1. Fuck.

Darkness. The most pitiful concept of "nothingness" and that, was all he experienced, a torture in various aspects, however, fear did not exist, worse, he did not feel the slightest level of uneasiness. His mind, something that should hypothetically always be kept active, was... Shut down, the conformity of the darkness slowly halting his thoughts.

And with it, losing his only form of reasoning. Is this what heaven is like? Darkness and more darkness until you come to accept it. It didn't feel wrong, it felt right. What was wrong? What was even wrong? Hell, maybe that's how hippies felt, getting so pure, yet so- confusing.

Since when was the world so beautiful? Why was the world so beautiful?

But from one eternity to another, a divine punishment as he enjoyed that darkness, his eyes began to work once again. It was not a pleasant sensation, no kind of higher being delivered any kind of comfort or solution for his pain receptors collapsing one after another. "AAAAAAAAH!" a cry of inexplicable pain, escaping from the confines of his soul.

"I am, I am-", his fingers landed on the wall of his room, digging into it like claws, gutting its structure with a force that came from nothing more than his adrenaline.

His brain charging with thousands of foreign memories, both of his past, present and future. His death and birth, his first breath and his last, a color of hands that was not his own, a color of hands that was not his own, a color of hands that was not his own, a color of hands that was not his own.

He felt the new weight of his joints leave him, the task of breathing becoming nothing more than an absurd possibility, the sensation of that precious oxygen he had so longed for an eternity ago, but its much captivated return resulted in the cracking of his insides.

Satisfaction was non-existent, the pleasure of even being able to blink was his new hell, with those memories still etching themselves, piercing through every layer of defense he thought he had. "Zen'in!", a word was released from his lips, however, they were not his, more were the accumulation of hundreds growing exponentially by the second.

He brought his fingers to his face, gritting his teeth hard enough to split diamonds, ignoring the hundreds of voices that had usurped his ability to speak, to even express himself, allowing that soul to only know expression through pain.

His nails pierced flesh, skin, a layer so weak it would be an insult to even mention it as protective in that situation; blood flooded his face, nails covered in a foul combination that would rot in the future.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!", and almost comically in comparison to his previous suffering, the man covered in his own blood, would fall like a rag to the ground, trapped in a deep sleep, his pain receptors finally free of such blissful burden that entailed materializing from one moment to the other.

Hours passed since then, small changes on a biological level occurred one after another, all hidden before him. Consciousness slowly awakening, caressing his soft face with the closest thing to a mother's touch, and with it, a memory more than clear that any other would be born, but so fleeting that it lasted less than a second.

"You're a genius, son. Beyond that, you are perfect. You will gain respect, power and a promising future-" the last words completing the speech from a voice haggard with age, proved lost.

Another memory obliterated the previous one. "A man, N-," consciousness stirred in the sea of deep darkness once more.

"Zen'in," a woman's voice echoed, bringing with it some melancholy, slurring the words before adding one more word. "Naoya."

That word was enough to wake him up, force him to focus his eyes on the moonlight streaming in through the bay window, bringing his hands to his bare torso, ignoring the burning on his face. "What the fuck was that?"

To say he was confused would be an insult, but one thing was clear to him, he was alive. Still with his head, buzzing from the constant pain, still with the taste of iron on his tongue. "Yuck," he coughed even more as he gathered the strength to get up.

The room of... His room? "Shit," the stabbing pain returned, accompanied by memories he wasn't even able to make out. "This is-," he shook his head a couple of times before starting to walk around.

The room wasn't exactly small, on the contrary, it could perfectly fit a kitchen, a bathroom and a fucking couch. 

A bed, - a futon? - A multitude of long-sleeved white shirts, all ironed, no dust, not a single drop of sweat. "Too clean," he entered the bathroom, and his hair - tips slightly bathed in blood -, was the first thing he noticed after turning on the light.

Closing his eyes as he felt another wave of senseless memories, fixating on- "Oh, God, no-". He could recognize those eyes, full of malice and an arrogance that the pages could give off so well.

