There's this cliché everyone seems to love—"Every person is born for a reason."
Maybe that's true in some fairy tale.
But in my case, I was born weak… twice.
The first time, I was just an ordinary kid in a dying world. No powers. No miracles.
Just anxiety, insomnia, and the ever-growing dread that I was wasting my life.
The second time, I was reborn into this world.
One where people shoot lasers out of their eyes, tear buildings in half, or twist minds like they're flipping a light switch.
And me?
I can influence currents.
Not summon lightning. Not bend oceans. Just… slightly nudge electrical signals or stir a breeze if I squint hard enough.
A walking low-level inconvenience.
They call it a Quirk.
I call it a cosmic joke.
But I learned something early on: power isn't about what you're given. It's about what you take.
---
I stood on the edge of a rooftop, watching a self-proclaimed hero punch a villain through a billboard that read "Believe in Tomorrow!"
The irony nearly made me laugh.
Screams echoed from below. Civilians scrambled. Drones filmed everything.
Another day in the city.
I clutched the railing, feeling a soft buzz in my fingers as I tapped into the street's electrical grid.
The current flowed like a whisper—a faint thread of sensation most would never notice.
But I noticed.
I always noticed.
Fear still curled in my chest like a sleeping serpent.
But I wasn't the same kid who died trembling in a hospital bed, too scared to let go.
I was someone new now.
Someone in control… or trying to be.
---
"Yo, Deadweight."
A familiar voice.
I didn't turn. I didn't have to. Only one person in this world would casually call me that like it was my birth name.
"Shouldn't you be training or… I don't know, failing to be useful somewhere else?"
Kira.
Quirk: Pressure Manipulation.
Personality: Annoying as hell.
She landed beside me with the grace of a cat and the attitude of a fired-up forum troll. Her goggles sat crooked, her hoodie flapping like a makeshift cape in the wind.
I gave her a side glance. "Nice of you to show up. I was beginning to think you ghosted me."
"Nah," she said with a smirk. "Ghosting you would imply you mattered."
Ah. There it was.
Friendship, apparently.
---
I used to think I needed to be a hero.
To get recognition. To be seen.
But the more I watched these 'heroes' punch each other through shopping malls for clout, the more I realized something:
I don't want to be like them.
I want to be better.
Not in the moral sense. Not the "saving kittens from trees" sense.
I want power.
Enough to never be weak again.
So I'll climb. Crawl. Adapt. Break things if I have to.
Even if this world treats me like a background character.
Because I didn't survive death just to be a footnote.