Chapitre 1: [1] Reborn in Green
I stared down the tunnel, the light at the end taunting me. Mocking me. I had no idea how I got here or where "here" even was. The last thing I remembered...
Fragments. Shards of memory, jagged and disjointed. I was in my office, alone. The city sprawled out below my window, a glittering sea of lights and shadows - my domain, my grand experiment in societal perfection. I felt heavy, my body a leaden weight as I collapsed onto the desk. The room spun lazily around me. Betrayed? Assassinated? Or just my own damn body finally giving out after years of relentless work? Impossible to say.
I've always known I had enemies. It comes with the territory. When you're reshaping the world - and I was, make no mistake - you paint a target on your back. Some I converted to my cause, others I removed as obstacles. But there were always more. Those who couldn't see the wisdom of my vision, who clung to the old, broken ways.
The irony is almost poetic. Live by the ideal, die for the ideal. Or for someone else's ideal. The specifics hardly matter at this point.
What matters is that light. That damnable, tantalizing light. Beckoning me onward to... what? Judgment? Oblivion? Some cosmic joke at the expense of my unfinished work?
I've never been one to shy away from a challenge. In life, I fought for every scrap of power, every ounce of control. Not for myself, no - for the betterment of all. I clawed my way to the top, step by bloody step, dragging society up with me. And I held that position through sheer force of will. Through cunning and determination and the occasional, necessary sacrifice.
Now, even in death, I find myself facing another trial. Very well. Let it come. I'll face it the same way I faced every obstacle in my path - with head high and eyes forward, ready to reshape whatever comes next.
I squared my shoulders and strode forward, into the light. Into the unknown. Maybe it was arrogance. Maybe it was the unshakeable belief in my vision. Maybe it was just the inertia of a life spent forever moving forward, forever seeking the next challenge, the next step towards utopia.
The light engulfs me, warm and welcoming. A gentle embrace after a lifetime of harsh realities and harder choices. I let it take me, let it fill me up and wash me away. And for the first time in longer than I can remember...
I let go, wondering if somewhere, somewhen, I might find a world ready for my guiding hand.
The light faded, leaving behind a dull ache behind my eyes. I blinked, trying to focus. The world swam into view, unfamiliar and... wrong.
My neck twinged as I lifted my head. I was slumped over a desk, drool pooling on an open notebook. Charming.
I squinted at the scrawled writing. Notes about someone named... Kamui Woods? A crude stick figure wore what looked like tree branches.
What fresh hell was this?
I pushed myself upright, chair scraping against worn floorboards. The room spun, my head pounding in protest.
Posters plastered every inch of wall space. A mountain of a man grinned down at me, teeth gleaming unnaturally white against bronze skin. His suit was garish, primary colors that hurt to look at. 'ALL MIGHT' blazed across the bottom in bold letters.
Figurines crowded every surface. The same musclebound idiot posed heroically on shelves and dressers. A cheap alarm clock shaped like his head ticked away on the nightstand.
I stood, legs unsteady. My body felt... wrong. Smaller. Weaker. I caught sight of my reflection in a cracked mirror and froze.
The face staring back wasn't mine.
Oh, there were similarities. The bone structure, the set of the jaw. But the eyes were wider, more innocent. Green, not golden. The hair a forest green instead of my usual white. And Christ, was that acne?
I touched my cheek. The reflection did the same.
"What the fuck," I muttered. My voice cracked, higher-pitched than it should be.
A loud bang jolted me from my thoughts. The bedroom door flew open, revealing a woman built like a linebacker. She glowered at me, meaty hands planted on broad hips.
"Izuku!" she barked. "Language! And why aren't you dressed for school? You're going to be late!"
I stared at her, mind racing. Izuku? School?
"I... overslept," I managed. Best to play along until I figured out what the hell was going on.
The woman—my mother?—softened slightly. "Well, hurry up and get ready. I made breakfast." She paused, worry creasing her brow. "Are you feeling alright, honey? You look a little pale."
I forced a smile. "Fine. Just tired."
She nodded, not entirely convinced, but left me to get dressed.
I turned back to the mirror, studying this new face. This new body.
Amon Sinclair didn't panic. He analyzed. He adapted. He overcame.
