My Self - Insert Stash

-DID YOU GUYS SEE EPISODE 13 OF MHA??? LES GOOOOOOO!! Deku 100% Transformation IS INSANELY EPIC!!!

*This fic also has got an OP MC (/≧▽≦)/

*Oh and we're 200K views, 200 powerstones and 500 collections in! It means 500 weebs have added this into their libraries/reading list EPIC o(*￣▽￣*)o

Sypnosis: Armed with memories of a world once perceived as little more than fiction and a Quirk unlike anything this fantastical world has ever seen before... There can be no other course than to bring an end to the greater evils to come before they have the chance to rise.

But when the road ahead of him is not the familiar path he knows, Itsuki Marumaru will soon realize that while the Golden Age of Heroes is coming to an end… a new era is on the rise…

Rated: T

Words: 44K

Posted on: forums.spacebattles.com/threads/heir-to-the-king-mha-pseudo-si-au.781141/threadmarks (Corvus no Genmu)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 0+1

I can't escape this hell…

So many times I've tried but I'm still caged inside…

Somebody get me through this nightmare…

I can't control myself…​

What is the difference between Destiny and Fate? Some would say that there is hardly any difference at all, that the connotations of the words themselves is what defines any boundaries between them. That "fate" is a word synonymous with "fight" and thus is a constant struggle to avoid at any cost. In contrast to its twin, "destiny" is accepted as something that should not be only be accepted but welcomed with open arms. Many are those who believe that the two cannot be broken or avoided for long, unaware that the supposed solidity is in fact quite fragile. Likely finely crafted glass, all that it takes is the softest touch to shatter fate and destiny alike.

Or in more simplistic terms, all it takes is a choice.

Go left instead of right. Wears shoes instead of sandals. Every action has a consequence big or small and as the saying goes, all it takes is a butterfly flapping its wings to give rise to a hurricane on the opposite side of the world.

In this particular circ.u.mstance, it was a Quirk.

A Quirk that in another time and another place would never have been used let alone recognized for what it was. In every possibility that existed throughout the multiverse, there was little to no change of the inevitable outcome for this Quirk and its user. First and foremost, the user would die, the cost of their power too high for they possessed neither the strength nor the experience to comprehend the scale of their meta-ability. As to what the Quirk itself could do, well, in most circ.u.mstances it did absolutely nothing as those whom were struck by its effects were freshly bought canvases before its great and terrible power. Blank and empty, thus unrealized.

Each and every time in countless iterations of this branch of Infinity, this event occurred over and over and over again, the sheer number immeasurable by the human scale.

Save for one.

Because no matter how impossible, how utterly improbable, there is always a chance and thus forever a choice. Left when they would have gone right, traveling down a path so much the same and yet so remarkably different than what might have been. To end up at the wrong place at exactly the right time and there you have it.

A butterfly's wings had flapped…

And a hurricane of change was born.

Izuku Midoriya was four years old when he learned that not all men are created equal. That no matter the strength of one's convictions, the strength of their Quirk was what made them a true force to be reckoned with. Weeks after he had been told point blank that he did not nor would he ever have a Quirk, he turned to his mother, tears in his eyes, asking if he could still be a hero regardless, the only answer he received was a sorrowful apology and not the answer he wanted to hear…

It was on the very day he turned five when someone finally started to tell him something else. Not directly in words or in action but in something more simplistic and frankly rather befuddling to the young boy.

Contrary to his hopes, neither Kacchan nor his own father made an appearance at his birthday this year though the latter at least sent a humble birthday card and a gift from the States. Another figure of All Might, much like the one that Izuku carried with him everywhere but different in that it spoke the fascinating language of English, was dressed in his very first costume, and he was getting sidetracked again!

Izuku shook his head firmly and looked once more to the package sitting next to his father's opened one. There was no return address and while it correctly had his home address, or so his mom assured him despite his concerns that it was meant for someone else, the name scrawled besides his own was "The Ninth."

The ninth what, the young boy had no idea and had even less when he opened the package up to see what it contained.

A small wooden plaque upon which was carved: It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, but because we do not dare that things are difficult. In the bottom corner was a small baby bunny peaking out from tall reeds of grass. Beneath it and carefully wrapped in soft paper was an All Might pen set and a rather humble looking notebook. The title on the notebook's cover was blank save for a tiny little sticker at the bottom corner, one that depicted a chibi rendition of All Might with a hand held up in victory and a speech bubble exclaiming "You can do it!"

