Chapter 1: A New Dawn

The alleyway was quiet save for the ragged breaths of a man slumped against the cold, unyielding brick wall. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, pooling around his torso from the bullet wound in his stomach. His vision blurred, the edges darkening, but his thoughts were sharp and unforgiving.

I guess this is it, he thought grimly, choking on the bitter taste of regret. His chest heaved as he tried to draw one last breath, his mind flooded with memories of the people he'd never see again. His family. His friends. His partner.

A tear slipped down his cheek as his head tilted upwards, his eyes catching the faint shimmer of stars in the night sky. It was oddly serene, the twinkling lights standing in stark contrast to the chaos in his body. His lips curled into a faint, almost bitter smile. I should've spent more time with them.

The darkness consumed him then, the world fading away. He didn't fight it. Death was a quiet, almost welcome release.

The first thing he noticed was the blinding light. It pierced his eyelids, forcing him to groan as his senses stirred back to life.

Wait... light?

His body felt... strange. Warm. Whole. Alive. He opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness, and blinked rapidly as his vision adjusted. Above him was an ornate canopy, the fabric rich and royal, held up by intricately carved posts that framed an enormous bed. He sat up slowly, the plush mattress beneath him a far cry from the cold, hard ground of the alley.

"What...?" he mumbled, rubbing his temples. The smoothness of his voice caught him off guard—it was deeper, more commanding, and yet oddly unfamiliar. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around the room, his confusion deepening. It was as if he'd stepped into a luxurious palace; the room was opulent, with gold accents on the walls, a grand chandelier overhead, and a massive dresser in the corner.

Then he noticed the strangest detail of all: the room looked cartoonish, like something out of an anime.

His heart pounded as he swung his legs off the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool marble floor. "Aren't I supposed to be dead?" he whispered to himself, the memory of the alley flooding back with vivid clarity. His hand instinctively went to his stomach, but there was no wound. No pain. Only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Spotting a door, he moved toward it cautiously, his legs shaky but functional. He turned the handle and stepped into a lavish bathroom, complete with a claw-foot tub and a sink that gleamed under the light. The mirror above the sink caught his attention, and he froze as he saw his reflection.

A man with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes stared back at him. His jaw dropped, and he stumbled back a step. The face in the mirror was impossibly familiar, yet utterly foreign. It wasn't his. The hair was wild, sticking up like antennae, and the body—he gawked at his own torso, realizing how lean, tall, and muscular he was.

"This... isn't me," he stammered, though his reflection parroted his words.

He clenched his fists, watching as the muscles in his arms tensed. His body felt powerful, as if strength coursed through every fiber of his being. Curious—and slightly panicked—he tried flexing. His muscles bulged instantly, his form swelling until he was massive, his shirt stretching over his broad chest and shoulders.

"Oh my God," he muttered. He looked like All Might from My Hero Academia.

The realization hit him like a freight train. He had somehow become All Might. But this wasn't the weakened, frail All Might from the anime. No, this was the hero in his prime, before the devastating fight with All For One.

He took several deep breaths, forcing his body to relax, and was relieved to see himself return to a less hulking form. But even this "normal" version of himself was impressive—strong, healthy, and far from the sickly figure he remembered from the show.

Staring into the mirror, he tried to piece things together. How was this possible? Had he been reincarnated? And if so, why here? Why as him?

Before he could dwell on it further, there was a loud knock at the door. He froze, heart hammering, as the door to the bedroom swung open.

"All Might, sir!"

The man who entered was tall and lanky, with neatly combed green hair and round glasses that gleamed under the light. He wore a sharp suit and tie, his expression stern yet urgent.

It was Sir Nighteye.

All Might blinked, caught off guard. His first instinct was panic—he didn't speak Japanese! But as Nighteye's words flowed, he was startled to realize he understood them perfectly. It wasn't just that he comprehended the language; it was as if the knowledge of it was instinctual, embedded in his mind.

"All Might, where have you been?" Nighteye demanded, his tone tinged with exasperation. "It's been three days since your last public appearance. People are starting to talk!"

All Might opened his mouth, then closed it, scrambling for an explanation. He decided to go for the simplest—and safest—option.

"I'm sorry," he said, feigning confusion. "But... who are you?"

Nighteye froze, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock. "You don't remember me?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "It's me—your sidekick, Sir Nighteye."

All Might frowned, pretending to rack his brain. "I don't... I don't remember much of anything," he admitted. "The last thing I recall is training at U.A. Academy. And now... I'm here. Older. What happened to me?"

Nighteye's face darkened, the weight of the situation settling over him. "You... you truly don't remember?" he asked hesitantly.

All Might shook his head. "I don't. And... my master, Nana? Where is she?"

At the mention of Nana, Nighteye's expression became even grimmer. "Dead," he said flatly.

All Might felt a pang in his chest—not just for the loss of Nana, but for the sheer weight of what her death represented. He forced himself to stay in character, his face falling into a mask of shock and sorrow.

"She's dead? How?" he asked, his voice trembling with faux disbelief.

"All For One," Nighteye said, his voice tight.

All Might clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing as he summoned all the righteous fury he could muster. "Where is he?" he growled. "I'll kill him for what he's done!"

Nighteye flinched, clearly unprepared for this outburst. "All Might, please, calm down," he said quickly. "All For One is in hiding. But you—right now, you're the Number One Hero. The Symbol of Peace. You can't act recklessly."

All Might blinked, taken aback. He hadn't even thought about what his new status might entail. "Number One Hero? Symbol of Peace?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes," Nighteye said firmly. "The world depends on you, All Might. You can't afford to lose yourself, even if you've lost your memories."

All Might nodded slowly, pretending to process the weight of the revelation. "I see," he said quietly.

Inside, his thoughts were racing. He had inherited not just All Might's body, but his legacy as well. And if what Nighteye said was true, the responsibility of being the Symbol of Peace now rested squarely on his shoulders.

The chapter ended with Nighteye beginning to explain All Might's duties, his voice steady but laced with concern. Meanwhile, All Might—our All Might—sat in silence, the enormity of his new reality sinking in.