The glow of the lecture hall lights glinted off the polished oak podium as the youngest professor in Harvard's history stepped forward. Alexander Reid, a 17-year-old prodigy with an IQ rivaling Einstein, was in his element, explaining quantum mechanics to a room full of bewildered academics. His sharp features, framed by unruly dark hair and thin-rimmed glasses, betrayed no sign of nerves as he answered questions with precision and poise. To the world, Alexander was a genius, a rising star destined to change the future. Yet behind the accolades and applause lay a loneliness that even his brilliance could not conquer.
That evening, as Alexander walked across the campus, the January wind biting through his thin coat, his mind buzzed with ideas for a new energy project. But fate had other plans. He never noticed the car until it was too late—a sleek black sedan speeding towards him. The impact was sudden and brutal, hurling his body onto the icy pavement. Blood pooled around him as his vision blurred. In his final moments, as the cold seeped into his bones, he felt a pang of regret. Not for dying, but for never truly living beyond the constraints of academia. Then, everything went dark.
Alexander awoke, not to sterile lights or hospital beds, but to the cries of a newborn. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, only feel. His body was foreign, small, and fragile. A distant voice called to him in Japanese, filled with warmth and exhaustion. "Tomura," the woman murmured. "My little Tomura."
Aiko Shigaraki cradled her newborn son in her arms, tears streaming down her face. The one-bedroom apartment in Gotham City was suffocating small, the paint peeling off the walls, and the faint scent of mildew clinging to the air. The crib beside the bed was second-hand, a gift from a neighbour who had pitied her situation. Despite it all, Aiko smiled. Tomura was her everything now.
Life as a single mother was never easy, but Gotham made it even harder. Aiko had come to the city years ago, chasing the promise of opportunity and a fresh start. What she found was a relentless cycle of low-paying jobs, landlords who cared more about rent than repairs, and streets that were dangerous after sundown. Tomura's father, a man she had met during a brief trip to the United States, was a distant memory. He had charmed her with his wit and intelligence, but when she told him she was pregnant, he disappeared without a trace. She had tried to contact him, but every attempt was met with silence.
The first few months were the hardest. Tomura was a fussy baby, often crying late into the night. Aiko would pace the cramped apartment, rocking him in her arms and whispering lullabies. Some nights, she'd sit by the window, looking out over the dimly lit streets of Gotham, and wonder if she had made a mistake bringing a child into such a harsh world. But then Tomura would smile at her, and all her doubts would vanish.
By the time Tomura turned one, Aiko had settled into a routine. She worked long hours as a waitress at a diner downtown, leaving Tomura in the care of Mrs . Rodriguez, an elderly woman who lived in the apartment next door. The pay was barely enough to cover rent and groceries, but Aiko stretched every dollar, making sacrifices to ensure Tomura never went without. She sewed his clothes by hand, cooked every meal from scratch, and spent her evenings teaching him simple words and songs.
Tomura was a curious child, always reaching for things he shouldn't and babbling incessantly. Aiko couldn't help but marvel at his intelligence. By eighteen months, he was stringing together simple sentences, his tiny hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. "Mama, moon!" he exclaimed one night, pointing out the window. Aiko followed his gaze and smiled, pulling him close. "Yes, Tomura. That's the moon."
The winters in Gotham were unforgiving, and the apartment's heater was unreliable at best. Aiko would bundle Tomura in layers of clothing, wrapping him in a thick blanket before putting him to bed. On particularly cold nights, she'd pull him into her own bed, holding him close to share her warmth. Despite the hardships, Tomura rarely cried. He seemed to sense his mother's struggles, his bright eyes watching her with an intensity that sometimes unnerved her.
By the time he was two, Tomura's personality was beginning to shine through. He was mischievous, often getting into things he shouldn't. Aiko once found him sitting on the kitchen floor, covered in flour, giggling uncontrollably. "Tomura!" she scolded, but she couldn't stay mad at him for long. His laughter was infectious, and soon she was laughing along with him.
Aiko's attempts to contact Tomura's father became more desperate as the years went on. She sent letters to every address she could find, called numbers she wasn't even sure were his, and even considered hiring a private investigator. But every lead was a dead end. She began to wonder if she'd imagined their connection, if the man she had fallen for was nothing more than a figment of her lonely imagination.
One night, after putting Tomura to bed, Aiko sat at the small kitchen table, staring at a photograph she had hidden away in a drawer. It was the only proof she had of Tomura's father—a picture of the two of them at a gala, smiling for the camera. The man's face was unmistakable: Tony Stark. Aiko's fingers trembled as she traced the edges of the photograph. "Why did you leave us?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why didn't you care?"
Despite her struggles, Aiko made sure Tomura's childhood was filled with as much love and joy as she could muster. She took him to the park on her days off, pushing him on the swings and watching as he toddled around, chasing pigeons. She read to him every night, her voice soft and soothing as she brought fairy tales to life. And though their apartment was small and their possessions few, Aiko made sure Tomura never felt like he was lacking.
As Tomura approached his third birthday, his intelligence became even more apparent. He could count to twenty, recite the alphabet, and even recognise simple words. Aiko began teaching him to read, using old children's books she had found at a thrift store. Tomura took to it quickly, his bright mind soaking up knowledge like a sponge. "Mama, look!" he exclaimed one evening, holding up a book and pointing to a picture of a cat. "Cat!"
"That's right, Tomura," Aiko said, her heart swelling with pride. "You're so smart."
Life in Gotham was never easy, but Aiko found solace in the little moments she shared with her son. On weekends, they'd bake cookies together, the tiny kitchen filling with the sweet aroma of sugar and chocolate. Tomura would sit on the counter, covered in flour and grinning from ear to ear, as Aiko guided his small hands through the motions of mixing and rolling dough.
But the city's darkness was never far away. Aiko did her best to shield Tomura from Gotham's dangers, but there were nights when the sound of gunfire echoed through the streets, and sirens wailed in the distance. On those nights, she'd hold Tomura close, whispering reassurances as they huddled together in the safety of their tiny apartment.
By the time Tomura turned four, he was a bright and inquisitive child, full of energy and questions. Aiko marvelled at how quickly he was growing, both physically and intellectually. She often wondered what the future held for her son, what kind of man he would become. But for now, she was content to watch him play, his laughter filling the air and banishing the shadows that loomed over their lives.
On the night of his fourth birthday, Aiko sat with Tomura on the floor of their apartment, a small cake between them. The candles flickered, casting a warm glow over their faces. "Make a wish, Tomura," Aiko said, her voice soft.
Tomura closed his eyes, his small hands clasped together as he whispered something under his breath. Then he blew out the candles, his face lighting up with a wide grin. Aiko pulled him into a tight hug, her heart full of love and hope. No matter what challenges lay ahead, she knew they would face them together.