Young Izuku appreciated the gifts, particularly the pens that he made sure to clean before and after every use for years to come, but he couldn't figure out who had given them to him or why. As the years passed by, the gifts kept coming without fail on his birthday and Izuku started noticing a trend of sorts between them.

There was always something that was clearly handmade and bore some manner of moral or words of encouragement upon them or in little typed notes packaged with them. Most of them were carefully carved plaques of wood bearing caricatures of rabbits or extra fluffy lambs. He especially liked the quilt that had been done in All Might's thematic colors and all but wore it as a cape during the following winter.

Aside from the handmade gifts, there was always something store bought and easily found on a shelf at some store though it wouldn't be until his first year in middle school that Izuku found one. He had made such a scene that his mother had almost scolded him for it until he shakily pointed out the very camera he had received for his last birthday and the price tag with its many, many numbers.

Needless to say, his mother's reaction put his own to shame though for an entirely different reason.

Yet, for how (scary!) expensive a lot of those gifts were, they too followed a certain pattern. One that only helped Izuku in his steadily growing hobby of cataloging each and every Hero and Quirk he could lay his eyes upon. From high definition photographs to equally high quality video capture, Izuku swiftly found himself filling whole scrapbooks of information down.

It never truly hit Izuku until he at last heard the words spoken aloud to him by his own personal hero All Might. Hit him as solidly as a Detroit Smash directly to the face that the very hero who was his inspiration for all of his young life was not the first to believe in him but the second.

That summer, when his fifteenth birthday came on a day of blood, sweat, and far more tears than a human body ought to contain, Izuku found an anonymous package awaiting him once more and again found himself at a loss of what they could mean.

The first was a figurine, tiny and small, of a young squire boy freshly dressed for a long journey ahead and armed with a simple, if not positively gleaming golden sword held aloft in its grasp. The figure's head was turned to look back over his shoulders with its eyes alight with determination but sporting a shining smile on his face. The fact that the little squire boy was a picture perfect copy of Izuku himself did not escape him.

The second gift was a pair of thick gloves; the kind he was certain only Pro-Heroes could afford. The gloves bore a pair of words stitched onto the back "Plus" on the left and "ULTRA!" on the right. Izuku tried them on and wasn't surprised to find them a perfect fit when his eyes spotted a small note in the bottom of the box.

See you soon, Number Nine.

The sun was hours away still from rising on the distant horizon when they had arrived at the former trash heap now almost completely restored into a prestigious beach with crystal clear waves lapping at the gorgeous white sands of the shore. The source of the beach's rejuvenation was still hard at work, mere hours away from ridding the beach of its last scrap of garbage and a lone spectator stood far and out of sight of the diligently working boy, each regarding him in silent contemplation.

Though the boy was only a few months older than the one currently cleaning the former trash heap of a beach, the difference between them was almost as great as the day from the night. For one, this boy was tall, easily pushing seven-and-a-half feet in all and while he was slim in musculature there was a bit of gauntness to him as well, as though he were half-starved. His hair, a resplendent gold even in the wee hours of the morning, was brushed back along his head and fell down in spiky waves to the nape of his neck.

He was dressed in well-worn clothing, a pair of jeans with patchwork knees, a red t-shirt that was at best a decade or three old, and a jacket that went out of style back in the late twentieth century never-mind previous resurgences in this one. His shoes were a pair of mismatched customized Nikes made special for one whose feet did not fit the human standard. A pair of long, serpentine tails each slightly longer than he is tall, swayed in the air behind him, their clubbed tips glistening sharply with the barely sheathed spikes that adorned them.

He was not entirely Japanese despite what his name might imply but in a world where even the most benign of physical mutations resulted in hair colors ranging from the plain to the absurd, such details were of a minor inconvenience at best. Even in the darkened hours of a predawn sun, his distorted eyes of yellow pupils against crimson sclera seemed to almost shine as he stared down at the slightly younger boy working so diligently on the once trash-ridden beach.

His name is Itsuki Marumaru and he is impressed.

