A/N: Hi there. So, I know it's been a couple of months, but let me say that my job during the holidays kept me busy because, well, holidays. Anyway, I know I said there wouldn't be much changes going in the story… but clearly, that wasn't the case.

I redesigned several characters, added new ones for the story, and decided to skip several chapters ahead because I'll be saving the first ones for later (for plot purposes). Don't worry though, the story still has its intense, brutal, and dark moments as in the previous story. Speaking of which, I need to address something important to any new readers looking to try something new because they obviously did not take the warnings seriously and therefore left me with a lot of flame reviews for making someone "edgy" and "emo" and a total "pussy".

What this story contains: discussions of suicide, depression, anxiety, and PTSD (among other things like physical and mental abuse, severe bullying, and a whole lot of hurt/angst).

Dear readers, to put it bluntly as possible so you won't me later, this is not a happy fanfic. This is a story about facing the consequences of your actions, intended or not. This is the aftermath of a flaw that ended up destroying lives in the process: this is Chaos Theory in effect. So, if you're in search for a story that has a badass OP who wrecks shit up with the power of friendship and awesomeness while also bagging a few chicks on the side to bang later when convenient—this story is not for you.

Now onto the main event! An SI OC Insert story—but with a twist!

Disclaimer: My Hero Academia belongs to Kohei Horikoshi; my only claim is my own original character(s)!

.

prologue

.

Here's the thing.

Life never goes as planned.

It's impossible to keep things on schedule, on time, and in order. Doing so would be like provoking a challenge against the force of the entire universe, demanding that it not invade your breathing space. So you can go ahead and make the road map that is your life, mark those colorful pit stops to make the road go a lot more smoother, and read whatever Yelp review available so you don't end up in a shady place that gives you 80's slasher film vibes—but here's the thing: nobody can predict what can happen along the way.

There will always be bumps and pot holes in the middle of the road, there will always be a blow out to the tire because you didn't keep up with the maintenance, and there'll always be a storm that will threaten to blind and crash you if you aren't quick enough to find the nearest shelter.

And there will always be accidents.

The kind of accidents that could change a person's life in a single heartbeat; no warning, no mercy, no guarantee, just a whole lot of bad luck on your end of the stick.

Yet in spite of all the wrong twists and turns, the hiccups and delays, and the constant headache of dealing with faulty navigation devices which subsequently led to stumbling off the main path—the roads remained plentiful. Eventually, through trial and error, you were going to find your way towards the end of the road, regardless of how or what route you took to get there.

My old high school teacher had a name for this, though I couldn't recall the name of the phenomenon. It was something that happened when there was an extra or missing number in the equation, or a different outcome from a repeated experiment. Should there be a change in the routine, there would be a divergence from the original path.

So, let me reiterate; life is never supposed to be straightforward.

Which was why I ended up dying.

As most stories went: it happened to quickly and too suddenly. One moment everything was hunky dory then the next, I was flat on my back with a painful pulsing sensation coming from the back of my head. The pounding got stronger, making the shadows surrounding my vision grow larger until it engulfed what little light there was left in my eyes.

And let me honest here, I don't even know what killed me! In my last moments on earth, I was listening to my college roommate's angry rants about some asshole teacher who gave him an unfair grade for some reason or another. In the next blink, my roommate was kneeling over me, hands hovering over my face as his eyes frantically scanned my numb face. He was yelling, but I couldn't hear what (later, I would suspect he was crying out for help).

It's sobering to discover how one little mishap in the cogs of life could suddenly turn everything disastrous within a heartbeat. People could be careful all they want but the truth was, it was going to hit them whether they wanted it or not.

His horrified face, his helpless hands, his voiceless cries, they were the last things I saw before I died.

… except that it didn't end there.

Somehow, through some cosmic force beyond imagination, or through otherworldly means my monkey brain had no way of comprehending, my final destination wasn't at death's cool embrace. My story didn't here because apparently, I had more to tell.

The change that had forced itself into my end went on to follow me to my new beginning, reverberating like an endless echo that expanded beyond the physical and material world to somewhere strange and unexpected…

.

