Darkness. Heavy, suffocating, endless. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. But then—
A spark. A flood of memories, my life flashing before me. I was an ordinary guy. No tragic backstory, no heroic dreams—just another face in the crowd. Then, a flash of light, and suddenly... nothing.
Until I heard crying.
My eyes shot open, and I found myself staring at a wooden ceiling. Candlelight flickered, casting dim shadows across rough stone walls. The crying—it was coming from all around me. I turned my head and realized I was lying in a crib, surrounded by other infants.
Panic surged through me. My limbs felt weak, frail. My fingers barely responded when I tried to move them. That's when the realization hit me like a truck.
I was a baby. I had been reincarnated.
Before I could even process the insanity of it, a warm voice called out.
"Oh, look at you! Such a strong little one!"
A woman's face came into view—soft eyes, a gentle smile, dressed in a nun's habit. Sister Lily.
My breath hitched. My gaze darted around the room. The wooden floors, the stone fireplace, the simple beds. And then… the other babies. One was flailing wildly, screaming at the top of his lungs, his scruffy black hair bouncing with every motion. Another lay completely still, his sharp golden eyes staring at the ceiling, eerily calm for an infant.
Asta. Yuno.
I was in Black Clover.
A chill ran down my spine. Of all the worlds I could have been reborn into, it had to be this one—a world where strength was everything. Where the weak were trampled. Where magic reigned supreme.
I clenched my tiny fists. My past life had been mediocre, nothing worth remembering. But here? This was a chance. A chance to be more than ordinary. A chance to carve my own path.
I wasn't going to waste it.
---
Years Later…
From the moment I could walk, I trained.
While the other children played, I ran. I ran through the fields, through the forest, through the cold and the heat. My breath burned in my lungs, my muscles ached, but I pushed forward. Every morning before dawn, I slipped out of the orphanage, making my way into the wild.
I had no weapons, no magic—only my body. So I honed it.
I hunted with my bare hands, tracking small animals, learning to move silently, to strike with precision. I fought against the wind, the earth, the very limits of my flesh. Every cut, every bruise, every failure—it was all a lesson.
Physically, I had become a force to be reckoned with. My body was lean, every muscle sculpted from years of relentless training. My black hair, sharp and wild, barely reached my shoulders, and my steel-gray eyes burned with unyielding determination. My hands were calloused, my stance firm, and my reflexes honed to an edge most villagers couldn't comprehend.
Despite my efforts, Asta somehow remained the most relentless person I had ever met. He trained just as hard—no, even harder—than I did. At first, I thought it was ridiculous, his dream of becoming Wizard King without magic. But I couldn't bring myself to mock him. How could I, when I was doing the same? Training, improving, pushing my limits every day.
Over time, Asta and I had grown close. We sparred together, challenged each other, and pushed past limits we never thought possible. He was loud, reckless, and annoyingly persistent—but I never minded. If anything, it motivated me even more. Yuno, on the other hand, was quieter, but the fire in his eyes spoke volumes. The three of us, though different in so many ways, shared a bond forged through hardship and determination.
And yet, no matter how hard I trained, magic remained a mystery to me. It was there—I could feel it—but I had yet to grasp its true nature.
---
The day of the Grimoire Ceremony arrived, thick with tension. The air was alive with anticipation as the village's hopefuls gathered within the towering stone structure.
I stood among them, arms crossed, heart pounding. I had trained for this moment. I had bled for it.
The ceremony began. One by one, grimoires floated toward their destined owners. Yuno's grimoire, a magnificent four-leaf clover, shone brilliantly as gasps filled the room. Even Asta, despite not receiving one, stood tall, unwavering.
Then, it happened.
A heavy presence filled the hall. The air grew thick, vibrating with an unseen force. And then, from the shelves, a single grimoire moved.
A massive, ancient tome descended before me. Its cover was cracked like weathered stone, pulsing with raw energy. The moment my fingers brushed its surface, a surge of power rushed through me.
The ground beneath my feet trembled. A deep fissure split the stone floor, jagged cracks spiderwebbing outward as if the earth itself bowed to my will. The villagers stepped back, eyes wide with shock.
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears. The magic felt overwhelming—destructive, yet controlled. My grimoire bore the emblem of a three-leaf clover, but something about it felt different. Ancient. Dangerous.
A single phrase burned into my mind:
Crush Magic.
I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening around the tome.
Asta, standing beside me, stared at the cracked floor, then back at me. Then, with the biggest grin, he threw an arm over my shoulder.
"THAT WAS AWESOME! What even was that?! I don't even have a grimoire, and I still think yours is the coolest thing I've ever seen!"
I let out a breathless chuckle. "No idea… but I think I just found my path."
This was it.
My journey had just begun