… Is he actually trying to pull that car to the top of the pile? Is he that focused on moving it off the beach that he hasn't noticed what he's trying to—Ah, I suppose succeeding is a more accurate statement… He squinted, eyes gaining a faint golden sheen. He chuckled, closing his eyes and shaking his head, smiling and revealing a larger than normal amount of sharpened canines. So that's what it is… A bit of A and a whole lot of B… BS more like…

He turned away from the beach and started making his way to the parking lot and down the sidewalk just as an ancient pickup truck came turning down the furthest corner. He paused, eyes flashing red for a moment but in the end, kept walking forward.

Not yet. It's too early yet.

Chapter 1

If you take a life do you know what you'll give? Odds are, you won't like what it is…

When the storm arrives, would you be seen with me?

By the merciless eyes I've deceived?​

Itsuki Marumaru looked up at Yuuei, his face an expressionless mask as he took in the massive high school that could, and frankly did, put most college campuses to shame in sheer size alone. He was alone save for the other early morning arrivals slowly making their way to the testing auditorium inside the building proper. They ignored his lingering presence with ease born of centuries long practice to ignore that what didn't fit into the common standard.

His physical appearance aside, Itsuki did not paint a pleasant picture that could, optimistically, be called "down on his luck" by the more kindhearted. They at least presumed he was overwhelmed at the sight of a school where many heroes had once stood before, including the likes of the Symbol of Peace himself.

Those of more pricklier spirits and mindsets, well they thought him overwhelmed at the sheer impossibility standing before him. Itsuki clearly could only just afford this long glance at the building so why not milk it for all that it was worth?

In truth, such thoughts of heroes past or monetary issues at present never once crossed Itsuki's mind as he stood before Yuuei. No, what kept him trapped in a rapturous gaze was his mind trying to separate the reality of the school building from the memories of ill.u.s.trations and background scenery of an anime Itsuki himself had never seen.

Even now, after so many years… When That One's memories had nearly driven Itsuki to madness… it was so surreal… To see things and know them with absolute certainty to be both well and truly real as well as a complete and utter work of fiction. Fantastically well conceived and beloved fiction but fiction all the same. Fiction that Itsuki also knew was actual fact and truthful history no matter what details or snippets were left to interpretation or imagination.

Itsuki shook his head, stopping that train of thought before it could gather steam. Without further thought of consequences and what-could-have-been, he made his way inside.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Itsuki sat amongst a veritable mob of hopeful applicants, all having finished the written portion of the exam some time ago. In that regard, Itsuki was certain a portion of his overall grade would suffer not because he felt he had answered incorrectly but rather that he had answered too much.

In his defense, he had not expected the last portion of the written exam to be an essay question that touched upon morality. Specifically one that presented a scenario of a villain committing a crime and how he, a hero on scene, would respond to the situation. Itsuki had barely finished writing the last sentence in time and even now, an hour and a light meal later, his hand was still aching from how fervently he had written his answer. He had dedicated every spare micrometer he could in giving reason behind his choice of action and inaction, with more than a few sentences dedicated to the lack of reasonability and coherency of modern laws and Quirks.

Frankly, the question was too open-ended, too lacking in any fine detail beyond the current situation and how to resolve it, caring little for the motivation of the villain just that they were such and needed to be stopped. Itsuki waited impatiently as Present Mic laid out the rules and regulations of the practical portion of the entrance exams.

Even sitting in the furthest corner of the vast auditorium, the man's voice carried like a shrill screech in Itsuki's ears. His claws were starting to make some fairly deep gouges into the wooden armrest of his chair with every new word out of the blonde-haired Hero's mouth. Those sitting near him choose not to comment though they did make a point to slide further away, especially when the bladed tips of his tails started to unsheathe with a small, metallic hiss.

Eventually, though what felt more like an eternity, they were dismissed to their respected battle centers and Itsuki found an empty space in front of the doors leading into Battle Center G and began a small routine of stretches. He ignored the looks aimed towards him, the stares and the glares alike.

Like the other participants, Itsuki had forgone his daytime attire in place of a pair of sweatpants and b.a.r.e feet alongside an equally b.a.r.e c.h.e.s.t. Many of the nearby hopefuls were eying him, whispering among themselves at the possibility of his Quirk and how someone so clearly starved and down-on-his-luck could dare to present themselves before a school so prestigious as U.A. High and think themselves acceptable.