So. I was in an unfamiliar body. A teenager, by the looks of it. In a world that was clearly not my own.
I'd faced worse odds.
I rifled through drawers until I found a school uniform. As I dressed, I took stock of my surroundings. The room was a treasure trove of information about this "Izuku" persona I'd need to adopt.
Superhero memorabilia everywhere. Textbooks on "quirk theory" and "hero laws." A half-finished essay on the ethics of vigilantism.
I smoothed down the unfamiliar jacket, straightening the tie with practiced ease. Whatever backwater dimension I'd landed in, it seemed to run on comic book logic.
Fine. I could work with that.
I slung a backpack over my shoulder and headed for the kitchen. The woman—Mom, I reminded myself—busied herself at the stove. A plate of steaming food waited on the table.
"There's my sleepyhead," she said warmly. "Eat up, you need your strength."
I sat, shoveling food into my mouth mechanically. My mind whirred, piecing together the fragments of information I'd gleaned so far.
"So," I said carefully. "Any, uh, news about U.A. admissions?"
Mom's face fell slightly. "Not yet, sweetie. But I'm sure you'll hear soon! And even if... well, there are other good schools."
Interesting. This body's original owner wanted to be a hero.
I nodded, letting a touch of forced enthusiasm color my voice. "Right! I'm sure it'll work out."
Mom beamed at me. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was almost too easy.
"Oh!" She glanced at the clock. "You'd better run if you want to catch the train. Have a good day at school!"
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. Time to see what this brave new world had in store for me.
The streets were a riot of noise and color. People of all shapes and sizes hurried past. Some sported obvious mutations—scales, extra limbs, even animal features.
I kept my head down, letting muscle memory guide me to the train station. My mind raced, analyzing every scrap of information.
A world of superheroes. Of people with innate powers—quirks, if the textbooks were right. A society built around the concept of professional do-gooders.
It was laughable. It was fascinating.
It was an opportunity.
The train ride passed in a blur of muttered conversations and flashing scenery. I got off at what I hoped was the right stop, following the flow of uniformed students toward a nondescript school building.
As I approached the gates, a explosion rocked the ground. Smoke billowed from a side alley. Screams erupted from the crowd.
I tensed, ready to run. But the other students seemed more excited than afraid.
"Whoa, did you see that?"
"Must be a villain attack!"
"I hope a pro hero shows up!"
I started to turn away, intent on finding somewhere quiet to think. A meaty hand clamped down on my shoulder.
"Deku!" a voice growled. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
I looked up—and up—into the snarling face of a blonde boy. His red eyes blazed with barely contained rage.
Ah. The local bully, no doubt. How tedious.
I considered my options. This body was clearly used to being pushed around. The smart play would be to act meek, to avoid drawing attention.
But I was Amon fucking Sinclair. And I didn't bow to anyone.
I met the blonde's glare with icy calm. "Remove your hand," I said softly. "Before I remove it for you."
Confusion flickered across his face, quickly replaced by fury. "The fuck did you just say to me?" He shoved me, hard.
I stumbled back a step, but kept my feet. A crowd was gathering, eager for violence.
Fine. If it's a show they wanted...
I straightened, letting a cold smile play across my lips. "I said, take your hands off me. I won't ask again."
The blonde's hands sparked, literal explosions dancing across his palms. Interesting.
"You've got a death wish, you quirkless loser?" he snarled.
Quirkless. No powers, then. Fascinating.
I spread my arms wide. "If you're going to hit me," I drawled, "then hit me. Or are you all bark and no bite?"
He roared, lunging forward with a wild haymaker. Sloppy. Telegraphed.
I ducked under the blow, pivoting smoothly. My elbow drove into his solar plexus with surgical precision. He doubled over, gasping. The crowd gaped, stunned into silence.
I straightened my tie, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeve. "I do hope that was enlightening," I said mildly. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have class to attend."
I shouldered past the gawking onlookers, striding purposefully toward the school entrance. Whispers erupted in my wake.
"Did you see that?"
"How did Deku—"
"But he's quirkless!"
The day passed in a haze of tedious lectures and furtive stares. News of my little altercation spread like wildfire. By lunchtime, the entire school was abuzz with rumors.
