The last thing he remembered was the cold—sharp, absolute. A car horn. A flash of headlights. Then silence.
Then… a scream.
But it wasn't his.
It was a baby's.
The world around him had vanished, replaced by the smell of straw, smoke, and something warm. He tried to move, but his arms—tiny, pudgy, and weak—flailed uselessly.
What the hell… where am I?
He opened his mouth, but only a wail came out.
---
By the time he was old enough to walk, he understood one thing: he had been reborn. Reincarnated, transported—whatever you wanted to call it—he was no longer Kael Ramaswamy, an 18-year-old high school dropout with a talent for lifting weights and wasting time.
He was Asta, the loud, reckless, magicless underdog from Black Clover.
And this time, things would be different.
---
The Church of Hage Village was rough, but warm. Sister Lily's patience was endless. Father Orsi was loud, but kind. And Yuno? Yuno was exactly as Kael remembered him—quiet, gifted, terrifyingly focused.
But Asta—this new Asta—was different from the original.
He didn't scream randomly. He didn't propose to Sister Lily every five seconds. Sure, he trained like a man possessed, but there was calculation behind it now. Not just brute force.
He knew what was coming.
He knew about the grimoire ceremony.
He knew about the five-leaf clover.
And he knew that magic—or rather, the lack of it—was only the beginning of his story.
---
At age 10, while other kids were trying to levitate pebbles or light candles, Asta was sprinting through the woods with ankle weights, practicing push-ups with stones balanced on his back, and memorizing sword stances from fragments of muscle memory.
Yuno watched him once, arms crossed.
"You're weird."
"And you're slow," Asta said, grinning.
Yuno didn't reply. But the next morning, he was doing the same drills beside him.
---
The day of the Grimoire Ceremony came quickly.
The tower was tall and ancient, runes swirling in the air like drifting petals. The other teens sneered as Asta approached, arms crossed, still short, still magicless.
He stood proud anyway.
One by one, books fell into eager hands—some worn and small, others grand and glowing.
Yuno's grimoire descended like a king's crown—glowing, perfect, a four-leaf clover.
And then… nothing.
The room turned cold.
Everyone stared.
Asta stood alone, bookless, again.
But he wasn't angry.
He smirked.
"Guess I'm just built different."
---
That night, everything followed as it should: Yuno was ambushed, his grimoire nearly stolen, and Asta, magicless, ran to help him. The chain magic held him fast, burning his skin.
But he didn't scream.
He waited.
And as the darkness crept in—
The black grimoire fell from the sky like a sword of fate. Old. Heavy. Embossed with a worn, five-leaf clover.
It opened.
Asta's hand moved before he even thought.
A blade burst forth—massive, dark, humming with anti-magic. He gripped it tight, muscles flaring, and for a split second, the memory of his old life flashed like lightning:
This is your second chance. Take it.
With a single swing, he shattered the chain spell, sent the thief flying, and stood over Yuno with the sword in his hand and a new fire in his chest.
---
Yuno looked up, blood at the corner of his mouth.
"Asta…"
"Yeah?"
"You're not the same as before."
Asta grinned, dragging the massive sword behind him like it weighed nothing.
"You noticed, huh?"