.

.

As most stories often began with, it was accident; there was a stumble, then a collision between two bodies, until finally it ended with a quiet breaking of glass and a splattered mess of expensive red wine.

There was only a moment of stunned silence between the two guilty parties responsible for the mess before one of them finally deigned a response: a sharp curse from under their breath. At once, the two strangers moved to take care of the problem, only to be startled when the doors to the theater hall opened to reveal crowds stepping out into the lobby—an intermission.

The strangers exchanged a brief but meaningful look with one another, silently coming to an agreement that they needed to act quickly in order to avoid any and all potential embarrassment they could cause. And with that motivation, the man hurried to gather all the glass while the woman stepped around to provide some cover from the many men and woman who were beginning fill the lobby. In no time, with all the glass gathered and the wine absorbed by a handkerchief, the man finally got to his feet.

The woman couldn't help but stare as he went up and up.

"I'm sorry about that, miss." The man apologized as he glanced about to locate the nearest waste disposal. "I hope I didn't get any wine on your dress."

Shaking herself out of the blatant staring she was doing, she quickly responded, "No, no. I should be the one who's sorry. And no, you didn't get any wine on my dress."

Goodness, her mother had warned her countless times in the past not to fall into a drunken stupor at social gatherings, otherwise the leeches that her father insisted on keeping around in his social circles would start to get ridiculous with their ideas of what was going on with her life. She personally got to witness several "scandals", watching the unfortunate victim suffer in the aftermath with their image and reputation tarnished because of a few wagging tongues. The last thing she needed was somehow ending up on the latest gossip magazine that accused her of being some abusive alcoholic who squandered her fortune away for more booze (while also subtly implying she was a slut who was open to anyone who was willing to buy her a free drink in exchange).

Absolute cunts.

"That's a relief to hear," the tall man commented, piercing through her dark thoughts. "Your dress looks like it costs way more than my annual salary."

With his face serious-like and his words coming off as almost deadpan, the young woman couldn't help but let out a laugh. God, she must be really drunk to laugh over something so stupid. But honestly, it was the most honest reaction she had in so long.

There had been so much tension over the past year since that meeting between her father and the Lindholm company; she'd have to be blind and stupid to not know what was happening before her eyes with every visit at her father's manor, his parties, and his social gatherings. With Lindholm's appalling reputation (drugs, prostitutes, bribing officials to keep himself out of jail, etc.), it boggled her mind why her father would waste time keeping someone like him within his circle.

It didn't take too long to find out, and the revelation made her feel as though she had been thrown into a deep dark hole with no hope of reaching the sunlight where her family was.

Her father expected her to marry that despicable man, all in the name of "redeeming" his image to the public while simultaneously absorbing the man's company to his.

She was being sold… for a company.

"You alright there, miss?" the stranger asked, his golden eyes looking her over as if she would stumble should she tilt a little too far to the side.

"I'm fine," she calmed herself then faced the tall man with a small smile. "I'm sorry I laughed. That was rude."

"Nah," the man smiled, all boyish-like that she felt her breath hitch at the charming sight. "Making a beautiful woman laugh is a good grade in my book."

"Oh?" the woman quirked a brow, barely able to hold back a smirk. "You tell that to every beautiful woman or am I just special?"

Instead of answering her subtle accusation, he simply continued to smile at her (all the while holding the broken mess in his large hands). The open stare made the young woman falter a little, but she remained locked on the foreign stranger.

For a moment, it felt like everything outside melted away and it was just him and her.

"Sengoku Enzō."

A stranger offered his name.

"… Grete Gunnarsen."

Another stranger returned theirs.

An echo. A collision. A shattered glass.

Two people who should've never crossed paths, never exchanged words, and never left together that night resulted in something unintended. And from the heavy reverberation, ripples came and tidal waves crashed on the far side of the world. There was no fixing the mess, there was no undoing what had been done, there was only bracing for the impacts yet to come.

Because whether they had meant to or not, whether it was the universe trying to correct itself into order, me dying and being reborn as their son was the answer to that.