Itsuki didn't pay them any mind, even those whom he recognized from That One's memories. Instead, he kept his attention on the doors thus was unsurprised to see them opening with nary a sound.

The destructive explosion of concrete beneath his feet heralded his entrance into the battleground and sent his observers stumbling in surprise. In a single leap, he managed to cover a whole block and landed feet first against an unprepared one-pointer, crushing it beneath his enlarged girth. Now fourteen feet tall with a toughened hide of thick reptilian scales of golden splendor that easily tanked the rubber bullets of the three-pointer in front of him.

His head had now become an amalgamation of human and dragon, face pressed outwards in a gaping snarl of fangs and five pairs of curved horns erupting at the back of his now hairless skull. His neck had elongated slightly, just above a swan's in length while his arms were now long and thin, bony fingers nearly touching the cemented ground beneath his feet. Itsuki's twin tails had grown in length as well but were otherwise unchanged save the bony spikes at their tips possessing a distinctly metallic sheen.

His throat glowed before with golden light before Itsuki's mouth opened wide and loosed a thunderbolt that sent the three-pointer flying into its fellow machines with an explosive crash of shrapnel. His reptilian lips drew back further, fully exposing his fangs in a primal display. Beneath his golden scales, Itsuki's blood was pumping hot and hard in his veins, a flicker of electricity coursing through them like ravenous serpents as the sparkling machine trembled and died beneath his claws.

That's fourteen points. Not enough. Don't stop. Keep moving.

Three days after the exam and well into the afternoon of the fourth and the U.A. faculty were still going the many applicants to the hero course. A surprisingly large number had passed the written portion of the exams and with more than a few heated… discussions… having broken out over some applicants over their performance in the practical… Well was it any wonder that they had only just now gotten to those in Battleground G?

"So what did you think of that examinee, Shota-kun?"

It was nearing the end of what felt like an extremely long day to a majority of the teachers save for one whom felt it was the end of a week of nothing but pain, torment, and a hell of a lot of misery. Only when he took another long sip of his coffee did Shota Aizawa find the strength to answer. Given that his choice of drink for this day was, in his own opinion, black as his embittered soul, it was this rare but oh so precious drink that made this yearly affair even remotely bearable for the underground hero.

Still in a lot of pain and definitely some torment. Misery?

"Meh."

Having heard this answer for every question that he had asked the Underground Hero, Shota's self-proclaimed bosom buddy Hizashi Yamada felt his ever present smile twitch in the opposite direction and Nemuri Kayama, recognizing an imminent sign of the End Times, hastily brought up the next set of recordings.

"Examinee No.: 1964, Itsuki Marumaru." Nemuri brought up the boy's middle school picture on the center screen whilst the rest brought up paused videos taken from the multitude of cameras littered throughout the false cityscape. "Quirk…" She blinked and pressed her small, red reading glasses further up her nose to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. "Yes."

"… Wait, what?" asked No. 13 with a small laugh while Shota g.r.o.a.n.e.d and took another long drink of his coffee, dark and empty as his heart.

Snipe guffawed. "Ya'll are kiddin', right? He actually wrote that?"

Sekijiro Kan rolled his eyes. "At least it's a better answer than what that one candidate wrote under s.e.x."

"[Yes please!]" giggled Hizashi under his breath in English, which pretty much meant that everyone in the room heard him clear as day and just as easily ignored him for it. Shota contemplated ways of murdering him via vicious application of his coffee mug up the blonde's nose only to think better of it. The underground hero would have nothing from which to drink his pitch-black coffee if he did that and silence —sweet blessed silence— was not worth the sacrifice of this most abysmally darkened cup of java.

"Marumaru…" Toshinori Yagi tapped his bony chin in thought. "Wouldn't that mean he's…?"

"Indeed he is but such a thing hasn't stopped him so far." Nezu answered, sitting back in his plush chair, little paws clasping together in front of his snout as he watched the recordings play out. Barely a few minutes in and already he was starting to put the pieces together and though his jovial façade never faltered, there was a predatory steeliness in his gaze. Interesting… "Thoughts Aizawa-san?"

Shota repressed the urge to default to his standard answer for the last several candidates and easily ignored Hizashi unabashedly learning forward excitedly with an extremely wide grin on his smug face. "He's ambitious but ambition doesn't make a hero, only reckless idiots. They see the end goal and how to achieve it as quickly as possible without any thought or concern for the consequences."