"Naoya," he repeated that name slowly, memories slowly penetrating his emaciated psyche. The image of a teenager, stupidly tall by his own standards. Short blond hair with black tips and thin, but somewhat long eyebrows. "Zen'in."

"Well, well," a memory stronger than the previous ones, a memory of the past replayed in front of him, his arms stopped obeying him and moved supernaturally. "Have you no heart?".

"No," a woman's voice, a presence that slowly made his heart pound with fear. "It was taken from me", a woman with dark hair, but that the lighting made it appear to have greenish tips, but what caught his attention the most, what made his neuron's synapse, were the burn scars combined with the scar on her right eye.

"Maki Zen'in." 

The mention of that name caused him to fall to the ground. "Oh, God," he regained control after blinking a couple of times, breathing heavy and cold plaguing every inch of his body. "No-," he undermined his fear as he stared at the reflection in the glass, swallowing saliva as he touched the skin. "No-"

He muttered as he felt everything so... Real. Everything so alive, everything so stupidly alive.

Except for the fact that he remembered that man's face, a manga that ended years ago, but was still so vivid in his memory for reasons unknown to him. "Naoya Zen'in," he repeated that name a hundred times, feeling himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair as he heard a voice that wasn't his own.

"SHIT!", he dug his fingers into the sink, digging through the ceramic, applying even more force as he replaced his despair with an anger that sought only one way out. "SHIT!", his knuckles vibrated over and over as he smashed through every utensil in the bathroom, the walls and even his own body was not left untouched.

"Shit...", he dropped to his knees after the loss of everything that was left at that moment, in that despair that was transformed into anger, being left with nothing but emptiness. "Oh, God."

He had two options, one simpler than the previous one. He could stay there, taking refuge in his own suffering, in the trauma that consumed him by the second or... Furthermore, he could get up and find out what was happening.

"I am Naoya Zen'in," he swallowed saliva once more as he repeated that name, watching his knuckles especially carefully as he noted the lack of damage. "Cursed energy?", it was hard to tell, but he was hoping for some sort of aura, sensation, tension, something, anything would do at that point.

He dropped his body onto the futon, watching the ceiling carefully. "No one came?" he thought as he glanced sideways at the destroyed bathroom, more than once he had screamed, hit his body hard enough to make his bones vibrate, but still, no one came. 

He left the room, struggling for a few seconds against the all too familiar surroundings, observing the Zen'in estate. Lawns everywhere, hazy hallways, the constant sound of water falling from a synthetic river, and cherry trees. 

"Do those bloom this season?" his eyes adjusted quite well to the moonlight, appreciating the beauty of every square foot of the estate, stopping at what he assumed was one of the training areas. "Mr. Zen'in," he turned his head, his senses had ignored the woman. Why?

Disgust. "What the fuck do you need?", that was the first thing he felt when he saw the woman, a primal rage taking control of his lips, his entire posture was replaced by one that strained, disgusted at the woman's presence. 

That wasn't him, that was... Naoya Zen'in. His hatred of women, any individual below him, besides a few exceptions, was garbage. 

"Sorry for the inconvenience, Zen'in-sama," the woman with black hair, small - or maybe he was tall by Zen'in standards - scars that were hidden behind makeup, information he got thanks to a hunch, most likely they were glimpses of Naoya's memory.

The woman remained still in place, the clan probably treated those lower on the food chain that way, they could only retreat with the appropriate order. "Don't worry, I can't expect much with your lack of brains," his words were twisted, what the hell.

You're amazing, he tried to flatter her, though. "You have a nice body for a woman, have you ever thought about being useful and using that mouth?", compliments were sunk in hate, misogyny and cheap insults.

"The date, woman," general questions seemed not to sink into Naoya's hatred. Did that mean he could regain control? Or would Naoya and he become one? At the worst his motivations would change.

"September seventh, Zen'in-sama," Naoya brought his hands to his chin, no event echoed in his mind, but Naoya's appearance was clearly young, and considering that Maki Zen'in shouldn't even be able to hold a sword yet, maybe he should just kill he-.

