The world was a haze. At first, it was nothing but darkness—stillness. Then, sound. Muffled and indistinct. The sharp cry of a woman—his mother, though he didn't know it yet. He blinked, confused by the sensation of his eyelids moving. Hadn't he just… died?
Suddenly, light. Blinding. He squirmed, feeling small, weak—helpless. He couldn't lift his arms. Couldn't speak. Panic rose in him, but it didn't seem to change anything. His surroundings became more defined, and for the first time, he heard clear voices.
"He's beautiful, isn't he?"
The voice was soft, loving. He opened his eyes fully, blinking at the woman above him. Was this... his mother?
Of course, I'm beautiful, he thought with sarcasm, though it came out as nothing more qthan a gurgle. Wait a second. His brain raced. Beautiful? Mother?
Oh God. I've been reincarnated.
It took several long, bewildering moments for the truth to settle in. He had been born again. There was no denying it. Reborn, helpless as a baby. He was now someone else's problem.
"His name... will be Alaric." She smiles a triumphant little thing while looking at her child. While looking at him as if he were the world to her. "Yoshida Alaric."
At that, he let out the loudest wail he could muster.
*Three Years Later*
The world had indeed been strange for Alaric this time around. He hadn't expected to be reincarnated into what appeared to be My Hero Academia. It was ludicrous. He was still adjusting to the ridiculous idea of superpowers being real. But, at least so far, things were going smoothly.
Alaric's mother had befriended two other women in the neighborhood, Mitsuki Bakugou and Inko Midoriya. Alaric, being the sly little three-year-old that he was, had quickly ingratiated himself with their sons. Katsuki Bakugou was loud, arrogant, and had a hot temper. Izuku Midoriya, on the other hand, was more reserved, shy, and constantly following Bakugou around. Yet, with Alaric in the mix, they formed an odd trio, with Alaric playing the role of the comic relief, often diffusing tensions between Bakugou's ego and Midoriya's insecurity.
Meeting these two was fate. It signified his ascension to greatness!
...
Kidding.
Yes, he was joking mom. And no, he is not stupid!
The three boys spent their days running around the neighborhood, playing games, and dreaming of becoming heroes. Alaric played along with their fantasies, but he didn't really care in reality. He was fine just living this life out in peace. Of course, he needed a lot of money in order for him to live in a mansion and wear clothes like a true noble! Mwahahahahaa!!
So perhaps he will be a hero. He will be a good hero at that.
*One Year Later*
Alaric's heart pounded as he sat in the doctor's office, a nervous energy buzzing in the air. Today was the day he would learn what his quirk was. He had been certain, absolutely certain, that his rebirth in this strange world would grant him some sort of incredible power. He could already picture it—flame manipulation, telekinesis, something grand.
The doctor, a woman with a soft smile and graying hair, approached them. "I have the results," she said, glancing at Alaric and his mother.
His mother beamed, squeezing his hand. "I'm sure it's going to be amazing!"
The doctor's smile faltered for a moment before she cleared her throat. "The name of his quirk is... Unluck."
Silence.
Alaric blinked. "Unluck?" he repeated slowly, as if he hadn't heard her right. His brain tried to process the word, but it sounded like a bad joke.
"Yes," the doctor replied, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I don't know the specifics of what it does, but... based on my quirk, that's the name that fits. 'Unluck.'"
For a long moment, Alaric sat there, stunned. Unluck? How could he, of all people, get a quirk like that? He had been reborn into a world full of incredible, awesome powers—and this was what he got? A quirk that literally screamed bad luck?
Alaric's mother quickly leaned down, hugging him tightly. "Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. It doesn't matter what your quirk is."
Alaric, still in shock, didn't respond. His mind raced. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be amazing. He was supposed to be something great, not stuck with a quirk that seemed destined to ruin his life.
He couldn't contain his bitterness later that day. Bakugou laughed. "Seriously, that's your quirk?" he said, amused. "That's so lame!"
