments, the cold steel that shaped his existence. Dr. Garaki had filled his mind with promises of greatness—told him that he was born to be the perfect weapon, a tool to reshape society. For a while, it made sense. After all, wasn't he created for this? Wasn't he supposed to serve a higher cause?

But when Garaki's master appeared, everything changed. Lai felt it—an undeniable wrongness. That sinister presence wasn't just unsettling, it was dangerous. A part of him, the part that wanted to trust Garaki, tried to ignore it, but Lai wasn't a fool. He might only be five, but he had the instincts of something far older, far wiser.

The truth hit him like a storm. He wasn't being raised to be great; he was being groomed to be a pawn—a tool for evil men with dark ambitions. His body, his life, his very soul was to be bent to their will. No more.

"I won't be your weapon," Lai spat, his voice low but filled with conviction. "I won't be anyone's weapon."

Garaki's eyes widened in anger and desperation. "Lai, you were created for this! Your purpose—"

"My purpose?" Lai cut him off, a fire burning in his golden eyes as fierce as the flames consuming the lab. "You didn't give me a purpose. You took it. You took my freedom, my choices, my future. But not anymore."

The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Lai wasn't listening. The boy clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms and back tensing as he prepared to leave. He had already removed the tracking chip they had implanted in him, freeing himself from their watchful eyes. He was smarter than they ever realized, stronger than they had ever anticipated.

"I'm not your creation anymore," Lai said firmly as the flames crackled around him. "I'll find my own path, my own destiny."

Without another word, Lai leaped into the air, taking flight out of the crumbling lab. As he flew away from the burning wreckage, he didn't look back. There was nothing for him there—only chains that had been broken. Ahead of him, the world stretched vast and unknown, but for the first time, Lai felt a sense of hope.

He didn't know where he was going, but one thing was clear: he wasn't running from something anymore. He was running toward something—something greater, something good. Something that was his alone to find.

Takoba Beach, Musutafu, Japan

"Heck yeah! This is perfect!" Baji exclaimed, his snout wrinkling in excitement as he held up a large, dented scrap of metal. The short, anthropomorphic pig boy beamed with pride. "Finally, the piece I need for my roof!" He shuffled through the junk-filled beach that was Takoba, his hooved feet crunching on debris. At the center of the chaotic landscape stood his makeshift home—an odd assembly of old car doors, rusted metal sheets, and broken furniture, all held together with wire and hope. It wasn't much, but it was his. His own little fortress against a world that had given him nothing.

Baji positioned the metal scrap atop his shelter and began hammering it into place. "Not bad, Baji. Not bad at all," he muttered to himself, admiring his handiwork. His snout twitched with satisfaction, but deep down, the hollow feeling gnawed at him. He thought back to his parents—if he could even call them that. His father, a bloated, gluttonous drunk, spent more time at bars and in the arms of strangers than with his family. His mother, strung out on drugs and drowning in gambling debts, barely acknowledged his existence. They were neglectful, careless, and one day, they'd simply tossed him out like he was another piece of junk.

That had been a year ago. Baji remembered the fear he'd felt, wandering the streets, hungry and lost. No one had cared enough to help him. But then he stumbled upon Takoba Beach—a forgotten wasteland to most, but to Baji, it was an opportunity. With time, patience, and a lot of trial and error (not to mention hours spent at the public library), he'd built himself a life. A home. He learned how to repair cars, fix appliances, and tinker with broken devices. Soon, his skills brought in enough money to buy food and the few necessities he couldn't salvage. He had turned the scraps of a broken life into something useful, something he could survive on.

But despite everything he had achieved, Baji felt the ache in his chest. The emptiness never left. As he looked around his shelter, he sighed. "This place… it's still empty," he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves crashing in the distance. "I've got a roof over my head. I've got food. But… what does it mean if there's no one to share it with?" His piggish eyes scanned the junkyard, Baji wanted more than just survival. He wanted love. He wanted a family—something warm and real. The kind of love his parents never gave him. "I just want someone to care about… someone who cares about me. Is that really too much to ask?"

His voice trembled as he spoke, and for a moment, the tough, resourceful boy who had built his life from nothing seemed small. His heart, like his shelter, was a patchwork of pieces, desperately trying to hold together. But no matter how strong he made his home, the loneliness still seeped in. Baji sat down on a crate, his hammer resting at his side. "Someday," he whispered to himself, determination flashing in his eyes. "Someday, I'm gonna find people who'll be there for me. A real family. And when I do… I'll never let them go."

He looked out at the setting sun, the golden light casting long shadows across the beach. Baji's heart, despite the pain, was full of hope. He wouldn't let the world beat him down. He had survived this long. He would survive longer. And one day, he would have the love he deserved.

Six boys. Scattered across Japan. They are living different lives, but they will soon come together as brothers. This is their legend, their journey of how they became heroes and changed the world forever.

A/N: Welcome to Journey to be Heroes! A My Hero Academia crossover with Chinese mythology. Mostly, Journey to the West, but other Chinese folklore and even media will be included/referenced in this story. I was motivated to write this story with the recent release of the Black Myth Wukong video game and My Hero Academia manga recently ending (I will give my personal input about it on my Discord: /uKXevQRjFD). I hope you enjoy this introduction for the LONG fic I am gonna write. Please review and DM me with any feedback and questions you all have. See you in the next chapter!