"Ambitious? Hell, hard to argue that. He's gone and gotten da most villain points out o' the 'ole lot with plenty o' time still left to spare," said Snipe, tallying the number of robots Itsuki was destroying on the screens.

"Aye, and stealing a lot of them from his fellow applicants to boot." Sekijiro noted with a small frown as the video displayed Itsuki charging in and crashing horned head first into a small horde of robots before any of the other applicants could so much as blink in stunned surprise.

"I was wondering why Battleground G had so much more wreckage compared to the other areas…" muttered Higari Maijima, metal-tipped fingers tapping agitatedly on the armrest of his chair. "At least the first years in the Support course will have plenty of scrap to work with this year…"

"True, true," agreed Nezu. "Young Marumaru is certainly ambitious as any examinee would be but not to the degree you think, Shota-kun, Sekijiro-kun. Look. Pay attention not to what he's doing but why he's doing it."

The faculty exchanged confused looks but paid closer attention than they had been, trying to see what it was that their pint-sized principal had spotted before when they were watching the examinees live.

"He's targeting the larger threats." Ryo Inui murmured, leaning forward in his chair, clawed hand reaching up to cup the muzzle strapped to his snout. "He's not going after the three-pointers for the points, it's because he sees them as a more active threat compared to the one and two pointers."

"Given that he's destroyed a bunch of one-pointers simply from stepping on them that's kind of an understatement I think," said Hizashi with a smile.

"Yes, yes, but look at that, right there." No. 13 pointed at the monitor that displayed Itsuki standing between a three-pointer and a horde of students caught by surprise at its sudden emergence from a nearby building, arms spread wide as he advanced on the machine. "He's making himself the bigger target, drawing the shots aimed at those unprepared or unable to defend themselves."

"Heh, no shortage of rescue points either then, yeah?" Snipe chuckled.

Nezu nodded and looked at the timestamp at the upper corners of the recordings. "Indeed but that's not all. Look… There! Do you see what I see?"

They looked and saw Marumaru suddenly straighten, neck twisting to look one direction before his head twitched towards the left then the right before he suddenly turned around. He stood facing the end of the street where the massive zero-pointer was only just starting to arise from its hidden compartment with fangs bared and claws at the ready.

"Wait, replay that." Ectoplasm leaned forward as Nemuri did so. His eyes narrowed. "Well, well, well… He's looking in the direction of the other battlegrounds isn't he? He's somehow sensing the zero-pointers emerging before the one in his area shows up."

Snipe whistled. "Boy howdy… He's got a bit o' precognition in him don't he?"

"It's hardly surprising. Most transformation Quirks result in a wider range of senses than the human norm," said Ken Ishiyama, frowning thoughtfully and tapping a squared finger to his nonexistent chin. "Especially those of that variety…"

"Indeed, indeed, quite the variety indeed," said Nezu with a smile. "I think that Marumaru-kun will continue to surprise us!"

"Gods damn it!"

Even forewarned by That One's knowledge, Itsuki was still an extreme bundle of tightly strung nerves long before actually receiving the letter from Yuuei. Having All Might suddenly appear in his home via holographic projection, twice as bright and loud as he was in person no less, did not help him any. As it was, he'd need to go dumpster diving for another chair again and scrounge about for some more wood for the ceiling.

Again.

Quickly dusting off his head as he shrunk down to his more humanoid form, Itsuki Marumaru picked himself off the floor of his humble abode and tried to not stare too hard at the image of a beaming All Might dressed in a rather gaudy yellow suit. Really, the man could, and hopefully would if That One's Recollections were any indication, dress in far better attire than that in the future. The Symbol of Peace spoke of Itsuki's performance in the exam, the unorthodox answer that he gave in the essay portion of the written exam that sparked a fierce debate amongst the faculty, and for the practical—

"You scored amongst the highest in villain points in the practical portion of the entrance exam, Young Marumaru! Not that you were lacking in another, far more important, aspect of being a hero though!"

The clip that showcased the highlights of his performance consisted mostly of how he had done in the early on in the exam. How Itsuki had quickly overtaken the pack of examinees and the devastation of his methodology when eliminating his enemies. Seeing it from the outside elicited a strange sense of déjà vu though it was not Itsuki himself that knew why. It's just like…

Then came the zero-pointer.

