Chapter 1: Ryo Kisaragi

Ryo Kisaragi wasn't originally from this world.

In his past life, he had been just another guy obsessed with anime, comics, and power scaling debates, but a tragic accident had cut his life short. Instead of fading into nothingness, he woke up in the body of a four-year-old boy in a world he recognized all too well—My Hero Academia.

A world where power determined everything.

At first, he thought he was just another civilian. His new parents were ordinary people—his mother, Aika Kisaragi, had a weak "Air Cushion" Quirk that softened impacts, while his father, Renji Kisaragi, had a minor "Heat Palm" ability that let him warm his hands to boiling temperatures. Neither had combat potential, so it was assumed their son would be Quirkless or have something just as minor.

That assumption shattered the moment he accidentally blew a hole through the living room wall.

"What the hell was that?!" his father shouted, eyes wide in shock as smoke and dust filled the air.

His mother gripped the table, staring at Ryo with disbelief. "Ryo… honey… was that… you?"

Four-year-old Ryo blinked, completely frozen. He had just been looking at his toy across the room when a red beam had shot from his eyes, destroying everything in its path. His heart pounded as realization dawned on him.

No way…

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, carefully focusing on a nearby cup. Another burst of crimson energy surged out, curving slightly mid-air before slamming into the cup and shattering it against the wall.

His mother yelped. His father nearly fell over.

Ryo, however, grinned.

I have Cyclops's powers… but better.

That day, his parents took him to a Quirk specialist, who ran extensive tests. The results were staggering.

His Quirk, which Ryo named "Omega Sight," was a mutation-type ability that allowed him to fire pure kinetic energy beams from his eyes. Unlike traditional laser-based Quirks, his optic blasts did not produce heat but instead delivered devastating concussive force.

More terrifying was the fact that these beams automatically tracked moving targets unless he actively controlled them.

The doctor was baffled—Quirks usually had limits or drawbacks, yet Ryo's eyes adjusted perfectly to his power, requiring no external equipment for control. No involuntary firing. No exhaustion. It was, in simple terms, a perfect attack Quirk.

On the way home, his father kept glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

"Ryo… you're gonna have to be careful with that power. That's not just some flashy Quirk. You could seriously hurt someone."

His mother, still shaken, nodded. "Maybe we should get you some glasses to help you control it."

Ryo shook his head. "I don't need them."

This wasn't like Cyclops. He could turn it on and off at will.

The realization was exhilarating. He had one of the most destructive Quirks possible and no limitations holding him back.

That night, lying in bed, Ryo stared at the ceiling, a million thoughts racing through his mind.

This world isn't like a game. If I don't get stronger, I'll just be another footnote in history.

He knew the threats that lay ahead—villains like the League, the Nomu, All For One… even heroes who wouldn't hesitate to put down someone they deemed too dangerous. He needed to master his power.

And so, his training began.

At first, it was simple—learning to control his beams by firing at stationary targets like cans and tree stumps. He experimented with power output, adjusting his intensity from weak pulses to full-powered blasts.

His mother made sure he trained in open spaces, while his father, despite not being a her, helped in ways Ryo never expected.

One evening, when Ryo was eight, his father stood beside him as he prepared to fire at a stack of wooden planks they had set up in the backyard. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the area.

Renji Kisaragi, despite being a construction worker and not a fighter, had a keen eye for precision. Years of handling heavy machinery and cranes had given him a deep understanding of timing and trajectory. He watched as Ryo stood in place, narrowed his eyes, and fired a perfectly straight beam, shattering the top plank with ease.

"You always shoot standing still," Renji noted, rubbing his chin. "Have you ever thought about trying to hit something while moving?"

Ryo frowned, lowering his hands. "I don't need to. My beams track automatically."

Renji smirked. "Yeah, but what happens when your enemy knows that? What if they bait your shot, making your attacks hit something else? If you don't control where they land, you're just wasting energy and blowing up the wrong targets."

Ryo blinked. That… made sense.

If an opponent dodged at the last second, his beam would overcorrect, wasting energy or hitting unintended targets.

"Even the strongest tool is useless if you don't know how to use it right," his father continued. "You have power, but if you don't learn to predict your enemy's movements, someone will outthink you."

Ryo scowled but knew his dad had a point.

So, the next day, he set up a new challenge.

He hung targets on ropes, letting them swing randomly, and tried to hit them while jogging around. At first, he relied on the auto-tracking, but that often led to his beams slamming into the wrong points. He needed finesse, not just raw power.

Days turned into weeks, and eventually, he could nail moving objects with pinpoint accuracy—while running, jumping, or even dodging obstacles.

But the real breakthrough came when he realized he could curve his beams at will.

At age 10, he learned to make his beams weave through tight spaces, change angles mid-flight, and even fire multiple shots at once. It wasn't just auto-tracking—it was absolute control over his trajectory.

His father crossed his arms with a satisfied nod. "See? Told you. Strength is good, but smart fighters always win."

Ryo smirked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Guess you're not just some old man after all."

Renji ruffled his hair roughly. "Damn right I'm not. Now get inside before your mom yells at both of us."

Years passed, and his reputation in his neighborhood grew. Kids whispered about the "Crimson Cyclone," a nickname they gave him because his blasts moved like an unstoppable storm. Some were in awe, others feared him, and a few even resented him for being too powerful.

It didn't matter. Ryo wasn't aiming to be popular.

He was aiming to be the strongest.

Now, at fifteen years old, he stood at the entrance of U.A. High, staring up at the massive gates with a confident smirk.

The U.A. Entrance Exam was about to begin, and unlike most applicants, he wasn't nervous.

He clenched his fists, feeling the energy surge behind his eyes, waiting to be unleashed.

"Time to show them what true power looks like."