"I-it's okay, Alchan! I'll give you my luck!" Midoriya was quick to reassure him. Bakugou smirked, "Yeah, don't worry Al! I'll just have to be a hero with Deku here all on my own-AGH" He didn't get to finish his sentence as he was whacked in the head with Alaric's cane.
Does he need the cane? No. No, he does not. As he does not need the top hat he wears. Something that Bakugou has laughed at on multiple occasions much to his and Midoriya's disdain. Yet, he still wears it (he hits Bakugou every time he glances at it and opens his mouth).
Even through the fog of disbelief, something hardened in him. He wasn't going to let this stop him. He would figure this out. He wasn't going to let some dumb quirk dictate his fate!
"Shut it, Bakatsuki!" He sent a smirk Bakugou's way to show he meant no harm. Although, knowing him, it just went over his head. Alaric would be surprised if he actually didn't pop a blood vessel from how much he was seething. "Yeah, whatever," Alaric said finally, shaking himself out of his stupor. "I'll just have to work harder than everyone else."
*Two Years Later*
Alaric had learned to live with his quirk, though it hadn't been easy. He, Midoriya, and Bakugou were still friends, but things had gotten rocky ever since Midoriya was told he had no quirk. While Bakugou looked down on him, Alaric made sure to stay by his side. He had always been the comedic middleman between the two boys, and now, more than ever, it was his job to keep the peace. At least woth him here, it felt a bit better than last time?
However, despite Alaric's best efforts, tension simmered between Midoriya and Bakugou, and Alaric could feel the strain on their friendship. His quirk, Unluck, had made life difficult for him. It wasn't a flashy or powerful ability. In fact, it seemed to only cause him trouble. But Alaric had become adept at using his humor and wit to maneuver around it, masking his own anxieties behind a brave face.
I'm going to die. He sweatdropped as he sat in between a glaring Bakugou and a shivering Midoriya.
Oh yeah! It was his birthday tomorrow! Maybe he can tell Bakugou and Midoriya that he just wants then to get along for a day. And his mother had finally acquiesced to his request for Victorian styled gifts—as hard as they were to come by in this day and age. He can already see it! His 7th birthday is going to be the best!!
*Age 8*
The rain poured heavily, drenching the small hill where only one person stood. Alaric stared at the gravestone in disbelief. His mother had died. His mother had died? He knows how—an illness that the doctors didn't bother wasting their time to explain to a child. He didnt leave her side the first few hours but was forced to leave th room as he tried on the mulitple cords and cables and even unplugged a machine in the back on accident.
Stupid quirk. He was not pouting. No, never.
All he knows is that he came back the next day and she was gone. Everyone around him overlooked him. They forgot about him. Brought her body to be cremated and didn't even let him see her first.
And no one had come to the funeral. Not even Mitsuki or Inko, the two women who had once been her friends.
Alaric stood there, his face blank, a few raindrops fell down his face and onto the ground. His face contorted into a scared little smile.
He ignored the fact that he had an umbrella over his head.
He stood there for hours. No one else stepped foot in the cemetery.
As Alaric left, he realized that the woman who gave him his name, 'ruler of all', had given him the wrong name. For he truly felt like he had nothing at all.
It took him another few hours after that to realize that he never learned her name. He didn't even know her name. How had he gone eight years without even asking?
His house had been emptied after her death, and he was left with only a handful of belongings. Everything had moved so fast—too fast. Now, he was standing in front of an orphanage, soaked to the bone and staring at the door with that same dumbfounded look he'd had when the doctor told him the name of his quirk.
He cursed his quirk. Unluck. Of course. How could he forget? It was a curse, not a power.
He stayed at the orphanage for less than a day. That night, he grabbed his hat and ran, with nothing but the clothes on his back, tears threatening to spill as he bit his lip to hold them in. Sile still trembling on his face. He was scared. Terrified. But he wasn't going to stay.
