1: WHERE AM I

When you know something that others don't, then it's your responsibility to take action and make a change.

— Author

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The darkness around me is thick and suffocating, like being submerged in inky water. I can't see anything—no light, no form, just an endless, stretching void. My senses feel muffled, my mind sluggish. How did I get here? How did it come to this?

To understand, we have to rewind a bit.

My name is William Thompson, and I'm 25 years old. By day—or night, depending on my shift—I work as a call center agent, another face among thousands in the bustling world of customer service. It's a decent job. Stable, at least. The kind of work that lets me pay rent and buy groceries without worrying too much. But it's also mind-numbing, repetitive, and draining. There's a routine to it that makes life blend into an endless loop.

Most days start and end the same. I walk into a gray office filled with rows of desks and partitions, each one holding someone else like me, headset on, a dull expression on their face as they handle one more frustrated customer. Complaints, technical issues, billing inquiries—it's all the same. Sometimes I forget the faces I speak to aren't even real to me, just voices filtered through a line, barely human.

It pays the bills, but it's hardly inspiring. In fact, it's like watching my life on a slow drip, each day leaking into the next, a stream of monotony with no end in sight.

But there's one escape that I cling to. On my days off, I throw myself into a different world entirely. Anime, manga, fantasy—all the vibrant worlds I could never find in my own life. My secret passion, my lifeline. The characters I watch are more alive than the people I see every day. Their battles, their dreams, their heartbreaks—they're like windows to something bigger, something meaningful.

Today is one of those rare days off, and I've spent it exactly as I always do—lost in My Hero Academia, one of my favorite shows. I'm stretched out on my bed, eyes glued to my laptop, absorbed in every moment. I'm halfway through a season, watching Deku's journey with rapt attention. There's something about his struggle that gets to me every time. Maybe because, in his world, power is more than just strength—it's a purpose.

I envy him. I envy all of them, actually. In their world, everyone has a quirk, a purpose. Each hero has a unique ability that defines them, and they get to spend their lives mastering it, pushing it to its limits. They know what they're fighting for. They have goals, dreams, and a purpose that drives them.

And Deku? He's got it the hardest, yet he's never given up. I admire his relentless drive to be a hero, to help people even though he started out with nothing. Watching him battle through endless struggles, pushing himself to the point of breaking, there's a sense of awe that fills me every time. He's smart too, and he doesn't just rely on strength—he analyzes. He understands quirks like no one else, seeing strengths and weaknesses with surgical precision.

"If only I had those resources," I think to myself. "If I had that kind of drive, that passion… I'd do something. I'd actually make a difference."

It's a thought that echoes in the hollow parts of my soul, the places where ambition should live. I can't help but mutter it aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Man, I wish I were in My Hero Academia." A little smirk crosses my face as I imagine it. "I could really make a difference."

No sooner do I speak the words than the room around me shudders. At first, it's just a faint rumble, like distant thunder. Then, it intensifies, a deep, ominous vibration that seems to come from everywhere at once. I sit up, confused, my heart pounding in my chest. This can't be real. Earthquakes aren't exactly common here, and I'd know if they were doing construction nearby.

The walls begin to tremble, books falling from the shelves, dust raining down from the ceiling. My laptop screen flickers, flashing erratically before cutting to black. Panic claws at my mind. "What the—?"

Suddenly, a crack appears in the wall opposite me, snaking its way down like a jagged scar, and with it, the walls around me begin to crumble, piece by piece, until the entire room feels like it's collapsing in on itself. Instinct takes over. I leap from my bed, but it's too late. The ceiling above me groans, splits, and falls in, heavy chunks of plaster and debris raining down around me. I cover my head, bracing for the worst, but there's nowhere to go.

"Is this it?" I think. "Is this how it ends?"

I close my eyes, awaiting the crushing blow, but instead, there's only… silence. A vast, empty silence that's as disorienting as it is eerie.

Tentatively, I open my eyes. I'm no longer in my apartment, or anywhere I recognize. Everything is dark, a void stretching endlessly around me, thick and oppressive. It's like floating in space, but heavier somehow, as though the air itself is weighing down on me. I can't see anything, can't hear anything. Even my own body feels distant, as if I'm slipping out of existence.

Then, in the midst of the darkness, a brilliant light appears. It's blinding, pure, and cold, cutting through the shadows with such intensity that I have to shield my eyes. The light grows, swallowing the darkness, until there's nothing left but white. I feel a strange pull, like something's drawing me toward it, and before I know it, the light consumes everything.

When I finally come to, pain hits me in waves. It's everywhere—my head, my limbs, my chest. It feels like I've been through a meat grinder. My body aches in places I didn't even know existed. With a groan, I manage to open my eyes, squinting as the world comes into focus.

The room I'm in is unfamiliar, decorated with odd trinkets and colorful posters that certainly don't belong to me. I sit up slowly, wincing at the pain radiating through my muscles. Where am I?

A giant poster of All Might stares down at me from the wall opposite, his wide grin frozen in place. "All Might!" the poster proclaims in bold, blocky letters. I blink, my mind struggling to process the sight. This room… it feels oddly familiar, yet entirely foreign. Like stepping into a place you've only seen in dreams.

I swing my legs off the bed, my feet hitting the floor with an unfamiliar lightness. Every movement feels off, as though I'm in a body that doesn't quite belong to me. Dizzy, I stumble over to a mirror on the far wall. The face staring back at me isn't my own. It's a young boy with unruly green hair, round green eyes, and freckles splashed across his cheeks. His expression mirrors my own shock, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

It takes a moment for the realization to settle in, for the pieces to click together. I'm not seeing my reflection. I'm seeing Izuku Midoriya's reflection.

I stagger back from the mirror, my mind reeling. This can't be real. I'm not… I'm not Deku. I'm William. I'm a call center agent who spends his days answering phones and watching anime. This isn't possible. And yet, the evidence is right in front of me. The boy staring back from the mirror isn't some stranger. It's Deku. It's me.

My heart races as I try to process the absurdity of it all. Somehow, I've been transported, my consciousness shoved into Deku's body. And not just his body—his world. This isn't some game or fantasy. This is real. I'm in My Hero Academia, and I'm Izuku Midoriya.

I press my hands to my face, feeling the contours that are now mine. The texture of his skin, the softness of his hair, the unfamiliar size and shape of his hands. Everything feels real, tangible. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

As the shock subsides, a strange calm settles over me, replaced by a growing sense of determination. If this is real, then I have a chance. A chance to make a difference.