He shook his head, he wasn't going to kill an innocent young woman, a young woman who was literally a child, considering she was at least five years old.

"Zen'in Maki," the woman changed her attitude, opening her eyes a little wider and swallowing saliva. - would it be important? - "W-what's wrong with her?" her voice wobbled, bingo. 

"Where is she?".

"She's at the training grounds sir, Zen'in Ogi-san punished her for being unable to-", Ogi was still a problem, could he even beat him if he could figure out how to use his cursed technique? But why the hell would she be training a little girl? 

He started walking towards where he assumed the training grounds were, his instinct, Naoya's body helping to guide him, however, the curiosity of wanting to know a little more about Ogi forced him to turn around. "Maid, do you know the cursed technique of-?" he bit his lip.

The question was meaningless, the techniques were secret for the most part, that was why Toji-Kun was able to stand up to Satoru for a brief period of time, he knew his techniques to perfection.

The servant stood looking at him confused for a few seconds. "Cursed technique? I'm unfamiliar with that terminology, Mr. Zen'in," Naoya's eyes widened like saucers.

"What did you say?", didn't cursed techniques exist? But that's impossible, his body was able to withstand blows that should have rendered his knuckles useless for a few weeks at least.

Maybe he was in a universe without cursed techniques? That would take him to the top of the food chain, but that made no sense, that would be a one in a million exception. "But his quirk is-", however, his hopes were dashed upon hearing that word 'quirk'. 

He spun faster than he wanted to, approaching the woman and holding her wrist with an amount of force he was unable to control, as he didn't know his limit. "The what?"

"H-His quirk, Mr. Zen'in-". 

"All Might, do you know him?", he prayed for a few seconds that this was a mistake of his as he was simply mishearing, however, the maid nodded. "Maki," the woman again seemed startled, what the hell had Naoya done with the girl, "Why is Ogi punishing her?".

Maki should be maybe six, maybe five. Would she be able to hurt her daughter when she was barely half his height? He slowly let go of the woman's wrist, looking away as he watched her tremble from the pain. 

'You've done enough. 'You're a pain in the ass, go away.'

He began to walk slowly, turning his head more than once until he saw that the woman was already gone, his gait quickening, ignoring how his body began to remember every corner of the estate, the way his breathing didn't even hitch. 

He knocked on the door with his knuckles, the wood vibrating against his strength. "What the hell is happening to me?", Naoya Zen'in should have some sort of control, sorcery after all is a muscle, how is it possible that he is unable to even touch a door without it coming close to giving way? 

Ogi Zen'in's voice felt rough, somewhat agitated, but maintaining a Japanese elegance that he thought was a lie. "You may come in."

As he entered, he tried to keep Naoya Zen'in's face more neutral, but seeing him, that wrinkled face with black eyes sunken in what seemed like infinite darkness, he managed to do nothing but smile arrogantly. 

'Where's Maki-san?' "Are you still on about your daughter's disappointment?"

If Ogi was even affected by the comment or his smile, he didn't show it, or maybe he didn't even care, more so, he just turned his head as he raised his hand to point at a young girl, covered in blood, kneeling and with multiple cuts all over her body.

'No-' "Maki, you look more pathetic every day."

Naoya's anger, his burning, his rage, his disgust, his violent thoughts, it was all too much, he felt overwhelmed, his thoughts being replaced by that monster's reasoning. 

He tried to ignore Maki's name, her presence, but maybe... she didn't even deserve the respect it was to be alive. The pathetic woman, she lay there, her hair long, without some kind of burn, beyond the hundreds of cuts, her eyes giving off a will to want to fight, but she had failed.

'You're pathetic, Maki' "You're pathetic, Maki. And to believe your sister is just as big a disappointment."

She wasn't... she wasn't the Maki he knew, she had nothing, and even with Naoya's indescribable anger eating away at his body, he could see that she was young, not six, seven or eight years old, on the contrary. She looked to be 15, the same age she was introduced in the manga. His same age.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?