He stared at the city, rain dripping from the brim of his hat.
*Age 9*
A year had passed. Now standing in the shadows of the city, Alaric had managed to carve out a small niche for himself. He had become an errand boy, al the while collecting secrets and whispers from the streets and selling them to the highest bidder. It was terrifying work, but it was all he could do.
Today, as he handed off a small piece of intel to a man in a back alley, he kept his face calm. But inside, he was panicking. I'm going to die. He thought. Huh, funny. He remembers thinking that a lot in the past. Especially this past year.
It's a reoccurring thought.
I'm going to die.
He thinks again, as the across from him sighs in satisfaction at the informationhe received from the child. Said child keeps a smile on his face, wide and sly and customer friendly all at the same time. The man reaches into his coat pocket and Alaric barely suppresses a flinch. He took out a wad of cash and handed it to him. Alaric's smile widened at the man and his eyes squinted.
The man knew his smile was fake. Alaric knew his smile was fake. That is what made it even funnier to the man as he handed the money over and then patted the kids head. Alaric couldn't hold his flinch back this time. The man chuckled. Alaric looked back up, the brim of his hat hiding his brilliant storm-grey eyes and his turquoise blue hair.
They stared.
And stared.
.
.
.
And stared.
The man chuckles madly before walking off. Alaric watches as he leaves and waves happily farewell to him as he walks off.
I'm going to die.
He mentally apologizes to the poor man.
He turns and trips on soda can. Dumb quirk. He catches himself quickly before he can fall an continues on his way, that painfully big smile still on his face.
A young couple walking just outside that alleyway stop in fear before looking at eachother.
The soda can rolls backwards and comes to a stop.
I'm going to die.
Maybe if he says it enough times, he will jinx himself into surviving.
The man from before starts running back down the alleyway, smile all but gone from his face. Alaric turned to look at the man. Oh dear. The calm smile remains he internally panicks.
That man better be grateful I didn't out him! Yup. That's right. Alaric lied to this man's face about the information he gathered. Hey, he never said he was going to be accurate or even truthful. Although, how the man found out so quick was beyond even him.
The couple take out their phones and shine their lights into the alleyway.
He pauses in his panick, unable to move as his joints lock up in fear.
I'm going to die. He repeats like it's a mantra.
The man runs and runs and runs.
The boyfriends light shines directly into the man's face.
...and he trips.
Heh. Idiot. What kind of fool trips on nothi-
Something gets kicked from the mans direction and bounces off the wall, hitting Alaric in the face.
As it falls to the ground Alaric sees that it is the very same soda can he just tripped on. The man had fallen flat on his face, unconcious to the world.
Alaric pauses. He turns. He puts one step into front of the other, and starts walking away.
It only took 5 years.
Alaric knows.
He knows—he finally knows.
It only took Alaric 5 years to figure out his quirk. And even then, he wasn't completely sure on what it did. Five years and still nothing. Eh. It all catches up at some point. Alaric is just waiting for it.
Not yet.
*One Year Later, 10 Years Old*
The city was the same. The buildings, the lights, the sounds. But this time, Alaric wasn't standing there with the same dumbfounded, lost expression. He had learned the game.
Alaric navigated through the bustling streets, moving with purpose. People ignored him, just another kid in the crowd. His Victorian-style jacket fluttered behind him as he made his way toward the darker part of the city—an alleyway hidden from prying eyes.
He paused, glancing around before slipping into the shadows. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness, and soon, a man emerged from the depths of the alley.
"You've got it?" the man grunted, his voice low.
Alaric nodded, a sly smirk on his face, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small envelope. "All the information you wanted. Everything about him, just like you asked."
The man grunted, handing over a wad of cash before disappearing into the shadows again. Alaric exhaled slowly, clutching the money in his hand. It wasn't much, this time.