I ignored them all, focusing instead on gathering information. This world operated on rules I didn't fully understand yet. But I would learn. I always did.
The final bell rang. I packed up my things, and headed out intent to explore this new world.
Walking down the street, I saw a group of people watching the television on the storefront intently.
Breaking news flashed across the screen. A villain attack in progress.
I shouldered my way through the crowd, curious despite myself. The camera panned across a burning building, smoke billowing into the sky. The same smoke a block away. A sludge-like creature rampaged through the streets, pursued by fleeing civilians.
"—hostage situation," a reporter's voice crackled. "The villain has taken a high school student captive. Heroes are on the scene, but—"
The camera zoomed in. My eyes widened.
The "hostage" was the blonde from this morning. He thrashed wildly, half-submerged in the villain's gelatinous body.
Well. Karma was a bitch, wasn't it?
I turned to leave. Not my problem.
But something made me hesitate. The gears in my mind whirred, analyzing possibilities.
This was an opportunity. A chance to make a name for myself in this new world. To start building the reputation I would need.
A plan crystalized. Bold. Risky.
Perfect.
I burst out of the crowd, feet pounding the pavement as I raced toward the scene of the attack.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Smoke stung my eyes as I rounded the corner onto a cordoned-off street. A ring of policemen held back a anxious crowd.
I scanned the area quickly. The sludge villain loomed in the center of the street, blonde boy still trapped in its grasp. Pro heroes milled about uselessly, clearly out of their depth.
Pathetic.
I vaulted over the police barricade, ignoring the shouts of protest. I sprinted straight for the villain, analyzing weaknesses.
Its body was amorphous, but the eyes seemed solid enough. A vulnerable point.
I scooped up a chunk of rubble without breaking stride. The villain's eyes widened as I approached.
"What the—" it began.
I hurled the rock with all my strength. It struck true, smashing into one bulbous eye. The villain howled, its grip on the blonde loosening.
I capitalized on the distraction, diving forward. I grabbed the blonde's arm, heaving with all my strength. He came free with a wet 'pop', both of us tumbling to the ground.
"You little shit!" the villain roared. A sludgy tendril lashed out.
I rolled, pulling the coughing blonde with me. The attack missed by inches.
"Move!" I snapped at him. No time for niceties.
He staggered to his feet, still wheezing. I half-dragged him toward the police line.
A massive figure landed between us and the villain with a thunderous impact. I looked up—and up—into the beaming face of All Might himself.
"FEAR NOT, CITIZENS!" he boomed. "FOR I AM HERE!"
What followed was frankly embarrassing to watch. The Symbol of Peace made short work of the villain, compressing its liquid body into improvised bottles with a single punch.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Camera flashes blinded me as reporters swarmed.
I'd accomplished my goal. I'd be all over the news by nightfall. The high schooler who'd saved a classmate from a villain.
It was a good first step. A foundation to build on.
All Might turned to me, still grinning that idiotic grin. "Young man! That was incredibly reckless!" He paused, voice softening. "And incredibly brave. You have the makings of a true hero."
I resisted the urge to scoff. If he only knew.
Instead, I met his gaze steadily. "Thank you, sir. I only did what anyone would do."
All Might clapped me on the shoulder, nearly buckling my knees. "Nonsense, my boy! You showed true courage today. I have a feeling we'll be seeing great things from you."
I smiled, the picture of youthful modesty. "I hope so, sir. I want to be a hero more than anything."
All Might's grin, impossibly, grew even wider. "With that spirit, I'm sure you will be! Now, we'd better get you checked out by the paramedics. Can't have our budding young hero keeling over from smoke inhalation!"
The idea of spending my life punching villains and rescuing kittens from trees was laughable. No, I saw the true potential of the position. Influence. Resources. A platform from which to enact real, lasting change. Being a hero was the perfect cover, the ideal vehicle for my grand vision.
I'd need to solidify my reputation. Make powerful allies. Find out more about how this world truly worked.
But I had time. And if there's one thing Amon Sinclair knew how to do, it was play the long game.
I settled onto a gurney, waving away the paramedic's concerned ministrations. My gaze drifted to the sky, a slow smile spreading across my face.
Oh yes. This world had no idea what was coming.
Let the games begin.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone