War had never been kind to men like me.
The last thing I remembered was the deafening roar of an explosion, the searing heat ripping through my body. My vision blurred, my lungs burned, and then… nothing.
I had died.
Or so I thought.
Because the next thing I knew, I was crying—my own voice high-pitched and fragile. Blurred shapes hovered over me, voices I didn't recognize speaking in a language I barely understood. My limbs were weak, my body tiny. I wasn't a man anymore.
I was a newborn.
Reincarnation. It sounded like something out of a story, but I had no other explanation.
As the months passed, my memories remained intact—every lesson, every calculation, every blueprint I had once designed as a military scientist and weapon engineer. But none of that changed the fact that I was now Ryoma Kurogane, the infant son of an ordinary Japanese family.
The world around me was modern—cities, cars, cell phones. But something felt… different. Strange occurrences were common. People casually displayed abilities that defied logic—lifting objects without touching them, breathing fire, changing their appearance at will. Some even had mutations so extreme their bodies resembled animals, beasts or machines.
It didn't take long for me to realize: supernatural abilities weren't just real—they were the norm.
And then, months turned into years.
At four years old, every child underwent a standard test to determine their Quirk—the term for these extraordinary abilities. It was a milestone, a moment that shaped a child's future.
My parents took me to the hospital, where a doctor in a white coat greeted us with a warm smile.
"Alright, young man," he said, crouching to my level. "Let's see what your Quirk is, shall we?"
After a few routine examinations and biological scans, he instructed me to enter an isolated testing room.
I sat on the examination table as he placed several metallic objects—a spoon, a set of keys, a small steel ball—on a tray in front of me.
"We'll start with a simple test," he explained. "Try to move one of these without touching it."
I stared at the objects, already suspecting what would happen.
For as long as I could remember in this life, metal reacted to me. Silverware trembled when I reached for it. Loose screws rolled toward my fingers. The metal buttons on my shirt sometimes fastened themselves before I could touch them.
I took a slow breath and focused.
A faint hum vibrated in my skull, deep and familiar.
The steel ball twitched. Then, as if pulled by an unseen force, it snapped into the air, hovering weightlessly before me.
The doctor's eyes widened. My parents gasped.
I exhaled, relaxing my concentration, and the steel ball dropped with a quiet clink.
"Incredible…" the doctor murmured, reaching for his tablet. "This is a rare and powerful ability—Magnetism Manipulation." He glanced at my parents. "Your son has the ability to generate and control magnetic fields. This means he can attract, repel, and reshape metal within his range. With training, he might even be able to levitate himself or disrupt electronics."
My mother swallowed hard. "Doctor… that sounds dangerous. Could his Quirk cause problems?"
The doctor hesitated. "Magnetism is a fundamental force of nature. If left unchecked, it could interfere with electronics, affect structural integrity, or even become a direct threat to others. Your son's potential is...terrifyingly vast, only limited by his understanding of electromagnetism to be honest."
My father furrowed his brows. "But my wife and I… neither of our Quirks have anything to do with magnetism. How did Ryoma end up with this ability?"
The doctor turned the tablet toward them, showing a genetic diagram.
"Mr Kurogane, your Quirk—Metal Arms—allows you to reinforce your arms with the properties of metals you've touched or memorized. It's not metal manipulation, but it does indicate an innate affinity for metal structures at a biological level."
He then turned to my mother. "Mrs Kurogane, your Quirk—Pulse Touch—creates vibrational waves that subtly disrupt materials. At first glance, it seems unrelated to magnetism, but vibrational energy and electromagnetic energy are deeply connected in physics."
The doctor looked at me with intrigue. "Ryoma-kun's Quirk, Magnetism Manipulation, is what we call an emergent mutation—a rare case where inherited traits don't just blend, but evolve into something new. His father's natural connection to metal and his mother's ability to disrupt materials likely gave rise to his control over magnetic fields."
My parents stared in stunned silence.
Then the doctor's expression turned serious.
"I strongly recommend regular monitoring of Ryoma's Quirk. If his magnetism grows unchecked or if he loses control, the consequences could be catastrophic." He exhaled. "Should anything become unmanageable, I urge you to contact the Hero Public Safety Commission (HPSC) for specialized assistance."
My four-year-old hands clenched on my lap. I could still feel it—the hum. That deep, almost imperceptible vibration in my skull, like a tuning fork resonating in my bones. My body was a living magnet, an unseen force tethering me to the metal around me.
A crazy coincidence!
In my past life, I had worked with science of electromagnetism more than anything else. As a military scientist, I had helped develop efficient railguns—weapons that accelerated metal projectiles using electromagnetic forces at hypersonic speed.
And now, I have become…a human magnet….and soon in the future….a literal human railgun.
Was this fate? Some kind of cosmic joke?
I had died because of destruction from weapons for wars.
And now, in this new life, I was born with the power to create destruction myself.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my expression to remain neutral. The last thing I needed was to panic in front of everyone.
Stay calm, I had a lifetime's worth of knowledge on electromagnetism. If I could apply that understanding to my new body, then I wouldn't just be a helpless kid with an unstable quirk to become a walking time bomb for everyone near me.
_________
The house was quiet, everyone asleep. Moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls.
Ryoma sat up in bed, fingers curled slightly as he felt it again—the faint hum in his skull, the invisible pull of metal objects around him. It was always there, a presence he couldn't ignore.
Ever since the doctor confirmed his quirk, he'd been testing it little by little. First, with small things—coins, buttons, paperclips. Then, with heavier objects like drawer handles and spoons.
He wanted to know more.
Carefully, he focused on the screws in his bedframe. They were small, barely noticeable, but he could feel them. A deep breath. A little more force—
The screws popped loose.
At first, nothing happened.
Then—
CRACK!
The bedframe gave out beneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor. The sudden force yanked at everything metal in the room—his desk shook, the door hinges screeched, the nails in the floor jerked loose.
Before he could stop it, his whole room was falling apart.
The loud crash shook the house. Within seconds, footsteps thundered down the hall.
The door flew open, and his father's sharp voice cut through the silence—
"Ryoma?!"
His mother rushed in behind him, eyes darting frantically around the destroyed room before landing on her son, sitting in the middle of the mess.
"Oh my god—are you hurt?" She hurried to his side, checking him over with shaking hands.
Ryoma stared at the wreckage, his heart pounding. He hadn't meant to do this. He had just—just wanted to test it.
"I—I'm okay," he mumbled. His hands felt cold.
His father exhaled, running a hand over his face. "Ryoma…" His voice wasn't angry, but it was heavy. Tired. Worried.
His mother pulled him into a tight hug. "You scared us," she whispered. "What were you doing?"
"I just…" He hesitated, eyes dropping to his hands. "I wanted to see how it worked."
His parents exchanged a look. His father crouched down, speaking softer now.
"Listen, kiddo," he said, resting a hand on Ryoma's shoulder. "I know you're curious. But your quirk? It's… strong. Stronger than we could imagine. And if you're not careful, you could really hurt yourself."
Ryoma bit his lip, tried acting innocent like a kid.
His mother nodded, brushing his hair back. "We're not mad, sweetheart. But you can't do this alone. If something had gone wrong, we wouldn't have been there to help you."
His father sighed. "From now on, no more secret testings. If you want to learn, we'll figure it out together."
Ryoma hesitated… then nodded.