Its dirty here. He thought as he looked around the alleyway. Well, yeah. It is an alletway, I suppose, he thought. I hate every part of this.
*Age 12*
Alaric wandered through the streets with his coat wrapped tightly around him. It had been a rough few months, and he could feel his energy draining.
That's when he saw him: an older man, sitting on the corner of the street, threading a needle through a piece of fabric. The man looked homeless, his clothes tattered and worn, but his hands were steady, skilled, as he worked.
Curiosity piqued, Alaric approached him, tapping his cane lightly against the ground to catch his attention. "You any good at that?"
The man looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Good enough," he muttered. "Why?"
Alaric glanced down at his own jacket, noticing a few tears and holes that had formed over time. "I need this fixed."
The man snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Buzz of, kid."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You look like you could use money."
The man scowled but didn't argue, just opting to take the jacket from Alaric's hands. "Fine. But it's not cheap."
As the man worked, Alaric watched him, his mind wandering. "If you're so good at this, why are you out here?"
The man paused for a moment, his expression hardening. "Because there are quirks that can do this better. Faster. Why hire someone like me when you can just use your quirk?"
Alaric chuckled. "No quirk can replace skill, ya know? Or experience. An artist's touch can't be beaten by speed alone." He glanced down at his jacket as the man continued sewing, a contemplative expression on his face.
The man remained silent, focusing on his work. When he finished, Alaric handed him a rather large sum of money, more than what the man had likely expected.
"You're good," Alaric said with a grin. "How'd you like to be my personal tailor?"
The man blinked, taken aback. "What?"
Alaric shrugged, slipping his jacket back on and adjusting the collar. "I need someone who knows what they're doing. And besides, these clothes are hard to come by nowadays. You work for me, and I'll make sure you're taken care of."
The man's eyes widened at the offer, clearly surprised by the amount of money Alaric was offering. But before he could say anything, Alaric waved him off, walking away with a smirk.
Internally, though, Alaric was panicking. I really just spent that much money… Oh man, this is going to bite me in the back, I just know it…
*Age 14*
Alaric sat at the head of the table, his eyes focused on the man sitting across from him. The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing along the walls as they discussed business. The deal was simple: information for protection.
"I want the full layout," Alaric said calmly, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. "No details left out."
The man nodded, sweating slightly under Alaric's intense gaze. "I-I'll have it by the end of the week."
"Good." Alaric leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. "If you don't, well… I'm sure you know what happens to those who disappoint me."
The man swallowed nervously, quickly standing and rushing out of the room. Alaric's eyes followed him until he was out of sight. He let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples.
Why is everything so damn stressful?
"Lord Alaric, your tea." Mariane handed him his afternoon tea along with his sweets.
Mariane, you angel!
"You are very welcome Lord Alaric." He sweatdropped at the title but didn't bother correcting her. He's tried.
*Age 15*
Alaric stood in the same spot as he had years ago, staring at the city lights from the edge of a building.
He exhaled, watching the city below. His hands, no longer trembling like they once had, were steady now, but the unease in his chest remained.
I'm scared.
A voice broke his thoughts. "Sire, they're ready for you."
He almost flinches but tenses his shoulders. EEK! No, not now! Why are they ready now?!
He kept his face neutral as he replied. "'Course. Tell them I'll be down shortly." His mind recalls a past meeting woth the men downstairs in his study and he shivers. That man's face is just terrifying. I don't want to see it. It looks more horrifying than Nendou's!
Alaric turned, his expression unreadable as he followed his subordinate into the meeting room.
"Welcome!" He says jovially. Go away, go away, go away, go away, GO AWAY! I don't want you here you creep!
The man of his worst nightmares—like c'mon, who voluntarily chooses that monstrosity as a hair style?—stood and shook hands with him.
His smile remains firm and unbending.
This was his life now. This was the path he had chosen. And there was no turning back.
I mean... maybe if I die again— OW!! Okay, geez. I'm sorry author!