(This is an informative chapter. It can be skipped, but the author recommends reading it for a deeper understanding of the world.)
They say quirks were always going to spiral out of control.
Even back in the era of All Might and Midoriya, when the Hero Commission still had its claws sunk deep into public perception, the smart ones — the scientists, the tinkerers, the black market traders — they all knew the truth. The Quirk Singularity Theory wasn't a theory at all. It was a clock. Ticking. Relentless. Unforgiving.
By the time I was born, that clock had already hit zero.
The world that raised me wasn't the world Midoriya fought to save. That world had collapsed under its own weight. Too many quirks, too many mutations, too many interactions stacking on top of each other until the human body couldn't even handle the gifts it was born with. Children combusting under the pressure of their own genetics. Power levels so high entire city blocks had to be evacuated before a kindergartener's tantrum. Abilities that defied physics, biology, logic — all of it. That was normal now.
The world didn't end. It adapted. Barely.
The Hero System became a corporation-run illusion. Heroes weren't symbols anymore — they were brands. Merchandise in a cape. Agencies sold safety like it was a subscription service, and the government didn't regulate quirks anymore so much as they ran black-ops cleanup crews when something 'unmarketable' slipped through the cracks. Villains? Half of them were ex-heroes who figured out the paycheck wasn't worth the moral gymnastics. The other half didn't bother with labels. They just used their power. Because in this world, you either control the rules — or you get broken by them.
And me? I was born right into the eye of that storm.
Quirks today aren't what they used to be. Forget simple stuff like 'super strength' or 'ice creation.' Those are kindergarten quirks now. Outdated tech in a world running on quantum-level mutations.
Most modern quirks have compound effects. Layered abilities, conditional triggers, probability distortions, recursive loops. A single person can warp causality without even realizing it. You could be erased from existence because some kid sneezed wrong three blocks away and his quirk short-circuited the local reality thread. That's not sci-fi. That's Tuesday.
Void Chain's quirk, for example? Black hole generation wasn't even the scary part. His mutation let him manipulate the local gravitational constants of a closed system — meaning if he wanted, he could turn your heart into a singularity and collapse you from the inside out. Lucky for me, guys like him like to 'play with their food.'
People like me, with Quirk Complexes — systems like New Order hijacked and repurposed through stolen tech and reverse-engineered genes — we weren't born to fit into the system. We were born to break it.
And the system knew it.
My city? Kairo District. Picture Musutafu if it grew up, got divorced, lost custody of its moral compass, and drowned itself in cyberpunk neon. Skyscrapers stitched together with emergency drone docks. Underground tech bazaars selling bootleg quirk enhancers. Streets patrolled more by corporate security forces than by heroes.
Every inch of Kairo was built for survival, not peace.
But the most important thing about Kairo was this: it sat at one of the world's quirk instability fault lines. Scientists — the ones still alive — mapped these places like weather reports. Reality tends to 'thin out' where too many quirk interactions happen over the same ground. Random gravity shifts. Spatial rips. Time glitches. You learn real fast to carry a pocketwatch, because when the city's heartbeat stutters, your watch is the only thing you can trust.
I grew up knowing that a walk to the corner store could turn into a trip through six alternate timelines and back.
That's the kind of world this is.
People like Midoriya? They were legends, sure. But in this era, they'd be fossils. One-for-All was powerful for its time — a quirk designed to stack strength across generations — but even that had limits. Now? Power stacking isn't a quirk mechanic anymore. It's an expectation.
The strongest people alive have quirks that practically function as self-contained universes. Probability anchors, anti-logic fields, paradox immunity — you name it. The Hero Schools tried to keep up, sure, but their old 'quirk combat classes' are basically a joke now. You don't teach kids to throw punches at an enemy who can reset the last ten minutes every time they lose.
And that's the gap. The gap between the world My Hero Academia showed... and the world I was born into.
We aren't 'quirk users' anymore.
We're anomalies.
And the only law that matters is simple:
Adapt. Or get erased.
Heroes these days are more like specialized damage control than symbols of peace. Agencies focus less on 'saving civilians' and more on quirk containment, incident minimization, and PR spin. If your house gets flattened by a teenager who just unlocked a quirk capable of rewriting gravity — don't expect a hero to swoop in and save you. Expect a cleanup crew, a non-disclosure agreement, and a compensation card in the mail if you're lucky.
Public safety depends on narrative management now, not heroics.
Villains? Half the time, you can't even call them that. Some are just kids born too powerful for their own bodies to handle, spiraling out of control. Others are corporations in disguise, testing new bioweaponized quirks on civilian populations and calling it 'market research.' The lines blurred a long time ago.
Me? I picked my side the moment I realized the system wasn't built to protect anyone. Only to control them.
And the day I stop fighting?
That'll be the day I decide the system isn't worth saving at all.
And here's the kicker: as much as the system is broken, as much as I rant about it, some days I wonder if the system even stands a chance anymore. Like, what's the point of law enforcement when the laws of reality don't apply half the time?
I've seen a guy age backward until he was a literal zygote, just because a stray quirk field brushed his apartment. Nobody was charged. Hell, nobody could be — the kid who triggered it didn't even know his quirk had awakened. He was still napping when the whole block got erased from the birth records.
The new world isn't just more dangerous. It's more... unpredictable.
The old rules don't apply.
And that's why people like me exist. Framebreakers. Those of us born to rewrite the rules of a game that stopped playing fair a long time ago.
But there's always a cost.
And sooner or later, the system's gonna send the bill.