Itsuki leaned forward, clawed fingers clenching tightly upon his knees. He watched as his past self took a hesitant step back against an overwhelming force, the fear and trepidation clear even on a draconian visage and then… Then his past-self's eyes flashed gold for the tiniest moment, too fast to be spotted even when he was actively looking for it, and his past-self's eyes moved down towards the zero-pointer's massive treads.

The video changed perspective, showing the cloud of dust flowing outwards from the encroaching zero-pointer like a veritable tsunami and there, formerly lying invisibly and unnoticed by all but the sharpest of senses, an unconscious girl lay, a vague shape lost in the growing fog of debris. A moment passed, the tread getting dangerously close only for it and the rest of the zero-pointer's massive body to suddenly be brought to a grounding halt.

Another angle, one aimed downwards from atop a nearby skyscr.a.p.er showed the cause. Itsuki stood before the zero-pointer, claws digging deeply into its armored body as his feet dug a slow trench in the asphalt beneath him. His body was growing, already twenty feet tall and changing more and more. His neck became more serpentine and a growth of spikes erupted around his clavicles, eerily reminiscent to the same horns that adorned his head. His arms grew to ridiculous lengths, stretching thinner and yet somehow became stronger as thin membrane sprung unseen between his imbedded and now elongated fingers.

Itsuki flinched, rubbing his left arm as the phantom pains of holding back the transformation in his arms whilst the rest of him was changed had hurt far more than he had realized. A few more months, he reassured himself, and then there'll be no holding back. Then we can make our power known.

His pants were tearing apart along the legs but managed to not tear asunder completely. Lightning danced along his tightly gritting fangs and the muscles of his arms were bulging from the strain of holding back both the massive machine and completing the transformation. His past self was slowing the massive machine down but he alone wasn't enough to stop its advance.

"A true hero is an inspiration for others to follow in their example and you certainly were that Young Higuchi! Your actions earned you and your comrades a lot of rescue points!"

Thick, thorny vines ensnared the dreadful treads from the ground while long strips of tape flew through the air from on high, binding the massive limbs tightly to a massive torso. A girl with a frog's tongue ensnared the unconscious examinee and whisked her away. Only when his fellow examinees were out of the way did Itsuki finally act.

With a ferocious roar, Itsuki's head lunged forward, jaws clamping tightly over steel as lightning erupted upwards from his throat and into the gargantuan machine with explosive force, toppling the robot back just enough for gravity to pick up the slack. The zero-pointer fell with a massive, earth trembling crash.

Almost mirroring his draconic reflection on the video, Itsuki had a pleased and slightly vindictive sneer on his face at the sight.

The screen cut back to a beaming All Might, hand held up in a congratulatory thumbs-up. "However, don't consider this the crowning moment of your career, Young Marumaru! This is merely the prologue, the first step, of your story, your journey! This is the start of your hero academia!"

Itsuki loosed a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He had done it.

He was in the hero course and —according to the paperwork he had received— he was now a part of Class 1-A and—

"Oh…" Oh shit.

He was in Class 1-A.

Surrounded on all sides by people that That One knew and by default so too did Itsuki. People whom he had only seen in passing at the exam, had never spoken more than a few words to at best, and yet knew them explicitly in ways that no stranger should ever know. Classmates and peers that he'd have to pretend and acknowledge as little more than strangers and novices than the pros he knew that they would become.

"Gods damn it." He fell back onto his sleeping bag and looking up at the cobweb-ridden rafters of his current home. It was another unfamiliar ceiling finely aged with dust and the tangled skeins of spiders, just one of the many forgotten warehouses left to rot in the Arkanis district. Far from the first warehouse that Itsuki had come to call home, this latest one at least was far enough away from the seedier parts of the city to warrant any wannabe villains scoping it for a potential hideout or a well-meaning but far too overbearing hero trying to do what they thought was the right thing.

Just another day for a guy who had spent the better part of ten years trying to make sense of the life he inexplicably found himself living. The future was already tremulous and if certain events were to play out exactly as they had from what That One had seen… This is the only chance, the only way to change things.

Too many lives were at stake. They'll forgive this. They have to.

They'll forgive him. They must.